Poor, Tired Tie!

This tie made me so profoundly sad.  Here it was, obviously suffering from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, yet cruel Brian Williams will not let it rest.  He sadistically wrests it from L'Armoire des Cravates and contorts it into its now familiar shape.  And there it hangs, so exhausted that it cannot hold a dimple, but instead makes a ravine.  It is richly purple, but is that a print or a pattern of slightly dimmer, teensy purple checks? houndstooth? rickrack?  Honestly, I think I said it best back in 2009.

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words When One Is Sick Of A Particular Cravat

Thank Goodness My Mother Never Watched TV On Thanksgiving

Oh no.  No, Brian, no.  This tie is...so terribly, horribly, awfully wrong.  It reminds me of those old-timey Kraft Foods commercials that used to air during the Thanksgiving Day parades back when I was a kid.  The narrator would say horrifying things like, "Cut Velveeta cheese into quarter-inch cubes.  Press a dried cranberry into each cube.  Now, prepare pineapple Jell-O according to the directions.  Place the Velveeta and cranberry cubes into a ring mold, like so.  Pour the Jell-O in and allow to set.  Unmold and serve on lettuce leaves with warm Kraft Catalina dressing!"  And I would watch in morbid fascination while this Food Travesty occurred before my eyes.  That is what this tie, this Velveeta orange cravat studded with cranberry medallions, looks like.  A 1960s Kraft Kitchens Travesty.

Meaning

It's another striper this evening for Brian, this time one of putty and flag blue.  It was early when she wandered into the empty studio and flicked on the light.  Gathering her supplies, she sat at the potter's wheel and worked the treadle.  Her hands cupped and shaped the clay instinctively.  Too late, she realized she had not removed the sapphire solitaire now resting on her right ring finger.  As the rivulets of murky water flowed between and over her fingers, the ring soon became statuary jewelry, and she noted how much more appropriate it seemed.

The Comforts Of Home

Brian anticipates the arrival of Spring with tonight's tie, its deep midnight field crossed by slim blushpink stripes.  Her heart quickened as she realized he was walking directly toward her.  Barricaded by guests and tables, she had no escape.  Soon, he stood over her, hand extended.  "Would you dance with me?"  Her face flushed, but her table-mates would not hear of a refusal.  In the end, she rose and walked out to the floor with him.  She had not danced since she had come home, and her prosthetic still felt awkward and odd.  But his chest felt familiar and comforting, and as she rested her hot cheek against his lapel, she could smell the rose in his boutonniere.

This Tie Is A Trip

BriWi's necktie this evening is a very busy affair of dark blue overlaid with a barely discernible grid of true blue.  Inside each grid's resulting square is a brilliant orange texturey block.  The whole thing is quite Cultural Textile-looking.  It's the sort of fabric you might see on the neckline of the Cameroon boubou, or the African men's kufi.  Then again, it's also reminiscent of the upholstery inside some airplanes back in the seventies that would take you on your cultural safari.

For St. Patrick's Day, We're All A Little Bit Irish

Back in the early days of The Report, I used to pine away for a Green Tie, lamenting that Brian Williams had No Such Thing.  Then, one St. Patrick's Day, he appeared at The Nightly news desk sporting a striper similar to this one, and since that auspicious outing, he has celebrated the Irish by wearing a bit o' the green.  Tonight, it's sure Himself reveals a big Irish heart by wearing the colors of the Breezy Point Catholic Club Pipes and Drums.  In a show of support, he knots up a deep navy and forest green cravat.

Some Things Bear Repeating, And Some Things Do Not, I Discover

BriWi is really giving this tie a workout lately.  How many more times do we have to look at this blue-with-grey-polkadots thing, seriously?  What's the deal?  I mean, I could wax on and on about how it represents the dichotomy of March weather, with its sunny blue skies one day, and its grey clouds scudding over the horizon the next.  Or I could do a vignette about some sad woman on an airplane, looking out at the grey clouds in the sky and thinking about the man she just left in divorce court.  But honestly, I'm irked and wearied by the continual appearance of this tie.  I like it fine, but not every three or four days, you know?  Even champagne could get tiresome after...okay, maybe not champagne, but this tie?  Absolutely.

Contrast

Ah, this evening Brian Williams dons a stylish silk tie of impossibly small paprika checks surmounted here and there by circlets of bluesmoke ringed with black.  It's smart and fashionable, its colours warm, yet assertive.  This tie is the friend who tells you yes, he's cheating, then finds you a good therapist and drives you there.  It is the teacher who docked you a grade level for a late assignment, but recommended you for the creative writing scholarship.  It is the loan officer who leans down to brush the cat hair from his pantleg. 

In The Good Old Summertime

This evening's tie has shockingly vivid stripes of brilliant summersky blue and mandarin orange.  It's like being back at the city pool in the heat of August, sun heating the concrete mercilessly, and the toddler moms grabbing what little shade there is.  We dunk our towels into the blue, cold water and spread them on the cement, imagining that they sizzle.  Fishing our money from the toe of our sneaker, we buy cans of Orange Crush and junk like Tootsie Rolls, jawbreakers, SweeTarts, Razzies, Turkish Taffy, and, if we really got lucky, wedges of greasy pizza.  We did cannonball dives, provoked the lifeguards, and always got our money's worth.

Back Then

Tonight's tie is the elder cousin of yesterday's offering, its stripes being navy and cardinal red.  The families filed into the pews and took their customary seats before Sacrament Sunday services began.  Charity cast her eyes modestly downward and folded her hands to keep them still.  In front of her, bonnet crisp and fresh, sat Constance Porter, recently arrived from Boston.  Already tongues were wagging in the village about her, but here she was, in church, and in the governor's pew!  Charity stole a look as Goody Porter pulled her shawl more tightly around her.  What!  It could not be!  Unless her eyes had deceived her, Charity had seen--and she was certain that she had--a scarlet bodice and laces underneath the shawl!  If the Reverend saw this from his high pulpit, Constance Porter would be in the stocks, and the governor under suspicion, too.

Targeted Revenge

A tie with wide stripes of deep navy blue and pumpkin is the selection for tonight.  She decanted the wine and arranged the pillows on the couch for the third time.  He had never seen her place, and she felt like it was kind of a big deal, really.  And then suddenly, there he was, straight from work, in coat and tie, which he removed and hung on the closet doorknob.  Within moments, she spied her fat orange marmalade cat walking purposefully toward the jacket.  "Evalynn, no!  No, Evalynn.  Come here!"  The cat turned to her, blinked, then sidled away, leaving a swath of hair on the coat as it moved against it.

This Report Goes Out To All Of Our Dimple Watchers In Particular

Brian talks me off the Fashion Ledge--a bit--with tonight's more sedate cravat of deep berry underwoven with black in a burlap/tweed-esque texture.  We here at The Report get lots of impassioned emails regarding the dimples of B.Williams' ties, and this evening will no doubt unleash another flood.  To stanch the electronic tide, perhaps, let us say this:  The dimple was tragically misplaced, albeit lovely.  We share your pain although not at the depth and breadth that you experience it.  Oh, my dears, how could we ever?

OrangeOrangeOrangeOrangeOrangeORANGE

Oh my.  This tie.  My eyes widened when I felt its assault in all its Orange Deer-Hunting, Traffic Cone Impact.  That power was not in the least ameliorated by the odd olive drab (?) medallions/ameoebae/splotchkins arrayed upon it, either.  Just as I was mopping up my tears, there was correspondent Miguel Almaguer on the split screen, similarly bedecked, his tangerine tie even more overtly orangey.  Perhaps BriWi's cravat would have appeared more stylish and less...gauche had it been part of a better ensemble.

Oh, Awf'ly

Mr. Williams dons a striped cravat of rich violet with deep suitcoat navy stripes bordered by slim bands of cream-white.  There is something ineffably formal and English about this tie.  It positively emanates a sort of posh, Prince Charlesian accent and a courtly quarter-bow at the waist, heels tight together.  It says Earl Grey on trays of silver service and scones with Devon cream.  I prefer strawberry jam to marmalade, if truth be told.  (I know, terribly gauche.)