One man's trash is another man's treasure.

Last night was the high school rivalry football game at our stadium. (My high school rivalry couldn't fill our meager stands, but in Las Cruces they drew 26,800 people. That's larger than the population of most New Mexico towns.)

I picked up a lot of flyers with the trash this morning. For some reason, I got it into my head that they were advertising a school's one-act play competition. When I read one, though, I saw it was for "Real Inx Fine Art & Tattoo Parlor".

I need to upgrade my dictionary. I never would have classed "fine art" with tattoos.

This got me to thinking. Something from Picasso's cubist period might make for a good tattoo. El Greco's elongated bodies, not so much. Given the way human bodies age, one could always have a watch tattooed onto oneself and, over the next forty years, watch (no pun intended) as it turns into Dali's "Persistence of Memory".

What do you think of me getting a tattoo of those large breasted Samoan women? (Gauguin, wasn't it?) Where should I have it put?

Now why do you suddenly look like Munch's "The Scream"?