On Hats

Today I was very disappointed that I was not able to find a hat, one that would be the perfect complement to my light summer wardrobe. I traveled all over Manhattan to no avail. Not a single hat I liked. All the baseball caps I tried on left lines on my forehead that made me look like a pygmy Frankenstein. I really need no help there, thank you, given my present sepulchral pallor. I blame global warming. After 6 months of shoveling sun out of the driveway each morning, one is apt to look a little wan.

Of course, I wish I could say my inability to find a hat was the fault of capitalism failing to produce the one article of headgear vital to my continued health, prosperity and happiness, but I can't: I found many hats, it's just that none of them fit: a clear case of supply and demand. Half of the time my head was too small, the other half it was too big. By about 3:00pm, I was beginning to feel like some sort of middle-class cephalic monstrosity.

Therefore, I have written a letter to the President on the subject of the hat crisis and the middle-class. I urged the President to forget taking over the banks, the auto industry, the health care system, our mortgages, our credit cards, energy production, egg production, chicken production, the Moon, Mars, and the Sombrero Galaxy, the silliest galaxy ever to take shape in space [see illustration above]. What we really need right now are medium-sized hats, Sir, I said, speaking on behalf of my fellow citizens. Healthy heads require healthy hats. A man can only do so much about the shapes of gallstones and galaxies, Mr. President, I reminded him, even a man so gifted in gallstone and galactic formation as you.

Even though I was not his supporter in the recent election, I tried to maintain the respectful, reverential tone of address appropriate to the divinity his office. But I am not sure I always succeeded. I did try, I assure you. The fact is, it's rather difficult to write a letter to a public official of President Obama's exalted stature when you are somewhat vertically-challenged, like I am. It is well nigh impossible to do it when you are not wearing the appropriate hat.
I hope the Secret Service will understand my predicament and not take it amiss.

The Terrible Twos

I hope I may be forgiven my two minutes worth of Hate the other day. But when you are fed a daily diet of lies, terror and intellectual capitulation in the face of terror, it is hard not to want to, occasionally, blow off steam.




I usually try to do this creatively, in the manner of a controlled demolition we know as a sonnet. Or I go to the gym and add a few extra plates to my squats. Sometimes I compose sonnets while I squat. These efforts I would rather not publish, however, as they are full of the most unprintable, fraudulent, flatulent noise.

...

Today is a much better day than Tuesday, I am happy to report. We are two steps closer to the weekend, after all. And even though I left my hat at home this morning, and I nearly froze my head off waiting for the 8:39 in Stamford, I have been trying to keep my spirits up: I am avoiding the news and reading a little poetry online.



It is true that, during lunch, I will be forced to brave the cold and run over to the little stall on 45th and 2nd where they sell hats. I also need to run to CVS. So I will try to look at the hat buying today as an adventure--a slight detour into the world of whimsy. I try to look at Life as an adventure, but when I am tired my imagination is not always up to the task.

Anyhow, if you have nothing else to do this afternoon, why don't you tag along? Everyone should visit New York once in their lives. We can cross 3rd Avenue, into the Crimea. The UN is just down the street. And when we come back to the Chrysler Building, foot cream in hand, clad uniformly in our new Balaclava Helmets, ladies will be leaning out of windows, scattering panties on our heads, like laurels, for conquering heroes.


As a footnote, I should like to add that at 5:08pm today, I actually discovered my old hat, the one I thought I had left at home, in my gym bag. I was rummaging around for a pear. Apparently, I remembered the hat, but forgot the fruit.

How damned irritating. I am hungry. And, at 5:00pm, I always look forward to a little fruit.