somnambulance

so.

you probably think this one’s gonna be about tattoos. or that it’s another convoluted, self-defeating (ie. self-centered) jeremiad about some vaguely intangible shortcoming i’m convinced i have. i would understand those expectations, given my track record so far.

but nope. not today.

today, we are going to talk about basketball. that’s right, basketball. i am going to spend all my time tonight (time that would probably be much more adequately spent drawing a tattoo i have to start tomorrow) writing about my admiration for a organized professional sport. if you think my tattoos suck, then maybe this example of my absurd arrangement of priorities will help explain an awful lot. i am willing to bet that oh, say, 900% of you reading this don’t even have a marginal interest in basketball, and that’s okay. because now i am here to bring basketball to you.

when i was a kid, i was CONVINCED that i would play in the nba someday. i started playing basketball in 4th grade, after moving to a new town, and for some reason i couldn’t get enough of it. oh, i’d had other sports-a summer fling with tee-ball, an affair with soccer- but nothing ever held my interest like basketball. and i mean nothing. i would throw the ball into an empty bucket in the garage when we didn’t have a hoop. later on, i regularly eschewed schoolwork to play in my driveway in the middle of winter, frostbite notwithstanding. i played in the rain. i played in the dark. i played every opportunity i had. when it was discovered i had a capacity for artmaking, i would draw pictures of magic johnson, tim hardaway and scottie pippen from the piles of trading cards i had collected. when i discovered shoplifting as an adolescent, i stole package after package of basketball cards and obsessively monitored the stats and career paths of every player. so many of my thoughts related to basketball, it shouldn’t be a total surprise that after a while, i actually got pretty good at the game.

now, “pretty good” is only a pertinent description in consideration of context, so it should not be forgotten that i was a white kid with a lot of time to myself in a small town in new hampshire… not in harlem. but, within my own little world i was good enough to make the school basketball teams every year, throughout high school, and actually play some quality minutes in tough games and perform adequately. but somewhere along the line, it became clear that my competitive spirit was not up to par with everyone else’s. i’m not sure what it was- this is probably where we can start placing some blame on punk rock- but i just couldn’t get bummed on lost games or bulk up in the gym for “increased performance(ie. increased douchery).” i always just played for pure enjoyment of the game, and would never let anything get in the way. this is apparently not the correct attitude for a professional athlete to employ on their ascent to basketball domination, as i’ve come to understand, and it had become clear by then that i was unfit for an athletic career. also, i had annoyingly topped out at a tall-for-normal-humans-but-small-by-basketball-standards 6′3″. sigh. i guess art school would have to suffice.

and then it all unraveled. i got all caught up in art and bikes and music and fun and life and new experiences…. and basketball fell to the side. i spent the next 6 years playing drums, touring with bands, blah blah blah, being an idiot, working day jobs, learning a trade, and i completely and utterly forgot about basketball. so sad. in retrospect, i actually feel really bad about the way things went with basketball and i. i take full blame for all the hurt feelings. i remember during this entire time constantly feeling like something was missing…. though, let’s be honest: i always feel that way.

fast forward several years, and i find myself in portland with seats to a home game… portland trailblazers vs dallas mavericks. it was kind of a joke, but some friends and i thought it might be funny and made the trip for night. and hooooly fuck, it was AWESOME. i was electrified. it was a great game between two very good teams(portland won), and all of a sudden i felt like a kid again.  to be fair, i picked the right time and place to have this experience… the trailblazers, after many seasons of ineptitude, were having a breakout season, re-emerging as a legitimate basketball organization from the management all the way down. and it showed. they won my heart that night two years ago, and i remain a dedicated trailblazers fan.

since that time, i’ve rekindled my love for the game and now spend more time than i’m willing to admit poring  over sports articles, blogs, statistics and games themselves, absorbing every bit of information i can and following the league’s developments with a diligent fervor. if i spent half as much time drawing as i did reading about the NBA, well, i’d probably have a lot of drawings. off the top of my head, i could tell you the current starters and most of the reserves for any team in the nba, along with their heights, what teams they used to play for, and how well they are playing right now. that is a lot of useless information. but i know all of it, and you don’t.

this is getting much longer than i intended, and i haven’t even touched on what i really wanted to, so i am going to split this entry into two parts. and “part II: the beauty of the game” will have to come another day. for now, i am going to leave you with this:

man, that houston rockets’ bear is frighteningly incompetent.

don’t you hate when you’re feeling like you’ve had a bad week/day, and then you look back at all the stuff you did and notice that nothing bad(or even less than good) actually happened, and it’s all because you’re just being a big baby complaining about your lack of human connection and meaning and purpose, when you clearly can have all the connection and purpose you want? and that you’re probably just being a dick by continuing to go on and on about it like your problems are something important, when you can’t even figure out what your problems are, and everyone else in the world actually has real ones? don’t you feel like an ass for complaining about your lot in life as a well-adjusted white american male with a secure job and loved ones and intellect, while people in other parts of the world actually have to worry about getting limbs amputated or maybe dying of starvation/war/disease the next day? aren’t you disappointed when you realize you’ve been blessed from birth with everything you could ever need and are still unable to manifest any form of contentment? and don’t you feel guilty for even feeling that disappointment in the first place, as if you had anything real to be disappointed about? do you ever find yourself almost wishing to be faced with a devastating, life-altering situation so that you can then have something actually real to concern yourself with, and maybe then the truth of your character can finally be released into the world without trepidation, because it will be the only thing you have left? isn’t that all you really have anyway, and the rest is just filler to maintain the ant-hill of malcontent you’ve spent your life building?

yeah. me too.

ah, home sweet home.

so, tattoo conventions really aren’t my favorite thing in the world. they are actually pretty weird. i still do them from time to time, and for the most part i’m able to enjoy the experience… but i usually feel like everyone there is in on something i’m not. i’ve worked dozens of conventions in multiple states and countries, but at this point one is pretty much indecipherable from the next. at any given tattoo convention, you are guaranteed to see countless, poorly conceieved and executed neck/hand/facial tattoos, a lot of very uninteresting things for sale, bored & drunk fortysomethings hovering at every corner, at least one small clique of egregiously underdressed females, and a few tattooers who are really killing it. to be fair, there are also always really nice people that let you borrow shit you forgot to bring, the occasional person who actually takes time to look through your portfolio and asks sincere questions about getting tattooed, and a few people you’ve seen around before at other shows that you can talk shit with.  all in all, there’s a lot of things about tattoo conventions that kinda bum me out, but there’s usually that one new friend, or that one new customer, that you would never be in the same room with otherwise and it makes the whole thing worthwhile. come to think of it, it’s not unlike tattooing itself.

so, i worked one this past weekend in marysville, WA, which is about an hour north of seattle. not really the kind of place i choose to go, but it just kind of worked out that i’d be going to this one. i will say that i really wasn’t expecting much, and was actually kind of dreading the whole thing… normally i have appointments booked for the whole weekend at these things, but i was going with nothing on this one and it seemed weird. but things actually went really well, our hotel room was kind of fancy and therefore really funny to stay in, and i did some fun tattooing without stressing out about it. i only got one picture though(and it kind of sucks):

i’m actually pretty happy with my weekend. now i am going to sleep with olive, because i missed her dearly.

so, i kinda think good clean pictures of finished tattoos are a bit of a let down. on one hand, it’s nice to see it as a complete piece, healed, without the blood and swelling and assorted shittiness usually accompanying tattoos. it’s like, art, man.

BUT, blood and swelling and shittiness and time and pain are all part of the tattoo process, and i think its misleading to only have photos taken upon completion. the final product is nice, but what did it take to get there? i find that a much more exciting subject to explore. so, get used to these super shitty polaroids getting posted all the time, because they are probably the only accurate representation of my actual work days. if you want to see more, there’s lots…. click on “the daily grind” over there on the right. if you don’t, then find something better to do.  i suggest www.cuteoverload.com.

i used to be good at lots of stuff. years ago, i was a young soul, full of ambition and talent and hope… and i made it a point to make the most of everything i was ever given.  i don’t know what happened, but all of a sudden i can’t recognize any of these traits in me anymore. i joke around about being a grandpa, but i seriously feel a lifetime removed from any of the building blocks of my youth. i am a completely different animal. for all the promise of youth and intelligence and capability, how can i not be disappointed by what i’ve amounted to? is this it? i’m really just gonna tattoo people every day, like that’s the best thing i have to offer the world?

(it isn’t.)

therein lies the problem. now as an old man(ha!), i can tell how unfortunately, yet acceptably low i set my goals for life: find a fun job that you’re good at. make lasting friendships with people you love. share the wealth.

even now i can still see why that felt like that was all i needed…. in a way, it felt selfish for anyone to want more, and who am i to say i deserve better than any other sad sack? so many people would be happy with that just that. but the years go by, the people come and go, goals get reached, and before you know it there’s nowhere else to go. the hallway ends, no doors, no windows, just lined with the shelves of atrophy. why isn’t it enough for me to reach my own meager goals? why do i need more? what does it take to be content? it’s becoming clear that i probably will never know.

but, at least my country wasn’t completely decimated by an earthquake last week.

i guess i can try to enjoy the little things.

like tubing. on shitty snow. in the rain.

okay, everyone. yes, things look a little different now, huh?

i’ve decided to forego my other website in favor of just having this blog serve as my professional website. remember when i came back from europe and said that things were going to change a bit? this is what i was talking about. all the same info is still here, i just reorganized it and combined it with some more personal interests. it’s still fresh for now and i’m sure i’ll be making changes to the format at some point, but for now, feel free to look around! be advised, that my old email ryan@ryanmasontattoos.com is no longer active, and now the best way to reach me is ryanscapegoat@gmail.com. i’ve been using that address much more anyway.

in other news, i’m getting tattooed today, i’m going snow tubing tomorrow, and then after a normal work week i’m going to work the jet city convention in northern WA (seattle-ish) next weekend with mr. brian wilson. exciting days, people!

life has been weird for a while now.

for years, i’ve systemically separated one part from another, only overlapping in careful, controlled sequence…. plate-spinning, balancing. it has never gotten easier, and i have only become marginally better at it as time passes. there have been no answers for me. perpetually looking, never seeing.

at some point, it becomes self-defeating. the comfort of routine brings with it a quiet, growing frailty, assuming its place in the heart and mind, unmoving. so vigilant, so defiant, so futile. it becomes part of you, welcome or not.

so i’ve chosen to grow with it. i am now a new monster, relying on old tricks to get me by. i will find light at the end of this tunnel. until then, this is my new home. come hang out.