What's it all mean, LL Bean?

Women sing while men look lost.
Manly details from the past
ford a soulless river of
smart and cool.
Signature label affixed.
Why would you tell the world?

But a dress makes me laugh.
"Fiesta" stripes in 1966.
Carolina sun on a beach
where ladies smoke cigarettes,
drink canned beer and
shove painted pink toes in the sand.

In 1986, a sail print dress goes to dinner.
Someplace with a deck.
Freshly showered with
a single strand of pearls around her neck.
Freckled crossed legs and sandals peek
out from under a starched white table cloth.

Out of focus like a picture.
I think time has flown by,
but I have no idea
how much speed it'll pick up.

In the back of the room is man.
Agendaless depression.
Nothing takes me anywhere
Ersatz Signature and buttonholes.
Someone in p.r. says,
we'd "all" like to see the collection made in the US.

Who is "all" and
do they care?
Some think they're just clothes.
I think they're more
than just stuff you buy at the store.

Separated by History: Brian Keith & Nick Wooster

Florsheim by Duckie Brown: For the Man Who Cares

I was thinking how much Nick Wooster reminds me of Brian Keith's, Uncle Bill on Family Affair. Give Nick's hair a part, shave the beard, cover the tattoos and bingo... you couldn't tell 'em apart. And if Jody were rooting around Uncle Nick's closet -- these are the wingtips he would find.

Times certainly change. No telling what Mr French would think.

"Nobody loves Dick Whitman..."

The morning after the night before

I have a theory about Mad Men. If you don't pay attention to detail, that is innocuous details like lamps, jacket vents, '50s ties with '60s sport jackets, Megan's brilliant orange dress or Ronson versus Zippo, then you're probably not going to like it. Much.




And that's okay. Either it connects or it doesn't. It did with me despite the Chrysler 300 trunk load of crappy commercials every ten minutes. Roger sums up life nicely with the honest realization that, "The only thing worse than not getting what you want is somebody else getting it." Meanwhile, I was thinking how much I wanted a reviewer's episode sans commercials.



Harry Crane's Rule: Men with breasts shouldn't wear synthetic knit shirts unless they wanna look like a Kodachrome box

Yesterday's NY Times Metropolitan section contributed to "MM" details with details of New York's first high rise condo in 1966, the St Tropez, at 340 East 64th Street. A one bedroom started out at $29,241 and a three bedroom topped out at $79,811. That CPI's out at $219,000 and $600,000 respectively. Today, a one BR at the St Tropez lists for $939,000 while the 3 BR goes for $1.8 million.




It shouldn't come as any surprise that some of us are nostalgic. What surprises me, with two or three seasons left, is how nostalgic for Mad Men I am -- before it's even over.



Update: Megan's, 'Zou bisou bisou' popped up just in time for Olive's comment. To find out what it all means click here.

The Good Men Project

With special thanks to good friend and author, Michael Rowe who confirms a long running suspicion that Canadian people are the very best export save Labatt Blue. Rowe brought me to The Good Men Project -- A place where men write about cheap beer, jobs, fear and love. Although, I haven't seen any hog killing stories yet, it's a place that suits me.

The Book Deal

Pre-Order available here. Cue the balloons...

A $1.8 Billion Dollar T-Shirt

Johnson & Higgins Partners, 1995 (the diversity is in their ties)

15 years ago this month, the 152 year history of privately held insurance broker, Johnson & Higgins came to an end when the partners--


My T-Shirt after 15 yrs -- holding up better than the merger

--received $1.8 billion dollars for the company I worked for, and all I got was this lousy T-Shirt.

Why Is Bonobos Being So Nice?

The New Yorker ran a cartoon with a cat pulling a mouse in wagon. The cat has this big smile and behind the mouse is another mouse chasing the wagon and yelling, "Think! Why do you think he's being so nice to you!"

Clearly, Bonobos has everything to gain by being nice to their customers. Whether you buy online or stop by their fitting room...they're gonna put you in a wagon and pull you around. But it's such a welcome change of pace from other retailers who can barely muster up a greeting much less a ride in a wagon. And then there's the idea of a "Guide."

The "Bonobos Guide Program at The Store at Bonobos HQ" works like this. Stop by their showroom at 45 West 25th Street, get fitted, and order anything from khakis to a Made to Measure Dinner Jacket (with choice of lining). Go here for details and an appointment. Amazingly efficient and your order shows up in day or two with pre-printed return label and free return shipping. By the way, there's  a 15% discount for the military here.

If you are a brick and mortar retailer...you may want to pay close attention to Bonobos. I'm as cynical as they come, and was prepared to give these guys grief about the whole "Ninga" cheer leader culture but...it works. Check out the sales link if you're cheap like me. I particularly like the Hanukkah cords and the Nauti tote. I'm working on a Naughty Tote. Details soon.

How to confuse the Goyim: Hanukkah Cords on sale for $75 here

Nauti Beach Tote here. On sale $95

John's Dunne Blazer

Dr Dillon would be proud -- If he remembered me. That's okay. I'll never forget him or the Norton Anthology of English Lit. I bought mine used and sold it the next semester. And like Dillon promised 28 years ago -- I've lived to regret it. Without Dillon's notes, I never could make sense of John Donne.

The shoulders of this bespoke Morty Sills blazer are roped. The lapel, sans button hole. Double vented with the back slightly longer than the front and a slight flare that jets out below the waist. It doesn't fit that well. Tight in the shoulders and arms but roomy in the waist. Sometimes "fit" is not the point.

The original owner had a fascinating life. Maybe a little will rub off. Maybe bad spirits. You never know. But for a quarter of what a China made blazer at Brooks Brothers will set me back, I have something with a story. The key is to never let anyone know. I know I just did, but ignore me for just this one post.

Kodachrome & Not Knowing

Ellis Island, 1985, Canon F-1 and Kodachrome 64 (photo by B. Feeney)

When the Park Service closed the Statue of Liberty for repairs in 1984, I was lucky enough to be given a few weeks to wander Ellis Island and photograph whatever I wanted. It was one of the best times of my life. I recently purchased Tri -X, Ilford and Fujichrome, in the hope that I might be able to relive some of those Kodachrome days.

Don't get me wrong. I love digital. The idea of firing off five shots in one second with minimal grain and no worries about focusing, shutter speeds and f/stops...that's a beautiful thing. But I miss film and contact sheets and I think, most importantly, not knowing until the film comes back from lab. I even found a lab in NYC that still does Cibachrome, but the owner tells me not for long.

That's all I needed to hear.

A Blind Step Away...

Richard Thompson, City Winery, NYC, 2/15/2012

A Blind Step Away (1987)

They bind his eyes with a silken scarf
And in his ear a friend explains
The one you catch is the one you kiss
How we all love party games

All the years that she has watched him
Is this the day, oh is this the day?
How she shakes as he approaches
A blind step away

He never knew how much she loved him
Standing there a step away
His eyes tied--blind man's bluff--
A blind step away

He was always reaching, reaching
Never knew where comfort lay
He never knew how much she loved him
A blind step away

Around he spins and around he spins
Darkness is his whole domain
Truth, dare, kiss, promise
Aren't you tired of party games?

He never knew how much she loved him
Standing there a step away
His eyes tied--blind man's bluff--
A blind step away

Come Away...

Stolen Child by William Butler Yeats (1889)

WHERE dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.

Gant by Michael Bastian - Fall /Winter 2012

NYC, 2/15/2012

Moving

Somewhere in Pennsylvania


Somewhere in Maryland


Somewhere in New Jersey

Twelve moves over 18 years. It never bothered me then and the flashbacks don't bother me today. A sudden remembrance of anonymous highways, gas stations and motels from over 40 years ago. Indexed as: Bliss to Sill. Sill to Bragg. Monroe to Carson...

Ft Monroe to Ft Carson:
A diner waitress in New Mexico. Her simple beauty known only to me. She smiled a special smile at me. I was sure. In her butterscotch uniform and white apron. I was 15.

Ft Bliss to Ft Sill: Small homes on a flat red dusk with their dark insides lit only by blue television light. At seven, I wondered who the people were that watched TV together in the dark.

Ft Carson to Florida retirement: Only two months of high school before I graduate. I thought the Panhandle was America's stretch of ass compared to the West. I kept count of dead armadillos on the highway and wondered what the people thought of us as we drove by their orange stands, body shops and car dealers.

I still do. A 6AM train from NYC to DC. I wonder what it's like to be someplace I'm passing through. The back of scrap yards, body shops and car dealers. Back to NYC on a 7PM train, and night shows me inside TV lit apartments with snipped pictures of bookshelves, green ferns and posters belonging to Philadelphia, Trenton and Newark.

Not much has changed.

Grace...

TERRY
So I was in Boston. I just ended up there. Seemed far enough away. They come to me then, it just happened, you know how that is, things happen and other things happen and its your life.

They were looking to get somebody to go undercover here, they wanted to get somebody who knew the kitchen, who was known. I could'a said no but I thought I could do it. It was like this opportunity in which I could look the entire thing in the eye. You'd be gone, or married, forgotten about me I thought. And Jack, I would leave him out of it.

But it was only an idea. Nothing to do with the truth. It was just a fuckin' idea like... You believe in the angels or the saints or there's such a thing as a state of grace. And you believe it, but it's got nothing to do with reality. It just an idea.

I mean you got your ideas and you got reality, and they're all... they're all fucked up.

Kings of Midnight

Wallace Stroby on the uptown 1 train

Man in black, Wallace Stroby has a new one coming out in April. "Kings of Midnight" sees a return of Crissa Stone looking to make, "one last big score" while a former mobster may have a line on long missing cash from the 1978 Lufthansa heist. Crime noir and crime history collide in Stroby's sparse and well researched writing. A great writer. A lousy roommate.

"Bringing War Home"

"Red Stripe Kitchen," from "Bringing the War Home: House Beautiful," by Martha Rosler, The New Yorker, August 7, 2000

This collage, done as part of a series during the Vietnam War, always defined my conflict with being a soldier. I understood that as an infantryman I had a job to do. I also understood I would have no say in wars fought, countries invaded or operations to stabilize. Regardless of my opinion.

Americans ask a lot of their military when it comes to sacrifice. In return, the military is quick to demand sacrifice from their families. Pride and honor swirl around phrases like"Suck it Up," and crying ain't allowed. There's gonna be a lot of people telling us we have to "Drive On." I'm not one of them. But that's my opinion.