Monday, August 11, 2008


I never thought I'd say this, but I don't think the giant dreamcatcher tattoo I got on my back ten years ago was such a great idea. While hindsight is 50/50, it's pretty clear that the dreamcatcher design, so popular in the mid to late 90s, was just a flash-in-the-pan fad - one that i fell for like a total idiot. I hate my dreamcatcher tattoo, I hate Tom for making me get it, and I kind of hate myself too.

It was a Saturday in August, Venice Beach. Tom, my roommate at the time, was going to his guy to sharpen the colors on his roller-blading Tazmanian Devil (located on his left deltoid.) I was bored and nursing a hangover, so I took a walk with him. On the way, he stopped into this little Native American chachki store to buy some peyote, and that's when I saw it - a giant dreamcatcher. I asked the guy behind the counter what it's for, and he didn't have a clue, but another shopper did - you hang it by your bed, and it "catches" bad dreams before they seep into your consciousness. This concept blew me away and I had to have one, but Tom stopped me with this piece of logic: for the amount of money I was about to spend, i could get a dreamcatcher tattoo that would be with me for the rest of my life. It made total sense.

The tattoo took four hours total and cost two-hundred bucks. For awhile there it was pretty awesome, I must say: the dreamcatcher was hot for another three years, and it definitely helped get me laid on at least six occasions. Perhaps it's worth it right there, but now whenever girls see it I feel like a big fat loser. Here i am, some white guy with no connection to Indians whatsoever (although I do love Indian food), with this massive symbol of their culture on my back. My girlfriend says I'm overreacting, but what does she know. She has a tattoo of the Chinese word for "strength", for God's sake.

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