All In A Day's Work

Brian has knotted up what may become known as his Friday Tie, now that he has worn it two consecutive week's ends.  It is the graphite silk with small medallions--navy? black?--highlighted in ash.  She came to the bank several times a week to babysit her money, and she could be both terrifying and charming about it.  And even though she was at least fifteen years older than him, he found her irresistibly alluring. Her voice was confident, yet feminine, and although she smelled wonderfully of flowers and citrus, she knew as much as he did about finance.  Her dark hair was slightly streaked with grey; she wore fitted dresses and suits and expensive high-heeled shoes.  Her jewelry was always marcasite and silver with a bit of onyx.  The staff called her The Grey Lady, but he felt that was a terrible misnomer.  When he thought of her, when he closed his eyes and thought of her scent, her voice, her mien, it filled him with red.

Spring Is In The Air

Brian's tie of summersky blue and cloud white stripes tonight is like a harbinger of Spring.  A warm wind from the south had kept up all night, and when he awoke and looked outside, he smiled.  The snow was gone.  He, too, felt a burden gone, lighter, warmer, renewed.  Lifting a mug from the rack, he made a quick cup of tea and walked out on the porch to get the newspaper.  The sun, the breeze, the brilliantly blue sky, even the smell of the air made him stop and savour the morning.  Closing his eyes and dragging in a couple of huge, deep breaths, he sat down on the step and set his mug next to him.  The white cat across the street, a stray, walked down the Shays' driveway, paused, and came closer.

Making And Selling Happiness

Rich brown textured fabric peppered with tiny peach-pink dots greets the viewer of The Nightly tonight. Her first job had been at a candy kitchen in one of the tourist meccas downtown.  She had to wear an old-fashioned dress and mob cap, both in pink-sprigged calico, and a pristine white ruffled apron.  Her favourite days were the fudge-making days, which she cooked in a huge copper kettle right in the large front window of the shop, overlooking the street.  A crowd always gathered, especially when she swung the pot over to the marble slab and poured the stuff out, immediately working it with the two wooden paddles.  Little by little, the rich chocolate liquid became stiffer, and by the time she had worked it into long loaf-shaped logs, it was solid.  During its time on the slab, she could make it any flavour she wanted, adding nuts, fruits, marshmallows, or a stream of peanut butter fudge from a smaller kettle.  If there were lots of children in the crowd, she merely cascaded a handful of multicolored sprinkles along the top, and labelled it "Circus Fudge" or "Rainbow Fudge." It would sell like crazy.

He's On A Mission

We did not even have time to miss this cravat since Brian Williams just wore it Tuesday last.  It is so obviously his Go To Tie, this stripe of cream and nightsky.  "Oh, le sigh," we can imagine Monsieur Williams uttering petulantly whilst surveying the wealth of neckwear inside l'armoire des cravates.  "I'm so very bored by it all.  My first priority is The News.  This--" and here he indicates the contents with an impatient, sweeping gesture, "--all of this is mere falderal.  The people who care about such things are mere dilettantes. Here; here is the tie for today.  It is perfectly fine.  Now," he says as he carelessly knots it up expertly, "now I must go.  News is happening. News is occurring in every corner of the globe, and I must bring it to the American people."

Too Cool

Brian's tie tonight is a cool graphite silk patterned with little ash-coloured amoebae with black centres.  It's interesting and stylish, suave and cosmopolitan.  She checked the address again and frowned.  Why would he send her here to meet the client?  Where in this building would they meet?  It was gallery space, lofts under construction, and a couple of random businesses.  The elevator opened at the top floor and as the doors opened, she gasped.  Behind two massive smoked glass and chrome doors was one of the most sophisticated bars (clubs?) she had ever seen.  As far as she could see, glass, chrome, black walnut, and Chinese silk met her eye in some combination.  Frank Sinatra sang softly, and the only other sound was the occasional clink of ice and glasses and the murmur of voices, mostly male.  She saw him almost immediately, lounging at a booth and talking to a few people.  At the same moment, he lifted his eyes to her, instinctively sensing her presence.  His body never moved; his voice continued without a pause.  She gestured toward an open booth, and he nodded almost imperceptibly.  Annoyed, she sat down and took out her materials, preparing for the meeting.  He probably owned the building and wanted to impress her and the firm.  Big deal.  She was tired of his hipster posturing and hoped he'd approve the latest changes, sign off, and let her go get something to eat.  Sushi, maybe, or a kalamata flatbread at Nicco's. Her stomach rumbled, and she sighed.

Clouded Vision

This evening Brian Williams wears a cravat of dusky violet with widely spaced charcoal stripes.  She caught the last ferry out even though that wasn't the plan, originally.  Nothing, actually, had been according to plan, and she fought to discern exactly what she was feeling.  Anger, yes, plenty of anger, but the choking desire to cry betrayed her sadness.  And shame?  Or was it self-loathing--no, not that strong--but simple embarrassment.  She had been stupid and blind and naive and vulnerable.  Staring mutely at the skyline, she watched as the sun abdicated its dominion to night's purple shadow, the darkening clouds shrouding the light.

Slip-Slidin' Away

Brian decided upon a rather daring stripe of violet blue with narrow raspberry diagonals, the latter being so dramatically pitched that they were almost fully vertical.  So odd they were that I could not stop looking at that tie, almost believing that each time the camera came back to Brian after a segment helmed by, say, the handsome Miguel, that the stripes had skewed a little more downward.  It would not have surprised me at all if, by the end of The Nightly, they had completely righted themselves straight or fallen off the tie entirely.

Too Much Of A Good Thing...

Hello again, striped tie of creamy white and nightsky.  And ho hum.  You are a lovely tie, to be sure, but part of Beauty's cache is Rarity.  Would we appreciate and covet a sight of the Northern Lights so greatly if we could see them every night?  Would the rainbow be such a gasp should it come after each and every rain?  If lobster were as common as chicken on my dinner table, would I lean back in my chair, close my eyes, and have A Private Joy with each mouthful?  I think not, and I hope I have made my point.

Not Worth It

Brian cannot lay off this particular tie lately, the shiny one bedecked with teensy purple and light something-or-other polka dots? houndstooth? checks? patterning.  Each time I am confronted with this cravat I think of something else; this time it is some cheap doll luggage, made of heavy pasteboard with a thin leather-look veneer glued to it in some ungodly shade of purple.  The lining would be rough sateen that looked like this tie, with globs of glue here and there, puckered, here and there a thread poking out.  It would be on one of those cards with plastic bubbles holding the luggage on, and it would be on a rack on an end-of-aisle clearance display, marked 50% OFF!.  Still no bargain.

Point Of Order

Several Readers of The Report have thoughtfully written emails and asked, "Why have there been no Tie Reports during the Sochi Games?"  Our answer is that as long as Brian's ties are A) playing peek-a-boo under an admittedly quite attractive outdoor jacket; and B) nothing new or interesting to justify a Report, we will simply take a hiatus.  If another newsperson were to wear an interesting/wretched/breathtakingly stylish cravat, we may be moved to report it here.  Otherwise, we are committed to being riveted by the curling uniforms and wondering if elementary school teachers' Christmas sweaters were the inspiration for the Team USA cardigans.

The Untold Story

The striped tie for tonight is deep blue with slim white diagonals.  "You're being very brave!" she told the little boy sitting on the gurney in front of her.  She was wrapping his arm in plaster bandages now, forming a cast. Now that the pain and fear were mostly gone, he regarded her with interest, and was watching everything she did.  "Once we get all the white gooey part on, you can pick any color for your cast.  See those rolls over there?  Those are all the colors you have to choose from."  She stepped aside, working deftly and expertly, while the child surveyed the rainbow hues before him.  As she was tucking some soft cotton pads around the bicep, there came a small tap on her shoulder.  "Blue," said his tiny voice in her ear.  "Please.  I want a blue one this time."  Her heart clenched, and her eyes filled with tears.

Secrets At The Altar

Mr. Williams' choice of cravat this evening is a stripe of Carolina blue against a navy field.  He stood at the altar and sweated.  He could feel the perspiration rolling down his back and his underwear sticking to every surface it touched, damp and strangling.  Last night's send-off had been a huge mistake, and now, standing here in a tuxedo-clad row with the rest of the wedding party, sun beating down on them all from a relentlessly blue and cloudless sky with no hope of shade or breeze or any respite at all, he was paying dearly for it.  The sweat broke out on his hairline in small beads that began to trickle down his face.  His wife, looking like a Disney princess among other Disney princesses in blue taffeta, glanced at him worriedly.  His stomach was roiling and he knew his face was grey or green or, at best, white.  He tried a wan smile and hoped the wedding wasn't going to last much longer.

Why, Yes, You May Call It A Threat

As we here at The Report try to thaw from yet another Polar Vortex Visitation, it hardly seems worth our while to apply our benumbed and frosty fingers to the keyboard to report on another manifestation of That Tie.  You know the one.  It keeps violating our Fashion Space with its lurid Purply Gleam, its confusing pattern of impossibly small somethings that pulsate and flitter about and defy us at every angle.  Today its dimple is, we begrudgingly admit, quite nice, but not enough to save it.  If it appears once more this month--nay, once more before the first week of February is spent--we are relegating it to The Axis Of Evil.  That is how badly this tie has been used.

A Flash Of Brilliance

Looking very dapper, Brian puts together an enviable ensemble featuring a striped tie of charcoal with diagonals of ultramarine blue snugged by slim bands of white.  This cravat is sleek and stylish, a perfect balance of color and brilliance.  He scanned the room full of impeccably dressed elites, trying to find her.  It was almost impossible in this bevy of black.  If only he hadn't had to work so late!  If only she weren't so very petite! If only women weren't so damned slavish to their Little Black Dresses for every single evening function.  Struck by a brief moment of inspiration, he looked down.  In a clutch of cocktail smalltalkers he found a pair of bright blue heels.  He strode toward them, and there she was, martini (three olives) in hand.

A Detour In The Running Of The Purples

Imagine our relief when we tuned in this evening and, instead of PurplePurplePurplePurple, we saw pearl grey and nightsky stripes.  Is this tie a wondrous Fashion Accessory?  No. But in comparison to its predecessors, however, it is a Sartorial Life Vest.

Les Faux Pas

Quelle horreur!  This has to be the worst Cycle de Répétition ever in The History Of The Report.  Not only did Monsieur Brian wear this very tie the day before yesterday, but we are certainly having a Running Of The Purples.  This, the shiny purply dotted tie of 15 January and 20 January, makes the third Purple in a row.  Et, malheureusement, it had duelling dimples.  Is something terribly amiss dans chez Williams?

Don't Look Back--Just RUN!

SPT.  Heaven help us all.  We may be in for a Running Of The Purples.

In Which We Acknowledge Our Disillusionment And Loll A Bit

Sigh.  Do us a favour, would you?  Just grab a strong drink and read Wednesday, 15 January's report.  If Brian Williams can be Fashion Lazy, we can be Report Lazy.  (With a heaping side of Great Dismay.)

The Gypsy Heart

Tonight's tie is like the gypsy cousin of Monday's tie.  The cabled stripes are brilliant magenta on a field of dusky lavender, and the entire cravat has a sheen and shimmer like satin.  "Impossible!" said Grandmamma when she saw the bolts of cloth lying like a bright rainbow across the bed.  "She is still in mourning.  These are completely unsuitable, not to mention scandalous.  The entire county will talk.  Madame Clarens has forgotten herself.  Richmond is not Paris."  Aunt Caroline deftly stepped in front of the fabrics with a cup of tea and nodded.  "Of course, of course.  But it has been almost a year now.  And Susannah is only sixteen.  The Lady's Book allows for mauve or lavender, and this silk here can be suitable," she said, indicating a soft lilac.  "Certainly a plain dress with a modest neckline is fine.  And no adornment, save some fresh roses?"  Susannah thought of the months of black crepe and dim veils that darkened her visage.  Hope bloomed within her.

Old Wives' Tale

Slate blue and creamy white stripes comprise this evening's cravat.  Barely awake, he drank a quick cup of black tea, good Irish tea, and pulled on his clothes and boots.  It was chilly, but not resolutely cold, so he tugged a wool sweater over his head and wound his scarf around his neck.  After a quick breakfast, his horse was ready, and they went out on the road.  As the sun struggled to light the sky, they made their way in the gloom to the cheesemaker's.  Today was the day he would salt-wash the cheeses, giving each white round a good briny dunk in order to help them develop a tough rind.  He opened the door to the drying room, and on their shelves, they looked like moons shining against the lightening sky.

Bad Trip, Man

Remember all those terrible movies you had to watch in seventh grade health class during the unit on Drugs?  Some kid would get tired of being yelled at by his mom and dad, and he'd be out walking to The Big Dance or The Freshman Rally, thinking about it and muttering to himself, hands jammed into his pockets, grimace on his face.  A car would pull up and an Unsavory Kid from P.E. class would lean out and say, "Hey, dude!  Ain't you in my gym class?  Wanna ride?"  And the Decent Kid would have a moment of indecision, then hear his mother nagging, and climb into the car as an act of defiance.  They'd end up at a Party full of Drugs, with kids Getting High and acting weird all over the place.  Decent Kid would drink something or take something or smoke something and all of a sudden, there would be a scene of blurry faces, weird lights, flashing colours, and disco effects.  Freaky.  That's all I could think about with tonight's tie of teeny tiny shiny magenta-purple dots? checks? who knows?  Every time he moved even a scintilla, that tie pulsed alive and those two dimples threatened to swallow us up.

But We're Making The Call

SPT.  This tie is technically not a Solid Purple, I know.  But its pattern is so minuscule that it has become another Purlap cravat.  That chasm of a dimple is quite formidable, I must say.

The Novice

This evening's cravat is a lovely offering of Wegwood and egg custard stripes, the latter in a rope pattern.  She cowered in her apron, wishing she could hide behind the huge stainless steel counters.  At the front of the room, she could hear Madame's sharp voice denouncing the failures.  "Non!  Non!  Rien!  Rien!  Quelle horreur!  Qu'est-ce que c'est?"  A moment later, it was her turn.  The knotty and flawlessly manicured finger lifted the meringue off the crust, revealing a small puddle.  "Non!," Madame cried.  She then stuck her finger into the soft golden filling, scraping the crust below.  Her finger came up with raw dough.  "Rien!  Rien!" she said, shaking it at her before moving on.  The cook buried her face in her novice's blue apron and silently wept.

Workshop

Brian is saving the week by wearing excellent ties at the end of it.  This one is stellar.  Miniscule checks of paprika and ginger blend to make a lovely copper colour.  Sprinkled upon it are circlets of ash blue limned with black.  They had left Madison Avenue and Wall Street and come out to Nevada to learn how to live like people again.  It had not been easy, especially the first year, which they promised would be one of relaxation, rejuvenation, and exploration.  No work.  They found themselves strangers, even to each other.  But soon they found a shared interest, and by year two they had made it a business.  Every day in the workshop, as they hammered and wrought the copper into bracelets and cuffs, rings and earrings, they laughed about what their former associates would say if they saw their "desks" now.  She worked meticulously at mounting the natural turquoise stones onto the metal.  Everything was beautiful.

The Crazy Quilt

Even though this particular cravat is what my grandma Ethel would call "busy," I have grown to like it.  It is a lovely summersky blue field with bands of black meshwork further interspersed by stripes of silvery satin shot through with lilac.  It reminds me of sitting next to Grandma when she was piecing her quilts.  Sometimes she would be making two or three at once, and I would help her sort her scraps.  I felt surrounded by personalities, some of them luxurious, some homey and sweet, some plain.  I wanted a quilt made of all of them together, and Grandma laughed.  "They call that a Crazy Quilt," she said.  "Pieces that go every which way and all kinds of material junked up together."  My eyes widened, and I smiled at the name.  That only made me want one even more.

It Would Be A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood

After wearing the Elder Cousin of Monday's tie on Tuesday, Brian gets a little cray-cray and pairs the Usual Navy Stripe with a yowza red.  We've seen this cravat before, this navy and red striper from the Ward Cleaver Collection.  For some reason, it always makes me think of Mr. Rogers, and I want to see Brian wear it with a nice, slouchy cardigan.  How lovely would that be, to have Mr. Williams sit in a living room set, comfy cardigan on, delivering the news in a gentle and soothing voice with no cutaways to scenes of disaster or drama?  And Michael Douglas could intone at the top of the broadcast, "This...is NBC Neighborhood News with Brian Williams."

2014 Is Lackluster Thus Far

Ho, hum.  Bri has plopped on a suitcoat navy tie with slim white stripes.  As one of our small relatives would say, "Whoop De Do."  Not much to rattle our cages now, is it?  And it's not simply the fact that we've seen this cravat thousands of times.  It's a pedestrian tie even if it were new.  We get that It's All About The News for him, but how about something new(er) and more exciting?

In Which I Am Not Above A Little Clever Duplicity

It would seem that Brian Williams did not get any new cravats for Christmas this year.  Tonight he wears a deep navy blue tie with steep diagonals of forest green.  Why, Williams Family, why?  And what about all of you at NBC?  Couldn't you have pitched in and found a really nice tie in all of New York City?  Don't try to tell me that even a street vendor didn't have a decent tie.  Doubtless all of you camerapersons are becoming bored and weary, looking at the same old ties evening in and evening out.  Do everyone a favour and get that man a new necktie!  Make up some story about how your dog picked it out or it was from a NASCAR dog or it was bought from a fireman's charity for rescue dogs or something.  Anything with dogs.  The man is stuck on dogs.  How about this?  "Here, Mr. Williams.  I got this when I was at a Springsteen concert held to rebuild the Jersey Shore boardwalk.  The guy selling it said to tell you hello.  He met you when you did that story on rescuing dogs from Hurricane Katrina.  He still has three of them, he said to tell you."  There.  That should do it.  Now get on it!

Yikes

SPT.  After a long Holiday, Brian returns wearing the Purlap Tie.  A dire harbinger for 2014.

For Your Viewing Pleasure

Brian Williams knots up a tie of brilliant cardinal red with sky blue stripes for our viewing pleasure.  Cara was breathless as Father Christmas (really, Uncle Morris) pulled the largest box from under the tree.  Finally!  She would finally be able to discover who this huge gift was for!  Her heart pounded as he turned and gave it to her.  Could it really be hers?  Her fingers flew to unwrap it, remembering always Mamma's admonitions to be ladylike even though she wanted to tear into it like a beast.  She opened the lid, pushed aside the gossamer papers, and lifted out what seemed like miles and miles of plush red velvet.  It was a cape, a gorgeous, beautiful cape with a hood.  Suddenly, a glimpse of baby blue satin--the lining.  Cara could have wept.  "It is only for buggy riding and walking on fairer days," Mamma said.  "Velvet is not practical, for it is difficult to clean.  But every girl should have something lovely and a little impractical."

On Pink

This cravat is a classic for Brian.  He has been wearing it for years and years, and while I like it just fine, I am tired of seeing it worn to the exclusion of many other lovely ties he wears much less frequently.  The main colour is a deep midnight blue, and the slim stripes are pale pink--not a warm, baby pink--a blue-toned carnation pink, widely spaced.  I immediately applaud men in pink, no matter how scant its appearance.  More men ought to wear it, and more often.  Here we are, in a whole new millennium, and so many people still see pink as a "Girl's Colour."  How utterly ridiculous.  Women wear blue with impunity.  Shall we all just get over it?  Let's do, and quickly.

Too Soon

Have we seen this tie before, Readers?  I cannot recall it.  In any case, it's purple and white checkered presence was a little Springlike to me.  It looked more suited to a tablecloth in a vegan restaurant, or napkins in a winery bistro, or even, perhaps, lovely cushions for your white wicker porch furniture.  A dark suit cannot ground this tie; it is too buoyant and light.  December's cold and dim days make it seem terribly out of place.  Better to lay it safely away until at least April or May when the clouds are wispy and lacy, and the air is warming a few green things.

Christmas Schooner

Tonight's cravat is suitcoat navy with steep diagonals of forest green.  He looked in the rearview mirror and smiled.  The kids were leaned way over sideways, looking at the Christmas tree on top of the car, through the sunroof.  If they hadn't been firmly belted into their carseats, they'd be lying down, he knew.  The sky was quickly accumulating dark grey clouds, and the deep blue was fast turning dark.  Soon it would be snowing.  In the meantime, though, Jasper and Hannah could watch their evergreen sail through an ocean of sky, cutting the depths and speeding toward the horizon.

Villainous Tie

This tie gives me a headache.  Its purple dots are so minuscule and shiny, and its field colour is so changeable (is it grey? taupe? lavender? graupender?) and opalescent that at times it appears to be moving and buzzing.  The cleft of its dimple is unhelpful; it merely creates a shadowy ravine for the dancing pattern to encircle and descend into and up from.  Now look--it's made me end a sentence with two prepositions.  Horrific thing.

Maybe Bri Is Jet-Lagged, And He Grabbed The First Tie Off The Donation Box In The Hallway

SPT.  Purlap tie.  And wow; that big cavernous dimple is sorta freaking us out.

Blaze

Brian Williams is still in South Africa, reporting on the death of Nelson Mandela.  He wears a charcoal grey tie striped with bright yellow diagonals.  There had not been a car or truck or motorcycle or any sort of vehicle whatsoever down the road in hours.  He wasn't all that surprised; it was, after all, a tiny country with only a relative few vehicles anyhow.  Add to that the late hour, and he knew he had to find a spot to spend the night.  "Poor planning, poor execution," he said out loud to no one but himself, just to hear the sound of something in the darkness.  He veered away from the roadside into a cleared area where a beaten-down shack leaned.  It was useless to try to gather anything for a fire.  It was already warm, and there wasn't anything around to burn.  He chuckled when he thought of the three boxes of matches in his backpack. "What for?" he said aloud.  "What for?"  He took out a box, slid it open, and grabbed a match.  He struck it expertly on the side of the box and a flame jumped to life.  Holding the match, he watched it glow yellow and burn down to his fingers, fascinated.  He took out another and did the same thing, then another and another, watching them all burn bright in the deep dark night.

The Small Delight

Oh, we do love this striped tie of mahogany and gold shot through with tiny threads.  She was blind now, but it was impossible to tell.  She knew the interior of her home so well that she navigated it expertly, even without a cane.  Her appetite was scant, and there was little left of her but her brown skin stretched over old bones, taut and smooth.  Guests delighted but tired her, so he was careful to stay only a little while.  This time, he brought her a pound of her favourite chocolates in a box.  She was confused at first and, lifting it to her nose, suddenly smiled in recognition and joy.  Quickly lifting the lid, her fingers then prowled among the candies until they found one wrapped in golden foil.  It was swiftly unwrapped, popped in the mouth, and her face showed deep satisfaction.  After a profound sigh of contentment, she smiled.  "You," she told him pointedly, "can come anytime."

You'll Never Guess What I Saw

As usual there are stripes tonight, but this tie is a rarity for its mossy green diagonals partnered with navy.  Green is an uncommon sight in a Brian Williams cravat, like a peacock on the roadside, or a cheeseburger at a cocktail party.  Certainly it could happen, and perhaps once or twice it has, but it is still occasion enough to cause comment.

An Evening At The Embers

Impeccably knotted, tonight's cravat is a silky stripe of rich cream and smoky navy stripes.  He sat in the shadowy booth alone and watched her at the bar.  Her posture on the stool was somehow studied and casual at the same time.  She was drinking White Russians and her motion was balletic; the way she lifted the glass, tilted it to take a sip, moved the straw aside with one finger, and set it down without a sound.  Every so often she would pull her long, dark hair back and to one side with a quick, mystifying gesture involving her hand, only a couple of fingers, and a beautiful turn of her wrist ending with a brief moment in which she looked like she was going to beckon him to come to her.  But no; instead she would drop it to her bodice or her hip, smooth her blue silk sheath, and thoughtfully take another sip.

It's So Purple, So Very, Very Purple

SPT.

In Her Element

We're back from our petite vacance and ready again to report, this time on Bri's cravat of faded denim with smudgy polka dots of campfire ash.  She sighed when she saw the next stop on her list.  She didn't dread seeing Maggie, but it tugged at her in the most distressing way.  Maggie's tiny apartment was cramped and full of dust and junk.  It reeked viciously of the unfiltered cigarettes she smoked, and every surface had either burn marks, small logs of ash where a cigarette had been left to burn, or a grey smudge where she had ground one out.  She answered the door with a brilliant smile, always wearing the same enormous pair of Wrangler overalls and a sweatshirt with puffy painted cardinals underneath.  Taking the styrofoam container, she would say thank you effusively, add a few God Bless Yous, and disappear back into her disarray.

Jazz

This evening's neckwear choice is a cravat with wide stripes of smoky dress navy and bright lilac.  Muffled strains of jazz music lured passers-by in from the rain slicked street.  Now and then the door would swing open and a patron would slide out and so would the music, cool and warm at the same time, hot riffs of piano topped off by stone cold bass, chunking out the notes like a bullfrog.  A few neon signs made bright puddles as she put on her lipstick in the streetlight's glow, and it seemed like the music was purple, then blue, then red, white, purple, blue, and they went in to a saxophone's wail.

Despite The Debate, I Just Don't Like It

SPT.  The argument between Sam and me regarding this tie is ongoing.  He says it is a pindot pattern.  I say it looks horrifyingly like purple burlap.  Either way, it's terrible. And purple.

Roadside Stop

Tonight, Brian finds his way back to the distressed blue silk tie with charcoal polka dots.  Her GPS cord, frayed and spiky with bare wires, had finally given up.  Even though she'd never read a map in her life, she rummaged through the glove compartment of her car, praying one would magically just...be there, like there always was in her dad's Fords.  Resigned, she stopped at the next gas station, which out here, looked like a cabin or a very small hunting lodge.  Inside, the men were covered in denim and grease.  Most of them had a cigarette hanging from one corner of their mouth, and all of them looked at her interestedly.

Winter

It has been a while since we've seen this particular cravat of charcoal grey with barely discernible ash-coloured medallions, a classic foulard pattern.  Sometime in the depth of night, she awoke, freezing and aware of a dull pain in her back and legs.  Her mind felt furred and disconnected, like she was floating up from a drug-induced sleep.  A long glow of white light appeared suddenly, and she instinctively raised her hand to shield her eyes.  A massive bolt of pain rocketed up her spine; she gasped, and slipped away again, but not before she saw the frost.  It was frost, in beautiful patterns blooming against the dark window half-buried in the snow.

Frivolous Is Not In His Lexicon

For his offering this evening, Brian ties on a cravat of deep navy with widely spaced stripes of true red snugged by white on either side.  It would have been cliché to have worn this Patriotic Tie yesterday, on Election Day.  As is his habit, Brian Williams wears it the day after instead, so as not to be cutesy or flip.  The News is a Serious Business, and as the Trusted Voice Of Our Nation's Ever-Changing Scene, he cannot afford to be viewed as either.

Private Symphony

Brian Williams chooses the violet textured silk cravat sprinkled with small white dots.  She wakened every morning at exactly eight even though there really was no reason to.  No alarm urged her out of bed; no employment awaited her.  She didn't even have a dog or cat awaiting a rush of kibble into its dish.  But she liked to be part of a routine, a cog in a bustling movement of Life.  She pulled on her robe and slid her feet into slippers.  In the bathroom, once she accomplished her own few necessaries, she filled a small watering can.  She walked back out into her room and greeted her charges, a lush row of African violets, velvety and beautiful.  "Good Morning, lovelies," she crooned to each purple and white-throated bloom.  After a careful watering, she gently daubed away any beads of water from every solitary leaf on which they stood.  She pressed a button on the CD player, and out flowed Rachmaninoff, softly, as she conducted, perfectly.

Vive Le Difference

Tonight's tie is so similar to last night's that, if you only took a cursory glance at your television, you would be aghast, thinking Brian Williams had worn it two nights in a row.  This one, however, is suitcoat navy with light blue stripes.  Completely different!  It's like rotini instead of fusilli; Hagen Dasz instead of Ben & Jerry's; lilac instead of lavender.  Totally, entirely, thoroughly, and altogether different.  Like night and day.

Can I Order Off The Menu?

Straight from The Ward Cleaver Collection: Formal Wear, Brian knots up the suitcoat navy tie with creamy white stripes.  It's a perfectly fine, serviceable tie, absolutely appropriate in virtually every tie-wearing situation.  There is nothing wrong with it.  No one at the wedding will lean over to her seatmate in the pew and whisper, eyebrows raised, anything about it in mock outrage.  Great-Aunt Selma won't close her eyes and shake her head, frowning slightly, as she sits shiva next to it.  Even Tim Gunn wouldn't object to it with a grey shawl collar half-zip, dark wash jeans, and navy or charcoal pinstriped shirt for a casual look.  But I'd like to see something else, please.

As Serious As A Fake Heart Attack

Yippee!  No stripes today!  Instead, BriWi has chosen to preview Halloween by donning his Circus Fun Tie, the tomato red one with white polka dots the size of a pencil eraser tip.  After The Nightly, he'll swing around on his swivel chair, revealing his enormous yellow shoes and go clomping off set to finish getting ready for the photo shoot.  Once he pulls on a curly orange wig, bright lime-green jacket (two sizes too short), and purple balloon-style pants, the only thing left is the requisite round, red nose.  Oh, that Brian!  And here we thought The News was nothing to joke about!

Il Est...

sans cravate ce soir.  Opting for the outdoorsy and rugged look, Brian instead wears the layered look, somewhat sacrificing fashion with an olive drab, shapeless flak jackety sort of thing as he reports live from New Jersey.  We are grateful, however, that it was not a cliché North Face or peacoat.

Monday Machine

BriWi's tie this evening is the sedate and snappy suitcoat navy and milk white stripe.  Monday mornings were the worst, he thought, as he stuffed brown bags and lunchboxes into backpacks.  Re-entry Day.  The day when The Machine revved back into life.  It always felt like they had fifty kids instead of just four.  He stood at the counter and slopped half-and-half into his coffee while he stood guard over breakfast, constantly checking his wristwatch.  His wife flitted like a bird from child to child, squirting syrup, doling napkins, pouring juice.  They both had a train to catch; they both had meetings; they both were "suits."  They both had wanted a career and a family, and now they both wondered why.

But First, A Word From Our Sponsors

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Tonight in Stripes.  We're pleased to have you join us.  This evening, Phil is taking you on safari to meet up with the rare and wonderful Bengal tigers at Big Cat Rescue in Tampa, Florida.  We'll be going on the road with Pilar, literally, as we join up with a highway crew whose job it is to paint those white and yellow lines on our streets and thoroughfares.  And, finally, we'll be sitting down with the one man who has probably done more for the stripe than anyone in the news business, NBC Nightly News anchor Brian Williams.  His striped ties, like the silk cabernet franc with white piping pinstripes that he wore tonight, have become legend in the fashion world.  Won't you stay tuned?  We'll be right back after these few messages."

So Over Them

Stripes, stripes, stripes.  Let's call tonight's tie what it is and be done with it.  Lilac and deep, dark blue.  No waxing poetic about mystics and moonlight on wisteria.  No comparisons to funeral bouquets and veiled widows.  This endless string of stripes has me stupefied and stubborn.

Does Flava Flav Have This Tie?

STP.  Neck Bling.

The Last Vacation

We are back from our vacance just in time to see tonight's broadcast, for which Brian Williams has decided to wear a pleasantly breezy cravat of lapis and cloud white.  It is nautical and almost summery, as if we are standing at the rail and waving goodbye in the sunshine as the waves churn beneath us.  We feel the warmth of the rays on our shoulders, and the cool sea air as it lifts not only our hair, but our spirits.  The only tension we feel is that small thrill of expectation, of adventure as we sail off on a trip to a place we've never been before, or perhaps one we love returning to year after year.  It's one last wave from the dock from our friends seeing us off, and then we leave our real lives behind.

See Brian.

A man went into a store.  "I need a tie," he said.  "The ties are over there," said a clerk.  The man went where the clerk said.  He looked at the ties.  He got a blue one.  He went to the cashier and paid for it.  He wore the blue tie on TV.  The end.

There's No Place For It

Oh, bother.  I really do dislike this tie.  The fabric looks cheap; the field color is blue-violet, but not a nice blue-violet, more like the kind which was once blue or once violet, but now has faded into taking on the cast of the other due to age, exposure to sun, or just poor fabric quality (see beginning of sentence).  The stripes are very narrow and a garishly vivid (or vividly garish) fuchsia or electric raspberry.  They simply look odd next to such a somber color, like Prince Philip with a mohawk or Henry Kissinger wearing a tutu.  Not nice and just wrong altogether.

Spin

Brian Williams knots up a striper of ebony and lilac for this evening's newscast.  "Where is she?" her husband hissed, jaw clenched, as they introduced him.  He left the wings and walked out onstage, waving and smiling in the spotlight.  During his speech, she got on her cellphone again, trying to reach their daughter.  "Mailbox full," the recording told her unhelpfully.  Moments later, there she was, but...what on earth had she done?  "Like it?" her daughter said, running her hands through her short, choppy hair.  "I know it's a little...edgy.  But I was ready for something different.  So I told her, yeah, go ahead and go for it.  That's when she dyed it black and added the purple streak.  Awesome, right?"  As the candidate turned to welcome his family to the stage, they held hands and stepped out.

Tieku 2

Midnight and white stripes:
Cool, classy, yet so played out.
Remember...Pink Tie?

Make It Stop

SPT.  This tie looks like it belongs in Vegas. On Beyoncé. Or something. Yikes.

Have Mercy

SPT.  Purlap tie getting a helluva workout.

The Art

Tonight, Brian falls back on a favourite cravat, a smoky denim blue with muted charcoal polka dots.  Each time she came by his easel, he felt a ridiculous thrill.  I'm old enough to be her father, he admonished himself.  Maybe her grandfather.  But she was lovely, even in her old blue smock and with smudges of charcoal on her fingers and, disarmingly, the bridge of her nose.  Her curls were in constant motion as she illustrated a technique on his practice pad; her wrists looked delicate and fine.  And she was cheery and upbeat.  He liked that.  She smiled at everyone and all the time.  No fool like an old fool, he reminded himself, but he was just taking an art class for his therapy.

Brian Is Always Thinking Of Us

Ho hum, Brian Williams.  Perhaps you decided to wear such a soporific cravat this evening to be a Calming Influence during these Turbulent Times. A navy blue tie with slim white stripes is not exciting.  It is not shocking.  It is not even the least bit inspiring.  It is...oh, don't make me say it.  Ah, but I must--"boring."  Were it up to me, I would vote against a Continuing Resolution extending the life of this tie.  I would have to propose legislation to defund this tie and so many others.  But I would never hold The Nightly hostage in order to do so. 

Someone Needs To Give The Tie Storage Facility A Good Going-Over

SPT.  That purply burlap thing again. Urk.

Command Performance

Brian Williams knots up another striped tie, this one a smooth silk of bootblack and white.  It was dreadful, having to attend these Command Performances simply because his wife was a Somebody.  Not one of his friends owned a tux.  Just him.  This cocktail party was going to be hell, and he knew it the minute the butler opened the door.  The whole house was a sea of white.  White floors, white drapes, white furniture.  They even had a white dog, a yappy little thing with a rhinestone collar.  Wait--check that.  These people had a lot of money.  A lot.  Fido's collar was probably diamonds.

Alas, This Tie Is Still With Us

Dogpatch Designer Challenge Tie. (Added immediately upon first viewing on 16 January 2012.)

Pretty And Sweet

Brian Williams employs The Save on Friday by knotting up a tie of soft, muted orange dotted with charcoal medallions, each centred with ivory.  She was fascinated by the market, the stands busy with customers burdened by shopping bags full of artisan loaves, fresh produce, knobby packages of cheeses and meats, and here and there, a huge can of olive oil.  Stopping by one fruit stand, she was hailed by its proprietor.  "Pretty lady!  Pretty lady!  You try this.  Sweet. Sweet."  Amazed, she watched as his long knife expertly carved a cantaloupe, then handed her a chunk aloft on its tip.  She smiled and carefully took it.  The melon juice trickled down her chin.  It was sweet.

Telling It Straight

It's getting so that I actually fear this tie, this cranberry thing with turquoise medallions that interlock in some Byzantine fashion rendering it a decent facsimile for a strange sort of plastique stained-glass window thingy that your Aunt Sylvia might buy you for Christmas from a dollar store "just so you have something to open."  I don't know why I have such a viscerally negative reaction to this particular cravat.  Brian has had it at least since I began doing The Report back in 2007, and I have never felt good about it.  That's the way it goes sometimes; I can't apologize for it, so I won't.

Quelle Horreure!

SPT.  Goodness, but this was a Disaster.  Teensy tight knot, scary burlap-looking material, ugh.  Even if this actually was not Solid Purple, it read that way on camera, and it was dreadful all round.  Something like this, you simply cannot unsee.  It was almost...Chuck Todd-worthy.  Horrors.

So Collegiate

This evening's stripe is from The Ward Cleaver Collection.  Dusky dark navy is livened up with rich scarlet diagonals, giving this tie a sort of University look.  It's the kind of tie that almost begs for a cardigan, one with an oversize argyle design, and some sort of casual academic setting.  Will there be wide-wale corduroy pants, chinos, or very dark designer jeans?  One of them, certainly.

Though We Gotta Say Goodbye For The Summer

The Report is back from our own hiatus, just in time for Brian's Monday Stripe.  Tonight's offering is a soft, satiny hyacinth blue with broad yellow diagonals.  It's as if Bri knows that Autumn is just around the corner this week, and he signals the end of Summer in a blaze of glory.  This cravat is all about the brilliantly blue skies of July and August, the heavy nodding heads of sunflowers before they shed their golden petals and relinquish their seed.

Certainly Not An Adam Sandler

As if hearing our collective frustration, Brian gives the stripes a rest and dons a different tie this evening, the soft denim blue with charcoal polka dots.  This cravat reminds me of the comedian Stephen Wright.  It's lighthearted, but in a somber, serious sort of way.  It's not slapstick and silly and sophomoric and jokey.  It's thoughtfully and cerebrally and intelligently witty. 

Last Words

Brian makes us reflect on Why We Missed Him tonight as he has knotted up another in his series of Striped Ties.  This one is brilliant white and midnight sky.  She was barely able to see the stairs, let alone find a safe way up them.  How did he let it get this bad?  As she made her way up, she moved piles and piles of books and magazines and newspapers out of her way.  If it was words, her father had kept them.  She squirmed her way through a small, packed doorway and suddenly, the room opened up before her.  It was astonishingly empty.  The walls were...grey?  No.  As she looked more closely, she saw that the walls, once white, were now filled with her father's small, tight writing.  Every spare inch was covered in words.  Her eyes blurred; this was it, his final opus.

Not This Time, Boys

Brian wraps up his Comeback Week wearing a tie of suitcoat navy with moderately slim stripes of periwinkle.  The last item on their agenda was merely a formality, and not one of the men in the room expected the person to even show up.  Several of them had already turned off their tablets, buttoned their jackets, grabbed a last pastry to take back to their office.  Suddenly, the door opened.  Most of them only saw heels and a pastel blue power suit, but one of them saw her face.  It was not the scared and tearful face they had double-talked out of their offices a year ago.  This woman was steel-eyed and confident; she had the look of a predator who smelled blood, who was hungry, even lustful for it, and who was coming in with no other idea than to win, no matter what the cost.

A Very Chipper Tie

Looking everso well-rested and perky, BriWi knots up the textured purple silk arrayed with creamy white polka dots for this evening's broadcast.  It's a very chipper tie.  This cravat is like sunshine on your day off.  It's watching a little girl twirling around in a new party dress, and the face of a young boy entering a big league stadium with his dad for a game.  This tie is rope-skipping, snow cones, shoe sales, and getaway weekends, all smiles and satisfied sighs.

Morning

Firmly ensconced behind his newsdesk, Brian Williams is sporting his narrowly striped cravat of textured dark turquoise and silvery grey-blue.  She padded down the steps in her thick socks at sunrise, her breath making small vapours in the chilly cabin.  Flipping on the coffee maker, she drew open the blinds on the vast sliders to capture the eastern view of the mountainside.  The spruces were ethereal, shrouded in fog, and they stood like sentinels over the still, deep lake.

Brian Williams Is Back, And We Announce The Winning Tie

Welcome back to The Nightly, Brian Williams!  The Report has missed you.  Winging its way to you is the Winning Tie, supplied by Bows-n-Ties.com and voted in by your fans and Report readers, this lovely paisley creation.

Now, on to The Report.

 

Tonight's Homecoming Cravat is an arresting striper of royal blue and pure white.  It is both snappy and lovely, like a Marine in dress blues and his bride in flowing and feathery chiffon.  It's like a brisk September sky of blazing azure with lacy fleeces of clouds.  It's a bright blue bowl of vanilla ice cream with puffs of whipped cream, fluffy and airy and awaiting the spoon.

Brian Goes In For Repairs

More important than his tie tonight (another outing for the orange, navy and cream stripe) was Brian's announcement that he is leaving for knee replacement surgery.  Certainly we here at The Report wish him Our Very Best. 

In his absence the very capable and very dashingly dapper Lester Holt will fill the chair at The Nightly.  We are still conferring as to whether or not we will report on his neckwear due to the lengthy absence of BW.

The Agony

The Stripe of the night is vivid lilac and midnight blue.  She opened her eyes slowly and tried to focus.  Immediately a sharp pain cut into her temple and flared into a purple bloom of agony behind her eye.  She turned on her side and fumbled for the nightstand drawer.  A wave of nausea broke over her; her arm dropped uselessly and hung there, clammy and cool.  Another stab of pain, this one deep indigo and intense.  She made one more valiant grab for the drawer before the white pain came and oblivion.

The Gift

Placating us, Brian wears the richly textured mahogany silk cravat with coral coloured petit points.  She stared at the heavy burled oak dresser and crib with dismay.  "They're family heirlooms worth thousands," her husband said.  "They mean it to be a very loving and important gift for the baby."  Later, she found fluffy sheer fabric with multicolored polkadots.  She made billowing curtains, valances, a dust ruffle for the crib, and a half-ruffle for the dresser, which would be doubling as a changing table with a custom-made pad on top. The effect was lovely.  The warm finish of the oak grounded the room and made it feel safe and strong.  She thought of her husband and smiled.

For The Man Who Has Everything!

I wish Brian Williams' tie had some quality by which I could recommend it; alas, it does not.  The fabric appears cheap, like dime store sateen, and the vivid stripes are best described as Hunter's Orange.  Even the background colour is a rather blinky navy blue, like one would find as part of a dollar store dolly's sailor outfit, made in Taiwan or Bangladesh or China or someplace.  On the whole, this tie comes across as something one might find in a conglomerate gift given by one's goofy aunt who is prone to shop at warehouse closeouts, yard sales, flea markets, and from television channels like ShopTV.  Perhaps she saw something called The Businessman's Bucket, a plastic receptacle with a solar calculator, a faux leather phone case, a plastic "marbleized" pen and pencil set, this tie, and a microsuede address book.  Just the thing!

Summer Party

Could tonight's tie be any lovelier?  Lilting, slim stripes of lilac and creamy white look summery and light.  She laughed as he led her, hands over her eyes, into the small park near the old store.  A few more steps, then they stopped; he brought his mouth close to her ear and said softly, "Happy birthday to your inner child."  He took his hands away, and she was able to see the astonishing tableau before her.  The trees were hung with pastel streamers and white fairy lights.  A picnic table in the centre, covered in a rainbow cloth, held goblets of candy which surrounded a multi-tiered cake.  In a strange procession, balloons began to emerge from the surrounding bushes and trees; they were carried by her family and friends.  She clapped her hands in delight, her eyes filling with tears.

Un Interlude Avec L'Histoire

Monsieur Williams has decided to reprise some summery cravats after all.  This is one of my favourites, a cravat of broad carnation pink and midnight sky stripes.  He thought it was impossible, but it was true.  Here, on a quaint avenue in Paris, he found her--quite by accident--yet here she was.  The shop had the requisite French pink and black striped awnings, and the sign "Le Studio Ste. Jeanne" was modestly displayed.  Through the window he watched her as she meticulously added embellishments to one of her creations, a black straw fedora, as its owner waited.  Her hands were gentle and quick, and loose tendrils of hair were pushed back into her haphazard French twist.  She was as beautiful as ever, as beautiful as he had left her, and he stood and watched in rapt fascination.

How Easily We Are Pleased These Days

BriWi really reached into the depths of his Tie Armoire for this evening's cravat.  It has been ages since he knotted up this raspberry silk with sky and turquoise medallion pattern.  In the past I've likened it to Lillian Vernon vinyl stained-glass window covering by-the-roll, Greg Brady's "groovy pad" light display, and all manner of wacky stuff.  Tonight I'm just thrilled to see something other than Stripes.

The Artist

Tonight's tie is a lovely sky blue crossed with stripes of cloud white and a narrower band of anthracite.  He jumped down from the back of the truck, waved his thanks to the driver, and began walking off into the brush.  It was early morning, but the sun was brilliant and warm.  He readied his camera and began snapping off shots of the rocks, the road, the clouds, all three, or two at a time in varying combinations.  He walked on, sometimes backward, but all the while clicking off pictures.  It might be an hour--or two or three--before another truck came down this stretch to give him a ride.  Until then, he'd walk and shoot.

The Other Side

Tonight's cravat is a striper of deep lilac and nightsky.  Down a darkened corridor and into a shadowy, candlelit anteroom she followed her wordless guide.  Seated on a shabby settee, she waited patiently for one of the curtained portals to open.  It was immaterial which spiritualist she consulted with.  All that mattered was that she made contact.  In a few minutes, the purple satin draperies directly across from her were drawn to the side.  A gloved hand beckoned her in.  Tears of gratitude began to well in her eyes.  She moved swiftly into the small, dim room, and the portal sighed shut.

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.