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Faithful husband, soccer dad,
basset owner, and former cowboy
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Monday, July 25, 2005
Rock breaks scissors
Scissors cuts paper
Picture crushes text
Do not adjust your monitor 
From the screedy one:
I dress casually in the summer, because it’s hot. But for the last few years I’ve returned to good slacks and decent shoes and a crisp shirt and a tie. Grown-up clothes. Dad clothes. A man ought to be able to put on a shirt and tie without thinking he’s putting on a costume to deal with The Man; he should regard it as the Rainments of Masculinity, the costume we wear to project the impression of seriousness. If we’re not serious, it’ll be apparent quite soon. Likewise if we’re a peacock, a grifter, a poseur, a drone, a cog – the uniform only says that you’re part of the hard plain world, not whether or not you really belong there. I just know that I feel different in a shirt and tie. I stand up straighter. I don’t feel as though I’m owed more respect; on the contrary, I feel obliged to be more respectful. It’s hard to describe, but to paraphrase a drunken Marge Simpson after six Long Island Iced Teas – you guys in the audience, you know what I’m talking about.
No. No we don't. But about that shirt...and the bolo tie....
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