Monday, February 28, 2011

Pink and Green Abuse

Greetings from somewhere in the woods. I was home for about 36 hours before jetting off again...this time to a corporate retreat that is, shall we say, a bit more "rustic" than usual. Mission accomplished if you want your team to be sequestered and sans many options for distraction. The keynote opener this morning will take place in a converted barn. No, I'm not kidding and yes, I'm pleased as hell to be busier this coming month than I've been since we started our business in 1998.
Which brings me to my current state of blognesia. Not sure where it came from based on the three main causes of blognesia. I haven't suffered any physical trauma. I've not reduced my alcohol intake and I haven't had ECT. But I'm out of time and to some degree, out of inspiration for stories so who knows what the next chapter of this fun endeavor might look like. There are many out there...Hollister Hovey and Admiral Cod who I'm sure, spend only five to ten minutes posting a little quip in between longer, more substantive posits. I'm not sure where I land on that continuum and who knows, maybe I'll get a flurry ideas and inspiration from somewhere. Stay damn tuned. Shut up.
But for now let me say this about my buddy's dog. He greets me every time I walk in the toy soldier shop and LFG loves him to death. French Bulldogs are great little small apartment, townhouse or simply "city" dogs. But a male Frenchie need not be subjected to this level of abuse. Just look at him. He's saying to my buddy's wife ... "Mama, I don't care if this was my actual birth mama's sweater and you've put it on me out of respect for her. I loved and respected her but this is just damned absurd. Please mama, don't make me go outside in this girl sweater. I was kidding when I said I had to pee and I can wait till Wednesday to do the "other" thing. 
Alas, it was not to be. The Capitol Hill walk of shame began shortly thereafter. And to boot, Frenchies can't lick themselves. 

Onward. Thinly. ADG II

Friday, February 25, 2011

Apparel Arts 1938

Two more Apparel Arts came my way the other week…ten years without seeing one and now they are falling in my lap.
Ah…the 1938 Boatneck sweater…and one with a substantial waistband and sturdy cuffs. Some things shouldn’t change. Ever. 
And I’d put the Boatneck in that category. They’re scarce as hen’s teeth these days. As a matter of fact I’d have no idea where to find one today…especially a sturdy one unadorned. I think Rugby had one or two over the last several years but most of their stuff is too fuzzy even for me. Shut up.
I’ve written about this Boatneck before. It’s the oldest single piece of clothing I have. Sturdy and enduring and the veteran of unspeakable shenanigans.
My Boatneck and the Kilim Chaise…if they could talk it’d all be over for me. My Boatneck and the Kilim Chaise … the working title for my memoirs maybe?
Not sure what happened to my light yellow one. I was a hit in it twenty years ago.
So here’s to things that shouldn’t change. Including Weejuns. Two eyelet lace ups. With tassels. Fuzzy and rare. You’ll have more success finding a pair of original Wilton made Navy Blue Weejuns than a pair of these.

Onward. From Dallas and just about blogged out.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

The Allure of Toy Soldiers

But you can best believe that we don't dress in uniforms and play with them.

Onaward. From Dallas. ADG II

Monday, February 21, 2011

One of My Other Dads

I’m amazed at how fast a year has flown by. A reminder came to me this afternoon in the form of an email from my surrogate father’s wife S.D.B. I wrote a story about him just after he passed away. You can read it here if you want.
“…a year ago today you made that fateful trip to see us and my mind has been on those last days lately. It was wonderful of you to come and I know R.E.B. knew you and was pleased to have you with him. Maybe he was waiting for you, because he slipped away as you headed home….”
R.E.B. … I miss you and I love you.

Onward. With caricatures and soldiers and prints and stories and memories and pictures and all of the things that you and I so loved together.


Sunday, February 20, 2011

The Daytona 500 and a Terrycloth Robe

Yes indeed my friends. I'm living a dream. Not sure whose it is but a dream none the less.
LFG stood me up this weekend so I barely left the house. My little one has strep and naturally, she wanted to be with her mom. When I was an illin' child, the last person I wanted was my daddy. 
NASCAR is a rancid slice of Americana and I don't follow it but Daytona deserved a few minutes of my time today. I had about fifteen minutes to burn while my Hungry Man dinner TV dinner was warming. But I must admit that I loved Cale Yarborough when I was a child and I sat in the Wood Brothers Cale Yarborough Mercury Cyclone one time.  Shut up. I've got Daumier and Sickert reference books and they are heavy. Any more guff out of you and I'll pick both of them up and commence a syncopated slapping so hard that when you wake up that little ensemble you had on today will be back in style.
And who'd a thunk that in the day of big money corporate redneck racing, the Wood Brothers would win Daytona. Glenn Wood used to drive the family ride but neither of the brothers really wanted to drive 'em. 
So here's to the humble boys...the Wood brothers.
And here's to my little redneck and her speedy recovery from that bad ole strep infection.
LFG...budding NASCAR historian and model car builder. 
Onward. In purple flat fronts and Alden cigars. Y'all don't tell nobody about my NASCAR thang. Matter a fackly, I'd appreciate y'all not mentioning my thang at all.


Friday, February 18, 2011

Ralph in the Eighties

Circa 1982. Hard finish…not Harris but a worthy runner-up. Poacher pockets. Norfolk back. Infamous two-button low-gorge front. Ralph Lauren was obsessed with the low gorge stance in the seventies and eighties.
There’s a story about young Ralph working with one of Norman Hilton’s tailors…obsessively prodding the Italian immigrant artisan to lower the button stance yet lower and balance the lapel flair in concert. The tailor, in a fit of exasperation ripped the prototype coat off the suit form and stomped on it in the factory. Obsession is a bitch.
This is one of three swathings that I’ve girded with bellows-poacher pockets. And then there’s the cavalry twill suit sporting the same. I like ‘em…obviously. You’ll like ‘em too. I can carry your lipstick, car keys with your little pepper spray canister attached and your rabbit for you.
It matters that it’s Madder…neckwear wise. The Brethren…tethered and underpinned…all the way through. And geez…who the hell would wear an end on end dress shirt in the winter. Shut ____.
Typical early eighties Ralph lapel. The clothing boys would have sold you one of Ralph's high drama wide ties to accompany this cloak. I don't do drama and I'd long since stopped getting high by the early eighties.
Young people aren't flocking to the tailoring trade. I suspect that in ten more years there won’t be too many artisans left that can properly assemble a Norfolk coat-back like this. 
And this one doesn't even have bi-swing shoulders...a tailoring maneuver that probably tests the mettle of any cutter. I'm not bi and I don't swing. Swinging demands too many thank you notes thereafter and I hate writing more than three.
Yes—This coat pulls just a bit in the middle. Shut up. What the hell do you have in your closet from 1982 that you can STILL wear? What do you have in your closet from 1982 that you’d WANT to wear? I rest my case regarding the campaign-ability and durable attributes of high quality, well contrived  assemblages. I said shut up. Now. Not fifteen minutes from now. Now.
 Onward from the Horsham Pennsylvania Hampton Inn. I've no worries about revealing my ten-twenty. I’m out of here and off to another meeting in an hour. By the time you alerted the Wanker Police and they rolled in with their calipers and handcuffs, they'll have colored me gone.

Onward. Home. ADG, II