There are men who can wear hats and men who can't. Attitude, I suspect. Oh, I love hats. I've got them all over the house. I guess that every time I've bought one over the years, I've always thought that this one will be the one to change it all.
My standard of living would be higher and my house less cluttered if I could have admitted this to myself thirty or forty years back.
Another thing that I can't seem to be able to pull off is slang. You've never had me tell you about my next gig, have you? I've never raved about how cool Elvis was or how groovy the Beatles were.
Now, I don't disapprove. In fact I admire the masters. Cab Calloway. Harry "The Hipster" Gibson. My old friend, Gary Dobbins. Maybe I just don't feel worthy. My patter is jammed with jargon from here and there. My patois consists of of whatever clogs my gyro and my sulci. There's slang in the mix. Lord knows I'm no purist.