Yes! Yes! Yes We Do! We've Got An Audaciously Fulgent Tie; How About You?

Oh, my. Certainly, we all are properly chastened ("Be careful what you wish for"; "Better the devil you know" yadda yadda yadda) for our carping about Le Cycle Répété in the previous Special Report.   (Which some of you charmingly rated, by the way.)  For tonight, Brian Williams shut our collective traps by daring to knot up a striped tie of screaming tangerine and blaring blue.  Wasn't it...peppy?  Indeed, it looked like something male cheerleaders from the fifties might wear on the sidelines at a college football game along with white flannel trousers, snappily creased and cuffed above white bucks.  They would have jaunty knit vests in that brassy blue (for home games) worn over their crisp Oxford shirts; the vivid Valencia orange for away.  And, to bring it all together, That Tie, knotted precisely and proudly with The Maximum School Spirit.  Go Team!

Special Report: Whether Buffalo Springfield or Hamlet Said It Best, Either Way, Something's Up

In an Unprecedented Step aside from our usual commentary on the semi-nightly critique of Brian Williams' cravats, we here at The Report must make take sad and pointed note of the recent shocking Sartorial Trend unfolding before our eyes.  Before we comment further, a brief recap is in order:

Wednesday, 28 Sept.:  SPT.
Tuesday, 27 Sept.:  Jet and Gold Bling Stripe
Monday, 26 Sept.:  SPT.
Friday, 23 Sept.: Jet and Gold Bling Stripe
Thursday, 22 Sept: SPT.

WHAT IS HAPPENING?  Is Brian camping out at The Nightly?  Did Mrs. Williams change the locks?  Has Someone lost his subscription to Men's Vogue? 

I feel our concern is justified.  Brian Williams, contact me here at The Report.  I stand ready to assist you in any way I can.

Cringe-Worthy

SPT. How worrisome.

Il Restera Tacite

SPT. I simply will not discuss it.

So I'm Gone Two Days, And This Is What I Come Back To?

SPT.  Iced lilac, yes, but Solid Purple. It counts. (And in September, really. Why are we even talking about this?)

At The Opera

This evening's striped tie is one of blush and ebony diagonals.  As the conductor raises his baton and bows are made ready, the rustle of silk heralds her arrival in the box.  Every tuxedoed man arises slightly; every gowned woman nods.  She smiles and apologetically shrugs out of her wrap and pats her coif unconsciously with an opera-gloved hand bedecked with a ruby and gold wristlet.  One man, holding the empty chair next to him, bends low and whispers in her ear, brushes his lips against her bare neck.  Her eyelids flutter downward as her cheeks color charmingly. She takes her seat with a smile.

Dear Bobby Sherman (Or David Cassidy Or Fill In Name Of Tiger Beat Hero Here)

Navy and stripes, navy and stripes. What would dear Brian do without them? This evening they appear in an orchid and midnight iteration, like a Seventies tween's smudgy bit of fan mail written on some Spencer Gift stationery with a blotchy Flair pen.

In Which We Are Suitably Terrorized By This Tie--See What I Did There?

Tonight, BriWi slings on a dubious cravat of sedate navy assailed by blaring tangerine stripes.  It is as if a hunter or highway worker went mad one night and used their signature colour--via spray can or brush--to vandalize every available surface, painting swaths of orange to forbid, to warn, to alarm us all.

Will Someone Please Steal This Tie?

SPT.  Really, it's already in the Axis Of Evil. I've created a new *Acronym for its...manifestation.  I don't know what else I can do to express my Profound Dismay at this...this...UnTie.






*WDBTK--What Dwells Below The Knot

Mid-September, And I Struggle Mightily With Cravat Ennui

Brian knots up a cravat of rich mahogany with a peach-coloured petit-point pattern.  Finally, the storm abated and the clouds pushed back.  She helped her daughter shove her little feet into her wellies and together, they ran into the orchard to look.  The ground under their feet was a vast expanse of mud and blossoms.  Rivulets of rainwater ran in ruts and stood in pools and the trees, some broken and bowed, looked like penitents in a cold cathedral.

Dizzy

Deep, suitcoat navy crossed with brassy Tabasco stripes is Brian's welcome to September tonight.  All I could think of was being a little girl on East 38th Street again and hanging out with the tomboy Lisa across the street. One of our favorite summertime do-nothing games was to see how long we could stare directly into the sun before we began to tear up.  Then we'd look at the street, still seeing the pulsing circle of the sun in its dim asphalt face.  After a few minutes of this, we'd get dizzy, go to my house, and Mom would pour us some KoolAid and shoo us out onto the shady front yard.