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shiny objects

Saturday, April 22, 2006


Find Your Happy Place
or
Christmas In July . . . And August, September, November . . .

Months ago, during a dicussion on horrible tattoos, Zack described the poorly chosen ink on his ex-roomate's back. We'll call the ex-roomate "Carmuffin," which, believe it or not, is a decent phonetic approximation of his real name.

Carmuffin apparently enjoys celebrating Christmas. On his shoulderblade (I don't recall which) he has a tattoo of a candy cane. A candy cane, ladies and gentlemen.

Whenever I feel glum, I stop and think of Carmuffin's tattoo. I try to imagine the circumstances under which a young soldier would venture into a tattoo parlor, scope the flash on the wall for the perfect candy cane (which would take a while, considering their popularity as a design), and pay upwards of a hundred dollars to have it emblazoned permanently upon his back. I imagine the glory of the finished product. What the boys at poker night must have said.

And I laugh. Not out of spite, but simply because I will never understand.


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