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8.03.2011

Of tatts and costumes and puerile dreams.

So here I am in another week of 'how the hell did the summer end up this busy'. Doc and I are at McHappy's having a slurp and a fry after a doctor appointment that went just fine. Now I know how to get this gabby little boy to shut up: just put a strange adult in the room. He clams up tighter than Scrooge McDuck's wallet. Now, of course, he's babbling with all the other kids in the place and waving his toy around.

We were at the beach on Sunday and something caught me by surprise. Once you strip folks down to their bathing skivvies you see just how popular tattoos have become. Absolutely everyone is inked up. Some from head to toe and if this was a nude beach the percentage of visible color would climb dramatically. When I was a kid, I remember tattoos being reserved for bikers and sailors. Tish and I considered tatts a couple years back but we weren't going to mark ourselves permanently unless it was totally original. I have yet to create the perfect design.

Last night, Tio was asking a hypothetical about what everyone might do if they only had a week or 2 to live. When it came around to him he said he wanted to go to Trenton, New Jersey. Huh? Seriously? Trenton? No offense to the lovely residents of NJ, but of all the world, why would a 12 year old choose that for his last Earthly view? After some pressing he said that a friend told him about a study that said women with the biggest boobs lived in New Jersey. While I can see why that might be important to a terminal 12 year old with only 10 days left on the clock to see this for himself, the whole idea of a "boob study" is hilarious. It's just the kind of stories young boys make up about what they'd seen and heard and done. The funny part is that no matter how big their own lies are, they believe what each other says verbatim. I recall late nights on the grass with my best friend looking up at the deep night sky and all we could think about was what girls looked like under their shirts. It's what teenage boys do. In the movie Gregory's Girl, one hormone addled teen heard that there were 3 women to every man in Caracass so he stood on the freeway outside Glasgow hitchhiking with a sign saying "Caracass" completely baffled why no one stopped. Boys really do think this way and do the most absurd things as a result. I assured Tio that with every second person in the world being female, there would be plenty to look at without traveling to Trenton.
For my money, though, I loved the idea of the headline when that survey hits the press: "Biggest boobs in the world live in Trenton!"

Kit in Camo
Meanwhile, Kit has a new BFF: Grammo. They are starting projects together and hanging out quietly on the sofa in the evening. Its a joy to watch. He is also thriving since he came out. He feels much more open and free to express himself without self doubt. Some of the clothing he uses for that expression are pretty outrageous but we take it in stride set limits when it goes too far.

We're at the halfway point of the summer. I wonder if I'll ever get to my novel...