The 2011 L.L. Bean Go-to-Hell Boat and Tote

I’ve usually engaged my GTH trouser cache full-force by this time of year. But since that darned Dermatologist waived me off of my usual sun consumption, my enthusiasm for GTH pants has been dimmed. More on this issue in another post.

But that didn’t stop LFG from going over to the L.L. Bean website and creating our first ever GTH Boat and Tote. “I can pick all the colors, right?” To which I of course replied yes.

So here we are. Our inaugural fuzzy diced GTH Tote. I’m thinking we’ll kick off each new summer with one.

Besides, who in God’s name would ever steal this from us? A voice of reason posited that it should at least have a navy blue enclosure. Kinda like putting a Blazer on a turd.

Onward. Fuzzy is as fuzzy-does. And committed to the ongoing practice of beginning sentences with And or But. Butcept when I choose not to.

ADG, II

White Meat and Madras

I may have, at least in my opinion—the only one that counts—arguably the best Go-To-Hell pants oeuvre accumulated. I’ve crowed about them before. Usually about this time of year…far enough into the sunnier days to have layered on a respectable patina of tan...I bring them out. “Patina of Tan”…sounds like a potentate from South Asia.

Anyway, here’s an already known-to-me fact that as summer 2011 surfaces, seems magnified one hundred fold. If you don’t have at least trace elements of a suntan…then madras, linen and most certainly, any of the edgier summer togs…batik, paisley…you know…the stuff that might get your ass beat if worn in unaccepting environs, looks like crap. The so-bad-for-you vitamin-D provoking, melanin teasing, ten years older looking than you are; ultra-violence, is THE secret sauce for making one’s summer togs pop. See above.

Butcept I won’t be popping with aplomb this season. That damned dermatologist I saw month before last might be saving my life and my hide but she’s effing with my dermal disposition. Shut up.

Patch madras, about which by the way, I've proffered no rules and regs for this season, looks like crap when your limbs are almost pale to a blue translucent level. I learned this last weekend at LFG’s soccer game.

And linen fares no better. Two inch cuffs are required but two inch turn ups hovering over ankles of the same hue create unwanted monochromatic sameness. And socks? With linen or madras or paisley trousers? Just shoot me now.

There are a few occasions when socks are ok with linen trou but the concession criteria are rigorous. Above I offer an example for your guidance. You can PayPal me.

And don’t even offer me the alternative of something spray-on. Even I, the foppish philanderer have a dandiacal breakpoint. Dandiacally pale...dermatically attenuated...in slippers.

The luminescence of one' ankles isn't even foreshadowed by the pimposity of blue and red suede Donald J. Plonker lug soled absurdities. Shut up. 

So here we go. Into the weekend...blessed...that at present, this is my biggest complaint.

Onward. ADG II

My Father's Day Haul

Just being with my child would be adequate but no, little Miss LFG rolled in with Father’s Day loot that topped even the Christmas gift chart. The card would have been enough actually…at what point will these little handwritten contrivances stop being so cute?

I think LFG gets as much of a kick out of the staging—preamble—setup for surprising people with gifts as I do. We have J.Mclaughlin, Lilly, Tiffany and Paul Stuart awaiting me…in honor of whatever it is that I do to deserve such things. Look at those little feet in the lower right corner...shut up.

LFG and her mom saw to it that my long awaited Tiffany silver belt buckle will be a reality...in another week...after the engraving. Thanks little monkey.

Ahhhh...Paul Stuart Ghillies...in suede...how did my little princess know? These are worthy of their own post...stay tuned.

And she even had the good sense to have them done up with Dainite soles. This is a casual shoe and I'm on my feet a lot when working. I dance, I sing...I'm a Jester.

J. McLaughlin silk pocket square. Too small for a do-rag...I tried it already.

And check out my new GTH shorts...Lilly Pulitzer embroidered gator togs. Snappy Pimp Pants.

Wont be going commando in these though. Sad but true...just the alloverish feeling of nervousness...having croc teeth this close to wankertown...will preclude such simple pleasures.

Onward...in oppressive Southern Humidity and Heat.

ADG and LFG

Oh and P.S. .... I stole this picture from Lisa Golightly...replace that little girl with a four year old me. Replace that lady's purse with a larger Naugahyde satchel and there you have it...my mama escorting me to the top of Ghost Town in the Sky! 

Love The Sinner-Hate The Sin: GTH Redefined

My trip to today’s Handlin’ is grounded in earth tones and monochromacity. To say that it’s antithetical to my June sartorial mores is an understatement. I’m doing this in honor of those who find most GTH contrivances an abomination. I’m also doing it because as much as I pay attention to what I wear, Jesus doesn’t care. He and his disciples dressed for comfort. Come to think of it, I do too but I just like a little more color and pattern than the boys from Galilee fancied. But if solid colors and earth tones were good enough for Jesus, they’re good enough for me—for one Sunday—one time—not forever—maybe never again—at least not in the summer.  

I’m reminded of some state or county official in Texas who when asked why he didn’t support funding for Bibles printed in Spanish said that … “if English was good enough for Jesus it oughta be good enough for everbody else”. EverBody—for some reason I’m thinking that would be a good name for board shorts or maybe even a surfboard line.

So this is my multivendor assemblage of things less GTH. Crocket and Jones for Polo, The Brethren, Flusser MTM courtesy of Southwick and back to Polo—Ralph to round out the belt and trousers. And other than the silk pocket handkerchief and my lycra thong, this rig is one hundred (or "hunderd" if that fella from Texas was sayin' it) percent linen.

Black linen trousers...these must be twenty years old. What was I thinking? I don't wear black trousers in the daytime butcept today...and black in the summer? Additional evidence of their age is manifest in the Deney Terrio Dance Fever "mini-cuff".

Linen...guaranteed to wrinkle. The perfect ADD man's fabric and also the manifest wrinkly metaphor for not giving too much of a shitake about precision and correctness. Worry unduly about such things and you'll end up looking overly crisp...the Adolphe Menjou syndrome I like to call it. Two buttons on the sleeve...an old WASP affectation seen routinely on jackets intended for the weekend.

As much as I loathe admitting it, the color palette connectivity of this mongrelosity really works well. Too bad I can't get my foot up around my open patch breast pocket when I have all of this on. I'm going to church, not hot yoga. The reason for going to church is to seek forgiveness for scores of impure thoughts manifest peri-Bikram. Peri Bikram...a post Raj lounge singer perhaps?

And finally, I picked up my dry cleaning yesterday and the reality is immutable. I am the antimonochromaticsolidcolornopatternrestraintlessismore man. Kinda like what Charlie Parker said about heroin..."you can get it out of my body but you can't get it out of my mind". 

Onward. Monochromatically for a day.

A D G

“…he favors pants that can stun small animals at 50 paces…”

Trad Week Wrap Up

I’m blessed to be busy and haven’t had much time to read blogs, write posts or post comments. And wouldn’t you know it; I missed a bit of fun over at G-Man’s blog…An Affordable Wardrobe. Seems that a couple of his devotees really threw the lumber to me the other day. I’m honored to incite such reaction to my garish-fuzzy diced oeuvre. Young Fogey…animal stunning at 50 paces indeed…Indeed. I’m honored by the characterization. 

And regarding the three pounds of brass on the Wiley Brothers belt…you are off by a pound. It requires four ...just the right ballast to counterweight...my stones. Khaki Bill…I essentially have two modes…work/client interaction where my dress is appropriate or I’d starve and Trad Homeless…where quite frankly, as you’ve discovered, I could give a damn.

Young Fogey said...

All you need is Belgian loafers and a bunch of silly stuff wrapped around your wrists and you'd look just like ADG, though perhaps your pants are a bit too subdued for him. (He'd probably wear a belt with about 3 pounds of brass on it, too, but we'll ignore that for now.

y'see, uh... well, he favors pants that can stun small animals at 50 paces. He likes clothes that would make Liberace say, "now that's over the top!"

Khaki Bill said...

I'm with the Fogey on this one (I really liked the Liberace line!). Other than style, the only difference I can see between ADG and that tool over at WASP 101 is that at least ADG knows his clothes are garish.

I just don't get how someone who cares as much about clothes as ADG, who spends as much money on clothes as ADG, can still manage to look so bad.

Having said that, I'll say he can look really good when he wants to, but it seems he almost never wants to. The main reasons for going to his blog are either to get tips on how NOT to dress, or for the rubberneck gawking fun of it all…

My wrap up actually encompasses last weekend…my LFG weekend. Soccer is behind us and the lessons learned were huge. Two of the most talented gals from last year went on to play at a higher level and the notion that we would show up and win all but one game, like last year, was disabused early. One Win-Five Ties…a shall we say… “developmental year”. LFG was so tired last Saturday morning. She could barely muster enough energy to dress and buckle in for the journey.

I forced her to give me a smile…she’s my child and I think she looks beautiful in any circumstance. Shut up.

Nothing like another tie game and a trophy to muster LFG’s facetious elements. It was, as Neil Simon so aptly characterized, “Africa hot” last weekend.

I was subordinated to logistics and finance on Sunday afternoon. Chauffeuring LFG and two of her bffs to Eastern Market and Old Town. Great friends...great fun...I enjoyed my role.

I budgeted three dollars each for LFG and her friends at Eastern Market. And wouldn’t you know it—they decided to adorn their wrists with a bunch of tacky garbage. I was allowed to opt out of this hat trick.

My wage earning efforts landed me back in Philly this past week with no breakthrough discoveries, surprises or sartorial assertions worthy of note. I'll be in Miami Beach on business most of next week and am certain to unearth some blog worthy observations from Bling Central. I'm under no assumptions that Miami International Airport will be anywhere nearly as elegant as Philadelphia's train station.

High water seersucker trousers and monk straps shrouding bare ankles...for the ride up to Philly. Homage to Thom Browne...not. I'm more of an Ed Grimley devotee my damn self. 

 The Hulme bag is fast becoming my go to satchel for travel. It's an ADD guy's dream. Just throw and go...

Perilously overdressed for my meeting. Unfortunately I'm not kidding.

Interestingly...I did find nourishment while in Philadelphia. Martinis are kinda like New York Strips. When travelling and you desire either...the variance in the deliverable can be huge. However, both are safe bets because even when placed before you, contrived in a manner contrary to your request, palatability remains virtually assured.

Hitchen's bio arrived moments before I decamped for Philly and I left it at home...pert near kilt me to do so but I had too much work stuff to read. I'm on it now though. 

Ok, y'all have a safe and blessed weekend. Onward...with four pounds of ballast.

A D G

Summer is a Noun

I got nothin'...actually I've got tons but I just don't have time to reign it in and create blog posts out of it. So I'm dragging the last few remnants from the archives to tide us over...shut up. 


Spring continues to keep summer in its proper place for a while longer and that's fine by me. It's gonna get hot enough-soon enough...I can feel it. I'm never happy to see summer-my favorite season wind down. The evidence of my resistance is manifest in this redux post.....


But before you read my rehashed drivel, please go pay a visit to K.S.A. over at To The Legion of The Lost Ones. 

Just when I thought that younger generations didn't give a damn about some of the things I hold dear, along comes a fella or two every now and then like K.S.A. I mean come on...the boy wears Weejuns, bleeding madras and Nantucket Reds. That trifecta alone scores major points and yes, I keep score.


While others have been declaring “summer almost over” for weeks now-I continue and will continue to deny the hell out of summer’s demise. It’s my favorite season. I love the beach, the sun the vitamin D flourish, the al fresco everything, summer vegetables…summer everything. “Back to School” as a marketing theme-a merchandise presence at Staples as well as just a general concept has always made me a bit sad. To that end I’ll not go down without a fight.

Winter GTH pants and Belgians are fine. Fine for later. Later this year. NOT yet-NOT now.

I like winter togs-I’m not ready to don them yet and therefore I ain’t gonna. You can't make me.

LFG has a genetic predisposition for the beach. She's been going forever-even in utero. Her mom used to swim every day when she was carrying LFG. Both her mother and I spent most of our summers there and I take one month off in the summer to chase most of the same things I’ve always chased at the beach….sun-cheap gift shops-really bad food and great memories.

Summer is not over. There’s still time to ……

Hang out in tchotke shops at the beach.

Run races and pretend that you are still as good at it as you once were. That holds true for many summer things. Be quiet.

Wear madras slippers.

Wear Speck-Taters and horizontal socks.

Get your feet painted.

Shake a rubber chicken at people in Georgetown while daddy blasts "Get Up Offa That Thang" by James Brown on the car stereo.

Soak the beach sand off your booty after frolicking all day.

Scream as if you are being beaten while daddy detangles your chlorinated hair.

Perpetuate your sun damage.

Buy hats at South of the Border on I-95

Really big hats.

Wear your beat up old linen Ralph trou and seersucker belt a few more times.

Sport your blue shoes and white cotton duck trousers-replete with tan ankles.

Drink cheap wine outside in your old Adirondack Chair. This chair has liver disease.

Eat outside at Cactus Cantina and beat daddy at Crazy Eights.

Wear some obnoxious shitake a few more times.

Pounce on the summer sale at the Gap Outlet in Old Town Alexandria. $5.99 boxers. Let a woman select them for you.

Make smirky faces at summer cocktail parties.

Wear white bucks and linen to church. God won't mind-as long as you show up for the handlin'.

Seersucker it is-every day for the next week. I'll go-into Fall-when I'm ready-kicking and screaming. I ain't gettin up offa summer till I have to. 


Onward....ADG