The Scholar's Tattoo

Fritzie’s got a brand new bag. A brand new tattoo, actually. It’s huge. It’s inspired by an opera. Do I have discerning friends or what? I love you, Fritz!

If I were to get a tattoo, what and where would it be? I change my mind as often as--or more often than--I change my socks. I’d never get a tattoo myself, but here are some I would consider.

Let’s see. I could get the bust of Shakespeare permanently imprinted on my own bust. I could have Virginia Woolf’s nose tattooed on my bicep. I could have Gary Trudeau’s cartoon version of Hunter S. Thompson tattooed on my—well, on my ass, I guess would be the only appropriate place. Or Thompson’s Gonzo logo tattooed on my thigh (though its slogan, “It never got weird enough for me” might be a tad inappropriate, as well as untrue). I could have Lenny Cohen’s irony tattooed on my larynx or Seamus Heaney’s Irish tattooed on my lips. David Sedaris’s sarcasm could be inked dripping off my back. Ira Glass’s high-pitched poignance would fit neatly on my forearm.

More? Hmm. Madonna’s self-absorbedness would take up too much space, so that’s out. Ditto her religiosity. I’d have to settle for Britney Spear’s sanity—it’s small enough to fit behind my earlobe and be hidden by an earring.

Oscar Wilde and Dorothy Parker could try to outdo each other across the fence of my spine, one on each shoulder blade, like drunken, catty angel wings. I’d reserve my cleavage for Don DeLillo’s face, though he’d probably complain about how suffocated he felt, after he was through enjoying the uniqueness of his position and how it made him feel he’d staved off death a while. Poe’s Gothic sensibility would be perfect creeping up the back of my neck with Emily Brontë’s wuthering moors needling my collarbone.

Anaïs Nin and Henry Miller could write torrid letters to each other from each of my heels. Douglas Coupland and Janeane Garafolo, on a see-saw, could play serious on my belly. A field of mushrooms representing Tom Robbins, Victor Pelevin, Ken Kesey, Lewis Carroll, and Yeats's work collecting the tales of the Good People could brighten my tippy-toes. Tom Waits and Bette Midler could cross my heart (gods, I'm the most maudlin person I know).

The possibilities are endless. Who am I forgetting?