I think this once per week Trad-Ivy Tuesday yoke is gonna become too heavy too fast. The idea that I would settle into one decent post per week and have it waft up from the ADG cauldron of randomanalia in an aromatically focused, cogent and vaguely erudite fashion now seems onerous. That’s verbose code for “I’ve got an endless list of Trad-Ivy Tuesday stories but am too lazy and unfocused to write them.”
Bottom line is that it’s just easier for me to do those verbal stream of semi-conscious run on thangs than it is to write more responsibly. I could for example, be working on a more focused and responsible Trad-Ivy Tuesday story right now. But I don’t want to. What I want to do is just drop off some junk. The random stream of ADD whateverishness writing is easy as 1-2-3.Which brings me to Madras Miscellany. A tumblr reader asked…
“Heya D. I imagine this question is probably going to be met with "I haven't decreed that it's patch madras season or decided if there's a general moratorium in effect against the wearing thereof, so you deserve it," but I'm gonna ask anyway. Cookout: Torrential downpour, as in completely soaked (in more ways than one) wearing a pair of bleeding patch madras pants from Banks that are dry clean only. What do I do? Stick them in a tub of water until the dye no longer comes off? Say screwit?”
I’m giving up on trying to govern Madras. Now I know how Mountbatten felt when he turned the Colonial light switch off in India. Or how Charles de Gaulle felt when he said… “How can you govern a country which has 246 varieties of cheese?”
And my answer is I don’t care anymore. I’m finished with the burden of trying to extricate madras from the Trailer Trash Honkey Tonk zip code that it seems to go back to, even after we find examples of classic and appropriate madras modulation. It ain’t worth it. You wear your madras the way you want and I’ll wear mine—sparingly—the way I choose. For every appropriately revisionist resurrectionated madras example I see at the Brethren or J. Press or courtesy of O’Connell’s new-old stock, I see three instances of bad tattoos and madras mottled together.
So I am officially relinquishing all of my self-anointed and arrogantly appointed Madras Authority. LFG and I have now spent one week at the beach in Delaware and a week in Puerto Rico (which by the way, is Ocean City Maryland, Myrtle Beach South Carolina and Daytona all rolled up into an island with prettier water and better drinks. Oh, and a four hundred year old fort that’s pretty cool) and I’ve seen enough visual affirmation that this is the right time for me and my Madras Governance hallucinations to let it go. Let it go. Let it go. But not before I popped for the O’Connell’s Madras Swim Baby above. I’m digging the hell out of my Birdwell reacquaintance but I had to pounce on these classics. I’ll leave them in the sun to let some of the new bake out of them and then BAM, much to LFG’s consternation; I’ll be sporting these during our last vacation week in August.
Ok, so what else y’all wanna talk about? Will at a Suitable Wardrobe has some things on sale and no, he didn’t ask me to shill on his behalf. I enjoy going to Will’s from time to time and getting a pocket square or socks or just something to look forward to in the mail. I bought the green paisley linen number above way back before summer and I’ve worn the hell out of it. Get it if he still has one left.
And my latest on sale arrival rolled in tandemoneously with an “on sale at Paul Stuart” package. Tumblr readers were quick to ask about the contents of both packages and I’m sure that the revelation is gonna be underwhelming.
My GTH summer trousers aren’t legendary and don’t deserve such status but their identity, through this blog is known. My 2012 GTH addition above, from J. Mc. is a stellar complement to an already strong GTH line up. However, when I work in the summer (and yes, I work…and not in GTH trousers) I tend to wear solid color tan linen trousers. Creature of habit? You bet. Toned down trousers to accommodate colorful bespoke shirtings and horizontal chemise stripings? Could be. At any rate, a few of my decade-plus years old tan linen babies have seen much better days. And trust me, if they could talk, I’d let them write this freakin’ blog.
What was in the box? Flat front linen and cotton blend British tan trousers from Paul Stuart and an in your face oedematously polka dotted pocket square from Will. I cracked down on the inordinate use by bloggers of British spellings while admitting that I like to use the word colour from time to time because the spelling looks elegant.
And now I must break my new rule again. I mean come on, oedematous vs. edematous? The British spelling is the bomb. Hell, the spelling itself oedematous. That word freakin’ waddles with tumescenticated rotundity. So yes, the dots on my Will square are oedematous. Shut the….
More on the square in a moment but back to the trousers for a bit. As soon as saw them I deemed the fabric a poor man’s dupioni. Years ago Flusser offered a bulletproof dupioni silk in three colors for summer suiting. I was too timid, thinking it would make-up in a shiny sharkskin way. It didn't. The dupioni clothing that I saw come out of the fabric run was bulletproof. It won’t convey in the photos here but there’s a similar hand to these trousers and I like it. I like the pic stitching that’s noteworthy too. I’ll pick these up from Suh …replete with their two-inch cuffs and we’ll be sporting them in Jacksonville on Tuesday...today. Stay tuned.
Polka dots a bit too fuzzy for you? Pink a little too garish? Scared of the square? Don’t be. Well perhaps you should be if you remain one of those p_ssies who takes more than thirty seconds to stuff a square in your breast pocket. Treat the thing capriciously…wad the varmint up and thow it in. Then pull a couple of the tips out from the wreckage and so that they peek out—prairie doggie style. Any questions? Don’t ask.
Other updates? I feel like I’m trying to carry the conversation at a toy soldier swap meet…the nerdiest aggregation of poor conversationalists in the world. And speaking of toy soldiers and my collecting theme of Colonial Oppression, I picked up a few real old, beat to hell Turcos and Tirailleurs. I like quirky...and these foppish skirmishers bang high numbers on the killin’ quirk scale.
But this is my latest Holy Grail find. I’ve been looking for this Britains Naval Landing Party set for a decade.
And yes it’s worn and yes the box is beat to hell. What are you gonna look like at ninety? It was a kid’s toy so it’s a miracle that any of it survived.
It’s rare to find a set intact and complete with original, albeit shoddy box. My ten year quest is testimony. Sorry, I should start an antique lead soldier blog, right? Wrong.
And finally, an update on my Casa Minimus decampment and move to Bethesda. It’s all good and it’s the right thing to do...LFG wise. It’s just that I’ve been busy and I’ve not found a suitable place out of the finalists I’ve seen in the Chevy Chase Bethesda corridor. My goal is to be fifteen minutes from LFG and I’ve gotta like the place immensely because I’ll still be there more often without LFG than not.
The next step in my place is the removal of all artwork from the walls and the commissioning of rental property neutral painting.
After that, it’s wall to wall rental grade carpeting and relegating Casa Minimus back over to the folks who’ve managed my rental properties before. It’s all good. Pass me the hash pipe.
Ok, it’s time for me to roll off of this drivel pile. I will say in closing that LFG is still hideously infatuated with her superstar father. Photo evidence above suggests that she was nothing short of smitten during every moment of our recent vacation.
Oh and PS...1-2-3 was another favorite of mine on the KA jukebox at three in the morning. And I could sing it as good as Len Barry. At three in the morning.