Country Kitschin'

Perhaps this is now Bri's Monday Tie.  It was, after all, last Monday when he most recently donned this homey cravat of teensy blue and white checks sprinkled with pink diamond-shaped medallions.  All he needed was one of those concrete geese perched on the corner of the Nightly newsdesk, all decked out in a themed outfit, and the effect would have been complete.

Sometimes, You Need To Look A Little Deeper To See The Dream

Mr. Williams wears a cravat of deep navy with slim diagonals of platinum white.  It's a very staid, very stodgy tie.  This is the kind of tie that holds no surprises.  It's not going to suddenly, at a birthday dinner, hold out the keys to a brand new car.  Likewise, it will not turn to you during an episode of Seinfeld and announce that listen, there's no easy way to do this, but it would like a divorce.  This is a tie that will not, out of nowhere, show up with two tickets to Paris, but it will drive you to the emergency room when you cut yourself on a broken coffee pot.  Twice.  Not so bad now, is it?

Visiting Hours

This evening we are spared from another purply tie as Brian Williams knots up a familiar striper of midnight and white, the latter having the texture of grosgrain ribbon.  After so many weeks of being so very ill, her patience and good humour were brittle and nearly spent.  He came in with a small bouquet of tulips and a silly stuffed dog. She turned to him from gazing wistfully out the window, and her eyes were shiny and wet.  One blink, and they overflowed.  He held her and when the tears subsided, he picked up her hairbrush.  Scalp to ends, he brushed her dark tresses; it always took the stress away.  He tied it all up in a beautiful ribbon and, just to make her laugh, put one on her new dog, too.

It's Three Times Cleaner Than A Germy Sponge Or Washcloth

When I was much younger, Bounty paper towels advertised themselves as The Quicker Picker Upper.  Their commercials featured a square of their towelling being laid upon all manner of liquids; then a hand would quickly fetch them up, and tada!  A bright, shiny-clean countertop would be all that remained.  This after mere moments of Bounty sucking up the liquid in its little square pockets of absorbable fibers.  Brian's tie reminds me of these commercials with its minute mulberry and ashen checks.  It looks for all the world as if it were made of a few sheets of Bounty sodden with grape drink.

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.