Tag Archives: ink

Will it go ’round in circles

One of my Twitter buddies mentioned today that, as a kid, he wanted to make a career out of creating the images below.

Recognize them?

spirograph

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They’re Spirograph, which was one of my favorite toys as a kid.  (If you haven’t heard of it, well, you’re probably not a Boomer.)

SpirographBoxWe used pen and ink on paper and the special Spirograph tools to create those images — this was years before laptop computers or Photoshop manipulation were common.

 

They were all handmade.

Spirograph-tools_9742Looking at all the discs and circles in the kit, I am itching to play with it again.  It was a lot of fun.

Wonder what became of our Spirograph?

Egg siblings — any ideas?

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Icky ink

So, I’m watching Dancing with the Stars — which I love — and half of the remaining celebrity/pro pairs are dressed in matching athletic wear for a group number.

Tom Bergeron throws to a commercial break.  All the women in the group turn their backs to the camera, creating a faux huddle.  And there it is —

A big ol’ line of tramp stamps.

Talk about ruining a camera shot.  And a costume designer’s vision.  And pretty much every outfit you’ll wear for the rest of your life.

Now, I’ll admit — the ones the celebs and dancers are sporting on ABC are relatively tame.  But this gnarly site is filled with some truly heinous creations.

Enjoy perusing poor decision making…in pen.

Something’s a’foot

Last month Jennifer Aniston’s 15-year old Welsh Corgi-terrier mix, Norman, died of old age.

The two were often photographed together walking, and she always took him with her to set on long movie shoots.

“He’s just a person in a dog suit,” she once said.

I get that.

This week the tabloids were full of the news that Jennifer got her first tattoo.  What did it say?  Was it new boyfriend Justin Theroux’s name?  Or some mid-life crisis bit of philosophy in Chinese characters?

None of the above.  The ink on her right foot simply says “Norman.”

Now, I’ve never even remotely considered getting a tat.  I’m notoriously commitment — and needle — phobic, and permanent body art requires both.

But a tattoo dedicated to my dog Rory?  Perhaps his name in the simple sans serif font that I favor?  Or a tiny artist rendering of his amazingly expressive face?

Oh yes, I could commit to that.