No wonder the Pharisees always stayed kinda mad at Jesus. After all, he made them look foolish on more than one occasion. Did they really want Jesus to condemn the adulterer or did they want to test Jesus’ influence? Jesus was able to challenge these authoritarians by inviting them without sin to commence stoning this woman caught in the act of adultery. It would have taken me three weeks to come up with such a clever statement to diffuse the situation.
John Chapter 8 and a couple of verses from Mathew provided all the reference necessary to let me know that yesterday’s sermon was exclusively for my country a_s. Judgement and forgiveness is the tight little forty five minute message and I’m sitting there thinking “damn (even though you shouldn’t be thinking or saying “damn” at the handlin’) here we go again…another sermon aimed at ADG Ground Zero”….
Some top-line corollaries from John Chapter 8…Christ neither found fault with the law, nor excused the prisoner's guilt; nor did he countenance the pretended zeal of the Pharisees. Those are self-condemned who judge others, and yet do the same thing. And then from Matthew 7:1 "Do not judge so that you will not be judged” Ok…looks like I’m gonna have to refrain from laughing at people who wear goofy shit. And “zeal”? Take that away from me and I got nothin’.
Now how in the world am I going to put fully in play the lessons from the handlin’? I posited a good while back in my post about why I love and write about clothes that I want people to learn about me and my character before casting me off as some sartorial snob. You can read it here. I declared in that post that I try really hard to offer the same latitude to those I meet…regardless of the number of tattoos you have, nose piercings or even, God forbid, vertical blinds. I can even dig deep enough and find the goodness in you if I notice a Thomas Kinkade painting hanging in your house. And that’s digging deep.
I suppose it’s no longer my authority to declare when you can or can’t wear things like patch madras and seersucker. And Allie, I’m gonna have to abandon my idea of resurrecting the Butt Police. Who am I to decide such things? And Spandex? Geez…can I really surrender my authority over such offensive fabrics? I’m against the death penalty but what about butt crack baggy jeans and backward baseball hats?
Are y’all really comfortable with me letting go of my Pharisee-esque self proclaimed authoritarian weigh-in on all things Strip Mall? Was I delusional to think, just because I have people of distant, thank God, relation back in S.C.—who would actually be proud to make the People of Wal-Mart blog post—that I could straighten the world out on such matters? Just having an Aunt Tootie should qualify me.
Let me conclude by saying that I’m gonna try really hard to actualize the lessons learned in Mathew and John. But I can’t promise anything. As I cobble this drivel together, my little pocket Mephistopheles is sitting on my shoulder telling me that if I don’t carry forth the mantle of sartorial judgement…the slippery slope of sartorial slovenosity will become ever steeper.
So it’s no longer upon me to declare white bucks and seersucker the current Sunday costume of choice for the masses. But for me yesterday—I was pleased to pounce. Flusser gray seersucker sportcoat, pink diagonal tone on tone Flusser button down, nicely patinated Polo white bucks and an old pair of bulletproof Hertling Irish linen trousers.
I’ve commented on the architecture of this sportcoat before but here’s a little refresher. At first glance one could quickly conclude that it’s just another ADG Fuzzy Dice contrivance. Double vented, three two roll, patch pockets with a patch ticket…finished off with an open patch breast pocket. Give me a break man! If ever the evidence would support throwing the first stone of ersatz sartorial contrivance…this might be it. But hold on a minute before you start pelting. This exact model hails from the Brooks Brothers Archives courtesy of Alan Flusser. So there.
I love this jacket. Those of you who bespeak things know that even from the same pattern, singular garments feel and fit differently based on a zillion factors. This creation fits exactly the way I like. Don’t ask me to explain further. It’s not for you or me to really understand in toto.
And Hertling trousers? I can only speak for myself—since I’ve given up my authority—but I’ll never need a nicer pair of trousers than what rolls out of the Hertling factory. I just worry about what’s gonna happen over in Brooklyn after Julie Hertling gives it up. China I reckon.
Toad did a great update on white bucks the other day. And as much as I want another pair, it ain’t in the budget and these patinated babies are good for a few more seasons.
I exchanged emails with someone from back home recently and we got on the subject of funerals. A sartorial legend from S.C. passed away and he was filling me in on the funeral service. I offered the following comment in an email reply….. “Funerals…I used to worry like hell about what my family will do on my behalf—regardless of what I’ve outlined in my Will. My mom remains undone over the fact that I’ve requested cremation. I would love for the Shaw Singers or the Blind Boys from Alabama to roll in and sing two songs… “Oh Happy Day” and “Home to My Jesus”. Then I’d like for everyone to have cocktails. No open casket nonsense for me”.
So I’m gonna leave you with Home to My Jesus by the Shaw Singers. Excuse the silly dancers visual…I can’t find another version of the song to post. I love the grittiness…the granularity of this poorly recorded gospel standard. I also like what the Rev. Al Green said about the difference between the Blues and Gospel. Just substitute the words God/Jesus with Baby and you’ve got one or the other. I’m thinking the Rev. Al was hollerin’ for God not Baby when that pot of hot grits hit him upside the head.
Onward…throwin’ no stones…till Thursday…ADG