What’s a guy have to fdo to get his pants put in a museum around here?
I’m not obsessed about it or anything, but lately I’ve been wondering what I need to do to get my pants in a museum.The seed was planted about two years ago, while my friend Kevin and Iwere visiting the Experience Music Project in Seattle. The EMP is the newstate-of-the-art music museum, and one of the attractions was the JimiHendrix Room, wherein one could find, among other memorabilia, Jimi’s pants.Jimi’s pants were a fluorescent peachy hue, and kinda velvety. (Due toheavy museum security, I wasn’t able to touch them to confirm theirvelvetiness, but I leaned in real close.) And they weren’t just pinned to awall behind some glass, they were displayed on a mock-up of a stage thatJimi might have once played. There was a drum kit, some amps, a few micstands, and a pair of disembodied velvet pants standing center stage."I was in the same room with Jimi Hendrix’s pants," Kevin said as weheaded off to other exhibits. I felt the same way."You know you’re really made it when your pants are in a museum," headded later, obviously, like me, still thinking about those pants.And then I felt a little depressed, realizing that unless somethingunforeseen happens, the chances of MY pants ending up in a museum are prettyslim. Does this mean that I, therefore, have NOT made it?I mean, if I were to die tomorrow, there is almost no way my pantswould be housed in a museum, not even in the back room. It isn’t as if I’ve been slacking or anything. My career path is asteady (if slow) one, my horizons are expanding in a constant (ifcontrolled) manner, I stretch my boundaries from time to time, take risks,step outside of the box, change my paradigm, etc… But I’m thinking it maytake more than safe career choices to get your pants in a museum. I guess I could take a tip from Jimi, who took a lot of acid and playedthe guitar like an alien space god. I have some first-hand experience withhallucinations, and I can fake it pretty good on the harmonica, but I don’tsee either of these qualities, or even the combination of the two, assomething that would spark a post-mortem bidding war on my pants. I know what you’re thinking: Maybe I should embrace a different qualityof pant. My current favorite pair are of the second-hand variety, denim,only slightly worn. These work well for me, but probably not high on amuseum director’s list. "Are these pants flashy?" the director asks over the phone. "Not by conventional standards," my executor would reply. "We’ll be in touch," the director says. "You have my number." Sure, I’ve considered switching to something a little more velvety,maybe with rhinestones. But I’m not sure I have the personality to pull offsuch a pant, and I don’t want to be too obvious. You see me in pants likethat and you’re like: "Oh, look at him, trying to gets his pants in amuseum." I don’t want people thinking that about me. I don’t mean to give the impression that this is ALL I do. I realizethat there are better, more charitable uses of my time than sitting aroundall day racking my brain about how to get my pants in a museum. No, Iunderstand the benefits of lending a helping hand, comforting the needy,being a friend to those who have none, and so forth, but all the while Ifind myself thinking – you guessed it – "Is THIS altruistic act going toland my pants in a museum?" I suppose, for my own peace of mind, I should accept that there areother ways to "make it." One could be considered a success based on manyother criteria. Like, for instance, success could be measured by … uh …success is … hmmm … Dammit! NOTHING comes to mind except having my pants in a museum!
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