But this hat for some reason speaks to me and I’m getting it.


Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.
There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.
There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.
There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.
O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.
Why did they use a pitchfork for their old logo? Oh it's a trident. I get it. I think the compass works a little better.Bammer wrote:The Mariners moved to their current teal color scheme and compass logo which I fucking hate in the mid ‘90s. I have yet to purchase a single clothing item featuring it. I only buy retro stuff.
But this hat for some reason speaks to me and I’m getting it.
The only thing stopping you is your own mind.BurtReynolds wrote:I want to be a cowboy hat guy.
I don't know if I'm strong enough.bart wrote:The only thing stopping you is your own mind.BurtReynolds wrote:I want to be a cowboy hat guy.
Subconsciously, it’s why you moved to Texas.BurtReynolds wrote:I don't know if I'm strong enough.bart wrote:The only thing stopping you is your own mind.BurtReynolds wrote:I want to be a cowboy hat guy.
I could never do this with any kind of hat because I get such terrible hat hair.wease wrote:I really wish men wore fedoras and the like as a regular thing. Like back in the 50s. You go out, you put on your hat. Not cap, hat.
(I do wear caps btw)
We could go back to using pomade.Bammer wrote:I could never do this with any kind of hat because I get such terrible hat hair.wease wrote:I really wish men wore fedoras and the like as a regular thing. Like back in the 50s. You go out, you put on your hat. Not cap, hat.
(I do wear caps btw)
Once I put a hat on, no going back. It stays on.
thats weird because I had a dream last night that I was trying on different pairs of cowboy boots...I have not had a pair since the 80sBurtReynolds wrote:I want to be a cowboy hat guy.
Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.
There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.
There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.
There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.
O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.
We’re planning on starting it this weekendtragabigzanda wrote:Now you really have to watch Shrinkingwease wrote:I really wish men wore fedoras and the like as a regular thing. Like back in the 50s. You go out, you put on your hat. Not cap, hat.
(I do wear caps btw)
Anders wrote:I do not have a «neoliberal assessment of geopolitics», so please stop writing that I do.
I wear 7 1/2 usually.Jorge wrote:Not a hat guy. Head too big.
Anders wrote:I do not have a «neoliberal assessment of geopolitics», so please stop writing that I do.
I used to be 8 1/4. My head got fatter along with the rest of my body so no idea now.Bammer wrote:I wear 7 1/2 usually.Jorge wrote:Not a hat guy. Head too big.
You?