The Contradiction Between Beauty and Ink

Hello, faithful audience. Do you feel smothered yet, or is this a nice break from my months of silence?

I actually haven't decided if I'll post all of these existing blogs I've written over the past few weeks all at once, or if I ought to space it out over a week or two. There's a very real danger of some of them never seeing the light of day (or at least the cold, artificial light of your computer screens) if I don't post them all once I have the internet at my place. It ought to be soon, because we twenty-somethings can't survive too long without Netflix.

On a side note, I'm officially blaming Facebook for my frequent silences on my blog. I always check it early in my cycle of websites, and after spending fifteen minutes on Facebook, I usually just want to get off the computer. That, and my social life. Since I've moved, I spend much more time alone, and therefore not discussing these things with actual people.

So, in theory, if I became a hermit, I would probably start posting like twice a week. So if anyone rabidly wants my thoughts published here, feel free to maroon me somewhere awesome. I only speak English fluently with some French and Spanish, so there's a whole mess of countries to choose from.

Anyway! I could write a whole other post about the internet and the weird combinations of isolation and community and artistic productivity, but now I'm going to talk about what I actually started with before I got distracted by kittens and musing about the internet.

There I was at work on sunday morning, taking orders and running the register, when this old dude and I start talking about my tattoo, and the conversation ended with, “You're too pretty to do any more of that.”

And then I laughed, because that's the career I'm planning on, and it's a three-quarter sleeve we're talking about. I've never seen anyone one get a sleeve and stop there. Aside from the three other tattoos I already have, I've got a few more planned.

But what I'm not clear on is the thinking behind what he said. Does having tattoos make me less pretty? No. I look exactly the same. My tattoo artist has told me several times I have wonderful skin; it's pale and smooth and it holds color really well, so it's suited beautifully for tattoos.

Also, why would tattoos make me look bad when having brightly colored hair isn't a problem? If the argument there was for the natural body being the ideal, why, sir, are you running around clean-shaven with glasses and a crew-cut?

I've never understood why it's okay to artificially color your hair blonde or black or red, but not to have pink or green or blue hair. None of those are your "natural hair" color, and if it exists on the color spectrum, it's technically a “natural” color. Blue appears in nature, as do the materials used to make things change color.

How is your burgundy hair with platinum blonde highlights any more professional than my pink and black hair?

I've tangented. Sorry.

My point here is that I don't get why people have a problem with some body modifications. If they're sanitary and not dangerous, who cares what people look like? Nature creates some impressive freaks, so why do we have issues with people altering themselves to suit their own preferences. And I say this as someone who opposes screwing with your natural body in most ways.

But I want to decorate my body the same way that I decorate my space. It's very similar for me to put art on my body and to put art on my walls.

I'm not talking about sex-changes, or cosmetic surgery, or whatever right now. That's probably a different post. During which I'll have to talk about the tiger guy, or the puzzle piece dude, or the tattooed, skin-condition girl, and horns and such.

I just don't get why people seem to be offended by tattoos. Over half the population over eighteen years old has at least one. And lots of people have tons. They're common and loads of perfectly respectable people of all ages have them.

Also, why do they feel like they have the right to tell me what I should and shouldn't do with my body? Do these people also go up to petite girls and say, “you're too pretty to have any babies. What do you think those hips are going to look like when you get old?” Or fat people?

I suspect this ties into all of the madness with everyone making women feel like they aren't allowed to have autonomous bodies. Maybe that's my feminism talking, but I seriously doubt that men ever hear that bollocks.

Seriously. Can you imagine seeing anyone go up to a twenty-something guy and saying, “you're too handsome for tattoos. What will you look like when you get old?”

My answer for that was, “I'll look like this, but older.”

The Problem with Relativists

Hello, future audience. This whole not having internet thing has been interesting. Kind of a mixed-blessing type deal, but I'm kind of over it now. I do feel kind of cool right now thinking about the fact that the things I'm writing right this second are going to be read by future Taryn and a handful of other future people. It makes me think of Stephen King talking about how writing is basically telepathy across time in On Writing. (Which is a fantastic read. I highly recommend it.)

Anyway! The topic at hand, in case you weren't aware is Relativism and why I hate it. More specifically, it's relativists and why I hate talking to them. About relativism, anyway.

A couple of weeks ago, I had a really interesting conversation with a few people at a friend's house, because I hang out with the kind of people where we were all sitting at my friend's kitchen table (Michael, if you ever read this, I mean you), all having just made shots and drinks and whatnot, and his roommate sat down and started a discussion about the difference between ethics and morality. We spent a decent while on that, defining each and discussing our individual conceptions of both, but then we necessarily turned to the idea of objective/subjective morality, which is what we spent the majority of the night talking about.

I gave our lone relativist kudos for facing both me and Michael undaunted, since we both have some similar views on the cosmos and its objectivity, and I get very loud and animated when I argue.

Anyway, the whole thing ended with me demanding to know why he was even arguing with me if all of our perceptions were equally valid.

This is my issue with relativism, boys and girls: If everyone is right, then you can not, by the very nature of your argument, argue with me about anything. In a subjective universe, my perception dictates my entire reality and it is all just as true as yours is.

If you espouse that, then you can't even try to defend that, because every argument will go, “You're wrong because blah blah blah.”

“That's your reality, and that's what's true for you.”

No defense. Not even disagreement. Because you can't disagree with anyone about anything because it all becomes a matter of individual opinion.

For some things that's a totally sensible way of doing things. Like, when I say that icecream is probably the best thing in the world, and you say you're lactose intolerant, that's totally valid. I'll laugh at you and eat all of the icecream, but that is actually a thing that does depend on the individual, because it's a matter of preference that doesn't depend on an objective standard.

Let me be clear here. I believe in an objective reality that we necessarily experience subjectively by virtue of having individual perspectives. Morality and ethics are slippery things, but mostly they depend on having or not having an objective standard to refer to. I also don't take issue with people disagreeing with me. I had no problem with this guy being a relativist, apart from the fact that I think relativism is stupid and obviously flawed beyond use. Presumably he had reasons for arriving at the conclusions he did, just like me and everyone else.

My problem was that debating with a relativist is like having a cage match with a pacifist. It's a contradiction to the entire philosophy and a waste of everyone's time.

That said, I think humans might benefit from lending more validity to subjective experience. We seem to think that everyone who perceives differently from us is always wrong or threatening or inhuman. Empathy goes a long way in that respect.

I'd Rather Be Blogging

*This, my dear, deprived audience, was written not long after I moved, so like around three weeks ago. It's been sitting on my desktop with a few other files waiting for your voracious eyes.*

Hello, theoretical readers.

As I was on my way home today, beginning to roughly compose this post, I was originally planning on starting with an explanation of my sleep and internet deprivation, but then I went on a mental tangent, and now I feel the need for a sentimental side note.

I don't think you guys have any idea how much it actually means to me that I'm actually growing a real audience. Not so much on my blog, but as an artist aspiring to professional art, it makes me ecstatic to know that people not only like my work but actually want to see more of it. Every single Favorite, upvote, share, bookmark, like, and comment is a victory for the part of me that keeps insisting that maybe I could actually do this. So thanks for that, guys. You don't hear about me celebrating the number of followers I have (unless you've heard about my newly founded religion, that is), or being excited about my pageviews, but I totally do, so thanks for that, those of you who I know and those I don't. Almost more you guys, because you have no obligation to be supportive and you don't already love me as the shiny human thing I am.

Anyway, now that rubbish is out of the way and can't be unsaid (I say while typing in an unsaved document without internet), on to the actual ranting you guys really come here to read!

As previously mentioned, I was driving home from work today, and for at least half the drive, I was behind this guy with a bumper sticker that said, “I'd rather be riding my Harley Davidson” with the logo and all that nonsense.

Every single time I see those horrible bumper stickers—“I'd rather be running, biking, swimming, kayaking, fishing, etc” (Can we tell I live near the mountains?)— I mentally scream, “No you wouldn't, dickhole! If you would actually rather be biking, you wouldn't be driving that douchey SUV!” Because they could be biking. That is a perfectly feasible way to travel in the city for like half the year. Even for things like rock-climbing, I still say “You could be.” No, you can't always be a responsible human being and only do the things you want to do all the time, but you also have the option to be be irresponsible and awesome.

Like many things, this annoyance translated to a larger issue in my head; very frequently, I hear people say “Oh, I wish I could do ____,” and my usual response is “So do it,” even to things like “I wish I could be a professional silk dancer in the circus,” or “I wish I lived in a house-boat,” or “I wish I could build a hover car.” Because usually what prevents people from doing those things, even the awesome ones like putting a ball pit trampoline room in their basements, is something as stupidly simple as that they just aren't willing to pursue it.

It's not a hugely complicated idea to pursue doing what you want to do. Yes, in practice, maybe it's a little (or a lot) more difficult to make a living as a professional Netflix Browser, but a lot of how possible that actually is depends on ow much work you're willing to put into it and how dedicated you are to making it happen. And I say that as someone who hopes to make my living by playing with paint and pens and tattoo equipment and computers.

It's like reading. I can't describe to you how cool it sounds to get paid for reading. In one of my recently favorite moves About Time, the protagonist's future wife tells him that she's a reader for a publishing house, and he says something like, “No. That's like saying, 'what do you do?' 'Oh, I'm a breather. I breathe for a living,'” and that's kind of how I feel about that idea. BUT I haven't gone around to publishers asking about becoming a reader or an editor, and do you know why? Apart from all of the inevitable disappointments and mountains of crap you'd have to read through, it's mostly because I haven't decided to do that and then taken steps to make that a reality.

Yes, biking to your job twelve miles away from where you live is going to be tiring and time-consuming and sweaty, but you could do it if you were willing to put in the work. And that's my problem, dear children. THEY DON'T ACTUALLY WANT TO.

Don't say you'd rather be doing something you aren't even trying to do. Either put your money and time and effort where your mouth is, or stop bitching that you want something else.

This is something I've definitely been learning for myself lately, and it's both awesome and frustrating. The days that I don't want to drive all the way down to the tattoo shop to sit and watch and talk and ask questions, or when the juices aren't flowing and I don't want to draw something crappy and uninspired, are the days that I put on my grownup voice that I use to ask small children if they want to lose the toy they're playing with, or miss snack, or sit in time-out, and go, “Rachel, how much do you actually want to make this happen?”

As a very eloquent, Floridian gentleman once said, “Nut up, or shut up.”

I'm Not Dead!

This is me, by the way. Coming out from under a rock.

I just thought I'd take a couple of minutes to let you guys know that I didn't cease to exist, or anything. I just was in the process of moving, and then I didn't have internet for the last month or so. But as of last night, my roommate and I (mostly me, since I don't have a smartphone) have rejoined the 21st century! I have a few posts already written from my time under a rock, so I'll post those over this next week or so.