Tattoo artist Dirk Vermin’s passions and pitfalls of the post-modern man
I’ve returned from two months of travel, and, although I worked every day while away, it’s now as autumn nears that new pages of life are turned, new chapters are written and people plot how to be unscathed from Labor Day to Thanksgiving and onto Christmas and New Year’s. There are only 110 days left for Christmas shopping.
One local whose life is about to change is A&E’s BAD INK reality-TV star Dirk Vermin. The guitarist and singer of Dirk Vermin & The Hostile Talent has been a tattoo artist for two decades and owned Pussykat Tattoo Parlor here since 1999.
Dirk promises that his lifestyle brand of beer, cigars and wine, more reality TV and a book are on the horizon, plus marriage next month to lovely makeup artist Erica. He describes his book THE DEVIL AND DIRK VERMIN as “an unapologetic and not-so-modest history of growing up in and surviving Las Vegas”:
“It’s a completely biased social commentary loaded with subversive and agnostic ideology on the way to selling my soul to become a short-lived reality-TV star, but I stand right now at the best place in my life,” he said.
With marriage looming, it seemed appropriate for Dirk to take stock of his raucous life and analyze the passions and pitfalls of the post-modern man. Dirk has a 3-second rule:
I’m Dirk Vermin, Las Vegas born and raised. I did TV, I tattoo skin, I play guitar, I’m a good father, I’m engaged to a beautiful woman, and I cuss like a drunken sailor, ’nuf said.
I like my coffee black, my whiskey straight and my women crazy. Such is the life of a man unapologetic with vices. None more prevalent than the fairer sex, the tender trap, dames. No disrespect, girls. I just like a man to be a man, a woman to be a woman.
There is a softening of the male species going on in this “new age of masculine awareness,” and it sickens me. Love or hate them, my opinions come from the one place that matters: Dues paid.
A man never apologizes for being a man. I don’t mean that insecure-macho-self-indulgent-misogynistic-alpha-male BS! I mean a real man. The man your grandfather professed to be. The man who takes care of his world. The man who caters to his senses because he earned it. A man in all the best definitions of the word.
I admittedly am no saint, but the boy in his 20s is not the man before you. You fall down, you get up. You fail, you try again. You will never be defined by the good you do if your bad is evil. So grow up, take responsibility and live, brother. Live!
Now is the time to become the man who your woman, or if you’re young, all women, wants to be with. I’m not talking about some “technique” to score (that only works if you’re inherently a bad seed to start). Look in the mirror, reassess who you are, and, if you deem yourself worthy, it’s time to indulge in the pleasures life has to offer. Moderation is key but not denial.
There is a difference between a cold beer and shot with a pretty girl on your arm and being trashed at a nightclub with a bitter “40-something trainwreck” next to you and wrapping your ’88 Sentra around a light pole.
How does the new modern male fit into this pseudo-enlightened era without appearing like a Don Draper wannabe? Why is it considered such a crime to be a real man? To take care of business? You know, get the girl, kill the bad guys.
I’m not the most sensitive creature on the planet, but I got feelings, too. I just keep ’em bottled up like you’re supposed to until you acquire a drinking problem, of course (insert sarcasm).
Sometimes a girl needs to be treated like … a woman. I don’t mean caveman style; I mean Sinatra style. Let her get dolled up for you. You know, put on her war paint, heels and sexy skirt. Put her on a pedestal, tell her how beautiful she looks, and watch her melt.
Open all doors for her, rub her feet and ask her about her day. Damn?! Go buy her tampons! Shower her with flowers, cards and, above all, attention, but, when the lights go out, she’s yours.
If you don’t treat her right, someone else will. She’s not just any woman; she’s your woman. Don’t cross that line. Never say a word you’ll regret. She’ll never respect you again, and now she’s having dinner with your best friend.
Don’t cry in front of her, ever, unless it’s at the birth of your first child, but even then keep it in tight. That’s it. All you need to know. I just saved your marriage. Well, at least made you think.
The truth is what it ultimately comes down to is 3 seconds. That primal drive to that moment. I mean this literally and as a metaphor. We get dressed up, we shave, we splash on expensive cologne, we buy you dinner, we go to romantic comedies.
We listen to stories about your best friend who just got engaged and how jealous you are. We watch as you troll down Facebook feeds informing us of every silly little thing going on in other people’s worlds.
We try like hell to pay attention, to care. We are wired differently, and you’ll never understand us, but we try. All of this is to get to that precious 3 seconds. That first sip of a cold beer after working your ass off all day. That drag on your lips as you light up that cigar, the smoke rolling into your mouth reminding you that you’ve earned this.
There is the pride watching your kid win a spelling bee. The feel of the test drive on that new car you thought you couldn’t afford … and, of course, Scotch, neat, aged 15 years. The perfect sip, the tingle on your lips, the sweet bitterness on your tongue, the slight burn in your chest. So many ways to feel good to get to that instant. That first taste.
Nothing is better. The second drink is never as good as the first, but the compulsion is the ride that takes you there. You have no choice, or you shouldn’t. Surrender to the urge. You deserve it.
And all men deserve the love that she brings. That first kiss, that incomparable feeling of her. The way she looks at you. Her eyes, her voice, her laugh, her smile. The way she takes care of you in ways didn’t even know you needed. That is the feeling of living, of being a man.
And that’s what the secret of life is: Getting to that 3 seconds. That kiss, that drink, that smoke, that pride. It happens so quickly, but it’s worth it. It is the innate recognition of … this is mine. My time, my prize, my day. Today, I am a man, and no one can take this away. This feeling. This proud peacock. Strutting for the room. Standing a little taller, a little bolder, a little stronger.
I’m Dirk Vermin. And you are better for it.
Follow Dirk’s new adventures at DirkVermin.com, Instagram @dirkvermin, Facebook.com/DirkVermin and Twitter.com/DirkVermin.
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Check out our other story today from Dr. Laurine Tibaldi, chief medical officer of Health Plan of Nevada, who offers advice for staying healthy on vacation year round. On Wednesday, we’ll chat with actress Natalie Gallo of JERSEY BOYS at Paris Las Vegas and adrenaline junkie Brian Doleshal of Richard Petty Driving Experience at Las Vegas Motor Speedway.
