Nary a McNairy

Mark McNairy…wonder boy of Trad-interpretation. J. Press rescue artist and G.H. Bass Master. Midsummer 2009 he taunted us with a prototypical gaggle of Weejunalia. Weejuns are the Canary in the Coalmine of all things trad-prep-classic and when someone purports to revive these classics, I’m front row-center with popcorn-Raisinettes-half a Quaalude and a quart of Bull.

Purists will cry foul at some of these interpretations. Keep in mind...there's a fine line between a Purist and Pu_ _y.

The Retentive Anti-Fuzzies will scowl at the reverse Horweens while I, of Dice Fuzzy Central, would buy those first...

...the Mongrel Camp Mocs next…

...and would finish off this G.H.-ian orgy with the navy blue tassels. Bust some navy blue polish on them to colour the non-dyed creases and crannies and I’m ready for the other half of that ‘lude. The trifecta would later be made quad if a pebble grain version was offered sans beef-roll. Beef-roll? Navy have. Never will. 

But then the curtain, after a tantalizing preview, came down. And there’s nary a McNairy. To that end, I’ll rename him Mark McSwaggart until further notice.

McSwaggart? …you might, but did not axk…because you aren’t that curious. Yes. McSwaggart. You can unwrap these G.H. evolutionary examples…leastways visually unwrap them. The onliest person I know who has actually touched these is Tintin. He fronts a blog that I ghostwrite called the Trad. But unwrapping them is where your involvement must stop. You can’t touch.

The Reverend Jimmy Swaggart swears and has repented and axked forgiveness (twice) for rendezvousing with hookers. But he promises that he didn’t touch or do the big-nasty with them. He just unwrapped them and looked. And also ministered to them. McDonalds introduced not long after the Swaggart incident, a new burger…the McSwaggart. Hell of a weight loss strategy. You buy the burger. You unwrap it…liberating the seductive siren from its paper swathing while ogling the sinful caloric offering before you. But you don’t touch it. And you damn sure don’t eat it.

Come on McNairy. I’m ready to eat me some evolutionary G.H. More than ready to gain knowledge carnal of what it feels like to throw caution to the wind and thrust my dogs into Horween backwards.

Get with it G.H. Pony up McSwaggart. Stop playing us for fools. Nobody wants your moniker retired more than A.D.G.

Onward. Unwrapping every damn thing I can get my hands on.

ADG, II


Oh and p.s. ... I started thinking about a dulcet accompaniment to my admonishment regarding being taken for a Weejun fool. Naturally I landed on the Tams. I remember my older cousins playing 45s and certainly the Tams were in the mix. So here’s one for you…

Tams…What Kind of Fool



But then I remembered that Bill Deal and the Rhondels also did a version of What Kind of Fool so here’s that one too.



And then the Spinners came up and I listened to It’s a Shame…



Just before listening to The Four Tops…I’ll Turn to Stone. I’m back at the KA House.



But we can’t have a party without The O’Jays so here’s Backstabbers….



And Love Train….



And finally… Living For The Weekend