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.