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Proper Attire Required

Michael 11 Comments

I think I’ve reached fuddy duddy stage. I know I’ve gotten to fuddy duddy age yet I don’t feel I’ve overly dudded any fuddies. I believe I qualify for the standard because I know I look spectacular in a tuxedo yet have nowhere to wear one.

It became clear to me and confirmed for me that what is wrong with modern America (besides aging former reality stars insisting we’re part of the Me Generation), while watching Mr. Lucky (the fabulous movie, not the over-acted TV offering although it has a pretty nifty theme song) is we don’t dress for dinner anymore. Of course, the 1940s film industry wasn’t known for putting out documentaries of real-life America, but even the humble middle-class family was having more fun and doing it better dressed than most of us.

Consider this. In nearly every 1940s vintage film offering from romance to comedy to drama to noir, someone is going out to dinner where there will be dancing, at least one torch song singer singing at least one torch song, someone falls in love, the bad guy always pays and the good guys always end up with the lady. And all those people dancing at dinner? Formal attire required. Casino hopping? Tuxedos and gowns. Murder in the penthouse? The corpse is wearing no less than a smoking jacket and if the responding detective happened to be at dinner when the call came in – yep, even he shows up in a tux. Once I remember even white tie and tails.

Perhaps those at is not the norm but it’s not a stretch to say that the average 1940s family sat to dinner with jacket and tie, and dress and pearls. Possibly paste knock offs but something was hanging around mom’s and eldest daughter’s necks. After dinner together they repaired to the drawing room where apparently they drew stuff.

But back to Mr. Lucky with Cary Grant and Laraine Day. He wants to swindle her war relief group. She gives blood. He gives blood. They get together for a late night drive. They fall in love. He transforms his gambling boat into a medical supplies transport. It sinks. Neither is ever out of at least semi-formal attire until the last scene when he shows up in sailing garb. They live happily ever after. I cried.

How could you not get emotional when Cary Grant as Joe Adams as Joe Bascopolous (it’s complicated) tells Laraine Day as Dorothy Bryant, “I don’t know what to make of a dame like you,” and Dorothy answers, “Neither do I,” as they both look out into the countryside with the fire crackling in the fireplace after they drive all the way from New York to Maryland (apparently without stopping since she changed and tied his tie while they were on the road) to prove to her father she would marry him if she had to? (Yes, that was a question. Go back and read it slower.) I get choked up just thinking about it – and thinking how they both look still impeccably put together after a 5 or 6 hour drive in an open convertible. It’s uncanny.

Every movie from the 1940s that I’ve seen, which is close to every movie (worth seeing) from the 1940s, has that formula. Dinner, dancing, singing, at least one murder, accidental death or sufficient injury slash illness to render one character hors de combat, fall in love, question decision to fall in love, bad guy gets what he deserves, fall in love again, live happily ever after, all in formal attire.

I want to go to a casino in my tux and not be given the side-eye, or pop into Olive Garden in a white dinner jacket and bow tie (it is before 6!), or go dancing and end up with the snooty dame who nobody likes (whom nobody likes?) but is really a misunderstood sweetheart who only needs to see me in my formal wear to realize that yes happiness is right around the corner and I’ll be there waiting for her!

Ah sweet dream. Does that sound fuddy duddy to you? Of course it doesn’t!

I wonder where my cuff links are.

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Not me but darn close!

It is said, “It is not  the destination, it is the journey.” With our apologies to Emerson, it is neither.  The experience of any journey, the joy of any destination, is found in the people it is shared with. We explain our thinking in the latest Uplift post, The Road Most Travelled.

Put me in, Coach!

Michael Leave a comment

If you can, find a news clip of a baseball game from 1960. Although then commonplace it looks funny as all get out to see men wearing suits and hats while they root, root, rooted for the home team. Today anything goes in the stands at sporting events. There are t-shirts, sweatshirts, jerseys, hats, jackets, and don’t forget the big foam fingers. And those are just the fans that actually wear clothes. But the other day at a ball game I saw a suit of a different cut.

There in a field level seat just past the dugout was a young man in complete home team paraphernalia (and not the mascot I should add) – replica jersey, hat, glove, even those funny looking pants with the high socks. He could have been wearing spikes on his shoes for all that I was able to tell from my vantage point. I wonder what went through his mind when he was “dressing” for the game. Could it be that if the team gets into trouble he might step in as savior? Might he be in consideration for this year’s MVP award after coming out of nowhere? Quite literally, out of nowhere.

Let’s listen in to the coaching staff as we head into the 21st inning.

Bench coach: I haven’t seen such a masterful use of the entire roster since that 7-1/2 hour 23 inning marathon in New York 12 years ago.

Manager: Yeah, but we’re still tied and if I pull this pitcher I don’t have anybody left to pinch hit. If we don’t get a run in with one of the first two batters up we’re in deep doo-doo.

Bench Coach: On no we’re not. Check it out. Sitting in section 102. Third row, 4th seat from the aisle.

Manager: Yeah, he’s a natural! Hey you, number 00! Yeah you! Grab a bat and get on deck! Let’s put this thing to bed!

Peanuts

And that’s when the alarm clock went off.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

No Comment

Michael Leave a comment

Is this happening where you live?  Some significant local news story breaks – a shooting, arson, bank robbery.  The local reporter corners an eye-witness.  “Tell us what you saw,” and the eye witness breaks into details so significant you can hear the District Attorney breathing harder.  But, the witness doesn’t want to appear on camera or give his/her/its name.  So the camera man focuses on the tattoo on the witness’s lower leg that says “I Love Brunettes” in Olde English lettering surrounding a cheesecake portrait of Stephanie Powers in her 1980’s TV role in Hart to Hart, perhaps a portrait tattoo of the witness’s seven children, or the inscription “Jane Doe Loves John Smith (crossed out) Joe Jones (crossed out) Mary Queen of Scots.”  Nothing too unique.

It wasn’t that long ago that we saw on the evening news just that.  The TV reporter telling us that the witness didn’t want her face shown but the cameraman had a clear shot of the snake tattoo climbing from her foot (with the green nail polish) up past the ankle encircling her shin.  Haven’t these people ever heard of the phrase “No comment?”  Or is he lure of being on television, even without being identified by name, too much for them?

We used to wonder about the intelligence of the TV eye-witness back when all you had to go on was the lack of front teeth, the baseball hat proclaiming the last tractor pull world championship, and the t-shirt with the logo and leftover barbecue sauce from the rib cook-off of four years previous.  Now those people were at least colorful.

Recently we saw an eye-witness to a break-in across the street from the witness’s house where he was ‘just sitting” on the porch.  He didn’t have a silly hat.  He didn’t have a dirty t-shirt.  He didn’t’ have a tattoo that we could see and we could see a lot because he didn’t have any shirt on.  But he also didn’t mind his face being shown.  It was a good counter-point to his shirtless body that the cameraman was having a tough time capturing all in one frame without his wide lens.

Don’t these people know they are going to be on television?  Didn’t anybody tell them that when the truck with the call letters and the guy with camera and the lady with the microphone show up there would be a chance that a few people might be watching the film at 11?  It significantly lessens the impact of the details that we now wonder if they were really that observant or were they fantasizing in whatever drug or alcohol haze they were in.

We used to think that the eye-witnesses who didn’t want to show their faces but let the cameras roam over their fairly unique and identifiable tattoos were just stupid.  Actually we still do.  Sorry, Mr. District Attorney.  You can stop breathing hard now.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Proper Attire Required

Michael Leave a comment

Around our parts it’s been a mild winter.  Not much snow, some pretty cold nights but always rebounding during the day.  At then, on February 2, Punxsutawney Phil called for 6 more weeks of winter.  “Six more?” people questioned, “We haven’t seen 6 yet.”

Be careful who you tick off.  Since then we’ve had lows in the teens, wind chills on the other side of zero, and snow enough to break out the snow-blower without fear of ridicule form the neighborhood distributor of testosterone.

There’s something about cold weather that we don’t understand.  It seems to encourage some people to dress as inappropriately as one possibly can.  Everybody in a cold weather climate has managed to run across the one mucho-macho sort who feels that cold weather is no reason for him to deviate from his usual wardrobe of shorts and work boots.  But we’re not talking about him.  Truth be told, we’d prefer not to even think about him.  No, there are others out there who have had the logic portion of their brains suffer from an unexpected frost.

Last Friday night we were waiting for a table at a local restaurant.  Regular readers know we don’t wait long for food.  If we’re told it will be anything longer than a 15 minute wait we consider how much we really want to eat from that menu that evening.  So the fact that we were waiting for a table tells you that we weren’t there long.  Yet in the few minutes that we were standing off to the side of the hostess stand we saw a couple come in that bore watching.  For frostbite.  One-half of the two was wearing a sweatshirt.  The other half, just a shirt shirt.  Did we mention that the outdoor temperature displayed on our dash was 26 degrees, that the snow was wet and cold when it fell, and that where there was not salt there was ice when we parked in the same lot they just came in from? 

The next morning after the temperature dropped another 10 degrees and the sky dropped another 2 inches of snow we were driving through the parking lot of one of the nearby shopping centers and had stopped at a crosswalk while a young man walked by wearing an open hoodie.  Six storefronts down at another crosswalk we paused while another man crossed the other way wearing a football jersey while holding hands with a pre-school version of himself who was wearing a leather jacket bearing the same football team’s logo.  Inside the stores we saw as many wind breakers, sweaters, and an occasional scarf over a light jacket as we did hats, gloves, and toasty wool coats.   This all came after we dropped off She of We’s car for service where a young lady sat in the customer’s lounge wearing only a short raincoat.

Perhaps we unnecessarily marvel at the way some people dress.  Yes, it was only 16 degrees but that was outside.  Inside the stores and restaurants and garages the temperatures were in a well-controlled 68 to 72 degree range.  Yes, outside the snow had fallen and some squalls continued to pass through.  But that was outside.  All of the merchants’ roofs were intact, their insides were dry, and not even fake snow covered any displays. 

And it’s not like we walk to many stores any more.  We don’t ride in open carriages or on run in on horseback.  We get to them in our heated cars with our temperature specific climate systems sitting in our heated seats and holding onto our heated steering wheels.  But boy we still feel bad when we see the abandoned car on the side of the road with its flashers blinking on and off, and hope they didn’t have to wait long for help in this weather.

And if they did, we hope they weren’t cold while they waited.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?