Ladies and gentlemen it has been just over a week since I purchased a new hat.
|This is not the hat.|
This is an unusual act for me as I have only worn a hat on three occasions in my life. All of which were stage performances. The first, was my brilliant turn as the main Aryan threat in the Sound of Music. Here I traipsed around in the blackest hat since 1918 Russia. It was a dark forbidding headpiece which accurately portrayed my shadowy German authority to the Von Trapps as it obscured my face into a shadowy Nazi monster Gestapo nightmare. The second time, was when I stood on the great ship H.M.S. Pinafore in the operetta of the same name. It was an undersized little bellhop hat that conveyed my desperate bossy demeanor throughout that show while I solo’d my way through the best Gilbert & Sullivan ditties. The third time, was during my tenure at that great Mississauga theatre that so often performs archaic plays that spur on a nap with a standing ovation at the end; Theatre Erindale. Here I played a monstrous Ring Master that was either supposed to be the devil or the incarnation of legendary Southern Ontario lawyer Dennis O’Connor. I cannot recall and I don’t think the audience knew either, but they enjoyed my none diarrhea related songs. (You see the major theme of this show was volcanic explosions of the posterior.) You can now see then how much of a titanic event this purchase is to my life.
This titanic event pails in comparison to the fact that I actually found a hat that fits my Rock of Gibraltar like head. As anyone who was either cursed or blessed with height from a young age will tell you, certain body parts are larger to assist the bulbous frame of the body in carrying itself. My head took the brunt of this accentuation. Hats and me have been friends like Pirates and Ninjas: violent and hate filled. (Ninjas and Pirates have been forever locked in combat since the great Ninja and Pirate battle of 1972.... Don’t believe me? Well, it feels like it is true.) This violent and hate filled conflict found restive resolution on a rainy afternoon in the neighborhood of hippie delights: Kensington Market.
As anyone who has ever galavanted down the streets of that historic and over gentrified place will tell you ‘there are so many G.D. hats in Kensington Market.’ (Quoted from Slim Pickens’ visit to the Market.) An accurate observation and one to me that has always been a slight annoyance. I had often looked through the hoard of head coverings that infect the Augusta line and laughed when I placed the offending article on my head for it reminded me of stuffing a cannon ball into a Smith and Wesson revolver. That was until I entered a vintage furniture store that was occupied by an extremely annoying desk clerk. (If you are reading this, Desk Clerk, I am sure you will agree with my assessment of your character.) I was fiddling around with the many hats that lay on on one those metal hat trees when I discovered my future fashion friend. My new friend was as yellow as a banana and brimmed like a cross between Rocky’s funny little hat from the later films and a 1940s Bookie. I placed it upon my head, looked into the mirror and after I marveled at my gorgeous visage (which is my normal reaction upon seeing my face) I noticed that this hat looked fantastic and most importantly fit. At first I did not believe it but after being annoyingly assured by the beast behind the counter that I was not dreaming, I decided immediately to buy this hat and ‘buy’ I did.
Looking back after a week of this hat being in my life, I can tell you that it has made my life more interesting. Now I have a friend to share my many jaunts around the city with. I can go to the butcher and feel proud of myself like no other, as I receive looks from gawkers, no doubt because they are marveled by this badge of courage. I can go to the bar and feel better then anyone else who does not have a hat. I can call upon my marks for playing the two ten split and then not paying up the buy on time. More of the former then the prior. (I just sometime pretend that.) It has made my standard of life full of whimsy.
Dear viewer, reader or whatever the great fuck you are; I do indeed enjoy my hat and if you see me in a flighty visit around the city you will no doubt enjoy this hat as much as I. (For Doctor Who fans you will notice its similarities to Sylvester McCoy’s yellow Time Lord boat hat.) Now it is time to place my hat upon my head and head out into the world for the day for I an my hat have much to do!