I tried to simply move this site over to the new address(hence the new look) but ultimately decided to just start fresh. Although I will be transferring many of the posts here over to the new site.

So I hope you dig the new site and continue reading the ridiculous things that I write.

The dress code.

No less than three times in the last two weeks I’ve been asked by someone at a party if I had to be at work later because of the uniform. I briefly explain that I do not, then am further grilled with questions like “Then why are you so dressed up?” To be polite I don’t give the answer “So I don’t look like a derelict.” and just say that I wear a suit everyday. Inevitably someone overhears this and then adds that it’s the same suit everyday, which leads into further explanation of the uniform.

While I’m not tired of the uniform I’m getting a little tired of explaining it. My life would be easier if everyone read this blog like they’re supposed to. Get the word out readers. Save me twenty minutes per party.

http://www.coolibar.com/01501.html thanks to my friends at Dailygrommet.com

Button down PLUS added UV protection? Yes, absolutely.

With few exceptions we go to the same grocery store every week. There’s no real brand loyalty to the store, it’s just that it’s the one closest to our house and I’m a creature of habit. An added bonus is that Shaun Beacham works there so I see him on occasion.

But when you shop with your wife it’s hard to hide things like the fact that you decide which cereal to buy based on the toy inside or cartoon character on the box rather than price or nutrition. Or that putting Paul Newman’s face on something is enough to make me want it. But my grocery store weirdness goes beyond my childish food selection techniques. I’m also really picky about which checkout aisle I go to. Not because of the aisle themselves, but because of the cashiers. Trying to decide which checkout lane to queue up to is really me at my must judgmental. There are three cashiers at our grocery store that I avoid habitually. One is an older woman who is so incredibly slow that I can feel myself age while I wait for her to scan my Golden Grahams. The other is a woman with insane fingernails. They aren’t even just long, but they curve under- almost into a complete circle. I can’t say for sure why this bothers me so much, but it does. Lastly, and worst of all, is the old guy who talks to me. Whenever I get into this guy’s line he invariably tries to strike up a conversation. I tried to suffer through it a few times because he’s actually a great cashier and bagger, but after he once told me how great vegetables are for the digestive tract I’ve had enough.

But last night I got roped in. Steph and I were looking for a lane and as we got to the end of the row I saw an empty lane and before I could look away I’d already made eye contact with him- the talker. I’m flawed. I’m judgmental. But I’m not rude- a trait that lead to an unpleasant lapdance from an ugly stripper- so I had no choice. I couldn’t very well look this guy in the eye as he stood proudly in his completely empty checkout lane and then ignore him to go stand in line and wait for someone else. Besides, he was the second-to-last lane open, what if I passed him and then got stuck waiting for Fingernails?

So reluctantly I pushed the cart towards him. I tried to preempt him with a simple “How’s it going?” but I don’t think he heard me. Then I got hopeful that maybe he wouldn’t talk. He asked if we had coupons, but that doesn’t count. Then as I was bagging it happened.

“Work late tonight?” he asked. Assuming the fact that I was wearing a dress shirt and tie meant I had just come from work at around eight o’clock at night. You did it, buddy. You made an ass out of u and me.

“No, I wear a shirt and tie everyday.” I told him.

“Oh. Alright.” he said questioningly- like a dick. And then shut up.

This lead to a discussion with my wife over what kind of person it makes me that the reason I don’t like this guy is because he tries to be nice to me. No clear answer was derived.

I’m the worst.

My aunt asked “Why wouldn’t you want to bring something comfortable to change into?” To which I replied, “I did. I brought my Uniform. Now I’m comfortable.”

And I was. And am.

Suits = The Best.

While I did once put a pair of underpants on my parents’ dog Doodles and put her tail through the weiner-flap (yep, weiner-flap) and laughed about it for a few hours that’s really the extent to which I’ve dressed up a dog.

So in conclusion, dressing a dog in people clothes is silly. However, accessorizing is acceptable. It might not be out of the question to see him in a tie every once in a while, especially on Sinatra Night, where he will be clearly be sporting a bow tie. Elvis is a classy guy.

Yep.

It’s not just what I wear to go to work. It’s what I wear for living. Although honestly I’ve been more lax about suiting up right away each morning. Usually I get up and do some chores or work in the yard, then I shower and suit up. So if it’s before about 2 you’re likely to find me in a white T-shirt and my yard-pants.

On days when I’m particularly depressed it’s harder to get myself motivated enough to get out of bed let alone shower and put on the uniform. It should be noted however that routine is good for depression, and I usually do feel remarkably better once I manage to get into the uniform. A Uniformed Glen is a happier Glen.

But sure enough, when I go out of the house it’s in uniform. I will occasionally run to the hardware store in my yardwork attire, and I was surprised when a student recognized me the other day sans uniform.

Another recent topic of uniformed discussion has been the weather. “Do you really where a suit when it’s this hot out?”

Answer: Yes.

The Uniform, like the deeply complicated writer who wears it, has layers. Too hot? Take off the jacket. Still too hot, loosen the tie and open the top button. I can roll the sleeves under.* I have options.

“What about the pants?” What about them? I don’t wear shorts. Haven’t for years. I own one pair that I occasionally wear when it’s really hot and I’m doing yard work, but that’s it. If they made a bathing suit that was pants I would buy it. In fact, someone get on that. I command it.

Yours in Uniform,
Glen Tickle

Elvis. 3 year old English Setter mix.

That’s Elvis. A friend of my mom has to get rid of him because she got a new job and isn’t around to take care of him anymore. Solution? I’m taking him! Yay! After many long discussions/arguments with the wife she came on board with the idea and soon he will come live with us.

A few people have asked if I have plans to change his name. I do not. I will, however, tell people he’s named after Elvis Costello rather than Prestley.

I do not.

One point I take against it is that the idea that people will randomly burst into simultaneous song is completely unrealistic and stops whatever story is building in its tracks rather than helping it along.

As of last Wednesday I forfeit that point.

I was subbing at my old high school on their last day of the school year. On my way out of the building most of the students were out on the front lawn of the school celebrating their new freedom. Easily several hundred students were assembled. On a bench was this one kid with a portable keyboard on his lap. He was playing something I didn’t recognize and no one was paying any attention to him. Any kid sitting on a bench in a crowd of hundreds of people playing a portable keyboard is DYING for attention, so the fact that no one noticed him but me bothered him, I guess. That’s when he took drastic measures. He stopped playing whatever stupid Jonas Brothers song he had going.(I’m just taking a guess based on how little I know about either this student or the Jonas Brothers) After a few moments of silence the kid cranks the keyboard to 11 and starts playing Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” And you know what you heard? Silence… and Journey.

All heads turned to the kid on the bench. He started singing, and he didn’t get past “small town girl” before he was joined. By the time said small town girl took “a midnight train going anywhere” half the crowd joined in. It was amazing. It really was like being in a musical- with Journey– and high school kids. Not just the awful theater kids were believing in perpetuity, it was across the board. There was at least one of every Breakfast Club stereotype rocking out to this song. I almost cried it was so damn beautiful.

I know that people tend to belt along with Journey when it comes on the jukebox at a bar, is played at a party, or is thrown as a last ditch effort by a skillless DJ at a wedding. But this was something else. This was magical, and no- I won’t stop believing.

One of the hardest parts of subbing is trying to remember all the kids I meet that remember me, and quite enthusiastically at that. At the time I had no idea who this kid was, but shortly after the hug I was standing next to the kid’s father who was complaining about something to Kevin Victorella (Theater manager/Best guy ever) and he stopped for a second to yell at his son for tossing his box of Skittles(Delicious TM) around the lobby. I think it’s because I had only heard the kid addressed by an adult screaming his name, but that jogged my memory and I did in fact remember the kid from the few times I’d had him class.

He brought his cousin and some other kids over to see me. They all seemed to know who I was, but I just remember the hugger. I asked everyone how their summer was going and then- and only then- did the parents take any interest in who I was. They asked who I was and I told them I was a substitute teacher, and the kids confirmed my story and told their parents I was “The best”.

They’re right. I am.