Hats.

It’s strange, and a bit disconcerting, that viewers so often comment about the fact that I wear a hat on the programs. Someone sees me in a restaurant or walking down the dog food aisle in Publix and remarkson not recognizing me “without your hat.”

At first, hearing such comments, I didn’t understand. I don’t wear a hat on the program as a costume or wardrobe affectation but simply because outdoors I almost always wear hats.

Remember when Bobby Bowden had skin cancer some years ago and ever since he’s seen wearing a broad-brimmed hat in the attempt to forestall a recurrence? Well, I had a skin cancer surgically removed from my temple a few years ago (just five days before appearing on national TV hosting the Fourth of July fireworks concert of the Boston Pops -- the surgeon had done such a magnificent job – and the makeup gal did too -- no scarring showed at all.) And, like coach Bowden, I’ve been wearing hats ever since.

It’s not as though I could count on much protection from my hair. A couple years ago a dear friend, the artist Tom Cross whom we’ve profiled on the Journal, was about to begin chemotherapy and had a party at his Sarasota home. A barber was set up and eight of us male friends submitted to a buzz job on our own heads as a gesture of support for Tom.

Later, as his hair grew back in, curly and lush, most of the rest of us had decided to keep ours buzzed. It’s so much easier, simpler. It just doesn’t offer much protection.

Hence, the hats. Yes, plural. People who say they don’t recognize me “without your hat” underestimate the collection. There are baseball caps, of course. (Not neatly arrayed on the back shelf of the car forpeople following to admire, as is the Florida wont.) And western hats, cowboy hats, Stetson, Resistol. Florida straws, Australian bush hats. Tilley Endurables.

I never fancied collecting stamps or coins or barbed wire, but I do enjoy collecting a few serviceable hats. No three thousand dollar Monte Cristis. Until I find a way to put new hats on the expense account. (Wonder if WEDU would notice?)

PerkOut

On Blogging

OK. Here’s the problem with blogging.

You want to do it. You want to write entries for the blog. And with some regularity. Oth-erwise readers stop reading because after checking time and again and finding nothing new they no longer try.

I don’t blame them.

I don’t blame you if you are one of those. I’ve been doing this blog for -- what is it? A year now? -- and if I take time to count up all the entries I’ve made on the blog, I believe I would have to count all the way up to -- TWO!

Two. That’s all. That’s pathetic. That’s shameful.

As I said at the outset, the problem is that you want to do it. But each day there are so many things pop up that you not only want to do but have to do. Or that you simply want to do more than you want to think up something else to blog about.


My son, Eric, is a sportscaster at a TV station in the Twin Cities and he blogs. I talk to him about it. He has fun with his blogging and does a couple of entries a week. Oh, sure, sometimes he lacks that special idea for an entry but he has a fallback. When he doesn’t have a single idea, he makes a list. Maybe a list of his favorite sports memories. Maybe the notables he has found to be really good people. Maybe his favorite breakfast cereals. I’m not sure who cares but he makes them fun.


Which intimidates me a bit. I don’t eat breakfast cereals. So what do I do when I run dry one week. (And, yes, I do intend -- no promises -- to add a new entry every week.)

The principal purpose is to talk about our show: A Gulf Coast Journal. To give the reader a heads up on what to expect, what even to get excited about. There will be some of those, I trust.
We have a great deal of fun doing the program, meeting the people, seeing the places, having the experiences. I hope to make our enthusiasm contagious so you’ll catch it too. Check in often.

Now!

Now comes another great problem with blogging. How to sign off. Son Eric is known in Minnesota as Perk. His signoff, then, is a simple “Perkout.”When I was doing a family blog, the word “Popoff” worked pretty well -- two ways.

But here, I’m not your Pop, and can’t suddenly arrogate unto myself the nickname “Perk” so what to do? How to wrap? What to say in signing off?

Dunno.