My father can be a real ass, a claim he would most certainly agree with. With which he would most certainly agree. Anyway. But he is also–and I can’t believe I’m writing this down on the interwebz where it will live forever–a wise man, at times. Among the many wisdom moments he has shared with me over the years is this: “If you don’t have a tattoo, don’t get one. If you’ve got one, get another one.” I kept this in mind as I rode my bike to Tattoo-A-Go-Go after class this afternoon for another tattoo that will mark my complete obsession with bicycles. And this place just happens to be just two doors down from Mike the Bike Guy. I was able to hop over there and buy a patch kit so Theophile IV (Theophile V is seven months old–bring it) could ink that bike riding guy from the front of it on the inside of my right ankle. I love that patch kit. I remember it vividly from when I was a kid, and when I got a bike again, I asked the guy for “you know, that turquoise box?” And man, once you’ve got that kit and just a leetle bit of know-how, you can keep your bike running on the cheap. The tattoo shoppe and the bike man right next door to each other? Doesn’t get better than that. After all, I’m a woman of convenience.
What I Saw Riding My Bike Around Today 
One thing to remember, your father will always love you despite any or all foibles. I’m curious, do you know what the tatoo shop was in a prior life? You can see the curb cut in the picture. A small garage perhaps.
Your dad made my dad cry one night when they were drinking Anchor Steam and talking about Viet Nam. Your dad being the one that went there and my dad being the one that did not. I also remember going to Rambo 3 (2?) no 3, with your dad in Lincoln City. He brought a 40 into the theater and literally laughed his ass off through the ENTIRE film. Good times. I could tell more stories but this is not the venue.
blush.