Speechless. Sandy/Yvonne Rideout/Collins

happen to be in the sock region because they’ve drifted down from his butt. It’s a pretty great butt and it’s too bad I’ll miss out on it, but happily, I’ll also miss out on a lifetime of wardrobe monitoring. The man is in the presence of royalty, or at least a vice regal. Socks matter. As if orchestra conductors don’t have enough strikes against them already! Look at him waving that silly baton around. And what’s with the jutting of his rib cage in the general direction of the horns? The grimace at a squawking bassoon? The blissful radiance over a perfect chord? It’s too much—and it cancels out the great butt, which is a shame, because they aren’t that common.