New shoes! New shoes. If you wanna catch me at my most feminine, watch be buy shoes.
And by most feminine, I mean I walk into the nearest AS Adventure store, find the model that I’m wearing, point at it and say, “Those. Size 34 if you please.”
This time around, they didn’t get it. Apparently, we switched to American sizes years ago and I now have a size 8.
Retarded? Yes very.
I’m not sure what model they are (oh who am I kidding they’re these) but they’re made by Meindl and just about the most comfortable shoes I have ever worn. Five times. This is actually my fifth pair of the same shoe, you see.
I just can’t get over them. The very first time I shoved my foot in one, I expected the usual squeeze near the ball of my left foot, but instead they sort of clicked in place and stayed on ever since.
They have a gel-like cushion under the heel, keeping my feet from getting tired no matter what I’m doing that day, and I’ve seen some days with lots of walking and/or standing. My back and hips give out long before my feet do.
They’re light enough for everyday wear, black enough for more formal occasions (at least when they’re new), sturdy enough to keep me from snapping my ligaments a fourth time, and handle pretty much any and every surface from asphalt over scaffolding pipes to sharp rocks. And mein gott, are they kampfy.
Shoes are important to me, you see. I only have two pairs (one more for the serious hiking) but they’ll take you to the moon. It annoys the living shit out of me when someone is struggling with wet all-stars, or can’t run because of their heels. When the place is on fire and things go tits-up, they will be the first to die because of their choice in shoes. Look fashionable all you want, but if it impedes with the most basic of human capability of fucking walking, you’re lost in the jungle, as far as I am concerned.
They cost €200 and last me 2-4 years before they completely fall apart. Lately I’ve managed to keep them together for longer as my daily job changes from stage building to technical work.
At the end of those four years, they are torn, mangled and dirty, but hold together. They are still more or less waterproof –believe it or not, and still don’t show actual holes: Only the inner layers are exposed.
Long story short: These things are made with endurance in mind and I am a big, huge fan of that. Things that will last forever and won’t fail you once during that time should be cherished. In my eyes, nothing is more important and if you put my most prized possessions together, those few that I would take with me to a deserted island, it would be the first thing you’d notice.
I’m a little sick and fucking tired of people telling me to read. Reading is promoted as intellect for sale, and people who don’t read are disregarded by those who do, as cultural drywells and uninteresting peasants.
Having read exactly 1 book in 10 years, I take offense to that. Like most uninteresting, unintellectual individuals, I happen to think of myself as pretty interesting and intellectual. I don’t like being told I’m not- as a matter of fact, it’s fucking rude.
Reading might help your vocabulary, but so does conversation. It might broaden your knowledge, but so does experience. It might provide something to talk about, but then before you know, you’re talking about fucking books and non-Harry Potter fans around you will walk away.
You know what knowledge books bring? Book knowledge. You want to tell me about the art of war? I was in the army. Shakespeare? I’m a theater technician. Harry Potter? Couldn’t care less. 1984? I was protesting while you were inside reading.
This holier-than-thou attitude of readers annoys the shit out of me. Interesting people read opinion pieces, manuals, menus, schedules, reviews, and might pick up a book in between. The more lifeless portion of people that I know are the book readers who think it somehow gives them a head start, some authority over the plebs when it comes to intelligence and weight of opinion.
Books in general, fiction specifically, is the stuff to fall back on when the local internet connection is down. I much rather spend my free time studying logical fallacy or wondering about the pitfalls in cultural exchange than reading to see what Ana Steele takes up the ass.
The books that actually matter, while they are definitely there, are few and far in between. They bring up interesting ideas and concepts but I often feel they are used to substitute their messages. “Just go read ‘1984’” is not an actual warning against the dangers of socialism and even though I did read it, the things it has taught me are dwarfed by the situations I’ve seen working for socially active NPO’s.
Books are enriching, yes. But plenty of other things are too and just maybe, someone who doesn’t read and might even make every common grammar and spelling mistake you like to get your panties in a bunch about, could very well be investing that “lost” time into something else worthwhile.
If you find yourself basing your opinion based on fictional books, no matter their importance or sales figures, perhaps you should relate to the main character in a little more literal sense and seek out the subjects you’re pondering as they take place here, in reality. There’s plenty to be seen out here too, you know. And if you find yourself weighing someone’s opinion based on the number of books they’ve seen the inside of in recent history?
I think you’re a twat and you can go fuck yourself.