Finally set up Missy's show.

It's in the Municiple building of Upper Arlington, which is in Columbus. The sign on the door says, "No Weapons Beyond This Point", as this is the courthouse and all, and we're bringing in these bundles of sharp metal sticks. Call me crazy, but in most circumstances, a pointy metal stick is a weapon.

When you're installing a show in a public space everybody turns into a fucking comedian. There should be a 1-pun-per-person limit on passer-bys in these situations, but no. I'm sure these office folk were running back to the space so they could throw out the great one-liner they thought of after they walked by.

None of these were even funny enough to list. . . welcome to Ohio.



So as we're leaving this huge stack of, well . . . HUGe, sharp pins in the middle of the floor and discussing the safety of it all with the lady in charge of the art, a woman walks in with her little girl. The woman's asking me for directions to such-and-such department ('cause I look so fucking helpful, right? all day long people were asking me how to get here or there. . . what do I look like? Mr. Won't-tell-you-to-go-fuck-yerself?) and her kid is at the pins with her foot, giving them a kick. Then, she starts to find her footing like she's gonna climb up the stack. The mother says nothing.

If you are a parent, and your kid starts to climb on a big stack of teetering sharp metal sticks, you say something right? Nope. I put a stop to it and the fucking kid immediately starts running through the tables and starts to put her foot on one like she's gonna stand on it, at which point Missy yells at her, she almost cries, and I remember how dumb kids are and how much dumber the parents must be to raise them that way.

Sharp metal sticks. Kids. Bad.

Sometimes it's ok to yell at your kids in public. That's how kids survive, 'cause they start off stupid and we teach them stuff.



One of the tables has a setting that consists of two knives and a fork, on account of miscounting and Clownboy hording the other forks swedishly.

There are still 130 more pins in the basement, in boxes, waiting for their turn.