Can't read my, can't read my/she's got me like nobody

I am getting emotional. As in I am having an emotional moment. Today, Saturday, April 3, 2010, I got my first tattoo. It hurt like a MOTHERFUCKER and I yelped like a little pussy and I did not enjoy the process at all. However, now back at home, looking at my new arm art, listening to Gaga sing Pokerface at her piano - the acoustic version I first heard about a year ago - tears are welling up in my eyes when I remember why, back in September, I wrote about why I thought she would inspire my first tattoo. I wasn't sure then if I would go through with it or not - but the roughness the past year created in me has begun to flower into a celebration of who I am, and I feel more confident in that person than I ever have before. Gaga inspires me to be just who I am, unapologetically, and to explore parts of myself that I've always wanted to but have perhaps feared. Anyway. Before I get into all that, here's the tattoo experience.

I waffled for like 30 minutes before I went through with getting it. I have really sensitive skin, and I also have eczema, so I wasn't sure that it was the best decision. Once I made a decision - after saying something about it being an existential crisis and pulling out my favorite "no one can take a bath for you" spiel - she started inking me, and it only took like five minutes. An excruciating fucking five minutes. This is right after it was finished, all wrapped up, (with) a pretty little bow:

Finished art, unwrapped (with a cameo by my toothbrush):

I love it. It's cute, right? It's cute, but it means so much more to me than just that. Bullet lists are everyone's favorite, so here it is, unedited, what this tattoo means to me, who I am, right now.

- 2009 was the year of my first true heartbreak. Gaga was there with me, somehow, at every step along the way, and in my memories of that year, she always will be. It's not an exaggeration to say that by the end of last year, I was completely fucking destroyed. I've come a long way in the past few months, but I am not ashamed to say that I still miss Andrew and I still sometimes cry for his loss. I cut him out of my life because I had to, but it has not been easy.  A part of me still loves him. When I hear Brown Eyes, I think about him, and I probably always will. I'm OK with that. I learned the possibility of my emotional depth because of him, so ultimately I'm nothing but thankful.

- Gaga has always been pretty outspoken about her bisexual experiences. I have always had bisexual curiosity and tendencies, but I've just recently began to explore it. I don't really consider it fodder for this blog, but a world has opened up for me, and I have never felt more free or comfortable in my own sexuality.

- I am more free than I have ever been. I have stopped caring what others think of me, and I have taken to cutting and ripping my clothing however I see fit before I go out. I wear dark eyeliner and slick my short brown hair down with pomade. I wear glittery eyeshadow. I don't really consider something worth wearing unless I have somehow taken my hand to it or one of my friends has. Zachary sketched my tattoo for me. I never even knew what freedom was before this stage of my life, and now that I've tasted it I never want to go back. I can't even remember what I did before I made things or at least felt the drive and necessity to make them.

- I am more in love with New York than I ever have been, if that's even possible. This city continues to inspire me, envelop me, develop me and create new worlds for me. Literally everyday is an adventure, and I am surrounded by my dearest friends, who are actually my family, and I could not feel more blessed. Gaga represents New York for me, because that's where she got her start - she frequented St. Jerome's, which is my new favorite bar on the LES - and she just sort of embodies the grease, grit, dirt, harshness, and glamor of the city.

- Rivington Street

- I have recently discovered about myself that I truly feel like I'm meant to be an artist, and I think of myself as one, even though I am still really young and don't know quite what I want to do. I've been reading and learning about Patti Smith, Robert Mapplethorpe, Andy Warhol, and, yes, Lady Gaga, and what they did as young artists in New York.  I'm learning about myself through them. I am dabbling in poetry and songwriting, as well as trying to learn more about the art world in New York.

To that end, I recently transcribed onto my bedroom wall a poem Patti Smith wrote when she was 24, which is obviously how old I am now, about New York.

Here's video of her saying it aloud, back in 1971. I have no idea if she wrote it before the interview and was reading from memory, or if she wrote it on the spot. She was really into improvisation, so the latter would not surprise me.

Patti was born on December 30, 1946. I moved to New York on December 30, exactly 62 years later. I find this appropriate, because it took moving to New York for me to truly be born, and the process, I hope, has only begun.

Love and art and New York always,

Meghan

The weekend of the Gaga

So remember like a month ago when I posted that embarrassing photo of myself from my 13th birthday party? You know: bangs, bad jewelry, Backstreet Boys cake. I wrote then that screenprinting on a pastry was "awesome" and that I would love to have a cake with Lady Gaga on it for my 24th birthday.

Well, my friend M came through with fucking cupcakes with Lady fucking Gaga fucking screenprinted on them. Here's a side-by-side, as promised.

Um, weird, right? The saddest thing about this comparison is that my hair only looks marginally better in the left photo.  I need a haircut, y'all. Here's a closeup of the cupcake since you probs can't see it that well.

Bam, motherfuckers. My friends rock.

A few life updates, more for my benefit than yours.

1. The Gaga concert was transcendent. So transcendent that I'm having great difficulty writing about it. Suffice it to say: I laughed, I cried, I jumped up and down, I closed my eyes and felt the energy of the room pumping in my blood, I danced, and my boobs almost fell out of my strapless dress. And when I walked out of Radio City, I felt like myself for the first time in months and months.*

2. The hair bow tattoo is a definite go. I went with J on Saturday to a consultation at Brooklyn Adorned and we are both getting tats on the same day in March. It's going on the inside of my left wrist. I'm very excited.

3. On the way back to Manhattan after my tattoo consult, I saw Rich, the writer of FourFour, on the L train!!!! It was my first (semi)celebrity sighting that I actually cared about enough to try to talk to the person. He was very nice and took my blogging card (yes, I have those). I was (too) nerdily excited. I of course told him how much I love Winston.

4. Last night was my co-birthday blowout bash with my friend B. She turned 25 on Jan. 15, and my 24th birfday was last week, so we just decided to mash 'em together for a big blowout night at Solas in the East Village. It was amazing. I counted, and all together, about 23 people came out to celebrate with us. It was such an amazing New York night; I was surrounded by people I love, and when Bad Romance played, I got to re-live a bit of the concert energy from a couple nights before. Pokerface also played, and Z and I danced up and down the stairs. Natch.

*If you want to see video clips (spoiler alert!) of some of my favorite segments from The Monster Ball, click here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here.

A tattoo inspiration

I've often wondered what inspires people to get tatted up. Like what is it about whatever it is you want tatted on yourself - a flower, a tree, an album name, whatnot - what is it about these things that makes people want to have them on their bodies for the rest of their lives? As a stupid 23-year-old, I have never really encountered anything I loved, revered or adored enough to affix it on me - in my skin - permanently. Until now.

When I first saw Lady GaGa perform last summer on So You Think You Can Dance?, I was like who (and what) the fuck is this? She looks ridiculous and she can't even sing that well, and her songs are kind of boring when compared to Britney, Bey, Christina, Madonna and the like. And she's wearing these stupid digital glasses that scroll "POP MUSIC WILL NEVER BE DUMBED DOWN" or something like that. Who does this bitch think she is? An artist?! Psssshaaaa.

That was my inner dialogue at the time. GaGa hadn't exploded yet - her album hadn't even been released - so I was highly skeptical and even turned off. But like any good relationship, my skepticism grew into curiosity, which transformed into a friendship when I downloaded The Fame, and then I fell in love for the first time when I saw her sing "Poker Face" acoustically, sitting at her piano with her hair (literally) tied into a bow, belting and singing and wailing from a place deep inside herself.

It was then I knew I loved Lady GaGa. But my love didn't become deep, it didn't take roots, it didn't explode into full-on obsession, until I saw this interview and started reading and watching as many interviews as I could get my hands on. I now know with certainty what it took me more than a year to realize: this woman is an artist. Not only that, but she is probably the only true pop artist - among the ranks of Andy Warhol, David Bowie and Madonna - people my age have seen in our lifetime.

Not only is she an artist, but she represents so many things that form the core of who I am. She is a physical embodiment of youth in New York City, where she grew up and (later) dominated the Lower East Side club scene. She is named after a Queen song, my lifelong favorite band. She loves the gays. She is openly attracted to women. She bends gender rules. She loves fashion. She loves pissing people off. She loves being the center of attention. She loves creating things and making people think. And, of course, she loves music and dance.

Today I watched this interview no YouTube, broken up into three parts. She openly admits that she has tricked the world into thinking she is somebody, when in fact she is nobody. She explains that the whole point of her album is to make people realize that celebrity is an illusion supported by things like wealth, fashion and power, and that celebrity and fame should not be confused. Anyone can be famous, she suggests, because fame is not about how much money you have or how many people know who you are; it's about a feeling inside, a sense of self-confidence, a veil of vanity.



I know exactly what she means because I live it everyday in New York. When I go out dancing with my friends, I am famous. I feel it on the inside, and it's confirmed by the fact that when I dance - usually in cohorts with Z - people watch. People don't just casually watch - they watch. There's something inside me that shows through when I dance and makes people go, Who is she? What is she doing here? And - most importantly - Who the fuck does she *think she is? There's just something about the city that makes me feel like I am somebody, even though I am actually nobody.

I have had this experience in my life for years. I first went to a dance club when I was 18, in Birmingham, Alabama, and I tasted it there. I have experienced it in Oxford, Memphis, Atlanta and DC. But New York. Goddamnit, New York. Knowing I can come to New York, do the same shit I've been doing my whole life, and *still have people watch me with gaping mouths - that is The Fame. That's what GaGa is talking about when she says, "In New York, you have the ability to self-proclaim your own fame. You have the ability to experience and feel a certain amount of self-worth that comes from a very vain place, simply by your choices. You can literally choose to have fame."

If and when I get a tattoo, it will be something GaGa-inspired. She represents something I have always seen in myself, and everything I love about New York, and pretty much everything I love about life. I haven't designed the tat yet, but I'm going to work on it. Also, I literally squealed today at work when I read that this fall she will be re-releasing The Fame with some bonus songs.























My mom is going to kill me.