Greensleeves

The navy blazer with brass buttons is a well established essential item in the wardrobe of a well appointed gentleman. I've heard it said by better writers with more authority than me that a man could survive with only a navy blazer and a pair of charcoal slacks, a couple of white shirts and a couple blue, a few ties, a pair of brown loafers and a pair of black lace-ups and successfully survive nearly any sartorial situation. But this post isn't about navy blazers.

In the past, there were times when a blazer in dark green was a secondary alternative to the standard navy. I stress the word "secondary". The dark green blazer is not for the faint of heart, and it's a tough nut to crack. I've always wanted one, and I've experimented over the years, but never with complete success. Until today, I think.

Before we continue, a qualifier on color and photography is in order. All colors have variation of tone and temperature within a family. Green can be brown, or blue, or even yellow. One shade can look good on a guy, and the next can make him look like he's got a skin condition. Additionally, it's hard to photograph; additionally I'm no photographer, and my camera is cheap; additionally, every computer makes things look different. So bear with me and trust my descriptions of the photos that follow.


I always figured the green blazer would be nice in the Fall, given that it's an earth-tone. Yesterday, I tried one with a simple blue pinpoint shirt, stripes bow tie and paisley square. The blue shirt keeps things just conservative enough, but the bits of gold in the tie and square give life to a drab color....maybe.

Since we are in the midst of the "in between" , and it was bright and warm that day, I kept it fresh with some crisp khakis and some pale yellow cotton socks, picking up on the gold up top.

Not bad, but not all there. Swap the green jacket for navy and the whole thing would have been downright classic. So any problems I have with this are in the jacket. For one, the tone is way too brown, too dreary. Also, this jacket is actually the top half of a suit, one that I could never really pull off, either. That's not altogether impossible to do, but in this case, the cloth is all wrong, and I really think a brass buttoned blazer is best with patch and flap pockets. You don't have to tell me, I should have known better. Still, I'd love to find the perfect green blazer.

So today, I find this jacket. A proper green blazer, in a brighter shade more in the blue family, for $6.99. It needs some minor alteration, and clearly a cleaning and pressing are in order. I estimate the final cost of this one to be about $25.

Brooks Brothers "346", early seventies vintage by my guess. Which means this is way before the "346" label was a strictly made for the outlet affair. Inside one of the pockets is a tag stating that it came from a Brooks Brothers factory. You see, once upon a time a brand name was more than just a tag in the neck.

Rendered in thick, but soft flannel. All the details are there: patch and flap pockets, undarted front, 3/2/ roll, but the corker is the open patch breast pocket. Bonus points! I fully expect to get a lot of Master's Tournament and pool table cracks over this one. Can't wait! It's going to be perfect with grey flannels or cavalry twills, under a camel coat.

As though all this weren't enough, the thing is fitted with a full set of real bone scrimshaw buttons. Why anyone would put something as Summery as scallop shells on a green flannel coat is beyond me, but once again we score bonus points. Those buttons will eventually find their proper home on some seersucker, hopefully by next Summer. Until then, I think I'll stash them.

As luck would have it, just two weeks ago my father saw this set of brass buttons in a knick knack shop, and picked them up for me. He said he thought of me when he saw them, and he knew I'd find a good jacket for the to live on. Right away, I was on a mission to find the perfect green coat. Boy, that didn't take long at all. Interestingly, these buttons have the same crest on them as the buttons on my J.Press hopsack blazer, the one I wear every other day until the cold weather comes, when I retire it in favor of one in flannel.

And while we're on the topic, remember this one? I was determined to prove you all wrong, but you were right. This thing is just wrong. I wore it once, but the minute I got to work I took it off. I thought a change of buttons would do this one good, but there's no saving it. I guess I'll just donate it back to charity, but really no one should wear this jacket, unless they're dressing as an S.S. waiter at a Nazi charity ball for Halloween. Even then you could do better. Oh well, we all have our moments, I guess.

Green jackets are tough, but not impossible. If you're feeling bold, give one a try, but be careful. It's important here to be extra picky. Don't buy until you find the right one. I tried to talk myself into the wrong one twice, with various results, all some degree of negative. But I'm sure I've got the right one now.

You'll see.

New England Scrimshaw

When I was still in high school, I bought a wonderful scrimshaw tie clip while on a family vacation on Cape Cod. I loved that thing, and for all these years I've worn it often (see it worn to great effect here, as well as in many other past blog posts). Then, alas, one day I lost it. It was the day of my "Live Appearance" at Raspberry Beret. It was hot that day, so I brought my jacket and tie with me. I put the old tie bar in the pocket of my vintage charcoal grey slacks. Unfortunately, vintage slacks frequently come with vintage holes, this time in the right hand pocket. I stopped off to get o.j. for the mimosas, and I never saw the old piece again. Enter Originals by Pierce & Co., of Littleton Massachusetts, just across the bay from New Bedford...you know, like in Moby Dick.

Flush from the sale of some of my own brand of "well curated vintage Americana", I ran a Google search for "scrimshaw tie clip", or something. I wound up at the Pierce website, a website so quaint in its very 1997-ness that I was immediately reminded of the pleasant experience I had a while back with Arrow Moccasins. They offer a wide range of scrimshaw products, from knives to jewelry, to carved teeth, and even a really killing shaving set. Pieces are made to order. Everything they make can be done on shed antler (i.e. antlers naturally shed by the animal and later gathered in the woods), which is what I opted for, or for a bit more on fossil ivory (i.e. old ivory found in Alaska). You get to pick the design, and they even do custom work. My piece arrived a scant two weeks after placing the order, a mere $28 shipped. Seriously.

It arrived in a small jewelry box lined in cotton with this business card sized certificate of authenticity. Usually, such certificates are totally bogus, but in this case it's the icing on the cake.

The back of the card offers a lovely write up of the kind lady who actually made this thing.

I could get all descriptive and flowery, but I won't, because I don't have to. Buy something from these people now. You won't be disappointed. Take my word for it.

The Real Thing

When I was a kid, my Grandparents would take my brother and I on the subway into the North End, Boston's Italian neighborhood, every Saturday morning. And every Saturday we would get lunch at the Galleria Umberto. In a world where so many things change, so much comes and goes so quickly, it's truly a rare pleasure to visit this place with my own kids, and share something with them that I did when I was their age. (misty eyes...)
This little sign over a simple metal grate in a brick wall is all there is to announce the place's presence to the world.

You wait in this line. It was relatively short, meaning, I didn't have to join it outside on the sidewalk, which is frequently the case. Umberto's opens at 11:00 a.m., and closes when they run out of food, usually around 2:00. The line may seem long, but these old guys can handle it, and you'll be eating sooner than you think.

You order from this simple and sparse menu. The prices may have changed, only just a little, in the thirty years that I've been a customer, but the selection has always remained exactly the same. Order anything, it's all delicious, but the arancini are worth committing a crime for. As luck would have it, the last one sold to the young lady in front of me in the line. Lucky for her I was in a good mood, and with the children.

Sit and eat beneath this mural of Italy by Vito Ascolillo (whoever that may be, God love 'im). I loved this painting when I was a kid.

For lunch, one panzarotti (on the left), a sort of mashed potato croquette filled with mozzarella, coated with breadcrumbs and fried, one of what they call panini, a crusty roll filled with ham, cappocola and provlone, and an 8 oz. plastic cup filled to the brim with ice cold red wine, probably Carlo Rossi. Both red and white wines are stored in giant lemonade tanks with a spigot on the front on the bottom shelf of the soda fridge. I've worked in the wine business for ten years now and I know a lot about fine wine, which is exactly why I order this stuff. Because when you're eating Sicilian style street foot off of a dented metal tray, the only correct wine is cheap and cold and served in a disposable cup. All this, plus three slices of their famous pizza for the kids and a can of Fanta orange soda: $11.00. Incredible!

If you live in or around Boston and you haven't been here, shame on you. If you visit Boston and you miss the place, shame on you. Should you be feeling touristy, Paul Revere's house is just around the corner, and the Freedom Trail runs right by it.


Should you be lucky enough to visit the place in the company of children, there's a nice little playground up the street, behind the Paul Revere monument, wedged in an alley between the back side of two apartment building, a firehouse and a school. It's a nice enough playground, one of these pre-fab jobbies you see everywhere. Nothing special, but the kids enjoyed it. However...

the real score here are the hop-scotch courts. Besides having a mundane "normal" one, there's also one in Roman numerals...

and another in the Fibonacci Sequence. The four square court, which I couldn't get a good photo of because of the tight corner this little playground is squeezed into, has the Golden Section painted on it. Way to celebrate some good old Italian innovation.

The North End may have changed some since the early eighties, but as far as I'm concerned, it's still the real thing.

p.s. I know I've mentioned this place before, but I think it's special enough to carry two posts.

Worthy Compromise

I may buy everything cheap, but I'm actually fairly uncompromising in my standards of quality. At least where it really matters. Other times, there are alternatives to be found. Here's a case in point:

I've always dug the iconic khaki bucket hat from J. Press. True, it's frumpy as all Hell, but on a rainy day with a Macintosh or a Barbour? Unstoppable. It also makes a fine beach hat, with swim trunks and a soft old oxford with a frayed collar. I've wanted on for a long time, but $55 is a little dear for a cotton hat. The description on their website doesn't even say where it's made, which leads me to believe it's anywhere but the USA. They tend to proclaim that fact loudly when it applies.

O'Connell's in Buffalo trumps old J. Press with their offering. Made in USA and only $39.95. Similar styling, similar navy and red grosgrain band. I might even have considered paying full whack for this one, but then divine Providence stepped in.

Here's a little number I picked up at Target today, $14.99. 92% cotton, 8% ramie, waterproof, crushable. Forget for a minute it's cheap, forget where it came from. I actually like this hat better. The styling is more along the lines of a stingy brimmed fedora, right in keeping with my own sense of style. And check the grosgrain ribbon. I like it better. It also came with these quaint instruction on how to crush it and pack it. Good thing, I might never have figured that out. This little card will be my new bookmark.

Before one of you says it, let me beat you to the punch. I hate Target and every place like it. Such places are harbingers of the end and each time I step inside, I die a tiny death. But I have two small kids, one of whom is still in diapers, and so I find myself frequently in such places buying said diapers, or paper towels, or poster board and magic markers. Because Target is the place to get cheap commodities cheap. But I can't help but cast at least a stray eye at the men's department. It's like they say, you never know....

There is a vast difference between a J. Press suit and a Merona suit from Target, a difference so vast I won't even begin to describe it. I wouldn't even look at the neckties. But undershirts? Sure, why not? Argyle socks? Sometimes they have 'em for two bucks, why not? And is there really that much difference between this hat and the one from Press? Probably not. Being thrifty is as much about knowing how to recognize a worthy compromise as it is about hunting down the really good stuff at outrageously low prices.



To put it all in perspective, earlier in the day I picked up this shirt, at a thrift store, for $1.00.

Always keep your eyes peeled and be open minded. There's deals all around you if you only learn to see them.

Worth Every Penny

While I may be a die hard cheap skate and devoted member of the Church of the Holy Thrift, there are times even I can admit that something is worth paying full freight. For a while, I've been kicking around the idea of an occasional, and by no means regular, series on this blog entitled "Worth Every Penny". The idea is to feature the rare instances where I endorse paying outright. After all, one of the points of being thrifty in the first place is to be able to shell out some cash when it really matters. So without further ado, the pilot installment:

Boston Athenaeum Membership

Clearly, anyone who writes and reads blogs is likely to be spending far too much time glued to the screen, looking at the internet and ruining his eye sight. I'm no exception. I do, however, love reading books, the printed kind, and amazingly I find time to do it. Aside from amassing an indecently large wardrobe, an ever expanding library of both books and music is my other crutch. I can't get enough. That's why I proudly hold membership at the Boston Atenaeum.

The Athenaeum is a membership library, one of the oldest in the country, founded in 1807. That may seem a bit snooty, but it isn't. True, you have to pay a fee each year to gain access, but it's actually pretty cheap and anyone can join. For as much as you might think this place reeks of old Boston Brahmin exclusivity (note:the video in the link was filmed at the Athenaeum), it actually welcomes all comers with open arms on a truly equal basis. The only attitude you'll encounter here is a love of books and a reverence of knowledge.

The architecture of the building is stunning. The staff couldn't be friendlier or more helpful, and the collection is beyond description. Every time I set foot in the place, I immediately wish I didn't have to be somewhere else later. I could get lost in there. Besides all that, they not only have a wonderful childrens room, but they actually welcome the little ones. Most places I can think of that look like that room up there in the photo can get pretty prickly when it comes to kids. Hell, I get attitude at a certain Salvation Army over my children.

I frequently will browse the catalog online, pick out a few things, and call the cirulation desk to request they send them down for me to pick up. This way,I can just pop in with the kids, get my books and go. They are always very accomodating. A while back, I requested the memoirs of Giuseppe Garibaldi, published in 1863. The copy they lent me was an original, from 1863. They didn't bat an eye at letting it into my hand for 60 days. They're good like that.

Today, I had the rare chance to get in there alone. When this happens, I like to pick a topic or two to think about, then find that corner of the library and just wander. I spent an hour in the art and architecture room down in the basement, just browsing books on averything from Gothic churchbuilding techniques to Pier Luigi Nervi.

Sartorially speaking, I can think of few places better to wear a J.Press blazer with khakis and a repp tie. In the members only reading room on the top floor, there's always a few Ivy League octagenarians reading the newspaper in tattered old sack suits and club striped ties, frayed at the point of course. Fantastic.

I must be honest an tell you that my own membership came free, a stroke of good fortune for which I will be forever thankful. That story deserves it's own post someday. But if my membership ever ran out, I'd pay to renew it without a second thought. A love and respect of this venerable temple of knowledge is a gift, one I plan to pass on to my children.

Associate membership is $115 for individuals, $175 for the whole family. I'll bet many of you pay at least that much per month for internet and cable. It is said that we live in the information age. For the cost of a months internet, you can have a years access to a wealth of information the likes of which your computer will never be able to provide.

It's worth every penny.

Sucker Punch (finale)

I swore I wasn't gonna do a post about Take Ivy, but I couldn't help it....
I fell for it, I pre-ordered it. My copy arrived today, as I'm sure so many others did. It was on the front porch by 8:30 a.m. Damn, Amazon, did you send the trucks out at midnight, or what?

No surprise, I love it. I won't set off on a full scale rave up over it. The old internets already aglow with them. I will say that what struck me most in actually seeing this much-hyped tome was an underlying innocence, on the part of the authors/photographers as well as the guys in the pictures. It's refreshing to see this stuff in its true context, and not taken as runway fashion or blog fodder.

The Ivy League culture of the mid 1960s has been much romanticized lately. Maybe with good reason. We like to imagine that young guys in the old days carried themselves with a brand of poise and style that the youth of today just don't understand, but judging by the pictures, these guys were just wearing what dudes wore in their day, trying to fit in and be part of something. For every moment of sartorial inspiration, there are flubs. Which is as it should be, since it is a piece of social anthropology with humans as its subject.

What's with the guy in a tweed jacket and madras shorts (page 24)?

The Apologist

I took these photos the other day, but then I found two Brooks Brothers oxfords for ten bucks, and I decided to write about that instead, because I felt news of such a "score" more in keeping with the general thrust of this blog. Then, this morning I felt the need of a new post, if for no other reason than to steer the conversation off the topic of the slippers I bought that seem to be infuriating some off you ( forgive me the occasional guilty pleasure). Anyway, Mrs. G. took the camera to work with her today, so I'm sticking with some pictures already in storage:

Vintage Palm Beach "Zephyr Weight" madras jacket, $5.99, Brooks Brothers blue and white shirt with contrast club collar, made in USA, $4.99, no name silk knit tie, $.99, slide on collar bar (sorry, ADG), $.25
White suede "Worthmore" bucks by Florsheim (getting dirtier by the minute...can't wait for Fall) $1.99, tan Italian gabardine slacks by Ralph Lauren Purple Label, $4.99, navy cotton socks (I dig the contrast of the dark socks with white shoes and light colored pants, forgive me) from Target, part of a three pack for $4.99

The original post for these photos was going to be a kind of last-chance-for-Summer-clothes thing, which in this case I guess really only applies to the jacket. While I won't miss sweating like a hog and having my hair curl up in the Italian guy mini afro it becomes when the humidity is high, I will miss that jacket. Technically, the shoes close their season soon too, I guess, but I'm going wear them straight into November. Forgive me, but I happen to think that white bucks with cords and tweed on a crisp Autumn day are the jam. I'll probably wear them more in the Fall than I did this Summer.

When I wrote my last post, I knew it was going to piss at least a few of you off. That's fine. It' all well and good getting comments along the lines of "you look great", but without some criticism, we're not having much of a conversation. That's why I publish all comments except for spam. I welcome dissenting opinions in the interest of discussion. Really, I do.

But this morning, someone (an anonymous commenter, of course) said my blog had become a parody, which got my wheels turning. Now, I know that if you're going to write a blog and thereby live at least some carefully edited part of your life in public, a certain thickness of the skin is required. So before one of you gives me "if you can't stand the heat...", it ain't that. There have been times when a negative comment really struck home and got me to take a closer look at what I was doing, like the time I instigated that veritable sh*tstorm about the Pop Up Flea, and Tin Tin asked me to take down his link. I let things get out of hand, he called me out, we talked, and now we're pals, and now I know a little better. But parody? Forgive me, I just don't see it. That' a fairly heavy term to lay on someone as I see it, so if someone else is reading me that way, I'd like to know why. I encourage you all to think and say what you will, but if you're going to get to name calling, please be prepared to explain yourself.