In Which We Get A Bit Snarky

SPT.  Add to that our regret that we cannot add this tie to the Axis Of Evil twice for its shininess.  Or its cheap fabric.  Or that odd Thing Which Dwells Beneath The Knot.


Oh, here:

                  
But any more would just be petulant.

Oh, Here's An Idea!

Oh, Mr. Brian Williams!  Just how many navy blue and yellowgold stripedy ties do you own? Answer:  ALL OF THEM.  ALL OF THEM IN THE WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD.  Brian Williams, I feel like you should just get in there, into your Armoire du Cravates, root around for awhile, and pull out each and every single one of them.  And then, in one glorious Fashion Rebellion, WEAR THEM ONE RIGHT AFTER ANOTHER UNTIL YOU HAVE EXHAUSTED THE SUPPLY. 

Then burn the whole lot.

And never, ever buy another one for the rest of your life.

The Recipe

Mr. Williams rebounds nicely by wearing the stripe of rich mahogany and strands of burnished gold.  She was a joy to watch in their tiny kitchen, and even lying ill with 'flu, he smiled as he saw her bustling about to prepare their dinner.  Her black hair had been pulled up in a loose bun, but her earrings danced as she moved about the stove and counter.  Now and then, the spice grinder whirred, and he breathed in the healing aromas of cinnamon, cardamom, cumin, and turmeric as she toasted them in the pan.  Her myriad bracelets jingled and rang, something suddenly sizzled, and she sang and laughed.

Sad, Sad Tie

Oh, this sad, sad tie!  Why does Brian Williams continue to provoke us here at The Report by wearing it?  The fabric quality appears cheap, and the colors--flat, wan, dime-store purple and white in a stripe (always a stripe!)--seem as if they belong in a tube of Dollar Store toothpaste instead of around the neck of The Most Trusted Voice In America's News. 

Bon Appetit!

Bri ties on a stripe of charred navy and pumpkin from the Standby Stable tonight.  He leans on this cravat like I lean on my jar of Nutella when I run out of desserts in the house.  Do I hate this tie? Only sometimes.  It's like peanut butter to me. I have to be desperate or in the mood for it or it has to really work well with the rest of the ingredients.  Tonight, this Peanut Butter/Nutella Tie made it on all three counts. 

Why Is This Permitted On National Television?

SPT. So awful in its godawful shiny godawfulness. And awfully shiny.  Did I mention that? Urk.

In Which I Waver, But I Am Overruled By Sam, Who Asserts His Professional Authority

SPT. I'll admit it:  I like this one the most.  It's textured almost to the point of having a pattern*, and the colour is a lovely plumwine.  So close.





*A quick consult with my son, the fine men's clothier and personal shopper, placed this cravat firmly into the SPT category. "Not enough to call it even a pin-dot," was his verdict.

This One Will Send New(er) Readers To The Sidebar

TWSNLBRAINDTM.  I know. I almost cannot believe it either.  And no, I haven't missed it.

Formal

Live from atop the noisy Democratic National Convention, Brian is wearing a cravat striped with solid smoky blue and pale gold, the latter an embossed rope pattern.  It is an instantly formal and aristocratic tie, one which evokes admirals with epaulets and drapes of bullion fringe, or French uniforms from 1757, or the plush interiors of royal palaces.

Magic

Looking dashing, Brian Williams wears a silk stripe of bootblack and porcelain white this evening.  When he finally found her, she was standing in a drift of books and papers, feeding documents into the scanner on the fourth floor of the university library.  Moving deftly and lightly, their white gloves gave her hands the appearance of doves flitting to and fro, as if she were a magician practicing her act.  He was afraid to startle her here in the reverent silence of the archives; his arrival was unexpected.  He felt for the box in his coat pocket and smiled.

ETA

For this evening's Florida broadcast, Brian knots up an old standby, the suitcoat navy cravat with slim stripes of blush pink.  His flight was delayed, then delayed again. No amount of frantic consultations of his watch could make time advance any faster.  By the time his plane touched down, he had imagined a hundred different transports as fail-safe strategies.  Grabbing his bag, he hailed the first cab in line and tersely gave the destination.  Once there, he flung the doors open, gracelessly gained information from staff, and finally found the room.  Too late.  She was already here.  A small rosy bundle was held out to him, and wordlessly, he took her in his arms. 

The Glint Of Gold

Reporting from Tampa and the site of the RNC, Brian Williams knots up a conservative striper of darkest navy and gleaming gold. There was nothing cheerful about her, this governess, the children decided.  Was her nightdress even corseted and dark?  Even in the heat of the summer, she wore close-fitting sleeves and terribly scratchy skirts and always, always the darkest of blues, violets, greys, and browns.  Only the occasional wink of her gold spectacles relieved the unrelenting severity of her mien.

Malevolence

For this evening Brian selects a cravat of darkest midnight striped with vivid lilac.  The melancholy, always deep, always so heavy, sometimes gave way to a terrifying paranoia.  She could see it like a synesthete; it was there, audacious and mocking, bright and glittering, and she knew it would slam into her, spread throughout her veins and twist into each cord of muscle like an electric eel.  She dared not reach for the telephone this time; she had promised.

ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Brian Williams knots up another tie from his Boy Scouts Commemorative Collection.  Prepare yourselves (get it?) for one more incarnation of navy blue with slim stripes of goldenrod.  Ho. Hum. Blah. This tie is the perennial "What I Did on My Summer Vacation" essay.  It's the "Have a nice day" said expressionlessly from the nameless clerk at the whatever store.  It's the kids' menu offerings at every restaurant in every town in the USA (say them with me, now:  macaroni and cheese, hamburger, pizza, chicken fingers).  So generic, so boring, so expected, and so...feh.

Nightwork

Carefully matching his ensemble this evening, Brian Williams selects the striped cravat of pumpkin and deep navy.  It was impossible now to tell how late it was, but the night was upon her and its chill intensified as the shadows lengthened.  She stirred the remaining fire into renewed vigor, added her last logs, and hoped it would endure through the long hours until daylight.  She pulled her bedroll close to its edge where she had carefully built a row of stones to bank some warmth and sat cross-legged for a while to think. 

Give This One Its Gold Watch, Already, And A Nice Cake In The Breakroom

SPT. And what on Earth was going on with its dimple? At first, there was the Dreaded Double Dimple askew, which seemed at some point in the broadcast to be set to rights, but still, the whole thing is just suffering from Fabric Fatigue and the Stress Of Overtying.  Best to retire it, really.

Even A Bad Tie Would At Least Be Interesting

A very pedestrian and safe striped tie of deep navy and narrow Carolina blue diagonals.  It's smart and versatile in that Bri can wear it with a suit or dress it down with a jacket and denims, but there's no panache, no style, and it has that studied look of Garanimal Go-Togetherness that makes me feel bored and disengaged and longing for excitement.

Check Your Calendars

SPT.  Same as last Wednesday. That's a pretty rigid rotation sked there, Bri.

Anachronistic Beauty

This evening's cravat has become a Favourite of The Report's as it has been viewed in lighting both on and off the set of The Nightly.  On location in London, it takes on the hue of a dusky bittersweet, and its jacquard texture becomes more apparent.  The pattern of petite ash-coloured circlets lightly traced in black is tasteful and classy. True, it is more of an autumnal tie, evoking mulled cider, cinnamon sticks, the earthy and pungent smell of crisping leaves and fallow fields with pumpkins ready for harvest, but it is lovely nonetheless.

Unexpected

My goodness!  Brian Williams works another weekend shift, this time sporting a tie of suitcoat navy with flame-coloured stripes.  The diplomatic motorcade purred down the avenue, windows deeply tinted, sedans polished and sleek.  These displays had ceased to impress him years ago, and now he simply waited, uniformed and wired behind his mirrored sunglasses.  One by one the cars pulled to the curb and stopped.  From the center car, a driver emerged; he pulled his cap on and self-consciously righted his cravat.  With a swift and military stride, he walked to the rear passenger door facing the Embassy, bent low, and with a modest flourish, opened it but part-way.  Slowly, almost serpentinely, a leg emerged wearing a red high-heeled shoe.  Behind the sunglasses, uncharacteristically, his eyebrows rose.