BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

So, I finally wore out my Sunday Go Ta’ Meetin’ Reeboks.

I’m a little disappointed, but I can’t really complain. After all, I managed to get better than four years out of them. I bought them on sale at a Sports Authority in Virginia of all places. Just outside of DC, as a matter of fact. I was on tour with Morrison, and after two days of standing around bookstores in my dress shoes, my feet were killing me. I knew why, of course. It was because I had bought an unbelievably cheap pair of dress shoes with no arch support whatsoever. I’d never worn them for more than a few hours at a time, so it wasn’t that big a deal. But now, I was doing some long stints on my feet and they were doing me in. I considered getting some insoles – but I’d tried them in the past and all they managed to do was make me hurt more. So, on one of our rare mornings off, when Morrison needed to run to the office supply store, I tagged along and hit the Sports Authority next door. Twenty minutes later I had a stylish pair of black Reeboks that had been ON SALE (I mention that because E K likes it when I buy things on sale), and my dawgz were feeling much better.

But, like I said, I finally killed them. The sole pulled away from the upper on one of them, and shoe glue just wasn’t doing it. They’ll work for knocking around in the yard and such, but not for Sunday Go Ta’ Meetin’ like before.

So, I went out shopping for some new shoes while we were on a “household supply run.” After checking out the on-sale Reeboks that looked like some kind of plastic & Velcro Stormtrooper shoe from Star Wars and deciding that I wasn’t interested in looking ridiculous, I wandered down another aisle. I was futzing about with some Reebok knockoffs that looked much like the pair I was aiming to replace, when E K said, “Come here, lackey!”

Well, even when you are in the middle of a store with folks all around, if E K gives you an order you follow it, lest she beat you to death right there in public. And, she’ll get away with it too. Trust me. But, well, you know… digressing and all that…

So, I dropped everything and rushed down to the end of the aisle where E K was waiting and panted, “Yes, Mistress. What may I do to serve you, Mistress?”

Quite a few women who were in the general vicinity reached out and slapped their husbands to get their attention, then pointed at me and announced, “See? HE knows how to behave.” Of course, the husbands just glared at me, but I’m used to that by now.

E K finished reading an information card attached to a pair of shoes, then handed them to me and said, “Here, lackey. Try these on.”

I looked at the shoes in the box she had handed me, then I looked at her. Then I looked at the shoes in the box she had handed me, and then I looked at her.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” she hissed and snapped her fingers. “Chop chop!”

What she had selected for me were “Therashoes“… No, not Theraflu, THERASHOES… The problem is, they looked exactly like something Herman Munster would wear. Seriously. I would not lie about something like that. But, Her Supreme Worship was glaring at me, and all of the other wives were holding their husbands by the ear and making them watch how obedient a lackey I happened to be, therefore I had very little choice.

I tried them on.

I walked around for a minute.

I almost fell down 72 times in the span of 60 seconds.

You see, not only do “Therashoes” have a platform sole like Herman Munster footwear, said sole is shaped like a rocker on a rocking chair. Again, no kidding. I wouldn’t lie about this. You can see it just a little bit in the picture, but believe me, that doesn’t do it justice. These things have as much curve as a freaking basketball (see cross section below).

I guarantee you it is easier to walk in stiletto heels – and, I’m sure you are wondering how I could possibly say that with any authority. Well, because I have walked in stiletto heels. No, not because E K makes me dress up like a French Maid and wait on her… Well… Not lately anyway… But, because in my youth I went to a costume party in drag on a dare/bet. BTW, I looked damn good and I won the bet. I certainly couldn’t pull it off now; besides, the costume was long gone, long ago. It just didn’t go with the rest of my wardrobe…

But, back to the shoes… In the end, E K decided these were the clodhoppers I needed to have. I wore them for about six hours today and I now feel like I have been hobbled by Kathy Bates wielding a sledgehammer.

It took me a few hours, but I finally figured it out. These things were designed by a Dominatrix – hell, probably by E K and the Redhead Collective – as a type of bizarre bondage gear in order to keep men from escaping during torture. I’m certain of this, because I’m here to tell you, wearing these damn things I can’t even run away from a toddler…

I can, however, pitch back and forth like a rocking horse.

More to come…

Murv

I’ve noticed something.

Yeah, I know, no biggie since I’m noticing stuff and telling you about it all the time, right? Well, I’m still going to tell you anyway.

So, this thing I’ve noticed is a Twitter phenomenon. Not the phenomenon of Twitter itself, or even the phenomenon of celebs on Twitter having their personal assistants post tweets for them. Rest assured, all of my tweets are 100% me. Thought up by me, typed in by me, and like the President, I even hit the enter button when I am done typing. Hell, I even use Tweetdeck to multitask in the fast paced Twitter-world.

Of course, I suppose none of the above really matters since I’m not a celeb. Oh well… Just thought you should know.

So, anyway, back to this phenomenon I’ve noticed. I’ve named it – as you can see from the title of this blog entry – “The Half Tweet Effect.”

THTE, as I like to call it, is the electronic status update equivalent of walking into the middle of a conversation at a party. Or, on a bus. Or, in a store… It doesn’t really matter where, to be honest. It’s really just the whole “middle of the conversation” thing that’s important.

You see, be it Tweetdeck, your Twitter page, or some other interface you may be using, it is almost impossible to avoid THTE. You log in and there it is, slapping you in the face.

@MuNkEnSpAnK – …so, I left the battery cables, drank the Alka-Seltzer, and then went to buy a hot dog.

or

@flbrtyjibt – …and then turn left.

or

@bud_girl – …and so I bought it! Of course, I had to have shoes too so I went…

I have no idea what joke preceded that punch line, I have no idea from whence I am to turn left, and I don’t know what bud_girl bought – although I can probably imagine a few things. Of course, what I imagine is probably way better than the reality. But, I digress.

The thing is, even though you click, follow, and otherwise search around, you can’t find the first half tweets that came before – or the tweets that begat these responses. They’ve disappeared. They’re gone. You are in the land of Half Tweet Hell. What’s worse, sometimes the half tweet is really a third tweet, or quarter tweet. So, not only are you missing the beginning, but you are missing the ending too. It’s just a lonely, nonsensical comment hanging out there in the ether with no beginning or end, just a middle…

@mrsellars – And, with that I think maybe I’ll just…

More to come…

Murv