Walk a Mile In My (Dress) Shoes

Today, I retired my dress shoes.

In an unceremonious event, standing in front of locker #42 at the Club, I slipped off my dress shoes for the final time. Taking my right foot and placing it on the back of my left, I applied just enough pressure to slide my left shoe off. With one down, I sat on the bench and with both hands pulled my right shoe off. For the last time. Officially retired. It was approximately 5:13pm.

I would like to think this particular pair of dress shoes had an unusually long life. If I remember correctly, I purchased this pair in fall of 2000. They have served me proudly over the past 5 1/2 years:

During my two years at Indiana University, they helped me stand strong as I presented my graduate research to my peers. They accompanied me as a Judicial Officer for the University, and most importantly walked me across the stage as I was being Hooded, receiving my Master's Degree.

They have been to every job interview since 2000. They have helped me walk confidently into my first day for 4 new jobs during that time. I've danced through 15 of my friend's weddings with these shoes on my feet. They have traveled me through professional conferences in Boston, Seattle, Philadelphia, Albuquerque, Minneapolis and Indianapolis. Have shoes, will travel.

They are worn. They show signs of age and fatigue. Unraveled stitching, several lacerations, and I'm on the third pair of laces. Inside, where my feet rest, I have worn off most of the leather layering. Even some of the white foam cushion is exposed.

The soles show the many miles walked. The right shoe exhibits uneven wear, a tribute to how I place my foot down when I walk. They no longer protect me from the wet Wisconsin weather, a crack in the sole allows moisture and the occasional shrapnel of sand or salt from a winter storm into the shoe.

They are currently sitting next to me on my red couch. I'm not sure what I'll do with them now. I can only think of one way to show my appreciation: I have purchased the exact same pair. I had been searching for several months, and finally found them at Famous Footwear in Whitefish Bay. I've had them for a week now, but haven't had bravery to wear them. Tomorrow is the day. I only hope they will live up to their ancestors.

I have left the laces tied.


Listening To: Damien Rice
Reading: Suburban Safari-A Year on the Lawn by Hannah Holmes

MMMmmm, Bacon.

I don’t know if I have had the bloggers equivalent of writer’s block (I guess that would be blogger-block). Perhaps it has something to do with all the traveling I’ve been doing lately, watching too much basketball, or just that I’ve been in a funk, but it seems as though my posts to this site have been lacking. And I do apologize for that.

Today, I put an end to it.

I always park in the third row in the parking lot at work. Typically, I am about 5-7 cars deep. I can always judge if I’m late or early by where I park my car. The vehicle in front of me this morning was one of those confused and funny looking Pontiac Vibes. Only, this car was adorned with a bumper-sticker reading “Have you hugged a pig today?” It included a cartoon of a pig, standing proud, head up. This must be the pig non-verbal “hug me.”

Well, gosh. No. No I haven’t hugged a pig today! I brushed my teeth, showered, did my hair, enjoyed a bowl of Smart Start cereal with soy milk, listened to NPR and drove to work. There was no pig hugging to be had.

Where am I going to find a pig at this hour of the morning? The dashboard of this car, that’s where! Pleasantly nuzzled on the dashboard are approximately 15 pigs in various forms of stuffing. Some are looking at the road ahead, while others looking back at the vacant car. All are faded, a once blustering pig-pink, I assume.

Baffled, I wasn’t sure what to take of this pig-infused experience. I glance to the silver Honda Civic parked next to the pig Pontiac. There, resting on the passenger seat atop an Aldi Food Store plastic bag was a Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon, CD.

In high school, I owned the Pink Floyd CD that had the blinking red light on it. I also have a picture of me standing on top of the Eiffel Tower wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt, large glasses, and flat hair.




Listening to: NPR
Reading: Suburban Safari-A Year on the Lawn by Hannah Holmes

Yes, I Brought The Snow With Me.

Two weeks ago, in an attempt to escape the ever-changing and then cold Milwaukee weather, I traversed to Phoenix to visit my brother. Our plans were to hike the peek formerly known as "Squaw," take in several games of Brewers Spring Training, and hopefully soak up some sun and warm weather. We were able to do all but the latter. You know how at the airport they ask you "have you agreed to take any packages from anyone who you don't know?" Well, I guess when I was asked to bring 5 inches of snow and colder weather than what was forecasted in Milwaukee, I should have said "no." It did, however, fit appropriately in the over-head compartment, and it didn't shift on landing or take-off.

Again, this past weekend, it snowed for the first time in over a month on the first day of Spring in Indianapolis, where I was for a professional conference. I didn't fight it off, I simply told people: Yes, I brought it with me.

I'll share with you some of the experiences from the conference:

During a session titled "Inviting Atheists Into the Campus Spirituality Dialogue," a woman sneezed. Four people turned to her and said "god bless you."

The association has a "Standing Committee on Disability." [italics and bold mine]

I successfully tied both left and right shoelaces while on the up-escalator after my friends said I wouldn't be able to. I finished as the stairs were being compacted.

I ran into an old staff member of mine who I have not communicated with (or so I thought) for 5 years. She told me she still reads my away messages. I feel mildly violated.

When I got to the hotel, I put my keys in my luggage so I wouldn't forget them. I didn't forget them, however, I did forget to remove them from the luggage. And when my luggage didn't appear in the baggage claim, a problem presented itself. I am locked out of my house. I'll have to break in.

I had been dropped off at the airport on Sunday, so I took a taxi home. Fortunately, one of my tenants where home and she let me into the basement. I took a screw-driver and removed the 9 screws that held the hinges to the door that leads up to my apartment. I was in! Pissed at myself, I was going to go and work out to burn off some steam. I grab the spare car key, and realize that I am locked out of the garage

The nice lady in baggage claim said my luggage never made it onto the plane in Indy (I was there two hours before departure, and there were only 10 people on this flight!) It will be delivered by midnight.

If it doesn't come, I have no way to get to work. I don't have my dress shoes. I have no deodorant. I can't shave.


Reading: Human Stain by Phillip Roth
Listening To: A.C. Newman

Cover to Cover: The Trouble with Poetry by Billy Collins

I was living in the Twin Cities during Billy Collins reign as the US Poet Laureate. Collins came to the Cities for a poetry reading and my then good friend Nora and I went to the show (something how some friendships have natural expiration dates). Always a risk: do you want to know what the author looks, acts and sounds like? Fortunately, it was an awesome event--experiencing his poetry in the voice it was intended to be heard.

I still remember the story he told about his windows. He attempted to write-off the window cleaning cost as a business expense for tax purposes. His justification was that he uses what he observes while looking out the windows to inspire his poetry. Apparently it didn't work.

This was the first book of poetry that I have read from cover to cover. I always feel that a poem should be able to stand alone, without the support of surrounding poems or the cover of a book. It was interesting to read through the flow of this book, which started off a bit depressing but fortunately recovers from this in the final sections. I count about 15 dog-eared pages (this is how I mark poems that I like in my books of poetry).

I have been a reader of Collins ever since introduced to him by JM, who also offered a critique/question in a prior post. Is Collins too simple for his own good, or the good of the poetry? I think at times, perhaps. However, I will not assign that to his style or poems.

I am always amazed at his use of "the simple." He forces you to take notice of something...something that perhaps otherwise would go unrecognized or ignored. See it. Pick it up. Turn it over. Experience it.

In The Evening

The heads of roses begin to drop.
The bee who has been hauling his gold
all day finds a hexagon in which to rest.

In the sky, traces of clouds,
the last few darting birds,
watercolors on the horizon.

The white cat sits facing a wall.
The horse in the field is asleep on its feet.

I light a candle on the wood table.
I take another sip of wine.
I pick up an onion and a knife.

And the past and the future?
Nothing but an only child with two different masks.

A sad poem. I can feel the burn of the onion in my eyes as the knife halves it.


Reading: Human Stain by Phillip Roth
Listening to: The Shins

Why I'm Getting Old, and Who's to Blame

Tomorrow morning, as I awake, one thing is certain: I will be one more day older than today. Ironically, human beings age an average of one day every 24 hours (death being the only antagonist to the equation).

Tuesday, March 15, I will tackle day 10,563 of my life (if you are calculating my age/birthday, don't forget to include leap-years). I can't help but notice aspects of my life announcing the fact that I'm getting older:

I care less and less what I look like when I dress for work. Tomorrow, I'll put on whatever clothes I THINK I didn't wear last week, and hope that I can put off dry-cleaning another week. Moreover, I can't pull off the looks I used to. There was a time when I could go out the night before and be over-served, wake the next morning only to jump out of bed, throw some clothes on, and fool everyone at work about my state of being or my previous night's activities. Undoubtedly, someone will approach me tomorrow "Looks like you had a rough night last night" when all I did was watch that funny looking kid on American Idol, write this post, and do laundry. "Does it show?" I'll reply.

Going out on a work-night and tying one on will require setting the alarm on my phone and placing it on the other side of my bedroom--making sure I get out of bed. The following day at work will involve several trips to the bathroom down the hall; the first two hours will consist of internet surfing while my head conquers the pain and confusion; I will inevitably think back to college wondering how I ever made it to English 112 on a Friday morning.

I have developed a care for weather disasters. When one occurs, I instantly think of who I know living in that area. I worry that they are safe. I will contact them several days after and use the phrase "I was worried about you."

I have $10.30 worth of coupons that I have CUT out of the Sunday ads (ie, Dial For Men Body Wash, Pledge Grab-It Dry Cloths, Kraft Crumble Cheese, Zatarain's Rice Mix). I will use them all.

I not only talk about "doing lunch" with friends, but actually "do lunch."

The current weather conditions, forecasted weather conditions, and whatever happened to the weather the night before will be discussed with a co-worker. "What do weathermen know!?" "Must be nice getting paid to be wrong" will be involved in a weekly conversation. I visit weather.com frequently.

I'm interested in your 401k/403b enrollment at your place of employment (after 2 years of employment I contribute 6% and my employer contributes 8%). We will compare benefits and see who has the best insurance coverage.

I have found (and remedied) 5 gray hairs.

"Red Red Wine" by UB40 reminds me of a middle-school dance at Webster. Our Principal turned the lights on and was pissed that it was played. "...it keeps me rocking, all of the time..."

I can only count on my good looks for so long.



Reading: Human Stain by Phillip Roth
Listening to: R.E.M.

Cover to Cover: Botany of Desire: A Plant's-Eye View of the World

May we make a recommendation? Customers with similar searches purchased: "Botany of Desire: A Plant's-Eye View of the World."

That's how this book surfaced. I am a bit embarrassed, though, wondering what it was that I was searching on amazon.com that would produce a book about Botany and Desire. Although, if you know me: I have desires; I am desired; I like plants; I like this book.

It is rare that I read a non-fiction book. Even more rare that I read two in a row. The two books really compliment each other and I think they have really influenced my desire to read more non-fiction. There's a certain pride in knowledge gained after you read a book like this.

In accordance with my craving to look at the environment in the smallest factor possible, Pollan writes a whole book on the Apple, the Tulip, Marijuana, and the Potato. More importantly, how desire impacts each. The fact that the evolution of the apple is based on the apple tree's desire to grow and reproduce. For that to happen, it must produce a product that animals (humans) find attractive (consider apple blossoms before the fruit grows). Additionally, humans cultivate the desire to grow and enjoy the apple tree.

I think an apple is something we all take for granted. Understanding the history of the apple, and understanding its complexities, is truly amazing. During the settlement era of the frontier, an apple orchard was the sign of a lasting settlement; it symbolized that you were establishing your roots (an apple tree takes 10 years to produce an edible fruit). Some laws even required that you plant a row of apple trees on your settlement. Consider the fact that every seed of an apple contains the genes of a completely different and new apple tree. Unlike humans, offspring minimally resemble each other and their parents. Therefore, when a desirable apple was produced from a tree, grafting was (is) the only way to reproduce. It is believed that settlers would carry tree graftings with them.

Just saying this book is about Apples, Tulips, Marijuana and Potatoes is really not fair. I found each of the four chapters equally stimulating.

All during the Apple section, I kept thinking about my favorite Charles Bukowski poem, The Apple. The first line of that poem is, "This is not just an apple, this is an experience." This line completely conveys how I feel about this book.

Listening: to the rain

Shoveled Sidewalks Make Good Neighbors

Sunday evening presented itself with the usual problem: falling asleep. Although there were special circumstances last night. I enjoyed a great dinner. Chicken Drumsticks seasoned with a "North Woods" rub and a hit of barbecue sauce. Fresh vegetables. Half of a grapefruit and a popsicle.

I partially read some of my National Geographic Magazine, watched the Oscars, and played with my new Nano iPOD (black, 1G). It snowed all afternoon, so I had gone out and shoveled and salted the walk-ways.

Feeling tired around 11:45pm, I turned the lights off, fired up my sonicare toothbrush, Listerine'd for 30 seconds, and turned the heat down to 60.

A once familiar sound got my attention. It was the sound of fire trucks. Having spent a year of my life living a few blocks away from a fire station and worked for 5 years in residence life, it used to be music to my ears. However, here in my hovel in meso-suburbia, I rarely hear the sounds of emergency vehicles.

Excitement grew as the sirens were getting closer. I opened my blinds to get a better look at things outside, guessing I would see bellowing flames from a second floor window somewhere--all I saw was the yellow street-light casting on the snow. I could soon hear the roaring of the engines and could see the flashing of the red lights as the fire truck (a huge ladder truck) pulled up right outside of my house. Sirens silenced. Strobe lights pierced the night into my living room. I was wearing boxer-shorts.

Like any home-owner faced with this conundrum, I realized that there's a fighting good chance that I might have missed some snow on the side-walk, so best I get some clothes on and go shovel! (oh, and see why the fire department was setting up shop outside my window.)

Sweatpants. Hooded Indiana sweatshirt. Fleece jacket. Boots. Gloves.

With a shovel in hand, I walked on the snowless sidewalk to the front of my house. Heck, I crossed the street and joined the three other neighbors who had gathered in the time it took me to quickly dress and get outside. Ironically, we all held shovels and I presume that none of us had been shoveling. Mere props. Conversation had already fabricated stories. Dryer fire. Chimney fire. "You never know with how old some of these houses are." But the firemen were mysteriously lurking around with flashlights.

After several minutes one of the head firemen noticed our gathering. "Someone called in a gas leak. But we can't smell anything. Have you smelled any gas tonight?" He honestly thought we had been outside shoveling. "No. No sir, not...not over here" "Um, no," we all mumbled.

Almost with disappointment, we went our separate ways. I couldn't find any snow to shovel.


Reading: The Trouble with Poetry and Other Poems by Billy Collins
Listening: Bright Eyes

Cover to Cover: Guns, Germs, and Steel

Hopefully by now you have come across the right column of Slant Rhyme and noticed "Cover to Cover in 2006." It is there that I will list the books that I've read this year. As you can see, I've been a bit of a bookworm in these, the first two months of the year (gives you a glimpse of my social life I guess).

I intend on creating a post for each book when I finish it. The post will take form depending on the book and my reaction to it.

I must say that this is not the best book to start my Cover to Cover segment of Slant Rhyme. I'm tempted to wait until I finish the other book I'm reading in a few days and write about that one first. But I'm a stickler for the truth.

I won't write a review of the book. I was challenged by this book because I am used to reading fiction (or at least the non-fiction I read is politically based).

I am one for the details. The big picture means nothing to me if I don't experience the smaller aspects that make the big picture real (see: william carlos williams). I think that is one of the elements of this book that I really was impressed with. Jared Diamond really brings you to these finite details and influences: Almonds; Domestication; Hunting and Gathering; Crop production (naming a very select few).

I think this will be a book that I reference back to when I read or experience other things. Already, this has happened with the other book I am reading (Botany of Desire).

There is a National Geographic documentary based on this book. I am looking forward to seeing it.


Listening to: Format
Reading: Botany of Desire: A Plant's-Eye View of the World by Michael Pollan
Reading: The Trouble with Poetry, and Other Poems by Billy Collins