Sept. - The Raleigh Hatchet, a monthly music, art and humor ...

Tanning by Numbers:What The Fuck Is A Tantoo?By Jeramy LoweFor allegedly practicing heterosexuals, myfriend Josh and I have some incredibly“gay” ideas. These ideas, however, areusually grounded in our absurd senses ofhumor, as esoteric as they tend to be. Lastmonth, the article that I did on the luridtrend of metrosexuality led me to do somereexamining of sorts: DoI really need to throwaway all of my hair andskin care products,my impeccably stylishwardrobe, and all ofmy Air cds just to avoidbeing lumped in withthis with this loathsomecultural subset?Ultimately, I came tothe conclusion that Icome to far too often:“Who gives a fuck?” Thisresignation led Joshand I to concoct oneof our silliest, yet mostplausible scenariosever: Let’s take the dayoff, get spray tans, andthen make our way toBahama Breeze for fruitycocktails, and later on,make it back inside thebeltline to our regular haunts in ridiculousclothes, while doing our best to maintainthat this was indeed “just how we roll” onour days off. While, in theory, this was afunny idea, I wasn’t entirely ready for justhow serious we were, or how far we wouldgo.A friend of ours, who works at Salon 21overheard us talking about our plans, andoffered to help us get an appointment withKaren Scaglia, the official jack-of-all-tradesat the salon. I remember thinking “fuck, nowwe are really going to have to do this”, andsure enough, the next day, there I was onthe phone discussing with a professionalmy plans to spray-tan only the upper halfof my body as heavily as regulations wouldallow. I felt obliged to explain that, ideally, Iwould end up writing about the experience,and that this was completely in the interestof gonzo journalism. This hadn’t actuallyoccurred to me beforehand, but I had tojustify my telling a grown woman that “wewould like to look as stupid as humanlypossible.”With our appointment looming, Joshand I also decided that in order to achievemaximum stupidity we would need toacquire stickers in order for us to attemptto get what I am told is a “tantoo.” On theday of the appointment, we both woke uplate, and it was up to me to scramble for thestickers, so I sped toward Hillsborough St. toBuddha’s Belly. That humiliated feeling wasalready setting in as I asked the guy behindthe counter that I would like one of eachof the following stickers: a shamrock, a caton turntables, a pot leaf, a set of danglingcherries and some kind of mutant bear. Iwould have to tell Josh that they were freshout of the unicorn stickers that he had hisheart set on, and I hoped that this wouldn’truin everything, but he eventually settled onthe shamrock and I went with the pot leafand the cherries.To put it lightly, we did not look like theusual clientele of Salon 21. We probablywere mistaken by at least one of the girlsworking there for some guys who had justpulled an all-nighter at The Office Tavernand wandered in to panhandle. Thatbeing said, everyone was very nice andaccommodating as we were ushered intoseclusion and told to remove our shirts.We obliged and presented Karen with ourstickers as well as our hirsute chests. Wewere told that the active ingredient of thespray was DHA, which is the standard inany manufactured-tanning solution, thatthe spray was a derivative of sugarcane andwould in no way protect us against UV rays.Luckily, there was little risk of overexposureto the suns harmful rays at Bahama Breeze,but we did have to ask if somehow thesugar cane would absorb into Josh’s skin,but Karen assured us that the tan did notthreaten to send him into a diabetic coma.As she started on my first “coat”, Joshlooked startled and said “Hey, what’s goingon? You don’t have any hair on your back.You are totally sheen”. I told him that I hadbeen extremely luckyin that respect, givenmy lineage to nearsimiansand outwardlyknocked on wood (ifyou listen closely, youcan still hear me doingit). After about fifteenminutes things got outof hand when Josh sawthe cauldron of waxsitting in the cornerand began asking in allseriousness how muchit would cost to havehis back waxed as well.You could tell that hewas being genuineand, given that it wasrelatively inexpensive,Karen agreed and thewaxing had begun. Ihave never witnessedthis sort of thing beforeand probably never would have (hear thatknocking again?) had we not decided tostart with this whole tanning issue in thefirst place. How did our day of absurdityevolve into a benign version of Hunter S.Thompson’s drug collection in Fear AndLoathing? I started to worry a little that bythe end of the day we would have spiraledout of control and begun interviewing forwhatever all-male revues are in the area (Iswear I don’t know if there are any). Duringthe course of the waxing, a few of theother hairdressers had popped their headin the door with curiosity as to why therewould be so much manly giggling comingfrom the waxing/tanning room. Our friendElaine, who had set up our appointment,popped her head in the room as well, and,given the blithe atmosphere, had decidedthat this would be a great time for herwaxing premier. Josh agreed to his guineapig parameters, and while this ended upadding to the levity of the whole scenario,it also added to the amount of time that Iwas forced to stand around shirtless in aroom with sticky shit all over my torso, while