tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29460003395326868832024-02-07T00:22:08.486-05:00The Brian Williams Tie Report Archives<b>Logging the neckwear fashion decisions of America's most trusted voice in evening news.</b>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comBlogger1220125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-41746430428558625252014-06-24T08:22:00.002-04:002014-06-24T08:22:40.610-04:00In Which I Come To A Conclusion......of sorts. While I find<i> les cravates</i> and this sort of micro-writing endlessly fascinating, I no longer find the neckwear of Mr. Brian Williams to be consistently inspiring. Thankfully, the Title of this repository has planned for this eventuality. Once in a while, I will review a tie when the mood strikes, but on a capricious basis. And certainly on the Re-emergence Of The Lovely Pink Tie.Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-64903494085097395772014-06-12T21:48:00.000-04:002014-06-13T09:48:25.183-04:00Art HeadsWhen I was in high school, all the art kids used to bring these grey boards to classes and use incredibly sharp, wooden-handled tools to eke out designs in them. So, while they were supposed to be listening to teachers talk about bisecting angles, titrating solutions, or punctuating subordinate clauses, they were instead digging out pieces of rubbery grey matter in varying line widths and chunks, leaving behind piles of crumbs and curls. Brian's tie tonight reminds me of those projects, with its reddish blocks of textured lines set onto a deep blue background. Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-31973996291152428172014-06-11T22:30:00.000-04:002014-06-12T08:45:35.509-04:00Again With The Lazy Ties<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fyeJdpKFwIgqXm-xH6L7t3W4fHy3EcoSnAM2KBw-S1B2W_BJ-4iLLU7w5hxnwp8wGw_h35Vys9o5tsVJT2DqSpJPgfDKjpYZva23qp5LJkwtltnG8i20hmR7rqiiJFReLdwpckeQRj-p/s1600/deviltie.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fyeJdpKFwIgqXm-xH6L7t3W4fHy3EcoSnAM2KBw-S1B2W_BJ-4iLLU7w5hxnwp8wGw_h35Vys9o5tsVJT2DqSpJPgfDKjpYZva23qp5LJkwtltnG8i20hmR7rqiiJFReLdwpckeQRj-p/s200/deviltie.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571867072136428946" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 124px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 80px;" /></a><b> SPT</b>.Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-53681089884146316102014-06-10T22:43:00.000-04:002014-06-11T11:05:47.779-04:00Ladies NightBri couldn't wait any longer; he knotted up a purple tie this evening. His choice was the textured violet silk with creamy Swiss dots in martial array. Wednesday evenings bored him, but he could do exactly nothing about it. He was too little to stay home alone, his mother said, and the stern finality in her voice warned him away from any argument. As she packed up her sewing bag, he stuffed a rucksack full of toys. At the schoolhouse, the warm yellow light shone through the windows. Already, a dozen women were bent over the big quilt rack, their sharp needles piercing the stretched fabric, the threads rising and falling with the hum of their voices. He crawled underneath, lay on his back, and opened his toybag to pull out few biplanes. With the deep purple of the quilt above him serving as the sky, each stitch a star, he flew missions and sorties until the war was over.Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-63038579150324861542014-06-06T23:39:00.000-04:002014-06-08T13:12:26.134-04:00DestinationOh, well. Brian has decided upon the faded indigo tie with the charcoal grey medallions. She walked out of the airport with her backpack and shoulder bag and stood on the median. Cabs and cars and buses crawled by, lingering, then rolling on, full or empty in accordance with their destination. At first she was afraid, the kind of fear that pinned her chest, held her breath hard, made her eyes bulge and pulse. She looked down, closed her eyes, willed herself to inhale slowly. Inside her boots, she curled her toes. When she opened her eyes, she felt calmer. It was chilly. She buttoned up the old denim jacket, the metal buttons dull and worn from overuse, and wound the scarf around her neck a few times. Without waiting for traffic to clear, she stepped off the curb.Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-20706950847247666072014-06-05T23:57:00.000-04:002014-06-06T17:47:31.161-04:00It's Like The First Line Of "Bohemian Rhapsody" Keeps Looping In My HeadWe are refreshed and ready to Report...and Brian Williams has his own Little Hiatus, bringing the lovely Ann Curry in off the bench to take over <b>The Nightly Desk.</b> Did we get a new cravat upon his return? Ha! It is to laugh. Instead, he dug into the depths and brought forth the baby blue with white and midnight stripes, one that is so oddly contrasting that it appears surreal and somehow animated or painted, much like the landscape of <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8xyLEk6K5k53S6uD_G22z-qcjaDDUnGfoBvmKJe_ykRyQU-rJrkJ2HL1GLn736gai9KPfFx_FeJGPxECaGJbeaJ-Ufeo3Ia3osknwCaOW5R8KpjKf9OtTC1iEMEIvRtIqPzFtgxKWMzM/s1600/dead-vlei-namibia-1.jpg">Deadvlei, Namibia.</a>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-27335632954400648902014-05-21T08:55:00.003-04:002014-05-21T08:55:36.274-04:00This Just In<b><span style="color: purple;">The Report</span></b> is on Summer Hiatus until June. Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-87297909782883472662014-05-07T23:00:00.000-04:002014-05-08T19:48:18.541-04:00The Dinner PartyTextured purple silk with mini white polka dots in a grid pattern is the cravat this evening. She could hear the easy flow of conversation punctuated here and there with appreciative and genuine laughter. It was astonishing, really, how well things were going. Their work friends were getting along with their social friends, the lamb came out beautifully medium rare, and now all she had to do was finish getting dessert ready. Her dark, dense chocolate cake was gorgeous, and she took the pan of baco noir granita out of the freezer. Her fork left perfect shards of icy wine as she scraped the tines along the surface over and over again. She placed a scoop atop each sliver of cake. It was then that she glimpsed her apron hanging on the back of the chair. Panicking, she looked at the front of her white tunic, certain she would see spots of wine.Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-12042466954315642222014-05-06T22:16:00.000-04:002014-05-07T10:16:55.438-04:00What, Again?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fyeJdpKFwIgqXm-xH6L7t3W4fHy3EcoSnAM2KBw-S1B2W_BJ-4iLLU7w5hxnwp8wGw_h35Vys9o5tsVJT2DqSpJPgfDKjpYZva23qp5LJkwtltnG8i20hmR7rqiiJFReLdwpckeQRj-p/s1600/deviltie.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fyeJdpKFwIgqXm-xH6L7t3W4fHy3EcoSnAM2KBw-S1B2W_BJ-4iLLU7w5hxnwp8wGw_h35Vys9o5tsVJT2DqSpJPgfDKjpYZva23qp5LJkwtltnG8i20hmR7rqiiJFReLdwpckeQRj-p/s200/deviltie.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571867072136428946" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 124px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 80px;" /></a><b>Grey Amoeba Tie.</b>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-43949225574455560532014-05-05T23:37:00.000-04:002014-05-06T07:38:40.041-04:00The PromiseHow lovely, and how unexpected! Mr. Williams resurrects a long-absent striper of beach sand and bluesky for viewers this evening. She didn't care that it was too cold to go in the water. All she knew was that as soon as she was near the ocean, she was going to find a way to get close to it, close enough to find a way to pull over and walk right to it and stand at its rim, looking at its impossible vastness. She had spent all of her life landlocked, closed in by dirt and grass and trees and crowds. There was something in her that needed to see the immense possibility of expanse. Something that was churning with life below, holding promise and holding secrets. A huge promise of life within what looked like only emptiness.Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-86063167253645138552014-05-01T23:09:00.000-04:002014-05-02T08:34:44.952-04:00Searching For WarmthAs <b><span style="color: purple;">The Report</span></b> struggles to regain its composure after a rare airing of the once ubiquitous Original Evil Tie, Brian knots up the slender stripes of deep turquoise and worsted grey-blue. She pulled her shawl more tightly around her thin shoulders and hoped it would stop the chill draft. It was early spring, but she had awakened to frost every morning this week. Bright sun belied the freezing temperatures, and the cloudless sky only meant crisper cold. Her hands ached; she drew on old wool gloves with the fingertips cut off and set the teapot on to boil. From the basket on the floor, she unearthed her knitting and sat down to work the arthritis out of her fingers while waiting for tea. Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-74443313274416683742014-04-29T21:44:00.001-04:002014-04-29T21:44:37.399-04:00Is This Real Life?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fyeJdpKFwIgqXm-xH6L7t3W4fHy3EcoSnAM2KBw-S1B2W_BJ-4iLLU7w5hxnwp8wGw_h35Vys9o5tsVJT2DqSpJPgfDKjpYZva23qp5LJkwtltnG8i20hmR7rqiiJFReLdwpckeQRj-p/s1600/deviltie.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fyeJdpKFwIgqXm-xH6L7t3W4fHy3EcoSnAM2KBw-S1B2W_BJ-4iLLU7w5hxnwp8wGw_h35Vys9o5tsVJT2DqSpJPgfDKjpYZva23qp5LJkwtltnG8i20hmR7rqiiJFReLdwpckeQRj-p/s200/deviltie.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571867072136428946" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 124px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 80px;" /></a> TWSNLBRAINDTM. I'm still reeling.Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-90681885620140014182014-04-28T23:00:00.000-04:002014-04-29T07:40:54.313-04:00First, The Unceasing Rain, And Now, This<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fyeJdpKFwIgqXm-xH6L7t3W4fHy3EcoSnAM2KBw-S1B2W_BJ-4iLLU7w5hxnwp8wGw_h35Vys9o5tsVJT2DqSpJPgfDKjpYZva23qp5LJkwtltnG8i20hmR7rqiiJFReLdwpckeQRj-p/s1600/deviltie.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fyeJdpKFwIgqXm-xH6L7t3W4fHy3EcoSnAM2KBw-S1B2W_BJ-4iLLU7w5hxnwp8wGw_h35Vys9o5tsVJT2DqSpJPgfDKjpYZva23qp5LJkwtltnG8i20hmR7rqiiJFReLdwpckeQRj-p/s200/deviltie.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571867072136428946" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 124px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 80px;" /></a><b> Grey Amoeba Tie.</b> <b><span style="color: purple;">The Report</span></b> returns from a lovely Southern Jaunt, and this cravat is what greets us. <i>Le sigh.</i>Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-9745662181204754322014-04-16T22:00:00.000-04:002014-04-17T10:00:42.719-04:00And Another One Bites The Dust<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fyeJdpKFwIgqXm-xH6L7t3W4fHy3EcoSnAM2KBw-S1B2W_BJ-4iLLU7w5hxnwp8wGw_h35Vys9o5tsVJT2DqSpJPgfDKjpYZva23qp5LJkwtltnG8i20hmR7rqiiJFReLdwpckeQRj-p/s1600/deviltie.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fyeJdpKFwIgqXm-xH6L7t3W4fHy3EcoSnAM2KBw-S1B2W_BJ-4iLLU7w5hxnwp8wGw_h35Vys9o5tsVJT2DqSpJPgfDKjpYZva23qp5LJkwtltnG8i20hmR7rqiiJFReLdwpckeQRj-p/s200/deviltie.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571867072136428946" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 124px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 80px;" /></a><b> Grey Amoeba Tie.</b> I know, I know! It's a perfectly respectable tie, but Brian himself resigned this cravat to its Den Of Ubiquity. We had no choice.Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-48530553706759547372014-04-15T20:46:00.002-04:002014-04-15T20:46:52.583-04:00Over It<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fyeJdpKFwIgqXm-xH6L7t3W4fHy3EcoSnAM2KBw-S1B2W_BJ-4iLLU7w5hxnwp8wGw_h35Vys9o5tsVJT2DqSpJPgfDKjpYZva23qp5LJkwtltnG8i20hmR7rqiiJFReLdwpckeQRj-p/s1600/deviltie.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fyeJdpKFwIgqXm-xH6L7t3W4fHy3EcoSnAM2KBw-S1B2W_BJ-4iLLU7w5hxnwp8wGw_h35Vys9o5tsVJT2DqSpJPgfDKjpYZva23qp5LJkwtltnG8i20hmR7rqiiJFReLdwpckeQRj-p/s200/deviltie.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571867072136428946" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 124px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 80px;" /></a> Purple Purple Purple Yawn Yawn Yawn The End.Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-15737748114739639682014-04-11T23:51:00.000-04:002014-04-12T09:10:44.839-04:00Spring PlansBrian Williams selects a stripe of charcoal and lilac for this evening's newscast. It finally felt like Spring, and they grabbed the last of the bottle to take out on the deck. It was far too early for either of them to have brought out the patio furniture proper, but there were two folding lounge chairs in the garage. They set them side by side, poured the wine, and sat down to survey the back yard. The purple crocuses had popped out overnight, and the place looked as if it had been carpeted by a magic gardener. Dusk fell as they talked about their future plans for the house, for themselves, for everything.Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-20992015414232980142014-04-10T23:39:00.000-04:002014-04-11T12:48:36.325-04:00I Am Step Two...Or Step One-A...Whatever Gets It Done, I Am ItThis is the Sixth Appearance since the end of February (literally, 28 February) for this cravat, the graphite silk patterned with small medallions of dark charcoal and white. I am loathe to cast it into the Axis Of Evil; it is such a stylish tie compared to the other Denizens of Dismay, but truly, it deserves its emblem. Why, Brian, why? What is it about this particular tie that compels you to wear it, week after week? Is it possessed, or are you possessed by it? Did Tom Brokaw give it to you? Did you lose a bet? Did your Formerly Good Dog get into your <i>L'Armoire Des Cravates</i> and chew them all up but the chosen few we have seen, this being your favourite? Please, Brian Williams, <i>please</i> allow me to come and set things in order, freshening up your Necktie Rotation, organizing them, winnowing out just a few, and I will leave and never tell anyone. You may have staff keep me under watch the entire time. Remember, <b>Step One</b> is <b>Admitting You Need Help. </b> I am here for You.Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-445283212896348612014-04-09T21:48:00.002-04:002014-04-09T21:48:58.621-04:00In Which I Brave Yet Another DisappointmentWhat is wrong in BriTieLand? So many Repeat Cycles and so much sameness. Where are all of the other ties that we could be seeing? Instead, it's a reprise of last Wednesday's tie, the shiny lilac with ropy stripes of raspberry. I find it interesting, even pretty at times, but I want so much to see something different.Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-67382659222339997932014-04-08T22:00:00.000-04:002014-04-09T08:31:25.650-04:00Strangers At HomeBrian has donned the navy blue tie crossed by slim white stripes for this evening's <b>Nightly</b>. He began to think of everything she did as an act of defiance. He got up precisely at seven every morning, started a pot of coffee, walked down the driveway to get the paper, and sat in his chair at the table to read it, section by section, in order. Much later, usually at ten or eleven, she awoke, came into the kitchen with her hair tousled, wearing one of his teeshirts and a pair of denim shorts (if he was lucky) or boxers, poured a cup of coffee, and plopped down in a chair. He still watched, horrified, as she spooned sugar into her cup--endlessly, he thought--and gave it a huge dousing of cream. Who was this? he often thought. How on earth is this my daughter? Is there nothing of me in her at all? Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-39064456179715019492014-04-07T22:09:00.000-04:002014-04-08T10:23:24.377-04:00Saved By The PingFor tonight's broadcast, BriWi wears the pulsating and hue-changing shiny tie of electric purple and silvery pattern which looks like houndstooth, but is, in fact<b>WE INTERRUPT THIS REPORT TO ANNOUNCE A GREG FEITH SIGHTING.</b> <i>In a segment about the still-missing Malaysian passenger jet, Greg Feith appeared for Expert Comments. He was wearing another of his breathtaking ties, this one reminiscent of those souped-up restored <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/254171972694071327/">'57 Chevys with flames on them</a>. </i> <i> Of course, he looked wonderful. We now return you to your regular Report, already in progress.</i>headache, and took them in a single swallow.Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-76786996882570716172014-04-03T21:30:00.000-04:002014-04-04T08:55:29.295-04:00Intervention"Hello, everyone. In case any of you don't know why you're here, my name is Nance, and this is a Fashion Intervention. Brian is on his way here now, and he should be here in about fifteen minutes. All of you are here because you care about Brian, and you are worried about him. I'm sure it hasn't escaped any of you that he has worn the same grey tie with little floaty things on it way too often in the past month or so, and my sense of it is that this is a cry for help. I mean, it's a perfectly stylish tie; we all agree on that; I see you nodding, but how many times is he going to wear it? Hey, hey, it's going to be okay! Can someone pass that woman the tissues? Thank you. Anyway, as I was saying. He seems to be sort of stuck, and stuck on this one tie. It's not even a Solid Purple, so we need to find out what in the heck is going on. Is there trouble at home? Is this some residual angst about his solo show being canceled? Hold on, sir, I really can't take questions at this point. Is this some sort of empathetic response to Ann Curry? No idea. But, you all have your letters to read, and I am hoping that you were very, very painfully honest. Take the remaining time to go over them, and please compose yourselves. Remember, he is going to be wearing the grey tie with the little floaty things when he walks in. Don't let it throw you."Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-67354572081747448692014-04-02T23:30:00.000-04:002014-04-04T08:46:34.270-04:00Playing To WinBrian appears before us wearing the lilac silk striped with fuchsia cables. Again. She grew up in her mother's dressmaking shop, first playing among the bolts and swathes of fabric, the windings of braid and piping. She dutifully sorted buttons for hours, happily finding the matches, loving the unusual ones, the colourful ones, the textured ones. Now, years later, her skills were more in demand than her mother's. She had an eye for style that was slightly ahead of<i> le monde</i>, but not too bold, not too <i>avant garde. </i>It was her creations they wanted. Always she was busy among the silks, the notions, the buttons, but not for play; there was no more hide-and-go-seek and the button matching was deathly serious. Fashion was a game in Paris, but it was a blood sport, and one poor showing could kill you.Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-21924033537676131012014-04-01T23:00:00.000-04:002014-04-02T09:04:00.520-04:00T.S. Eliot HomageWe are thanking heaven for small favours tonight as BriWi knots up the relaxed denim blue tie with charcoal polka dots. It strikes just the right mood for April, a bit frivolous and flirtatious with the print, yet still a bit somber and stormy with the colouration. Poets and newsmen alike know that April is the cruellest month, a month most changeable, a month of contradiction much like March, but with a promise of Spring always in waiting.Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-47801863980303513932014-03-31T23:00:00.000-04:002014-04-01T09:05:44.764-04:00In Which We Make A Direct AppealLe Sigh. Brian has stopped caring with regard to his neckwear, obviously. Tonight he has slung on, for the eleventy thousandth time this March, the graphite grey/medallion print silk number. I like this tie, but I am dangerously close to relegating it to the Axis Of Evil due to Overuse. <br />
<br />
Brian, face it. You are not, and can never be, Greg Feith. And that is just feith--er, fine. You are a Man Of Style nonetheless. Now quit pouting and reclaim your place in The Fashion World as a Sartorial Icon. Where is the Pink Tie? Where is the Salmon and Heather Grey Stripe? Why not breeze through my Archives or root through your Tie Armoire and find some truly lovely (and neglected) cravats? We are waiting.<br />
<br />Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2946000339532686883.post-50457331691313350722014-03-28T23:30:00.000-04:002014-03-30T17:58:04.943-04:00Did All The Greg Feith Adoration Hurt Someone's Feelings?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fyeJdpKFwIgqXm-xH6L7t3W4fHy3EcoSnAM2KBw-S1B2W_BJ-4iLLU7w5hxnwp8wGw_h35Vys9o5tsVJT2DqSpJPgfDKjpYZva23qp5LJkwtltnG8i20hmR7rqiiJFReLdwpckeQRj-p/s1600/deviltie.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fyeJdpKFwIgqXm-xH6L7t3W4fHy3EcoSnAM2KBw-S1B2W_BJ-4iLLU7w5hxnwp8wGw_h35Vys9o5tsVJT2DqSpJPgfDKjpYZva23qp5LJkwtltnG8i20hmR7rqiiJFReLdwpckeQRj-p/s200/deviltie.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571867072136428946" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 124px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 80px;" /></a><b>SPT.</b> Purlap Tie. Why?Nancehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17627214346956206283noreply@blogger.com