Hats

Cerebrally affixed attire can signal a number of things, for example, the team one intends to cheer for, whether at a sporting event or a political rally. If it is the latter, it can also relate one’s very ambiguous desire to make their geopolitical entity excellent once more, but this can very confusing and must cause the wearer to genuflect on which era their nostalgia is attached. The leader of the executive branch of government the majority of the decade in which I happened to be born, who also happens to share initials with Rail Road, is a term that many hearken to as a bastion of enterprise and a golden age of freedom and economic frivolity. Yet, we were just as entrenched in a ‘Cold War’ then as we are now, though I am uninformed about how much “conflagration and rage” rhetoric was used during this era. Nonetheless, our Soviet friends’ leader of the time, Mr. Gorbachev, could have made good use of a hat to cover his hemangioma atop his noggin, and if so perhaps far less alarmists and conspiracy theorists would have pinned the tail on donkey of him being not just an antichrist, but ‘The one.” Being a world leader does not give one immunity from normal medical maladies, including those of the psychiatric sort – in fact, it may just make it more likely. This was certainly the case for Nebuchadnezzar, who ate grass like a wild animal, though, in fact, this is what a perfectly normal animal does, but what a very wild man does, and I don’t know that a hat would have helped him very much. But men like Winston Churchill and Abraham Lincoln liked hats. I am not saying they were better for it, but I am saying their hats were better for it. They are forever a part of the façade and collective image of men with brilliant and humble diplomacy. Women at Churchill Downs wear hats, but I am rather sure they are not concerned with diplomacy. I am not even sure if they are concerned with horses, or racing horses, or betting on racing horses for that matter. I think they are there just for the hats – and that’s ok.