Showing posts with label driving mocs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label driving mocs. Show all posts

Monday, May 7, 2012

Too few variations on a theme


The whole premise of the auction racket is founded on mitigating the self loathing which follows being outbid. I told myself I wasn't going to play that game, I wasn't a bad person, a cheap bastard perhaps, outplayed this time but tomorrow is another day. All because I was sniped by someone willing to pay more for the Ralph spectators shown above.

Still grumbling to myself I walked into the closet and stumbled over these.

Ralph's driving mocs. Not especially good looking, but so very comfortable. I picked them up last year, put them away in the fall, and forgot about them over the winter. Dusting them off set off alarm bells in my head. Where were my Easter shoes, which weren't my Easter shoes after all?

After a brief search I found them. Just where I left them.

Egged on by my personal enabler, I snapped these off the bargain counter at EBAY. Ralph's calf and suede spectators. Strikingly similar to the pair I missed out on.

Oldtimers is clearly advancing rapidly. While rotating the summer/winter clothes in/out of storage I turned on the closet light I faced this.

White, bright white, sorta white, tan, kinda tan, sorta tan, with the odd seersucker and poplin tossed in for good measure. I've inadvertently created a summer uniform for myself seemingly with no conscious memory of what is hanging awaiting its next turn. Either that or I'm going color blind too.

I need to take the cure.

Toad

Monday, March 21, 2011

POLO men's spring/summer shoes




Spring (or fall) has sprung, hallelujah!

How was the full moon? It rained here, so we missed it. It did get me thinking of all the Merlin's eons ago building their solar temples to gods long forgotten. How many waited all year for the equinox or solstice's first light, vital for placement of the all important observatory, only for the day to be overcast?

Overseer at Stonehenge telling the boys to go away until next year, maybe they'll have better luck. Until then, Merlin is on notice.


I suspect he probably got one pass, then off with his head. Who needs a cursed magician?

Now that it's Spring we can think seriously about spring raiment. Today I'm thinking shoes.

Of the many catalogs which windup here, the most like those found in airplane seat backs is Herrington's. Treasures from all corners of the earth. Treasures you are amazed you ever lived without. Treasures, and the occasional odd useful item.

Saturday's catalog had a load of Ralph's pretty good penny loafer driving mocs, in a wide variety of sizes and colors. An arguable bargain at only $99.



If you self tan, you may appreciate a pair in Porsche Orange.



I wanted the green suede but popped for the Brown/Linen number.

Happy days are here again.
Toad

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Ceremonial Beach Loafers

Life, The Universe and Everything by Douglas Adams
Chapter 12

"The people of Krikkit", said His High Judgmental Supremacy, Judiciary Pag, LIVR (the Learned, Impartial, and Very Relaxed), Chairman of the Board of Judges at the Krikkit War Crimes Trial, "are well, you know, they are just a bunch of real sweet guys, who just happen to want to kill everybody. Hell, I feel the same way some mornings.

"Okay," he continued, swinging his feet up onto the bench in front of him and pausing a moment to pick a thread off his Ceremonial Beach Loafers, "so you wouldn't necessarily want to share a Galaxy with these guys."

I miss Douglas Adams, he died way too early, but I will be forever grateful for his gift of The HitchHikers Guide to the Galaxy. Beyond that and Dr. Who I am not much of a Sci-Fi fan, but do appreciate the twisted soul necessary to produce such work., which periodically inspires me to be on the lookout for what may have inspired a certain scene. After all, who wouldn't want to be Learned, Impartial and Very Relaxed? So, I wondered, where did ceremonial beach loafers come from?

Here.


Not to be confused with driving mocs.

Toad

Happy Birthday Danny