By Mario Barros
of Lenguaviva

(The opinions and views expressed in the commentaries of The Somerville News belong solely to the authors of those commentaries and do not neccesarily reflect the views or opinions of The Somerville News)

Don’t anybody get the wrong message here: I hate tattoos! I don’t want anything to do with inked body art, ok? And I hate tattoos even more since I found out that the beautifully famous (or famously beautiful) Angelina Jolie has no less than fifteen of those on her voluptuous body (plus another seven that she has either erased or modified). Somebody please tell me, what is she smoking? As hot as she is, what’s the point of becoming a human billboard? Where is the logic in suffering through hundreds of painful little jabs and carrying more ink in the skin that the amount needed to print this paper? What were last night’s lottery numbers…? (Oops! Sorry.)

All would be fine if sensual Angelina were the only person in this world with a penchant for skin hieroglyphics. But it so happens that even a cat can get a tattoo these days and everybody has some sort of justification for them: tattoos are a way of expressing our individuality; they are an ancestral art form that is being revitalized; there is nothing prettier than ink showing up through the epidermis, it’s my body and I do whatever I want with it, dammit! And a bunch of other silly explanations. Can you believe it?

When it comes to the theories of the illustrious defenders of skin illustration, you have to develop a special type of patience. At least I have. We live in a democracy, after all, and sometimes you have to learn to give in to some insane ideas. I have even come to terms with those who engrave the initials, sometimes the whole name, of a loved one in a not very visible part of their bodies. And, of course, I’m not bothered at all by some small design adorning a recondite corner of the female anatomy. But to have a laughing skull tattooed on your forehead and stroll carefree with it around the neighborhood on top of that? Brother!

There are some classic tattoos, like the ubiquitous mermaid on the muscular arm of a sailor. Or that one, so common among inmates: ‚ÄúOnly God can judge me.‚Äù I can understand the seamen and their mermaids. What else can you dream about when you are in the middle of the ocean, badly in need of someone (anyone!) to lighten up your dark and lonely nights? But the good Lord being your only judge…? Come on bro, He certainly was not the person in the black gown who put you in the slammer, was He?

If you have decided to get a tattoo, you should at least choose one carefully. In that respect gang members are an example of common sense. If you are an aspiring member of the Green Wasps you will definitely not show up at their recruiting meeting with an orange bug tattooed on your chest, as that is the rival gang’s symbol. But there are people who seem to get tattoos solely for the doubtful pleasure of getting them, with no clear concept, or definite idea. That being said, how can anyone conceive of a blonde young lady with a dragon imprinted on her butt? Dragons are Asian symbols, my friend! You and your blondness have nothing to do with that! Caramba!

By the same token, some professionals could be easily identified by their tattoos. Let me explain: if you are an architect, you should have a skyscraper etched on your neck. But if you are into engineering, then you should have the interstate highway system impressed on your back. It’s easy with lawyers: they only need a dollar sign stamped on the forehead. But there is more: medical doctors could have images of their specialties tattooed on the chin. Hence pediatricians would exhibit a child’s profile, cardiologists would show red hearts, and proctologists… no, let’s not go there. 

   
The worst thing about tattoos is seeing how beautiful young ladies (like the aforementioned blonde) ruin their skin with the fashionable engravings. What about those who enjoy getting their breasts illustrated? Frightening! What they don’t seem to remember is that human skin loses its freshness and elasticity with time. So chances are that, on their fiftieth birthday, all their hieroglyphics will be perilously dangling over their bellybuttons.

Which brings the curvaceous Angelina back to mind. Can you imagine her at age eighty-seven with all those messy tattoos scattered all over body regions where they were never intended to be?  Just the thought of it makes me sick. That is why, if I ever lose my marbles, I’m going to get only one, big tattoo on my chest: DOWN WITH TATTOOS!

Mario Barros is a teacher at Somerville High and founder of the comedy troupe Lenguaviva. He  can be reached at mario@lenguaviva.org