My Dear Greeks.

I didn't take much away from the movie My Girl other then a handful of snot-smeared Kleenexes and a general distrust of bees. Although, I was, like, five when that movie came out, so I'm sure there is a lot more to it than I remember. Dan Aykroyd... Puberty... Death... Something or other like that. I don't really recall anything about My Girl 2 either, for than matter, the exception being the lead boy telling the lead girl that ear piercing was a barbaric custom.

I wouldn't say barbaric is the right word. My cat has a little hole in his earlobe from having some sort of back-alley cat fight club long before he became my squishy, little cuddle-lumpkins-kitty. It's a big enough hole to put an earring through, though I never would, because Leo doesn't even let me dress him up, let alone try to paint his nails and put jewelry on him. It seems barbaric that one cat would chomp another cat's ear just for fun, but cats can't be barbaric, because they're, well, cats. Barbarism is restricted specifically to humans. I looked it up on Dictionary.com. To be barbaric means to be an uncivilized person--or a non-Greek, if we're going with the older definition. So, in any case, other than my love of feta cheese and olives, I have nothing Greek about me. Therefore, automatically, I am a barbarian! So, I might as well just have some fun.

I suppose it's a matter of opinion as to whether a person thinks bod-mods (body modifications: including but not limited to body piercings, tattoos, assorted implants, etc...) are attractive or not. Or barbaric or not. (If you're not Greek, there's no point in really contemplating it too deeply.)

For example, most of my friends my age are tattooed. I am not. Yet, a good majority of my friends hold higher-paying jobs and have a higher level of education than I do. These are some of the people who help me correct my grammar for submissions and remind me not to swear so much. Like, these people are the help-little-old-ladies-cross-the-street types of people. My group of friends have become part of this growing counter-stereotype for bod mods, much like how there is a higher percentage of white collar business people dressed up in leather Harley chaps who motorcycle nowadays than there are actual stab-you-in-the-belly-with-a-broken-beer-bottle-if-you-look-at-me-funny bike gangs.

To my understanding, American tattoos used to be exclusively a military and/or tough guy thing. Military aside, my generation does not really define themselves by toughness, necessarily, because computer skills and a sense of humor will get a person a lot more dates today than being able to pull the plow when the bull dies. And really, isn't the biological imperative to try to obtain dates? Just kidding.

Thus, instead of merely having a bod mod to appeal to prospective dates, or to appeal to one's inner self, or to anger one's parents, one must show originality in his or her bod mod to navigate towards one's own fitting social circle. The days of getting inebriated and going into a reputable tattoo parlor, only to emerge with Miss Piggy's silhouette inked across your back are over. What I'm saying, is body modifications, whether you like them or hate them, are becoming more and more of a statement about what kind of a person you are. They are thought-out and planned. They mean things to people.

There are some people who believe that doing anything to your body is disrespecting it. There are some people who believe exactly the opposite. There are some people who will eat McDonald's three times a week and point fingers and those with bod mods. There are people with elaborate bod mods who haven't eaten red meat or refined sugars since they were old enough to know better. I believe it's all about what your internal compass lets you do. My compass is different from everyone else's, as everyone else's is different from each other's. I suppose one of the greatest things about living in the day and age we do now, is that we can all judge all we want to, but that's not going to do a ink spot's worth of difference. C'est la vie. To each his own. It is what it is, my fellow barbarians. And you too, dear Greeks.