Here. Look at this.

And gander at a few other flurries of nothing ‘til I can find the time to write a bigger, more fascinating pile of nothing. I’m just too blessed with a life to-do list that is overwhelming right now and my bandwidth for story telling ain’t present at present. But this is a martini. I. Love. Them. And the other evening I had a rare opportunity to have two of them in Bethesda before I once again left town.

I got dumped on Sunday and I suspect it had something to do with this outfit. Don’t dump people via email by the way. If you’ve gotta cut the cord, at least be decent enough to pick up the telephone. Shut up.

Third Edition closed. It was on my “different bar every night” circuit when I lived here and worked on the Hill that summer. I’m sure it will be replaced by some national or global retail chain or one of those food places that every town has. You know, the places with menus that have freakin’ photographs of the entrees. The “buy local and eat seasonal” food thing is all the rage. Certainly the opposite is in play when it comes to the homogenization of retail and dining joints. Shut up. Again. At 543am.

Nathans closed a good while back. Serendipity now holds sway in the white building at the corner of M and Wisconsin. But it holds nothing for me. There is only one Serendipity and it is in NYC. I have fond memories of taking LFG there when she was a tot. Courtesy of her Uncle Alan Flusser’s connections, we never waited in line and always had great tables. Nathans was a started out joint and for me a nightcap joint. I remember stopping back by Nathans late one night after being at Mendocino a few blocks down. Late, late, late night nightcap. I kissed MTC right there at the bar for the first time. I generally don’t do the PDA thing but the cravin’ was palpable and who am I to deny. It took seven guys to secure her while I grabbed that kiss. Shut up.

Everything’s changing. My little girl grew up and she now straitens her curly hair. But one recent morning, she and my ne iPad Mini decided to come slum with me for a while before we got up and made breakfast. Sublime and rare. I love her.

I’ve been home a lot over the past three months and will continue to do so. Actually, I’ve been home more days in the last three months than I have in the last three years. My mom is taking her cues from anybody but doctors and family. She remains, in between harrowing moments of “it’s gonna be over any moment now”… here. And I’m seeing everything with new eyes. Even my kindergarten that I passed on Cherokee road the other day. I loved Mrs. Wright and her kindergarten. Funny, by the time my ten years younger brother was old enough to go there, it was called Montessori. And it cost more. He’s taller than me. Might a had something to do with the name change at Mrs. Wright’s.

Onward. Blessed. And back on the market. Wearing blazers with a sleeve button undone. But my monkstraps are fully secured. 

ADG-Double

An Open Letter to Drakes

Dear Drakes,

I’ve been wearing your goods for years. Even though most times it was private label, I could still tell that it was yours. The size of the pocket squares, the quality of the silk or linen or those delightful marriages of silk, wool and/or linen—these ingredients would pretty much convey that the goods were sourced from you.

My little mugwump, LFG, was bound or swathed in at least two, maybe three Drakes lovelies when I playfully shot this keeper.

Scarves...textiles...adornments. See, Drakes, we're cultivating your future constituency.

I’d say that most of my Drakes goods have come from sartorial daddy Alan Flusser’s shop over the years. My paisley silk scarf is one of those things that I’d grab if the house was on fire. It’s one of those that deserves being passed down to one who’s important to you.

And speaking of passing things down. I bought this one…another one of your brilliant things…from the Flusser boys as a Christmas gift for my damn self. And I passed it on to someone who deserved it…within sixty days after I bought it.You should appreciate this, Drakes...my friend expressed an admiration for it that was so well stated that after she and I exhausted all possibility of procuring a twin, I sent it to her. And the kicker was that she had already decided who would be the next steward of said Drakes scarf…her grandson. He's still in single digits but isn't it nice to think that his grandma's already holding things precious for him. If he's like me and he grows to love a story and appreciate lore, maybe his grandma will print this one and put in the box with the scarf. Shut up.

So it ain’t just about textiles, Drakes. It’s about creating things that are so rich in color and texture and quality that from moment one, they communicate endurance and legacy and a worthiness to be passed on. In this era of throw away Bangladeshi sweatshop, urban ironic poseur goods, you, Drakes, are an oasis of everything not Bangladeshi sweatshop. So thanks for that.

And Will over at A Suitable Wardrobe always offers a well curated selection of your contrivances. I love Will’s online shop and I’ve bought shoes from him but mostly I go there for what I call a pick-me-up. You know the strategy…when you don’t have the money for new shoes, get a shoe shine and you’ll feel like you’ve got a new pair. When I don’t have the big dollars to bespeak a jacket or buy a thousand dollar pile of toy soldiers, which is more the rule these days, I’ll go over to see what Will’s offering and treat myself to a little surcie. 

It’s always fun to discover the packet in my mail pile. Will’s branding brandishes the exterior and the journey from California is just long enough for me to let its impending arrival slip my mind.

Beyond a reasonable inventory of pocket square standards, you, Drakes, offer a stable of whimsies that are right down my fuzzy alley. Dance steps in multiple colorways? Bingo. I’ll have the orange, please.

So why? Why did you have to go and tart it up? The quality of your offerings is second to none. The colors, textures…hell, I’ve already said it. Shit. You had to go and print the word Drakes on the actual item. Please stop this.

Do what others often do, if you must at all. Attach a discreet branding badge elsewhere. Give us the option to then remove it—like I do with pocket squares—or keep it—like I have with larger scarves. I’ve worn every freakin’ logo known to man and I’m not proud of it. If it ain’t my monogram, I don’t, with two exceptions, wear logos anymore.

I know, I know. All a y’all are saying, “Damn ADG, is this really that big a deal? Just tuck the Drakes brand into your breast pocket so that it doesn’t show.” That’s not the point. The point is that your goods, Drake, carry your name and your brand and your enduring quality without you having to say it for them. It’s rather like Lady Margaret Thatcher said about being a leader. Chances are if you have to say it, you aren’t.

LFG and I are wrapping all of this in love, Drakes.

Onward. Saturday. At home for a change. Warping-Wefting-Wafting...mixing colors, textures, patterns and such.

ADG-Two