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!