Not only did I declare today a Pajama Day around the house, I also declare today the day I begin to embrace the plethora of conspiracy theories that surround us. I am determined to say goodbye to reason, scholarship, science, and common sense. No longer will I be a run-of-the-mill sheep. I will, from this point onward, be a conspiracy theory sheep. The more crackpot the conspiracy theory, the more likely I will be to believe it. In fact, I henceforth refuse to believe in anything that is NOT a conspiracy theory.
Bow Tie o’ the Day is not convinced of my new-found conviction. Bow Tie tells me my newly adopted belief in all things conspiracy will last about 15 minutes. Personally, I’m betting my conspiracy theory phase was over before this paragraph even began. 😉
It began innocently enough. Yesterday, I was vegetating in front of the television, trying my best to do as little as possible on the Sabbath. Suddenly, my phone dinged at me from across the room. The specially assigned ringtone told me, even before I looked at my phone, that it was a message from Collette, Gracie’s mom. I checked my phone and found Co had sent me a couple of pictures of Miss Grace being both busy and dandily outfitted. Sure enough, y’all can see that Gracie has tights with bow tie designs running down the sides. Not only are these leggings cool, but they are so cool that I must find some for my own white chicken legs. I haven’t been able to think of anything else since I saw them. I have spent hours yesterday and today rooting around on eBay and amazon to find a pair for me, but to no avail thus far. Still, I will not give up. I don’t have to own every last thing with a bow tie on it that I judge to be groovtastic, but I simply must find a pair of these tights in my size! These, I must have. These, I must wear.
You know, it occurs to me that even in the bow tie way of life which I preach daily, it’s true: a little child shall lead them. Thanks for the fashion guidance, wee Gracie.
I kill plants dead. It’s just a fact of my life. It doesn’t matter how hearty a plant might be, or how to-the-letter I follow plant care instructions. If I have a plant to take care of, it dies much sooner than later. You’ll find no green thumbs on my paws. Luckily, I learned this factoid about myself in my kidhood, which has caused me to remain mostly plant-free throughout my adult life. In the 70’s, I stuck with pet rocks, and not one of them died. I was successful with rocks.
Every now and then, someone who doesn’t know I have black thumbs has unfortunately gifted me a plant. And on occasion, I have thought, “Well, maybe I can keep this one alive. I’ll try again.” So I water it, and nurture it, and make sure the plant is situated in the right amount of light. It inevitably ends badly for all parties involved. Most of the time, when I have received vegetation as a gift, I have had the good sense to hand it right off to anyone who is not me. The plants thrive under someone else’s care.
Suzanne has our abode stocked to the gills with plants, and they prosper. They surround me, and yet my black thumbs somehow aren’t deadly to them. How can this be? Well, I follow a strict policy with Suzanne’s houseplants: I act as if they don’t exist. I never talk to them, nor do I make eye contact with them. I certainly don’t try to care for them. So far, pretending the plants don’t exist has insured their continued existence. I know and accept my limitations, which is the beginning of sincere humility. Many plants lost their lives to teach me this lesson.
A couple of days before Christmas, Suzanne and I celebrated our 8th legal Anniversary. We had reservations for a frou-frou dinner at Log Haven, up Millcreek Canyon. I did something I don’t normally do, in terms of my attire: for Suzanne, I matched my bow tie and face mask. I decided a wedding anniversary was worthy of wearing my out-of-season, Valentine-themed BE MINE Bow Tie o’ the Day and Face Mask o’ the Day—instead of Christmas-themed neckwear. I also wore my “mrs.” Cufflinks o’ the Day.
We dined on swordfish, which was a first for both of us, and we liked it. Suzanne ordered a bottle of wine she said was dreamy, which she let me smell for a ridiculously long time. I can attest that it did, in fact, smell dreamy as could be. As we ate dinner, we engaged in a deep conversation about the nearly 40 years we have known each other. Through the restaurant’s bigly windows, we watched the trees as it began to snow. The snow continued to gradually layer itself outside, and when we drove back down the dark canyon headed for home, everything surrounding us was covered with a thick quilt of sparkling grey-white. It was a slow drive down the canyon, and the scene was storybook magnificent. The cold magic of the landscape cradled us as we drove, and I felt like we had somehow transformed from our mortal world existence into a state of pure metaphor—if only for a small and perfect moment.
We had a theatrical night on the town last week when we went to see HAMILTON again. Before the show, we ate a luscious dinner at Tin Angel, which is located inside the Eccles Theater building. Suzanne ordered wild salmon, while I got the encrusted braised spare ribs. For dessert, we split a slice of spiced pumpkin roll filled with cream cheese frosting, and covered in caramel and chocolate. Yes, it was yummy.
Y’all might recall that we had first seen HAMILTON a couple of years ago, after which I gave my review in a TIE O’ THE DAY post. My review was simply this: “It was a little too sing-y and dance-y for my taste.” The truth is, that’s my review for almost all musicals. I can appreciate a well-done musical production, but I’m partial to plain old words. I prefer the spoken word on the stage. Having said that, I will admit that I enjoyed HAMILTON tremendously this time around. The first time I saw it, my brain was filled with all the excessive hype about it. This time, I knew what I was in for, and I could simply watch without any expectations. HAMILTON was still too sing-y and dance-y for my taste, but as I sat in my seat and let the show just wash over me, I was enthralled. I had a good time.
Because I am who I am, Suzanne must always have her antenna up for any sign of my misbehavior. The Eccles Theater ushers carried little “please, wear your mask” hand-held signs. If an audience member were to remove their mask during the production, an usher was supposed to quietly walk up to the maskless person and politely wave the sign in front of their face. I wanted so badly to take a photo of it happening to someone, but everyone in the audience was good and kept their masks on. As the night wore on, Suzanne could feel me wanting nothing more than to lower my mask, for the sole purpose of having an usher shove a sign in my face, so I could snap a photo of it happening. I don’t know exactly how she knows when I’m plotting to be bad, but she does. She gave me “the look,” and I immediately abandoned any plans I had for misbehaving with my face mask.
Face Mask o’ the Evening was covered in X-mas holiday mutts. I exercised my right to be thematically appropriate by wearing a jumbo Bow Tie o’ the Day depicting The United States Constitution. It was a spot-on choice for HAMILTON. Oddly, not one person who saw me at the theater mentioned my Constitutional bow tie. Nor did they comment on the funeral potatoes 2002 Olympic pin I wore in my lapel. But do you know what part of my attire I was explicitly complimented on by a number of folks throughout the evening? It was my green Nike golf hat! One woman told me the hat looks good on me and that I wear it well—whatever that means. Yeah, my thirty-year-old, seen-in-post-photos-all-the-time hat got more compliments than my incredibly cool and infrequently worn U.S. Constitution Bow Tie got. And while at HAMILTON, to boot! Weird.
I enjoyed HAMILTON more the second time around.My lapel pin is a 2002 Olympic pin depicting funeral potatoes.At Tin Angel, I had the braised short ribs in a pastry, atop mashed potatoes.Suzanne patiently waits for her wine to show up.My over-tired Saddle Purse fell asleep before the production had even begun.
One day last week, we headed to Delta to spend some time with Mom at Millard Care and Rehab. For the trip, I donned my Santa-hatted scottie dog Bow Tie o’ the Day. I wore a Christmas-camo Face Mask o’ the Day as well.
Mom was in fine form while we were there. Her humor remains intact, as does her feistiness. The details of her stories change or sometimes get completely lost, but the gist of each story still comes through loud and clear. She is, as always, a ball of fun and generosity. As Suzanne and Skitter and I were leaving her, we walked Mom to the care center’s beauty shop, so she could get her hair done. I mask-kissed Mom and told her I loved her, and I thanked her for everything. I thanked her for my whole life. As I turned to leave her, she said to me, “You’re a good daughter.” And, like the smart-ass she taught me to be, I said, “Well, I’ve always tried to stay out of jail for you as much as I could.” She winked at me and she thanked me for that. We left each other laugh-crying—just as it should be.
This photo is more documentation of a somewhat rare happening: my neck is not be-decked with any neck-cessories. I figured the bow tied deer on my Face Mask o’ the Day and the bow tie on my t-shirt’s gingerbread dude sufficiently combine into a slew of Bow Ties o’ the Day, in order to make up for my own neck’s nakedness.
I’ve been bad, folks. I’ve been shirking my TIE O’ THE DAY holiday duties this December. First, I didn’t even attempt my annual task of wearing all the holiday neckwear I can possibly fit into the month. And then, I have gone whole days without posting any neckwear at all—whether Christmas or otherwise. I dunno what’s up with me, but I’m not in the Christmas groove. Excuse my French, but I’m just half-assing it this year. I don’t think it has anything to do with my bipolar pendulum. Nor does it seem to have anything to do with my on-going recovery from my pancreas surgery in October. (My Hanky Panky is healing up right on schedule, although my stamina still doesn’t have much stamina to it.) I’m not reeking of bigly bah humbug. There’s nothing overly tragic going on in my life. Still, I just seem to have gradually opted out of the holiday hustling and bustling for some reason. Indeed, I’m quite passionless about the 2021 holiday season. The reason for this is a complete mystery to me. And I’ve decided it’s a mystery I’m not going to worry about right now—except that I feel guilty about possibly letting down my TIE O’ THE DAY readers who tune in here regularly to see the eccentric array of festive Christmas neckwear I so freely and obnoxiously offer up for y’all’s viewing pleasure. Forgive my current slacking, but I think I’m going to roll with this laggard vibe a little longer. In fact, I’m rather enjoying being a temporary slug and accomplishing very little of consequence—for a brief time anyway. That sounds sort of like a vacation, eh? Maybe that’s all I needed.
Holiday Bow Tie o’ the Day is covered with leg lamps from the movie, A CHRISTMAS STORY. I’m sure there have been times in all our lives when we’ve wished we could receive a fragile, Major Award such as that primo leg lamp.
You see me pose like this often when I’m showing off neckties. I like to call it my “bobblehead pose.” It makes my head look bigly, and my chicken legs appear even toothpicky-er than they actually are. It makes my physical outline cartoonish, aside from my attire. But for TIE O’ THE DAY purposes, it is simply a superb pose for highlighting a necktie-type Tie o’ the Day in its full magnificence. This pose keeps a necktie front-and-center in the viewer’s sight. So this pose is not going away anytime soon. Besides, whenever I take the time to set up my little tripod and attach my phone to it—and then I squat-bend down and stick my face up close to the camera lens, it makes me feel sort of like an actual bobblehead. Believe me, it is a silly and funky feeling. It chippers me right up, even if I’m already in a good mood. In short, I must admit that I quite enjoy the bobblehead vibe the pose makes me feel. 🤡
FYI Due to lighting, shadows, and shirt collar issues, the “bobblehead pose” does not always capture the full essence of bow ties nearly as well as it shows off neckties. A bow tie can easily get lost or obscured behind and/or under my chin when I’m striking this pose.
BTW Make sure you take a second to notice this Shirt o’ the Day which is covered in Christmas-themed kitties and doggies.
In my humble estimation, this jumbo holiday Bow Tie o’ the Day is stark and quietly gorgeous. It evokes the chill and darkness of December nights, leading up to Christmas. It reminds me of bringing in shopping bags from the car, under the dark evening sky. In those jolly bags was the resulting haul of newly purchased gifts, after a busy day of seeking out the exactly right present for each name on my personal naughty-or-nice list.
While out shopping for a few X-mas gifts on Saturday evening, I managed to find myself staring up longingly at a certain scented candle. The candle scent? Maple glazed donut! I thought seriously about stealing a package of matches from another aisle, and lighting up that candle right there in the store—for my own personal smelling pleasure. But my brain kicked in and promptly overruled the desires of my olfactory sense. I decided I didn’t really like the idea of being arrested for shoplifting a match and creating a public nuisance by arson—just so I could smell the mouth-watering aroma of artificial maple-glazed donuts. I did seriously contemplate it for a flash of a second, though. Alas! I am a failed criminal, yet again. In the end, I did the right thing. I settled for breathing-in the existing odor of the Target store in which I stood. Sometimes I dislike following the straight-and-narrow. 🔥🤡
