Thunder & Angels

So, Christopher Mansfield claimed that he wasn't going to post to Fences' facebook anymore and that their manager would just be posting pertinent information from here on out.  I think he lied.  But I'm pleased that he did, despite the tears that just welled up in my eyes.

My grandmother always used to say that thunder was the angels bowling.  It's a phrase I hadn't thought of in quite some time.  Seeing this post just brought so many memories flooding back, both good and bad.  I don't believe in God but I do like to believe that there is some sort of afterlife where our souls carry on long after our bodies quit.  I know that, wherever she is, my grandmother is still watching over me.  And I know she and Grandpa, who were both avid bowlers back in the day, are probably part of the ruckus taking place in the sky today.

There's No Place Like Home

I grew up in a small, rural town in upstate NY.  Before the farm down the road was sold and divvied up into plots for new homes, my road--about a mile long--held 5 houses.  Corn, alfalfa, and assorted other plant life sprang up in the fields; cows were raised around the corner.  My brother and I, along with our neighbors, spent summers laying in between the stalks and stems, staring at the stars or hiking along.  We spent countless hours playing in the creek and catching fireflies.  When winter rolled around, we would build snowmen and igloos and go sledding down the giant hill until our fingers were numb. 

I never took that for granted.  I was a "country bumpkin," as my dad would put it, and I loved it to the fullest.  I lived for the outdoors and hiking and camping and canoeing and fishing; I never got the appeal of "city living."  I would spend a week around Christmas or Easter and a few weeks in the summer visiting family in Brooklyn and, while I loved every second of the visits, I always thought "I could never live in a city!"  I needed grass under my feet.  I needed a huge yard with neighbors out of sight, not just blocked by fences or some shrubbery.  I needed the creek that ran through our backyard.  I needed the Milky Way.  I did NOT need the sounds of buses and upstairs neighbors.  I did not need the smell of what my grandma's foreign neighbors were cooking each night.  I did not need grimy feet and garbage blowing around from the sidewalk.

When it came time to settle on a college, I worried.  Every school that had my program of choice was in a major city (or what felt like a city in comparison to my hometown).  My decision to attend UNH gave me some relief, since the student population was so small and the move was only temporary.  After undergrad, I stayed at UNH for my Master's.  Since graduate housing did not exist, I moved into my own apartment in New Haven.  I was surrounded by identical brick buildings and concrete as far as the eye could see.  From my kitchen and bedroom windows, I could see a gas station, a package store, and some run down (mostly student-rented, mostly frat) houses.  I reminded myself again and again that "this is only temporary."

But you know what?  City living has grown on me.  I enjoy having civilization at my fingertips.  I don't have to drive 20 minutes on highways just to do my shopping.  My friends are close.  Major cities are a short trip away.  And, notice, I didn't say a short drive away...public transportation exists.  Buses get me to and from work daily and I can hop a train or bus to countless places.  I can jump in my car, get on the highway and be in Providence, Boston, or Philadelphia in less than 3.5 hours.  In the four years that have passed since I completed grad school, I've learned not only to love city living but I've also grown accustomed to it.  I get weirded out when I go somewhere without streetlights.  Places with a lack of public transportation frustrate me.  Not being able to grab a cab home from the bar seems utterly ridiculous.  And having to drive 30+ minutes to get to Target?  No, thank you.

New Haven, Connecticut, New England in general, have an abundance of parks and beaches to keep me content and in touch with my roots but that's not to say I never get homesick.  There are nights where I long to see more than a handful of stars in the sky.  Where I'd love to hear a babbling brook instead of my neighbor's car alarm.  But this new life makes me appreciate home all the more.  There's a huge contrast between the two places, both in terms of the positives and negatives, but home will always be "home" and it will always win the beauty contest.

I returned to NY over the weekend for my 10 year reunion (it's terrifying how fast time has gone by!).  It was the first time in over 5 months that I had been back (and, really, last time hardly counts as it was only for approximately 12 hours) so I took full advantage of relaxing...and napping...in the sun and taking countless photos around my parents' yard. 

The creek that runs behind my childhood home.

Saw so many of these little guys running around this weekend.

This view will never, ever get old.

This is what I see every time I sit on the porch with my cup of tea!

The City of Brotherly Love, history, and tattoos!

Before the first weekend in June even ended, all I could think about was how excited I was to write about it, how much I wanted to share my adventures on here.  But, for some reason, every time I sat down to write, the words wouldn't flow.  And then I figured out why.  I felt like I was going to have to defend or justify my post, my trip, my spending of money, even though it affected no one but me.

These last few months, I've done my fair share of complaining and fretting, both verbally and via the Internet, regarding my current living/job/financial woes and concerns.  And even though I shouldn't feel obligated to explain myself to anyone, I'm going to preface the remainder of this post with the following:

My friend Krystal and I have made a habit out of attending the Philadelphia Tattoo Arts Convention the last few years.  We've always had a phenomenal time hanging out with friends who were working the convention and meeting amazing new people and artists.  This year, unfortunately, the convention fell just prior to Valentine's Day which is a super busy time at Krystal's job.  We were bummed knowing that our annual tradition wouldn't be feasible this time around.  But, luckily, fate intervened.  What could possibly be better than the convention in Philly?  How about another convention in Philly, held during a much warmer season, taking place aboard a goddamn battleship?!

Photo "borrowed" from the USS Olympia's Wikipedia page

That's right, the USS Olympia, the world's oldest floating steel warship, the sole surviving naval ship of the Spanish-American war, just so happens to be docked at the Independence Seaport Museum in Philly.  And she was playing hostess for a tattoo convention from June 1-3 of this year.  For a nautical nerd and a tattoo junkie such as myself, it was the perfect combination...the stuff dreams are made of.  I marked the dates on my calendar and started counting down; the months could not pass by fast enough.

With all the worrying that started overtaking my mind on a daily basis, I started to wonder if I should just cancel my plans.  As someone who always errs on the side of caution, I went against everything my brain was telling me. I ultimately decided that this was something I needed to do.  Not just because it was a rare opportunity but, also, because I needed it for the sake of my mental health.  I needed an escape and a distraction from the thoughts that were consuming me.  I needed to see my friend and I needed to have fun.  And I decided I needed to use some of the money I had set aside all year for the purpose it was intended for.  I know there's a good chance I'm going to have to kiss my dreams of a DSLR camera goodbye, despite having saved $1000+ for it since August, and I wasn't going to let my tattoo fund meet the same fate.  My "tattoo money" would provide me with enough cash for admission, food, and a small tattoo.  I had been planning on this trip since the beginning of February and I wasn't going to deprive myself of it because circumstances beyond my control had presented themselves.

With that being said, my weekend was awesome, guys!  The bad aspects -- getting stuck in horrendous traffic, getting caught walking in a downpour, fainting on Pat's front steps (sorry for scaring you, Krystal!) -- were very much outweighed by the good.  After TomTom sent me on a ridiculous traffic-filled, roundabout route, I finally reached Philly.  Krystal and I began our adventures and, let me tell you, it left us with some pretty great stories and memories.

As Krystal and I walked from her home in South Philly to the Olympia on Friday night, the skies opened up and all hell broke loose.  There was nowhere to take cover from the rain and wait for a cab. Our umbrellas weren't on hand so we had no choice but to grin and bear it and laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.  We were soaked completely through before we arrived at the ship.  When I finally saw my reflection, the first thing that came to mind was when we gave my fluffy little furball of a cat, Reesie, her first bath.  It was not a good look; my bangs were glued to my forehead.  The two of us attempted to wring as much rainwater as possible out of our clothing before boarding the ship but it was no use.  Within minutes of being on board, someone from the museum staff ran over in a panic thinking something on the ship was leaking.  As we moved along, Krystal spotted an industrial fan which we promptly stood in front of in the hopes that we would dry out, at least a little.  Her ingenious plan worked and, although were were still damp, we were no longer dripping from every inch.  We were still worried about getting too close to the artwork and portfolios the various artists had on display, though!  We wandered around the 2 floors of the ship where the artists were set up and, on the second floor, met some amazing guys.

Joe and Vlad from Citizen Ink were sitting at their booth and invited us over to take a closer look, despite our sad appearance.  We explained what had happened and they kindly offered us a stack of paper towels to continue our efforts to become dry, presentable looking people.  We checked out Joe and Twace's portfolios and the available flash for acetate tattoos and fell in love.  We spent a good portion of our evening talking to these lovely Brooklynites (whose shop turns out to be only 2 blocks away from my aunt's apartment...and in a spot I've walked by hundreds of times since I was a kid) and made the decision to get tattooed by them the following day.  We paid our deposits, said our goodbyes and left, still damp but giddy.

We went back to Krystal's, changed into some dry attire, and headed to a Mexican restaurant for a night of karaoke in celebration of Krystal's friend's birthday.  I'm not one for singing at karaoke and, normally, I find myself wanting to cover my ears at other people's performances.  But this was a treat.  From an older guy singing LMFAO, among other age-inappropriate tracks, to a Fred Perry clad gentleman (I use the term loosely) singing R. Kelly's "I Believe I Can Fly," to a cover of the Smiths, it was an interesting bunch of performances.  The entertainment and the drink specials made for a delightful evening.

Fred Perry guy doing his rendition of R. Kelly

The next day started a little too early for our boozy selves.  We braced ourselves with breakfast from Wawa and wandered through the Vietnam Memorial and over to the Olympia.  Once aboard, we needed to make our final decisions.  What were we getting tattooed and, just as important, where?

I finally, after much hemming and hawing, settled on a piece of Steve Delgatto flash from 1976; a bald eagle with a banner and small flower underneath.  It was one of the acetate tattoo offerings from Citizen Ink that Twace would be doing.  Krystal eventually settled on a piece of Sailor Jerry flash (one of my favorites pieces) from Joe Khay.

Joe working his magic on Krystal.

One of the cool things about this convention (aside from being on a BATTLESHIP, have I mentioned that yet?!) was that they were doing assembly line acetate tattoos.  There were countless pieces of flash to choose from.  One artist would outline the tattoo and another would color, much like they did years ago aboard ships like the Olympia herself.  I didn't go the assembly line route and, instead, had my entire tattoo done by Twace Martinez.

Twace in action (photo from Citizen Ink's facebook page)

The stencil and the real deal (photo from Citizen Ink's facebook page)

Unlike modern tattooing, where a stencil is printed onto paper and transferred onto the skin, acetate transfers are a bit more involved.  The design is scratched directly into the acetate with a heavy needle.  The artist then fills the grooves with powdered charcoal.  This charcoal is transferred to the skin, which is usually covered with a bit of vaseline to give it something to adhere to.  Because the acetate is not as pliable as paper (think of overhead transparencies from grade school) getting the transfer to sit properly can be a chore, since not all portions of the human body are perfectly flat.  I chose to have my piece on my upper thigh and it took a few tries and relocation before we had success.  The outline itself is pretty fragile, as it's just powder sitting on top of the skin, and it was a bit of a difficult tattoo; Twace did an awesome job and we were both excited with the result. I was his first and only acetate transfer tattoo of the convention!

This promptly came off the table after my tattoo was completed.

Krystal had work that night so I spent a few hours roaming around South Street and the surrounding blocks.  I was met with vintage store after vintage store, thrift shops and all sorts of little places I loved and can't wait to visit again.  I took in the architecture and art that part of the city had to offer as well.  Philly is one of my favorite places; artwork is around every corner.  Murals and mosiacs are everywhere.

South Philadelphia: We Have The Gold!! Neighborhood of Champions.

After the hustle and bustle of the previous night and day, we decided to take things easy that evening.  Which turned out to be a good thing since I had my mystery fainting episode on Pat's steps just moments after we arrived.  We had fun chit-chatting and watching Bob's Burgers and then were regaled with stories from Pat's roommates Ed and Erich.  We didn't leave until 5am.  The birds were chirping as we arrived back at Krystal's house.

The following morning she had to work, so I wandered around Philly in search of food before I left the city.  I took a nice scenic drive through PA and into NJ where I spent the evening hanging out with Shelley and Corey, two of my favorite friends from college, and their adorable beagle Jackson.

Look at that cute little mug!

All in all, it was a wonderful weekend.  It was a nice little break from stress and something I'll reflect on fondly for some time to come.

When life hands you lemons...she sometimes surprises you with a peach.

With all the stress and uncertainty I've been feeling these last few months, it's been hard for me to get excited about much of anything.  I've gotten my hopes up about a handful of things and, unfortunately, most of those same hopes have gotten crushed.  That's not to say I haven't done anything that I've enjoyed; in fact, I just spent the weekend in Philadelphia and NJ and enjoyed it immensely.  A post about that trip is coming soon; I'm just having a hard time organizing my thoughts, stories, and photos in a way that I'm happy with.  But, back to the matter at hand: getting truly excited about something.  Something tangible, not just some lofty aspiration.

I realize how nerdy this is going to make me sound but I'm going to write about it anyway.  What am I excited (really, truly excited) about?  The tumblr account I set up for Toad's Place the other day.  I know what you're thinking right now.  "Seriously, you're excited about a stupid little blog on tumblr of all places?  For the club you work at?  What's wrong with you?"  I know that would be my reaction if I was reading this on anyone else's blog.  But, truth be told, it's something that's been putting a smile on my face despite the feelings of gloom and doom regarding the other aspects of my life.

Since I started working at Toad's, social media has been one of my responsibilities.  Initially, it consisted of myspace, then our facebook account (now accounts) and fan page, and then I brought twitter into the mix.  With everything else on my plate at work (it's kind of a jack-of-all-trades position), it got a bit tedious to update all of those outlets daily and, to be honest, it was never much fun.  Those spaces limited us to a list of upcoming events, a short blurb about the evening's performance or a new show announcement.  None of those gave me the option to share as much as I wanted or promote in a way that I believed to be effective.  For that reason, I usually pawned the responsibility off on our interns.  Over the last year, I had been thinking about starting a blog of some sort for Toad's.  A place where we could go beyond 140 characters, and share more than just a blurb.  Tumblr is giving us a chance to share information in a variety of formats.  Text, photo, video.  We can post information not just about a show but about the artists themselves.  Sure, sure, you can do that on facebook.  But with facebook your thoughts are jumbled up with every comment a customer leaves, every junk photo of a sneaker or a ticket that someone tags you in, every piece of spam someone believes one of your followers might be interested in.

Tumblr gives a nice clear, continuous stream of just Toad's Place.  The info that is pertinent to our events.  Since I set up our page on Thursday evening, I've only written 10 posts (but, in reality, due to a day off and a weekend, 9 of those were posted in the last 2 days).  I'm not only excited because I feel this is a good way to promote our events, the club, and artists as a whole, I am excited because it's making me feel like I have purpose again.  I spent almost 6 years in (and out of) college reviewing albums for our radio station.  I wrote music reviews for the student paper.  I love music and I've always loved writing about it, in whatever form.  I think my previous posts on this blog attest to that.

This tumblr is giving me a chance to do that again.  I've started off with pretty basic posts, short and sweet, but I'm eager to write posts that delve a little deeper.  That tell the story of the performer who's going to be gracing our stage.  That review a new album.  That review a show that takes place on our stage.  I'm excited to take photos of the club, our patrons, and the performances to share with the Internet.  To possibly interview some of the acts that come through, to hopefully help some of them in their journey to increase their fan base.

Already, we have a good number of people following us.  We have people interacting and asking questions.  Every time I get an email notifying me of a new question or a new follower, a grin breaks out across my face.  The joy that little page is already bringing has gotten me excited about our other social media pages again.  I've spent the last 2 days updating them all (well, not myspace) incessently.  As I was sitting on the bus, making my way home from work today, I sat back and thought about all of this.  I wish that I had an opportunity to work somewhere where this was my main priority.  To write.  To promote.  To interact with our clientele.

Just for kicks, I searched job sites for positions as a social media manager.  And I've decided something.  I'm going to ask my brother and my computer savvy friends to teach me what they know about programming, about html and the like, and build on my abilities.  Maybe, just maybe, I'll be qualified for a web-based position such as that with a company I am excited about, and can have that smile on my face every single day.