I’ve noticed over the years that if you have a lot of money but dress like you slept in your clothes in an alley, then you can be called eccentric. Otherwise, you’re a bum.

This came to mind today when I read a story of archivists digging through some of the late Andy Warhol’s stuff he left behind. And in one of 610 cardboard boxes, they found $17,000 in cash. Now I’m not suggesting that he was trying to beat the IRS out of anything. It could be that he ordered a lot of pizza and was a big tipper.

They also found a piece of crusty wedding cake, oozing soup cans and an autographed copy of a naked Jacqueline Onassis. Now old Andy, who died 22 years ago, was considered a “pop artist.” That basically meant that he could sell crap that other people couldn’t give away at a yard sale.

And I’ve probably already labeled him “eccentric” with only these few words. But I’m not quite sure. Had there been an autographed photo of a naked Rosie O’Donnell, there would be no doubt.

Now don’t get me wrong. I must admire Andy. I wish I could paint a picture of a soup can and sell it for millions.

I’ve never really embraced “pop” art per se. But if I could have made money off it, my house would be decorated in the same, and I would find all sorts of hidden meaning in a framed plate of scrambled eggs. I don’t think Andy had one of those. I’m just trying to be original.

I do support the arts in broad venue. I like paintings of old boats, and I love banjo and mandolin music. And I have a sculpture of a dog on my patio made of nuts, bolts, rebar, coil springs and tin plates. It’s truly a junkyard dog.

Once in an Atlanta museum, a security guard grabbed me by the shoulder and escorted me to one side, explaining that I had just stepped on an exhibit.

I looked to where he had pointed, and there was some metal tubing laid in sort of a rail fence configuration. And on a little pedestal was a title that read, “Man’s Juxtaposition To The Cosmos.” To be honest, I thought the plumbers just hadn’t returned for all of their stuff.

And so I was enlightened. And I looked up the word “juxtaposition” which I don’t think I’ve ever used until now. I would have titled the exhibit, “Plumbers’ Pay Should Be Docked.”

But again, if it had been mine and I could have sold it for $10,000, I would have hit every junkyard in Fulton County gathering up old tailpipes and water line.

Now when I say I’m not into “pop art,” I do have a photograph on my office wall of the old Posey’s bar that once was one of my favorite haunts down at St. Marks, Fla. It might even be a collector’s item, given that Posey’s was disposed of by Hurricane Dennis several years ago.

They had great smoked mullet, and it’s the only place I’ve ever been where they served dried limas as a side dish to fried shrimp. I once wrote a column about it and titled it “Pearl In A Sardine Can” Someone sent them a copy which was framed on their wall.

So maybe I do appreciate “pop art” and just didn’t know what to call it. After all, I didn’t know I liked soul food until I realized I had been eating it all my life.

(Dwain Walden is editor/publisher of The Moultrie Observer. Email: dwain.walden@gaflnnews.com)