3/30/2011 - hardly an impulse tat. . .

I woke up the other morning with the liberating realization that I think I am finally ready to get a tattoo.

I've been wanting one for a long time, even know what I want it to be, but convenient excuses always dissuaded me.  Below are my top three, along with respective rebuttals:

1. My college boyfriend thought tattoos were trashy.  (He was a Republican, so this one's a wash).
2. I didn't want to mar my clean-cut image.  (Nobody's buying this anymore.)
3. What if I get one and then have buyer's remorse? (This one's a little trickier.  After all, once I get one, I will never be someone who has never had one.  But then again, what's the worst that could happen?  I get it done, which I plan to have on my chest, hate it, and then just have to keep my shirt on all the time, which I do anyway.  And I've known what I want for over a decade, so this is hardly an impulse tat.  See?  I'm already using the lingo.  I'm totally ready.)

And what is this mysterious tat, you ask?  My choices are limited.  I can't get Chinese characters since I'm Chinese, and that would be obvious.  I wouldn't want to get anyone's name; we all know how well that goes.  My arms are too skinny for a tribal band, and I'm not tough enough for skulls and the like.

So really, this leaves me with the only logical option:
 

In case you are not familiar with one of the greatest cartoons ever in existence for a gay boy to discover in his early childhood, this is Cringer, from the classic 80s rendition of He-Man and the Masters of the Universe.  He-Man certainly was the master of mine (though in recent years, I've determined that Skeletor was actually hotter if you can look past the blue smurfness and butterface).  I watched this cartoon religiously--2:30 in the afternoons every weekday.  I would get out of kindrgarten at noon, come home, and essentially do nothing more than wait for the synth-pop theme song to play on my TV, heralding the arrival of my loincloth-and-chest-harness-clad hero.

(You're probably thinking that this sounds like a tragic display of buyer's remorse just begging to happen. 

But wait.  There's more.)

Cringer is He-Man's pet tiger, and he normally just lounges around the palace, cowering at anything from a loud noise in the courtyard to his own shadow.  You would never see Cringer take any risk or initiative.  He follows the safe and established routes, hides when trouble comes.  He is perfectly content with his cushy, uneventful, and ultimately empty life.

As Battle Cat, however, he is He-Man's trusty steed, leaping into danger, fighting off bad guys, and proving to himself, and others, that he, too, can be the hero, capable of anything when the need calls for it.  He never lets people down, is reliable and fearless.  There is no hesitation, no cowering in the shadows hoping to be left alone.  Battle Cat instinctively knows right from wrong, makes the best decisions, is trusted.

They are, of course, the same tiger.  The picture above shows him at the moment of transformation, midpoint between Cringer and Battle Cat, balancing precariously between his two halves, on the cusp of becoming great.