He wore Italian shoes
Like that’s supposed to mean something
— the prophet larkin
Today’s my First Official Rest Day ©, so I’m walking with Mo at the track. We’re surveying the damage to the trees after the chainsaw guys came through, and it’s not so good.
The Blackbird Tree has been reduced to a skinny twig with a couple of leafy branches on top, a sad little guy who could easily play the starring role in the Charlie Brown Christmas Special. The tree on the other side is gone altogether, with only a stump remaining where a majestic giant had towered just a few days earlier.
I lament how sad it is when trees die.
I realize I ordered new running shoes earlier this week. Which is no big deal, except they’re made from (and I don’t even think I’m making this up) Magical Eucalyptus Tree Fiber. That’s right — I’VE KILLED A TREE FOR THESE SHOES!!!
I should have know something was terribly wrong when the mascot for a shoe company has no feet.
At least he appears to feel embarrassed about it.
On the bright side, they come with three colors of laces. I will console my sorrow in a rainbow of happiness. Yes, I am Easily Amused.
I have reservations * already. Every time I show Mo a picture of them, she starts laughing and says something about how we will never be seen together when I’m wearing them. Sometimes it’s hard to live with someone who has good taste.
On top of that, I suspect that although they are billed as such, they are “running” shoes only in the sense that you can run in Doc Martens if something large is chasing you. Which Mo likely will do now as a sign of social protest over my shoes. They appear to consist of nothing, and yet manage to weigh in at a ridiculously heavy 10 ounces. Oh, well. What do you expect for 95 bucks (OK, an extra $10 for the laces. Totally worth it.)
Sorry, Mr. Tree. Maybe you’ll come back reincarnated as a newspaper designer and you can give me unreasonable headline counts.
I did the math today on the schedule and realized it’s totally, ridiculously impossible. Which makes it suddenly appealing. Onward thru the fog, Oat Willie!
I must get a chicken. I hope it’s not made from trees …
* patio table at carlsbad tavern, 8 p.m. Bring your own air conditioner.