If you’re a guy of a certain age, (or maybe any age, I don’t know), you can’t say you’ve never fantasized the following: You’re sitting at a plush Baccarat table, debonairly dressed in a crisp tux, cradling a dry martini (shaken, not stirred) in one hand, fondling a couple of heavy chips in the other, while coyly catching the eye of a certain femme fatale.
If there’s one prop that defines this scene, the one thing your mind’s eye focuses on, it’s the bow tie.
You can’t wear a shiny tux without one. The bow tie tells the story – the whole story.
Here’s why.Continue Reading “Every “Real Man” Knows How To Tie A Bow Tie”
The Day ‘The Democracy’ Died
JFK Campaign Poster. Source: Unidentified Artist, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons
Two hundred years. It was a great run while it lasted.
I wrote eight years ago how the establishment Republicans’ alienation of Donald Trump signaled the end of that party, (see “The Night the Grand Old Party Died,” Mendon-Honeoye Falls-Lima Sentinel, April 14, 2016). A week ago, their counterpart decided to return the favor.
To fully appreciate the significance of this, understand I was raised a Kennedy Democrat, pretty much like every other Catholic who grew up in the 1960s. Every home in my family and every home of my family’s friends had two pictures hanging somewhere among their walls. One was of the Pope. The other was of John F. Kennedy.
How effusive was the Kennedy aura in our family? My brother’s name was “Kenneth.” We called him “Kenny.” My great-great aunt Zia Pepe (that would be my mother’s great aunt and my grandmother’s aunt) watched us when my mother had to substitute teach. She called my brother “Ken-eh-dee.” It was a badge of honor for him. He collected all things Kennedy, at least for a short time.
Zia Pepe was babysitting us when JFK was assassinated. The three of us watched it on TV. She cried. We didn’t know why Zia Pepe was crying. As we were watching, our mother Continue Reading “The Day ‘The Democracy’ Died”