I suppose I could ask my brother Adam blogger extraordinaire whose career in jurisprudence (and Dear Prudence, for good measure) stretches back a number of years and whose skills as an attorney are beyond question but I admit to being surprised to learning that there's a dress code for lawyers.
I didn't mean to make that read quite as Sticksville as it does, and I apologize. I know fry cooks are supposed to wear long trouser, probably in the interests of breeding future generations of fry cooks, and every attorney I've ever met (and not necessarily just at arraignments) is always dressed in a very formal manner, so maybe I should be more surprised at my own surprise.
The pursuit of justice is a serious business, and I imagine the argument can be made that those involved in it should dress the part, so having admitted all of that, I come across Todd Glickfield, an attorney in Marion, Indiana, and am stumped (or stupid, I'm not sure which; and I'm not sure which one of us is).
I spent one summer in Indiana, actually in Indianapolis, thirty-nine summers ago so my impressions of the state may be skewed or flawed, but everyone seemed nice, and neatly dressed so I don't know what to make of Todd's malfunction.
I should tell you that, given the opportunity, I would wear socks with sandals because that's how I roll. It's not, however, how the Love of My Life would, so I don't wear a lot of sandals, but I'm not sure how Todd protects his feet from the insides of shoes.
In light of the current relationship between Attorney Glickman and the Blackford Circuit Court, where he practices, not sure were I to be a defendant shopping for an advocate I'd choose Todd, because since I'm already in enough legal trouble to have the dogs of law barking at my heels not sure having someone wearing liverwurst aftershave, metaphorically speaking, enhances my opportunities to remain on the visitor's side of jail cell bars.
As I said, Todd, socks complement shoes, and the entire ensemble and are awfully handy to have in a pinch to clean the ventilator blades.
-bill kenny
Ramblings of a badly aged Baby Boomer who went from Rebel Without a Cause to Bozo Without a Clue in, seemingly, the same afternoon.
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