Scenes from Cincinnati, the Spring 2009 edition

[Rex_Tremende]

Friday, May 29

It was a long day. I labored until dusk trying in vain to make a dent in the pile of projects and do-to items that has accumulated from the wellspring of work on which my desk is apparently situated. By 9:00 p.m. I was shuffling back to my car when I came face to face with UtiliKris, Utilikilt-less in shorts. Last summer I was in a parade marching with a contingent of my coworkers, he shouted to me from the crowd of spectators, "Where's your kilt?", so I thought to return the question this time. He said it was just one of those days when he didn't feel like being the center of attention, but pointed in the direction of one of the many venues of the Cincinnati Fringe Festival going on now and said he had just spotted someone else in a black UK. I thought I detected a hint of regret in his voice.

He asked if I was going to Final Friday, the monthly gallery walk at the artists' studios in the hard-bitten Over-the-Rhine district. Actually, I had forgotten it was the last Friday, and I said I was thinking of going home, but the idea of a free glass of wine or two and some nosh put the spring back in my step. So off we went, he back to his downtown home and I on my way to making my long day longer.

I had to park about three blocks away in what is probably one of the most forlorn sections of the city. The police presence around the Pendleton Arts Center is high on Final Fridays, but not so much in the gritty side street shadows. But I am unconcerned, for I know that the key to personal safety in this neighborhood is respect for the people who live there and a friendly demeanor. (There are shuttles and valet parking for those who feel otherwise.) There were lots of people out on the sidewalks and door stoops enjoying the fresh evening air.

Now, in my kilt, I am quite used to elevated levels of attention. As it happened, I had already been getting a good deal of it all day on account of the ensemble I wore to work: not a kilt, but rather a plain navy blazer, a pink shirt with blue pinstripes, a navy tie with pink and baby blue lattice work, and white linen trousers. Very yacht club. So, when I passed a small gathering of residents, there came such a swell of cheers and hollers you would have thought it was a tent revival. The crowd parted for me, but one woman kept calling after me.

I turned to wink, and she took this as a cue to get up from her lawn chair to approach me. (Is it still a lawn chair when there is no lawn?) I met her half way and received her gift of a compliment. I thanked her and we exchanged first names, and I went on.

At the gallery, all the artists were astonished to see me dressed this way. One said, much to the alarm of the other patrons in the studio, "I've never seen you in pants before!" That took a little explaining. It seems, too, that a photograph of me from an earlier visit is to be posted in her blog somewhere on the internet. I made a mental note to look for it some day. That's how it went the rest of the evening there, being noticed for what I was not wearing as much as for what I was.

I do not blend in easily.

Somewhere around the fifth floor, one of the artists tells me that there is someone else in a kilt nearby, but not dressed as nicely as I usually do [in a kilt], and would I please tell him how to wear a kilt. I declined. Later I saw the young fellow and his friends outside the building. We talked about kilts and facial hair. He wore both in a contemporary, care-free fashion, but with his aprons in front and pleats in back, I didn't see any need to offer anything more than encouragement.

On the way back to my car, my new lady-friend sees me coming and orders her family and friends to back up so she can see me. As I approach she hops out of her chair again, introduces me to her grown children, one of whom they call "Ham Hock," and asks in earnest if she can have her picture taken with me. Many of us know this experience when we are in a kilt, but it's the first time this has ever happened to me in ordinary clothes, but I know the drill. A camera was produced, we posed, and then I gave her a peck on the cheek and headed for home at last.

Sunday, May 31

It is the weekend of the annual arts festival in Cincinnati known as Summerfair, and what a good one for it it was, save for a particularly nasty batch of storms that blew in some cooler and drier weather late last night. My pal Ken and I had made plans to go for brunch and to see the show. I chose to wear my gray brushed cotton UK Mocker with a black polo shirt and black hiking boots, in case there would be mud at the park.

All day, from the moment we left the diner downtown on 7th street to the time we left the park, there were an unusually high number of mostly benign and often inane comments about my kilt. Even Ken noticed. A few of the remarks were complementary, such as when a pretty lass with a BIG smile on her face approached me and said that she loved my kilt. One exhibitor seemed to not understand what I was wearing. He asked where it was from. Seattle, I said, and pointed to the Utilikilts embroidery on the back pocket. He said that he also plays Irish music and has seen his share of kilts, so I'm having trouble understanding his confusion, really. One would expect to see a UK or two on that circuit, I would think.

Another exhibitor, a pleasant lady, looked me up and down and told me her husband wanted one, but with all the loops and extra pockets and such. By the way she was eyeballing me, I'm guessing he won't have to wait much longer.

In another booth, the occupants saw me and said, "Ach! It's a shame you weren't here yesterday, you would have been in competition with the guy across the way!" I couldn't tell if they were gesturing in the direction of one of the tents on the other side of the path or the empty spot directly opposite theirs.

"It's never a competition," I said. "It's a celebration when two or more people show up in kilts!", which delighted them.

"Most of his pleats were in the back," the gentleman observed, looking at my UK a little sideways.

Ken chimed in: "Well, that's where they belong!" Going on the assumption that the artist was describing a traditional kilt, I hastily explained the difference between that and what I was wearing, while Ken pointed out how handy it was to have a kilt with pockets. The lady accompanying the exhibitor seemed a little amazed by it all, surprised that she'd learn so much about kilts in a weekend in Cincinnati.

Well, that's about it for the report from Cincinnati this weekend. It was a pleasant respite from the daily grind. Tomorrow it is back to my pile of... stuff waiting for me right where I left it.

Regards,
Rex.

[Bugbear]

... a plain navy blazer, a ... pink shirt with blue pinstripes, a navy tie with pink and baby blue lattice work, and white linen trousers. Very yacht club.

That sounds nice.

...(Is it still a lawn chair when there is no lawn?)...

Well, in my neighborhood, couches are usually used as lawn chairs, so I think it probably counts as a lawn chair.

Thanks for the story; I enjoyed it.

[Lady M]

Love that photo, very fashionable!

[GMan]

What a great life.

[The Guy in the Kilt at UC]

I need to get off campus more often. Cincinnati sounds like a great place to explore.

Alas, I have finals soon, and I haven't seen the sun is so long that my hair is turning brown again.

[Panache]

Rex is still in Cincinnati
And he is still making the scene
On the town and dressing natty
Seeing it all with vision keen...

Rex,

I always enjoy your reports from the city!

Cheers

Jamie :ootd:

[JolyStNicholas]

I don't know How I missed this post until now, well done friend Rex, Well done!

[ghostlight]

Thank you for sharing your weekend with us, sir.

[English Bloke]

Great stories Rex. Made me smile. Thanks.

[KFCarter]

Thanks for that very pleasant window into your weekend.
:ootd: