Utter Madness

A young guy I work with was pondering buying a blazer. "You've got one, right?" he asked.

Now there's a loaded question. I have 10 on hand, in fact.

So how many blazers does a guy need?

The litany:

Two Brooks hopsack three-button sack blazers, 3/8 lined (whatever that means besides not a full lining). One's sleeves are slightly shorter than the other, so I wear them with the appropriate shirt.

One Southwick version of the Brooks. A little bigger in the chest, and a little more shoulder. I'll use this with a sweater or odd vest.

One "Lacrosse for Lewis of Hilton Head, S.C." two-button sack with pewter buttons and a full lining. This one has the best shoulder of the lot.

One mystery maker black two-button sack. I have this in case I need to look like a hipster, which never happens.

One "Bozzano" English cut two-button, darted, with twin vents and full lining. Also plain silver buttons, which I vastly prefer to those ersatz crests on RTW blazer buttons. Heavier fabric, goes well with pleated flannels and weaters and other colder-weather gear.

One unstructured cotton LL Bean jobber, inexplicably darted but great if I know I'm going to be stuck in a meeting that will get progressively hotter.

One Brooks linen darted two-button, which should be a summer coat but with the full lining really isn't.

One Burberry 6 x 2 double-breasted with twin vents, in case I need to look like some yachting wanker.

I also have a heavy flannel or camel hair, I can't remember, Brooks blazer still in storage.

If that Esquire contest had gone the right way...

...this might not be so far-fetched.

School Colors

I interviewed the new principal at our local high school today, and for the occasion trotted out this Lands End overstocks tie — in Housatonic blue and gold.

Not that Lands End knows that. Just sayin'.

Lots of LE here today — shirt, socks and gabs all come from there. Shoes are thrifted Church's cordos, and the jacket an eBayed Southwick sack.

A Farewell to Drips

And goodbye to the explosions, cracked carafes, faulty timers and other impediments to gracious living typical of the automatic drip coffee maker.

I got an electric percolator from Cuisinart. yeah, I know, lah-de-dah, but I have a food processor/blender and a coffee grinder from them and neither one has ever given the slightest trouble.

This thing works like a dream. I set it up the night before. Yes, yes, I realize the beans must be kept at a steady 54 degrees with 87 percent humidity and Guatemalan nose flute music playing to keep the chi of the beans intact, and the beans must be ground just before making the coffee, etc.

But what Postmodern Coffee Fiend Dogma fails to take into account is my personal morning fog. (See that phiz in the photo? The look of utter cluelessness?)





I am very clumsy in the morning. I drop things. I break things. I misplace things. I put my underwear in the refrigerator, and my wallet in the bathroom cabinet.

Until I am caffeinated and nicotined, and have had a chance to contemplate the world a bit, I cannot function — much less perform the relatively complex chore of grinding coffee and setting up the gizmo.

Dean's Beans is one of these outfits that coffee snobs go on about. A 12-oz. bag is a hearty $8 at the local grocery store, which generally takes it out of my range.

But online Dean's various Beans sell for a far more reasonable $7 per pound, or even cheaper if you buy huge bags. (That's one for you adrenaline heads.)

I don't know what this has to do with Ahab, or Melville, or Moby-Dick, but it's damn tasty and has a good kick, no question.

Booze memoir here

My 16 readers tune in for clothes and bad movies, not my hazy recollections of a wasted life. So the Great Booze Memoir now has its own home...

Here

Sports shirts

I've been trying to incorporate sports shirts into the look. I dislike the open-collared dress shirt approach — to me it appears the guy forgot his tie, or had to ditch it because he got soup on it.

And while a dress shirt with a buttondown collar looks okay sans tie (oxford more so than pinpoint or broadcloth), it still seems wrong somehow.

I have picked up a number of sports shirts from thrift shops and guys on the clothing sites. This plaid from the Bros. Brooks arrived today.

Since I attacked the gym with renewed vigor a couple of weeks ago I can now wear this lightweight McGeorge sweater again. It is very unforgiving to anyone with a gut, and mine is somewhat less pronounced than it was. And getting smaller.

(Not that it will make the slightest bit of difference. The only women who find me attractive are either insane or on Social Security.)

Lands End grey jeans — two points about these. The cut allows those of us with no rear end to at least avoid having acres of superfluous cloth flapping around back there, and if you dislike jeans, which I generally do, having them in colors other than blue makes them less objectionable somehow.

LL Bean Signature mocs. I like them, they are comfy and sturdier than you'd think.

Awareness

I'm aware of breast cancer.

I'm also aware of: prostate cancer, bullying, cyberbullying, cyberbullying of gay kids, leukemia, AIDS, testing of chemicals on animals, HIV (Latinos' awareness of); domestic abuse, the earthquake in Haiti, straw bale construction, green technology, and athlete's foot.

I am NOT wearing a pin, ribbon or a little wristband to prove my awareness of a particular subject or issue.

I believe that most people get involved with these causes out of genuine desire to make a difference.

And I believe just as firmly that a certain percentage are buttinski do-gooders with the primary goal of making themselves feel good, and the unspoken, secondary goal of nagging their neighbors.

Which would be fine if they weren't so self-righteous about it.

I'm a small town reporter. I cover these awareness-fests all the time, and the organizers always hand me the ribbon, which I decline to pin on the lapel of my expensive — albeit thrifted — suit or sports jacket. (Is the cause going to pay for the repairs?)

This policy earns me squiggly looks. I'm mostly concerned about the jacket, frankly — start poking holes in worsted wool and pretty soon you've got a problem — but I resent the implication that if I don't wear the ribbon or change my Facebook page to pink, then somehow I am in favor of breast cancer or puppy mills.

I also ask questions, such as "How much of the money you are raising along with the awareness actually goes to stray dogs or research laboratories, and how much goes to keep charity execs in nice digs and their pampered offspring in prep schools?"

I don't put it quite that way, but that's the gist of it.

I'm sorry, but I am all awarenessed-out.

I am, after all, a professional at not giving a shit.