deckwreck

Yesterday at work we noticed that a customer had a tattoo on the back of his head. His hair was cropped just short enough to show it off.

So my associate and I began to talk about it after a while. And we realized some... interesting things about a head tattoo. Now, keep in mind that I certainly don't have one, and I don't think I even know anyone who does, so this is pure speculation.

Anyway, so you decide to get a tattoo on the back of your head. When you go into the shop they naturally have to shave the corner of your skull where the tattoo is going to reside. And then, a few bottles of ink and several hundred puncture wounds later, you are the proud owner of a head tattoo. Now, here's where we thought it would get interesting. First of all, I'm sure many of you know that it kinda sucks to have to make the effort to not roll onto your brand new, freshly scabbed tattoo while in bed. But just imagine having to try and dodge a tattoo on the back of your head! Seriosuly, how much would that suck? But, hypothetically at least, it gets worse. First of all, you have a really big scab on the back of your head. And your head was shaved beforehand, but what about during the healing process? You can't very well shave over a still-healing tattoo; it would tear the scab off and fuck up the process. So then, what do you do about your hair growing back in that spot? We figured you'd just have to deal with it: the hair pushing up to the surface, through a recently closed wound, getting all matted down with blood until the hair in that region is wonderfully crusty and hopelessly attached to the scab.

Okay, seriously, how much must that suck? I don't think I'd ever do the head thing, mostly because good ol' male pattern baldness, who has already gained a foothold and is currently intent on a pincer attack around my widow's peak, would eventually reach the tattooed area and blow all of the hair off of the tattoo like so many grass clippings. But anyway, I thought that was kinda weird and gross so I thought I'd share.

And in other, more pertinent news, my Anthro professor decided to change the date of our final exam from next Wednesday to, of course, today. And this was announced, of course, yesterday!

Now ain't that just wonderful? So last night I got home from work and hit the books. Well, really just
the book; you see, I hadn't been able to track down this ethnography we were supposed to read all semester. I finally, finally found it yesterday (used at the bookstore, so I guess someone had already sold it back), and so last night I had the awesome opportunity t display my incredible abilities of speed reading, comprehension, and retention. Thank god I actually posses such abilities, because otherwise I would have been severely fucked. So I headed to Munchx0r's place for one of our increasingly more common study parties, stayed up all damn night, and finished the book.

And I totally, totally rocked the exam. I got one wrong (what is the type of subsistence used by nomads who follow around herds and gain their sustainance from the animals) because my brain decided to be a bastard and not retrieve the information when I asked it to (the answer is pastoralism, but since the lights were left on while my memory took a holiday I wrote animal husbandry).

Also, the professor handed back the field notebook projects today. You may recall me griping about that (again, waited until the last minute) a few weeks ago. And, suprisingly (well, not really; I always do way too much work on things like this, end up convinced that I did it wrong, and then get a good grade), I not only did well on it, I fucking aced it! Brag, brag, brag. Now, I'm a dork and I love it when I get nice little notes throughout and at the end of a graded paper (actually, the best compliment I've ever recieved academically was a note on the tail end of an analytical essay for world history my freshman year; for some dumbass reason I thought the essay was due a few days after it was, but the professor let me turn it in late after I told him so. When I got it back, it had a big A+ and a note that read "Really a brilliant essay. Nice job." And this was after I had turned the damn thing in two days late, and from a professor I really liked and respected), and according to the notes scribbled onto that journal she was very impressed with my work (especially the fact that I, while observing a tattoo studio, actually got a tattoo. I'm hardcore!). I mean really impressed; as I was walking out after turning in my exam, she called me over to her desk and told me that if I had any of the assignments I missed I could email them to her and still get credit. So it looks like I have a B locked up in there, and will most likely make an A. Awesome. Especially since I'm on the verge of failing the first class I've ever failed in all my 15 odd years of schooling.

On another note, I'm currently reading Generation of Swine by Hunter Thompson. It's been a while since I've read anything of his, and so far this one is awesome. I'm such a ludicrously rabid fan of Thompson's writing; I've actually been know to cuss out the odd hippy raving about Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas because of "how awesome it was that he did so many drugs." Uncultured swine.