Conspiracy At The Manor House

Wide stripes of pumpkin and somber navy comprise this evening's cravat.  "And what may I get the little miss for her luncheon?" asked the footman, bowing low before the curly, redheaded mite perched at table.  "Oh, Rolph," she sighed dramatically, "luncheon is dretful!  Mayn't I have strawberries an' ice cream only?  No san'wich?  Please?  Oh, so pretty please?"  He laid a gloved hand upon her coppery head, smiled, and winked at her.  "I think we shall find something pleasant in Cook's kitchen.  You may leave it to me."

It Takes Your Breath And It'll Leave You Blind

SPT.  And one that looks as if it were made from the leotard of a roller-blader in the finale of an off-off-Broadway performance of Xanadu.

Blue

This evening's cravat is the textured narrow striper of pewtered blue and dark turquoise.  All the days seemed the same to her; indeed, they were.  She kept the curtains drawn in all the rooms, she rarely ventured out of bed, and she ignored the phone.  Her headache was a constant companion, for she rarely ate but often cried.  Sometimes the sobs were soft and mostly tears.  Other times she gave in to the grief entirely, and huge wails wracked her body and her soul.  She moaned her loss and sank into her darkness so completely that she could see nothing of herself, nothing of who she was, and nothing of who she would ever be without them.

In Which We Are Grateful For, Perhaps, A Lint Roller

Brian has returned from a few more days off, and rather than be bothered by selecting a new tie from his armoire or closet or dresser, he grabs one off the floor, recently worn.  It is the deep blue and creamy white stripe from 25 June.  Certain I would see a few dog hairs clinging to it, I walked to my television set and peered critically at it during a tight shot, my Dollar Store reading glasses held tight to the bridge of my nose.  Nope.  None.  At least he did us that favour. 

Abracadreadful

Oh no, Brian Williams.  No.  This tie...this garish...thing.  Upon first glance it appears to be a minuscule pattern of vivid red-violet and ash-coloured houndstooth, shimmering and glimmering like some sort of mercurial, Dali-esque disco ball.  But on closer inspection, one can discern that this is a trick of the fabric.  This is, in fact, a Solid Purple Tie!  It is only the contrasting basketweave of the cloth that causes this trompe l'oeil.  After all that, after all is said and done, whether it be SP or teeny-tiny checks, nothing can save this disturbing cravat.  It is, in a word, gauche.

The Clash

This evening's cravat is the posh-looking one of midnight with both slender and pinbone metallic gold stripes.  Her shop was dark when he dropped by an hour before closing time, which was odd.  Looking more carefully, he saw the big light in the back room blazing away.  He sent her a text to let her know he was outside, and soon he heard her scurrying to the door to let him in.  "I'm working on my outfit for the benefit Saturday," she said.  "I have just about two hours of finishing left."  He followed her back to see a black fitted suit with cigarette-leg pants.  The jacket was a dramatic cutaway, its bottom a peplum that flowed almost floor-length in the back.  To this suit she had begun applying thin herringbone chains of faux gold along the seams and the hem of the peplum.  His face fell.  Why could she never wear a simple evening dress?  Perhaps this was just not working after all.

A Lovely Surprise

Brian is back from une grande vacance, yet I am uninspired by his neckwear to date.  Tonight he chooses yet again from his stable of tried and true striped ties which are perfectly fine, but wholly lacking in imagination and freshness.  This time it is the deep royal blue and creamy white striper.  She had chosen a pretty sundress of white eyelet cotton for their Surprise Date.  What do you wear for something like that? she wondered.  She knew she could take her cue from whatever he was wearing when he showed up at her door.  And when he did, and she saw a sportcoat and French jeans, she knew it was going to be lovely...and special...and perfect.  She lifted her light wrap from the back of the chair and danced out the door.

No Big Deal

Tonight Bri ties on an innocuous cravat of brilliant blue with pairs of slender cherry stripes at wide intervals.  Despite its vivid colour, it is a pedestrian tie.  It's like when your teacher, who has been wearing a uniform of grey, black, and khaki all semester suddenly breaks out with a fuchsia sweater.  "You look nice today, Miss Penfair," you say.  But it's still Miss Penfair, and you still get out a half-sheet of paper and a pen or pencil for the daily bell quiz.

Making A Break

Brian returns from his vacation sporting a tie well known to Report readers.  This deep navy cravat with slim stripes of blush pink has been around for quite some time.  It had been a terrible night.  Most of the wedding party was drunk, disorderly--completely out of control.  He alone was sober.  He and the flower girl.  And she was his concern now.  She was sleepy and little and both of them had had enough.  He lifted her from her seat at the table where she had been sitting, her head down on a little pad of napkins.  "Let's go, Betsey," he said.  She looked relieved, exhausted, and ready.  Laying her fevered cheek against his shoulder, she closed her eyes and slept as he carried her out to the limo.  "We're leaving," he told the stunned driver.  "Come back for the rest later."

While BriWi's Away, The Report Doth Play

Sadly, I noticed the Preponderance Of Purple immediately.

Destiny Averted

Oh, Brian Williams.  How I wish this tie would have a Terrible Accident.  I feel like it's just not Your Style.  Those bright blue and white micro-checks, little medallions of pink blobby thingamajigs...I've developed such antipathy toward it.  This fabric is not Brian Williams Tie Worthy.  Its destiny was to be a tablecloth in a homestyle food diner called The Robin.  Or perhaps it was to be little café curtains in a place that serves Southern Style Comfort Food Like Mama Used To Make.  Maybe it was supposed to be a frilly bib-apron uniform in a chain restaurant that has franchises all over the country's toll roads.  A countrified place where the food is stick-to-your-ribs fare, and the waitresses all call you "hon."  That is what this tie was meant to be, not an accoutrement around the neck of America's Most Trusted News Source.

Renaissance Man

One of his more sophisticated and sedate stripers is the choice of Brian Williams tonight.  The plum is dusky and somber, and the stripes are soft charcoal.  She sat on the back steps of the cabin and watched him spread out the coals in the grill.  He did all outdoorsy things well, and he looked at home up here on the mountain.  She refilled her wineglass and asked again if there was anything she should be doing.  He shook his head and took out a huge slab of sinister-looking meat.  As he laid it on the grill, she asked what it was.  "Venison," he said.  "Shot it myself.  This is marinated in some dry red wine, garlic, balsamic, olive oil, and shallots.  You'll like it, I promise." 

Heavy

This evening Brian wears a cravat of creamy white and ink blue.  She sighed and tore the top off her container of low fat yoghurt.  Who were these people who said that grabbing a cup of yoghurt when you craved ice cream was a good idea?  Because it wasn't.  It wasn't at all.  Moodily, she dipped her spoon into the swirls of blueberry fruit, staring at the mixture.  She had been overweight her whole life.  Her whole life!  It was the first thing she thought of in the morning and the last thing she thought of at night and it shadowed every single thought in between.  She would rather have cancer.  At least people would care and try to understand.  And with cancer, she'd finally lose weight.

It's All Relative

As The Report tries to shake itself from l'ennui caused by Brian wearing the same ties over again, May is ending with no truly remarkable cravats.  Le sigh. Tonight, Bri slings on a cerulean and orchid stripe that is summery and vivid.  This is not the blurring and perplexing silk tie that irritates and nauseates us with its Dali-esque proclivities.  Instead, this one behaves neatly and nicely, like the British cousin who comes to stay for a month and says things like "tidy up" and "shall" and "luncheon."

Happy Fathers Day, Nightly Viewers!

BriWi's tie tonight is deep blue with screaming yellow stripes.  Not quite Highlighter Yellow, but shockingly close.  It is the sort of Happy Sunshine Yellow that could make this tie the favourite of preschoolers everywhere.  One can imagine a Mommy taking Sweet Baby Precious in the Urban Assault Stroller to Kohl's, the suburban shopping mecca, for a Fathers Day present.  She says, "What tie do you like for Daddy?"  Captivated by its brazen and ostentatious yellowness, SBP says endearingly and stickily, "Lello lello lello!", and this tie is grabbed and smilingly purchased.  Sigh.  And we are the collateral recipients.

Quelle Dommage

Tonight, reporting from the ravages of Oklahoma, Brian is sans cravate.  Constant Readers of The Report know that this means he is avec une grande chemise bleu.  Why could he not take a cue from the very fit and extremely fitted Lester Holt, whose shirt was simply parfait?  Ah, well.  Le sigh. 

Tieku

Solid dark blue tie!
You are a surrender, a
Shrug, Indifference.

Serious Business

Behind the desk tonight, Brian wears a tie of narrow stripes alternating textured worsted wool grey and stormy blue.  He dreaded these stuffy, awful meetings.  Once they were mercifully over, he never knew what, if anything was accomplished.  It was like a funeral for Time.  And Language.  Everyone sat there, wearing subdued, somber suits and talking in measured, serious tones about...what? Even the women wore suits.  Hell, even the water pitchers wore suits.  He longed to shake things up:  bring a squirt gun, wear teeshirt and Bermudas, say things like, "Yo!" and "That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!".  But, here it was, the second Tuesday of the month, and he had put on his grey suit and tasteful tie and his aura of funereal decorum and felt his footsteps dragging toward the double doors.

Before The Vows

This evening's cravat is like a tribute to Spring herself.  It is a stripe of milk white and lilac, with a sheen like morning dew.  Once the last of them had finally rustled and swished out of the small, cramped church dressing room, she stood in front of the mirror and looked at her reflection.  She appeared like a vision in a little girl's dream, emerging from a froth of white tulle and lace.  From the nearby dressing table she grasped her bouquet and arranged its long lavender ribbons so that they would cascade down the front of her gown.  The door opened and her father stepped in to get her for the ceremony.  As his image filled the space behind her in the mirror, she became slightly alarmed.  For the first time in her life, she saw tears in his eyes.

...But I Digress

It may be this tie that causes me to re-evaluate my acceptance of all Solid Colour Ties.  This magenta linen-finish cravat with its bloom of varied dimples is just...there.  I don't dislike magenta.  As a matter of fact, I think the word itself would make a wonderful stripper name, especially paired with any other Old School Crayola 64 Crayon Box colour.  Think about it:  Magenta Aquamarine.  Magenta Cornflower.  Magenta Mahogany.  Magenta Midnight Blue.  How kickass would it be, even, to have a pet hamster named Magenta?

In Which We Inadvertently Reveal A Distaste For Brain-Teasers And Logic Puzzles

So, tonight Brian wears a bright blue tie with a lot of stripes.  There are white stripes, and inside those, two more skinny red stripes.  So, really, there's like...five stripes, at least.  It's like those tricky triangle puzzles that are one big triangle all cut up into little triangles.  The directions are deceptively simple:  How many triangles do you see?  So you count up all the little triangles.  "Sixteen!" you say happily.  Some other kid says derisively, "Duh. Seventeen. You forgot to count the big triangle."  Then some snotty genius kid starts tracing all the medium-sized triangles made up by the teeny triangles, the teacher nods knowingly and in that smug and pleased way, and pretty soon you want to smack everyone and go home to pudding and Oreos.

In Which We Invoke The Birthday Resolution, And Make A Not-So-Subtle Plea

...And it seems like we have a Friday Tie as well.  BriWi knots up the same tie as last Friday, the stripe of ebony with porcelain white grosgrain.  It's Brian's (and my) Birthday this week, so let's hope that he gets some new cravats to wow us here at The Report.  If not, perhaps he could make a Birthday Resolution and endeavour to wear some lovely, long-unseen ties rather than these Regulars.  (I'm thinking of the Glorious Pink Tie, dearest Brian.  It has been too long.)

Being Neighborly

Brian is finally delving a little deeper into L'armoire des Cravates, for we haven't seen this particular tie in a while.  It's the textured violet silk with petite white dots in a grid pattern.  She was awakened by a hard rapping on the front door at seven AM.  Bleared with sleep, she shuffled out to the livingroom and opened the door without thinking.  A fistful of violets, their purple faces and white throats, was the first thing she saw.  Confused, she blinked and looked past them to their owner.  It was the old man next door.  "Violets, see?  Your yard is full of 'em," he accused.  "They're like weeds. They spread and take over everything. You gotta get on top of 'em and get rid of 'em. I don't want 'em in my yard.  So...just wanted to let you know.  They might look pretty to you, but they're death to lawn grass.  Tell your husband...if you've got one."

Country Kitschin'

Perhaps this is now Bri's Monday Tie.  It was, after all, last Monday when he most recently donned this homey cravat of teensy blue and white checks sprinkled with pink diamond-shaped medallions.  All he needed was one of those concrete geese perched on the corner of the Nightly newsdesk, all decked out in a themed outfit, and the effect would have been complete.

Sometimes, You Need To Look A Little Deeper To See The Dream

Mr. Williams wears a cravat of deep navy with slim diagonals of platinum white.  It's a very staid, very stodgy tie.  This is the kind of tie that holds no surprises.  It's not going to suddenly, at a birthday dinner, hold out the keys to a brand new car.  Likewise, it will not turn to you during an episode of Seinfeld and announce that listen, there's no easy way to do this, but it would like a divorce.  This is a tie that will not, out of nowhere, show up with two tickets to Paris, but it will drive you to the emergency room when you cut yourself on a broken coffee pot.  Twice.  Not so bad now, is it?

Visiting Hours

This evening we are spared from another purply tie as Brian Williams knots up a familiar striper of midnight and white, the latter having the texture of grosgrain ribbon.  After so many weeks of being so very ill, her patience and good humour were brittle and nearly spent.  He came in with a small bouquet of tulips and a silly stuffed dog. She turned to him from gazing wistfully out the window, and her eyes were shiny and wet.  One blink, and they overflowed.  He held her and when the tears subsided, he picked up her hairbrush.  Scalp to ends, he brushed her dark tresses; it always took the stress away.  He tied it all up in a beautiful ribbon and, just to make her laugh, put one on her new dog, too.

It's Three Times Cleaner Than A Germy Sponge Or Washcloth

When I was much younger, Bounty paper towels advertised themselves as The Quicker Picker Upper.  Their commercials featured a square of their towelling being laid upon all manner of liquids; then a hand would quickly fetch them up, and tada!  A bright, shiny-clean countertop would be all that remained.  This after mere moments of Bounty sucking up the liquid in its little square pockets of absorbable fibers.  Brian's tie reminds me of these commercials with its minute mulberry and ashen checks.  It looks for all the world as if it were made of a few sheets of Bounty sodden with grape drink.

High Society

There is something commanding and elegant about this tie of black and varied metallic gold stripes that Brian Williams wears tonight.  It speaks in modulated low tones and careful whispers, deferentially, yet not in the least bit obsequious.  It may be New Money, but it is not Nouveau Riche, not brash nor gauche.  Steering away from dangerous deals and cheap women, it chooses carefully among the greybeards of the industry and the young turks up and coming.  Women can wait, fast money is of no interest, and for now, only wine, nothing stronger.

Don't Fall For It

Brian again grabs this cottagey looking tie of minuscule blue checks overlaid with a scattering of tiny pink medallions that look like blobby little diamonds.  It's a very comfy-cozy tie, like walking into a craft store or a Cracker Barrel gift shop full of potpourri, wax melt scent burners, cinnamon brooms, and little quilty things.  These shops always sell tons of cutesy items that I call "dust catchers." They're fun to look at, delightful to inhale, but I know that their primary purpose is to Sit Around.  I already have a couple of cats for that.

"He Kindly Stopped For Me..."

A sort of grandchild to Wednesday's cravat, this tie has stripes of nightsky and blush pink.  He pulled into the driveway and jumped out of the van, quickly walked to the back, and took out the arrangement. It was a towering vase of bashful pink roses and carnations and star lilies.  Anyone would love these flowers, he thought.  This was the part of his job that he loved the most, the face at the door.  Wide eyes, smiles, the thank you--as if he had bought the flowers for them himself.  He rang the bell, and a woman answered.  Her face was puffy and tragic.  It was clear that she had been crying, and that she had been at it for a long, long time.  A small boy pushed in front of her, and only then did he notice that they were both dressed in black.

Market Day

This may be a Debut Tie.  We here at The Report can't recall seeing it before, a cravat of strawberry with classic white-centred medallions of violet.  She threaded through the slow-moving crowds in front of him, swift and direct.  Turning to find him, she laughed and waved, beckoning him to hurry.  He caught up with her at her favourite produce vendor, picking out vegetables with a practiced eye.  Saad, who loved her like a suitor, held up huge white heads of cauliflower, vast nests of dark green kale, handfuls of purply shallots, and red-veined Swiss chard.  She nodded at them all, flirting shamelessly, and moved on to fruits where the bargaining became hard.

The Icon Reborn

It is the silk stripe of lilac and midnight for Mr. Williams this evening.  He readied the cameras and barked orders at his assistants.  The model was new and inexperienced, and he dreaded this shoot.  She walked in wearing a close-fitting black satin dress with long sleeves and a highbacked neckline.  "Black black black," he muttered.  "Even her hair is black.  Let's start with headshots, nice and tight."  He moved in close, crowding her, hoping for a reaction.  She lifted her face and he gasped.  Her eyes.  Her eyes were...lavender.  Her eyes were lavender, like two beautiful orchids.  He couldn't stop clicking off shots.

In Which I, Like That Un Guy In North Korea, Rattle My (Sartorial) Saber

Like most things in Northeast Ohio, Brian's newscast on Monday was pre-empted by the Indians Home Opener.  We here at The Report had to wait until Tuesday's viewing for a tie, and sadly, we were rewarded with yet another airing of the blue with grey polka dots.  This cravat cluttered up March most shamefully, and BriWi seems hellbent on giving it free rein to do likewise with April.  If that is the case, it will find itself in that Den Of Ubiquity known as...The Axis Of Evil.

Covetous

The cravat for this evening's consideration is one of smoky turquoise and a lighter, pewtery blue in narrow stripes.  Whenever she travelled, she liked to stop in the little out of the way towns and find the tiny shops full of stuff.  Now and then she would find a cache of nice things, antique jewelry and table silver.  Today was one of those days.  She had spotted an old squash blossom necklace, heavy and gloomy with tarnish, but its stones beautiful.  The shopkeeper, long braids mostly grey, lifted it from the case almost begrudgingly.  They both wanted it in their own way, and they would both need convincing.

What Do The Simple Folk Do?

This evening's striped tie is of deepwater blue and kidglove grey.  He affixed his stickpin to his ascot and carefully buttoned his waistcoat.  Peering out the window, he noticed the clouds gathering on the edge of the horizon.  "Patterson, please tell Greyson not to saddle up the horses for the ladies," he said.  "We're sure to get some weather soon."  He shrugged into the proffered morning coat, took the finely brushed bowler, and went down to excuse himself from breakfast.

The Decision

The striped tie BriWi offers viewers tonight is one of suitcoat navy and pumpkin.  It was the hardest thing she had ever made up her mind to do, but she had to do it.  And not just for herself, but for the baby who was coming soon.  It wasn't that she didn't love him--she did and with all her heart.  But he was always...sad.  Just so sad.  There was never any joy, and she was aware that his gloom was casting an ever-darkening veil over her own outlook.  She packed carefully and swiftly, and in a blur of tears.

We're Back, And This Is Our Reward

SPT.

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.)

Reluctance

Brian Williams reprises the crayon blue with grey polka dots this evening.  Grasping the child's hand, she led him to the cloakroom and helped him with his raincoat and rubber boots.  He was so obedient, so willing, and so uncomplaining always.  His blue eyes looked enormous and trusting, and she explained that he would be leaving early today.  She led him to the front doors where the long dark town car was waiting.  The chauffeur came out, nodded, and she walked him to the vehicle.  He looked back tearfully and waved, once.  She smiled, heartbroken.  The car swallowed him up and pulled away.

Joy In The Mornings

It's been a good long while since viewers of The Nightly have seen this tie, the periwinkle silk sprinkled with impossibly tiny white windows framed in ebony.  She opened her eyes drowsily and looked at the clock.  Smiling, she stretched luxuriously, then walked to the window and opened the curtains wide.  Outside, the sky was brilliantly blue, gorgeous and clear.  She laughed and looked across the horizon at the tall buildings, buildings full of people at desks, on the phone, at computers, sitting in meetings, endless meetings full of numbers and charts and reports.  She was done with all of that.  Forever done, and it felt wonderful.

Top Secret

This tie is a texture-y affair of deep purple surmounted by startlingly white Swiss dots in a grid pattern.  But instead of the polka dots giving it a lighthearted and happy ambiance, it imparts instead a briskness and cool efficiency.  One thinks of blueprints or huge Department of Defense electronic maps, each continent holding pinpricks of white, barely blinking lights that signify, oh, maybe a nuclear warhead silo or a US military outpost or the presence of perhaps a dangerous dissident.  Classified, you understand.  Your eyes only.

Night Walk

This evening Brian adorns himself with a cravat of wide blush lilac and midnight sky stripes.  Despite the setting sun, the day's heat still lay heavy.  The walk no longer seemed like a good idea, and sweat made dirty smears on his forehead.  As night descended, he came upon a darkened grove at the edge of the property.  A pale glow appeared through the branches; he heard the plashing of water.  Hurrying his pace, he soon came to a clearing in the trees and saw her, illuminated by the glow of a small lantern, her black hair lying wetly against her neck, her shoulders bare and rising out of the dark pool.

So. Much. Purple.

SPT.  Not only is this an Unprecedented Back-to-Back wearing of a Solid Purple, but this one is home to that Thing Which Dwells Beneath The Knot.  Horrid.

Yawn

SPT.

Just The Dessert Menu, Please, And Some Champagne

BriWi is in the pink tonight with a striped, cable-textured cravat of icy rose and berry.  This tie makes me think of parfaits and Valentine desserts.  It's a strawberry milkshake made at a soda fountain, the dark berries visible inside the cold, pink concoction.  It's what is left on your plate after a cheesecake with raspberry coulis and fresh whipped cream, all berries and cream and swirls and smears and mmmmmm.

A Lot Of Bother (And Blather) For Not A Lot Of Tie

This tie tonight is a plummy, tweedy affair that I just can't get off the fence about.  Sometimes I look at it and I think, "Maybe I'll write a wry little ditty about Penny Sue, the just-hitched wife who wanted to give her husband a fancy new necktie and so she used some grape Kool-Aid and a tater sack."  Other times I think, "This is the tailcoat of Willy Wonka or the trombone player's jacket from a swing band."  Still others, I think, "Feh. SPT. And that texturing isn't gonna save it."

Just Settle Down

Brian Williams gives the stripes a rest and instead dons a tie of true blue with slate grey polka dots.  The colors are sedate and sober enough to dispel any aura of frivolity, like having an etiquette lesson instead of a clown at a child's birthday party.  It's like opening a small jewelry-shaped box, but finding a coupon for a month's free carwashes instead.  Both are useful and even nice, but they just aren't fun.

If You Want To Celebrate, That's Fine; Just Don't Expect It From Your Newsman

There is no Valentine falderal for the serious newsman this evening.  If you expected to tune in and see a red tie or a pink tie or--heaven forbid!--a Theme Tie with hearts, you can forget it!  Brian Williams cannot be bothered with such truck.  No sir!  No madam!  Many goshdarn serious things have occurred in the world, and to inform the viewers in what has become a Sacred Trust whilst wearing a silly Holiday Tie would be frivolous and unseemly.  Delivering the News of the Day demands a solid, trustworthy tie, and that is what we got:  mature navy blue and tastefully fashionable bittersweet stripes. 

After A Trip To The Craft Store And The Bar...

As we here at The Report take care of some Other Business, please enjoy this Classic Cravat Critique from 24 October 2011 for this evening's tie:

Tonight, Brian's tie is so complex and intricate that I almost had to make a small diagram in order to explicate it.  (Thanks a lot, HDTV.) Brilliant summersky blue is overlaid by broad bands of black meshwork, then further interrupted by platinum stripes shot through with narrow ribbons of lavender.  This cravat was, in a word, worky. And all over the place. It had too much going on. It reminds me of those Saloon Girl Outfits, you know? Those things have satin and lace and ruffles and lacings and corseting and decolletage and a peplum and a bustle and fishnet stockings and short boots and holy crap, it's like the dressmaker discovered margaritas and velcro in the same night, you know?

Still Beauty

This evening Brian Williams favours us with a striped cravat of deep navy and smoky plum.  That he would never see her again after today was unfathomable.  The kind words of the interminable procession of friends, family, and acquaintances meant nothing--no--less than nothing to him.  Why were they there?  Why could he not be alone with his grief?  He looked out into the sea of mourners in their dark, respectful clothes and silently screamed at all of them to leave, just go home.  He turned back to the casket where she lay quietly, so awfully quietly, the amethyst brooch he gave her for her birthday pinned at her waist.  As he beheld her still beauty, the amethyst began to imperceptibly swirl, then brighten. 

We Were Due

SPT.

Remnants

For this night's broadcast, Brian chooses the stripe of lavender and nightsky.  The flame of his candle lighted the way down the narrow passage to the tiny room.  This part of the house had long been shut up, Mrs. Parks told him, but still he had insisted upon seeing it.  He drew forth the key and unlocked the door, stepping into the chamber.  In the now-flickering light, the shrouded forms of furniture looked ghostly and macabre.  He caught his breath, gasping.  How could this be?  The scent of lilacs bloomed in the room, filling it to every corner.  It was as if a vase full of the flowers stood on every surface, every table and mantelpiece.  He reached out, grabbed the bedpost for support, and tried to steady his emotions.  It was impossible, he knew. 

Dreaming

This evening's cravat was cinnamon silk with clustered pinstripes of metallic gold.  It was always the same dream, always.  She was in a marketplace of some kind, and it was hot, hot and dry and dusty, but there was a wind blowing.  It lifted the flaps of the brightly colored stalls that surrounded her, each one selling odd and exotic things.  There were fruits, some cut open and tantalizingly leaking juices.  She saw vessels of all shapes and sizes, some of gold and silver, some of earthenware.  As she walked, she saw a dark-haired woman suddenly at the end of her path, beckoning her.  The beauty wore a sari and many veils; only her kohled eyes and jeweled forehead were visible.  The wind blew harder and hotter; the woman appeared nearer.  A braceleted hand appeared from beneath the veils and held out a small urn. 

This Is The Barefoot Wine Of Ties

This is a tie we have seen often, the rich violet crossed by dark navy stripes bordered in porcelain white.  I want so much more from this tie, but its fabric holds it back.  It's like a bottle of inexpensive wine.  The initial taste is pleasant enough, but there is no complexity, no finish, no body. 

So Refined

Mr. Williams wears a graphite grey tie with a classic foulard pattern of subtle lighter grey medallions.  This would make a lovely ascot worn with a morning coat, would it not?  One can imagine its soft folds, neatly pinned, on an immaculate shirtfront.  A tasteful weskit is carefully held out by the valet, then buttoned and brushed.  The watch and chain added, our gentleman collects hat and gloves and heads out the door.

Brian Has A Lot Of Ties That Look Kinda The Same, And I Feel Like He's Quizzing Us

Have you ever read a fashion magazine and seen a layout called something like "The Look for Less"?  It shows a model wearing all designer duds on one page, and on the facing page, she wears a similar outfit, but this one is much cheaper because its elements are all bought at places like H&M, Target, and JC Penney.  I feel as if that's what Brian Williams' tie tonight is, the Lesser Look of Tuesday night's cravat.  Tonight's tie has the same subtle dark pattern that looks tweedy, but instead of that lovely dark cherry juice colour, it's just purple.  Again.  Walmart, not Armani.

Crush

For tonight, Brian has selected a brilliant red-violet cravat with charcoal stripes, widely spaced.  Instead of the romantic and elegant evening she had envisioned, it had turned sloppy and morbid.  She grabbed her wineglass and stumbled out, deep into the rows of Cab Franc, its bunches full and ready.  The deepening dusk made the vineyard her refuge, and she sat down, listening for her name.

And Don't Forget To Tip Your Cocktail Waitress

I do like this tie, even though it borders dangerously on being one of the SPTs.  Here is how I described it back on 18 October 2010 in this Classic Cravat Critique:

Tonight Brian knots up a classy silk of plum with a subtle black pattern of stripes that, at a distance, can double as a sort of nouveau tweed. It's very Rat Pack, very snazzy, kind of "microphone in one hand and highball in the other with a lot of piano riffs while I sip and nod knowingly during the bridge." Order me a sidecar, Bri, while I visit the little girls' room to powder my nose.

Smart And Snappy

Inauguration Day, and Brian Williams dons a brisk-looking striper of cream and navy blue.  It looks formal and precise, a little martial in its comportment, like a salute.  This is a tie that could pass muster at the parade grounds, yet meet the ambassador at a small tête-à-tête in the Map Room. 

Rich Rewards

So Brian gives the Echo Chamber Of Faux Répétition a break and knots up his cravat of lusciously textured coffee-coloured silk with the petit-point pattern of coral dots.  This tie is so evocative of richness and flavor.  It is good coffee, expertly roasted.  It is homemade chocolate frosting, thick and swirled on a Valentine's Day cake.  It is the small, indulgent truffle with pink sprinkles bought at the chocolatier at the end of a long day, placed on a crystal plate.  A glass of merlot is poured, a good book is savoured, a fire is rekindled in the hearth. 

It's A Goofus And Gallant Sort Of Retrospective

Have you ever had to wait in the pediatrician's office with your child and picked up a Highlights magazine or other tot-friendly publication?  No doubt you've helped Junior and yourself pass the time comparing two similar pictures and picking out the differences between them:  a dog's tail missing, a pocket switching sides, a girl now wearing glasses.  Tonight, Brian wonders if we can spot the fact that this blue and green striped tie is not the same as the one he wore on 9 January or even 14 January.  No, this one has wider stripes and the blue is much, much brighter!  See, Brian!  And you thought we wouldn't notice.

The Classics

This evening's cravat is a sort of grandmother to the one worn on 8 January.  Its narrow stripes are a modest lavender and ebony, sedately fashionable, more modulated and graceful.  This is a tie that knows class, not flash; character, not quirkiness; style, not trendiness.  It is The Great Gatsby to Twilight.

No Biggie

Well, well, well.  Once Brian Williams unearthed the blue-with-dark-dots tie from l'armoire de cravates on Friday the 11th, it would seem he was loathe to put it away.  Here it is again, in all its nonchalance and aplomb, a mere few days later.  I suppose with an attitude such as this this tie possesses, it's to be expected.

But, Really, Isn't There Someone Who Can Do This For Him?

The new term for it is "Shopping Your Closet."  Here at The Report, we call it a Shameless Repeat Cycle.  Regardless, Brian has decided to again knot up the striper of deep blue and forest green most recently seen on 9 January.  Perhaps Bri has made a Resolution to be more newsy and less GQ.  "My tie?  I don't pay any attention to ties!  The world is in turmoil!  The United States is on the cusp of major legislation and default, and you are wondering about a scrap of fabric!  Away with you!"

It's Almost The Weekend

What's this?  Abandoning stripes for the moment, BriWi dons a necktie of true blue with a very subtle crosshatch pattern.  Sprinkled upon it are large Prussian blue polka dots.  This tie nudges and winks "Casual Friday."  It hangs around the breakroom and talks about who's headed to the Super Bowl.  It lounges on the corner of a desk and complains about who's hurt on its fantasy team.  It Skypes with its buddies while it messes with spreadsheets.  And at five o'clock, it gets stuffed in a briefcase, trench coat pocket, or glove compartment.

Life In Shadow

Smoked violet crossed by narrow charcoal diagonals is Brian's choice for his cravat.  This tie is aged velvet curtains packed away under the stage, dusty purple folds quietly holding the applause of audiences long ago.  It is the cape of the countess, dark silk lined with warm, soft plum, hooded for discretion on winding carriage rides with unnamed men who bring scandal and bouquets of flowers.

Nightwood

This evening's cravat is a moody stripe of dressy navy and moss green.  It is a shadowy forest at sunset, the leafy alcoves cool and dark.  In the distance is the muffled sound of the brook as it slides over rocks and around fallen tree trunks.  A tall pine sighs and sways, preparing to rest for the night. 

"May I Help You, Angelina? I'm Almost Done Finding What Gwyneth Needs For Little Apple."

Brian continues to usher in his New Year with bold, arresting colours.  Tonight he knots up a stripe of hot pink and midnight.  If there were a Toys R Us on Rodeo Drive, this is what the Personal Shoppers would wear in the Barbie Aisle as they escorted the rich and famous mommies up and down whilst the glitterati picked out dollies and dream houses for their little princesses. 

Red Letter Day

Welcome back, dears.  Happy New Year from all of us here at The Report!

BriWi's tie tonight is a brilliant red with widely spaced stripes of navy blue.  She was sitting at the kitchen table upon which an enormous amount of gummy bears was spread.  Painstakingly, she picked out the red ones and deposited them into a cellophane bag.  Satisfied that she had every single ruby-coloured bear separated out, she tied a blue grosgrain ribbon to close the bag and affixed a tag.  She would ask the florist to include the candy with the flowers.  He would love that!  Smiling, she scooped the remaining gummies into a container and hid them in the pantry.  Their turn would come later.

Okay, So, Is There A Schedule?

For a rendering of tonight's tie, please read the Report of exactly one month ago, 13 November 2012, when he wore the selfsame cravat.  What a rigid Fashion Rotation.

Why I Don't Have John Boehner On Top Of My Christmas Tree

BriWi's striped tie tonight is a jarring note in his conservative ensemble.  Its deep navy field colour is perfectly fine, but the zippy red stripes have an unbalancing effect.  They are like putting jelly beans on a tuna sandwich.  Like hearing a mariachi band when the priest bows his head and says, "Let us pray."  Like watching Grandpa pull up his fishing pole and seeing Grandma emerge from the lake in a tutu and toe shoes.  Yeah, like all of that. 

Terrible

SPT.  I feel like we should start a petition and have this tie forcibly removed by a Fashion HazMat Team.

It's Delightfully Delicious

It's a purple lover's dream tie.  This cravat is a Fashion Confection of lavender and mulberry in slender stripes.  It's like tea parties and backyard wedding receptions, ice cream socials and cakewalks.  It is a bakeshop cupcake made in a Girls' Night Out flavour like boysenberry mojito with blackcurrant mousse frosting.  So yummy.

Detour

Tonight's cravat is a faded and muted violet crossed by narrow charcoal diagonals, widely spaced.  He had decided to rent a car and drive the rest of the way to Cleveland, eschewing the crowded airports and noise-filled planes.  As he drove through the farmland, he was charmed by the horses and buggies, the tall silos, and the many local roadside stands along his route.  He stopped at one ostentatiously lettered sign offering pies, jams, jellies, pickles, eggs, and fresh produce.  The girl behind the bonnet barely spoke as she totaled up his purchases.  Her grey dress was somber, but she could not have been more than fifteen.  "Did you say this pie was, what now? Elderberry?" he asked.  She nodded, and she handed him his change with berry-stained fingers.

What A Difference Routine Makes

Oh, Brian.  I remember when you first wore this tie.  We here at The Report--along with our readers--were thrilled.  It was the first cravat with even a hint of green.  True, it is still the deep suitcoat navy field that so many of your ties share.  Yes, it is only a moderately wide forest green stripe.  But after years of suspense and suffering through such cravats as the Peculiarly Creased Lunchbag Tie and the Kidney Bean/Bodyworks Tie, we rejoiced! 

Now, of course, having been sedated and bludgeoned by Stripery, we are less impressed.

It Begins

The Report is back from a brief hiatus.

A narrow stripe of goldenrod against nightsky is the cravat for this evening.  She opened the slim case, viewed its contents quizzically, and looked at him.  A small frown started to appear, and he spoke quickly.  "I know you don't wear jewelry.  That's why it's pretty plain.  I just thought it might be nice, you know, something different, something kind of pretty and...and feminine."  He lifted out the slim gold bracelet and began to fasten it onto her wrist.  The minute clasp, however, eluded his blunt fingers, and the chain fell back onto the table.  She pulled the sleeves of her turtleneck down over her hands in a reflexive, defensive gesture.

Huntsman's Secret

Someday the tie will be paisley or plaid, but that day is not today.  Today is yet another day of stripes, this time wide stripes of deep navy blue and tangerine.  It was still dark when the alarm roused her in the middle of the night.  She had the luxury of slipping back into the dark caverns of Sleep while he arose and tugged on woolen socks, sturdy warm coveralls, and grabbed his vest of hunter's orange.  This hobby of his was so at odds with the rest of his persona that, early on in their relationship, she had teased him and admonished him for chasing down Bambi.  His sudden and brusque reaction, his visible wounded feelings made it clear that this subject was a sore one.  From that incident forward, she simply kissed him goodbye and was grateful that he washed the bloody clothes himself.

Course Correction

For this evening's striped tie, BriWi has chosen one with a field colour of jewelled purple crossed by narrow bands of milk white.  He sat almost sullenly across the table from her this morning, watching as she assembled her breakfast.  She plopped grape jelly onto each half of her English muffin; then, using the tip of her butter knife, drew long curls of cream cheese from the slab and, with her fingers, placed them onto the jelly.  With a snort of disgust, he retreated behind his WSJ and wheat toast, dry.  Certainly the novelty of their May-December romance had already worn thin, and whatever light and sparkle she had brought into his life had served its purpose, whatever he had thought that to be when he had made such a terrible mistake.  The important thing now was to see Panghorn and set about making an end of it, and with as little trouble as possible.

Storybox

Tonight's striped offering is one of ebony and palest lavender, the latter with whispery contrasting threads.  She sat back on her heels and tiredly pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.  The last truck of donations was almost unloaded, and she sat amid the remaining boxes of clothing to sort.  "Hey!  You'll want to look in this one for sure!" one of the volunteers yelled as he hefted a long glossy box from the truck.  He set it in front of her and she opened it to reveal yellowed tissue paper.  Pushing it carefully aside, she gasped.  It was gorgeous--all hand-beading and silk, and it looked to be from the 1920s.  The color was terribly faded, but she could tell that it had once been a vivid lilac.  Next to it was an aged rose, crumbling to dust, and under it, an envelope. 

Ugh

SPT. Familiarity breeds contempt, They say.  So contemptible.

Well-Suited

Stripes again, this time dress blues navy crossed with slim diagonals of bright flame.  Everyone marveled that the two of them were a couple.  They were the embodiment of the tired adage "Opposites attract." He was pragmatic and terse and favored restaurants with a clubby atmosphere and good beef.  She was chatty and tirelessly altruistic; she loved little out-of-the-way eateries with ethnic menus and impossible chefs.  Together they amassed a fortune in friends, purebred corgis, and big, chewy Napa reds.  Their love was seamless and fierce, and it was conventional wisdom that it was also forever.

In Which We Posit The Fate Of Our Favourite Pink Tie And Reference Thrash Metal

Oh, Brian Williams, Brian Williams. How very dapper you look!  Your ensemble is flawless.  Your cravat is the very capstone of precision.  Would it were not, yet again, a striped tie of dark blue and gold!  We can only imagine l'intérieur de L'armoire des Cravates, thronged as it must be, by blue and gold striped cravats, the crush of which surely renders its mighty doors ajar.  This must be the reason we have not glimpsed the stylish and lovely Pink Tie Of Dreams in so very, very long.  It is, perhaps, flattened against the back, or crumpled and sad on the bottom, a tired or trampled dancer in the mosh pit of fashion.

Storm Search

This evening's striped cravat is of worsted grey and seascape.  Grabbing her father's old fisherman's sweater off the hook near the door, she walked down to the beach.  The clouds were gathering angrily at the horizon, and the wind was ready and brisk.  Further off, the pier was busy as boats were coming in and offloading their meagre catches; this storm had blown up suddenly.  Her eyes kept scanning the jetty even as a cold rain began pelting her face.  She pulled her hair back, twisting its length away from her face, and tried in vain to find his boat again in the distance. 

A Pot Of Tea, A Good Book, And Thou

For the long night ahead covering Election 2012, Brian Williams knots up a reliable and stylish stripe of midnight sky and pumpkin.  As she adjusted her uniform, she checked to make sure that everything was on the tray.  The old lady was so sweet, and she so looked forward to her nighttime tea and toast!  A chubby teapot brimmed with steaming Earl Grey, and the delicate china plate held two pieces of cinnamon toast, lightly buttered.  A small jar of house-made citrus marmalade and a copy of Jane Eyre completed the tray.  Tonight they were ready for the wedding chapter, and the Missus was sure to want parts read out again and again.  That was fine, just fine.  The night was not so lonely when it was shared.

It's A Don McLean Moment, So Drive Your Chevy To The Levee

Tonight there is no fashion.  Brian Williams wears a blue tie.  And that's it.  It is a tie, it is blue, and, to lapse into Millennial Jargon That We Despise, "It is what it is."  And that It is a Blue Tie.  How many more ways can I state it?  Blue Tie.

Quelle Dommage

SPT.