|What is the world coming to?
||[Jul. 23rd, 2008|04:25 pm]
Now at my age (51) I grew up when only ex-cons, hoodlums and crusty old sailors had tatoos. Never wanted to go under the needle myself, for a myriad of reasons, but hey if people think it's their thing, and they can see themselves, old, gray, and saggy, with a blurry flaming skull on their bicep, I say go for it.|
But I rode the elevator today with a woman somewhere between 30 and 50 who had dozens of tats. Curiously she bore all the signs of having loads of money -- professional tan, suspiciously ample rack, gold jewelry, raw silk violet top-and-shorts ensemble, and elaborately casual designer sandals.
That "I can buy and sell you" look combined with the ink was incongruous enough, but here's the real mind-blower: She had a large tat of Scooby-Doo and Shaggy on one calf. Why would ANYONE old enough to get inked without their parent's permission go for Scooby and Shaggy?
The clashing of all those cultural signifiers gave me a headache.
For the record, I was a kid for the original Scooby Doo, and let me just say, I thought it was the dumbest fucking cartoon ever made. I have no idea how it became so popular with the post-boomer set except that they grew up willing to watch ANYTHING, and are nostalgic for having enough free time to rot their minds with bad cartoons on rerun. Some things are so stupid they're great (e.g. Gilligan's Island) but Scooby Doo was irredeemably dumb. You can't even be ironic about it.