Cranial Matters

     I consider myself to be a fairly astute and intelligent human being. I’d like to think I have my head on straight. Well, as it turns out, it doesn’t really matter what direction you put your head on; it’s that gooey gray stuff INSIDE that counts. Cranial Matter. It matters. I am enrolled in an internationally known University. I have recently been inducted into an honors society for my work in foreign languages. I spent a year abroad where I developed native fluency in another language. I have a tattoo that says "to put" on my back. Wait. Did she just say that? The record scratches to a stop, everyone leans a little closer to the page, and suddenly this story gets much more interesting. Yes, I know, one of those things is definitely not like the other. Intelligent woman. Seriously less than intelligent choice of permanent tattooing.

      I was an enthusiastic 18-year-old young woman when I walked into Eddie’s Tattoos on a cold day in October. The sole witnesses to the crime were my freshman year roommate and my now x-boyfriend. This certain x-boyfriend had a tattoo on his left shoulder blade in Chinese calligraphy that said, supposedly, "REBEL." I’ll bet it said "good for nothing, lazy, moody, has no taste whatsoever in birthday presents," but maybe that’s just my own personal opinion. At the time, though, I thought that the rebel tattoo was the coolest thing I had ever seen. I was eighteen. Never mind that up until then the coolest thing I had seen was Jurassic Park (the special effects were pretty unprecedented, were they not?) I decided that I, too, would like a permanent fixture to my body in a foreign language. In retrospect, writing "pizza" on my body would have been WAY cooler than what I finally decided on. I think I would have made a lot more friends that way. Who doesn’t like pizza?

      Feeling far superior and much more adventurous for those pre-drawn tattoos they display on the walls at tattoo parlors, I decided to exercise my so-called creative intelligence, and asked for a Chinese dictionary. The tattoo artist arched his eyebrow in a practiced questioning gaze, but I decided that the fact that the man was more paint than human negated any criticism on his behalf. I opened the book, and turned to the word that meant the most to me. "Freedom". I will not get into the meaning behind the choice, but no, it has nothing to do with nudist colonies or the perfume by Ralph Lauren. Next to the word was a humble-jumble of symbols and phrases in what I assumed was the Chinese language, and figuring it was an and/or kinda deal, I picked one with my trusty eeny-meeny-miney-moe strategy, sat down, rolled up my sleeve, and had the deed done.

      Almost three years later, I still loved that tattoo. Not only did it mean an honorable thing, but it looked pretty cool, too. I had gotten nothing but compliments from it, and nods of approval when I responded to the endless "what does it mean?" with "freedom." I was cool. I was SO cool. So, naturally when I was studying in Italy last year and I met a girl who spoke Chinese, I eagerly pulled my shirt down to proudly display my tattoo to her. And then there was silence. And I thought, "boy, she really must be impressed," believing I was the perfect embodiment of freedom and American democratic principles. And then there was laughter. And more. And there were tears falling down her face, and I sat down and poured myself a drink, because I figured that a glass of wine would make what she was about to tell me go down a LOT easier. As it turns out, it didn’t, but at least it made my ears fuzzy for 10 minutes. She picked up my wineglass and put it heavily down on the table, saying "PUT." I thought I knew what she was getting at, but I tried to ignore her by taking an active interest in the plant growing out of a pot near the kitchen window. She picked up the glass again and put it heavily down on the table, and wiping tears of laughter from here eyes, stated "PUT!" again, and I just wanted to curl up in a corner somewhere and forget that:

      1. Chinese exists.
      2. I know it exists.
      3. I know absolutely nothing about it
      4. I chose to place a symbol from this language on my back permanently

      As it turns out, there was absolutely NO and/or situation whatsoever. There were two symbols, and I needed to have both on my back. What would Tweedle Dum be without Tweedle Dee? A guitar with no strings? McDonalds without the Big Mac? Barbara Streisand without her nose? TO SET without FREE? The answer is nothing. Exercising my freedom and right to do stupid and ignorant things, I got "TO SET" permanently inked in my back.

      And regrets? YOU try going around with a tattoo that says "to put" on your back, and see how much YOU love it! Of course I regret it. I don’t regret the tattoo, because I still love it, and it’s QUITE the conversation starter now. I regret, however, that I didn’t put more pressure on that gray stuff between my ears to let me know when I’m about to do something incredibly idiotic. I think I’ll start a support group. WTA. Wrong Tattoos Anonymous. And I’ll laugh at the guy who had Vanilla Ice emblazoned on his back (how could he have known?), and then I’ll laugh at me. Student, Young woman, and recovered veteran of cranial misuse. Trust me. It won’t happen again. I’ve switched to Henna.

--Meg Ritchie