Bow’ry Days

When I moved to New York in ‘05 I didn’t know anything about New York. I knew where Trash Bar was, I knew how to get to the L and knew I needed to find a job pretty immediately. I also knew I wanted more tattoos. My first tattoo was a pair of bluebirds on my chest a couple months after I turned 18. They were a little on the new skool side but at that point I didn’t even realize there were different styles of tattoos.

So I got the outline put on one week, went back for color the next and got some quick advice on aftercare that involved Chapstick and went on my way. When I moved up after school I’d gotten a couple other little ones and managed to convince Matt from Great Southern to do the good brain/bad brain on my shoulder. Matt was a good dude; he was super nice, willing to work with a broke college kid who was pretty ignorant of tattoos and, most importantly, stoked to be tattooing. (Sidenote: Haven’t been able to find any more info on Matt Lautar so I don’t know if he tattoos anymore. He also gave me my first straight razor simply because I expressed an interest.)

Back to NYC. So I came up here with a few tattoos and, even with cheap PBR and free Tater Tots, I was instantly broke. So since I couldn’t really go out and load up, I spent hours on countless tattoo websites/myspaces using our wonderfully spotty, stolen internet, and re-reading the few magazines I’d managed to remember to bring up with me. Later that first year, after scraping together some cash to get another couple small ones, I bought one of my favorite books of all time, New York City Tattoo. This book was like the key that opened up this old, heavy wooden door to a New York full of tenements, back-alley brawls and serious gloves-off tattooing. I learned who Charlie Wagner was, I learned about Sands St. and the Brooklyn Navy Yard, about the down-and-dirty, rough-and-tumble Bowery. I caught little details that created more of a story about people like Millie Hull, Sam O’Reilly and figured out pretty quick that tattooers were dudes you did not fuck with unless you wanted a ball pein hammer to the face.

That particular story is one from Stanley Moskowitz, who loomed in my mind as a larger-than-life superhero of a bygone age, one that I couldn’t ever imagine living in the present day –– let alone a guy that I’d have the chance to interview. But I get to interview him next week. And I get to ask him whatever I want. So I hope I don’t blow it and I hope he doesn’t jump through the phone and beat me ’til I’m bloody and toss me down the stairs for the Bowery rats to feast on.

No Reason for Downers

Last February I lost my job and last night I helped a blind drummer get a cab on the corner of Graham and Metropolitan. The two instances are related, but I’ll back up to nine months ago when I was simultaneously cursing up a storm, doing the international sign for “Yes!” and drinking like a seventeen year-old who’s just discovered cider.

In 2007 I took a job at a small company as a copywriter. Now, because it was a small company, it was explained to me that I’d be doing three jobs: writing, reception-ing and taking care of my boss’ “other things.” These other things weren’t expanded upon but he’d mentioned an idea of his that he’d like to see happen, so I assumed these things would essentially be pet projects. I took the job at what now seems like an unable-to-be-lived-on salary –– and actually took a financial hit because I made more money bartending –– with the caveat that I would eventually be moved to full-time copywriter.

It turned out that by “other things” my boss had meant “you get to be my personal assistant and open Diet Cokes for me.” For nearly a year I juggled heading up email campaigns, churning out ad ideas, overhauling the sales materials and taking on the thrilling job of writing the new instruction manual all while answering phones, disposing of dead mice, fetching sugar-free Red Bulls and trying not to flip over my desk and tell my boss what I really thought of him. I finally got put on copywriting full-time (though I didn’t get the title I felt I deserved) just in time for the company to decide they had to make cutbacks due to the economy. And just when my salary finally became able to be lived-upon.

I went on a handful of interviews right out the gate but so did about half a million other sad, bearded semi-writers. Couldn’t get a bartending job because bars were flooded with the thousands of resumes left by double thousands of unemployed hands, didn’t have rent money, so I went on unemployment. I hadn’t been this broke since I moved to New York in ‘05. Awesome. That was in March. I couldn’t really tell you exactly what’s happened since then. But this morning I woke up in my friend’s sweet apartment in the city; they’ve got a dog and steam shower. My girlfriend and I just got back from a trip to New Orleans. In a couple hours I’m heading to Williamsburg to work at the tattoo shop where I’ve been part-timing, and Friday, after doing some work for Bryant Park/34th St. Partnership, I’m going upstate with some friends to hang out in the woods and drink like a seventeen year-old who’s just discovered that cider is more like beer’s inbred cousin and whiskey is like it’s hot, immortal mom that is really, really smart. Next week is tattoos and haircuts day, plus some friends are in town, plus Dave does some more work on my chest, plus I have work every day if I want it. And to top it all off, I get to interview Stanley Moskowitz for Inked, a magazine that for whatever reason keeps tapping me for what works out to be about an article an issue.

Last night after dropping off a few things at the apartment, I went to get on the train and didn’t really notice the blind guy on the corner. A biker rode by him and he turned with his cane and said “excuse me?” raising his hand and eyebrows in the direction of the noise. The biker looked and ignored him. I turned around from the stairs to the subway and walked over and asked what was up. The blind guy told me he’d missed his stop and was late for band practice and asked if I would help get a cab. I said I would and while we talked for a minute, I hailed a cab and led him over. The cab abruptly sped off. So we walked back to the curb and I called Northside. While we were waiting he told me that he was a drummer. He lives in south Jersey but has been making the trip up here once or twice a week for the last month or so because he hooked up with a new band. He takes the train from New Jersey to Penn Station to Brooklyn. He plays the fucking drums. We waited some more and his phone rang.

“Ah, this is gonna be Steve,” he predicted, taking the phone out of his pocket and running his thumb over the buttons. “Hey dude, I’m so sorry, I missed my stop I’m gettin’ a cab and I’ll be there in ten.” He hung up his phone and sighed. We picked up the conversation where we left off and right then the Northside car pulled up. I led him over and got the door for him. I told him to have a good night and I rode the train back into the city smiling the whole way.

Head Up

Since this here blog used to be my website catch-all and since I now have a website (which I still need to update with a bunch of stuff and which I’m still not happy enough with to start spreadin’ around town), Gouge doesn’t have much purpose. So after a few minutes of thought, and thanks to Chris “Mr. L.A.” Blumberg, I suppose it could be worthwhile to make it the home to some of my writing. Not the tattoo-related stuff, not the stuff I get a trickle of checks for, but the short, non-fiction nonsense that I work on occasionally. I’m not really trying to drum up interest here, so I probably won’t be throwing up links all over facebook or anything, but hopefully it’ll be a driving force and if I can do it regularly enough something halfway decent’s bound to come out of it. Right? Right. And I’m sure I’ll do plenty of ranting and raving. Thanks for reading.

BK Sans Swamp Cat

Got back from New Orleans this past weekend and spent most of Sunday recuperating, though we did manage to go food shopping and check out Genuine Motorworks on N. 14th. I need new jeans, which basically means I buy the exact same Levi’s I’ve been buying for however many years. They had some great stuff, (see: Pendleton flannels) but I’ll wait another couple wks to make any purchases. And speaking of bikes, I know nothing about ‘em but plan to take the written test at some point so I can at least learn to ride next spring and maybe become magically mechanically inclined. Mike “I beat Pat to it” Martin actually beat me to the test, so maybe that’ll light a fire under my ass. That’s all for today.

Above Britt is hanging out with one of the many swamp cats that lived around the swamp shack where we hopped a swamp boat and rode around the, uh, swamp.

Dear Hearts

Just wrote up a quick piece for N+S and if you’re gonna buy one tattoo-related book this year, make is Grime and Horitaka’s Underway is the Only Way. So many good interviews.. but I’ll let you read about it here…all you two people I know that ever check this thing. Or you can get it for me for Christmas, since I’ve been borrowing Dave’s copy.

Over the weekend I banged out a quick piece for Inked on Paris with help from the amazing Noon, so keep an eye out in the December/January issue. (And yes, eventually I will update my website and scan a bunch of fun stuff so I look a bit more professional.) On a related note, I feel quite privileged to have met Noon, and been able to watch him work and drink wine in his company. He’s talented, funny, serious and very, very French. (Shameless plug: my Noon “interview” from the summer.)

Comin up: Gaslight show tomorrow, 8 of Swords opening party this Saturday, New Orleans on Sunday. Up top is a photo from good ol’ S. 3rd in 2007; Mike Martin needed a hug during the wizard party. Below that is a photo from Mystic, the Charles W. Morgan. If you are so inclined, read up here.

I’ll take ‘S-Words’ for $400.

A couple weeks ago I started part-timing at Dave Wallin’s new shop 8 of Swords (no longer at Tattoo Culture since I was just filling in there). I’m doin’ the basic shop stuff: talkin’ to folks, taking care of the station, scrubbing tubes endlessly, etc. It’s a really nice spot (N. 8th btw. Bedford and Driggs) and I’m really appreciative to Dave that he gave me some work and let me be pretend to be a bit cooler than I actually am. So stop by! There’s a sweet wrought-iron chandelier and cozy couch. And, of course, Dave’s been doing some rad work lately. More on upcoming interviews for N+S, etc. as it happens.

ALSO:

SHOP OPENING PARTY SATURDAY OCT. 17th sponsored by CONEY ISLAND LAGER to be slung by yours truly.

Inherited ideas are a curious thing…

An update, of sorts. Headed to Mystic, CT this weekend for a little sea air and relaxation and just booked a week next month down in New Orleans (the photo above is from the trip last year). But there’s always plenty of things I feel like I should be doing. There’s a never ending list of names I need to get to and interview for N+S, many of which, of course, are here in NYC, and many of which I feel like are just as much for me as the blog.

Finished up Joe Mitchell’s Up in the Old Hotel, and, regardless of your geographic location or interest in NYC, is a book I think everyone should read. It’s full of Mitchell’s stories from his days as a newspaperman and writer for the New Yorker from the 30s through 60s and bursting with histories of fisherman, Mohawk riveters, gypsies and Bowery drunks. Now, on to Moby Dick, since I’ve never read it; Mystic should be a good spot for that. That’s all for now, most likely. Thanks, P.

Back in business, etc.

All right, so for a short time GOUGE was acting as a kind of catch-all “website” for my random garbage, but I’ve been able to get a little help and get together a basic website, patrickrosssullivan.com. Thank you, Nick James. I haven’t updated this in a year, easily, so we’ll see how updating it regularly goes now.

Currently, I’m doing some painting for Bryant Park/34th St. Partnership (streetlights, fences, poles) and am still doing some writing in my spare time. Just finished up a piece for Inked on tattoo “advances” for the Dec. issue, and got to tell the world how good FTW tattoos are the other week on N+S. Up top is a photo from my 2005 trip to Ireland. No good reason, just like it.

Thanks, P.