Reminding me of the time Toulouse-Lautrec was living in a squalid atelier in Paris. A terrible fire roared through the building in the middle of the night and the starving artist grabbed his Levis and ran down the stairs.

He fainted from lack of oxygen but was quickly revived by a friend. He said, "George, did the fire fighters save any of my worldly goods?"

The reply was, "I'm afraid not. You have nothing, Toulouse, but your jeans."