I can’t wear a baseball hat.

That’s the first thing I thought of when I saw today’s prompt from Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt (which I did write on Saturday, but didn’t publish for no good reason):

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “hat/het/hit/hot/hut.” Choose one, choose ’em all, put ’em in your post. Enjoy!

Of course, I CAN wear a hat, I have a head that a hat can sit upon. However, I’ve found exactly one hat in my life that didn’t make me look like an idiot — a straw plantation type hat at one of the stores on the main drag in Gettysburg. It gave me the urge to talk like Foghorn Leghorn when I had it on. Should’ve bought it.

I’ve hat people be like, “Duhon, anyone can wear a baseball hat and not look goofy.”

Then I put on a baseball cap. There’s always a look of “well I’ll be damned, he does look stupid in a hat.”

I do have a gray bucket hat that I bought from REI 20 years or so ago. It’s ugly, but comfy, and comes in useful when doing battlefield hikes. Hmmmm, which I need to get out to one some point soon. It’s been too long. Now that I’m settled — and vaxxed (not waxxed), might need to plan a trip soon.

I was going to be happy with “hat,” except Dan Antion was like, MOAHR, YOU DO THEM ALL. Soooooo, this might get more random than usual.

“Het” had me stuck and then I had a vague memory of an Egyption god called Hetsheput. Nope. No god, and I had confused Hatsheput, one of the few female Pharoahs of Egypt. Of course, she would have worked for “hat” and I could’ve done some Egyption thing, mostly based on half-remembered Bible readings; “Pharoah, set my people free!” and Mel Brooks parting the Red Sea in History of the World, Part 1 (It’s good to be the King! People, I love the people. PULL! — damn, need to watch that movie again as I’m just now remembering how funny it is).

Then I thought of “heterosexual”, but that puts me in mind of the current conservative fragility around anything not white, straight, and Christian and decided it’s too early in the morning to be pissed off, so I’ll just say I’ve always known I was heterosexual. Watched Animal House (the first R-rated movie I ever saw) when I was 7, saw the boobs and liked ’em. DIdn’t quite know why or quite what to do with them yet, but, mmmmmmm, boobies. Feeling was reinforced when I found my Dad’s stash of porn mags. Amazing how memory works: don’t remember what I had for breakfast yesterday, but I remember sitting on the floor in Mawmaw’s living room with Adam, my step-bro, and John, my cousin, and watching Animal House. We also had a good porn magazine reading system — two would read, while the other would linger on lookout at the bedroom door. Occassionally we would move the hockey figures around to pretend like we were playing.

And regarding heterosexual, simply fail to understand how many heterosexuals are bothered by homosexuality. It’s not catching. Just because a dude likes to do . . . stuff with another dude and ladies do the scissor sister thing, doesn’t make you any less of the person you are. Let people love who they want to love, however they want to love them. It’s not hard.

Let’s see, hit. I played baseball for a few years as a kid. I sucked. The last 2 times, maybe 3, I went to bat, I got hit by the pitch. I got on base. Wasn’t worth it. Yes, was wearing a baseball cap. Actually, while getting hit, was wearing the mandated helmet so as to protect getting beaned in the head. But I did wear baseball cap. Yep, looked goofy.

One of the best parts of playing football, which I sucked slightly less at, was hitting people. Loved that physical feeling of knocking the shit out of someone. Not as fun: running scout team RB as a freshman against an all-state LB who hit like a fucking truck.

“Hut, hut” started a lot of the plays when I played football. That’s about all I’ve got on hut, other than it’s a simple structure.

No, wait, Jabba the Hutt! There’s an extra t there, but for heterosexual men my age, Princess Leia, chain, and that bikini-esque outfit.

As George Takai would say, “Oh, my.”

Hot as balls. That’s what I’ll be when I head down to Louisiana in a few weeks. My gym doesn’t have AC, so it’s been hot in there lately. With masks on, it sucks pretty bad. Thinking back to my hut, hut days, amazed how I survived practice in pads, helmet, and 90 plus degrees. It gets about 85 these days, and I’m sweating.

Guess I’ll just need to walk really slow, stick to the shade, and, most importantly, stay inside in the AC like a smart southern boy does. There’s no reason to be outside when it’s 100 degrees and 90% humidity.

Hot wax just popped into my head as I bought a record player on a whim a few months ago and then spent stupid money on old records last Sunday — bunch of James Taylor, Eagles, George Thoroughgood and the Destroyers, Lionel Richie, Marshall Tucker Band, Flying Burrito Brothers, and CCR. I like the slower pace of putting a record on.

The next step is to buy some good speakers to get that warm analog sound of a record player — currently hooked to a bluetooth speaker. Sounds good, but not quite the same.

Time for the gym. So that’s my time.

Today’s post brought to you by Alexa playing a James Taylor mix. That was a great birthday present from George, James Taylor in concert.

Here’s one of my favs, though, really, is there a bad James Taylor song?

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