Don’t for a moment though, think that heavy is over. For I’ve discovered that this blog is now a most efficacious therapy couch and you, my seventy two readers each day, are unwittingly—my collective shrink—thank you. In addition to purging about my father, you’ve yet to process my angst regarding…three abusive stepfathers, two wives previous to LFG’s mother, my addiction to buttermilk and of course, there’s the Belgians thang.
And another for the record—a level setting thing…I churn this stuff out like sausage…in a keyboard stream of consciousness which in process, does not accommodate editing and rewriting. I have a day job and don’t have the time or interest in doing much beyond using, courtesy of Microsoft WORD, the spell-check function that’s just an F-7 away. Grammar-syntax-editorial polish be damned. However, because the story about my father was important to me, and because LFG blew me off last Sunday for a pool party, I actually took the time to print, proofread and edit my story. Hear me and hear me clearly…don’t get used to it. My inner Maxwell Perkins has now gone back-to-ground. Shut up.
So strap in for the disjointed randomanalia. I’m excited already. Are you?
Last Sunday also saw me swing by the Georgetown Flea Market for a moment. Even if you don’t buy anything—I didn’t—I’m on spending lockdown, it’s a great people watching venue. But there’s always something worth a consumer pounce.
Vintage deco cuff snaps are always there in abundance. And they, at least in my humble ass opinion, deliver quite the visual treat for less than forty bucks. I used to snag them from the same dealer twenty years ago for fifteen clams. Got my studs and cufflinks here that many years ago. Stud—cufflinks…that’s me.
I don’t think I’ve ever shared the ADG Tie Bar Rule. It’s consistent with what others have declared regarding this little accoutrement…angle it slightly. It creates visual interest…not that horizontality isn’t interesting…just not in this context. Also, consistent with George Frazier’s admonishment to Richard Merkin and the world for that matter…DO NOT wear a tie bar AND a collar pin. You’ll be over—accoutrement-ed. And that’s coming from Mr. Fuzzy. Frazier correctly asserted that if you wear a flower in your lapel…forgo the pocket handkerchief or vice versa. Yep.
I always check out the linen lady’s stuff. Ten bucks can usually land you a pretty nifty linen rag for your breast pocket. I actually bought some small-ish linen dinner napkins from this lady one time—to use as pocket handkerchiefs. Shut the f___ …don’t question my motives or techniques. As Sun Tzu said… “there are walled cities not meant to be attacked…” You don’t want to spar with me on the style—dice fuzzy issues.
Speaking of dice fuzzy…I gave the Belgians a rest on Tuesday and wore my Flusser bottle green suede babies to the office. And as punishment, forced myself to wear socks. Pink ones. The pink badge of whateverishness.
But the Belgies made it out the next day…it was still in the nineties so the top pocket—side flap seam mongrel Flusser togs seemed to be a decent choice. These are a one-off folly and they are showing their wear. That’s what happens when you foolishly select a silk-linen blend for odd trousering. Odd trousering…sounds like something you could get arrest for…especially if accompanying said behavior with pink socks.
Speaking of one-off follies, I have a confession. Years ago when Flusser was on the fifth floor at Saks in Gotham, I used to trade my American Express points for Saks gift certificates to finance my Flusser threads. It was a great gig while it lasted. And folks, as much as I travel, I had at one time, a staggering number of American Express points. Almost one million…and I’m not saying that I accumulated and used a million over a fifteen year period. I’m saying that four summers ago, my points balance was eight hundred and ninety something thousand points. Not bragging…trust me…I pay a high price for the amount of business travel I do. The mainliest thing or toll that it’s exacted on me is bad skin. Flying dehydrates you and couple that with the amount of hooch I drink on the plane and I’ve got Phyllis Diller skin. Hold me.
Ahh…Merkin. My Richard Merkin lithograph from RISD framed nicely…thank God…in a standard sized black frame from Michaels…and they were forty percent off. Add an acid free piece of foam core to the back and we’re in business. Onliest problem now is that I literally have no wall space left to hang it…without taking something down. I’m thinking about rotating my collection.
And yes, we need to tidy up the bedroom a bit. My housekeeper fired me. Either shut up or come over and tidy it yourself. And if you do roll in for some tidying, could you wear one of those little French Maid outfits? Sorry...girls only. I wear pink socks and Belgian loafers admittedly…and publicly. But the idea of Darnell Burgess, Roxanne’s brother, in that little outfit, feather duster in hand, ain’t my game. Sorry but I don’t swing that way.
So I pick up my baby, Miss LFG, from soccer practice yesterday afternoon and you guessed it, she needs cleats. Funny thing happens when you feed these kids…their feet grow. So it was off to Modell’s and then to Cactus, you guessed it, Can-damn-Tina. Ninety something degrees early in the week and chilly enough for my date to need a wrap last night.
My palm pilot…A.D.D. coping techniques do not have to be high-tech. I had to pick up LFG’s overnight bag from her mom.
I’ll report in later on how our first soccer game goes. But LFG is already having a bit of trouble with this year’s team moniker. Their new uniforms are black and white and their coach let them vote on a team name. “Dad, we are the Oreos”… LFG said last night in resignation.
“I wanted us to be the snow leopards…Oreos aren’t fast and they get dipped in milk.” That's my girl.
Onward…time to wake my little Oreo and get ready for soccer. Bliss.
ADG and LFG