New sales blog

I'm going to try consolidating all my various "for sale" threads on the clothing forums here

http://theconnecticutyankee.blogspot.com/

Shoes I Don't Use

AE bit loafers, with heavier hardware than you usually see in such a shoe. "Heathwood" model, size 9D. Not a ton of wear, clean inside (nobody went the sockless route). Yours for $35 shipped CONUS.

The Mighty Housatonic

At the Falls Village power station this morning. There are great hunks of ice everywhere. The heavy rain and the considerable snow pack have conspired to flood. It's down some today but more rain is in the forecast.

It'll be a while before fishing in the year-round sections is feasible, but we can dream.

I forgot my rubbers so my shoes got muddy. Horrors. Guys get completely nuts about their shoes. They're supposed to get dirty and dinged up.

Yes, I Am Full of Crap

No sooner do I post about having too much stuff and vowing a sell-off than my new shirts from Mercer arrive.

Every so often I buy new stuff, and I try to do so from small outfits that make their goods by hand. Ties and pocket squares (and, regrettably, scarves for hideous ex-girlfriends) from Sam Hober. Cuff links from Kent Wang. Bow ties from The Cordial Churchman.

And shirts from Mercer and Sons. A pink university stripe oxford buttondown and one of their snazzy Italian checks in the point collar. I like Mercers point collars a lot, I think they look good as sport shirts or with a tie (and I skip the stays, I like the rumpled collar bit, it's vaguely English somehow).

The Sacred and Profane

I find these billboards complement each other nicely. After all, you need one to identify the other.

I see no reason you couldn't do both, in fact. There — I said it.

(Hat tip to Big Tony at FNB)

Thoughts on Thrifting

The last time I was seized by the urge to clean the apartment I was struck by just how many articles of clothing I have.

And most of them were bought on the cheap at thrift shops, eBay or from fellow Ivy enthusiasts.

I'm working on an inventory for a renter's insurance policy, and it's turned out to be quite a chore. My initial concern was for the 30-odd fly rods and assorted reels and other gear, but when I mentioned the clothing to the agent she suggested I include it.

Not that anyone's going to steal the clothes, but a fire or flood could wipe the whole mess out and leave me nekkid.

What are we talking about here?

Rough figures - two dozen sport coats and blazers. About the same for suits — many of them sacks, but a few double-breasteds, standard American two-button jobs and a few odds and ends, like a Corneliani and a couple of English cuts.

Piles of chinos in different weights and configurations. Ditto wool pants.

Shirts? Forget about it. I probably have 500 shirts if you include polos.

Luckily I have a cabin where I can store the summer stuff, which is not included in the above.

Forty pairs of shoes. Ties out the wazoo. Pocket squares, hats, striped watch bands.

The dirty secret? I wear about 10 to 20 percent of this stuff with any regularity. But I can hardly bring myself to divest.

I do believe it's a sickness, worthy of being included in the next edition of the DSM.

I won't watch that TV show about hoarders — hitting a little close to the nerve there.

Every so often I take a pile to the thrift shop, or sell something. Selling is a real pain in the neck, though.

But something has to give. I am out of room, in a large two-bedroom place. (Plus the packed closets elsewhere.)

Occasionally it comes in handy, though. The local high school is doing "Guys and Dolls" and I am loaning them some shoes and fedoras. Maybe I'll just let the props department keep the things.

What is needed is a thorough assessment and a massive sell-off. Then donate whatever doesn't sell.

And then some discipline. If something comes in, something else has to go out.

It's not as much fun as it used to be.

Never Get Rid of the Fat Pants

Two weeks of being sick with a flu/bronchial thing, one week of a mild steroid, and no gym means that despite hardly eating anything during this period I have completely erased all the gains of the winter's gym regimen. I clocked in at 180 pounds this morning, and had to dig out my size 37 chinos. Never, ever get rid of your fat pants after losing a bunch of weight.

[Insert swearing here]

Two more days of the steroid and then it's back to the gym. Salad for everybody!

[Insert more swearing here]

I wish I had a copy of Root Boy Slim and the Sex Change Band's "Dare To Be Fat" to play as the soundtrack to the next couple of weeks.