Essay question: Tip O'Neill said "all politics is local." Discuss.

I apologize, Boston. Mayor Curley was a veritable statesman.

Sorry about that, Providence. 

Mayor Cianci had an entrepreneurial turn of mind, that's all.

I misunderstood, Newark. 

Mayor Addonizio was entitled to have a couple of friends he could count on.

Beg pardon, Atlanta. Mayor Campbell was a politician, just not an accountant.

Now I see, Chicago. Mayor Daley simply liked to get things done.

Sad day, Socorro, Texas.

It's taken a while, D.C., but you're trying to show us there's life after Mayor Barry.

I acknowledge your tradition, Syracuse. 

Mayor Alexander gave you many years.

Sincere regrets, Baltimore. 

Mayor Dixon was just as entitled to over-shop as I am 

(although I use my own money).

As always, New Orleans, you have my heart.

And to you folks in Tenessee, dealing with Vice-Mayor Blakely of Mount Carmel, 

I offer compassion, not the snide chuckles you may have heard from me earlier.

So please, folks. 

Stop telling me Anthony Weiner jokes for a while. 

He does that well enough by himself.

All you other towns and cities, too numerous to name:

democracy is its own reward.

I am taking a break from newspapers for a few weeks. 

Instead I am reading The Diary of a Provincial Lady, 

which was recommended by my friend R as, if not an antidote, then at least an anodyne. 

And if any of the run-up to elections, or back-to-school shopping, 

or figuring out when the loan against the 401K has to be put back,

or whether that strange rash is just an allergy to polyester,  

is getting to you, allow me recommend  this delightful little collection 

of pre-WWII first world problems to you as well.

Where is Tammany Hall when you need it?

That's what I want to know.

in an effort to be generous of spirit Fred hires a publicist

We live surrounded by hints, lists, orders, directives - no, fiats - for improvement. Entire professions and fields of industry labor under the delusion that Somewhere in the universe there is a better-looking, calmer, more compassionate, fitter Me. Better Me has clear eyes, each endowed with long and curly lashes; a fine and even complexion with no visible pores; whiter teeth (but not Chiclets); good posture; shiny hair that bounces when Better Me rushes to the store on an errand for her grouchy elderly neighbor. Better Me always finds kind things to say about everything without sounding sappy, and can change the subject at awkward moments without being obvious (no, we're not really married, I just live there because there's room for the three of us, him, me and that ⇑and is it true you're being audited by a whole team of Special Agents? Yes, they're required to tell you. Um, seven years back, longer if they smell fraud....) Better Me never forgets a birthday but always knows when not to draw attention to it. Neither of us commits diabolical puns. Well, hardly ever.

Readers and friends know that most of the time I'm able to keep Better Me under control, the better to see the world through jaundice-colored specs. Did I mention that Better Me is prompt, keeps her shopping under control and returns library books when due? You can see why having someone like this around all the time gets old fast.

I had a visit from Better Me and her list-of-areas-yet-to-be-improved yesterday. Quite innocently a lovely reader drew my attention to an anatomical gaffe of truly grotesque proportions on the J.Crew website. I could feel my fangs growing and my palms twitching as I read and reread the item in question. Better Me, a master of the b%*%ier martial arts, tied my hands together with a simple black silk sash (Elie Tahari) and stuffed a cotton scarf (Epice) in my gaping mouth. I am happy to report that I am again at large, with working laptop.

NOT THE ANKLE 

NOT AN ANKLE-LENGTH SKIRT

Ready? Open another tab in your browser and go to the J.Crew website, item no. 49667, called a knife-pleat wrap skirt in silk taffeta. Read the detailed description. OK, let's go. First the fashion lesson, then the anatomy lesson. This is not a knife-pleat skirt. This is a skirt with pleats that are stitched down and released at or near the hip line. Knife pleats are pleats with a sharp edge (on each of them) all the way down. Speaking of all the way down, I think the skirt must be made of silk taffeta plus invisible fairy princess magic lacey fabric from the knee to the ankle, because even though the description claims that the skirt is ankle length, to my eyes it stops somewhere north of the shinbone. The only way this could be ankle-length is if the wearer spent her days on her knees in penance. Obviously the Copywriter From Space was at the outer limit of her orbit when she phoned this one in. It is she who should be doing penance. Should not catalog copy be written by one who has at least glanced at the item to be described?

THE ANKLES

Better Me thinks I should say something nice. Ooh, guess what? no ghastly puns. Now about that ankle/knee business. The knee is the bendy thing between the thigh and the shin/calf assembly. Its Latin name is Patella. The ankle is a complex of bony things, tendons and fasteners, collectively referred to as the Talus. Is this difficult?

Because I don't want this blog to focus solely on the Copywriter From Space and her employers, I'll ease up a little. I have a new project. I am writing an opera (or perhaps an operetta, don't know how serious the music will be) about the fashion business, as shown through a close look at catalog vending, a merry romp through a retail store, and some distant glimpses of off-shore manufacturing.

Although I have yet to commit one note to paper, nor to make one more of the improvements on Better Me's list, I've done what those I watch in the fashion business do when improvement is required. I've retained a publicist, to whom I now turn over the rest of this space:

MERCH ARRIVES FROM OFFSHORE

World-famous (on her blog) wit, poet and observer of things past, contemporary and yet to be, wellfedfred has tackled that greatest of art forms: the opera. With her usual economy of style and spirit, she has decided not to waste precious pre-production time and money in learning to write music and compose. Rather the score will be shamelessly knocked off  inspired by the works of Rossini, Gilbert & Sullivan, Verdi, Friml, Beethoven and Mascagni, and others. The artist was once thought to have abandoned opera in favor of her unique versification style after an early work, The Diet, caused spectators to faint from hunger. Now, with From Merchant Prince To Pirate King (working title), cognoscenti expect that the rich potential of what was once a major American industry, when brought to the stage, will make a bundle for ole fred prove entertaining, enlightening and ultimately satisfying. We look forward to humming Don't Cry for Me, Fashionista, Three Little Chicks from F.I.T., and I Am the Very Model of a Modern Prince of Merchandise.  Casting for female roles - She Who Must Be Adored (soprano), The Copywriter from Space (mezzo) and a crew of Acolytes, Sycophants and Trust Fund Babes (supernumeraries) - is taking place now. Audition dates for male roles will be posted later in the usual places.