6
THE
FREE
PRESS
-
Monday,
November
14,
1994
Tattoos,
tattooing,
and
pain
by
J.
Cole,
Editor
"Hey
mom,
can
I
get
a
tattoo?"
I
kidded
with
my
mom
shortly
before
my
seventeenth
birthday.
"Sure."
She
replied.
She
didn't
think
I
was
serious,
she
later
told
me.
I
nagged
her
for
a
year,
before
my
chance
came.
Mom
and
Dad
were
going
to
Vancouver
to
help
Grama
move
into
an
apartment.
"If
you
suddenly
have
a
tattoo
when
I
get
home,
I
suppose
it
is
alright."
She
finally
gave
in,
"but
don't
blame
me
if
you
get
AIDS."
I
didn't
get
it
right
away.
One
of
my
friends
took
me
to
a
scummy
tattoo
parlour
in
Vancouver,
the
day
after
my
birthday,
where
my
friendly
tattooist,
Snake,
(or
was
it
Satan?)
carved
the
symbol
of
all
my
beliefs
onto
my
shoulder.
An
itty
bitty
little
maple
leaf,
(which
incidentally
didn't
turn
out
as
nice
as
Pam's
did,
but
I
got
mine
first)
and
amazingly
enough
it
didn't
hurt
as
badly
as
I
thought
it
would.
In
about
a
week
after
I
got
home
from
my
vacation,
and
it
had
healed,
I
broke
the
news
to
my
mom....
Wait,
Pam
broke
the
news
to
my
mom.
I
seem
to
remember
the
sentence
sounding
something
like
"So
how
does
it
feel
to
be
the
mother
of
the
tattooed
lady?"
To
say
the
least
mom
flipped!!
After
nearly
strangling
me
trying
to
see
it,
she
eventually
decided
to
get
one
herself...Copycat.
It
took
her
seven
months
to
work
up
the
courage
to
get
hers,
and
I,
being
the
cheerful
daughter,
told
her
how
it
didn't
hurt,
and
even
volunteered
to
go
get
another
one
with
her,
(as
long
as
she
paid).
I,
being
brave
and
foolish,
suggested
I
get
mine
first.
I
found
another
icon
of
my
beliefs,
the
treble
clef,
and
the
tattooist
set
to
work.
AAAAAAARRR'RRRRGGGGGH!
!
!
!
!
The
pain!
The
agony!
I
couldn't
have
picked
a
more
painful
thing
to
do!
After
passing
out
twice,
my
mom
decided
that
it
was
because
I
hadn't
eaten
all
day,
and
had
my
favourite
monthly
malady,
the
su-per-sensitive-breasts-o-doom.
This
convinced
her
to
still
get
one.
So
much
for
little
miss
tough
daughter.
Mom
said
hers
didn't
hurt
too
much,
but
tried
to
make
me
feel
better
about
it,
by
offering
"yours
was
all
outlining,
and
mine
wasn't
".(there's
a
difference
in
how
deep
the
needles
go),
because
of
my
"condition",
and
the
fact
that
my
blood
sugar
was
at
a
big
whopping
zero,
having
eaten
nothing
all
day.
ff9QMflMMMSMnMKnMMMHnMBMnMM9MBniMg
f-P
tfwvpirwr
r
TJT?
She
took
me
to
McDonald's
and
although
I
wasn't
hungry
anymore,
I
still
felt
nauseous,
and
extremely
embarrassed.
The
guy
who
tattooed
me
said
that
he's
only
ever
had
seven
women
pass
out.
I
made
the
eighth.
I
felt
somewhat
gratified
by
his
next
statement,
though.
Apparently
over
half
of
the
men
who
get
tattooed
pass
out.
I
must
admit
that
the
kind
of
pain
I
went
through
for
my
second
tattoo
was
almost
not
worth
it.
The
lack
of
pain
of
the
first
one
was
what
made
me
want
a
second.
They're
both
small,
and
can't
be
seen
unless
I
offer
to
show
them.
The
Maple
leaf
on
my
shoulder
had
garnered
some
interesting
attention
since
I
got
it,
over
a
year
ago.
A
guy
who
was
hitting
on
me
this
summer
actually
kissed
it,
like
it
was
some
sort
of
blarney
stone
that
would
give
him
luck.
And
the
treble
clef
on
my
breast
gets
a
lot
of
attention,
to
put
it
mildly.
It's
just-low
enough
that
only
a
little
bit
of
it
ever
shows,
and
it
has
thrown
some
people
for
a
curve
when
they
have
noticed
it.
Perhaps
what
surprises
people
the
most
is
my
lack
of
modesty
about
both
tattoos.
I
show
them
to
anyone
who
wants
a
look.
The
maple
leaf
is
a
little
My
Tattoo
photo
by
J.
Cole
more
awkward
to
see,
because
I
have
to
wrench
my
collar
around
and
pull
my
arm
in
a
totally
unnatural
manner,
but
the
treble
clef
is
just
a
little
tug.
I
used
to
tease
people
about
a
third
mystery
tattoo,
but
I
don't
have
one.
I
might
consider
it,
someday,
but
I
will
also
consider
heavy
sedation
before
going
through
it
again.
Because
no
matter
what
anyone
else
tells
you,
your
nerve
endings
are
different,
and
you
will-
never
know
where
you
are
going
to
feel
the
most
pain.
What
I've
heard
from
other
people
sporting
permanent
markings
vary.
Every
guy
I
have
ever
spoken
to
has
hined
about
the
pain.
But
the
women
all
say
something
different.
Pam
got
hers
on
her
shoulder
as
well.
She
said
it
hurt
like
a...
well,
words
I
don't
particularly
want
to
see
in
print.
One
of
the
girls
I
know
in
Vancouver
has
a
huge
snake
around
her
leg.
She
said
she
didn't
feel
a
thing.
The
important
thing
to
remember
about
getting
a
tattoo
is
that
it
will
be
with
you
until
the
day
you
die.
It
will
stretch
and
sag,
as
you
stretch
and
sag.
Don't
get
something
totally
spur
of
the
moment,
like
your
boyfriend's
name,
or
your
favourite
hockey
team,
or
even
the
hockey
team
you
play
on.
You
eventually
either
break
up,
decide
the
team
sucks,
or
get
traded.
When
considering
your
tattoo
options,
ask
yourself,
will
I
be
embarrassed
by
this
when
I'm
85,
and
in
an
old
folks
home?
What
I
got,
I
will
always
have.
I
will
always
be
Canadian,
and
I
will
always
be
a
singer.
Another
consideration
is
your
religious
upbringing.
I
cannot
count
how
many
times
I
had
Bible
verses
quoted
to
me
about
not
altering
your
body.
My
argument
was
then
I
should
never
get
a
haircut,
or
bathe,
or
shave,
or
wear
make-up.
What
it
all
comes
down
to
in
the
end
is
you.
Are
you
ready
to
make
a
commitment
for
the
rest
of
your
life?
Because
that's
what
a
tattoo
is.
Even
though
there
are
surgical
methods
of
getting
unwanted
tattoos
removed,
they
are
costly,
and
medical
does
not
cover
cosmetic
surgery.
On
top
of
all
that,
the
procedure
is
not
100.
There
may
be
some
faint
lines,
and
in
the
case
of
my
treble
clef,
some
dark
lines
may
stay
as
well,
because
it
is
all
outlining,
and
the
ink
goes
deep6r.
And
even
if
there
is
no
colour
left,
there
is
permanent
tissue
damage,
it's
regular
scar
tissue.
It
doesn't
tan,
and
it
has
that
plasticy
fake
skin
feel
to
it
that
large
patches
of
scar
tissue
get.
Yum.
I
like
my
tattoos,
and
I
am
glad
I
got
them
done.
They
are
a
symbol
of
what
makes
me
a
different
person,
and
no
one
else
has
the
exact
same
thing
as
I
do.
The
other
alternative
these
days
is
branding,
which
is,
you
guessed
it,
being
prodded
with
a
hot
poker,
and
getting
a
burn
scar
of
whatever
your
little
heart
desires.
Yetch.
Flesh
stinks
when
it
burns,
and
there's
no
colour.
My
friend
Kelly,
from
Vancouver
Island
got
one
at
Lollapalooza
two
year
ago.
It
got
infected,
and
he
had
to
have
it
drained
daily.
It
took
three
months
to
heal,
and
all
he
got
out
of
it
was
a
large,
red
square.
It
was
supposed
to
be
his
initials.
I
fie
QTeat
oilet
Oect
Controverffij
by
M.
Kraska
War,
abortion,
young
offender
laws,
the
chicken
vs.
the
egg
controversy.
.
.
These
are
all
worthy
topics
to
debate
among
us
intelligent,
outgoing
people,
but
nobody
talks
about
these
things
anymore,
for
a
more
important
issue
is
consuming
the
nation's
youth
TOILET
SEAT
UP
OR
TOILET
SEAT
DOWN.
Sounds
kind
of
trivial
when
you
think
about
it,
like
which
way
does
the
toilet
paper
roll
go,
paper
over
or
under,
and
does
it
matter
in
the
heat
of
the
moment
anyway?
But
that's
another
column.
This
feud
of
the
sexes
has
probably
been
going
on
since
the
beginning
of
time.
Although
back
in
the
days
of
outhouses;
the
risk
of
the
woman
forgetting
in
her
haste
to
check
for
a
seat,
the
plunge
would
be
a
lot
further,
and
frankly
more
disgusting
than
today's
convenient
toilet
bowl
format.
Today's
woman
argue
that
the
seat
should
be
down,
for
when
in
a
real
hurry
or
if
it's
dark,
they
seem
to
forget
to
check
for
a
seat
and
consequently
get
a
rude,
and
rather
wet
awakening.
Now,
assuming
that
your
average
female
uses
the
washroom
facilities
from
3
to
5
times
a
day
for
as
long
as
they
can
remember,
one
might
assume
that
checking
for
a
seat
would
kind
of
be
a
priority.
Obviously,
this
is
not
true
due
to
an
informal
poll
I
took
which
found
1
00
of
women
have
fallen
in
a
least
once
in
their
lifetime.
Also,
it
is
apparent
that
the
half-second
it
takes
to
flick
on
a
light
switch
is
far
too
time
consuming.
Now,
I'm
not
an
expert
on
female
hygiene,
but
I
would
assume
women
wash
their
hands
after
their
mission
is
accomplished,
meaning
they
would
still
have
to
turn
on
a
light
anyway,
so
why
not
turn
it
on
as
you
rush
to
your
destination?
Maybe
a
warning
system
could
be
installed
to
alert
the
user
that
the
seat
is
up.
Like1
a
car
alarm,
it
could
say
some-
thing
like
ATTENTION!
ATTENTION!
YOU
ARE
TOO
CLOSE
TO
THE
TOILET
SEAT,
WHICH
IS
PRESENTLY
IN
THE
UPRIGHT
POSITION.
PLEASE
ASSESS
THE
SITUATION
AND
FIND
WHICH
POSITION
IS
MOST
BENEFICIAL
TO
YOU.
THANK-YOU.
PLEASE
ENJOY
YOUR
VISIT.
Now
apart
form
the
obvious
financial
concerns,
the
alarm
would
probably
be
of
no
use
anyway,
as
your
everyday
female
wouldn't
have
the
time
to
listen!
So,
it
seems
that
if
women
were
to
have
their
way,
the
seat
would
always
remain
down,
thereby
forcing
the
male
to
not
only
lift
the
seat
every
time
he
makes
a
deposit,
but
to
also
return
the
seat
to
it's
original
state.
Now
is
that
fair?
No
it
is
not,
nor
is
the
opposite
fair
either.
Some
say
to
keep
the
seat
down
all
the
time,
so
the
guy
doesn't
have
to
bother
to
raise
the
seat.
This
would
be
acceptable,
except
for
two
crucial
reasons.
Number
one
is
the
"Backsplash
Syndrome",
or
B.S.
for
short.
The
man
"does
his
thing",
and
the
force
of
the
pressure
splashes
the
water
to
the
bottom
of
the
seat.
Number
two
is
the
more
obvious
reason.
The
man
will
miss
his
aim
with
having
less
room
to
shoot
for
and,
according
to
the
ladies,
us
men
have
a
problem
with
that
as
it
is.
Now,
you're
probably
thinking
to
yourself,
"Oh
no,
is
there
no
hope?
No
solution
to
this
problem?
Are
we
forever
doomed
to
fight
amongst
ourselves
till
death
do
us
part?"
Well
fear
not,
my
friends.
There
is
a
solution,
and
I'm
not
talking
about
those
fuzzy
seat
covers
which
make
it
impossible
to
raise
the
seat,
either.
No,
the
only
real
solution
is
to
keep
both
the
seat
and
the
lid
down
all
the
time,
thereby
forcing
everyone
to
lift
the
seat(s)
as
needed.
Now,
if
you'll
excuse
me,
I
have
some
fuzzy
toilet
seat
covers
to
remove.