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."