"There's a lady who's sure, all that glitters is gold..." -Zep

Some call it the rat race. Human animals running through the maze of life in search of the elusive "cheese". Some call it "The Struggle" or "The Fight" or "The Grind". I call it "The Never Ending Ladder". No matter how how high you climb on the ladder it automatically extends itself. There is no end to the climb. The only way to end the climb is to stop climbing (and who wants to live in the middle of the ladder, bird's nest on head, looking down at the ones about to rush over you or looking up at the asses and elbows of those who already have) or let go of the ladder and feel the weightlessness of the fall... 4, 3, 2, 1, splat!

Some folks are content to while away their time at a same ol', same ol' kinda job. Put the screw in the part. Put the screw in the part... Or, "may I take your order? Thanks, drive through". These are the people with the bird's nests on their heads or they are the people saving up the gumption to get further up the ladder. Then there are those who strive and work and toil, climb and claw and fight who never leave the rung they're sitting on. Then there are those like me. Never satisfied. Always hungry. Always wanting more. Not material things more, but more success, more applause, more handshakes and pats on the back. More "you did good kid". The first time I found out that there would be an article written about me in a major tattoo magazine I was overjoyed. The magazine came in the mail and I opened it and read it and felt... empty. I somehow expected to be filled up by this milestone. I should've at least been able to sit and smile and glow for a minute but I was already on to the next project. The next scrap of press. At that time, I was still playing in my punk band full time in addition to tattooing, doing t-shirt designs for my own companies and several others, doing posters and album covers for bands and daydreaming up new ventures. I was fairly lucky to be successful enough to get some fairly major press for most of my creative outlets. I have been written up for something or another in literally hundreds of publications ranging from photocopied punk zines all the way up to the glossy, internationally distributed publications. I've been published in book form on multiple continents and have appeared on records, CD's and stages alongside many of my musical heroes. Never satisfied with the level of exposure I was garnering I started writing. I've always been a writer. Writing is an early love of mine. When I say I "started" writing, I mean I started getting published and getting paid. Regularly. A few music reviews for a few smaller publications lead to a lucky break here, a lucky break there and soon I had my very own weekly music column with a rad title and header featuring my pretty mug in every issue of Dayton, Ohio's alt-weekly newspaper. Still not enough. I soon tried my luck and landed a gig as a regular freelancer for International Tattoo Art, my favorite tattoo magazine of all time (thanks Chris!). Now, don't get me wrong, I enjoy writing for ITA. I've enjoyed myself in all of my creative endeavors but there's still something missing. There's still a void. The void keeps growing every time I fill it. The ladder keeps getting longer.

I don't want to end this on a negative note. I could certainly have other addictions, if that's what all of this is. I am a (mostly) clean living guy. I don't smoke cigarettes, drink or run around on my wife. I've got a hell of an awesome group of friends and clients and instead of destroying my body with bad habits (actually, I did do a lot of damage to myself as a kid, but who's counting) I'm leaving a legacy of work with my name slapped all over it. Maybe someday somebody will want to do a line of clothing or baked beans or hot sauce with my name slapped all over it a la Von Dutch or Ed Hardy and they'll make my kid rich. All this grey hair's gotta be for something.