Situational Uvulas-Neck Warmers and Redux: Welcome Back Toad

It's still cold as ever here inside the Beltway. You'd think with all the hot air blowing off the Hill that things would be temperate here in the 'hood. No way-we continue to dress for survival and wouldn't you know it-my Polo Ralph Camel Hair overcoat will be ready tomorrow and the temps will now hit close to fifty over the weekend. 

 I was blessed to have a billable gig to start the week off. Consultants usually begin the new year with a big zero-a goose egg on the billables ledger-it's the nature of this kind of work. You either have the uvulas for it or you don't. I have situational uvulas. Sometimes they are big as Texas and my swagger is comensurate. Then sometimes I get worried and curl up in the fetal position and whimper-but only for a moment. I'd rather work for me than have to play the corporate game anymore. I prefer roll in hot as the Stranger-Expert from Afar and sprinkle some of my juju around-then split. Dressing for such hot rolling sees me a bit more reigned in than when I'm in the office-like today-sporting a Thurston Howell III rig.

  No I haven't yet shaved today. I will run a razor over this mug before I hit the streets tonight. Or before I go to bed at 830pm-whichever comes first. Old Polo tattersal spread collar shirt-it was on the floor this morning and seemed handy. Flusser challis scarf. The points on this scarf are a bit long for a neckerchief but not quite long enough to be worn outside of a collar-like a traditional scarf. Kind of a hybrid-mongrel and the points of the rolled neckerchief beneath the shirt bother me a bit. The solution-I attached the scarf tips to one each of my nipple rings. Shhhh.

 Twenty year old Polo Cords and my trusty Flusser camel hair three-two open patch-pleated pockets. Fuzzy Dice?

  We finish it off with the wool scarf that the girl with the nuclear buttocks made for me.

On the south end of this rig we pulled out the trusty old Belgians. Haven't worn them in a month as the ground has been mostly receptive to Red Wing and LL Bean boots. Welcome back Belgians.

Earlier in the week saw a more professorial rig. I've had this bow tie since college. The shirt-diagonality-Flusser style.

Conservative socks and shoddings-can't remember when I rolled so traditionally "down there". Cordovan shoe conundrum. Polish? Brown-Neutral? Nope-I went with Mid-Tan. A million bucks says you can't guess the carpet.

And finally:

1. Pray for Haiti. I think praying for the dead is a silly waste of time. Praying for the country-praying for the rescuers-praying for the bereaved families-that's what I'm doing.

2. I lied. In an effort to smoke my buddy Toad out of hibernation I streteched the truth about my corduroy shawl collared rig. I bought it ten years ago in Chelsea at a vintage tog shop-for seven pounds.

Onward-uvulationally.

ADG

My Corduroy Folly and an Ode (WELCOME BACK) To Toad

First Merkin dies on me. Now Toad quits blogging. Toad was the most sincere, grumpy, honest, transparent and coolest blogger I’ve encountered. I loved his honesty. His common sense-I’m certain-a result of the same kind of journey I’m in the midst of-not always being the smartest and doing the right thing every time but learning lessons along the way when you falter. I hope I’m as cool as Toad when I’m a few years further down the road. The man even admitted to owning a Vega in the 1970’s. Even though-according to the Toad himself-it was a “Cosworth”. I’m laughing again right now.

Toad acted a few months ago on an idea that I’d been knocking around in my head forever. A shawl collar odd jacket-sport coat-something that you could wear in very different ways. 

I could never quite get my mind around it until I saw Toad’s finished product. 

My latest boondoggle-a deep wine-burgundy corduroy shawl collared jacket is a Toad inspired. I’ll wear this with jeans and to holiday cocktail parties as a formal jacket. 

So Toad-even though you’ve evaporated, every time I pull this folly out of the closet-your "Honest Rolling" presence will be right with me old buddy.

I hadn’t owned a Patch Madras sport coat since undergrad. Thanks to Toad, Paul at Sorrentolens and I lined right up and followed his lead on patch mad procurement.

About my winter GTH pants Toad said:

"Looks like the seat covers from a 73 Maverick. Have you seen the patch mad pants in the new Orvis catalog? Not bad."

About my going through the proverbial three boxes the other week-this one rolled in from Toad…

"I understand your divorce story all too well. The day, many years later when I ransacked that anxiety closet was the beginning of my adulthood.
Keep 'em comin mon ami"

Ode to Toad

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, 
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, 
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum 
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. 

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead 
Scribbling on the sky the message Toad cannot be read. 
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, 
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. 

Toad was our North, our South, our East our West, 
Our working week and our Sunday rest, 
Our noon, our midnight, our talk, our song; 
We thought that Toad would last forever: We were wrong. 

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, 
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, 
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods; 
For nothing now can ever come to any good

*Adapted from W. H. Auden’s Funeral Blues

WEL-Come on back Toad. There’s a bunch of us waiting on you.

Onward.

ADG