Atomic Nerds

Recently, LabRat’s mother paid us a visit. This is not a happy occasion to put it mildly, but detailing this is not the purpose for which I blow the dust out of the keyboard today.

As part of the appeasement package, some of the art museums available in Santa Fe were tapped for afternoon visits. The fact that most were located near the damnable plaza, the tourist-packed heart of the oldest part of Santa Fe, and thus not well configured for the high vehicular traffic that tourist attractions draw deterred none but me, the driver of the ginormous pick-up.

The New Mexico Museum of Art was eventually selected as the top candidate, and thus we hauled the ponderousness of the truck and LabRat’s mother directly to the plaza to see The Art.

This did not go well. Allow me to present, with minimal commentary (until later), some of the pieces of art we encountered in this fraud of an institution. File names contain additional commentary, and those that are not terribly well in focus, I’m torn between calling art and just noting that the pieces were bad enough that focus would not really help anything.

Yes, that’s construction paper on cardboard.

I’m not positive these next two were actual exhibits, but given the rest of the museum I wanted to be sure to get a snapshot just in case I was standing in front of genius.

I don’t know, this one had a light shined specifically on it so I think it was an installation piece. *rimshot*

And finally, I present the best thing in the whole damn museum:

Now, to be fair there were two, maybe three pieces that were actually interesting and worth looking at. There was a decent Georgia O’Keefe repressionist piece. By contrast, there were roughly 15-20 of those bullshit “I sloshed my brush-water on loose-leaf” pretentious troll-pieces from Richard Tuttle. LabRat left insulted on behalf of the two good artists for having their actual work displayed next to such vapid drivel, while I was insulted the institution would willingly display so much that would be best used wadded up to light the fireplace and have the gall to charge money to look at it. Or go in the fireplace as actual fuel at Blogorado. I’m reasonably certain we destroyed thousands of dollars worth of art in the firepit there this year, but luckily it’s ok because my scrap pile must be worth millions. I’m sincerely tempted to select some random chunk of battered 2×4 with a nail sticking out of it, and attempt to deliver it as an addition the artist sent to the exhibit.

In fact, y’know what? Check this out:

I made that. Right now. Between typing the colon in “check this out:” and typing this line. I dare any one of you to find an expert who will say “Nope, that’s not part of this collection of pretentious bullshit.”

I’m not strictly sure photography was allowed. Frankly I don’t care. Being thrown out would very much have been an “Oh, don’t throw me in that briar patch!” situation. Forestalling my urge to redouble my efforts into researching a way to destroy all life on the planet from my back yard, most of the guest book broadly agreed that, in the words of art critic Hilton Kramer invoking the axiom “less is more,” “in Mr. Tuttle’s work, less is unmistakably less…One is tempted to say, where art is concerned, less has never been as less than this.” One can hope that the curator in Santa Fe is similarly fired as the curator responsible for the exhibit that prompted that critique.

Finally, on the long hike back to where I finally managed to find a spot near the plaza big enough to accommodate an extended-bed extended-cab pickup, something caught my eye:

I could swear I’ve seen that emu head somewhere….
(And paging the ministry of irony, the piece is titled “Money Is Too Important To Take Seriously” and they want $3,600 for it. I actually do like it, infinitely more than anything I saw in the actual museum, but…. seriously?)

More lightweight, but a lot of people are waiting for these, so. You can still see in some angles where the skin from the freshest work is not completely and totally healed back to normal, but it was deemed good enough for photography. Click for big if you want to see more detail.

In answer to likeliest questions,

1. Of course it did, especially in the areas around my knee and achilles’ tendon. The power of small talk as a pain control measure is remarkable, though.

2. I’ve completely lost track, but it was a lot.

3. See above.

4. For reasons that I could lay out, but would probably still only make sense to me. The shortest and most broadly applicable answer is probably “because it’s pretty and makes me happy to have”.

5. Yes, and if anyone has any links to photos or books containing artwork depicting the painter’s best guess at paleolithic fauna, like the artwork of Maruicio Anton, I’d be grateful. Artist needs reference material.

Today, LabRat continued her journey to become the woman with the illustrated leg. Since there’s only so much to do while not being tattooed myself, I ducked out and wandered over to the gun store across the street, looking for primers for a friend. There were some nice looking deals on the shelves (even though primer and ammo was both on a rather tight ration), I picked up what I could, and went to watch the colorization of LabRat’s calf.

The day wrapped up, next time was arranged, and there was chit-chat and digging through a box of CDs her artist was giving away to make space. We came home with some brisket from a little place in Santa Fe that kicks ass, and prepared to settle in for the evening. Just as we were reaching for a relaxing beverage, I heard a soft scraping at the front door, and the saddest, loneliest clicking and ka-chunking ever. I opened the door and found this.

Aww, the poor little thing! I had picked this rifle up in the gun store and looked it over. The action was smooth and the bore in good shape, but the lil’ sweetie’s previous owner wasn’t too careful and she had some dings and scuffs in her stock. There’s always an asshole out there, I guess. She was sweet and affectionate, and looked like she’d fit in great with a more loving home. The damage had knocked her price down to a song, too. I went back to the tattoo shop to bounce the idea off LabRat.

The downside to that plan is that LabRat had been in the grip of endorphines and pain for a couple hours at this point. I broached the subject. “Bang-bang shooty pow *wince* funds on hand ouch fun,” she replied. I tried to decipher this statement for a while, gave up, and decided to play it safe. I guess the rifle had other ideas, since she followed me home.

Aww, she likes me. This is more or less how Kang latched on to me too, though with more slobber and stomping on my groin. I took her inside, and being a firearm and all… well… you see.

I took her around and let the rest of the family meet. LabRat approved, and noted “Aww, poor girl needs some love on these scratches…” Kodos and Kang were curious, but largely indifferent. Zydeco broke out ballistics tables and started purring. I’m kinda worried about that one, but I think the length of pull will be a bit much for him to get any accuracy. We were a little nervous introducing her to the rest of the crew- sometimes the unfamiliar will spook ‘em, and they won’t shoot right for a week- but it looks like they all get along just fine. She fit right in in her new home.

Update: Aww, I knew they’d get along!

Also, pictures now correctly click-to-embiggen. And for those who don’t memorize every gun ever made, she’s a Marlin 336 in .30-30.

Courtesy of Peter, Sherman’s Lagoon takes a peek at one of our hobbies.

What can I say, it was definitely worth a gigglesnort.

Ask and ye shall receive! Or since you probably didn’t ask, have some anyway. It’s good for you. Keeps you from developing all sorts of expectations that we’re smart or interesting on a regular basis, and really, do you want to put that kind of pressure on us? I didn’t think so.

Anyway, today was the next to last session on the back of LabRat’s leg (no word on how many are expected to finish the front), so she’s a bit knackered at the moment. The leg may not have the most sensitive portions of the human body, but three hours spent working over maybe a total of eleven or so square inches over and over and over and over and over while he gets the shading right (and so far it does look excellent) will take it out of anybody. Since I was dispatched to run errands in an attempt to rebuild some good will for calling on the services of my folks as dogsitters as often as we have been lately, and Albuquerque drivers- already not the greatest wheelmen and wheelwomen in the world- panic easily when it rains, as it was today, I’m pretty well worn myself. So to tide you over, here’s a couple of grabs from my XKCD Bank Account. Clicking will lead to embiggening. For the second one, it’s necessary to get the animation started, but be warned, it has naughty words.

You know the drill- I spent the day down in ABQ getting more of the current tattoo project worked on. This session wasn’t nearly as rough as the last one; color and shading suck so much less than outlining it’s not even funny. And the cactus flower Jason spent most of the session working on turned out awesome- I think he may turn out to be even better than Mark was. Things won’t be finished up enough to show off for quite awhile; the tattoo, when finished, will cover my left lower leg from knee to ankle, and quality takes time.

That said, if you want to see some of the other stuff Jason’s done, both on skin and more traditional canvas, check it out: Jason Radcliff

There may be slow/light blogging for awhile… as we head into May, my travel schedule gets insane until the end of that month for various reasons. Part of it is going to be without Stingray, so he’s either going to keep you supplied with content or I’m going to come home and discover he’s built that backyard breeder reactor he’s always threatened, taken off to be a privateer, and renovated the house. He tends to not so much “putter” as “turbo” when left to his own devices.

Jason the devil tattoo artist just spent some three hours and change outlining the next phase of my lower leg tattoo on the inside, from just below my knee to just above my ankle and plenty of detail all the way. Since for work on my calf I had to lie on my stomach, for once I was facing the screen playing the movies Jason likes to run during sessions and was actually able to watch. So here are capsule reviews of the afternoon’s selections, which I assure you are not at all influenced or biased by circumstances.

Texas Chainsaw Massacre, the Beginning: R. Lee Ermey delivers a surprisingly good performance as a Crazy Evil Sheriff that may well unseat my love for Ron Perlman playing basically the same role in Desperation. This movie is almost nonstop graphic, frequently pointless violence and psychological abuse of the characters and where it’s not that it’s suspense because you know graphic pointless violence and psychological abuse are coming in a minute or so. The main characters that aren’t psychopaths are a collection of one competent guy who is immediately identified by the killers as such and is the first to die, along with Captain Useless, his girlfriend the Loud Mannequin, and Worthless Woman. I had a brief moment of sympathy for Somewhat Competent Guy while he was getting skinned alive, but otherwise watching them die horribly was highly entertaining.

Verdict: The only possible way this movie could have been improved would have been by removing what little backstory there is. These people are all perfectly hateable enough without details.

300: Holy fucking shit Spartans like to talk and pose epically a lot. Talk talk TALK they never shut up. Also “you can’t go defend our civilization because it’s not war season” is the stupidest fucking reason for plot conflict I have EVER heard of in the entire multiverse.

Verdict: This movie needed a lot more battle scenes and a lot less boring emotional crap.

But if this guy invites you over for a meal TAKE HIM UP ON IT.

Duck gumbo and red beans and rice and beer from the Abita brewery in New Orleans and more wonderful fine booze than my currently mostly depleted stock could shake a stick at even when not being raided more than normal to tame the raging work drama llama, and excellent conversation all around.

Regular content resumes after we emerge from food comas and LabRat’s latest tattoo session isn’t quite so fresh and full of ouch.

About a year ago (give or take), I offered up my opinion on the changing reaction to tattoos in the U.S. Courtesy of Peter at Bayou Renaissance Man, an article has come to my attention about tattooing in Asia.

Ok, that’s kind of misleading. “Tattooing in Asia” could cover anything from the extremely meaning-specific Russian prison tattooing that borders on being a written language to the Yakuza tattooing of Japan to the Maori tribesmen to modern US style tattooing that happens to be taking place in Asian countries*. More specifically, this is focused around the Pacific Rim, and the expo under observation was in Singapore. The upshot is basically what I outlined in last year’s post: tattooing is becoming more socially acceptable as more young people get them and age with them. The interesting thing is that this is happening in cultures that have not traditionally been tattoo-friendly, at least not without some Serious Baggage attached to the process. The Maori are obviously fine with ink, for example, but their designs are so ritualized and cultural that you’re not going to see someone walking around with Tweety Bird on a shoulder in that neck of the woods. Even the Japanese are loosening up, though I understand it’s still fairly common to see “No Tattoos” signs at places like bath houses. Naturally, the big holdout is the world’s official stick-in-the-mud, hardcore Islam:

Tattoos are still frowned upon in more conservative parts of Asia, such as predominantly Muslim communities in northern Malaysia, said Eric Kueh, 27, a tattoo artist with 71st Skin Slavery in Kuching, Malaysia.

“Some of my older relatives give me a hard time,” said Kueh, whose right leg is covered in tattoos. “But for the younger generation, it’s not a big deal.”

Hmm. I may have to amend my triangle of suck. Maybe a pyramid of suck so I can bring booze in too. Anyway, back on topic. As with the muslim folks, there’s plenty of people still in this country that disapprove, rather heartily in some cases, but the numbers are dwindling. Even in such unlikely places as the National Labs here, there is very little stigma to walking around with ink. Hell, my doctor, who regularly works with old people just as part of being a doctor, is looking into acquiring some.

Also, since it is basically spinal reflex to observe that some folks are wishy-washy, there’s now on the market a type of tattoo ink that comes out entirely in just one lasering. Go for it, you commitment-phobes! Let your freak flags fly until the wind changes!

*We recently caught a fairly well done piece on the History Channel called Ancient Ink. The upshot is the host went around the world to check out various tattoo styles from the most ancient (such as thread coated with ash being sewn through the skin) to the modern machines and everything in between. When visiting Japan to learn about the hand-poke/hand-stick style, modern machine-artists in Japan did note that getting random English words and imagery is as popular there as getting random Japanese stuff is here. Well I thought it was funny.

Rumors of our slipped sanity leading to experiments with laser guided radioactive mutant monkeys are slightly exaggerated.

As LabRat mentioned in comments for yesterday, nothing particularly traumatic in and of itself happened, save one thing. Our tattoo artist went batshit and skipped the state. I don’t know all the details, and I don’t want to repeat things that may not be accurate, but what is known is that he walked off with a good size chunk of customer deposit money and left for what he apparently considers greener pastures. We were fortunate in that our long relationship with the shop meant that we didn’t have a deposit down, and Manny, the owner of Custom Tattoo was stand-up about the whole situation, preferring to break the news in person. After spending three or four years with Mark as our artist, with at least 60 hours of work between LabRat and I, this needless to say came as a bit of a shock. As Manny put it, it’s a kick in the dick. We suddenly feel like a neurotic person must when trying to pick out a new therapist. Again, we’re fortunate in that we already know both Manny and the other artist, Jason, to be highly skilled artists, so we didn’t have to look far to find someone to finish LabRat’s leg. Really, the worst part (to us) is just simply that he won’t be there anymore. Any time someone’s sense of humor and misanthropic outlook line up so neatly with our own, it sucks to have something like this happen, especially something this odd and out of character.

Moving on before this turns into a total drama laden tear fest, there is good news from the day as well. I mentioned that it looks like at least three more people are joining the pre-Obamaban gun rush, and three more armed citizens is always worth celebrating.

Some time back, a friend of mine started asking a few questions about firearms since he knew I was interested in the subject. His office wasn’t located in the most sterling part of Albuquerque (and his new office still isn’t exactly in a crime-free zone). We bantered back and forth a bit on the subject, and I answered his questions as they came up, and in general it was a pretty soft sell. He was one of those folks who support gun rights, but just wasn’t particularly interested in joining as a vested party. Yesterday, he and his wife joined us for a trip through a very well pecked over gun shop. We were along (aside from not turning away excuses to go to the gun store) to serve as someone with a bit of a clue to help out - sort of a walking bullshit detector and sounding board. The staff at Ron Peterson’s aren’t normally of the type to pull the oft-spotted “Whatchoo need h’yar is this Thunderblast 9000! Now don’t you mind that your hand cramped just from picking it up, you’ll only need to wave it around a’fore any bad guys crap themselves runnin!” schtick, and this visit was no exception, so we spent more time in the good info-dump capacity than in the bad.

The surprising part though was the unexpected third person tagging along. I’ve mentioned in the past that one of (well, more than one honestly) of my bosses have what I will euphemistically refer to as “leftward leanings.” Y’know. Of the Prius driving sort. I had a laptop for her for some work related stuff. She teased me by suggesting we meet at the Apple Store for the hand-off, so I countered back with an offer of the gun store since my day was full anyway, and promised that the bitter clingers wouldn’t give her any trouble. I figured we’d wind up with some neutral territory, but straight out of left field came her reply that not only would the gun store be fine, but by the way at some point maybe you could give me some advice on buying a gun.

LabRat swears my expression was priceless. I wouldn’t know, since I was too busy trying to keep dust bunnies from rolling into my mouth off the floor from where my jaw dropped.

So, lather, rinse, repeat. She amazingly wasn’t aware of Obama’s record on liberty restriction (or at least this aspect of it), but took it in stride, asked intelligent questions, and had two specific purposes (home defense, as she lives alone quite a way out in the boondocks, and the possibility of having to put a sheep, horse, or goat down in an emergency) in mind to make sorting through everything easier.

My friend and his wife, I know are going to buy something. I know this because his wife told me “Oh, I know how he gets. It was like this with his cigars and camera stuff. Pretty soon the house will be filled with every laser, light, holster, and other gadget and we’ll have two or three dozen guns and he’ll be asking you about a full-size safe.” I think that’s a good sign. As for my boss, I wouldn’t say she’s absolutely a sure thing, but I’ll note she certainly did like the Springfield XD she was checking out…

Oh, and whatever assholes on the road were responsible for the drive from Albuquerque to Santa Fe taking two fucking hours can choke on rancid whale blubber and water ski at Seal Island. Albuquerque to Santa Fe is normally about a half hour to 45 minutes, and those pricks kept me from getting to the homebrew store!