Ask anyone who knows me, and they'll tell you about my collection of hideous hats, hats that I wear on a regular basis.
I even have ten hat pegs in my room to display my gems. Presently adorning the pegs are:
- A red New York Giants baseball cap.
- A green Boston Red Sox hat.
- A red Red Sox hat.
- A blue Dallas Mavericks hat.
- My straw golf hat.
- My CIA baseball cap.
- A felt trilby hat that I got in London.
- A charcoal gray ascot.
- A castro-style hat from Ernest Hemingway's favorite bar in Key West
- a knit wool hat with a puffball on the top and two long strings going down the side
- A felt jester's hat
- An irish patchwork bowler hat
- A crumpled up fedora.
A quick note about the Castro hat: I invented that shit. Before every douchebag with mutton chops and a harmonica started wearing a castro hat, I bought one from Hemingway's bar in Key West. It was in 2003, well before the fad took off.
Anyways, I told you all that to tell you this: It's dangerous for me to be bored and around a store that sells hats.
I had to review a movie last night (Paul Blart: Mall Cop, more on that later), and I got to the theater about an hour and a half early.
The theater was in D.C., and it was part of a mall, which I decided to explore. First, I decided to get some dinner, since I hadn't eaten lunch due to a deadline.
The mall had a Subway and a McDonald's. Deciding that no, I didn't want to shit my lungs out for the next 36 hours, I opted for a five-dollar footlong, figuring I could eat a sandwich and nurse (read: slip bourbon into) a soda for ninety minutes.
But it wasn't to be. Because as soon as I got in line, this sign greeted me:
What the fuck? If I'm plunking down eight bucks for a sandwich, chips and a soda, I want to sit and read my Penthouse tucked into a U.S. News and World Reports if I want.
As I paid for my sandwich, I grabbed my tray and looked at the cashier and asked, "So did my thirty minutes start when I ordered, or do they start now?"
She looked at me like I had asked her to hold onto my AIDS for a second. I just walked away.
I finished my dinner with seven minutes to spare, so I got a refill of soda, and continued to read. I swear, literaly 31 minutes after I entered the store, a security guard came in and started looking around, rather than getting in line to order his sandwich.
I was ready for a throwdown. But he didn't say anything, just kind of took a lap aroung the store without making eye contact with me.
I decided I wasn't going to let a mall cop keep me from seeing Paul Blart: Mall Cop (oh, the irony), so I decided to browse some other stores.
Here's where I ran into trouble. Have you ever heard of Filene's Basement? I hadn't. But I walked in because it looked kind of like a Kohl's, and Kohl's is where I get most of my threads.
I went to the men's section, and lo and behold, they had an extensive hat section.
Cowboy hats, bowlers, Indiana Jones hats, wool hats with bills and without, and some sort of crazy shit I has never seen before. Let's just say it was a fishing cap with burlap sack sewn all around it. Something a douchebag would wear no doubt.
After walking out of the store with my freshly bought burlap sack hat...
Just kidding. But I tried on a lot of hats. I had already picked out a heavy knit green wool number, as well as the knit poofball hat that currently adorns my hat pegs (relegating the jester hat to my closet, I'm afraid).
I was this close to buying a grey pork pie hat and an Indiana Jones-style fedora when I stopped myself. I could have easily dropped $100 on hats, but I had to make myself leave after only two.
Like I said, I'm a hat guy. But I can't say that I won't stop by that place again to pick up a hat or two. I've wanted an Indiana Jones-style fedora since I was a kid, and something has always gotten in the way of me actually buying it, mostly my sense of shame.
On to Paul Blart:Mall Cop. My full review is now the propoerty of the people who pay my salary, but I will be brief.
After a summer of Judd Apatow gross-out comedies, it was actually refreshing to be able to laugh at things that aren't gross and obscene. Kevin James' brand of awkward, sweaty humor has always made me laugh.
A confession, one that fills me with no small amount of shame
The King of Queens is my one guilty TV pleasure. I even own a few seasons on DVD.
Wow. It felt good to get that out. I'd been holding onto that one for a long time. Feels good though. No, I'm not crying, why do you ask? Just dust in my eye.
Anyways, (sniff) I thought the movie was actually pretty funny. I wasn't expecting to laugh at all, but I did. I'm glad I didn't have to pay for the film, and I recommend that if you do see it, don't pay more than matinee price.
It's a fantasic movie to take kids to. There's no blood, no swearing, and I don't even think anyone dies. It sends up movies like Die Hard, Under Siege, and Rambo pretty well also, in more clever ways than you'd think.
It would be a perfect movie to watch on cable, especially when you're hungover. Which is actually when I end up watching most of my King of Queens.
The guy who plays the jerk pen salesmen is going to be the next Seith Rogen/Michael Cera ind of star. He's good at that obnoxious, awkward comedy. Kind of like a less funny, but still funny Ricky Gervais.
Anyways, that'll about do 'er. Go fuck yourself, planet earth.
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