My Sweet Lady and I sat down to watch a DVRed American Idol last night, and we were frustrated in the attempt by the fact that only four minutes of the show got taped. Why that is I do not know, but since I have been sticking up for Windows Media Center in a land of Mac users, I feel pretty darn miffed at Bill & Crew for letting me down. If we can figure out a way to blame this on Rupert Murdoch, I’m all for it. Instead of watching that dude who jammed Paula Abdul’s “Straight Up” perform on Group Week, we had to go in search of other entertainment.
Given our limited supply of cable, flipping the channels neither takes long nor is it particularly rewarding. Netflix on demand — which is served up well through the Media Center, btw — is always handy. Given that it was already after 9 and we usually sack out at double digits, a little TV repeat seemed on order. And what to our wondering eyes should appear? LA Ink is now available on demand. Yes, we will watch a two year old show about tattoos. Because it is about tattoos.
In the ranks of tattooing, the current score is: Sanuk D 1, MSL 2 1/2. (Half because she has a tattoo that covers another, older tattoo.) I’ve been thinking for a while about what I want for another tattoo. My first choice was a piece of work by Sheppard Fairey. Unfortunately, it is too big for my shoulder, where I want to be tattooed, and too expensive. So, back to the drawing board.
When I was a kid, I used to draw letters and numbers and symbols. People and real things were hard to draw, but brand identities were easy and fascinating. I’d sometimes put together coats of arms and have always had a thing for heraldry and such. Not so much to run off and join the Renaissance Faires, mind you, but enough to feel kind of ashamed of it. As I grew older, I fell in love with the hymn “St. Patrick’s Breastplate” and wondered what the symbols on that piece of armor might be.
Watching Kat Von D tattoo last night, and thinking about it this morning, I decided that it was time to put together a sort of coat of arms for the next tattoo. One piece, drawing on my Scottish heritage, would be the cross of St. Andrew. (Yeah, yeah, eastside westside drama. Whatever.) Another would be three stars on a blue field, representing my native country, my immediate family, and the Trinity. At the top, a bishop’s mitre in green and gold for Bishop Patrick of the hymn and representing my Irish roots. At the bottom, the lamb — as in the blood of. The filigree is to include the leaves of the Galax plant, native to the Land of the Suwaree, my adopted home. These leaves shine are most green when the winter is most cold.
So, is this my family’s heraldic crest from the days of yore? Hell no. Is this piece going to kick ass? Hell yes. Maybe once I lose my muffin top, I’ll be ready for that back piece of the peace goddess. Until then, I’m going to let them know where I’m from, and to whom I belong.