I hope Gucci keeps this image in mind while planning next season's ad campaign.

Among other things, it combines the almost awkward or accidental anxiousness of the current campaign

with the provocative libidinous posturing of the Tom Ford era.


Swan Swan Hummingbird

Tuesday night, NBC commentators praised Cornell law-student-to-be Matt Savoie for his tasteful choice of costume.

Mmmmmm. But aren't his duds just the recycled eurotrash of last year's State Farm U. S. Figure Skating Championships?

Evan Lysacek at least bothered to vary the color of his tie and cumberbund...

Don't get me wrong: there's a romantic lyricism to Savoie's skating that I thoroughly enjoy. But if you're going to wear the same dull outfit again and again, why not go classically conservative!? Consider, for instance, the tuxedos of the 1962 World Championship.

This lineup gives me a new appreciation for some of the sartorial choices made by 2006 Olympic team nonmember Timmy Goebel, who has repeatedly-- and successfully-- trotted out this handsome ensemble.

If Savoie wants something looser, less stuffy, why not look to the casual composure of a young Dick Button?

The Official Preppy Handbook identifies Cornell as "out of the league" in part because "[e]nrollment is so large... you can't guarantee you'll be able to inbreed." But does the pale, wispy Matty really plan to reproduce? Surely he could work up a long-haired prepped-out version of Button's 40's down-dressing.

Yes, this is a long, loud call for a return to conservative formal attire in men's figure skating. Such a trend would better, more appropriately offset the breathtaking choices of Mawrdew Czgowchwz's long lost lovechild Johnny Weir.

The New York Times quotes a "perplexed" Alice Capelli, "Isn't a swan usually a woman?" Capelli seems to have forgotten that swans come in both genders, both on and off the ice. Perhaps Weir should hunt her down, as he did a USA Today writer after she reported that he wore a boa during down time at the 2006 U.S. Championships in St. Louis: "That was a scarf, not a boa -- dead chinchilla, not feathers." Weir-- parfois plus bête que méchant, mais toujours une bête suavage, une bête curieuse, une bête à bon dieu, et une bête de scène (even in a meltdown... perhaps especially then)-- knows his animals.

If we must preserve the closet of men's figure skating-- and it appears we must-- then let's dispense with all the mongrel frippery in favor of swans and penguins.


She is the prom queen;
I'm in the marching band.
She is a cheerleader;
I'm sittin in the stands.



My long absences from the blogosphere wouldn't be so dreadful if being a lapsed blogger didn't feel so akin to, say, being a lapsed Catholic or lapsed friend. "What does this mean? What is wrong with me? How have I come to be this way? I teach writing, I value this form writing, so why can't I make time for quick lithe, witty posts? How invalid have I become?" This is not productive thinking, particularly insofar as it occupies stints at least equal to the time necessary for the production of quick-- though not necessarily lithe or witty-- posts.

While I sort through this ridiculous muck and try (for the umpteenth time) to work up a new momentum on the blog, I aim to post some stuff that I've been working on, just to prove that my life hasn't turned into the vacuous black hole that the above internal dialogue might suggest.

I teach writing and recently met with two superstars from last semester's class in order to develop a handout for my current course. The document is a solid representation of my current professional self. The goal here is not to showboat my edgy pedagogy (lmao) but rather to begin to give some folks-- who otherwise have no idea what my days and nights look like these days-- a contour or two.