{In response to Fredo's "show us your tattoo" post, I offer this re-print from 7/16/07 on...that other blog site.}

I recently visited Las Vegas to see my #1 daughter. She had a hair appointment and, rather than just sit around her place, I opted to go with her and wander around the shopping center near the salon while she got her hair done. Not finding anything too interesting at first, I soon spotted a tattoo parlor over in one corner of the parking lot and so wandered in to have a look see. Naturally, the words of my favorite tune filled my head.



Lydia, oh Lydia, say have you met Lydia,

Lydia the tattooed lady,

She has eyes that men adore so,

And a torso, even more so.



The only person in the place was… the perfect Lydia. Her name, it turned out, was actually Gretchen, which I admit did fit her. She was tall, broad-shouldered, had straw blonde hair in thick pigtails, and eyes like Nordic ice. To show off her body work, she wore simply a sport halter top and shorts. Her skin was literally covered with tattoos.



Lydia, oh Lydia, that encyclopedia,

Oh Lydia the Queen of Tattoo,

On her back is the battle of Waterloo,

Beside it the wreck of the Hesperus, too,

And proudly above waves the Red, White & Blue,

You can learn a lot from Lydia.

La la la, la la la, la la la, la la la.

“Beautiful tattoos,” I offered, not being sure how to converse with her, or what her disposition would be. “I apologize if I’m staring.”

“That’s okay,” she said with a bored smile, checking her fingernails. “Everybody looks. I don’t mind.”



When her robe is unfurled, she will show you the world,

If you step up and tell her where,

For a dime you can see Kankakee or Paree,

Or Washington crossing the Delaware.

La la la, la la la, la la la, la la la.

“Which tattoo do you like best?” I asked her, stepping closer with anticipation.

Without hesitation, she swiveled around to show me her back, on which there was a huge tattoo of the unmistakable visage of our current president, George W. Bush. His prominent ears marked each of her obvious shoulder blades. His beady eyes (this tattoo artist was GOOD!) almost looked like birthmarks in the middle of her ample back.


Oh Lydia, oh Lydia, say have you met Lydia,

Oh Lydia the tattooed lady,

When her muscles start relaxin’

Up the hill goes Andrew Jackson,

Lydia, oh Lydia, that encyclopedia,

Oh Lydia the queen of them all,

For two bits she’ll do a mazurka in jazz,

With a view of Niagara that nobody has,

And on a clear day you can see Alcatraz,

You can learn a lot from Lydia.

La la la, la la la, la la la, la la la.

“That’s really something,” I offered, admittedly awestruck. “Wow. How long did it take to have that tattoo done?”

“Just a day and a half,” she said, looking down at me from her stool as if I was a fan and she a celebrity. “I’ve had some take longer than that.”

“Really? But this one is so big.”

“It has to do with placement,” she informed me, stifling a wonderful, toothsome yawn.



Come along and see Buff’lo Bill with his lasso,

Just a little classic by Mendel Picasso,

Here is Capt. Spaulding exploring the Amazon,

Here’s Godiva but with her pajamas on.

La la la, la la la, la la la, la la la.


“Placement?” I was extremely hesitant to pursue that nuance.

“Yeh,” she said with a sly smile. “But I can’t show you.”

“That’s okay. My imagination’ll take it from here.”



Here’s Grover Whalen unveilin’ the Trilon,

Over on the West Coast we have Treasure Island,

Here’s Najinsky a-doin’ the rhumba,

Here’s her social security numba.

La la la, la la la, la la la, la la la.


“So,” she said to me, shifting on her stool. “You want a tattoo?”

“I’ve been considering the possibility,” I replied, not wanting to offend her. “I’m just not sure where I’d get it.”

“A lot of guys get their first tattoo on their arm, either the upper arm or the lower arm.”

“Actually,” I offered, “I’ve been considering getting a gavel tattoo. The head of the gavel would be on the top of my right hand, then the gavel handle would come down my forearm, here.” I indicated with my left hand, showing her where I meant.

“Hmmm. That’s a new one on me.”

I told her that I’d think about it and wandered back to meet up with my daughter.

“I thought you said you were getting it cut?” I commented, perplexed.

“I did!” She gave me a look that reminded me of her mother.



I said Lydia

{He said Lydia}

They said Lydia

{We said Lydia}

La la!

Comments:

Great post! I don't know this song "Lydia." Is she related to the girlfriend of the whirling dervish?

I haven't recovered from chess boxing yet so I couldn't possibly vizualize your gavel tatoo..if you ever decide to get one.

comment by elderjane on July 23, 2008 11:38 AM ()

I'm also considering "Overruled" on my right shoulder and "Sustained" on my left shoulder.

reply by looserobes on July 28, 2008 1:53 PM ()

Tattoo parlor in the parking lot?
That was quite a story or lyric there.
Thought that you were doing the first or second movement.

Great story and song lyrics...I would enjoy seeing a gavel, but on your hand and forearm Steve??!!
Oh well, I can not seem to recall that tune...but I have "Toot..... Toot.... Tootsie GOODBYE!!!! Replaying in my memories.... Am I close or off by a decade or two??
I uaually say I was born 10 years too late....it could of been 1952, but nooooooooo, my parents decided when I would be born.... so I missed out on the "summer of love generation"
With the 40th anniversay being this year after all, I would of LOVED being more than 6 yo in 1968!!! Sorry, but this is funny to me...my mind is going slowly...