Thursday, March 8, 2012

Trad Randomanalia and My Girl--Say Yes

Just ‘cause I've got the yearn, doesn’t mean I’ve got the time or neuronal bandwidth. No, I’m not breaking up with anyone but I might keep that sentence on ice if I need to. I’ve got the yearn to tell stories and I’ve got a good dozen of them in my noggin but I don’t have the juice to write ‘em right now. Crafting an even remotely cogent ditty requires time to organize ones thoughts…even though I’m on the record more than once, admitting that the best I do editorially over here is use spell-check. I don’t have the time or quite frankly, the desire to have someone else read my drivel and offer pre-posting editorial insight.

So why are you writing to say that you don’t have time to write?” Because what I do have time to do, before jumping on a plane to Dallas, is throw one of those keyboard stream of consciousness thangs at you like I used to do in the old days. It’s easier to scratch the writing itch by throwing piles of twisty-turny junk like this at you than it is to write thoughtfully. So let’s twist and turn for twenty minutes about stories yet to come.  

…the story that somehow came together in my mind regarding my Bookster-Flusser boondoggle contrivance.
...and the shooting party days of times past where folks wore such contrivances.
…and how my mind then went straight to the Vanity Fair subjects who were part of those days past. Stay tuned for my Bookster-Flusser-ADG Shooting Party story. I’ll have it done by August 2013, if I’m still here. Or hell, if any of us are still here.
…low vamp sensibilities. Or at least what seemed to be sensible in 1987. There’s a hell of story here. I kid you not. A recent query found me digging through the archives for these babies.
…my precious LFG who used to adore me. The rational me knows that she still does. The reptilian brained baby in me says that she dropped me. Fast. Like a bad habit. On a Wednesday afternoon at 3:47pm…and that she won’t ever come back to me. All of you warned me about this. The efficacy of denial is breathtakingly efficient for the short-haul. The sequelae thereafter … are palpable. Who am I to declare that none of this should or would happen ‘til my baby was fourteen?
Who am I? I’m her dad—the guy who has placed perhaps an inordinate amount of himself into her at the expense of not crafting a draw-down strategy. The good news is that my straight-A student, empathetic participant in the world, dancer extraordinaire is thriving and feeling none of the sequelae of anything associated with my feeling dropped. She’d tisk-tisk me and roll her eyes at even the remotest possibility of any emotional fallout. Tisk-tisking and eye-rolling. Its part of her new oeuvre—the one that damn showed up on a Wednesday afternoon. At 3:47 pm.
…Cleverley shoes. I’ve got two drafts on file about this incredible bespoke experience. But for now, let me just say that I’m floored by the level of service and exactitude that Cleverley et al have manifested amongst this, my maiden bespoke shodding expedition. They are remaking my shoes. From scratch—starting over. None of this revisionist tweaking here and there of the current pair. After two exchanges regarding a couple of non-deal breaking issues, Cleverley declared that the only way THEY would be happy is if they started over. Perhaps the reason I’m so over the top taken by their decision is that service in general seems so poor in most aspects of life these days. Kudos to Cleverley. They’ll be in Washington next month with my replacement try-ons.
…Catcher in the Rye. I finished re-reading it last night. I gave Salinger another chance after being jaundiced too much by his reclusive eccentricities. And I loved it this time. I loved it almost as much as I was indifferently “What’s the big effing deal about this book?” the first time I read it. I was nineteen the first time. I’m a decade older now. And a lot has gone on in these subsequent ten years to change my worldview. I’ll re-read Tender is the Night and The Great Gatsby every year for as long as I’m able to read. I won’t put Catcher in the Rye in that same queue but I’m glad I read it again. Salinger’s ability to write those catchy, clippy little sentences really got me this time. His ability to capture the angst and brooding of a hugely messy kid through staccato line-ups of surly rhetoric made it worth my time. Rat-a-tat-tat mother____.

Oh, and one more thing that I got this time. The connection between Holden and his little sister at the end of the book really, really hit me. His humanity peeps out from time to time earlier in the book but Salinger gives Holden permission to allow it to further manifest in the end—of course though—only in a governed, cadenced, WASPy kind of way. Why did this resonate with me this time? Was I a sociopath the first time I read it? Nope. If you really want the answer, read the LFG paragraph herein. Again. You know…the one about my daughter. That should explain it. Geez. It really pisses me of when people don’t get it. And that one should be easy to get. Really. It’s easy.
…why I wore brown Belgians and purple socks to the Georgetown Club last week.
I looked professorially sartorial up top. But I’ve got a problem with convention-construct and authority that seems to be getting worse in my old age. Hold me.
…why I’m just going to leave you wondering about this one. Yes, he played a Penfold. With a diaper on his head.
 …my golf bag that hadn’t been unzipped from the travel case in eleven years. Yep. Eleven years. I’m shedding stuff over here and I don’t play golf anymore. But I used to…a lot. And the stuff in one of the pouches, as I dumped it on the floor, became an exhibit of a life I used to live. A life of marriage, in-laws, cigars…Cubans and lots of them. Sea Island….courtesy of my in-laws. There was even a receipt in the bag from a pro shop in Boca. It predates my marriage. And no, I’m not going to make a f_cking collage out of it. I kept the Snap-On Zippo lighter and threw the rest of the shit in the trash. Remember, I’m shedding over here. My little casa will probably be a rental property once again, as it has been for more years than not. I’m the American Dream in reverse—so far—other than rental property. My plan is to move to Chevy Chase. There’s a woman there who needs me to be closer.
…why these shoes with the toes make me hurl. They give me the creeps. I don’t give a damn if as soon as you don them; your net worth increases by seventy percent, your boobs or wanker gets perkier and your breath never stinks again. These things are scary. Scary in a Lon Chaney…Vincent Price kinda way. Not a Hitchcock kinda way. He’d a never stood for ‘em.
…about why two inch cuffs are adequate. But why I’m gonna keep this mistake intact. At least this year.
…the pedestrian, base, inappropriateness of wearing my new A Suitable Wardrobe Spring 2012 linen pocket square during the winter…avec wool thornproof swathing.
Read the previously posited drivel about my problem with rules, construct and authority. Kiss kiss.
Oh, and Will also sent me a sample of Timbuktu…one of the nice fragrances he now offers.
…the fact that after the next round of stunning expenditures on my mouth and jaw, I’ll never have another penny to spend on anything. “Come on ADG, smile more.” Folks, I’m gratified to even be able to chew and swallow food. You have no idea. With this as context, I’ll be ok not to have a mouth full of beautiful Kennedy-esque ivories. Every bespoke supplier in the world who services the desires and proclivities of ADG threw up a little bit a few weeks ago and never knew why. Well now they’ll know. I’m outta play ‘till at least April 51st, 2014. And the antique toy soldier market value index dropped 30% on the same day. Analysts knew not why but were certain that they'd see it rebound momentarily. It won't. Word up for da antique toy soldier market analysts…April 51st, 2014. 
…about the Merkin the Teacher story that I will finish writing—even though I’m not qualified to do so. I’d be at Carrie Haddad’s this Saturday night for the opening reception of her next Merkin exhibition but I’m busy. LFG still trumps everything else.
 …the story of my little pictures. Oil on Masonite caricatures mostly by Dickens illustrator Fred Barnard. One of the pictures is of Barnard himself. These belonged to him. All of the subjects are of his contemporaries…other illustrators who worked in late 19th-early 20th century London. But the better part of this story never to be written is the onerous-ass process of finding a corner to hang the little fellers in. Littler is the opposite of easier—proxemics and scale-wise. I had to take four times my normal dose of Adderall to tether myself down for the task. Pert near kilt me.
…about my intent to pounce. Even with the fun-money evaporation issue aforementioned, I’m gonna pounce on one of these. This is gingham on steroids. Double Elephant Folio Gingham. Uber Gingham. Larry the Cable Guy Gingham. And I need not worry about how to style this shirt. I don’t have to worry about the nuances of yokes, sleeve buttons, pleated pocket or no pocket and a discreet monogram—opposite button number four. (The traditional placement for a monogram on the torso is “oppo-five”…opposite the fifth button. But I prefer mine “oppo-four”. It makes the garish-no consequence impertinence of visible monograms…more visible…and less pertinent. Shut up. Shut up I said.) The scale of this gingham makes all considerations, beyond simply saying “yes, I’ll have one”, irrelevant. Now I just gotta figure out how to get them to say “yes” to my request to forgo the four shirt minimum usually required by bespoke shirt makers. Martini and Rossi-on the rocks-say yes. Scary...the stuff I can recall from my childhood.
Ok. That’s it for now. These run on sentences sure are a lot easier to string together. And enjoy the O’Jays…Use ta Be My Girl. LFG will always be my girl. But right now, she’s redefined what that feels like. Oh, and I just remembered… some cover band was playing Use ta Be My Girl at the Florence Country Club one night just as the KA Summer Party was getting going. And B.G. aka “The Charmer”, sauntered in with a gal on his arm about ten-fold out of his league. It was his first and unbeknownst to him at that moment, last date with her. The Charmer had on a killer madras sportcoat. But M.M.’s date had just thrown up a moment before The Charmer and his ten-fold date sauntered in. The Charmer, smiling ear to ear, swathed in madras with the ten-fold gal on his arm, went down. Slipped his elegantly shod and swathed ass down…in the vomit.

Ten-fold girl remained upright, having extricated herself from The Charmer’s hold as he barrel-rolled and Cab Callowayed his tanned ankled, Weejun shod, madr-ass around before finally ending up on the floor. You couldn’t help but laugh. My date was slapping at me, telling me to quit laughing at The Charmer while at the same time, laughing her ass off.  I’d never seen a man go from Cock-of-the-Preening-Walk to Beet Red Emissary of Emesis in seven seconds flat. And I’ve never seen it again. Ten-fold girl was stoic. Poised. Which made the whole thing even funnier. At least to me. Ten-fold girl, you see; used to be my girl.

Onward. In a run on stream of consciousness kinda way.



Anonymous said...

what make are those sunglasses?

LPC said...

This is the best kind of Max. Sheer waterfall. This and that and the other thing.

Main Line Sportsman said...

Do you own a copy of "The Big Shots"...'cause you need to lend it to me pronto.
Great puke pratfall story...oh, and call me for daughter advise in college and one in high school....I have the chops.

Main Line Sportsman said...

Did you by chance see my toy-soldier post?

ilovelimegreen said...

As much as I would like to think so, I don't think you are moving to Chevy Chase to be closer to me.
I love-love-love that green suit - but you knew that.

Horatio said...

Phoebe riding on the carrousel represents Holden's idealized view of the perfect circle of childhood innocence. When he sees her reaching for the gold ring (just like LFG is now), he fears she'll fall, but he also comes to the conclusion that you have to let kids "reach for the ring." He's coming to grips with the fact that you can't be "the catcher in the rye." Kids have to grow up, despite the meanness and phoniness that they're bound to encounter in the world of adults.

Sorry...I used to be a high school English teacher.

Turling said...

Holy Christ, I'm exhausted after reading that. Granted I read it in the voice and mannerism of a strung out meth addict, but still. Amazing you thought all this before getting on a plane to Dallas. With no time. Impressive.

Anonymous said...

cool glasses

Suburban Princess said...

I love this sort of post from you :O)

Now that I am a parent I also find myself seeing things in a new light upon second and third viewings/readings. I can barely watch the news these days.

The Leopard said...

I feel like I'm reading Kerouac, stream of consciousness et al, totally creeped out by the shoes with toes, so wrong in so many ways. Keep writing we need you out here in insane clown posse land

JKG said...

Hooray for the lady -- companionship is good, when it's good.

I have a friend with a daughter about LFG's age. I visited with him for breakfast the other week, with another friend of ours and one of his kids. Four total children, but the daughter in question was the eldest by about 5 years. She rolled her eyes and huffed literally every time she spoke with her dad -- every, single, time. I found it to be hilarious. I mean, it's probably a little poke with a needle to him when she does it, but from the outside it was just so funny.

I stand at his level, next to him, and watch this ignorant (though intelligent) unwise (though perspicacious) ineffectual (though headstrong) young person fuss and fume (with contempt!) over the shortcomings of her old man -- her old man who has a PhD, a house and a mortgage, a wife and three kids, a full-fledged and successful academic career, yet who is destined to come up so, so short in his daughter's eyes for at least the next 10 years. For me, it was funny, like a puppy worrying its leash.

I think (I hope) that, like the puppy, when she no longer needs the leash is when she'll love him all the more.

Salinger is good. Try his Glass family stuff for more.

Anonymous said...

I have or had THE BIG SHOTS, but ain't lending it. Chances are, a viewing of GOSFORD PARK back to back with THE SHOOTING PARTY will do you just about as much good.

ADG you spent a lot of time and effort to say you ain't ready to say much, but I have this much of a song in my head, also needing just a little more time (cue Norman Johnson)

Here's a little advice, no matter who you are:
Don't let your candy bar melt in the car

(and then a part I don't know yet) and then

One thing you need to know, no matter what you're doin
A bent screwdriver don't do much screwin

My day job is toast
Tingpang Ali

ADG said...

AnonymousMar 7…the sunglasses…AngloAmerican A.R. Trapp Opticians—Madison Avenue

LPC…Prunella…it’s the only kinda Max I got at present. I do have a couple more San Fran stories to tell at some point.

MainLiner…You’ll have a copy of The Big Shots in about seven days…my pleasure. Thanks for the daughter advice offer. May we just send her to you? And finally, I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve read so few blogs in the last forever and I’ll have to go track down your soldier story. Right now.

LimeGreener…are you kidding me? Did you not get my text? LFG and I are moving in with you.

Horatio…thanks. It was preordained then; that I should take note of the Holden/Phoebe thing the way I did. LFG and I are at a similar strategic inflection point.

Turling…I’m crazy. Seriously.

Suburban Princess…I don’t watch the news and rarely watch TV

The Leopard…Insane Clown Posse Land! That’s brilliant. Someone should start a blog with that title.

JKG…the lady is LFG. And I loved your story about PhD daddy. I’m right there. Butcept no PhD

Tingpang Ali…your day job? You ain’t hit a lick at a snake in years.

Mink80 said...

Dang Duke, that was one hell of a POST!!! 10 out of 10. Thought that the Olympics didn't start until this totally stuck the landing with The Charmer.....

Would be nice to have you here in Maryland....too bad you are giving up the sticks...would have been fun to go 18 with you up here at my Seth Raynor track....

Lou said...

Lordy, Lordy. What just happened? I enjoyed that - felt rather intimate actually, like being in the room with Bradley Whitford (I wish) while he was in Josh character. Sigh.

Not a great one for fashion me... most of what I wear seems to have poo on it... not mine, the animals!

Is that little chap wearing a nappy? Made me laugh.... anyhoo, back to my lambing. Hope you and your 14yo lamb merge again soon... tricky thing;, girls.

CeceliaMc said...

As a mama, that LFG pic with the towel and the long crossed legs brought tears to my eyes.

I LOVE the awkward angles coupled with tender grace stage of girlhood.

So lovely!

CeceliaMc said...

Do know that the direct-participant aspect of parenthood must naturally ebb and flow.

The awed, mesmerized, and utterly blown-sway spectator part gets to last until they put you in the ground.

ADG said...

Mink80...The Charmer part came to me at the end when I was setting up the O'Jays clip. And I HAD to tell the story. I almost decided to have it as a separate story but I just had to let it roll. I remember it like it was yesterday. And Seth you're just trash talkin'--showing off.

Lou...I just visited The Archers and The Larches and added you to my favorites list. LFG and I are coming to see y'all and that great house. And yes, the Penfold Man papier mache figure was shipped to me mummified, shrouded, head to toe in nappies. Cracked my ass up.

CeceliaMc...STOP IT with the truth and stuff. I don't like it. I know it's true but I don't like it. LFG is only grunting now.

Mink80 said...

ADG: LOVE that you got the trash talkin'...GUILTY! Seriously, the offer stands for 18.

Hilton said...

There is nothing wrong with the professorial look. I like the jacket and pink shirt.

I could have used your help at Coastal Flats the other night. (Only if you wore the Belgians.) Thought I might have to fight my way out because of attire and flirting with the rustic barmaid.

Poloist12 said...

On 5 fingers, never fear my friend. I own a pair and love them. Some days I wear them around the farm when I want to go bare footed, but know that it's not a good idea in some areas of the pasture. They are also great when on our creek or the river with friends. But in the end, to each their own I guess. I myself wouldn't get caught dead in those Belgins, so I guess we are even. :)

Anonymous said...

I love that fragrance company. Jour de Fete is what I wear everday.

ADG said... have lost your freakin' mind my friend! We ain't even...the Belgian rationale trumps those gnarly ass things ten-to-one. So I still gotcha by nine. And all the uses for those things you purport as farm worthy...Red Wing boots my friend. And for being in the creek or the river...Keene makes good wet/dry shoddings for such.

Mink...I'll come up and duff up your course. Let's let the weather trend for another few weeks.

Kerry...I'm a Brut 33 man myself.

ADG said...

Hilton...I'd a had your back. But I'm small so I woulda had to pull out my Jimmy Lile knife.

Mink80 said...

Once we get consistent warmth, I'll be in touch.

Scale Worm said...

I have Fred Barnard oil on masonite owned by him envy.
For reals... Those are so F'in cool!

As to the webbed mutant polymer foot crap... this is another example of why our species will go extinct. I am just waiting for the eat poison to lose weight trend to start next... I actually Do hate these things 9I cannot bring myself to call them shoes... Nice to read stream-of-conscience thoughts from your mind again... As to your Holden/Catcher/rereading comment "I was nineteen the first time. I’m a decade older now." (and your little one is How old?).

poloist12 said...

OK, come on, it's not about the shoe, it's about barefooting bro. The shoe is very light, almost no weight. I have other items I wear around the farm, namey Redwing boots, hunters, and so on. But when I'm off floating,(yeah you know what that's all about, I know you've not forgotten your roots)I like to be barefoot, but at the same time like the protection. Also, more and more runners are switching to these shoes as it's been proven that running barefoot is better for you than those hipster Nikes, Addidas, ect that have been on the market for years, look it up. They are quite comfy. Yes Keene make a great show, but these cost less and are much more comfortable.

Yeah, you can keep the 9, I think I'm getting the better deal. If I wore Belgins I'd get my a** whooped around here, no matter what setting. This is AR, not PA, or SC.