First of all, if you’re wandering in from Freshly Pressed, welcome and thanks for stopping by! Come in, have a cup of tea, and try not to pee on the carpet. No, really.
This is post is in response to a few commenters on last week’s post, who seemed to think that my disagreement with my parents’ beliefs – and subsequent plea for acceptance – was equally as intolerant as their rejection of my sexuality. Some of those comments were mean and hurtful, and got deleted. It’s my blog. I don’t have to read angry stuff on my blog. (Plus, I looked, and firstname.lastname@example.org is not a real email address. You get a cookie for using the correct form of “you’re,” though.)
Some others I responded to, but not as in-depth as I would have liked. So here is the whole enchilada, as it were.
I appreciate your honesty. I guess I’m wondering what tolerance looks like to you in the broader sense? Does it mean that people can no longer disagree without being ‘hateful?’ You say, “I will not accept mere tolerance” and I realize you are writing to a family member…but what about the bigger picture. Where is the line? By this logic, you are being intolerant of your Dad’s opinions. I do not mean to be offensive- its an issue I’ve been giving a lot of thought.
This is something that hits a personal spot for me. And I can totally see your point. If I had to boil my moral code down to a single sentence, it would probably be something along the lines of “No one should ever be forced to live according to beliefs they don’t agree with.”
Obviously, speaking in absolutes can get you into trouble – there’s always the devil’s advocate out there with the “Well, what if someone disagrees with the belief that bombing an orphanage full of handicapped children is wrong? According to your logic, that means they should be allowed to do it.” (No. Wrong. According to my logic, they are allowed to believe whatever they want to believe, but their right to bomb the orphanage does not overrule the children’s right live out the rest of their lives as in-one-piece and bombing-free as possible. Your rights end where another person’s begins.)
So I want to clarify something that seemed to cause confusion for a handful of folks, not all of whom were as polite and respectful as Lacey was: Never did I say I wanted my parents to stop being religious. Never did I say I would not love and accept my parents if they continued to live a religious lifestyle. In fact, I know full well that my parents will continue to live their lives they way they have for the past half a century or so. That is not the issue here.
It’s not the disagreement that is hateful. If my parents were to say, “We don’t understand what it’s like to be queer, we’re straight and that’s what makes us happy,” then that is a conflicting worldview with my own, which is roughly: “Living as a queer person makes me happy and brings me more fulfillment than living as a straight person does.” Those two ideas are in disagreement; however, neither one is hateful toward the other.
If my parents were to say, “We don’t understand what it’s like to be queer, because being queer is wrong and those feelings are sent from Satan, and everyone who is queer is disgusting and a bad person,” then not only is that a worldview that conflicts with my own, but is also actively hateful and discriminatory toward me.
Conversely, if I say, “I don’t get any enjoyment or fulfillment out of being religious, I’m atheist and that’s what makes me happy,” that may be in disagreement with my parents’ religious lifestyle, but it isn’t hateful. If I say, “I don’t get any enjoyment or fulfillment out of being religious, and people who do are crazy zealots and bad people,” then that is hateful and discriminatory toward them.
My parents’ faith brings them happiness. It brings them joy and fulfillment. It gives them a steady rock, a foundation on which to build their marriage. Why would I want to take that away from them? To say that, by asking them to reconsider their views on homosexuality, I am somehow forcing them to give up their entire faith life and religious identity… well, the term “throwing the baby out with the bathwater” comes to mind. If it makes them happy, then I am happy that they have it. I would never tell my parents – or anyone, for that matter – that it’s wrong to have religious views and they have to stop being religious.
But their rights end where mine begin, too. I have a right to live my life in the open. I have a right to make the decisions that are best for me, that make me happiest and bring me fulfillment. I have a right to protect myself from those that do me harm.
Even if it’s my parents.
At the heart of the matter is this: my parents and I, we don’t talk. I mean, we chat, but we don’t have meaningful conversations about the important stuff. And this journey I’m on, this path of self-discovery I’m walking down, is incredibly important to me. The fact that they don’t even want to talk about it – that they’d rather just pretend it didn’t exist so they can say they love me anyway – is fucking painful. I honestly think it’d be easier to deal with it if they hated me. Then, at least, I could convince myself that it wasn’t worth the effort. But I wrote last week’s letter because a part of me yearns to open up that dialogue, to state my case and make them see that it isn’t what they thought it was. To ask if they could ever love a daughter that was openly queer. To see if they’d come around.
And, if not, to walk away. Not because I immediately shut out everyone who disagrees with me, but because there comes a point where a relationship causes more pain than you can bear. Because loving myself means being strong enough to sever ties in order to stop hurting.
So there’s the heart of the matter. I can’t accept tolerance, because tolerance means We Don’t Talk About It. Tolerance means “Penny has a dirty little secret the family doesn’t talk about.” Tolerance means “Poor Penny is so misguided and such a sinner, too bad she’s going to hell, it makes me so sad because I love her so much.” Tolerance is “Penny posted on Facebook today about how much she loves her lady friend, and I felt it was my duty to tell her how wrong she is to be living like that and how I disapprove of it.*”
Meanwhile… acceptance means We’ve Talked About It, And We Don’t Agree, But We Respect Each Other. Acceptance means “I don’t understand why Penny lives the way she does, but we’re talking about it so I can try to see her side of it.” Acceptance means “This life makes Penny happy, and I trust that she is smart enough to make the choices that are right for her, and I will love her and be there for her in whatever way she needs me to be.” Acceptance would be “Penny posted on Facebook today about how much she loves her lady friend, and it’s kind of weird for me to read that but she’s an adult and I respect her.”
I don’t think that’s asking too much from a parent. I don’t think that’s asking too much from anyone who claims to love me. I am the only one who can decide what I need from the people in my life in order to feel loved – and I have the right to ask for that.
Whether or not I get it is an entirely different question.
*Expected results; mileage may vary
This one is for the lovers.
This is for chocolates on the pillow
and roses on the sheets.
This is for lovers of my lovers
and the lovers of me.
This one is for the forests.
This is for mist in the branches
and rain on the leaves.
This is for sunshine on my lovers
and the sunshine on me.
This one is for the streets.
This is for avenues where we arrive,
and roads where we leave.
This is a city for my lovers
and a city for me.
My heart sings for my lovers.
It sings moss on cobbled sidewalks
and the rainclouds match the beat.
This is a song for my lovers’ hearts
who sing back to me.
I plant gardens for my lovers.
I grow romance in the springtime
and in autumn, gather seeds.
This is a place for my lovers’ hearts
to grow wild and free.
I’ll make beds for my lovers.
We’ll burrow under afghans
and kiss under sheets.
I am dreaming with my lovers
and they’re dreaming with me.
(In response to You Should Date An Illiterate Girl)
It’s not so easy being a well-read woman, either, Charles.
You are right about women who read. We want dialogue; we want plot. We want a life that follows a well-charted path, a life full of rich characters and poignant moments, a story that leaves an impact on its audience. We want climax, yes, in every sense. We want a denouement, too – a happy ending that neatly ties the threads of our lives together in a way that leaves us satisfied in our golden years. We understand syntax, and rhythm; word choice, too, and we know how to read between the lines and guess where this story arc will take us.
A well-read woman cannot be swept aside in a minor plot and easily forgotten. We are not content with mediocrity. We are not content to be filler: part of the faceless crowd, part of the setting, suppliers of background noise. We know that we are responsible for our fate – that if our story is dull and uninteresting, it is because we are not playing our part as the central character of our lives.
The modern world is cruel to a literate woman. Her heart aches for a hero, and for adventure. Ask any literate woman if she sometimes wishes someone – anyone – would slay dragons for her. No matter what her lips reply, you will hear her heart whisper a broken, unfulfilled yes. It is a secret wish every literate woman carries deep within herself; one this world has no intention of granting.
There are no battles to fight that would win a woman’s heart. Instead, men fight wars; bloody, impersonal, and cold, fought for greed or power. A woman’s beauty does not move a man to risk his life, not anymore. Our modern world has cheapened everything – romance boiled down to sex, battle simplified into killing, adventure stripped down until it is merely a vacation. Queens and kings are politicians. Knights are now soldiers. No one sings of the valiant deeds of heroes; poetry is written by angsty, pimple-faced teenagers with a rudimentary grasp of imagery and no concept of the term cliché. Chivalry has been mortally wounded and left for dead.
Is it any wonder, then, that a literate woman dreams of something better? Can you really fault her for wanting more than you’re willing to give? A well-read woman does not want a safe man, a man who will do the dishes and the laundry when asked, a man whose greatest battle consists of putting on his tie every morning and facing another soulless day at the office to put bread on the table for his family. That man deserves all the love his wife can give him, yes; but if she is a literate woman, she will spend her life yearning for danger and adventure. Her heart will waste away within her, wishing she had been born in a different time and place, wanting the kind of love found only in books and fairy tales, dying to be the heroine of her tale. A literate woman not only wants to make something of her life, but she longs for someone to share it with; someone who would guard with his very life the beauty and power she yearns to find within herself.
Literate women have need of steel-hearted heroes. There is no room in our story for a man who would tuck tail and run at the first sign of danger, nor is there room for a man who prefers the gray monotony of mediocre drudgery because it means avoiding the terrible risk of failure. If there is nothing to be lost, then what do you stand to gain? A literate woman needs someone courageous; someone who can gaze unflinching into the gaping rawness of a woman’s unfulfilled and broken heart, and stand resolved to heal it, no matter what the cost.
If this seems too difficult for you, Charles, then do us a favor and date the illiterate girls. This world has spawned an abundance of them. Live your meager, average life, and die your unremarkable death. But do not hate the well-read woman and blame her for your fate. It is not her fault you failed to be the hero.
A friend of mine posted an inspired and lengthy rant on Facebook the other day about getting tattoos; namely, that several people has asked him if he thought it would be a good idea to for them to get one. In a nutshell, his answer was “Not if you have to ask me that question.”
It got me thinking. There are tons of things I wish I’d known before getting my first tattoo – and although I love the ones I have and have been happy with them for many years, I will admit that I would have done so much more if I’d known I could. So I figured I’d put together a list of Things To Think About When Getting Tattoos.
The art is arguably the most important part of the tattoo. What are you getting done? Is it symbolic? Is it something you’ll continue to like for the rest of your life? Life is both too long and too short to be getting crappy tattoos. If you’re not convinced, look here. There are hundreds of examples on that site of art you will not want etched on your body for all eternity.
If you’re getting a tattoo that you think is funny, for example, ask yourself: will this still be funny in 10 years? 20? 50? If you’re getting a tattoo that is meaningful, will it still be meaningful to you when you’re 60? If you’re getting someone’s name, will they still be important to you when you’re old and grey? Will they still be a part of your life? Are you sure?
Put together a sketch or some reference material that approximates the tattoo you want to get, and hang it in your mirror for six months to a year. Put a jar underneath it. Look at that thing every day. Each time you look at it and think “Hell yeah, that’s badass,” put $5 in the jar.
If you get to the end of the year without taking it down or changing it completely, then take all that money you’ve been saving up and go get your tattoo. Oh, which reminds me:
A good tattoo ain’t cheap, and a cheap tattoo ain’t good. It’s as simple as that. Tattoo art is one of the few industries left in (arguably) the world where you really do get what you pay for. A better artist will cost more. A better artist will also be booked farther in advance – which, honestly works out to your benefit. That gives you more time to save up, and more time to be sure it’s what you really want.
Like I said, a better artist will be booked farther in advance. That’s a good thing. Seriously, don’t go with an artist that takes walk-in appointments. Think about it this way: the more any artist practices, the better they get, right? So if your tattoo artist is sitting around waiting for you to wander in off the street and get a tattoo, how much practice do you really think they’re getting? How likely is it that they’ll be able to apply your artwork with a skilled and confident hand, without making any (permanent, un-erasable) mistakes?
The other argument against walk-in appointments is the artwork itself. Any tattoo artist worth working with is going to provide you with a sketch of the artwork they’re doing before they ink it onto you. I’ve had artists do this even when I walked in with the artwork pre-drawn and ready to go. It’s important that they sketch it themselves – it helps imprint the artwork into muscle memory and makes it less likely that they’ll screw it up later on.
Even better than that is to have the artist design the tattoo themselves. It doesn’t cost you any extra, and in my experience it looks way, way better. Remember: this is their job. They make art. It’s what they do. So let them do their job. They will do it better than you can.
Choosing an artist may take time. Every tattoo artist should have a portfolio out somewhere at the shop where they work. Look through all of them and keep track of the pieces you like best. Lots of artists have an individual style, or certain strengths – for instance, I chose my current artist because she specializes in cover-ups and is good at matching the styles of pre-existing tattoos – which is exactly what I was looking for. If I wanted someone who was good at realistic portraits, I may have picked a different artist. Same goes if I wanted someone who did really good Sailor Jerry-style artwork, or traditional Japanese tattoos, or cartoon characters, etc. Ask someone at the shop who they’d recommend. Ask your artist what their strengths are. Be picky. If nothing else, ask the artist for a sketch and compare it to the artwork you’re bringing in yourself. It won’t cost you anything, and then at least you’ll know you’re getting the best artwork you can for your money.
Ask how well they really know their stuff. This isn’t just about the artwork, either, but how well it’s applied. Unless you have sensitive skin or scar easily, a tattoo should be totally smooth when it’s healed over. There shouldn’t be any bumps or raised bits. There also shouldn’t be any lines or parts that look faded. If the tattoo isn’t applied well, it won’t heal well, and that will affect the outcome of the artwork. Make sure they know what they’re doing when it comes to poking holes in your body.
One of the main considerations, obviously, is “Can I cover it if I need to for a job?” This might not matter depending on your chosen industry or your level of give-a-shittedness. It is also true that tattoos are gaining a wider and wider acceptance within mainstream culture – a sleeve down to your wrist isn’t as big a deal as it used to be. Still, a tattoo on your forehead or “Thug Lyfe” across your knuckles will probably limit your employment opportunities – so be very sure of your career path before going down that route.
Another, less obvious, consideration is “How will it look where it’s placed?” A good artist should be able to help you with placement. You want the artwork to enhance the body part it’s on, not clash with it. My tattoo artist described it to me this way once: “I like to leave the work sort of open-ended, so it can be added onto later if you want.” Rather than looking like the piece was just stamped on, your artist should be able to make your artwork look like it belongs there. Another thing to keep in mind is stretching. If you plan on getting pregnant, you might want to reconsider that ring around your belly button. And no matter what you plan, take into account the possibility of weight gain as you get older. It might not be wise to get tattooed in places where you have (or are likely to get) stretch marks.
I’m sure we all know by now that tattoos hurt. But, of course, not all tattoos hurt equally. In conjunction with The Part, The Pain is important to consider. Getting a tattoo down your spine will hurt considerably more than getting one on your ass. Getting tattooed in your ticklish spots will make your artist grumpy as you writhe and twitch on her table (trust me on this). I’ve heard that the underside of your arm is unbearably painful; a lot of arm bands have an empty space there for that reason. In general, spots where the bone is close to the skin or where the skin is thinner will be more sensitive and thus more painful – which explains why so many tattoos exist on the muscle of the outer arm, and the meaty parts of the back, and so on.
The other thing to plan for is the size of your tattoo, especially if it’s your first. Consider getting a small tattoo for your first one, or a small part of a larger design that would look ok on its own if the pain turns out to be too much to handle. (And for the record: there’s no shame in getting a small tattoo and deciding you never, ever want to go through that again. Seriously.) Keep in mind that larger tattoos will take longer to finish, and will cost more – all the tattoo artists I’ve seen charge by the hour. Know your limits. Don’t be afraid to end a session earlier than you planned if you’re reaching the limit of your pain threshold. You can be a badass once the tattoo is done and healed – no one wants to see you passing out on the artist’s table because you were too macho to say stop.
If you’ve spent this much time and money getting a tattoo, it only makes sense to put some time and effort into maintaining it. You wouldn’t spend $300 on a painting just to nail it up in your front yard and let the wind and rain destroy it, right? So protect your tattoo. Don’t let your asshole friends slap it while it’s healing. (Besides hurting like a bitch, from what I’ve heard, it can also break the lines and color and actually damage the artwork. That is a seriously dick move.) Let it heal properly – don’t pick at the scabs, and give yourself enough time between sessions. Wear sunscreen if it’s going to be exposed while you’re in the sun, no matter how long you’ve had it. Sun damage will make even the best tattoo look like crap. Keep it moisturized. Try not to get injured in spots where you have tattoos (i.e. maybe reconsider getting that wrist-length sleeve if you’re, say, a mountain biker who breaks falls with their bare forearms).
Look. I happen to think tattoos are awesome and super fun. They’re addictive – I’m not even done with my back piece and I’m already planning a new half-sleeve. They’re a great form of self-expression and a very cool art form. But that doesn’t mean they’re right for everyone. Make sure you think it through. And if you decide to get a tattoo – don’t settle for anything less than the coolest, awesome-est, bad-ass-est tattoo you can possibly get. Whatever that means to you.