"OK, I want you to lean back and breathe normal. Tell me if it hurts at all alright?"
The room smells strongly of disinfectant and latex. I can see a wide array of needles on a table to the side and in the background there is the hum of an autoclave.
This is not a scene from a dentist's or doctor's office. This is me laying on my back in the local tattoo and piercing parlor while a pretty young friend of mine stretches my ears up to the next size. There really isn't any pain; I've had double flares in for months now and going to just a straight zero is really nothing. The jewelry slides in with no problem and she secures the o-rings. Another notch in the 'why do you do this to yourself?" parental meter I'm sure my mom and dad have somewhere.
It really is a good question though.
Why do we do this? Why stretch the lobes of our ears to the ridiculous point, forcing through chunks of glass and stone? Are we living up to our primeval instincts, hearkening back (and often not very far) to a time when tribesmen routinely decorated their bodies in this way? The Flintstones may have seemed ridiculous, but really, is it weirder to wear a bone in your hair or in your ear?
Tattoos, to me, raise the same problem. Why? But there is also a compulsion there, at least for me. They are a thing of beauty. I've personally dated many girls with tattoos, sometimes longer than their personalities should have dictated. But that gorgeous body art kept my attention away from places it should have been focused. Now, I'm considering getting my own: the original John Tenniel illustrations to Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass as sleeves, augmented with card and chess themed motifs to fill in blank space. But still, why get a tattoo at all? The human body is pretty damn beautiful in its natural state. I've been reminded that quite a few times recently, having been involved with someone with the most perfect features and boundless intelligence I've ever encountered. She said a lot during our time of involvement and most of it I've taken to heart, but why should I ignore her when she held forth on the beauty of the unadorned body? We lay in bed and she propped herself up, staring at my plugs, and expressed her distaste for them. I smiled, nodded, while in my mind humming needles left ink stains on my skin.
Why?
For some, I've heard its the joy of the new tattoo. Some perhaps, a pain thing. Others, just enjoy the real beauty that the body modification can bring, transforming the flesh into a work of art. Maybe just being cool, for those with the tribal pieces and sunbursts flaming out on upper arms. And there is also the uniqueness, the expression of oneself.
I'm truly not sure where I fall in this argument. I hope that its because I want to express myself and also because of the beauty involved, that really all I'm doing is letting out how I truly am. But really, what I'm worried about, and what that conversation those months ago in my bed might have confirmed, is that all I really want is to be cool.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Camping for a decade
I've been working as a camp counselor for ten years now.
That might not seem like much of an achievement at first glance. So what, I've spent a week for the last ten summers taking care of over- and under-privileged kids in a cabin in the woods? But really, for me, it has become a lot more than that.
Camp is something to look forward to. Every year, meetings are held at the community center to go over the same information, but for whatever reason, this isn't a tired exercise. The meetings are fun to attend: you're seeing people that you might not have seen in a long time and meeting some new faces as well. The veterans tell the horror stories and the happy memories, all of the wonderful times that they've had at camp.
The build-up is just wonderful.
Once you're at the actual camp itself, there is a heck of a lot to take in. You have to unpack and lay stuff out on your bed, then hurry back up to the lodge so the director of the camp can blab your ear off for a bit. After that, depending on the year, you might do the ropes course as a team building exercise. Otherwise, its off to the waterfront for a long overdue dip in the lake to take your swimming test. It might be cold, but by gosh, at this point, boy does it feel good. Hopefully everyone will pass, what with you being expected to take care of the campers during their swim time. Usually, I try to enjoy this first visit to the waterfront; later ones are almost guaranteed to be fraught with clingy little kids climbing over your back.
Sometimes, there may be an awkward moment as the owner of the camp forgets that we're not all Christians and blesses the meal before we start in. After lunch, the campers arrive.
And time starts to fly.
At camp, I can't really say how it is that I deal with the assorted people I run into every year. I've had autistic kids, juvenile delinquents, and homesickness. Really, its all primarily a test of your abilities as a surrogate parent. If no one goes home the first night, consider yourself to be doing pretty good. I've dealt with barf that never got cleaned up, blood poisoning, and a pantsing epidemic. If no one gets sent to the hospital, consider yourself to be doing REALLY good.
This year, I had a bit more problems than previously. The kids were led into problematic behavior by a co-counselor with some emotional problems and a chip on his shoulder. 7 of my 8 campers got sent home (either for behavior problems or by their own choice) on the last night, and while thats disappointing for me, I don't count it as a personal failure.
I may come back next year. I'm not sure yet where I'll be or what I'll be doing. But even if I don't, I know that this has definitely had an effect on who I am and the way I behave.
Camping is fun. And I hope, that over the years, most of the kids I've taken care of have come home and said that same sentence to their parents.
That might not seem like much of an achievement at first glance. So what, I've spent a week for the last ten summers taking care of over- and under-privileged kids in a cabin in the woods? But really, for me, it has become a lot more than that.
Camp is something to look forward to. Every year, meetings are held at the community center to go over the same information, but for whatever reason, this isn't a tired exercise. The meetings are fun to attend: you're seeing people that you might not have seen in a long time and meeting some new faces as well. The veterans tell the horror stories and the happy memories, all of the wonderful times that they've had at camp.
The build-up is just wonderful.
Once you're at the actual camp itself, there is a heck of a lot to take in. You have to unpack and lay stuff out on your bed, then hurry back up to the lodge so the director of the camp can blab your ear off for a bit. After that, depending on the year, you might do the ropes course as a team building exercise. Otherwise, its off to the waterfront for a long overdue dip in the lake to take your swimming test. It might be cold, but by gosh, at this point, boy does it feel good. Hopefully everyone will pass, what with you being expected to take care of the campers during their swim time. Usually, I try to enjoy this first visit to the waterfront; later ones are almost guaranteed to be fraught with clingy little kids climbing over your back.
Sometimes, there may be an awkward moment as the owner of the camp forgets that we're not all Christians and blesses the meal before we start in. After lunch, the campers arrive.
And time starts to fly.
At camp, I can't really say how it is that I deal with the assorted people I run into every year. I've had autistic kids, juvenile delinquents, and homesickness. Really, its all primarily a test of your abilities as a surrogate parent. If no one goes home the first night, consider yourself to be doing pretty good. I've dealt with barf that never got cleaned up, blood poisoning, and a pantsing epidemic. If no one gets sent to the hospital, consider yourself to be doing REALLY good.
This year, I had a bit more problems than previously. The kids were led into problematic behavior by a co-counselor with some emotional problems and a chip on his shoulder. 7 of my 8 campers got sent home (either for behavior problems or by their own choice) on the last night, and while thats disappointing for me, I don't count it as a personal failure.
I may come back next year. I'm not sure yet where I'll be or what I'll be doing. But even if I don't, I know that this has definitely had an effect on who I am and the way I behave.
Camping is fun. And I hope, that over the years, most of the kids I've taken care of have come home and said that same sentence to their parents.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Run for Fun?
A popular topic among people my age is how we stay in shape. We all want to have that perfect, toned body so that when we meet that someone, we'll have at least a fleeting chance to crawl into bed with them before our personalities scare them away. I'm joking, but only slightly. In any case, whenever this topic comes up and I say that I'm a runner, I invariably hear the remark "You run for fun? I could never do that, I hate running." On the spot, its tough to come up with a response to that, beyond the simple yes, but really there are a lot of good reasons to run.
We've all had the physical benefits of running hammered into our heads from the first time we had to do "The Mile Run" in gym class for the Presidents fitness test. It'll help you breathe better, increase your stamina, cut down on body fat and all that jazz. But there are other things, mental and social benefits that I've noticed from my years doing track and then just getting out and beating my shins against sidewalks.
For me, there has been a kind of progression in the areas that I run in. In highschool, I was usually running on a track or on suburban sidewalks, down streets where middle class families lived with their one and a half kids. During this time, my friends and I would talk, catch up on the latest school gossip, tell dirty jokes and occasionally blow off practice to crash an apartment complex pool. The people I ran with usually didn't do any sports that weren't running related. These weren't the football or basketball players; we were a different group, and one that took damn pride in what it was that we did. Even though most of us weren't the most popular, we had a group of friends, a built in social status that kind of protected us. Because we were runners, at times it felt like we belonged more. I'm a bit of a geek: a writer, gamer, and I was in Tae Kwon Do, which while impressive in theory I think, most people didn't treat it as a real sport. But through running, I became respected for something other than academics. Don't let this imply that I was some kind of Cinderella story: the misanthrope who gets made fun of but through sports becomes popular and accepted. I was decently popular with a group of my own friends and known by most social cliques in the school, but during track, you became more than that. Even though you were almost all running events seperately, you became a part of that bigger thing, a team.
Once I graduated and moved on to college, I was living in the dorms. Several times a week, I'd go out for a run, whether over at the IM sports center, or just running on the many trails through campus. It really helped to relax me. I just finished college two months ago and looking back, I can say that I was stressed for a good portion of my time there. When I was a science major, there was always some kind of math or chemistry homework to do, biology to review or lab work to complete; I felt like I had little free time for myself. When I broke down and changed my major over to English, I was still reading and writing almost constantly. One of the few times I could let my mind wander was when I was out wearing ridiculously light clothes, forcing myself to run up just one more hill. When the rest of my body was busy, my mind was mostly checking out the scenery around me or perhaps thinking over some problems I had developed recently. I can't say how many times I managed to solve something on a run that I had been thinking over for days previous.
Now, I've kind of continued that trend. The area I run in now is a bit more slummish; I run past bums, and drunks, and probable gang members, as well as down around the Capital, past politicians and construction workers. I've had to dodge around wet cement and places where dogs crapped on the sidewalk. But really, the area and the people don't matter. I still get smiles and waves when I say hello as I go by. My mind is still working constantly, and I've done some of my best writing after returning from a long sweat fest. My depression has become less and I've just been in better and better moods.
So run for your social life. Run for your mood. Run for your mental health. Run for your intellect. And heck, you might even have a little bit of fun at the same time.
We've all had the physical benefits of running hammered into our heads from the first time we had to do "The Mile Run" in gym class for the Presidents fitness test. It'll help you breathe better, increase your stamina, cut down on body fat and all that jazz. But there are other things, mental and social benefits that I've noticed from my years doing track and then just getting out and beating my shins against sidewalks.
For me, there has been a kind of progression in the areas that I run in. In highschool, I was usually running on a track or on suburban sidewalks, down streets where middle class families lived with their one and a half kids. During this time, my friends and I would talk, catch up on the latest school gossip, tell dirty jokes and occasionally blow off practice to crash an apartment complex pool. The people I ran with usually didn't do any sports that weren't running related. These weren't the football or basketball players; we were a different group, and one that took damn pride in what it was that we did. Even though most of us weren't the most popular, we had a group of friends, a built in social status that kind of protected us. Because we were runners, at times it felt like we belonged more. I'm a bit of a geek: a writer, gamer, and I was in Tae Kwon Do, which while impressive in theory I think, most people didn't treat it as a real sport. But through running, I became respected for something other than academics. Don't let this imply that I was some kind of Cinderella story: the misanthrope who gets made fun of but through sports becomes popular and accepted. I was decently popular with a group of my own friends and known by most social cliques in the school, but during track, you became more than that. Even though you were almost all running events seperately, you became a part of that bigger thing, a team.
Once I graduated and moved on to college, I was living in the dorms. Several times a week, I'd go out for a run, whether over at the IM sports center, or just running on the many trails through campus. It really helped to relax me. I just finished college two months ago and looking back, I can say that I was stressed for a good portion of my time there. When I was a science major, there was always some kind of math or chemistry homework to do, biology to review or lab work to complete; I felt like I had little free time for myself. When I broke down and changed my major over to English, I was still reading and writing almost constantly. One of the few times I could let my mind wander was when I was out wearing ridiculously light clothes, forcing myself to run up just one more hill. When the rest of my body was busy, my mind was mostly checking out the scenery around me or perhaps thinking over some problems I had developed recently. I can't say how many times I managed to solve something on a run that I had been thinking over for days previous.
Now, I've kind of continued that trend. The area I run in now is a bit more slummish; I run past bums, and drunks, and probable gang members, as well as down around the Capital, past politicians and construction workers. I've had to dodge around wet cement and places where dogs crapped on the sidewalk. But really, the area and the people don't matter. I still get smiles and waves when I say hello as I go by. My mind is still working constantly, and I've done some of my best writing after returning from a long sweat fest. My depression has become less and I've just been in better and better moods.
So run for your social life. Run for your mood. Run for your mental health. Run for your intellect. And heck, you might even have a little bit of fun at the same time.
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