At least that's what our man over at Rakish Tilt declares. Click here to take a look at his Top Ten Best Dressed Men in Comics post. And snoop around the rest of his blog. He's an infrequent positor so unlike me, when he has something to say, it's usually interesting and worthy of a gander.
As for me...I'm sitting in my Brooks Brethren seersucker robe, rehearsing my (I loathe PowerPoint...that's a rant/post for another day) 11:45 presentation...The Diabetes Care Clinical Quality Agenda and the Endocrinology Corollary. Twenty three slides of ADG nerdaciousness...and you thought the only thing I knew about was go-to-hell pants and shell cordovan. Beneath my puckish Trad veneer lies the real me. A pocket protector white-taped plastic glasses wearing wonk.
I've got three more New Orleans reports and a bunch of Randomosity thereafter. Be patient...I need to wage-slave for a bit. Sit tight. Stay cool. It's been close to a hundred ("hunnert" for you South Carolinians) here the last few days.
Oh, and night before last, I got to be daddy to LFG again. We wrote a play. I'm lying. As usual, she wrote and dictated...I typed. And let me tell you, the formatting rules for script-typing...spacing, margin and footer justification etc are onerous. And here's an excerpt..."the medicine doesn't cure Alzheimer's...". Geez...my fifth grader has some knowledge of the current Alzheimer's therapies and their limitations. She's correct by the way, regarding those drugs' palliative versus curative properties. When I was a fifth grader, such things were lost on me. That's about the age when I shot R.G. in the back with my Daisy BB gun.
Onward. Speaking locally...a rare thing.