Archives for the month of: June, 2012

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Tower Classic Tattooing business cardsThis weekend was extraordinary for many reasons, but for one in particular. The tattoo shop that I’ve been super digging, Tower Classic Tattoo, threw a Summer Kickoff/Customer Appreciation party. I wanted to check it out simply because the vibes steaming from that building are everything I love in a tattoo shop.

I’ll do my best to describe it to you: imagine stepping out to a beautiful wooden patio that’s shielded by a spangled pergola. Maybe it was just a fully-covered patio. I do not recall exactly. But there was basically a deck with strands of lights and a pathway that led to candlelit picnic tables. Arguably my favorite thing about summer (besides the clothing) is relaxing on back patios with friends and drinks. So you can imagine my excitement when I took in this unexpected addition to the shop (which in itself has remarkable character.)

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When I was in college, junior year, I made friends with a few select individuals who changed my life. Nick, Ben, and Lane. These three fellows introduced me to the Beat Generation – specifically Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg. After class we would congregate off campus, either at a dingy coffee shop or at a mutual friend’s disgusting dwelling, and we’d read. Aloud.

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Ray BradburyRay Bradbury died today. He was 91. For the past 10 years of my life, I have explored his literary works, perpetually wide-eyed and starving for more. Bradbury’s stories are saturated with rich imagination – but more than that, they prick at my psyche. They pump me full of wonderment and curiosity, feelings I rarely possess in this fast-paced digital age. His stories have taught me that creativity can be found in a pen. Or in the battered pages of a book you’ve read one hundred times. It can even reside within the rust-colored, ancient ruins of Mars. Ray Bradbury, though he has passed on from this life, will forever challenge me to strengthen my writing abilities. I’m still bewildered, as I read the pages I’ve known since the eighth grade, at his ability to say everything so right. Bravely, actually. And eloquently. Bradbury wrote and wrote and wrote. Every day. And the practice paid off in ways I can’t accurately convey.

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IndihopLast Saturday was the highly anticipated IndiHop, a festival of sorts that featured 50 craft beers and small businesses in two trendy areas of St. Louis (in fact, my two favorite areas), The Grove and Cherokee Street. My loyal comrade, Ian, and I stood in line on Saturday around 11:30 for the tickets. Unfortunately we had failed to purchase them at the steal-of-a-deal online price of $10, but we were still more than happy to shell out an extra $5 for an afternoon of bar hopping, street walking (not the dirty kind), and people judging. Oh man, I really wanted that special IndiHop mug, too. Only about 10oz, it was a generous size for beer samples, and acted as your ticket to the various businesses and bars that were passing out craft beer from the participating breweries. Read the rest of this entry »