Wednesday, April 18, 2007
What's the deal with men in suits?
I was walking back from the IT Help desk, and as I walked out of the 21xx hallway, I saw a group of four male faculty members walking out of a meeting room, and each of them were wearing suits, and here I am, stressed jeans, casual button-down shirt, untucked, with my 15 year-old scuffed Doc Marten's. I felt inferior, like a slob, like peas on a breakfast plate -- out of place.
I have a suit, and a variety of ties, and sometimes I think it would be much easier getting dressed in the morning if that was all I was to wear -- no decisions to make more taxing than which tie to wear. It's not that my dress decisions are all that taxing in the morning as it stands. For the most part, my decisions are made by my gut. I ask myself what feels right, what would feel comfortable, and sometimes I can't come up with a good answer when I stare into my closet, so I settle on something that may or may not look or feel good.
But it seems to me that wearing a suit is a power play. These men were obviously exiting some sort of meeting in which very important decisions were being made. They had that air about them.
This is dull. I don't want to write about suits anymore. Like my dress dilemma each morning, it just doesn't feel right. What do I want to write about? What's on my mind today? Marriage is always on my mind. Is it worth it? Why bother? What is love?
None of this feels right either.
How about ROTC? hehe. Nah. No interest.
I don't know what to write about, what to write about, to write about, write about, about, about, about, about, qwerty is a fine name for a dog, don't ya think? What is an interesting and unique fun fact about you? Do you eat spaghetti for breakfast? Yuck. What's your favorite cereal? I like a whole variety of candy cereals -- fruit loops with marshmallows is a tasty sweet buzzy treat. Chomp, chomp, chomp!
Blah, blah, blah. I know that I say that if you keep writing, something will come, but nothing's coming damnit! Damn this freewriting to hell. Down with the heretic! Burn em!
Burn em.
Burn Hem
Burn him!
I was walking back from the IT Help desk, and as I walked out of the 21xx hallway, I saw a group of four male faculty members walking out of a meeting room, and each of them were wearing suits, and here I am, stressed jeans, casual button-down shirt, untucked, with my 15 year-old scuffed Doc Marten's. I felt inferior, like a slob, like peas on a breakfast plate -- out of place.
I have a suit, and a variety of ties, and sometimes I think it would be much easier getting dressed in the morning if that was all I was to wear -- no decisions to make more taxing than which tie to wear. It's not that my dress decisions are all that taxing in the morning as it stands. For the most part, my decisions are made by my gut. I ask myself what feels right, what would feel comfortable, and sometimes I can't come up with a good answer when I stare into my closet, so I settle on something that may or may not look or feel good.
But it seems to me that wearing a suit is a power play. These men were obviously exiting some sort of meeting in which very important decisions were being made. They had that air about them.
This is dull. I don't want to write about suits anymore. Like my dress dilemma each morning, it just doesn't feel right. What do I want to write about? What's on my mind today? Marriage is always on my mind. Is it worth it? Why bother? What is love?
None of this feels right either.
How about ROTC? hehe. Nah. No interest.
I don't know what to write about, what to write about, to write about, write about, about, about, about, about, qwerty is a fine name for a dog, don't ya think? What is an interesting and unique fun fact about you? Do you eat spaghetti for breakfast? Yuck. What's your favorite cereal? I like a whole variety of candy cereals -- fruit loops with marshmallows is a tasty sweet buzzy treat. Chomp, chomp, chomp!
Blah, blah, blah. I know that I say that if you keep writing, something will come, but nothing's coming damnit! Damn this freewriting to hell. Down with the heretic! Burn em!
Burn em.
Burn Hem
Burn him!
Labels: Men in Suits
