Okay, So, Is There A Schedule?

For a rendering of tonight's tie, please read the Report of exactly one month ago, 13 November 2012, when he wore the selfsame cravat.  What a rigid Fashion Rotation.

Why I Don't Have John Boehner On Top Of My Christmas Tree

BriWi's striped tie tonight is a jarring note in his conservative ensemble.  Its deep navy field colour is perfectly fine, but the zippy red stripes have an unbalancing effect.  They are like putting jelly beans on a tuna sandwich.  Like hearing a mariachi band when the priest bows his head and says, "Let us pray."  Like watching Grandpa pull up his fishing pole and seeing Grandma emerge from the lake in a tutu and toe shoes.  Yeah, like all of that. 

Terrible

SPT.  I feel like we should start a petition and have this tie forcibly removed by a Fashion HazMat Team.

It's Delightfully Delicious

It's a purple lover's dream tie.  This cravat is a Fashion Confection of lavender and mulberry in slender stripes.  It's like tea parties and backyard wedding receptions, ice cream socials and cakewalks.  It is a bakeshop cupcake made in a Girls' Night Out flavour like boysenberry mojito with blackcurrant mousse frosting.  So yummy.

Detour

Tonight's cravat is a faded and muted violet crossed by narrow charcoal diagonals, widely spaced.  He had decided to rent a car and drive the rest of the way to Cleveland, eschewing the crowded airports and noise-filled planes.  As he drove through the farmland, he was charmed by the horses and buggies, the tall silos, and the many local roadside stands along his route.  He stopped at one ostentatiously lettered sign offering pies, jams, jellies, pickles, eggs, and fresh produce.  The girl behind the bonnet barely spoke as she totaled up his purchases.  Her grey dress was somber, but she could not have been more than fifteen.  "Did you say this pie was, what now? Elderberry?" he asked.  She nodded, and she handed him his change with berry-stained fingers.

What A Difference Routine Makes

Oh, Brian.  I remember when you first wore this tie.  We here at The Report--along with our readers--were thrilled.  It was the first cravat with even a hint of green.  True, it is still the deep suitcoat navy field that so many of your ties share.  Yes, it is only a moderately wide forest green stripe.  But after years of suspense and suffering through such cravats as the Peculiarly Creased Lunchbag Tie and the Kidney Bean/Bodyworks Tie, we rejoiced! 

Now, of course, having been sedated and bludgeoned by Stripery, we are less impressed.

It Begins

The Report is back from a brief hiatus.

A narrow stripe of goldenrod against nightsky is the cravat for this evening.  She opened the slim case, viewed its contents quizzically, and looked at him.  A small frown started to appear, and he spoke quickly.  "I know you don't wear jewelry.  That's why it's pretty plain.  I just thought it might be nice, you know, something different, something kind of pretty and...and feminine."  He lifted out the slim gold bracelet and began to fasten it onto her wrist.  The minute clasp, however, eluded his blunt fingers, and the chain fell back onto the table.  She pulled the sleeves of her turtleneck down over her hands in a reflexive, defensive gesture.

Huntsman's Secret

Someday the tie will be paisley or plaid, but that day is not today.  Today is yet another day of stripes, this time wide stripes of deep navy blue and tangerine.  It was still dark when the alarm roused her in the middle of the night.  She had the luxury of slipping back into the dark caverns of Sleep while he arose and tugged on woolen socks, sturdy warm coveralls, and grabbed his vest of hunter's orange.  This hobby of his was so at odds with the rest of his persona that, early on in their relationship, she had teased him and admonished him for chasing down Bambi.  His sudden and brusque reaction, his visible wounded feelings made it clear that this subject was a sore one.  From that incident forward, she simply kissed him goodbye and was grateful that he washed the bloody clothes himself.

Course Correction

For this evening's striped tie, BriWi has chosen one with a field colour of jewelled purple crossed by narrow bands of milk white.  He sat almost sullenly across the table from her this morning, watching as she assembled her breakfast.  She plopped grape jelly onto each half of her English muffin; then, using the tip of her butter knife, drew long curls of cream cheese from the slab and, with her fingers, placed them onto the jelly.  With a snort of disgust, he retreated behind his WSJ and wheat toast, dry.  Certainly the novelty of their May-December romance had already worn thin, and whatever light and sparkle she had brought into his life had served its purpose, whatever he had thought that to be when he had made such a terrible mistake.  The important thing now was to see Panghorn and set about making an end of it, and with as little trouble as possible.

Storybox

Tonight's striped offering is one of ebony and palest lavender, the latter with whispery contrasting threads.  She sat back on her heels and tiredly pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.  The last truck of donations was almost unloaded, and she sat amid the remaining boxes of clothing to sort.  "Hey!  You'll want to look in this one for sure!" one of the volunteers yelled as he hefted a long glossy box from the truck.  He set it in front of her and she opened it to reveal yellowed tissue paper.  Pushing it carefully aside, she gasped.  It was gorgeous--all hand-beading and silk, and it looked to be from the 1920s.  The color was terribly faded, but she could tell that it had once been a vivid lilac.  Next to it was an aged rose, crumbling to dust, and under it, an envelope. 

Ugh

SPT. Familiarity breeds contempt, They say.  So contemptible.

Well-Suited

Stripes again, this time dress blues navy crossed with slim diagonals of bright flame.  Everyone marveled that the two of them were a couple.  They were the embodiment of the tired adage "Opposites attract." He was pragmatic and terse and favored restaurants with a clubby atmosphere and good beef.  She was chatty and tirelessly altruistic; she loved little out-of-the-way eateries with ethnic menus and impossible chefs.  Together they amassed a fortune in friends, purebred corgis, and big, chewy Napa reds.  Their love was seamless and fierce, and it was conventional wisdom that it was also forever.

In Which We Posit The Fate Of Our Favourite Pink Tie And Reference Thrash Metal

Oh, Brian Williams, Brian Williams. How very dapper you look!  Your ensemble is flawless.  Your cravat is the very capstone of precision.  Would it were not, yet again, a striped tie of dark blue and gold!  We can only imagine l'intérieur de L'armoire des Cravates, thronged as it must be, by blue and gold striped cravats, the crush of which surely renders its mighty doors ajar.  This must be the reason we have not glimpsed the stylish and lovely Pink Tie Of Dreams in so very, very long.  It is, perhaps, flattened against the back, or crumpled and sad on the bottom, a tired or trampled dancer in the mosh pit of fashion.

Storm Search

This evening's striped cravat is of worsted grey and seascape.  Grabbing her father's old fisherman's sweater off the hook near the door, she walked down to the beach.  The clouds were gathering angrily at the horizon, and the wind was ready and brisk.  Further off, the pier was busy as boats were coming in and offloading their meagre catches; this storm had blown up suddenly.  Her eyes kept scanning the jetty even as a cold rain began pelting her face.  She pulled her hair back, twisting its length away from her face, and tried in vain to find his boat again in the distance. 

A Pot Of Tea, A Good Book, And Thou

For the long night ahead covering Election 2012, Brian Williams knots up a reliable and stylish stripe of midnight sky and pumpkin.  As she adjusted her uniform, she checked to make sure that everything was on the tray.  The old lady was so sweet, and she so looked forward to her nighttime tea and toast!  A chubby teapot brimmed with steaming Earl Grey, and the delicate china plate held two pieces of cinnamon toast, lightly buttered.  A small jar of house-made citrus marmalade and a copy of Jane Eyre completed the tray.  Tonight they were ready for the wedding chapter, and the Missus was sure to want parts read out again and again.  That was fine, just fine.  The night was not so lonely when it was shared.

It's A Don McLean Moment, So Drive Your Chevy To The Levee

Tonight there is no fashion.  Brian Williams wears a blue tie.  And that's it.  It is a tie, it is blue, and, to lapse into Millennial Jargon That We Despise, "It is what it is."  And that It is a Blue Tie.  How many more ways can I state it?  Blue Tie.

Quelle Dommage

SPT.

Blue

And tonight we forgive Brian Williams for looking a little less than dapper, considering the horrors of Sandy.  His tie, slim stripes of deep turquoise and China blue, was slightly askew and looked as if he wrenched it on right before lunging onto the set of The Nightly. What is there to say when the news is so bad?

Through A (HiDef/LCD) Glass Darkly

The Report took a Reset Week, and sadly, it was All For Naught. This evening, Brian Williams thwarts our serenity by merely waiting us out and Starting Over, knotting up the selfsame cravat of last Monday, 22 October's Crayola blue and yellow gold stripe.  Just like smelling grape Dimetapp brings rushing back all the sleepless nights of my sons' childhood respiratory illnesses and ear infections, seeing this tie tonight flickers to life a Bergman-esque retrospective of last week's neckwear.  In a melancholy revue, I see glimpses of SPT, a black and white striped silk, the moody deep turquoise and worsted grey slim stripe, and the satisfyingly Lichtenstein-like intarsia pattern, but what does it all mean?

See Brian. See Brian Wear Stripes.

Tonight Brian Williams reverts to one of his many yellow and blue striped ties.  It's boring.  This is the Dick and Jane of cravats.  Is it offensive? No. Is it exciting? No. Look. Look. It is a tie.  And that is all that it is.