"Chicago is not the most corrupt American city. It's the most theatrically corrupt."

Yesterday I handled clothes worn by this man. Some of his belongings are being added to the museum's collection, so I had the honor of examining his wool trousers, classic red socks, worn-out fedora and of course the outerwear of reporters everywhere, the Burberry trench coat. And the crowning jewel? His old-man's terry-cloth bathrobe.

It's kind of funny - if you're famous or important, eventually every aspect of your life, every mundane moment or embarrassing tchotchke, will be combed over with a magnifiying glass by well-meaning museum interns like myself. Once you die the materials of your life, the stuff that you surrounded yourself with, becomes the historical playground for museum professionals and academics attempting to reconstruct your life. What was perfectly normal and boring to you - that ratty stuffed bear from your childhood, your toothbrush - becomes a testament to your importance.

The moral of the story? If you plan on doing something important and influential with your life, make sure that you throw out all your granny panties, hole-y socks, and unflattering house dresses before you die. And for goodness sake, PLEASE clean your bathrobe. Those interns of the future have to get up close and personal with it, and they don't need to see the remains of your egg breakfast on it.