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My favorite hat was a beat up straw cowboy type hat. I don't remember where I got it, I just wish I still had it.
The hat went through several phases:
1. Utlilty – When I was in high school, I baled hay during the summers. Although it was not the worst job I have ever had, it was pretty hellish. The hat shaded my eyes, and keps some of the sun off my very red neck.
2. Exile – When I started college, I made up my mind to be urbane,witty, and sophisticated. Urbane,witty, and sophisticated people did not wear cowboy hats, so the hat languished in the back of my closet for a few years, until...
3. Exploitation – When I got tired of being urbane,witty, and sophisticated, I decided to become offensive, iconoclastic, and to wear a lot of black. The band I was in at the time needed a hat like mine. The hat was happy to oblige, although we just kept it around to project a sense of 80s-style jaded irony, just like the gas station shirts with the name patch that reads »Bubba« or »Joe«.
4. Perdition – After the maelstrom my life had become by this time, I just decided to get the hell out of the young folks home and make my way in the world. I decided (with my drug-addled brain) the best way to do this would be with a lot less stuff. I packed up the Bel Air with everything it could hold (which was quite a lot) and headed for points north. Unfortunately, the hat did not make the cut.
I moved north, quit wearing black, got kicked in the ass more than a few times, settled down and now I wear business casual to work.
I wish I still had that hat, but hell, I don't deserve it anymore.
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