As God is my witness, I'm going back to briefs

Who are those idiots who walk around with their pants halfway down around their asses? Rappers? B-boys--whatever that means? Something else?

Anyway, push has come to shove, dear reader, and the next painting I sell I'm going to throw away every pair of boxers I own (except maybe my black Ralph Laurens) and go back to briefs. Because a man gets tired of walking around the town wishing he could just reach down and pull the back of his underwear back up.

It's like being a secret B-boy. Or something. Perhaps it's like that business about women who wear exotic lingerie in mundane places--like the office--and are amused at the notion that the world has no idea what's going on inside. Except what's going on inside with me is the urge to pull my drawers back up.

Does this ever happen to you?

Anyway, I must say that part and parcel of being an artist is the idea of walking around like a normal person, amused at the notion that the world has no idea what's going on inside. I mean, isn't that why we are paid as much as we are? For the carrying of the burden?

(For the record, life is full of burdens and we should just man-up and carry our share. Me? I find always being the smartest person in the room especially tiresome.)

All that said, I'm considering re-naming my Paulson painting to "The Flaming Paulson", but time will tell on this one.