Literary Journalism??

Some Kind of Commitment

Commitment to me is as serious as life or death. It is the permanence in commitment that frightens me. I fear the fact that I may change my mind and it is
too late to turn back. There are many serious challenges I have yet to face in my life and what I am about to discuss is not nearly as life altering as I may make it seem.
It is purely intrigue on my part that drives me to discuss it. It is the intrigue of the commitment to the art and the work that makes me eager to learn more.
It’s 10:30 on a Monday night, I pick Brian up and we drive to his mom’s house two towns away. We’ve been there plenty of times but now we’re going with
a distinct purpose other than just stopping in to say hello. We park and run into the house, out of the rain. His mom is watching TV in the living room, his brother,
Paul, runs down the stairs to see who just walked through the door. The dogs greet us and I pet one of them and playfully squish his face with the palms of my
hands. Paul is sent back to bed because it’s a school night. Nicole comes downstairs, we all walk into the kitchen. I thank her for delaying her outing to discuss her
job with me. Nicoleand I sit at the kitchen table and Brian stands to the side so he doesn’t blow smoke in our faces. I thank her yet again for giving me her time. Nicole is a 21-year-old apprentice at a tattoo shop. She has been apprenticing for Black Work Tattoo for about a year. She begins telling me about a job
opportunity that passed her by because she is a woman. Another local shop needed help but when she applied, they declined her on the basis that she did not have
enough experience and she is obviously a female. She tells me, “The guy I work for now found me on myspace. He saw my page and contacted me about an open
position he had at his shop. I checked it out and now I have been there for a year. I really like it. He is a great boss; working under him has been a great experience.
He is very patient and great mentor.” Tattooing is not just a hobby it is a lifestyle and commitment. In most states, a person is required by law to do apprentice work before they can be
considered a professional. The aspiring artist can choose whoever they would like to be their mentor and usually pays a fee to the mentor for the training they will
receive over the period of time it may take for them to become experienced enough to do it on their own. There is no limit as to how long it may take someone to
become a professional tattoo artist. This is definitely not an overnight certification. The dedication and hard work it takes to become a professional depends on the
individuals drive and passion. It also requires sacrifice of personal time and other interests. Nicole has been drawing for years. She tells me, “I really like to draw Sacred Hearts. The best piece I have drawn so far is a sacred heart with a guitar and
music staff. I don’t have anyone to tattoo it on yet, but I would really love to do it. I draw a lot of swallows, dice, flames and pin up girls. I am working on a big piece on
this woman’s back. Its wings, but she only has half done because she can’t afford to finish it yet.” Most people do not realize it but tattoos can be expensive. With
shows like Miami Ink on television, people have false ideas on what it is like to get a tattoo. Shows like this only display the happy customers coming in with an idea
of what they would like, coming back when the work is drawn up, sharing a happy story about the meaning behind the tattoo and leaving satisfied. They don’t
portray the time and effort it takes the artist to draw up something new, or the wait there might be from other customers arriving first. The price is never shown on
television and people are always happy. In reality this is not true. “Some people really think it’s a quick process. They don’t understand that it takes time and sometimes other people got there first. People come in on their
lunch breaks and try to rush us along. It’s a long process. If you rush it the results wont be the same. People also try and argue the price of the tattoo. What they
don’t understand is that if I did it for free, I wouldn’t be making any money! People always try and get you to lower the price but it’s hard, sometimes business is slow
and you don’t make very much at all. Other times there is good days and the customers are great.” The dedication on the artists side is intense. Nicole tells me about painting. She smiles and begins talking about how much she enjoys painting. The smile
fades, “I cant paint much anymore. I really don’t have time. When you’re not at the shop you’re drawing, when you’re not drawing your tattooing. I have to keep
working at it all the time. Even if I had the time to paint it would interfere with my ability to tattoo because they are two different styles. It was hard for me at first to
grasp the difference in tattooing. But, once I caught on I realized I couldn’t try and switch between the two, it would just set me back in my progress to becoming a
professional. " I could not imagine giving up so much free time and other passions like she has. The work is hard and the rewards are not always great. An artist may work
hard at a piece only to have to customer want to change things or argue about a price. Not everyone wants a custom drawn piece though. “Sometimes people just
come in and pick something off the wall. It’s not the same as doing one of my own drawings but it’s work and it pays.” The sexism in this country is prevalent everywhere but most people don’t realize how bad it truly is. When I think of discrimination in the workforce I think
of women being passed up for jobs because they are women. I also think about the company I work for and the fact that none of the stores have female managers.
There are plenty of female assistant managers, but none of them actually run the store, coincidence or discrimination? Most people do not think of how this sexism
carries over into every job, not just huge corporate or political ones. It is also common amongst jobs like Nicole's. Despite the fact that everyone in the shop shares a
passion for tattoos and piercing, there is still tension because she is a woman and the rest of the workers are men. People are quicker to judge Nicole’s ability to
draw or tattoo because she is a woman, not based on her ability or work. She tells me about the people that come in and ask her for one of the guys that are available and an employee that started their working relationship off
bady because she is the opposite sex. "When I got the job at Black Work, one of the guys tried hitting on me. I rejected him and he took it pretty bad. We don't get
along very well now and I'm pretty sure that has a lot to do with it." Nicole tells me. Besides that particular employee, Nicole doesn't have much of a problem with
anyone else. "I get along pretty well with everyone except that particular guy. They look at me like a little sister. They will joke around and mess with me all the time.
It's the customers that have a problem with me being a woman sometimes. Some guys will try and hit on me while I am tattooing them. Other people will ask for one
of the other employees when I try to take them as a prospective customer. They'll ask if anyone else is free because they can see the rest of them are guys. A few
people do feel more comfortable though. A lot of couples come in and the boyfriend or husband is more comfortable with me tattooing his girlfriend or wife. It's really
50/50." It's understandable that in this business people must feel confident in the person tattooing them. This is a permanent piece of artwork that someone will
take with them for the rest of their life. It is unfortunate that people generally only put their faith in the male population of the tattooing business. There are many
women in the tattooing business that are just as sucessfull and talented as the males they work with. But it is a biased point of view on the customers behalf and
television has not helped this at all. Going back to Miami Ink, there is only one woman shown working in the shop. This doesn't help change people's opinion on the
matter of women being tattoo artists. When media sets up shows like this they don't seem to be taking into consideration that people are affected by it. Reality
television is obviously not completely true and that is why there are credits at the end. But, people still think that the show is true to a large extent. But I doubt that
every shop only has one female artist. There are plenty of webisites that are dedicated to only female tattoo artists. I read about one convention held for only the
female's in the industry. I think it is important for people to understand that this bias is what keeps females second to males in our nation. When people can
understand that biased opinions dont help with progression in our nation then things will finally be able to change. The public should push for broader views on
subjects, reality television can help change this. When people start becoming interested in the unknown or ideas outside the norm people like Nicole will benefit from it.

For my eighteenths birthday I wanted to get a tattoo. I chickened out. Not because I was afraid of the pain, the needles or anything like that. But I was afraid of the commitment. I change my mind about things constantly and I knew that if I got a tattoo within a couple of minutes to a couple of months I would regret it and want something different, or nothing at all. This also happened to me when I turned sixteen and my parents finally said yes to a bellybutton ring. I backed out. Again, this was not because of fear of pain or needles, but for fear of commitment. I didn’t want to have the scar on my belly if I changed my mind about the piercing. I have still not gotten any tattoos; I would like one, maybe. But I know that until I see something that I can’t live without having I should stick to nothing at all. So I will stick with my ears pierced and my empty canvas until the day comes that I can make up my mind for sure. But I will appreciate the artwork other people take with them everyday that shows through their cloths on their bodies. I will respect the time and effort that someone put into that piece and know that behind that ink is practice, emotion and commitment.

Next topic...

I am thinking about writing about seeing bands play at small venues and what goes on for the setting up, or with the band before the show actually takes place. I want to tie it in with how I appreciate the show more knowing that there is a lot of effort taking place behind the scenes, and a lot of nervousness, tension, excitement and so on that the band goes through to make sure their audience is satisfied enough to come back and see them again. I can interview a number of people from my town because we are like Band Town, USA. or i can interview some people at the venues about what its like to work for places like that and what goes on that people never really know about...

For my nature piece I want to write about going to West Hudson Park in my town and how it has changed over the years and the ducks that occupy the pond during the summer and the wild animals that occupy it during the nights and cold winters... at least this is what i'm thinking for now.

Driving with Dad

My head is spinning and my stomach is turning. “Can you lower the window, please?” I shout to the front of the car from the back of the Mazda minivan. Motion sickness is not fun, especially from the back seat of a van with three other screaming kids and an angry father. I put my head in my hands and try not to throw up. Life from the backseat is not a life lived, it’s a life tortured.

It’s the summer before my freshman year of college and I just got my license. School starts in 2 months and I still don’t have a car to get there. Public transportation conflicts with my motion sickness, busses, trains, planes, everything makes me want to puke.
Two blocks from my house there is a little red car with a for sale sign in the window. My father notices it and takes down the number and information. He liked the car, I personally could care less. At that time I didn’t think I would ever care what the car I drive in looks like, I just want to have that freedom to drive- period.
“The car is for sale, the guy wants $800 for it but I could probably talk him down to 7.” My father thinks he’s a master bargainer. “Its red, it’s a 1994, or is it 95? I don’t know. Mazda, they’re good cars. It’s in good condition. The guy said it has new tires, I think. There’s 139,000 miles on it. But for that price it will just get you from A to B.” I stare at my father as he continues talking about some piece of crap around the corner that I have still yet to see. “Oh! It’s also stick shift so I’ll teach you to drive it.” I look at him blankly. He walks away I mumble a sarcastic “wonderful” and he turns around. “Let me know if you want to buy it so I can call the guy.”
I had money left over from my graduation party a few weeks prior. I could just about afford the car with some extra cash in the bank to maintain a decent balance. If I bought the car I wouldn’t need to make monthly payments and the insurance estimated to be $600 a year. The car and the insurance were both pathetic.
We test drove the car. We meaning my father. I sat in the backseat. He wanted to make sure the car could handle some sharp turns and a little rough driving. I wanted to puke. The guy selling the car was really nice. The car was in pretty good condition for the age. There wasn’t a CD player but then again I don’t have very many CD’s and tapes are cheaper anyway. I went for the bumpy ride squished in the backseat of a two door Mazda MX3. I liked the car, but I didn’t want to learn to drive it. Not with my father at least.

My father has never had much patience. He was never good at helping with homework or listening to any of us tell a pointless story. If you can’t hit the highlight of a story in under three minutes, you lost him. My brother Ryan has always been a story teller, I think that’s why my father can’t stand him. He would start a story, tell you the whole background, the names of everyone involved including pointless characters and then proceed to include what each person had on their feet before he got to the conclusion, if their even was one. “Not right now” is something Ryan heard often.
When I was 6 my father took Ryan and me horseback riding. Ryan was 4. The man said not to put both of us on the horse at the same time. The saddle could only hold one child at a time. My dad knows more than the horse handler, so he put us both on. When the horse got irritated enough, he threw me off the back. I cried. My dad said, “What do you do when you get thrown off a horse?” I said “cry?” He said, “No. You get back on and keep riding.” I didn’t want to keep riding. I wanted to keep crying, but he knew what was best, so the horseback riding continued until our time was up.

“So you want to go for your first driving lesson?” My dad asks as I sit in front of the computer. I personally would rather continue chatting with my friends and looking up song lyrics than go driving anywhere with him. “Sure Dad. Let’s go.” I reply, trying to seem interested so I don’t get in trouble.
He jumps in the drivers seat and I in the passenger seat. This is the only time in my life I would rather be in the back trying not to throw up. Instead I’m in the front trying not to cry because I know what will happen when I don’t catch on quickly.
I never closely watched someone drive a stick shift before, never mind thought about driving one. Now I have to learn- and fast. He shows me how to start the car. “Press the clutch down, turn the key. Check to make sure the gears are in neutral. Then let go of the clutch to let the car warm up.” He’s talking and I’m trying to listen. Gears? Neutral? What is he talking about? I thought you turned the key and drove away. Now there’s changing and pressing different pedals and gears. Why are there three pedals? Stop, go and what? I begin to panic, but quietly. I cannot show my fear! Not to my father at least. If I can hold in the crying until I’m with Mom, I’m safe. Mom will never yell at you for crying. Only dad’s do that.
So my driving lesson from the passenger seat continues. He drives, I look out the window. My father glances over at me, “What are you looking out the window for?! Watch my feet! You can’t learn if you don’t watch!” So I divert my attention back to his feet. Press this one, let go to press that one on and on. He catches me looking out the window again. This time he pulls over and says, “Go ahead, you drive now.” I think great, now I’m in trouble. Maybe if his shoes were nicer it would have been easier to watch, but they weren’t so I just couldn’t pay attention.
He turned the car off and we switch seats. I only learned how to drive a few months ago and didn’t have much practice on an automatic, this was going to be impossible. I sit in the seat and adjust it to what I think feels right. He grows impatient. I look over at him and he’s fidgeting. “Ok. So how do I do this?” I ask.
“Well ya know if you were paying attention instead of looking out the damn window you would know!” he tells me. My throat tenses and I know that from this point on, things only get harder. I try not to cry yet. There really is no reason to cry except that I’d rather be sitting at the computer doing nothing than here with him. He tells me again how to start the car. My first lesson left me dizzy and nauseous. I stalled out more than I drove. I couldn’t believe how hard it was to drive stick. I also couldn’t figure out why anyone in their right mind would want to do all that work when there’s automatic cars in the world!
The next few lessons didn’t end as well. I usually came in from driving crying, and sometimes even left for the driving lesson crying. Once I finally got the hang of stop and go we moved on to harder things like hills. How hard could a hill really be? Well, much harder than I thought. I had no idea that a stick shift car would continue to roll backwards if you didn’t catch the first gear right. So backwards I rolled.
When I was finally good enough to drive on my own I took my car to work. I was still a little shaky on hills but never really drove anywhere that had serious hills. So I took my car to work, the other side of town, downhill. I left work, nervous because I knew that I would have to go up hills to get home. Well, I was definitely right to be nervous because I got stuck on the first hill I turned up. I called my dad crying. “I’m stuck on this hill and the stupid car stalled and I don’t know how I’m going to get home, I turned it on and it started rolling back! The E break isn’t even helping! Dad, where are you?!”
My dad came to get me. He pulled up in a truck behind my car and stayed on the phone with me. “Start the car, put it in first.” He began to coach me. “Stay calm, stop your crying! Just put it in first and gas it.” I did what he said and redlined the car all the way up the hill in first. I didn’t drive up that hill again for a very long time.
I kept the Mazda for over a year and then was given some money from a family member. I used it to put a down payment on a new car. I bought a Scion TC. It is a stick shift. I love the car, and I love knowing how to drive a stick. Despite how hard the lessons were with my father I still enjoy driving stick since I actually figured it out. Now I’ve been driving for a while and Ryan is soon to get his license. I asked him if he wanted to learn how to drive a stick shift. He said, “Yeah, can you teach me?” I laughed because I knew exactly what he was thinking. I had been there just two years ago. I felt the same dread of driving with Dad as he does now. I told him I would but I know my father will ultimately be the one to teach him. I don’t have much patience anyway.

The freedom I have from getting my license alone is beyond rewarding. Being able to drive a stick is even better. A lot of my friends have asked me to teach them, but secretly I don’t think I ever will because I like having a skill that they don’t, even if it’s one that was painfully acquired and dreaded at first.
I am glad that I no longer have to sit in the back seat and yell to the person driving to roll the windows down so I don’t puke. I am glad that my father took the time to teach me how to drive. I just wish that it could have been a more pleasant experience. But then again, maybe if he didn’t push me to do it, I never would have even learned. But I will never tell him that I appreciate it, I am far too stubborn for that.