Kilt Me!

Kilt Me, the book!

After a long time away, I have finally pupblished Kilt Me! It's a strange little imagined history of Kilts in New York along with a personal tale of love. Blending fact and fiction, advice, and fashion tips with humor and illustrations, it suggests that kilts have been woven into the cultural fabric of a kilted New York that could have been, from the Roaring Twenties to the punk rock movement. 

The books follows the checkered “history” of kilts from the founding of the Angry Scottsman Pub in 1875, through the famous Broadway March (a kilted bar crawl), to the advent and design of the modern day kilt, and of course, the origins of smacking people in the face with a sock full of beef Jerky. 

The brilliant Donna Mehalko did the illustrations for me and they really make this little book shine.

It's currently available as an e-book on Amazon, and hopefully will be in print soon as well. 

My Great Grandfather's Ship

(Mattie J. Alles, built 1883, Yarmouth, Maine, Collection of John C. Goodwin.)

This is a photo of my great grandfather's ship, the Mattie J. Alles. He was captain until he sold her in 1927 and he sailed up and down the East coast carrying lumber and other goods.  His name was Captain Leonard B. Wallace, and while he was not known to be a kilt wearer, he did sport his Wallace tie.

 

Kilted Hammer Throw

Another great illustraton by Donna Mehalko. We're laying out our book proposal, and the illustrations are looking fantastic!  I should have it ready for an agent soon.

Mustering the Courage

When I walk into Doc Holidays without a kilt on I get scowls, yells, chastisement, and general attacks on my person.  It’s been a bloody cold winter though, so on more than one occasion I’ve stumbled into the bar bundled up in pants, sweaters, and scarves to keep out the chill.

“Where’s your fucking kilt!” the bartender screamed the last time I walked in, and I just shook my head. I didn’t have an excuse, and I didn’t know what to say. 

“I’m having it cleaned.  I spilled too much beer on it the last time I was here,” I mumbled, and she was kind enough to pour me a drink anyway. 

The truth is, that sometimes I just don’t have the energy.  When I’m feeling down, a little tired, and not tough enough to take on the stares of strangers, I throw on my jeans and walk out of the house.

Today I’m reminded that putting the kilt on and holding my head up high is often just what I need, no matter how low I’m feeling.  The smiles I get inspire me more than the laughter and head shaking, and the blues just slip away with each step. 

When I walk into the bar tonight, I’ll get smiles and hugs, and most of all, I’ll feel just that much better about the world.

 

No Idea What's Going on Here...

And The Wallace Tartan...

A Question of Honor?

"Are you, like Scottish or something?"

I looked down at her—she was twenty-two and blonde—and the hair rose on the back of my neck. It was a question I'd heard a thousand times and it wasn't one simply answered. She wasn't asking where I was from, and she wasn't just wondering who I was. She was questioning my right. She was assessing my honor and my claim to wear the tartan. In her little voice, stood a challenge. I stood up tall and smiled at her. I took a deep breath and it all poured out. 

"All around the world men have worn kilts with honor and pride. They've fought and hunted and danced and sang. From England, Ireland and Scotland, to Rome and ancient Greece, the kilt has been a symbol of power and strength.  

“I am the great grandson of Captain Leonard B Wallace who sailed the schooner known as the Matty J Alice. I come from a long line of pirates and thieves, nobles and merchants, and my family goes back over one thousand years.”

There was a moment of confusion in her eye as she took it all in, and I wondered, just for a moment, if I misunderstood. Was it possible she was thinking something else entirely? Before I could say anything her head went down and her eyes looked up. They were pretty and blue and her smile was coy as she put a hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. 

"It's totally hot."

My Favorite Kilted Group Ever

I just got a comment from Todd Wong of the Gung Haggis Fat Choy Dragon Boat team.  They are awesome. I've known about them for a while, seen their photos, and wished I could go to their events.  Hopefully one day I'll make it out there.  

In the meanwhile, here's Todd's comment:

"Our new website is http://www.gunghaggis.com

Maybe one day, the Gung Haggis dragon boat team can come race in New York City, or attend "Dressed to Kilt" in the mean time, we will have kilts night on the 1st Thursday of each month, at Doolin's Irish Pub in downtown Vancouver...as well as host Gung Haggis Fat Choy Robbie Burns Chinese New Year dinners, and race dragon boats up and down the Pacific Coast."

Someone Had to Do it

So, I'm Writing a Kilt Book

(A few pages of the first draft of the sales pitch)

For a while I wasn't sure how much I wanted to talk about this on the blog.  Afterall, this is a kilt blog, not a book blog.  But writing, producing, designing, sellinng, and publishing a book is a fascinating process (at least to me) and I thought it might be fun to chronicle some of it for you too.

A few months back, in a marathon writing session, I wrote most of the story.  I wrote for about six hours a day and got a little over seven thousand words down on paper.  I showed it around to some friends at work, got a little feedback, hinted at it with an agent (who had been in the office for something else) and then frankly, I left it alone for a while.

I eventually sent it to my friend Donna Mehalko and asked if she'd be interested in illustrating the book with me; then we could sell it together (of self-publish if we had no takers).  She read it, agreed whole heardetly, and after another few months we finally sat down to talk about it.  We talked style, looked through the text for images we wanted to create, and she went home to do some sketching.  She came back the next week with some lovely illustrations, some black and white sketches, and some great ideas.

Which brings us to about now.  I'm still editing the book, she's making some more illustrations, and I'm putting together a sales package to present to agents/publishers.  I've been doing the layout in InDesign (it helps being a graphic designer by day) and then printing it out in my office. The photo above is the first draft of the proposal.  It will include a few pages about the book, some quotes from authors saying how funny and brilliant it is, statistics about kilt wearers, and the first few chapters of the book.

So, there's the story so far.  I'll try not to bore you with the details, while still keeping you informed of what's happenening.  I'm inredibly excited (not the least to be working with Donna) and probably overly hopeful.  But a little hope, a lot of hard work, and some support from friends and family go a long way.

So, here it goes!

The Campbell Apartment (technically the bathroom)

 

Standing against the wall of the Campbell Apartment wearing my Wallace dress tartan meant that no one noticed me at all.

The patterns aren't exactly the same, but the reds and blacks blend together like a fine whisky, and even the pearl deckled waitresses didn't notice me as they swooshed by in their long black dresses.

I had been waiting at the bathroom door for nearly ten minutes and was about to go upstairs to the other restroom when I heard the lock. The door opened slowly and a pretty blonde face looked out through the crack.

"It's clear," she whispered, before the two of them stumbled out into the foyer. His shirt was poorly tucked in, and her lipstick had been freshly applied. They looked like teenagers crawling out if the backseat of dad's Oldsmobile. Just as they turned back into the bar the young man noticed my quiet form leaning against the wall, and shook his head.

"Now that," he said to his date, with a pointed finger, "would have made things a whole lot easier."

Kilt Tweets

You can follow me on twitter now if you like.  I'm at www.twitter.com/kiltmenyc

I've grown to like a twitter a bit with some othe projects I have, and for kilt wearers, it's a great place to say things like, "A girl just leaned all the way over on the subway to get a peek" or "It's cold out, but there's a warm grate on Broadway and 22nd. Getting crowded!  Come quick!"

You get the idea. 

Alexander McQueen and Buying Me Presents

If someone wants to buy this jacket for me, just shoot me an e-mail.  It's only $4,435 at Neiman Marcus. But it would look so good with...well, all of my kilts.

Geoffrey (Tailor)

(From the Geoffrey (Tailor) websiite.)

Your Postmodern Kilt

"How can you be married and wear a kilt?"

"What the heck does that mean? What difference does it make?"

"Oh come on. You know kilts are just designed to get us laid."

"They're designed to keep us dry, warm, and comfortable. It's not like girls hit on you just because you're wearing some fancy Geoffrey Taylor thing that cost you eight hundred bucks."

"Really? When was the last time?"

"The last them what?"

"When was the last time some hot woman didn't ask for a peek when you went out like that."

"I can handle a few come ons. It's not like you're required to go home with a girl because she likes your legs."

"Oh, yes you are."

"Are you telling me you hook up every time you go out in a kilt? You don't even have a tartan."

"Oh, just cause I'm black I don't get a tartan? Fuck that. Kilts are post-punk, post-nation state, and postmodern."

"So your postmodern kilt is just designed to get your laid?"

"Of course not. It's a fashion statement. Besides, it's comfortable."

When You Gotta Go

 

(By the very talented Donna Mehalko)

"The kilt was invented for the three things the Scottish Army did most: running, fucking, and pissing."

The guy next to me was far drunker than I was, but that didn't stop me from listening.  It's often late at night in little dive bars full or old men and drunk barmaids that I hear the best stories.  This guy looked like he crawled out of a war movie, and not one made in the last fifty years.  He had a scar across his cheek, boots that hadn't polished in years, and a drink in front of him with an umbrella that bumped into his face everytime he took a drink.

"Well, it sure works," I said, not sure of the correct response.

"You do a lot of running, boy?" he asked, pushing the umbrella to one side before sucking on the straw.

"More of the other two, I suppose."

By the time he was done laughing he was on his way out, and I wasn't even sure what had happened.  Sometimes, I suppose, we just have to take what we're offered and leave the rest well enough alone.

Kilts. In a Bar

This is not me in a bar.  It's just for reference.  Like, I wrote a story about wearing a kilt in a bar, and now I'l posting a picture of poeple wearing kilts in a bar, so you don't have to imagine it all.  Even though it didn't really look like this. And click the picture for the it's source and to learn about THAT bar.  Not the one I was at. Got it?

Smart-ass Replies and a Three Dollar Beer

“Hey, where’s your fucking bagpipes?” someone yelled when I walked into the bar.

After you’re heard that about six times before lunch even rolled around, it’s hard to know what to say.  I used a witty retort on the first two, an angry one on the third, dry sarcasm on the fourth and fifth, and now I was stuck with an empty clip in my arsenal of smart-ass replies. 

The fact is I don’t play the bagpipes.  I have a practice chanter in my bedroom--sitting on my dresser--and if I pick it up once a month it’s a good month.  I can barely get the first three notes right and forget about the rest of them.  It still sounds like I’m stepping on my cat’s tail rather than music, and that’s ok.  I don’t wear a kilt because I’m a piper.  I wear a kilt because I’m a man, and I have an arsenal of smart-ass replies.

It wasn’t especially a kilt-unfriendly bar.  The bartenders knew me, the regulars got angry when I didn’t wear one, and the bouncer once told me if he wore a kilt he wouldn’t have time to call back all the girls who gave him their numbers. It was my bar, and some drunk in the corner could yell all he wanted just because Robert Earl Keen was on the juke-box; Keen makes everyone feel like they have big balls.

So, I ordered a house beer (someone in Brooklyn makes it for them and it’s delicious for three dollars) and I didn’t say a damn thing.  If he wanted to start something, he could come all the way down to my end of the bar and we’d sort it out.  Two minutes later that’s just what he did.  I tensed up, and I saw the bartender grab the soda gun in one hand as she undid the top button of her shirt with the other (I’m not sure they were related).

“So, you don’t play the pipes?”

“Nope,” was all I said.

“Well, that sucks.  We’re a man short for the parade this weekend, and I was hoping to sucker you in.”

I looked up at him with new eyes and his smile was big and warm.  He sat down next to me and while the button stayed open, the soda gun went back to its rightful place.

“Let me buy you a beer, man,” he said. And that’s just what he did.

Just Hanging Out

New Year's Eve in a Kilt

If you’re going to wear a kilt out and about, then New Years Eve is a perfect time to do it.  Everyone is dressed to the nines and not only will you fit right in, but you’ll also stand out.  I wore my formal Wallace kilt out in the snow to a fancy party I’m not allowed to talk about.  It was party full of fire breathers and dancing girls with feather instead of hands (it’s possible the feathers were in their hands).  We drank whiskey, talked loudly over the music and danced our asses off.  It was a night with great friends, good drinks, and wonderful food.

At the after party we lounged on the couch, filled our mouths with dumplings, and said our goodbyes to year that just slipped past.  We looked back and made resolutions we probably won’t keep and it didn’t matter.  What mattered was that we rang it in together, we had hopes for the future, and I managed to avoid splinters in uncomfortable places when I passed out on the wood floor.

If I only do one thing I promised myself that night I’ll do this.  I’ll write when I can, and by the time winter comes around again, something will come of it.