Cleveland At Night

Another stripe, this one of nightsky with heavy diagonals of ultramarine blue, widely-spaced. The background colour is so dark and matte, and the stripes are so vivid and brilliant, that I think of riding home from Cleveland at night after the Cavs games or the BB King concert or duck breast at Lola Bistro.  I always look out the window to see the Veterans Memorial Bridge illuminated against the darkness.

A Kingly Cravat

I thought this tie--one from the storied Vintage Series--was gone forever.  Thank heavens it's not, for these lovely stripes of royal purple and burnished gold are a favourite of The Report.  What regal accoutrement doesn't come to mind when viewing this gorgeous cravat?  Think noble coats-of-arms; imagine luxurious hanging tapestries adorning the walls of the great halls in English castles; picture the billowing flags of knights and their armies as they thunder over contested ground, urging fleet-footed steeds ever onward.  And look deep into the golden goblets of wine held by the jewelled hands of royalty.

To A Nice Guy I Went To High School With--Stay As You Are And You Will Go Far

Brian's cravat this evening is suitcoat navy with slim stripes of Carolina blue.  It is a pleasant, inoffensive tie without statement or style.  This tie is the boy that your mother wanted you to date when you were in high school:  nice, good-looking, not one of those flashy types, and one who fit in everywhere so you didn't have to worry about him getting along with who else was showing up.

Here's Your Baloney On White With Mayo And American Cheese. Oh, And An Apple.

This evening's tie is, in a word, boring.  Simple purple striped with pairs of narrow white diagonals at widely spaced intervals.  It's...uninspired and generic-looking.  This is the school lunch of ties.  It is the fruit cocktail for dessert of neckwear.  Yes, it's something, but it's not great, not what it should be, and certainly not what you want.

This Tie Is A Chicken Hand

Oh, this tie. What to say? It's so heavily textured, so...ponderous looking, with its dark blue field and flamingo-coloured squares, each component with its own intarsia/jacquard/interwoven pattern so busy and thick that it appears more like upholstery textile than fabric for fashion.  I could see it made into a tote bag for some bottle redheaded mah jongg lady named Stell--the "a" is elided--who carries in it her set of tiles, a packet of travel Kleenex, an acrylic nail file, some Splenda, and a box of Special K Vanilla Crisp Cereal Bars.

Isn't It Lovely?

This is a welcome sight, the Simply Pretty narrowly striped cravat of creamy sky and deep turquoise blues.  It's gently springlike, and looking at it makes one think of billowy bridesmaids' dresses, soft baby blankets smelling like powder and snuggly warmth, and carefully arranged nooks of cushions and pillows inviting the indulgent reader to nestle in with a Good Book while a careless breeze wafts in, bringing the promise of blossoms.

Toon Town Tie FX

Tonight's tie just looked...wrong, somehow.  By itself, its background of violet crossed with jet navy stripes banded by white has never seemed particularly off-putting.  But tonight, it was jarring against BriWi's favourite Oxford blue shirt.  It looked almost cartoonish, like a faux-3D, Roger Rabbity effect, and I waited for it to sprout little cravatsy arms and legs and scamper up to me, waving and taunting, "Hey, Nance! Howya like me now?"

It's Anticlimactic, Really

SPT.  After an uninspiring week, this is a disappointing--albeit fitting--end.

Clouds In Her Coffee

Tonight Brian treats us to the rich cocoa cravat overlaid with rosy mini-dots in a grid pattern.  She had begun frequenting the coffee shops on those sleepless dawns when the hopelessness kept her awake all night and her bed felt like a punishment.  She would sit small in a corner booth, busily writing in her journal, sampling whatever rich, fragrant brew the barista recommended that day.  Between the bitter sips and biting sentences, she watched the sky turn pink as another day mocked her anew.

Basic Blue

I see Brian Williams.
Look, look. Look at Brian Williams.
Brian Williams is wearing a tie.
It is blue.  It is very, very blue.
Look, look at the blue, blue tie.
That is a very blue tie, Brian Williams!

What Was The Wattage On That Tie, D'Ya Think?

SPT. Holy crap.  Was that thing...illuminated? 

Dark Nobility

This evening's tie is a dusky plum with nightsky stripes.  She approached his battlefield tent with trepidation, but dutifully, bearing a late-supper tray.  His valet nodded and waved her in to its smoky den.  "My lord," she began, but he was nowhere to be seen.  She faltered, confused.  "Here!" he commanded, his voice tired and petulant like a sulking child.  She stepped timidly to the absurdly curtained bedchamber, so opulent for wartime accommodation, even for a noble.  His pale hand drew aside the fabric and took the wine.  In a moment, the goblet reappeared.  "Your father dares to send me such swill?  Even in war, I won't drink vinegar."  The goblet is tipped and the purpled stream is wasted on the ground, drunk by the contested soil beneath.  "At least he has sent it in a lovely vessel.  Come here, closer to me.  Draw open the bedcurtains and let me look more closely at her." 

The Spell

Another old favourite for Brian Williams this evening, the violet cravat with midnight stripes bordered by shimmering pearl.  From behind the folds of his cloak, the spellcaster drew a small ebony casket.  His pale fingers lifted the lid, slowly, allowing a soft glow to emit from its depths.  As she beheld the contents, her eyes widened.  There, nestled amid the velvet was the amulet.  Its mysterious amethyst seemed to darken and lighten with the quickening throb of her heart.  The pearls surrounding it appeared animate, almost breathing with warmth and life. A voice not her own rose around her, whispering, then clamoring with need.

For Want Of An Iron, The Review Was Lost

It looks as if Brian has burrowed deep into his Armoire de Cravates and emerged with this long-forgotten tie of coppery orange crossed by slender true blue diagonals.  This poor, rumpled thing!  Had it been in better condition, looking crisp and snappy, I might have compared it to an autumnal harvest under an October sky, but in its present wrinkly state, it reminds me simply of a losing football team's dejected banners after The Big Game.  They hang limp and forgotten, now seen only by the janitor, who yanks them free, crumples them up, and stuffs them in the bin.