What I really think

Tidying up my desktop, I found this list. I think it was written in response to some skirmish(es) in the ongoing feminist blogwars. I try not to get too intensively involved in online discussions of these topics, because it activates my PTSD. But I do have an opinion or two:

• The Patriarchy: Heavily armed and oppressive as fuck-all, and it's everywhere you look -- including inside your own head. And mine. Largely imaginary and mostly useful as a metaphor, it nevertheless must be dismantled, or at least seriously marginalized and its effects neutralized. Pointing at it and laughing sometimes helps, as long as you're not in a situation where that would compromise your physical safety. Also known as "The Man," "The System," and western civilization.
  
• Racism: See above. They are in fact related (and might even be the same); they feed each other and give each other power. Neither is "worse," and it doesn't matter which one we dismantle first. Both have got to go. Also known as "The Man," "The System," and western civilization.
• The Transsexual Menace: As menaces go, not a very menacing one. Some of my best friends, etc. I don't really care which restroom they use, unless they're ahead of me in line, in which case I'll use the other one if I'm in a hurry.
• Sex: Fun! Also funny and embarrassing and weird and full of emotional peril. Frequently re-purposed into a surprisingly effective weapon by The Patriarchy. Is it political? Yep. So is everything. Be careful about what thrills you. Not fun for you? Do something else. No need to apologize or explain. "Fun!" just happens to be my experience of it. YMMV.
  
• Blowjobs: Hilarious! Also wildly entertaining, unless you'd rather be doing something else, in which case: do something else. No need to apologize or explain.
• Rape: Not at all funny. Way too popular. Not in fact caused by alcohol, skirt length, chicks who leave home unsupervised, lipstick, high heels, or even pornography. Caused primarily by rapists, working on behalf of The Patriarchy.
• Shoes: I like them. I want more of them, no matter how many I have already. I don't care if that makes me a tool in the hand of the retail/advertising arm of The Patriarchy. Life is fucking complicated. Shoes support your body and comprise the very foundation of your relationship to the planet.
  
• Lipstick and the removal (or not) of body hair: Surely we have better things to quarrel about. Call me a sparklepony; I don't care. Be as pretty as you wanna be. Or don't. You're under no obligation, either way. You are free to ignore anyone who tells you otherwise.
  
• But alphabitch, what about the men? Yeah, yeah, you're oppressed too, dude. Quit yer whining and help us smash the damn patriarchy already. It's keeping us all down. You didn't build it, I know that, but you happen to benefit from it a little bit more than I do (just as I benefit every day from the structures of racism, which I did not cause and do not support). Yes, of course it limits you too. That's part of the problem. Join us.
  

Any questions?

Shoeblogging: you gotta start young

I think this picture is from the summer of 1967, but I'm not 100% sure. In any case, it is me, in a pair of my mother's shoes.

Shoeblogging: RocketDog v. DestructoDog

Of course the dog won. I'm pretty good about not leaving shoes out where Ruby can reach them, but apparently we've reached a milestone in that "where Ruby can reach them" now includes the tops of all the tables and dressers. Oh, and the Tab cartons; she loves to rip those up.

I can't get too upset about something that is really my own fault. I should have realized it was only a matter of time before she noticed that everything cool and chewable was up on a dresser or a table. But damn, they were my favorite pair of sparkly RocketDog flip-flops. And now I keep stepping on the little metal thingys and the rhinestones that she pulled so neatly off the shoes.

Wasn't it me who said that about not wanting a puppy? I think this kind of thing is why. But isn't she cute?

Shoeblogging on acid

I love espadrilles, and whenever they are available I buy as many pairs as I can just before they go out of fashion. But I like to wait until they are just about to become unfashionable because they are cheaper.

I don't care whether they are fashionable or not; I just like how they look, and I'll keep buying them & wearing them until they fall apart. [And as Sara points out in the comments, it's not like they're ever particularly fashionable anyway. But you can get them in lots of colors and they are cool and comfortable.]

Anyway, I'm not sure you can see it* on this photo, but the manhole cover I'm standing on says "ACID PIT" on it. I'm not sure why such a thing is outside the building where I work, but I walk past it every day.

I happened to be walking by it the other day with the camera. Unfortunately I was alone and carrying all these bags of gym clothes and books and the camera bag and some other stuff and it was very difficult to photograph my own feet. It's kind of blurry, I know. Plus I was in too big a hurry to set everything down. But I was able to hold the camera still enough with both hands to get a clear shot of just the ACID PIT cover; click here or on the picture to see it.

[Updated to fix typos and add a slightly *more legible picture. Here's the other one if you really want to see both feet.]

My last shoe purchase

Yes, this is my most recent shoe purchase, and it's going to be my last for a while. It's getting out of hand. I do not need high-heeled Prada mary janes. Not at all.

For one thing, I have this other pair of black shoes that I could wear anywhere that I'd ever be likely to wear the Pradas, and they are so much more comfortable. They were designed by this dude who I guess used to work for Dr. Martens. So they're nice and clunky, plus they're all cushy inside. Not like the ones pictured at left. Those hurt, in case you're wondering. The soles are kind of thin, and I'm not used to hurty shoes anymore. I'm out of practice walking in them, which is why I'm sitting on the rock wall in front of my house in this picture. I didn't want to walk anywhere at all if I didn't have to.

So why did I buy a pair of insanely expensive shoes that I have no real need for? People are starving and barefoot somewhere.

Well, a couple of reasons. Primarily because I'm powerless over shoes. Addicted. And I have this particular thing for mary janes. It's something about that buckle and the strap across the arch -- I just really like the look of them. And I like the way they feel, even when they kind of hurt. And it's entirely possible that, sometime before I die, I will have a date. The kind of date where I'll want the perfect pair of shoes. The kind of date where these shoes will be perfect.

Or not.

I know, I know -- it's crazy and pointless and I should just stop. And I will. I can quit any time. I'll get to that in a minute.

Plus, for those of you who care about this kind of thing, I almost never pay full price for anything. I bought them for way way way cheap on eBay - paid less for them, in fact, for the Birkenstocks pictured here. Pocket change, almost. We're not talking about $700 Jimmy Choos or any of that.

These Birkenstocks are very comfortable also, as you might expect. And sparkly!

But the title of this post is My last shoe purchase. Now, don't get me wrong here, I'm not saying that it's not my last shoe purchase ever. I was just trying to get your attention. Here's the deal I'm making with myself. I swear it on a stack of reference books: I will not buy any more shoes until I buy a house.

I've been goofing off for too long.

Sunday shoe blogging

I know it's Monday, but here is my neighbor looking at a 1960-something (?) BSA Rocket 3. I like his shoes quite a lot. I guess you'd have to call him a metrosexual; he's the only straight guy I know who has more shoes than I do. You can click on the image to see a little bit more of the motorcycle if you want.

Sunday shoe blogging: Mothra vs. the motorcycle boot

I was at my neighborhood pub earlier and my friend pointed out this beautiful moth on the brick wall. He had caught it outside and brought it over to the deck, and it sat still on the brick wall for quite a while before flying off.

If you look very closely you can see the fuzzy orange stuff around its legs, sort of ruffly almost, or like shoulder padding or something. I think it's a very pretty moth, and I love brick walls.

Plus I think these are some pretty sexy motorcycle boots. Extremely well utilized, from the look of this one, anyway.

The boot's inhabitant asked me not too long ago why I had so many pairs of shoes. I couldn't really come up with a good answer at the time. It's kind of a dirty secret for me. I still sneak them into the house, even though I've lived alone for most of the last seven years.

But, I mean, there are a lot of special-purpose shoes one has; one wouldn't wear one's motorcycle boots to ride a bicycle, or one's sneakers out dancing. But it is hard to explain. Sort of like, I mean, how many motorcycles does a person actually need anyway? Or guitars, for that matter.

I'm thinking you can't have too many, if you love them, and you can afford them without too much struggle.

Sunday shoe-blogging: I really did this

I feel a little silly, but nobody said anything. I went down the street to walk my neighbor's dog & I talked to a couple of other neighbors on the way. The dog, Dan, and I walked for well over an hour before I looked down at my feet and noticed that I was wearing two different shoes.

Usually when you do that kind of thing it feels a little funny, but it didn't. They're both very comfortable shoes and have almost the same texture of suede on the inside. The green, one on my right foot, is a little bit cushier, though, and the one on my left foot has way better arch support.

I was sort of distracted and a little sleepy when I left the house, but still. I guess this is what comes of having too many shoes. I really am powerless over them. Obviously. If I had any power at all I'd at least be able to choose a pair properly and pay attention while I put them on.

No harm done, though. Dan and I had a lovely walk, even after I noticed that my shoes didn't match.

Update: I was just looking at the picture again & noticed that the silver nailpolish looks great in the late-afternoon/ early-evening light. Kind of glowy and strange in the photo.

Sunday shoe-blogging

It's a beautiful day here for photographing my new red boots. Here I am in a friend's backyard bathtub. You may safely ignore the whiteness of my legs.

I think it's obvious why I have a total crush on these boots: all the best features of cowboy boots, motorcycle boots (oil-resistant soles!), and majorette boots (!) plus they're red!!

I'm figuring out this photo hosting procedure. It seems to hang up if I try to put a hyperlink in the text; I can edit it all over again in Blogger, though. Surely there is a better way.

Thanks to Susie at Suburban Guerrilla for the shoeblogging idea. She posted a nifty pair of red pumps a while back, but I can't find the post just now. Her new site design looks great, though. Check it out if you haven't seen it.

Chick stuff

I have been menstruating for 30-some years. Not always on schedule, of course, but let's just say that as of March 14, 2005, this hideous thing has happened to me at least 381 times.

Why is it such a big fucking surprise every time?

I'm sure that part of the problem is that I just don't pay attention to the whole cycle the way I would if I were accustomed to worrying about getting pregnant. I've almost always been either on the pill or dating girls, so it's just not a big deal, except when it's a big deal and you should know better you idiot what do you mean you have no idea whether or not your period is late? Like, um, last month.

So picture it: there I am, living my life in my pleasant enough little world. Things are going right or maybe a few things are going wrong, but I can handle it. It's fine. Good, even. I am strong and competent. My bills are usually paid; my numerous and interesting friends all care about me. Sometimes I have a lover; sometimes I don't. I eat sensible things that I cook myself. I exercise, I get things done on time, I walk the dog.

Then one day I just burst into tears while I'm driving, for example, or I accidentally uncover a plot among my so-called friends to humiliate me yet again, or I catch my lover noticing for the very first time that I am fat. Or I notice that I don't have a lover, and no wonder! I'm fat!

I let the phone ring, and check the message later. It's my mother. Maybe I'll call her in the morning.

I'm late for something, but I have to eat right now. I mean, this minute. I go to the drive-thru and get a Filet-O-Fish sandwich. Yes, goddammit, I want fries with that. And a diet fucking soda, yes, that's right. Diet.

My breasts are at least eight times their normal size – I know this means that I am dying of breast cancer. I've never heard of that either, but it's probably too late for any treatments. It's OK, though; my life is not worth living anyway. My clothes don't fit, and why are they all so fucking ugly? Even my shoes are ugly. Every goddamn shoe in North Carolina is ugly. I am desperately horny. I will probably never get laid again as long as I live. Maybe there is some chocolate in my pocketbook.

Somehow I can ignore every one of these clues, no matter how many times it happens. I cannot remember ever feeling like this before. I am exhausted. I can't possibly sleep. I drop everything I pick up. One more thing will just push me over the edge, I know it will. Hell, I'm gonna jump. Why wait around for the inevitable?

Just before I get there and hurl myself into the abyss, though, it all falls into place. I have cramps! I'm bleeding! This is normal! I'm so happy!

Then maybe I'll get mad (again) about the price of tampons. Complain that I have to pay sales tax on them. Complain about sales taxes generally. And the whole fucking goddamn regressive tax system, who the hell thought that up? And the federal government, I mean, what's up with the UFO cover-ups? Or those goddamn black helicopters? And poverty and racism. Global climate change, the melting Antarctic ice sheet, that asshole in the White House, whatever. Doesn't even matter which one.

Then I call my mother back and she reminds me that menopause is just around the corner.

Is she trying to be funny?