Post 100: Everybody’s Got a Tattoo Except for Me and My Monkey

In the days I’m urged to call the punk rock shambles of my misspent youth, I would sometimes descend into a paralyzing--if undisciplined and fuzzy--philosophical inquiry concerning a matter of commitment and authenticity many in my tribe considered of grave importance: to get a tattoo or to remain un-illustrated. This was a big deal. It…

Rockabilly Boogie

I first encountered it years ago when, rattling around the greasy alleyway flanking the belles lettres, I crashed in a bit beer woozy through a disused side door in zips, boots, jacket, chains, and an erratic psychobilly pompadour held together with NuNile pomade and Aqua Net spray (it’s true!). Though I hadn't yet the words…