Memorandum

To: All Men

Subject: Independence Day Propriety

Gentlemen,

Reflecting on the ways in which we wish our great country its 237th Many Happy Returns of the Day, I realized that our great writers are already waxing eloquent on “Liberty vs. Privilege,” “Our Country’s Birth and Subsequent Baby Pictures,” and “Another Prediction of Our Country’s Crashing Future.” Few, I felt, would touch on other applicable topics: “Can Men Bring Fancy Jell-O to Potlucks?” “Firecracker Tips for Bearded Men,” “Patriotic Tie Etiquette.” It is in hopes of remedying this oversight, therefore, that I set pen to paper, sharing a few humble lines given in reply to gentlemen’s questions published in the esteemed “Dear Augustus” advice column, for which I had the privilege of covering during a period of lymph node irritation besetting the usual author. Below, then, one may find advice to guide the Correct Gentleman through this year’s Independence Day festivities.

Gentlemen, I present my humble counsel, wishing you a Happy Independence Day while remaining

Yours, &c.,

Joe Post

Dear Augustus:

My well-intentioned cousin’s friend invited me to their annual 4th of July potluck-style barbeque, and for some reason I volunteered to bring a dessert. I don’t cook–I open cans of bean chili for dinner and follow that up with packaged Pop Tarts. Flipping through the dentist office’s copy of Better Homes & Gardens the other day, I saw an awesome recipe that inspired me to do something in the kitchen: a Jell-O American flag dessert! You know, the kind that involves massive amounts of Cool Whip and red and blue berries. I was about to tear the recipe out when I asked myself, Is this wise? Is this manly? I haven’t seen other dudes bring fancy desserts to potlucks–what should I do?

Sincerely,

Jell-O John

Dear Jell-O John,

May I first congratulate you on going to the dentist’s, and next on entering into the true American spirit of volunteerism–both worthy pursuits. Regarding your concern on the dessert dilemma: it is well-founded. Follow your intuition on this one. Consider, what does it tell the fellow guests of the gala about your interests and abilities? Is this, they would ask, a man who spends his time playing with Jell-O and Cool Whip and strawberries? Do his many talents lie within the realm of decorative desserts? Rather, I would suggest that you keep the ladies guessing and slide under the mocking men radar. Bring a platter of Pop Tarts, edged tastefully with parsley sprigs.

Best,

“Augustus”

Dear Augustus:

I’m in a pickle. My girlfriend’s family asked me to join them for their Independence Day get-together, which was nice of them. My girlfriend hinted, though, that I will be expected to light the firecrackers for the kiddos attending, which is not nice of them. I have a beard. Not usually a problem, but I’ve been waking up from nightmares of a flaming face and sneering snotty children laughing sardonically at my ineptitude. I don’t want my girlfriend to drop me like a hot potato just because I can’t light a stupid firecracker without lighting my beard–should I fake a flu?

Sincerely,

Fiery Fred

Dear Fiery Fred,

Save the flu for an emergency. I happen to be acquainted with my aunt’s doctor’s nephew, a fine gentleman who also happens to have both a beard and the questionable privilege of lighting the annual fireworks. He graciously shared a few face-saving tips with me: 1) Douse your beard with liquid before pulling out a match to ensure primary beard safety. This is best done subtly–perhaps pretend to save a child in the nearby pool or sneeze dramatically into a large iced punch bowl. 2) Buy the foot-long matches available in dollar stores. To disguise the fact that you are bringing foot-long matches for fear of close flames, also purchase an amateur Uncle Sam clown kit for the occasion. This will allow you to further protect your face with a mask and, should you actually and regrettably catch fire, your claim that the wild dancing and leaping was part of the show will be believed. 3) When the children and dusk begin gathering for the show, lock yourself in the bathroom for a healthy 30 minutes. By then, some other poor sap will be dragged into doing the honors.

Best Luck,

“Augustus”

Dear Augustus:     

I have amassed quite the set of ties over the years, and more recently a flashy patriotic piece has joined the collection, the kind that sparkles and plays “My Country, ‘Tis of Thee” when squeezed. My aunt invited me to her annual formal evening Independence Day event, and I happen to know that a girl I am anxious to meet will also be there. Should I wear the tie to stand out and impress her?

Sincerely,

Glitter Glen

Dear, er, “Glitter Glen,”

I must assume the monstrosity masquerading as a “tie” was a gift from either your aunt or the young lady in question, or you would never have dreamed of wearing such a piece to a formal affair. If this is so and politics are an element of the equation, then bring up the outrageous tie casually in conversation with the guilty party, assuring her that you would have worn it with pleasure had you not already selected the quiet gray masterpiece adorning your front in respect to the formality of the event. If you are determined to stand out in your attire for the sake of gaining the young lady’s glances, a small oxblood bowtie would lie within reason, with the understanding that your suit be of quietly conservative persuasion. I would suggest, however, that you chiefly rely on using glittering conversation and amusing anecdotes to garner her affections. Save the tie for a casual barbeque or, even better, burn it.

Cheers,

“Augustus”

Letter to Tobias

My Dear Tobias,

            There are times in life when one stands at an impasse—equilibrium seems sadly attained, the light of inspiration fails to dawn. The greatest tragedy, of course, is that the post is so very slow, and by the time this missive reaches you I will have been compelled by the force of time alone to make a decision. Nevertheless, my consolation lies in writing you, and perchance the best path may open clearly to me as I pour out the woes tied to this subject of utmost importance.

            I allude, my friend, to ties.

            I have, you see, two ties equal in the resplendence required for the upcoming Easter morning service—one, a multicolored horizontal stripe highlighting warm shades of yellow and green; the second, a tasteful paisley of predominantly bold rose hue (you recognize this, surely, as your Aunt Bertha’s excellent gift presented on my birthday last). I need not mention they are both high on the natty scale and, anticipating your first questions, reassure you that the setting for such splendor consists of light blue shirt and suit of quiet grey. You readily note my quandary, then: the one occasion per year in which the tastefully bold and colorful is accepted on men—nay, expected!—is the Easter morning service. I find myself of a sudden the sad victim of the same system to which I lend my usual support, for the system that smiles on grey blazers and frowns on white socks dictates that I wear on any occasion but one tie. I must somehow, then, choose one of these beauties for the weekend and send the other on a yearlong sojourn in my closet.   

            You will think me frivolous.

            But is it mere frivolity, sir, that drives the fairer sex in hordes to hunt the depths of their wardrobes for the most celebratory garment in floral motif? Is it for frivolity’s sake the curls, the hats, the flower arrangements and special music all make their glorious appearance Easter Sunday? I submit that the time and care behind these various arrangements are used thus to honor and celebrate the greatest event in all history, and frankly I do not see why we men should not also reflectively prepare ourselves to honor and celebrate.

            Yes, my dear fellow, this preparation must consist of much more than a mere tie, but perhaps it ought to begin here. I personally think our culture has damaged our ability to properly honor by downplaying the need for care and ceremony. A man may preserve his comfort by casting on the first relatively wrinkle-free shirt to touch his fingers and dash off to church, just as he may heat and eat the closest can of food on the shelf for dinner. But would he feed that can to the Queen of England, and wear that shirt for their dinner date? Then what makes such lack of care sufficient preparation for an Easter service honoring the King of kings?  

            One must reflect, Tobias, on what Easter means for us. A Man, the Man, coming as the second Adam, was faced with a temptation involving, interestingly enough, another set of trees. Offered a shortcut instead of an apple, He conquered the tempter, and took on Himself through obedience the very curse brought about through man’s disobedience. “Cursed is everyone who hangs on a tree…” (Gal. 3:13) “[He] bore our sins in His own body on the tree…” (1 Pet. 2:24) Adam gave in to the fruit of the tree of temptation and was refused the tree of life. Christ refused the fruit of the tree of temptation and became our Tree of Life. In Christ we are welcomed back into the garden of fellowship from which mankind was banished so long ago, for “He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.” (2 Cor. 5:21). The death that rocked the foundation of the world tore open the Way to God.

            Then He arose.

            Death was broken.

            We are free.

            So you see, most excellent Tobias, why I greet most earnestly this time of celebration. Easter—or, more appropriately, Resurrection Day—reminds me that I am a free man. Thus we prepare our hearts even as we take time to ponder our attire.

            And I was right—pouring into your ear has made clear the way I should go. Please let your Aunt Bertha know that she is, as usual, right; I will think fondly of her while marching out in full paisley tie on the morrow.

            Happy Resurrection Day, old fellow. My love to Pongo.

            Yours, &c.,

            Joe Post