More proof that Scott Sylvia is a genius.
As if you needed more proof of the brilliance of tattoo artist extraordinaire Scott Sylvia, behold the thang he threw on wife Tracy's leg this past Sunday. Pretty gorgeous, and even more impressive when you consider that this is a cover-up. No shit.
Underneath that bluebird is a tribal thing that Tracy was never pleased with, so Scott drew the bird directly on her leg and inked it up. Totally amazing. I am in awe of this guy.
And it looks like I'm gonna get a chance to pay him back for all the amazing artwork he's put on me: I procured scottsylvia.com and am going to help him develop his website. I imagine it's going to look pretty incredible. Nothing at all like this site.
So I finally broke down and got stupid AIM, and it's a'ight. Pros: I can talk to my boy who works for Netscape (can't get Yahoo IM and has to have AIM for work) and the myriad other friends, fellow webloggers, and message board dorks who use AIM. Cons: All productivity has ceased, because I am now constantly IMing the myriad friends, fellow webloggers, and message board dorks who use AIM. I'm gonna be unemployed real soon at this rate.
But luckily my message board career was short-lived. I wasted about a week and a half of my life over at the Buddyhead General Message Board before I realized that it was a complete waste of time. Well, that and the fact that the Buddyhead crew moved the boards from their site over to the Grand Royal boards. So it went from being this completely evil, mean-spirited, misanthropic ball of hate to a watered-down, generic, suburban, teenybopper shadow of its former self. I learned a lot over those ten days, some of which can be found here, in my final post. If I can save just one person from pissing away a moment of his or her life arguing with idiots over the Internet, it will have been worth it. ßßß
Tattoo Update
That's the very latest. Two-point-five hours of pure endorphin-intermediated agony. Man, did that ever suck. But it's all gonna be worth it when it's done and in glorious Technicolor. At this rate, that should be some time in 2003.
Go here to compare and contrast this version with the original.
So maybe my musical luck is changing. I don't want to jinx it, but I've had two promising musical meetings in the past two nights. On Tuesday I met with a couple of kids formerly of Hopelifter. They played me a coupla songs that were really cool, post-hardcore, emo, blah blah, whatever you wanna call it, à la "Wig Out at Denko's"-era Dag Nasty. The drummer kid even had a Dag Nasty tattoo, just like yours truly. Very promising. Very cool.
And last night I met up with an old friend and we jammed out some of his songs, and that went really well too. Very tasty and original indie-pop stuff, somewhere within the Nirvana/Weezer axis.
So I got irons in the musical fire again, and I no longer feel like selling all my equipment and becoming a really boring old guy. I will live to rock again. ßßß
I suck.
Sorry for the complete lack of blawg yesterday. I have no excuse, save to say that I had to drop my lovely and talented wife off at the airport at 6 AM, then go to the dentist. I do more before 9 AM then some people do before noon.
Being on my own (i.e., sans wife), even temporarily, after 11 years of marriage is just weird. And it always happens the same way. At first I have these grandiose fantasies of bachelor life. Not like hookin' up single bachelor life, but hangin' with my boys, going to shows, and spending every waking moment in my studio making phat beats bachelor life. But I inevitably end up watching way too much TV and vegging out in front of the computer. It's a lot like my normal life, only a whole lot lonelier.
So, my dentist appointment. One cavity. Not bad. And I love my dentist. My dentist is probably the best dentist who has ever lived. He's kind and super-gentle, and just an all-around nice guy. So why is it that he employs evil, sadistic dental technicians? I don't know where he finds these women, but I have some ideas.
Speaking of intense physical pain, my back is killing me. It's sore and itches like crazy. I'm already dreading my next appointment on August 17th. I learned something from my last couple of appointments, though: sitting for more than three hours is retarded. I made a two-hour appointment this time. Pics tomorrow. Promise.
The Las Vegas A's? Just doesn't sound right. Then again, the folks in Philly and Kansas City probably said the same thing.
Across the Bay, the Giants are on an unbelievable tear. They've won six straight and are only three games out of first. They made some good moves and are poised to win the West again. What a difference a coupla days and some roster moves will make. ... ßßß
Tattoo update, et al.
Sat for 2.5 hours yesterday for more work on the backpiece. It's coming along beautifully, albeit not nearly fast enough for my liking. Tracy also got some old tribal shit on her ankle covered up with a gorgeous bluebird carrying cherries, and she's very, very happy. Pictures to come.
I acquired a bunch of domain names over the weekend, just for the hell of it. If you have any brilliant ideas about what to do with these, email me.
There are a bunch more, but I've already got designs on them.
So I'm probably the least patriotic guy you could ever hope to meet — except, that is, when it comes to the French. So you can imagine my glee when Lance Armstrong came back from a 30-minute deficit to win his third straight Tour de France.
In much the same way, the Giants walked into the Diamondbacks house and punked them four straight. Now it's a Dodgers-Giants race to the end. The way it oughta be. The way it was meant to be. Bring it on, SoCal. ßßß
Don't miss last week's brilliant insight.
