Sunday, March 20, 2011

Scorched Coat Tactics or Stop, Drop and Roll

Ok, here’s what really happened to the bellows pocket cavalry twill masterpiece. Hopefully this will quell the curiosity and preclude additions to the three thousand emails I received asking about the singed sartorial masterpiece.
Nothing good happens after midnight. Butcept the night in question with the Tone. After constant consumption of see-throughs I develop unique capabilities. Four of the above and at the stroke of midnight my crooning capabilities trump Sinatra. And an additional bonus is that I suddenly posses cunning linguistic skills. On this night I was fluent in Mandarin Chinese. Shut up.
Had my emerging skills and charm remained limited to Sinatraesque Mandarin, the coat would be intact today. The usual drink thrown in my face wouldn’t have done anything but further patinated my twillessence. But then I glanced over at the jazz club stage and there she was. I kid you not, it was Josephine Baker
Paris in the twenties be damned, Ms. Baker was in great form and her rhythmic Bakerosities manifested in me, my inner Dance Fever skills. Then the trouble soon began.
It was the Fire Dance sequence that really spoke to me. “I can do that” I said to myself in Mandarin. And then I said “Do what daddy?” and then I said it again in Southern English to which I responded“Well of course you can”.
I seem to remember that they offered me, upon witnessing my moves, a scanty outfit similar to Ms. Baker’s and the other performers but I was on a roll with the fire-sticks—literally. Someone said “don this” but I looked at it and it seemed too Don Ho and I felt that the Polynesian theme was already well represented. Plus, I’ve never thought my nipples look right. So in my best Mandarin I said “naaahhhh” and they said “what?” and then I said it again in Southern English and they said “ok den”.
Fire dancing wasn’t a problem—I was a natural. My martini breath was a problem but fire breathing seemed to go hand in hand with my act so I kept hacking and coughing pyrotechnically between back flips. 
The mid-week crowd of seven roared with approval and gasped with the thrill that only a Mandarinsinatrafiredancefromsouthcarolina can evoke. The trouble began when the Southern Fratty Chinese Disco gator move flung itself upon me in an undeniable way.  This is a jazz club and I figured that improvisational riffs, centric to an individual performers’ niche skills, gifts and motivations would be accepted and frankly...expected. I did overhear Tone say one time to someone at the bar… "I don’t know the impish little man. I’ve never seen the effer in my life".
I hit the floor, fire-sticks now flailing, no longer turning with ADG precision. Flames were askew and I was too. My Mandarin Sinatra turned immediately into high pitched Andy Kaufman Caspiarian yelps for help. The next thing I remember was the crowd yelling “stop, drop and roll” but I thought amidst odiferous singed-hair weft wafts that they were yelling “rock and roll” ...you know, kinda like how drunk Southern rednecks yell "Freebird" at outdoor rock concerts in the summer. So I retortilated in what by then was surely a mongrelized sinatramandarinkaufman pidgin… "rock and roll?This is a jazz club and rock and roll ain’t what we do here." And then half the crowd left. Yes, three point five patrons fled.
I woke up when the chilly Center City Philly air filled my lungs and I was levitating. Not really. Tone had me by the collar of my singed Flusser contrivance and he was cussing at me and saying something, in English, about how he’d never agree to meet up with a fellow blogger again. He then threw me in the trunk of his car and drove me over to my hotel.
So here’s to one of my most unique sartorial undertakings—now ready for the undertaker.
And here’s to my promise to never have more than three see-throughs in one evening.
And to resist the siren call of fire-dancing and Mandarin crooning. No matter how seductive the hallucinatory beckoning from the crowd may seem. Shut up.
It’s a flimsy but not totally inefficacious consolation that I still have my cavalry twill covertilated keepers-tweed Advent Calendar coat that I snagged at Bobby From Boston.
And no, I won’t be replacing the coat. The original run of cloth from which the suit was made has now been exhausted. The costs involved in remaking only the coat aren’t worth the risk of even the slightest fabric mismatch. Plus, I’ve got to save money for LFG’s surgery. Yes, my baby is gonna require corrective-interventional orthopedic surgery. It’s for the best and you’d do it for your child too. If we don’t do this for our little precious, the consequences both social and tactile will be tragic.
“Why?” you ask. See for yourself. LFG has…Man hands.

Onward.  ADG…Fire Dancer Emeritus.

38 comments:

LESLIE THOMPSON SCOTT said...

YOU ARE HILARIOUS!

ilovelimegreen said...

This is a stellar example of your creative abilities. Now the truth please.

Flo said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
ADG said...

NO NO NO Flo Flo Flo....it's MAN HANDS.

Lime...it is the truth.

Leslie...the truth is never funny

Flo said...

"NO NO NO Flo Flo Flo....it's MAN HANDS."

Alright then, I'll get up off my knees but you asked us to take a look and I thought I saw the telltale askew thing going on with her back, I think I will expunge zap the post, excuse the ring....

Scott said...

Brings to mind the cautionary tale of the Hilbilly's last words; "Hey yuns, watch 'is"...

Scott

Main Line Sportsman said...

Speechless....just speechless....man hands indeed!

M.Lane said...

Great post. I'll be saying a prayer for LFG and a speedy recovery. As for the rest of it, to quote an old oysterman from Wewahitchca Florida I know.."I don't believe I'da told that one...".

ML
mlanesepic.blogspot.com

Gretchen said...

Imagine...20y from now...a certain wavy-haired actor/dancer writes in her blog...Once, when I accused my dad of wearing the Most Embarrassingly Fuzzy Outfit Ever, he retaliated. By insisting that we surgically switch hands so that he could never reach for said fuzzy clothing again. Alas, it didn't work. He simply decided that it was time to begin cross-dressing. I moved to the West Coast shortly thereafter....

Anonymous said...

Darlin', if you should ever want to change the name of your blog, may I suggest "The Randy Dandy".

Kiss, Kiss...Hug,Hug!

PS - So sorry for your loss.

Anonymous said...

STOP! Weaving Spiders come not here! What a crock of bs ADG. Nice try but too late to save your ass. Word around The Grove is you dared to perform the secret sacred pyrotechnic Cremation of Care ceremony in public and the brothers aren't happy. NOT HAPPY, ADG. They are demanding the immediate surrender of the owl tie. And if there is even so much as a seed burn on it, you'll rue the day.

You wants to be Bohemian you gots to do it in da Grove. Your brass plaque has been stripped off your personal peeing redwood. Best stay home now, Son. Fed Ex the tie.

BC SF

LPC said...

I. Don't. Believe. You. And I am perhaps the most gullible person on earth.

Barima said...

To clarify, this is a stream of consciousness explanation of how you lit a row of absinthe-based cocktails on fire with disastrous consequences, no?

It's always a sad day when Fuzzy Dice becomes Fiery Dice, I admit. Maybe you can commission or source a replacement down the line, after the little tyke's surgery has been successfully performed

All best,

B

Silk Regimental said...

I will probably re-read this post a few times, but for now - I stand and applaud your sartorial fiction. I'll attempt to read between the lines to determine the real cause of the - what I call The Flusser Flambé. (rolling on the floor laughing my ass off).

Young Fogey said...

Keep the jacket in case you need to repair the pants, which, unlike many suit pants, will work as "odd trousers" (as the sartorial cognoscenti call them--or so I hear).

Actually, you can still wear the suit--for pictures. Taken from the front. Maybe for this year's Christmas portrait?

I thought LFG needed surgery to remove that "The North Face" tattoo from her jacket. Hope she's actually OK.

amber said...

What does any of that mean??????????????

Flo said...

I scored 100% whoosh on today's content but Lawd I went over as directed to The Chinese Disco and had myself one fine time, I could almost hear Sixty Minute Man playing in the background.

Preppy 101 said...

I'll have to say that you've outdone yourself this time on many levels. I'm certain you can sell this stuff, so if the day job falls through . . . well, you're set. Or ..... you can always fall back on those "hott" dancin' skills. :-) xoxo

Anonymous said...

Flambe story colorful but not credible. Now, can we hear the "rest of the story".

Flo said...

Maxamaxamax, it's March Madras!

http://www.josbank.com/menswear/shop/Product_11001_10050_101867

ADG said...

Everyone...I don't care if you don't get it or don't believe me...it's the truth.

And LFG is FINE...geez...I thought you people were more astute. Because it damned sure can't be my inept writing...MAN HANDS is a joke. I shouldn't be surprised actually.

And Flo-flo-flo...I will declare when it's madras anything. Thanks.

Scale Worm said...

This post makes the top, número UNO, in my favoritest reads of the past month's huge piles and stacks of reads I've read.
You are truly a gifted writer Sir, and I feel that Mr. Clemens would have loved to read your posts were he still among us.
Well done, too funny!

Pigtown-Design said...

CHINESE DISCO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gail, in northern California said...

The truth? HA! Just remember this little episode the first time your little golden-hair tells a whopper to cover up something. She learned it from the best. Don't look over your shoulder, or point to your chest. Yes, YOU.

Anonymous said...

How about trying a few svelt suede patches on the shoulders in the style of 'hunting/shooting' attire... still thinking about the big black mark on the back.... tell them its lion blood?

Darcy le Quarr (and Englishman in Africa)

Reggie Darling said...

Are you sure this didn't take place at P.J. Clarke's?

ADG said...

Reggie...Three basic things that you CAN'T do at P.J. Clark's...unless THEY start it...frig, fight and fast dance. Sad but true on many levels....'specially since these are a few of my favorite thangs.

Darcy...I know it's you, Elmer.

Patsy said...

Have a capelet made from the pants!

T said...

*
In other words, I think my synapses just misfired.

Flo said...

Save The Jacket Contest Entry

1. pick up phone
2. call the Flusser shop
3. tell him to select his best pc of been-around-the-block suede
4. ship the not-even-close-to-being-ruined jacket to NYC
5. tell him to apply the suede in a yoke across the back [you decide if you want the yoke straight or in a chevron, you decide if you want a few bits of the same suede distributed around the jacket, say on pocket flaps on front], all bits of burn will be concealed by the shoulder-to-shoulder yoke.
6. no, you may not have 6" fringe hanging off the yoke however that might be the just right thing to wear when you return to McMurtry country

Q.E.D

Anonymous said...

So, stories of the Philadelphia Blow Torch Mugger are maybe exaggerated? At some point, your pals at Flusser are bound to say BULLET proof, ADG, Bullet, not FIRE... If you really wanted to get rid of it, you could simply have driven a stake through its heart.

However, I quote E Blackadder: "perhaps the greatest work of fiction since the promise of fidelity was added to the French wedding vows..."

your pal willie

KentW said...

One martini, two martini, three martini...floor. ;-)

KentW said...

Incidentally, a little club soda will take that right out. ;-)

Britt Sudduth said...

Holy Crap. Dude you are awesome! I don't see how the other posters could have doubted you. You can't make that kind of story up! You have got to come down to Houston for some see-throughs!

Britt

Anonymous said...

ADG's Willie Pal..........you are hilarious

ADG? The BC owl patrol is surveilling your res.

SFBayArea

yoga teacher said...

So I guess you won't be trying any flaming hula hoops now. Damn.
Though you could have matching britches.

ADG said...

Ok, y'all are now just having fun at my expense! And that's ok...I can take it.

Summer is a Verb said...

My money's on the silverfish. And, didn't I request a google alert for this post??? XXOO

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