I bought two new pairs of sneakers today.
Hemmed and hawed over them for a while because they looked too nice. They didn’t look like shoes that were meant to be slung through dirt and scraped along asphalt. Instead, they looked like they could replace the slippers I wear at work a la Fred Rogers.
Not that I am remotely athletic in any way. But for some reason I have a tendency to abuse my shoes.
BTW, a conversation I had with Dana while pulling into DSW:
[Dana]: “So the host of Top Chef is Salman Rushdie’s wife?”
[Me]: “That’s right.”
“I thought it was the lady who started the fat camp in that one episode.”
“Why would you think that? That’s too bourgeois for Salman Rushdie.”
“Why can’t Salman Rushdie be bourgeois?”
“Anyone who’s had a fatwa against him is not bourgeois.”
“But he lives in America now…”
And now, coming to think of it, having a wife who hosts a television reality show is pretty bourgeois.
Where was I? Right. The shoes. I tend to run my shoes into the ground, as you can see here:
When I was in high school I was deeply impressed upon by a guy at my church named Gene. Gene was a few years older than I was. He was giving, gentle, funny, and weird-in-a-good-way. Everyone always had fun around Gene, but he was also deeply spiritual and was occasionally tortured by his dedication to God. He shaved himself bald and rolled the waist of his pants over instead of wearing a belt. I remember a group of us was in his car when it was almost ran out of gas; whenever we got to the top of a hill, Gene would shift to neutral and have us all rock in unison in our seats to build up momentum as the car coasted down the hill. I saw Gene as a kind of zen master.
I also remember Gene would wear down his shoes until his soles started flapping around. It’s funny what you pick up from people as a kid.