Birthdays and birthday suits.

Isn't it funny how we mark special occasions with ritualistic behavior. We blow out candles for wishes' sakes, we christen boats by smashing champagne bottles over their hulls, We extend blessings when people sneeze and yet nothing when they fart. On New Years Day many people mark the new year by jumping in the ocean, temperature be damned. Why is it so many of us when in our twenties decide to mark our birthdays by getting naked?

Is it a back to basics? Is it animal foreplay with the universe? Why do we jump into our birthday suit and start running a lap of victory? We don't necessarily call our parents and say, "Hey thanks for having the sense to not watching tv so many years ago so that you guys could make me. I really appreciate it today." I'm sure they appreciate their dna being bandied about in an uppity bar in Santa Monica with a blond bippity as jewelry on their precious labor. And yet it happens. Most of my twenties were spent with my pants dropped, my nipple exposed and my feet bare. There was always something that needed to be regarded with my physical side. In our twenties do we think that this is our only commodity? I certainly was the social one.

I had the privilege of attending a bday soiree last pm and witnessed the same behavior happening around the bar. The guest of honor enjoyed the bacchanalian worship. Other patrons in the place experienced similar joy. Maybe it's just part of the mating ritual but I can't help but see more meaning in it. It was late in the evening and yuppies were pairing up, but these acts pop up so frequently in celebratory events. It's been around for centuries. Maybe it's a tribute to Adam and Eve. Getting back to basics, as simple as it can be, and embracing joy. Exposing yourself is as old as the moon. Literally. (drops pants and moons monitor)

Sebbeth

It's an addiction this tattooing. I love my first one I got fifteen years ago, as the art form was getting it's rise.

I was in Auburn, NY and it had been an annoying day where we had done 'Aladdin' in two different venues in the same town. The load in and outs had been in the rain which made the day that much more bliss. I should also mention that this was probably our one thousandth performance of this children's theatre Chinese drip torture, we had begun in early June it was now October. I was the evil magician and if I got my hands on that little street whelp Aladdin, I would kill him; the cast was ready to kill each other. One quick corner with a magic carpet and I was going to put him right through Agrabar. Aaaaah non union theatre in the woods, it's as manly as hair on your buttocks. I digress.

Reba (The Genie) and I had decided we would get ink together and just had to get the date down. We looked at each other at the last load out and said 'Now', our bonding over ill fitting set pieces, too many c-clamps, and stinky costumes had brought us to this point. We would mark the occasion with ink, and if the pain was as good as we'd feared it would be a blessed alternative to where we had brought our lives. Don't misread this, we were overly dramatic, as was our prerogative. We were in the woods, delivering 'Quality Theater At Affordable Prices' and we'd been sharing a van with 2-3 other strong personalities. This was high drama at high altitudes. Off to Tatu Tony's just by the prison. The artist in residence, Tony, had 69 tattoo'd on his lip. We were so in the right place. Reba opted for a simple piece (I'm not sure if I should even divulge that she has one she's a soccer mom now) and mine as well. A simple Chinese character on my ankle, the pain was nothing. The worst part was the cramp I got from holding my leg up on an angle for soo long. For fifteen years I've loved my first and have eagerly wanted my second.

It's addicting. So I swore that one of the Sebbeths would be a tattoo. But what to get? And where? These were newbies problems. Get a set Spats. Get a set and get it done. Jen turned me on to an artist in the neighborhood who was clean and good. I just needed the specifics; location, art and deposit to secure an appointment. My this art form has come along way from the side of a prison. I began thinking it over and for a longtime have wanted a monkey on my back (hee hee). I narrowed the research to tribal and cartoon. I stumbled on some original Oz art and thought that might be genius. Marking my fortieth with a flying monkey, how Wicked. And it was my first professional job after college, and the first show little Julia saw me in back in 91 in Davenport Iowa. Another two stories entirely. The shop got me right in and here's my latest brethren, Balthazar (like Getty but more). I was sitting in the chair imagining where the next tattoo would be. And the next. This is addicting.