Tattoo Breakthrough

I like that one! See, I can evolve.

My son Brandon and I were in the local Starbucks.

As the young woman barista rendered our coffee to us on that day, my eyes were drawn to a tattoo of a butterfly on the underside of her left arm and before I could control myself, by God, it was out of mouth!

"That's a pretty tattoo," I said.

"Thank you," she replied.

"Dad!" exclaimed Brandon, "That's a major breakthrough!"

"I guess it is," I said. "I actually did like her tattoo, but I’m not sure why.”

I've never understood the allure of tattoos. Back in the sixties and early seventies, tattoos were usually worn by the shorter haired folks we called greasers, sworn enemies of we freaks and pseudo-freaks. The standard tattoo was a skull and crossbones, crude rendering of Jesus, or a heart emblazoned through the middle with the name of a likely long replaced girlfriend.

A few hippies had tattoos, but they were as small in number as there were un-smoked roaches in my apartment at the end of a Friday evening. Our rock heroes did not have them. The cool people we aspired to be like did not have them. (And the hot chicks I never had the guts to approach that I'm still kicking myself about 45 years later certainly did not have them either.) 

But these days it’s hard to find an athlete or movie star who believes tabula rasa is an acceptable approach to one's epidermis. Brandon doesn't have any tattoos but many of his friends do and none of them are greasers, bikers, or intoxicated sailors waking up after a long weekend’s shore leave.

In fact, Brandon had been telling me to stop dissing tattoos even though I’d been spreading negative vibes about them whenever I’d encounter anyone whose body was marked up like the first draft of one of my college term papers.

But this day something had changed and without my even knowing it.

"So what brought that on, Dad?" said Brandon,

"I don’t know," I answered. "It just slipped out of me naturally as something to say. Like thanks for the coffee, have a nice day, or do you have an attractive mom in my demographic?"

"What that means," said Brandon, “is you now accept tattoos as a legitimate form of self-expression, even if you would never choose that mode of expression yourself.”

And he was right.

I was able at last to see the attractiveness in something that my pre-conceived notions wouldn’t allow me to see before. Now I saw the colors and the artistry that I had never before been able to appreciate.

So it seems I've made a Tattoo Breakthrough. But would I actually get one myself?

Have I made a Tattoo “Break-on-Through to the Other Side?”

Nah, I'm not ready for that. And I still don't like tattoos which envelop someone's body like an etch-a-sketch. 

But if you're a Boomer and you want a simple not too sizeable tattoo, I won't say a discouraging word.

In fact, I'll help you pick it out.

I might even like it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Letting Your Freak Flag Fly

  

It happened just the other day.

For no particular reason, on a whim, I took out my old freak flag.

I hadn’t seen it in many years and actually had no idea where it was.  I came across it in the attic packed away among some old college notebooks, term papers I didn't remember that I'd rather forget, and my autographed picture of actor Christopher Jones. Quite frankly, I was surprised I still had it and shocked to see how torn and tattered it had become.

There were many different freak flags back in the day --- some festooned with peace signs and political slogans, others with drug paraphernalia, and still others with Morrison, Guevara, or a nude John and Yoko. The flag fit the person and changed from time to time. Mine was most often a bit heavy on the cannabis sativa interwoven with Beatles, long hair, and a just a dash of "Impeach Nixon." 

It was a grand old flag, if not always a high flying one, but it had seen better days. No white collar conservatives flashing down the street would have even given a thought to pointing their plastic finger at it.

I wondered how you legally go about disposing of a freak flag. Since there are guidelines for the U.S. flag, I went to Google and sure enough there it was: the United States Department of Flags, Freak Flag Division. I dialed.

“Hello, United States Office of Freak Flags,  Mr. Kelly speaking,” said the gentleman answering the phone. “Peace, brother.”

“Hi, Mr. Kelly,” I said. “I’m kind of surprised to see there is a government office on freak flags.”

“Established in 1987,” Mr.  Kelly responded, "to maintain and preserve an important part of US history."

"I didn't know they were." 

"Even if a bit self-indulgent, weren't they meaningful to you? Didn't they express something that was real, if only a freedom to look and feel in a different way?"

"I guess you're right," I said. "But mine is all tattered.  How does one respectfully and appropriately go about disposing of a worn freak flag?”

"Well, no mystery to that, sir. Fold it into the shape of a peace sign and burn, baby. burn!”

I should have known.

"But I have another idea for you. Just keep it; tattered and worn is par for the course for a true freak flag anyway." 

"I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you, Mr. Kelly."

"You're welcome. And one other thing, sir."

"What’s that?"

"Every now and then, when you feel like it...."

"Yes?" 

"Just let your freak flag fly!"

Know what?  

Right On!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Top Ten Reasons Young Women Should Date Boomer Men

Yeah!

10) Gray hair on pillow almost assuredly isn't yours.

9) Very unlikely to have a tattoo inside his thigh with the name of former girl friend.

8) If you shout out another man's name during sex, odds are he can't hear you anyway. 

7) Where else can you find such an invaluable store of information about Iron Butterfly?

6) Hours on end relating his experiences to you during the Sixties far more effective and fast working than Ambien.

5) Not in the mood?  Just play "Hide the Viagra!"

4) Nobody does a better Dwight Eisenhower impression!

3) Little chance he'll cheat on you because who'd want him? 

2) Very receptive to your saying "not tonight, I have a headache" because he assumes everybody else feels as lousy all the time as he does.

And the Number One Reason Young Women Should Date Boomer Men, 

1) Far more likely than a younger man to appreciate you for your mind rather than your body, although the only reason I wrote this list in the first place was to lure you into the sack!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you liked this post, you might also like 62 Reasons Why 60 is Not the New 40, 25 Reasons It's Great Not to Have a Significant Other, and When It's Your Turn to Speak, DON'T!

If you hated this post, I hope you end up with somebody even older and less appealing than me .... if that's possible!

Got A Revolution, Got To Revolution!

We are Volunteers of America,  Got a Revolution, Got to Revolution ....

I remember well the day I first joined the Revolution all that time ago.  In fact, I could hardly ever forget it.

I was walking across the manicured lawn area in front of the library when a large poster with red lettering caught my eye.  It was nailed to one of the front pillars of the library aside the twin oaken library doors.  It read:

             Join the Revolution!         

Talkin' Bout Our Generation.

Hobson Hall

Friday, 7:00 P.M.

Aside from my longish hair, generally liberal pre-disposition,  and stash of Joni Mitchell records, I hadn't been much of an activist up until then.   But  something about the poster piqued my interest.  

Yeah, I craved whatever refreshments they might be offering, living on a budget as I was.   But I truly wanted to see what those people who were fully dedicated to the movement sparked by our generation had to say. 

It was already 6:30 on Friday, so I hurried past the dorms to my small  apartment to get ready.  It may seem goofy now, but specially for the occasion I put on one of my three tie dyed shirts, the pink one with largest number of random white concentric circles all over the front.  

Hobson Hall was already packed when I got there.  Although I knew a few people in the hall, there were many I didn't know.   Well, that wasn't really such a strange thing since I was living in a densely populated community with lots of college campuses all around. 

I managed to get a seat up front and close to the podium.  And before long, out bounded the main speaker, a freaky looking dude in an army flak jacket probably from Nam,  long brown hair in a pony-tail,  and a fairly well mesmerizing grin. 

"Brothers and sisters, thanks for coming!" he shouted.  "I'm  Jess Willard, organizer for the local movement."

The crowd applauded warmly.  A few shouted his name.  Obviously he was well-known among members of the movement.

"I'm talkin' bout our generation," Jess went on.  "Their generation thinks we're a bunch of freaks and crazies who don't understand the real world.  Every day we face their discrimination, prejudice, and ignorance."  

He did have a knack for reaching an audience.    It didn't take him long to get the crowd with him.

"But we have a voice too," he went on, "and we proved it when we began speaking out against the war in Vietnam.   We have a voice, and they will hear us now!"

Many more began shouting his name, and  frankly I was starting to get into it too.  Yeah, in retrospect some of this was self-indulgent and narcissistic, I think I got that even back then. But that it was the time for our generation to speak up and be heard, that part was very real.

"Their generation controls everything!  The media, television, news reporting, advertising, the movies! They don't understand us,  and they don't try!  But they will hear us now!"

Now many applauded,  and some broke into cheers.  And he was right: the country was out of control and our generation had to be involved in setting it right.  I began to cheer too.

"Their generation has sold out to the twin gods of Money and Materialism!,"  Jess Willard thundered.  "We reject their values! And they will hear us now!" 

Hobson Hall erupted! 

When the thunderous applause subsided, I nervously raised my hand. 

"But Jess," I said, "we sold out too.  Probably nobody sold out worse than us Baby Boomers."  

"You're right, brother," yelled Jess, " we sold out too.   But, unlike them,  we feel crappy about it!  Every time I step over a homeless person on my way to Wendell, Billington, & Moskowitz where I'm Senior Managing Corporate Attorney, I feel like complete shit." 

The throng rose to their feet.  At least those that could rise to their feet  rose to their feet.  

"Yes," shouted everyone in unison, "we all feel like complete shit!"

"Don't trust anyone under 55!"  yelled Jess.

The crowd wheezed its approval!

At once, the spirit of  resistance and rebellion filled my soul.

"All Power to the Boomers!"   I cried. 

And that was the day that I joined the Revolution, all that time ago.  Although I would have preferred the slogan be "Don't trust anyone under 61."

And Gens X and Y,  make NO mistake:

WE'RE TAKING YOU DOWN!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You Can Drink All the Liquor Down in Costa Rica

Yeah,  I can probably get into that ....

My son Brandon and I are going on vacation together. Sometime next summer.

We figure an opportunity like this may never come again.  In a scant year and a half Bran will be off to college, and considering all the exciting things happening to me, I could be  --- who knows? --- yeah, probably pretty much where I am right now.

There's only one thing. The slight matter of where to go. 

"Well, Brandon,"  I said, "how about we head for that Magic Kingdom down in Orlando Florida?"

"Disneyworld?  But we've already been there."

"And we had a great time!  You and your brother got along fine,  and I think Cinderella took a shine to you ..."

"Dad, I was eight."

"So?  I know a family that goes to Disneyworld every year.  If you go there more than five times in a lifetime, I'm pretty sure you can get certified as an official Disney character."

"Dad, can we go someplace a bit more real this time?"

"Real?  Okay, well, let me .... I've got it!

"You've got what?" 

"Vegas! What happens there stays there!"

"Really? What's going to happen there?"

"Probably nothing that's worth staying there."

"Dad, I want to go to someplace real, not to an artificial adult theme park built on hype and illusion." 

"Yeah, but as artificial adult theme parks built on hype and illusion go, it's hard to beat Vegas!"

"Dad, I was thinking someplace south."

"Baltimore?"

"Even further."

"Miami Beach?   I never knew you wanted to visit our ancestral homeland." 

"No, Dad, I want to go to Costa Rica!  I've been reading up on it and talking to a few kids who've been there. It's got everything!" 

"Costa Rica!  Everything?!  Sure, there's revolutions, insurrection, dysentery!"

"Dad, Costa Rica is one of the safest countries in Latin America.  It has a long-standing stable democracy and even dissolved its army in 1948.  And you get a complete ecological experience because it has both a Pacific and a Caribbean coast."

"Half Caribbean, eh?  That's not totally unappealing.  In much of the Caribbean, they have  that really good ..."

"Dad, the purpose of the trip is for us to explore new things, not for you to make another lame attempt to relive the 60's."

"Do they have snakes there?"

"Maybe one or two, Dad."

"No snakes in Disneyworld." 

"Yeah, but on the whole ..."

"I see.  You know, Bran,  there's an old song that goes Candy is dandy but liquor is quicker...."

"'.... you can drink all the liquor down in Costa Rica, ain't nobody's business but my own.  That's Taj Mahal, Dad."

"So it is.  Okay.  Sounds all right by me." 

Can we afford it?

"Of course not!"  

"Oh."

"So let's get started planning already."

And so,  later this year Brandon and I are off to Costa Rica.  And  I'm good with it.  Just one question. 

Anybody know if they got spiders in Costa Rica?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

Hit it, Taj!