Happy Fathers Day, Nightly Viewers!

BriWi's tie tonight is deep blue with screaming yellow stripes.  Not quite Highlighter Yellow, but shockingly close.  It is the sort of Happy Sunshine Yellow that could make this tie the favourite of preschoolers everywhere.  One can imagine a Mommy taking Sweet Baby Precious in the Urban Assault Stroller to Kohl's, the suburban shopping mecca, for a Fathers Day present.  She says, "What tie do you like for Daddy?"  Captivated by its brazen and ostentatious yellowness, SBP says endearingly and stickily, "Lello lello lello!", and this tie is grabbed and smilingly purchased.  Sigh.  And we are the collateral recipients.

Quelle Dommage

Tonight, reporting from the ravages of Oklahoma, Brian is sans cravate.  Constant Readers of The Report know that this means he is avec une grande chemise bleu.  Why could he not take a cue from the very fit and extremely fitted Lester Holt, whose shirt was simply parfait?  Ah, well.  Le sigh. 

Tieku

Solid dark blue tie!
You are a surrender, a
Shrug, Indifference.

Serious Business

Behind the desk tonight, Brian wears a tie of narrow stripes alternating textured worsted wool grey and stormy blue.  He dreaded these stuffy, awful meetings.  Once they were mercifully over, he never knew what, if anything was accomplished.  It was like a funeral for Time.  And Language.  Everyone sat there, wearing subdued, somber suits and talking in measured, serious tones about...what? Even the women wore suits.  Hell, even the water pitchers wore suits.  He longed to shake things up:  bring a squirt gun, wear teeshirt and Bermudas, say things like, "Yo!" and "That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!".  But, here it was, the second Tuesday of the month, and he had put on his grey suit and tasteful tie and his aura of funereal decorum and felt his footsteps dragging toward the double doors.

Before The Vows

This evening's cravat is like a tribute to Spring herself.  It is a stripe of milk white and lilac, with a sheen like morning dew.  Once the last of them had finally rustled and swished out of the small, cramped church dressing room, she stood in front of the mirror and looked at her reflection.  She appeared like a vision in a little girl's dream, emerging from a froth of white tulle and lace.  From the nearby dressing table she grasped her bouquet and arranged its long lavender ribbons so that they would cascade down the front of her gown.  The door opened and her father stepped in to get her for the ceremony.  As his image filled the space behind her in the mirror, she became slightly alarmed.  For the first time in her life, she saw tears in his eyes.

...But I Digress

It may be this tie that causes me to re-evaluate my acceptance of all Solid Colour Ties.  This magenta linen-finish cravat with its bloom of varied dimples is just...there.  I don't dislike magenta.  As a matter of fact, I think the word itself would make a wonderful stripper name, especially paired with any other Old School Crayola 64 Crayon Box colour.  Think about it:  Magenta Aquamarine.  Magenta Cornflower.  Magenta Mahogany.  Magenta Midnight Blue.  How kickass would it be, even, to have a pet hamster named Magenta?

In Which We Inadvertently Reveal A Distaste For Brain-Teasers And Logic Puzzles

So, tonight Brian wears a bright blue tie with a lot of stripes.  There are white stripes, and inside those, two more skinny red stripes.  So, really, there's like...five stripes, at least.  It's like those tricky triangle puzzles that are one big triangle all cut up into little triangles.  The directions are deceptively simple:  How many triangles do you see?  So you count up all the little triangles.  "Sixteen!" you say happily.  Some other kid says derisively, "Duh. Seventeen. You forgot to count the big triangle."  Then some snotty genius kid starts tracing all the medium-sized triangles made up by the teeny triangles, the teacher nods knowingly and in that smug and pleased way, and pretty soon you want to smack everyone and go home to pudding and Oreos.

In Which We Invoke The Birthday Resolution, And Make A Not-So-Subtle Plea

...And it seems like we have a Friday Tie as well.  BriWi knots up the same tie as last Friday, the stripe of ebony with porcelain white grosgrain.  It's Brian's (and my) Birthday this week, so let's hope that he gets some new cravats to wow us here at The Report.  If not, perhaps he could make a Birthday Resolution and endeavour to wear some lovely, long-unseen ties rather than these Regulars.  (I'm thinking of the Glorious Pink Tie, dearest Brian.  It has been too long.)

Being Neighborly

Brian is finally delving a little deeper into L'armoire des Cravates, for we haven't seen this particular tie in a while.  It's the textured violet silk with petite white dots in a grid pattern.  She was awakened by a hard rapping on the front door at seven AM.  Bleared with sleep, she shuffled out to the livingroom and opened the door without thinking.  A fistful of violets, their purple faces and white throats, was the first thing she saw.  Confused, she blinked and looked past them to their owner.  It was the old man next door.  "Violets, see?  Your yard is full of 'em," he accused.  "They're like weeds. They spread and take over everything. You gotta get on top of 'em and get rid of 'em. I don't want 'em in my yard.  So...just wanted to let you know.  They might look pretty to you, but they're death to lawn grass.  Tell your husband...if you've got one."

Country Kitschin'

Perhaps this is now Bri's Monday Tie.  It was, after all, last Monday when he most recently donned this homey cravat of teensy blue and white checks sprinkled with pink diamond-shaped medallions.  All he needed was one of those concrete geese perched on the corner of the Nightly newsdesk, all decked out in a themed outfit, and the effect would have been complete.

Sometimes, You Need To Look A Little Deeper To See The Dream

Mr. Williams wears a cravat of deep navy with slim diagonals of platinum white.  It's a very staid, very stodgy tie.  This is the kind of tie that holds no surprises.  It's not going to suddenly, at a birthday dinner, hold out the keys to a brand new car.  Likewise, it will not turn to you during an episode of Seinfeld and announce that listen, there's no easy way to do this, but it would like a divorce.  This is a tie that will not, out of nowhere, show up with two tickets to Paris, but it will drive you to the emergency room when you cut yourself on a broken coffee pot.  Twice.  Not so bad now, is it?

Visiting Hours

This evening we are spared from another purply tie as Brian Williams knots up a familiar striper of midnight and white, the latter having the texture of grosgrain ribbon.  After so many weeks of being so very ill, her patience and good humour were brittle and nearly spent.  He came in with a small bouquet of tulips and a silly stuffed dog. She turned to him from gazing wistfully out the window, and her eyes were shiny and wet.  One blink, and they overflowed.  He held her and when the tears subsided, he picked up her hairbrush.  Scalp to ends, he brushed her dark tresses; it always took the stress away.  He tied it all up in a beautiful ribbon and, just to make her laugh, put one on her new dog, too.

It's Three Times Cleaner Than A Germy Sponge Or Washcloth

When I was much younger, Bounty paper towels advertised themselves as The Quicker Picker Upper.  Their commercials featured a square of their towelling being laid upon all manner of liquids; then a hand would quickly fetch them up, and tada!  A bright, shiny-clean countertop would be all that remained.  This after mere moments of Bounty sucking up the liquid in its little square pockets of absorbable fibers.  Brian's tie reminds me of these commercials with its minute mulberry and ashen checks.  It looks for all the world as if it were made of a few sheets of Bounty sodden with grape drink.

High Society

There is something commanding and elegant about this tie of black and varied metallic gold stripes that Brian Williams wears tonight.  It speaks in modulated low tones and careful whispers, deferentially, yet not in the least bit obsequious.  It may be New Money, but it is not Nouveau Riche, not brash nor gauche.  Steering away from dangerous deals and cheap women, it chooses carefully among the greybeards of the industry and the young turks up and coming.  Women can wait, fast money is of no interest, and for now, only wine, nothing stronger.

Don't Fall For It

Brian again grabs this cottagey looking tie of minuscule blue checks overlaid with a scattering of tiny pink medallions that look like blobby little diamonds.  It's a very comfy-cozy tie, like walking into a craft store or a Cracker Barrel gift shop full of potpourri, wax melt scent burners, cinnamon brooms, and little quilty things.  These shops always sell tons of cutesy items that I call "dust catchers." They're fun to look at, delightful to inhale, but I know that their primary purpose is to Sit Around.  I already have a couple of cats for that.

"He Kindly Stopped For Me..."

A sort of grandchild to Wednesday's cravat, this tie has stripes of nightsky and blush pink.  He pulled into the driveway and jumped out of the van, quickly walked to the back, and took out the arrangement. It was a towering vase of bashful pink roses and carnations and star lilies.  Anyone would love these flowers, he thought.  This was the part of his job that he loved the most, the face at the door.  Wide eyes, smiles, the thank you--as if he had bought the flowers for them himself.  He rang the bell, and a woman answered.  Her face was puffy and tragic.  It was clear that she had been crying, and that she had been at it for a long, long time.  A small boy pushed in front of her, and only then did he notice that they were both dressed in black.