To say that my last three weeks have been maniacally blessed is an understatement. To reiterate that I have no time to contrive blog stories is a redundant truth. I’d say that I have writers block but that would assume that I’m a writer. You know, one who writes for wages. And I’ve got (LFG told me not to begin sentences with “and” or “but”) tons of ideas for stories but no mental disc space or time to sort them out and write them. I’ve even fallen down on the task of ghostwriting The Trad. But what I have found time to do...in the spirit of aggravating many of you, is ply my wrist with more tacky-ass wrappings. The Silly Band was a gift to LFG and I just keep forgetting to give it to her.
It’s been a monk strap week—travel shodding wise.
You can dress ‘em up and Jethro Bodine them down…what more could a man want in a pair of shoddings?
So I shot some pics of my recent Polo Chevy Chase visit. Ralph endures. Ralph dips and slips from time to time but Ralph endures. It’s kinda like the feedback I got recently about my writing. Feedback from someone whose opinion carries huge weight for me. And I’ll loosely paraphrase for you… “Not every story you write is great—but some are brilliant.” Folks, if I can strike the brilliance note from time to time…with any of you…I’ll keep trying. Just like Ralph.
Ralph schleps high margin-high volume stuff in his Outlets and good on ‘im for doing so. Nobody makes anyone buy the goods and the Outlets help keep Polo profitable via velocity sales to the masses. That way Ralph can continue to offer low volume-lower margin tasty treats for … the asses. That would be me.
The early 1980’s…even amidst the Disco-esque remnants of the late 1970’s, saw in my humble opinion, Ralph in Full…Ralph at his best. The styling and fabrications, textures and tones were off the hook. My old Ralph jacket above is from the early 1980's.
And it pleases me to see that true to what made him—at least in menswear, still lives on in the Ralph Made-to-Measure offerings.
These styling options are so fuzzy that the finished goods come with a freakin' leash. And you can bet your sweet ash that this Ashton ain't no Kuchner...Kutcher...Kutcher or whatever that guy's name is. Shut up.
Damn. I mean really, what else is there to say? Oh, butcept one more thing...don't drink beer in this jacket. All the doing and undoing necessary to take a pee would become onerous.
Tartan with a throat latch. Sartorial KamaSutra. Page 117 in the twisty-turny tome.
This is a suit...NOT just a jacket. Had it been a jacketing contrivance we'd yawn and throw this one, albeit elegant, in the Missionary Positionatonating queue. (Say that real fast… “posi-sho-naytuh-nayting…posi-sho-naytuh-nayting…posi-sho-naytuh-nayting… posi-sho-naytuh-nayting.” Admit it. You like it. Now try saying it in a Paul Lynde voice. That just takes all the fun out of word play doesn’t it?) But add a pair of brtiches to the effort and we are back in Fuzzydom. Oy.
Corduory jacketing off the rack. Less than four hundred bucks but with four thousand bucks worth of standard upgrades.
Including pleated patch and flap below. Lorded over by an open patch breast above. Governance provided by professorial elbow patches.
Rumour has it that some of these swatches made the ADG Cut and you might, if you behave your damned selves, see them in full manifestation. Plus fours and vests? Shut up.
Ok folks, that's the best I can do. I got nothin' otherwise. Have a blessed weekend...I know I will. For after being gone for so long, I have successfully landed on my baby's weekend calendar. Her bedroom transformation...from Hello Kitty Pink to Dr. Seuss on mushrooms remains a work in progress. LFG did however, snag a zebra lampshade from T.J. Maxx for nine bucks. Stay tuned for the Architectural Digest story.
Onward. Exhausted but blessed. ADG II