Lyle and the Leprechauns

Working a tattoo convention is always bittersweet. The debauchery, the flagrant abuse of personal safety and public property, the feeling of kindred spirits and like-minded individuals gathering to forget who and what they are not in exchange for a few bleary-eyed moments of "me-ness". The hangovers. The second-guessing. The feeling that, "If I had just done this..."

Hell yeah it's about talking the talk. And walking the walk. Put up or shut up. It's about trying to be somebody when all you really need to do is be yourself. But it's almost more about understanding who you really are, and finding out whether you're on the beam or not.

Now, I won't deny that I *might* have indulged a bit more than was prudent. There are certainly numerous credible witnesses eager to point that out. But declaring your room is under siege by little people hell-bent on sodomy might have gone a tad too far. Especially when the recipient of said information was none other than "Living Legend" Lyle Tuttle. Lucky for me, I'm sure Lyle has heard worse from better, and no permanent harm to his opinion of me or our continued friendship was evident.

The moral of the story, kids:
There are far better ways to avoid social situations that relying on hallucinogenics-bearing tiny mythical creatures to do your dirty work. I questioned my talent, my motivations, and my self-esteem and evaded much-needed criticism and reinforcement. This business is about confidence, and not just for your sake. Our work is permanent, for better or worse. But it's also about expression, and being an artist. By just being me, I could have taken advantage of an opportunity to share with a whole lot of other people simply being themselves, taking things to another level, creating and living a rare path.