In Which I Prove That I Chose the Correct Party Affiliation

Like every American, I occasionally wonder whether I chose the correct party when I registered to vote.  In this age of dangerous rifts between parties, it's not uncommon for people to be chastised for being "too Republican" or "too Democratic."  Equally unfortunate is the fact that under the current trends of political thought, any registered Democrat is immediately labelled something like a atheist Massachusetts college-educated liberal.  Contrarily, any registered Republican is considered a NASCAR redneck evangelical Reaganite.  The greatest threat this ideology poses to America is that the classic Moderate in either party is seen as siding with the enemy.  Why is this?  What happened in America that caused such a massive break between the parties?  Why is bipartisan cooperation considered such an evil?  Why can't we all just be a little bit more like, YOU GUESSED IT:

Fig. 1: DANIEL PATRICK EFFIN' MOYNIHAN, that's who!

I consider this break in the parties to be one of the greatest faults in American history.  There is something fundamentally wrong with a system that encourages schism and denounces thoughtful cooperation.  Abraham Lincoln said something about a house divided against itself being unable to stand.  I'm relatively certain he wasn't conveying his understanding of architecture when he offered this warning.  History has already proven that when bipartisanship entirely separates the parties, something awful like say a Civil War can break out.

As of right now, I'm a registered Democrat in New York State.  That's almost like saying that I'm a human being that breathes oxygen apparently.  This wasn't always the case however.  A younger, more foolish BillChas did something very silly on February 25th of 2002.  It was the day after I turned 18.  I couldn't technically register to vote on my birthday, as it fell on a Sunday that year.  New York is a funny state, in that you may choose from the following parties upon registration: 

• Democratic party
• Republican party
• Conservative party
• Working Families party
• Independence party*
• Green party

*-Note that this oughtn't be confused with registering independent!  The Independence party is that of failed Presidential candidate H. Ross Perot, which consists mainly of billionaire libertarians.  

Then there is of course the option of registering Independent or filling in your own political party, for those remaining Know-Nothings, Whigs, Bull-Mooses and Jedi among us.  I, a young and stupid idealist, blindly put a check mark next to Green party.  One day I received a literature in the mail from the Green party which illuminated, in shockingly disgusting detail, how the terrorist attacks of September 11th, 2001 were orchestrated and carried out by our own government.  Naturally, I found this so despicable that I went down to the Sayville Post Office at my earliest convenience to change my party affiliation.  Ever since I have been a Democrat.

And why shouldn't I have registered Democratic?  There have been many fine Democrats in our time: Franklin D. Roosevelt, Bill Clinton and DANIEL PATRICK MOYNIHAN just to name a few.  But I cannot help but wonder if I did make the right decision.  Several of my favorite politicians have been Republicans.  Theodore Roosevelt, Abraham Lincoln and Dwight Eisenhower, the ferocious graduate of West Point and Commander of the Allied Forces come to mind.  And here's where the moronic of our number pipe in and issue some pithy ex cathedra statement about "Ooh... but the Parties have changed throughout the years!  Some Democrats would be considered Republicans nowadays and blah blah blah blah..."  Well, I'll have none of your armchair, barstool political thought!  Try telling Abraham Lincoln that he was a Democrat!  If that were the case, then John Wilkes Booth most likely wouldn't have seen fit to lodge a bullet in Our Beloved President's brilliant skull.  I care NOT for your modern political thought!  These presidents were the HEADS of the parties they ran under.  And I won't listen to your inane ramblings any longer.

So how does one decide if he or she has made the right decision when selecting a political party?  It's a tough call.  But I did come up with a method for seeing if you've made the right choice.  How is it done?  Simple.  By the way, I came up with this method while I was pondering the most forgotten and underrated President in History:

Fig. 2: Mr. James K. Polk, Napoleon of the Stump

Make a list of every President of the United States of America.  Research each of their Presidencies, including decisions they made, how the country fared during their Presidency, and to what degree you agree with how they saw fit to run the country.  Now, you might run into a few snags.  You'll note that there are four Whigs, at least one Federalist, one awesome God-like war hero that refused to join a political party on the grounds that it might cause a great rife in the nation (and yes, George Washington was a goddamned Prophet) and several Democratic-Republicans in the mix.  YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO CONSIDER THESE PRESIDENCIES.  These parties no longer exist.  We cannot retroactively assign Jefferson to the Democratic Party.  Nor can we lump the Adamses in with the Republicans.  You may as well skip all the way down to Andrew Jackson, THE FIRST AND MOST BLOOD THIRSTY DEMOCRAT, and begin your counting there - of course skipping all Whigs you may come upon.

For each of those Presidencies, use the following scale to assign a positive or negative number:

+2 = One of the most fantastical Presidencies that all Presidents should strive to emulate.

+1 = A fine and model President!  Job well done!

0 = I care nothing about what this President did, and I don't see how the country would be much different without this person's Presidency.

-1 = Oh come on!  You can do better than this!  You're the president for cripes sake!  Do something good, will ya?

-2 = Ran the country into the ground and ought to have the title of Mr President posthumously stripped from them.

I did this.  And I was surprised with the results.  Now one must bear in mind that there have been slightly more Republicans than there have been Democrats.  Honestly though, there is a whole slew of Republican Presidents that even modern-day Republicans wish never existed.  You can omit these Presidents (Hayes, Garfield, Arthur) should you so choose, and suddenly the playing field is once again equal.  Here is how my scores came out:

Gray: Federalist
Green: Democratic-Republican
Yellow: Whig
Blue: Democrat
Red: Republican
 

PRESIDENT NAME	Republican	Democrat	Neither
George Washington			+2
John Adams			+1
Thomas Jefferson			+2
James Madison			+1
James Monroe			+1
John Q. Adams			-1
Andrew Jackson		+2
Martin Van Buren		0
William Henry Harrison			0
John Tyler			+1
James K. Polk		+2
Zachary Taylor			-1
Millard Fillmore			-1
Franklin Pierce		-2
James Buchanan		-2
Abraham Lincoln	+2
Andrew Johnson		-2
Ulysses S. Grant	+2
Rutherford B. Hayes	-1
James A. Garfield	-2
Chester A. Arthur	0
Grover Cleveland		-1
Benjamin Harrison	0
Grover Cleveland		0
William McKinley	-1
Theodore Roosevelt	+2
William Taft	-1
Woodrow Wilson*		-2
Warren G. Harding	-2
Calvin Coolidge	0
Herbert Hoover	-2
Franklin D. Roosevelt		+2
Harry S Truman		+1
Dwight Eisenhower	+2
John F. Kennedy		+1
Lyndon B. Johnson		+2
Richard Nixon	-2
Gerald Ford	-2
Jimmy Carter		0
Ronald Reagan	+2
George H.W. Bush	0
Bill Clinton		+2
George W. Bush	-2
Barack Obama		0
	Total: -5	Total: +4	Total: +5

All Republicans together resulted in a total of -5 points, meaning that, as a whole, the Republican Party has produced a net of nearly THREE miserable failures of a Presidency.  On the other hand, the Democrats have produced a net of TWO divine leaders that have brought about a Pax Americana in their theoretical times.  Even the hodgepodge of mixed political parties from throughout history far outshine the Republican presidents, even if one is to completely omit the abysmal triumvirate of Hayes, Garfield & Arthur.
I've clearly chosen wisely.  Are my points awarded skewed by my political beliefs?  That is entirely for the Court of the World to decide.  For my money however, I can rest easy knowing that I categorically proved that I chose the correct political party, at least where the Presidency is concerned.  Try it and share your results!

* - Please note that I made an egregious error when I was translating my work from paper to Excel.  I originally posted that Woodrow Wilson received a +1.  My friend Alex pointed out that he found it odd that I gave Wilson a positive number at all, being that Wilson was famous for re-segregating the White House, endorsing the message in D.W. Griffith's The Birth of a Nation, needlessly dragging the country into World War I, and failed to garner Republican support for the centerpiece of his Fourteen Points, the League of Nations.  On paper I originally gave Wilson -1, but after some careful consideration and more insight from Alex, I have decided to give President Wilson -2.  This means that Democratic Presidents have earned a net of +4.  I have adjusted my analysis to reflect this.  Isn't that the beauty of this method?  I imagine that if I were to try this exercise 20 years from now, I'd probably get different results.

BUY WAR BONDS!

What a travesty.  According to reliable sources, I haven't updated this weblog since June of 2011.  Why is this such a travesty?  I cannot even begin to atone for not recording all the fantastical events of my life in the past 8 or so months.  What in the hell has happened in all that time.
Well, for one, Maria and I were married.  You know, no big deal.  I've noticed that an awful lot of traffic for this website comes from the multitudes of other fancy gentlemen wishing to look like Atticus Finch and where to find a tie with a whale pattern.  It just so happens that both of those search criteria will land you on my blog entries pertaining to how I'd like to dress for the wedding.  The votes were cast and the whale tie won.  And what of the seersucker suit?  Was I able to do the legendary Southern lawyer a good turn?  I leave that for the Court of the World to decide:

Fig. 1: This style brought to you by J. Press and its finest salesman, Mark Clark.  And under the advice of one Jon Meier, who then proceeded to buy me very expensive cocktails at the Algonquin to stave off the panic attack triggered by the ludicrous amount of money I dropped on a suit.  And still it was outshone by the ethereal brilliance of my bride.  To quote Mary Poppins, "That's as it should be."

Anyhow, I really do enjoy updating this thing.  And I also enjoy the minute of fame the entry pertaining to Oscar the Grouch's Timelordship brought me.  And look, I even have a sticky on my desktop with all the thoughts on VERY IMPORTANT MATTERS that I wanted to share with the interweb.  I here share the contents of that sticky:

-Wedding

-Clamming

-Boston / J. Press

-UConn Dairy Bar

-Moynihan Tufts

-Comparing cameras

-5 things I'd do with a time machine

 >1964 World's Fair

 >

And that's it.  A lone "greater than" sign is where I left off.  And OH the wonderful stories that could be  told about all the things I wrote on the sticky.  I will discuss all these topics (with the exception of our INCREDIBLE wedding - because a blurb could scarcely do it justice) VERY QUICKLY RIGHT NOW.

I intended to talk about the new jargon invented by the roughest, toughest bunch of clammers the Great South Bay ever saw.  Because of my neglect, perhaps no one will know what a braggart's dozen is.  Centuries from now, English speakers will be entirely ignorant of that fact that placing clams in a bucket ought to be referred to as "making a deposit," meaning that a handful of clams ought to be referred to as a "deposit."  I ought to at least make these precious gems of the English language look fancy!  In fact I will right now:

deposit \di-POZ-it\

noun

1. a number of clams that fits in two hands... and possibly in your swim trunks as well: Seany Mikes placed an incredible deposit of clams into the bucket... and then chugged like 4 Miller High Lifes to celebrate.

braggart's dozen \BRAG-ertz  DUH-zin\

noun 

1. Seven or eight clams: Derek claimed he gleaned 48 clams from the murky waters of the Great South Bay, when he in fact only retrieved a braggarts dozen.  That didn't stop him from eating all the clams anyway.  Asshole.

As for Boston and J. Press - I was going to compare the Harvard Square store to the Madison Avenue store.  That doesn't seem as interesting in retrospect.  Moving on.

UConn Dairy Bar.  It's a magical place that we stopped at on our way back from Boston to visit our friend Alex. Um... it was.  Magical.  Once again, loses its luster in hindsight.  It was probably the most fantastic strawberry ice cream I've ever tasted.

Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan attended Tufts for both his Master and Doctorate.  Also, I found this picture of him.  DPM is the OFFICIAL mascot of The Elegance of Humanity in America.

Fig. 2: The Gentleman from New York.

I was going to compare my Mamiya C220 photos with those from my shitty Diana plastic hipster piece of shit.  But I have yet to make prints from ANY of these rolls of film.  Also, FAR TOO HIPSTERY.

Five things I'd do with a Time Machine.  Oh god, I don't think I'd be able to hew this down to only 5 events.  And... FINE, quickly!  The first five that come to mind!

1.  The 1964 World's Fair.
2. The meetings of the First Continental Congress.
3. Abraham Lincoln doing SOMETHING awesome.  I mean, for him that could mean something as menial as shaving for God's sake.
4.  The primordial soup mix that created life on Earth.
5. D-Day.  No.  Wait.  I'd cry.  No.  I'd still go.

Maybe I'll flesh the discussion of time travel out more thoroughly at a later time.
And so many more things have happened.  We left our old crappy apartment for a much nicer one in a much worse part of Brooklyn.  We visited Hawai'i.  We welcomed the birth of our first nephew!  All of these just absolutely brilliantly wonderful things have happened in the past 8 months... and the thing that made me want to blog again was this:

 Fig. 3: If you're going to do propaganda, you might as well do it right.

I saw this poster today, and I realized that America doesn't urge its citizens to buy war bonds anymore.  During the First and Second World Wars, posters, cartoons, radio announcers all urged every red-blooded American to buy war bonds.  And there's something satisfying about giving over money to a good cause in return for a piece of paper that guarantees payback upon the victorious end of a war.  Hell, if I were in a position to give $25 to Uncle Sam in the 1910s or 1940s, I'd be first in line to buy my war bond.  But in our country's most recent conflicts: Korea, Vietnam, Gulf War I, Gulf War II, Afghanistan, &c., the Congress didn't even ponder to ask its citizens for money.  What does that tell us of these obnoxious conflicts?

I could seriously go on about other subjects that boggle my mind.  Among them include the continuing flagrant abuse of food stamps programs that I see across the street from my apartment.  Ah... I think it's time to get back in the saddle.  It would be a vicious crime for me to deprive the masses of my ALWAYS 100% ACCURATE AND CORRECT commentaries and observations of THE ELEGANCE OF HUMANITY IN AMERICA - REDUX.

I think I will attempt to discuss the wedding and Hawaii in attempt to get back into form.

Until then, I am forever.

BARON THE REV. DR. MAYOR SIR WILLIAM, ESQ., BTT

Please comment if you know of a way that I can add "President" to my ever expanding collection of titles.

Good Morning Beautiful...

Maria and I received a frankly gut-busting message on the phone this morning. It was delivered in a sleepy, throaty voice, obviously intended to be sexy - or something. If I were some sort of technological whiz-kid, I would post a recording of the message complete with a local news style 911 emergency call background. Alas, I am not that whiz-kid, so here's the message. Remember: throaty, sleepy, sexy and - ahem - from Brooklyn.

"Good morning beautiful. How you doin’? This is ST. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you, but – uh – you’re a hard woman to catch up with. Anyway, you should give me a call back. I’ll be in the house until about 1:30 if you wanna call back. If not, I understand. Have a great day. Bye."

Naturally my first instinct was to trace the call and savagely torture the person on the otherend of the line for trying to pick up my betrothed in so shameful a way. But in the end, I just laughed and cracked open an ice cold Schaefer Beer before shamelessly posting this sorry attempt at a pickup.

Fig. 1: It's the one beer to have when you're having more than one.

The Robin Danger Action School of Culinary Excellence!

Many centuries ago (read: 11 months ago), I was approached by a shady stranger with a thick St. Petersburg accent as I sat on a bench by South Street Seaport. The stranger wore a rich brown fedora, dark sunglasses, gray tweed trousers and heavy trench coat. He slid up to me and muttered,
"I hear dare is g-r-r-reat veather in Moscow," after which he placed a nondescript leather attaché case at my feet.
"Um... I think you have the wrong --"
"You are not Screaming Eagle?"
"Well, yes I am, but this is not the appointed time or place for this to ha--"
"YOU VILL COME VIK ME."
And that is how Greg Mourino suckered me into working on his master's thesis project.
It is a fact already well known to my stalkers and readers that I used this SECRET PROJECT as a means of hiding a sneaky trip to Long Island wherein I asked my future wife's family what they thought about the two of us getting married. What does that mean? That this project happens to be the MOST IMPORTANT COMPUTER ANIMATED FILM IN THE HISTORY OF MANKIND.
Instead of going into mountainous waves of detail, I will instead share it without further ado. Enjoy - The Robin Danger Action School of Culinary Excellence.




I will always maintain fond memories of repeatedly shouting "SHUT UP!" and "WRONG!" into a very expensive microphone in a converted bedroom with mattresses against the walls to contain the sound. I can only hope my violent shouting struck fear into the hearts of the obnoxious children upstairs in Greg's apartment.

In This, Our Last Day on Earth...

It has come to my attention from certain reputable sources (i.e. people wearing t-shirts distributing pamphlets on the subway) that the world will end tomorrow, May 21st, 2011. Or the Rapture will happen and the world will be destroyed by fire in October or something to that effect. Whatever the case, I am here to dispel fears and reassure the frightened masses that the world WILL NOT END at the said date and time. And no, don't expect me to go into a scientific breakdown of the diarrhea that issues from senile West Coast ministers who haven't enough brains to blow on hot soup. I'm going to give you REAL reasons why the world can't possibly end and that it will endure far longer than any millenarian cultist will tell you. I present:

REASONS THE WORLD WILL NOT END ON MAY 21, 2011

1. Maria and I have not yet married. They say you're supposed to present your strongest argument last, but to hell with that. Let us just say that if God decides to Rapture all his chosen people into heaven tomorrow after all the time and effort that Maria and I (but especially Maria) have put into this glorious event, he's got something worse than Satan's wrath to deal with - the wrath of Ms. Olsen. I am relatively sure that my mother would punch him in his perfect, omnipotent face if he did ANYTHING the mar the plans of our Blessed Event. I can already see him whining, droplets of precious blood staining his millennia-whitened beard, apologizing to the 5'1" behemoth that just bitch-slapped him. One minute with Ms. Olsen, and I'm certain that God would return the world to its former splendor and pretend that none of that nonsense ever happened.
Which reminds me, the vote! I had every intention of blowing off the dozens of voters who opted for the blue whale tie and choosing another tie. J. Press was having a sale this week, and so I popped into their store on Madison Avenue, where I was greeted by their best salesman, Mark Clark. I was about to buy a 25% off burgundy tie with white colored polka dots, but none was available. Whilst perusing the other ties, my eyes fell upon the whale tie. In the sales pitch of the century, Mark pressed the tie into my hands and said, "It was practically made for that suit." Long story short, you win voters. This time.

2. They Might Be Giants have not yet released their latest adult-oriented album, Join Us. Scientists have proven that God is a huge TMBG geek. No way would he call it all quits before Brooklyn's Ambassadors of Love, who have been installing and servicing melodies since 1982, got their chance to release another album. It's just - not - happening.

3. I am not finished reading The Autobiography of Mark Twain. And even if this will be the last day of Earth, let it be known that I'm GLAD the last book I shall have read was Mark Twain's autobiography. Have you ever wondered what it's like to be an old, bitter man, sitting in bed reading newspaper clippings and ranting to a stenographer about how biographies SHOULD be written and completely dodge the subject of your own personal life and matters entirely? Then this is your book. Of the over 700 cereal box-sized pages, only about 250 contain the autobiography proper - if you can call this a proper autobiography. The balance consists entirely of scholarly bullshit more suited to the kindling pile than to literature bearing the name Mark Twain. I can just picture how Twain would have felt about 500 pieces of paper wasted by doctors and post graduates trying to guess and surmise what he wanted the people of 2010 to read. It's insufferable.
And as I said, Twain does everything in his power not to talk about himself. His topics range from the distasteful decorations of his living quarters, to the iniquity of Jay Gould, to explanatory notes on a biography written about him by his deceased daughter (which is brilliant), to overbearing landlords. And perhaps one of the funniest things is his insistence on bringing up the subject of a woman being escorted out of President Roosevelt's White House because the President hadn't time to meet with her.
Of course this anecdote only serves to prove his thesis that all news fades away and becomes unimportant; that big stories of the day just aren't as big as you get further from them. Still, those juicy little headlines are oddly entertaining to read 100 years after the events that caused them to be printed transpired. He apparently wanted to make a literary magazine consisting solely of seemingly inane newspaper clippings from decades ago. Notwithstanding, he keeps bringing up the subject of a woman being forcibly removed from the White House. Now naturally I was astonished by this whole anecdote, as the idea of a normal citizen waltzing into the national mansion is impossible to comprehend. No doubt they'd be shot by a sniper before they had a chance to wipe their feet nowadays. But Mr. Twain is BESIDE himself with anger at President Roosevelt for not dealing with this issue more delicately. Any modern reader would find this whole event asinine; the concept of someone entering the White House without a birth certificate and passport and a writ of consent signed in triplicate by Jesus Christ himself is baffling to the modern reader. But Mark Twain included it in his biography.
There is one matter of the autobiography that does pertain to tomorrow's (fictitious) events. Twain recalls the night in Hannibal, Missouri when the real person upon whom Injun Joe was based died. A massive thunderstorm struck the Mississippi River town that turned the streets into muddy rivers. Twain was certain that the thunderstorm was the Devil coming for Injun Joe's soul. It is perhaps coincidental that the weather here in Brooklyn has been rainy, and that thunderstorms haunt the forecast for the next 6 days as well.
SPOOKY.

4. If the following clip did not produce a black hole that consumed the world and all of time and space with it, THEN ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WILL DESTROY THE WORLD*.

Fig. 1: Daniel Patrick Moynihan v. William F. Buckley, Jr.

Wow. Just. Wow.
The late Senator Moynihan frequents this blog often - because he was the greatest senator of all time - but I think this marks Mr. Buckley's first appearance in this corner of the interpipes. What can be said of this video? Here are two persons who have mastered the English language on entirely different levels. Moynihan's command of English sees him picking esoteric, professorly words, intentionally fumbling whilst searching for words, over-elaborating vowels for the purpose of drawing attention to his word choice, and syncopating the syllables of important words. It's wonderful to watch. And I have always been jealous of his style of public speaking. There is something very commanding and patrician about his speaking style.
But then there's William F. Buckley, Jr., whose voice is like butter melting over warm blueberry muffins. Perhaps no one else on Earth has ever had such an accent; a mid-Atlantic verging on BBC received pronunciation, peppered with Southern twangs and toothy whistles on chosen S's. Listen to him say, "'Your immortal soul,' the monseigneur replied," on repeat, and tell me if you aren't immediately transported to the Twilight Zone. And how I ENVY someone who can get away with unapologetically pronouncing the highest office of the United States as "prez-dint," only to follow it with a pure New Orleans "Caw-tuh." Buckley's pronunciation of Jimmy Carter's name and title make the erstwhile Commander-in-Chief sound less like a cardigan-clad peanut farmer and more like THE MOST POWERFUL MAN ON PLANET EARTH.

Fig. 2: This style is acceptable only for soft-spoken Pennsylvanians on public television - not men who can hit buttons that annihilate entire nations.

So what does this have to do with Doomsday or the Rapture? Simple. The fact that two of the most fantastic public speakers in American history were able to sit next to one another in a television studio and exchange such exquisitely embellished English words without a space-time rift opening up and the voice of Stephen Hawking announcing the impending doom of Earth bears testament that this world will CAN WITHSTAND ANYTHING.
Ozone holes?
HA!
Global warming?
More like a tiny fever!
Bill Buckley and Pat Moynihan SPEAKING AT ONE ANOTHER.
NOT - A - PROBLEM.

* - The death of the sun will likely destroy this world, but humanity will likely have colonized space at that point - hopefully.

So ladies and gentlemen, we are quite safe. So long as Ms. Olsen, John Linnell, John Flansburg, Mark Twain's Autobiography, and video recordings of a well-spoken Senator and a butter-voiced conservative pundit exist, GOD WILL NOT DESTROY HIS MOST FAVORED CREATION.

...but have a drink on my account just in case.

Wherein You, THE READER, Decides What Tie I Will Wear at my Wedding...

Saturday was what you could call an "eventful" day for me. Jon and I went searching for something for my groomsmen to wear. It was raining and we were walking down 5th Avenue looking in the windows of all the expensive shops, wondering where Brooks Brothers had hidden its store. We ambled past a store whose window displayed a panama hat similar to the one worn by Harry S Truman - which just so happens to be the hat I wanted to complete my wedding ensemble.

Fig. 1: Harry Truman's ACTUAL panama hat. If someone could kindly steal this from his President Library, that would just be fantastic. Thanks.

That store happened to be J. Press. I'd never heard of the store, but Jon being the Resident Expert that he is informed me that J. Press was the official outfitter of Yale University.
To put a somewhat long story short, I walked into J. Press for a panama hat and left with a very expensive tailored-to-fit seersucker suit.

Fig. 2: Eat your heart out, Atticus Finch!

I told you it was hot. Now, only one thing remains. I plan on wearing a white French-cuffed shirt with my suit, and have decided that a red-colored tie would be most appropriate to make me look like a walking, living, breathing American Flag - that happens to be getting married at the time. Here's the problem, a plain red tie is just - well - too plain for me. It needs a little something extra, and that's where I found myself in this little dilemma. You see, J. Press also sells these amazingly fun emblematic ties, and I have fallen in love with two in particular.

Fig. 3: A multicolored elephant tie - something you'd see someone from a Wes Anderson movie wear.

Fig. 4: A blue whale tie. Also... something you'd most likely see Royal Tenenbaum or "The Businessman" from The Darjeeling Limited wearing

That's where you come in. I need your help, dear readers, in deciding which tie should complement this god among suits. You'll notice that I've added a poll on the right side of my blog where you may feel free to vote to your heart's content.
Also, feel free to send donations to offset the cost of all this Ivy League haberdashery that I've mired myself in. And also - please everyone - remind to tell Maria that she looks so much better than I do on July 2*.

* - I will likely be slapped for this sentence.

In Which We Share Electronic Missives from the Episcopal Church...

It has been way too long since I've posted. I believe I was supposed to tell you something about my top three worst fears. Does anyone really care to know? Fine... here they are:
3.) That Maria & I Are Becoming Hipsters.
2.) CHINA TAKING OVER THE WORLD.
1.) Megafauna.
All right... all right. Pretty much everyone who knows me knows that I harbor something of a grudge against China (not really a grudge so much as it is a spirit of healthy competition). This is perhaps due entirely to the fact that China silently because the world's largest manufacturer economy, thereby surpassing the United States in what right-minded pundits assure us is the first sign of the End of the Pax Americana. What's the real deal? China is heavily vested in the economic prosperity of the United States. If we fat, bloated, Capitalist pigs don't buy all of their little trinkets and Billy the Big-Mouth Basses and cheap paper cocktail parasols, THEN CHINA WILL CRUMBLE.*
* - Note: It will not literally crumble.
I believe our good friend Gale put my feeling about China best when she drew this webcomic.
Honestly though... my only concern is putting on a better spectacle than China. AND HOW DO YOU COMPETE WITH THIS?!

Fig. 1: MY GOD, IT'S FULL OF STARS.

This is quite honestly one of the most amazing displays I have ever seen in my life. If my fear is based in anything, it is jealousy. Pure, prideful jealousy. So, that sums up my "fear" of China. The hipster thing? I was going to talk about food co-ops, living in Brooklyn, and wearing tighter fitting clothing (due to my weight loss), but... I'm not nearly dirty enough, nor do I live in Williamsburg. So I think I'm safe.
...FOR NOW.
As for my very real and very paralyzing fear of megafauna. I will show you two pictures: Fig. 2 & Fig. 3.

Fig. 2: HOLY SHIT!

Fig. 3: SWEET LUCIFER'S POCKET CHANGE!

If these two images don't strike bloody fear into your veins, then you are scarcely human. I rest my case.
...ugh, that moose photograph gives me nightmares.

But more important than my silly (and not so silly fears), I think it highly appropriate to share the following email exchange between myself and Rev. Farrell, being the man who will preside over the blessed union between Maria and myself. Bear in mind, the good Reverend shot down our idea to play the beautiful exit music from the original Star Wars film, and so I perhaps took his control issues too far in asking about what may be thrown at Maria and me as we exit the church. I began:

Hey Fr. Farrell,

Granny launched a small investigation into the possibility of having a small punch & cookies reception in the upper Parish Hall immediately following the ceremony. From what she said, we need to seek your approval on the matter. I know that preparations need to be made for the 5:00 service, but we hope it won't be too large an inconvenience.
Also, we're wondering what the policy is regarding items that can be thrown at us as we exit the church. We've found a type of confetti made from earth-friendly materials and 100% biodegradable. It disappears after the first rain or with a once-over with a hose.
http://www.save-on-crafts.com/confetti.html
And one more thing - as I suspected, my grandmother would really love to bring up the sacraments with Maria's grandmother. Maria needs to consult with her grandmother on the matter, but I have a feeling that we may change our minds on the matter.
I believe that's all - or at least enough - for now. Let us know. Thanks!

-Will

Barring that horrible double usage of "the matter" in the final paragraph, I thought it was a reasonable letter. He responded:

Will,

People in the upper parish hall munching on cookies will not get in the way of the blessed sacrament at 5:00. You must also clear it with *******, who does scheduling. I believe that AA comes in at 6:15 or so, and everything would have to be cleaned and moved out of the way by that time, if I am correct. ***** will know.

Items that can be thrown at you as you exit the church? Cows are permissible as long as they are dairy cows and are thrown from the top of the tower. Knives are also acceptable if thrown by someone who is licensed by Circus Acts Licensing Agency. Whatever happened to birdseed? Is that what is dismissed as "slippery"? If you want that snow fluttering effect, let me suggest a January wedding. All right, all right. I quashed the Star Wars music, but desire less control of what goes on outside the church. Eco-friendly snowyflakey stuff is fine. I still might bring a cow, though.

The matter of who brings up the offerings is entirely in your court. (They are not yet sacraments, you know, or would you completely obviate the necessity of a priest? Are you some kind of anti-clerical Evangelical? Do you deny the meaning of the sacrifice at the altar? I don't think the Evangelical Pentecostal Gospel Church of Jesus in Bohemia is booked for a wedding on July 2. You might try there. God is watching you, Will Olsen-Hoek!)

Farrell+

Needless to say I loved this email. I replied:

Sir,

Rest assured that your previous electronic missive will be transcribed by a highly paid calligrapher, writ in gold upon blue whale leather parchment, set in a frame fashioned of reclaimed teak from the Titanic, and hung in the portrait gallery that Maria and I have secreted away in the dark, cavernous recesses of our tiny Brooklyn apartment.
I must now insist that you bring a cow, if only to re-enact the likely apocryphal story wherein soon-to-be-President William McKinley forced a cow to the roof of Bentley Hall at Allegheny College because he'd heard that cows were unable to walk downstairs, and wished to see what shades of scarlet the Dean's face would turn upon discovery of the bovine nuisance.
As for birdseed, I carefully read the instructions on granny's wheelie walker and discovered that the mechanism is distinctly sensitive and prone to explosion in the presence of birdseed. The insurance burden St. Ann's may incur in such case frankly terrifies me.
Upon calling the Evangelical Pentecostal Gospel Church of Jesus, I discovered that they don't take kindly to apostates such as myself who worship under the sinful diocese that makes bishops of - GASP - homosexuals and - EVEN WORSE - women. I'm not entirely sure about the nature of the rest of our conversation as the Pastor had for several minutes delivered me a long, apparently angry diatribe entirely in tongues. He hung up on me after he ran out of breath. Long story short, it's a no-go with them.
So I suppose we'll settle with St. Ann's - and throw our sinful organic confetti, shove cows up the bell tower, convince our friends to group juggle flaming chainsaws outside, and gluttonously gorge ourselves on punch and cookies in the Parish Hall! After all, wasn't it Mother Teresa who once said, "If this church is a-rocking, don't come a-knocking"?

-Sir William, 571st Baron of Sealand

Post Scriptum: Thank you for ******'s email. I'll let her know about our intentions in the Parish Hall and that it's cool with you.

It's emails like this that make me proud to be an Episcopalian.

Fig. 4: If anything may be said of the world, Monty Python has said it better.