With the heatwave comes something that I like to call “The Running of the Tattoos”.

The running of the tat’s occurs when people eschew formality and stop hiding that wondrous body art under sleeves, collars, pant waste bands, socks, shoes, or bras. Sometimes beating the heat takes precedence over hiding your obsession with Angelina Jolie’s children from your boss.

I haven’t seen any unusual tattoos, just the old suspects. Blue ink still serves as a base in 99% of tats. If the tattoo is of a name, the name will be in Gothic script. Celtic bands, and creeping flames are big, as are tramp stamps (all probably obtained between 1998 and the early months of 2000). We also have feet tattoos, and full arm tattoos (dubbed “sleeves”). There are roses poking out of cleavage, and dragons resting on forearms.

There are the usual Asian characters on white bodies. You know how it is, you finally decide to quit drinking, and mark the occasion by getting the Chinese character that ‘means’ “clarity” tattooed on your forearm. Only it turns out that the character doesn’t actually mean ‘clarity’ but means something nonsensical like farting typewriter.

Go you.

If the subway on a hot day is not enough for your tattoo induced schadenfreude, we have the book, No Regrets (hoo, hoo).

When I was a teenager musing about the possibility of saving up my babysitting money and inking up–my father took great pains to remind me of all the things I had enjoyed then discarded within the 16 years I had been alive. He pointed out how I no longer thought my pink bike was cool, and how I had stopped playing My Little Ponies. His point being (at least I think this is what it was) that I would outgrow whatever image I had permanently drawn on my lower back.

The concept of permanence is so profound that it lends itself to this belief in the impermanence of everything...even this image:

I think, however, if you’re really going to ask “what was I thinking”, do it with this:

No matter how much you deliberatively fuck up your life; with this baby riding high on your bicep, you know there is rock bottom you will never quite hit again.

Or this,

Yes, that’s Tony Danza.

Tony Danza is the kind of thing you get tattooed on your arm when you are really drunk.  Either Tony, or the entire cast of Full House on your back. Uncle Jesse’s mullet hurt the most.  It was right over my spine.

(I’m still planning to keep it.  What a fun night that was.)

Just kidding.

I am proud to say that I’ve limited my tattoos to having all my babydaddy names on my neck.

My babydaddy, they all mean so much to me.  That’s why I got 5.