Well I am currently in Washington DC At the National Museum of the American Indian

I can’t wait to tell about this but first you gotta hear what just happened! This is crazy!

Im only here for this catering gig—or rather, i WAS I got fired when I showed up because— well, actually—I’ll get to those details in a moment—but lemme first do some explaining: not complaining, I’m just saying, it took me two 2 hours to get here on the Amtrak and the Metro. so after getting fired I'm thinking, well this blows, guess I gotta turn around and go back home

but then I look across the street. And there’s a banner hanging on the side of this wild looking building asking if I like POTTERY? no. I don't like pottery or at least I don't think I do…

I was wrong. Oh, I was so fucking wrong. Cuz they got this exhibit here, and it’s serenading me like an angel trumpet song. Its the work of the Iroquois and my mind is relearning everything I know, cuz this clay is 400 years old, and its glaze is still shining as bright as my grin— almost like we share some thing in common.

but before i go on, lemme finish telling you why i lost my job:

apparently they’ve been real strict since 9-11 about bringing things that look like weapons into government buildings I mean, my boss said I was lucky that I didn’t get arrested. (I guess the background check showed them that I normally carry this knife? but I mean, wouldn’t you too? If you had to shlep two hours to work on the train, in an unfamiliar place—and you weren’t even off til 2) (A.M!)

So they took away my knife. And I was fired on the spot. And I was bummed out at first, sure. But now I’m definitely not.

Because in this exhibit hanging on a plaque, as day is clear, I have been shown I’m not the only thing that’s fired up in here.

Whether it be pottery Or just someone like me-- You can’t mistake our fate, our greatness: You can’t deny the torch that’s in my hand was passed along to me! You are witnessing the magic that becomes our history.

Oh, don’t stop me yet. Cuz I feel like I’m about to get fired again.

Cuz of all of the patrons who traveled here and now love pottery. One is a a balding man, about six feet short who apparently can’t read. A simple man with a heinous plan of flash photography. and I can’t help but think he’s compromising the memory of my fired ancestry

Verbal confrontation is kinda where I draw the line, so before things are escalated there, I find I’m reaching for my knife--not that i was considering pulling my knife on this guy—i’m not trying to get in a knife fight but to be honest I’m thinking about what it’d be like to get in a knife fight with this guy who clearly doesn't respect--

OH MY GOD I had not expected this… i am near sighted and as I approached, resolved to say something, instead of cut his throat i realized this bald man IS MY FATHER

so instead I find my feet are frozen cold… but of course they are, I was always scared of him growing up, I told my therapist I could never figure out how he lacked as a role model but I don’t care about that. what I do care now is how I didn’t just stab him with my formerly unconfiscated knife. more than, frankly, do I care about whether myself and the Iroquois pottery have been fired or not.

I mean, maybe it’s time for someone else to have some notoriety? yeah? well it sure as fuck will not be be me--

At least, not for, like I said, stabbing my very own dad, in the Nation Museum of the American Indian

Over frankly, what would have been some some petty shit on this 400 year old weekend.