Dr. John Torres & His Sombrero
Go ahead, call me a fixating, remote micro-manager. But I'm feeling strongly about this situation. The doc on TV may be talking about the latest grim Covid-19 statistics, but I'm not focusing on numbers. I'm focusing on the supersized sombrero mounted on the wall behind him. Why, doc, why? For a festive touch? There's nothing festive going on here. And now I'm wondering how to get in touch and just tell him look, either lose the sombrero or put it on. Those are the choices.
Now I turn the channel. Oh, good, there's another TV pundit, talking about online ways to register the young people to vote. Easy-peasy. Excellent idea. I'm nodding in agreement, feeling a teenie-weenie bit optimistic. And then, oh no, I spot them. The lopsided lampshades behind him, one on each side of the background someone's put together quickly before the remote interview. I call out to longtime hubby. "Honey! Come here, you've gotta see this!" He runs downstairs, excitedly. Okay, not really. He says, "One second." "Hurry, you're gonna miss it." He takes his time. I pause the TV, one of the few powers I have in my limited repertoire these days. Finally, he appears. "Miss what?" I un-pause and point to the TV. "You tell me." "The crooked lampshades." "Yes!" "You hate them." "So much." This is why I married him almost 40 years ago. He just gets me.
Every day, my frustration mounts like that big sombrero on the wall. Last week, I really lost my kaka when I noticed the large looming metal hand sculpture, strategically placed behind a TV maven talking about... I have no idea. I was too obsessed with the hand threatening to come to life and shake some sense into her. Yesterday on "Meet The Press," the clashing fabric choices in the former presidential adviser's den drove me "cocoa," as the mother of my granddaughter likes to say. I know, I know. Right about now, you may be wondering:
I'll have to get back to you on that.
I assumed the Sombrero was a subtle ad for a skin cancer prevention regimen the doc was describing. Otherwise, it must be torn down in tribute to BLM.
ReplyDeleteI think you're giving the Sombrero way too much credit. Pre-Sombrero, the doc had a coat rack with bike helmets and he sat near the front door. Now he's somewhere else, with the random Sombrero. The hats keep getting bigger. What's next, hat-wise?
ReplyDeleteI do, however, like the festive fruit and Kiddush cup. Maybe he's Jewish?
ReplyDeleteIt is called sombrero vueltiao (Colombian Spanish for turned hat) is a traditional hat from Colombia and one of its symbols. It is made out of Gynerium sagittatum known locally as caña flecha, a type of cane that grows in the region. The word vueltiao is a Colombian regionalism from the northern Caribbean Region and the area surrounding the Magdalena River basin that originate in the word for "turn" or "lap" (Spanish vuelta), and arose due to the way the hat is made. The quality of the hat is determined by the number of pairs of fibers braided together to make the hat, and its bending flexibility. The more flexible the hat is, the higher quality it is.
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