Well Hung 2

(This is a serialized story, please read yesterday’s story for the 1st installment of this article):
Second part of two-part article

As if proving my point, I went Online and every decorator and their brother and dead aunt had a suggestion. “Pictures should be 5 ½ feet from the floor.” Okay, which floor? My kitchen has ceramic tile. My living room is an inch or two higher because it has carpeting and padding. Moreover, the floor in my pet mouse’s cage is five feet higher (to give him a good view of his cousin, the squirrel, scampering about rain gutters and rooftops.). None of the designers on the Internet gave anything close to a definitive answer and I wasn’t sure, so I figured it out the scientific way: I flipped a coin. Heads, I’d do it my way. Tails, I would wait until 2006. I lost the coin, so I went back to the Internet (but the psychic didn’t know where the coin was, which I figured was a curse from God because I’d used his name in vain when stubbing my toes—which convinced me to continue to look for additional info on the Internet).

The next Internet suggestion was that my artwork should form a “group.” But how? All the Internet sites agreed: they didn’t agree. However, I found out what forming a “group” meant: a. gwoop: when several people with lisps come together to meet, b. gro-up: when one person waits to hang their artwork so it’s perfect they should gro-up because nothing is ever perfect!

Because I wasn’t ready to gro-up (do men ever truly grow up?) and make these important decisions alone, I formed an artwork group who I hoped would help me with these important life-altering decisions. An artist friend told me where each picture should go. Another friend told me where I should go. I didn’t go there, but at least, I had my answer: this wasn’t a real friend.

Still, how did I group my differently-themed (like differently-abled) artwork? Should my blooming rose go with my photo of a blooming idiot who squeezed his body into a lampshade skirt when he was drunk? Should my group shot of people I used to work with go with pictures of my dead family members (because I’d never see any of them again)? How did any of this make any sense? I didn’t know.

My artist friend explained it to me this way: “Don’t hang crap up with your good artwork: store it away until you have a crappy place (like a basement) where it will not look good, but at least it won’t make everything else look bad.”

Great advice! I did it his way. The artwork that was good is now well hung. Perhaps, in five or ten years (after another Bush is in the White House) I will see my ugly artwork again and have someplace to hang it. While I’m dreaming (or is this a nightmare?), maybe by then my antique computer equipment will be worth a fortune.

END