-Hannah Doyle

When considering a tattoo, most people think about where they want their tattoo, how they want it to look, if they should get color and how much pain it will cause. Rarely does it cross the mind to wonder what exactly is in the ink that tattoo parlors use. It seems pretty straightforward; ink is ink. However, most don’t know what is used to make tattoo ink, and for some, knowing might alter their decision entirely.

Most tattoo parlors offer permanent, traditional tattoo ink. The colors of tattoo ink depend on the ingredients in the pigment. Carbon or iron oxides make up the pigment of traditional black tattoo ink. The Carbon is commonly made from charred animal bone or bug excrement. The pigments are suspended in a carrier like alcohol, distilled water, or glycerin. Many traditional inks are suspended in an animal-based glycerin that contains animal fat.

The FDA doesn’t regulate traditional tattoo ink and the ink supplier isn’t required to list the ingredients of the ink on their product. This can be troubling to some, especially those who are vegan or have a conscience about bits of animal permanently sitting in their skin.

Fortunately for those who don’t want to use traditional tattoo ink, there are alternatives. There are vegan tattoo parlors that use vegetable-based glycerin and have black tattoo ink pigments made out of logwood. Vegan tattoo parlors are not common but many are located in areas like Portland, Los Angeles, and New York.

However, some tattoo artists question the quality of vegan black tattoo ink versus traditional. Since vegan tattoo ink isn’t Carbon-based, which is where the animal bone comes in, artists don’t think it works as well.  Although, most vegan tattoo artists say that there is no difference.

When it comes down to it, it’s all about personal preference and doing research. Just be sure that before emblazoning “Vegan” or “PETA” on your back, you understand what is being embedded under your skin.

Photo taken by Gene Coffey at Tattoo Culture

- Sarah Walters

Last weekend provided a rare treat to rock fans in Portland, Oregon. Grammy-award winning metal band Deftones played not one, but two shows at the Crystal Ballroom on consecutive nights, and gave a free autograph signing to the first one hundred fans that bought their limited-edition “Covers” EP or their new “Diamond Eyes” album at Music Millennium on Record Store Day April 16th.

The last time singer Chino Moreno, guitarist Stephen Carpenter, drummer Abe Cunningham, keyboardist and turntablist Frank Delgado, and bassist Sergio Vega were in Portland was fall of 2010 on the BlackDiamondSkye tour with Mastodon and Alice in Chains. This time, however, the concert was all about Deftones.

Before Deftones took the stage Saturday night, Los Angeles band Funeral Party played a set list showcasing songs off their debut album “The Golden Age of Knowhere.” Their upbeat tunes were a literal calm before the storm. Funeral Party played an energetic set, but the next band, mathcore group Dillinger Escape Plan, was a bat out of hell. The band members made their way on stage as an epilepsy-inducing strobe light pulsated. The band matched the intensity of their songs, many from their latest album “Option Paralysis,” with an epic on-stage presence and thrashing energy that was contagious with the audience. Both bassist Liam Wilson and guitarist Ben Weinman crowd-surfed at separate occasions while holding their instruments in hand. Singer Greg Puciato wasn’t afraid to jump into the crowd and scream right into fans’ faces. And the fans ate it up.

And then, as quickly as Dillinger Escape Plan had arrived, they were gone. And I was left in the front row amongst other Deftones fans waiting for one of my favorite bands to take the stage. An antsy feeling hit me like a brick wall. I basked in the anticipation: anticipation for the next ground-shaking riff, the next face-melting scream, the next pause of silence before the crescendo into the abyss. Great music is all about anticipation.

Deftones’ recent years have been a long waiting game. The Sacramento-based alternative metal band, who have been making music since the 1980′s, released their sixth full-length album “Diamond Eyes” in May 2010, one and a half years after bassist Chi Cheng’s November 4, 2008 car accident left him in a coma. Cheng is now in a semi-conscious state and his family, friends, fellow musicians, and fans are donating money for his hospital bills to pay for a treatment in New Jersey that has an 80 percent revival statistic. Hopes are high, and fan support has been incredible. The Crystal Ballroom holds 1,500 people, and every fan who bought a concert ticket to the show was charged an additional two dollar fee; one of those dollars was donated to the One Love for Chi fundraiser. The Portland concerts were nearly sold out.

Deftones have made a journey since Cheng’s accident – a journey of progression, support, and brotherhood that resulted in their recent “Diamond Eyes” album, winner of the iTunes Rock Album of the Year award. Saturday night at the Crystal Ballroom, Deftones played a set list that satisfied the palates of old and new fans alike. Every band member sounded like he was at the top of his game, playing classics like “My Own Summer,” “Elite,” “7 Words,” “Engine No. 9″ and “Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away),” as well as newer singles like “Sextape” and “You’ve Seen the Butcher.” Moreno dedicated the band’s performance of “Head Up” to Cheng, whose back-up vocals and screaming can be heard on the studio version of the song.

The 19-song set list was a hurricane of passion weaving in and out of the history of Deftones. Every song reminded me why I love this band. They unleash melody in every record, whether a more mellow tune like “Minerva” or an up-tempo headbanger like “Feticiera.” The band brought an infectious energy on stage that resonated with the fans, who headbanged and moshed and sang in return.  The best parts of the concert were the grins and smiles on the band’s faces in between songs. Deftones are back, and more epic than ever.

After a two-song encore, Deftones finally left the stage. I couldn’t move for a while. Maybe it was because I had headbanged so much my neck was stiff, or because my purse was buried somewhere underneath the barricade, or because my arms were bruised from being pushed and shoved. But I think it was because I was stunned. I had to bask in Deftones’ glory for a moment before leaving the venue. As I finally exited the Crystal Ballroom and breathed the cold night air, I couldn’t help but wonder what’s to come for Deftones. Will Cheng be awoken, and when? Will the band finally get a Grammy award for best metal album? I can’t wait to see what the band has in store for fans next.

- Laura Lundberg

Few people think of going to an arcade when making Friday night plans. These game havens were at the height of their popularity in the 1980’s, yet times changed, and as console games came to be popular among consumers, arcades rapidly began to disappear from cities. However, there are still a few arcades left today that flash and pop and are accompanied by 8-bit music and bad 80’s theme songs. One of these arcades is located in Portland, Oregon.

Nickel arcades used to be much more old fashioned than the arcade games of today, but at the Avalon Theater just east of downtown Portland, the nickel arcade has kept the old-school gaming scene alive since 1925. Avalon is one of the six nickel arcade locations owned by the company Electric Castle Wunderland and houses over one hundred games inside its building, including video games and classic arcade games. With choices like the Japanese drift racing game Initial D, two pinball machines, skee ball, air hockey tables, claw games and rapid fire coin redemption games, an arcade enthusiast could be easily overwhelmed with the amount of choices that Avalon provides.

While video games do not give the player any sort of monetary reward for playing them, there are plenty of redemption games for people who wish to win a prize out of their experience at Avalon. For only 5 nickels, the price for one time playing many of the redemption games, one can play Jumpin Jackpot and win up to 150 tickets. These tickets can be turned into candy, Silly Bandz, army men, necklaces, light up glasses, clocks, lava lamps, and a variety of other prizes.

Avalon is not only an arcade. It also doubles as a $1.50 movie theatre in the small auditoriums adjacent to the arcade. Like the Cinemark 12 theatre here in Eugene, the theater shows movies that have just left the big screen theatre and are one step away from becoming DVDs. With such movies as Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1, Tron: Legacy, and The Chronicles of Narnia: The Dawn Treader, Avalon is sure to show movies that those that frequent the arcade will enjoy seeing.

According to Gina Blake, a frequent customer, the Avalon Theatre and Arcade location was originally a mortuary, and from there became a brothel and an adult theatre before it turned into an arcade. With such an interesting history, one has to wonder what it could become be in the future. However, until the Electric Castle Wunderland sells the Avalon Theatre, it shall remain a place of the past, with nickels as the commodity and fun as the trade.

A traditional mridungum drum.

-Neethu Ramchandar

The soggy Portland leaves squish beneath my Converse as I make my way to the looming brown house. My personal cloud of doom senses my anxiety and splashes beads of rain to rest upon my cheeks in jest. Today I have my first private class with Subash Chandra, a globally renowned drummer, and I have been warned of what is expected of me – perfection.

My hand rests on the doorknob for a moment. I breathe slowly trying to exhale my jitters. In a dim hallway, I wipe at moist cheeks, no longer able to distinguish the sweat from the rain as the drops trickle down my neck.  I walk to the classroom – the only door with any light peeking from the cracks. I knock and nudge the door open. When the famous man sees me, he greets me in our shared mother tongue, Tamil. Great, I think to myself. No one mentioned to this percussion genius that, although I am bilingual, my fluency level is still infant in comparison.

The previously feeble jitters have now transformed into a distinct tremor in my hands. I let my thumb run over the calluses of my other fingers wondering if I am ready for this experience. His hands are much rougher with drumming experience than mine. They are thick and a dark brown with only the underside remaining a lighter white, stained with years of calluses. As my session begins I try not to look up. I focus on my hands and the quick circles they make as my fingers flutter across the drums. I force my mind to be a metronome, using the ominous tapping of the rain on the window to count so viciously that no other anxious thoughts may be entertained. One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two—and suddenly he says something.

“Sabash,” he repeats and then adds in Tamil, “Why did you stop? Keep playing.”

Continuing the song, I wrack my brain for meaning. “Sabash” he had said. If only I could remember what that word meant. I knew his name was Subash, but he wasn’t nearly old enough to be dealing with Alzheimer’s and the need to repeat who and where he was. And then, it slowly dawned on me, hovering like a nimbus cloud. Criticism. I was a bit surprised that I had failed to meet his expectations of me so quickly. Within the first ten minutes of my tutorial I had let down all the people who had helped me reach this point; that’s quite an achievement on my part. As I wallowed in my pool of pity the word slipped out again.

“Sabash” he says with closed eyes, either enjoying the song or hiding from the next attack of a melody. As I stop he opens his eyes and repeated in Tamil, “Sabash, Sabash, no matter what don’t stop.”

“No matter what?”  What was going to happen? Would he banish me from his classes? Would I be made the example of what a bad student was? Even worse, would he tell my dad?

And then, as quickly as the pool of pity had come, a high tide of determination washed it away. I straightened my back and focused on my fingers, striking so fiercely that each beat bounced off the walls and returned to invigorate the next beat. The next time the word slipped out, I ignored it. I was not going to let him so easily crush my efforts.

And yet, the harder I played and the purer the notes sang into the air, the more often he said “Sabash.”

I had been ignoring it for a while now and I wondered how many times I missed it. With my lesson coming to an end I try to study his face.

The skin sits loosely and he looks breakable with age. Only his hands looked steady, a reminder that as long as he lives, he will be a drummer. I know that after today’s lesson, no one would look at me and think the same. My drumming career is officially over.

As I walk to the car with my dad I hang my head in shame. My father glances down at me and asks what was wrong. Concentrating on the imprint my shoes leave in the sodden earth, I choke out “Dad, what does ‘sabash’ mean?”

He hesitates. I look up to see that every muscle in his face is fighting a smile. “Neethu,” he replies. “Sabash means ‘very good’.”

Hiking is not exactly my deal. It’s actually pretty far from my deal.

God bless the hikers of the world, but I’ve seen trees and rocks before. I enjoy trees and rocks, and I like seeing them.

However, I don’t feel the need to spend several hours clambering over uneven terrain in order to see more trees and rocks. I know it’s a matter of personal preference, but whenever I hear my friends raving about how much they love hiking, I can’t help but think that maybe I’m not enjoying it because I’m doing something wrong. It’s like I’m playing Modern Warfare 2 without knowing that you’re allowed to shoot people.

However, after two days in which I consumed a haggis burrito, a deep fried cheeseburger, and a deep fried pizza, I knew that the only way I could make it out of Scotland without heart failure as a souvenir was to hike my nuts off, and the place to do that was at Edinburgh’s Holyrood Park, home to Arthur’s Seat and the Salisbury Crags. The fact that I did this on a day so hot that a runner in the Edinburgh Marathon died of heat exhaustion should also be noted.

Right away, I realized that this hike probably couldn’t be classified as a hike – not because it wasn’t difficult, because it definitely was, but because I was actually enjoying it. You see, while I don’t like hiking, I do enjoy panoramic views of major cities, and the advantage to these hills being in the center of a major city is… Well, really, do I need to explain?

The hike where I first learned that I was not a hiking enthusiast was a muddy slog through dense forests, affording no real views of the surrounding landscape and, more importantly, no way to look back at how far you’d come and think, “Well, I’m covered in mud and sweat and there isn’t a bathroom for miles, but look what I’ve done!”

For all I knew, we could’ve been going in circles. Furthermore, there was no tangible goal to what we were doing, save for “Get to the end of the trail so we can hike the entire trail backwards and then go home.”

Climbing the steep, uneven path up to the top of Arthur’s Seat, 823 feet above the city, was an awe inspiring experience. No, like, literally.

I would stop and turn around and see the tiny brown path I’d taken snaking up the sheer edge of the hill with the entire city of Edinburgh laid out in the distance all the way to the North Sea, glimmering in the afternoon light, and awe was actually inspired within me. And along with that awe was ambition to keep climbing up to the top, which was also within sight, because the view only got better the higher I went. Refreshing cold winds off the North Sea also helped.

Maybe 50 feet from the summit, the hill leveled out into a wide, grassy plateau where several other hikers were sitting with books or lying on their backs for a high-altitude nap. From here, you could turn 360 degrees and see everything for miles in every direction.

I could see from the docks at one side of town all the way to where houses and deep fried pizza shops gave way to lush green fields and farmland. A city the size of Portland laid out underneath me, like I was some sort of sweaty alien riding on a floating grass disk.

Edinburgh is probably the second most beautiful city I’ve ever seen (after Portland, which, if it were a woman, would be Christina Hendricks). I don’t think I’d ever want to live outside the United States, for reasons I’ll elaborate on in a later update, but if I had to flee the country after pulling a massive casino heist, Edinburgh would be the place I’d go to start my new life.*

*Not that I’m planning a casino heist.

And what’s more, I’d use my newfound wealth to bribe city council members to let me build a modest house up on that grassy plateau, that little disk in the sky. Every morning, I’d be able to walk out my front door and see everything in the city I called my home, and at the same time, if the police tried to catch up with me, they’d be forced to run single file up a narrow path, which gives me a clear advantage, tactically speaking.

Truman Capps has all sorts of other interesting travel tidbits on his blog, Hair Guy.

In the realm of the Pacific Northwest, Portland is often shrugged off as Seattle’s geekier younger sibling, and we here at FLUX think that’s a cryin’ shame. More and more, Portland, Oregon is finding its place in film and on TV, both as a setting and a filming location, and to celebrate that fact, we’ve decided to highlight some of the city’s most shining moments in the moving pictures, starting with a new drama from The CW.

There couldn’t be a better subject to start this column with than “Life Unexpected”, a new teen drama set in the City of Roses that premiered on The CW Network in late January. Although “Life Unexpected” is primarily filmed in Vancouver, British Columbia, it gets its references to Portland right: mentions of Voodoo Doughnut abound, along with surprisingly appropriate shots of the MAX light rail, the Steel Bridge, and Chinatown throughout the first two episodes.

And the show, which opened to solid ratings and positive critical reviews, may well become the first TV show set in Portland to last more than one season (I kid, of course – the 1970s McLean Stevenson sitcom “Hello, Larry” managed to survive two disastrous years before an unceremonious canning). It stars Kristoffer Polaha as a bartender and Shiri Appleby as a radio morning show host who take in their teenage birth child after sixteen years apart. The former’s job is a nod to Oregon’s tasty beer culture, while the latter’s is an apparently common Pacific Northwest profession, if one is to extrapolate from the title characters of Seattle-based “Frasier” and the aforementioned “Hello, Larry”.

A montage of some of Stumptown’s best scene-setting local cameos from the first two episodes is above.

The Cannabis Café, America’s first marijuana café, opened on November 13 at 4:20 p.m. In order to receive a medical marijuana card and get into the café, people must register with the Oregon Medical Marijuana Program with a doctor’s approval, as well as be members of the Oregon chapter of the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws, or NORML. There is a $20 monthly fee and a $5 cover charge.

The café is located in a historical building, which used to be a speakeasy and a ballroom, in northeast Portland on Dekum Street. The café shares the building with a second-hand store.

Cannabis Café Portland

“Budtenders” attend to the bar in the front of the café. No marijuana is sold at the establishment; various certified growers donate marijuana to the café. Patients can also bring in their own medicine. The café does not serve alcohol, but does offer a wide variety of soups, salads, burgers and paninis.

Cannabis Café Menu

Oregon has approximately 24,000 patients with medical marijuana cards, and it became the second state, after California, to allow medical marijuana use in 1998. Patients are now allowed to grow their own crops instead of going to a dealer. Now that the Obama administration is shying away from marijuana raids, places like the Cannabis Café may start popping up in the dozen or so states that have medical marijuana laws.