Come to the Darkside....we have cookies!

Finally, I must admit de-feet (pun intended) over some of my sillier high-heeled shoes.

I bought a pair of (gasp!) Crocs.  In the name of comfort.

(You may expect the world to end at any second now.)

I first became aware of Crocs through Dooce & Blurb, aka Heather and Jon Armstrong.  Jon - - - loves them.  Heather - - - hates them.  A while back, they had an ongoing back-and-forth Croc war on their blogs.  Jon had (I think) a yellow pair.  Blazing, sunshine yellow.  Or at least that's what I remember the pictures of.

Readers of both blogs chimed in, and the comments made for highly hysterical reading.  When I actually saw pictures of the shoes, I wrinkled my nose.  Ewww.

And then I went to visit my baby sister in Cal-i-forn-i-a, and she had a pair.  My sisters and I all wear roughly the same size shoe, and I stole those Crocs the very first night, when we sat 'round a campfire on the beach.  Reluctantly, when I left the island where she lives, I left the Crocs behind, too.  Mostly because she threatened me with death if I took them back to Ohio.  These things inspire passion, I'll tell you that.  

You see them everywhere.  They match absolutely nothing, look terrible, and remind me a whole lot of Swedish trädskor, which literally means wooden shoes.  That gives you a false impression of wooden shoes that are carved and boat-shaped.  But trädskor are clogs, with wooden soles, leather uppers, and open heels.  Swedes wear them everywhere.  Even sometimes with dress-up clothes, which, I must point out, is very un-attractive.  But, they're practical, comfortable, and with the wooden soles being about 2-1/2 inches tall, they keep your feet out of the slush in the winter and away from the mud in the spring.  I brought a black pair home when I was 17, and when I went to visit in 1999, I brought home a brown pair.  They're great for gardening, and that 11-th hour trip to the grocery store for a missing ingredient in something you're trying to pull together for a dinner party.  (Not that I'd know, of course.  I always have everything I need.  *eyeroll*)

I went to visit my sister in 2006.  Two long years ago.  Since then, I've looked at Crocs in sporting goods stores and shoe stores, online, just about all over the place, and I just could not bring myself to spend $40 on a pair of shoes that are so ugly, I don't want to be caught dead in them.  I freely admit to a shoe-shopping problem, and having spend scads on far less practical shoes, you'd think that I wouldn't blink at the price tag.  "Reason" (of a sort) asserted itself, however, because the nagging voice in my head that wants me to be lots more frugal kept saying, "$40?!?!  Are you KIDDING me?  Put those back!"

As with all consumer goods, though, the price started to come down, and with news stories this year about people getting injured in Crocs (although I know nothing about the details, just remember it was in the news) they started to become a bit more reasonable.

In addition to a shoe-shopping problem, I also have an Amazon.com shopping problem.  I lurves me some Amazon.  I browse there nearly daily.  I buy things from them less frequently than daily, but often enough that when I log in to the site, it says, "Welcome, Lucy.  We have recommendations for you!"  I know, it does that for everyone.  But it tempts me frequently, and I have been known to purchase things based on wise and all-seeing Amazon's recommendation alone.  They know my buying habits, which ought to scare me a little, but strangely, does not.

So they had a picture on their gateway page, what you get when you type amazon.com into your browser, and a little SALE! notation, and so, I went and had a look.  Amazon had Crocs in every color of the rainbow, even in some colors that should never be considered for shoes.  

My current favorite color is a fire-y red.  I used to think I couldn't wear red, but I've darkened my hair a bit, and I like what I see in the mirror when I'm wearing a blazing red.  So I bought a red pair.

Comfortable doesn't really cover how these things feel.  I had sided with Dooce in the Croc war, but having worn them, I now take Blurb's side.

That does not mean I'll be wearing them outside of the house, at least not regularly, but man, those are some soothing shoes.

Acquisitional Desires.

I Want:

Aldera
by Nine West

Zappos is a dangerous, dangerous thing.

Have I mentioned before that I have a problem with shoes? {Considering that you have a label for posts about shoes, yeah, Luce, I think you've mentioned that. Once. Or twice. A DAY. ~ed.}

I like shoes. I like frivolous, silly, can't-walk-a-mile-in-'em shoes. Shoes that match outfits, shoes that don't match outfits, shoes purchased just for a particular dress, shoes bought for everyday wear. In many colors, and the taller the heel the better. Standing at just 5'6", shorter than most of the rest of my family, I've worn heels since the parents allowed me to do so. I own maybe 3 or 4 pairs of shoes that are flat; my runners, of course, a pair of hiking boots, a pair of ballet flats, and a pair of construction boots. The rest of my shoes are tall shoes.

Zappos allows you to search for women's shoes based on heel height. Or color. Or size, or style, or brand.....

Oh, the myriad possibilities.

Must. Stop. Looking. At. Shoes.

Going to the chapel

...and we're gonna get married, going to the chapel of love!

A friend got married this weekend. Watching several of my high school friends with their spouses, or significant others, or just standing around the bar talking at the reception made me feel both sad and content. Sad, because we are all getting older. Someone reading this who is in their 50s or so would be annoyed with me, because we're all 30-something these days, and that isn't OLD unless you're a teenager. Content, because it is nice to see folks who I thought would never, ever, ever grow up doing just that. Sort of like, "well, I don't have to worry about *you* anymore, because that's settled."

Weddings usually make me cry. I missed the church ceremony of this weekend's wedding, which I am sorry about, but not too sorry because I don't know if I could have handled it in my current mental state.

I asked so many people so many times, "How ARE you?" wanting, of course, not the social pat answer that we usually give, "I'm fine" but getting not much more than that most of the time. I haven't seen many of these people since the last big wedding, which was I think in 2002. When we, people in general, not just my group of friends, gather at social events like this, so often we strive to be positive and upbeat when talking with old friends about what's going on in our lives, even if things aren't fantastic.

I wrote a post over on MySpace that should have probably been posted here about the walk that we took down memory lane a few days before the wedding, the shared language we have of "do-you-remembers" and the common experiences of our school days. These are old friends, some of them from middle school days, almost all of them from the same high school I attended. Scattered, now, from Arizona to Oh-hia-ia, with jobs diverse as can be imagined. But yet, with the commonality that we have of our youthful days, I honestly don't need to ask how they're doing, I can tell from a look in their eyes, a certain tilt to their smiles, decoding with ease the unspoken message.

I was honest and truthful when people asked how I'm doing; actually, each time someone asked me, "How ARE you?" I responded by saying, "I'm unemployed! *laugh* But all right. How are you?"

We talked about plans and dreams, goals and aspirations, kids, (who has them, who doesn't) cars, mortgages, houses, careers. What astonishes me, over and over again is that we're ADULTS, really, we're the grown-ups. I don't think of myself as an adult. I don't think of most of them as adults either. In my mind's eye, everyone remains perpetually about 17. Seeing them in person, then, is always a shock, because hey! No on really IS 17 anymore. When did that happen? How do the years slip away from us? Why isn't there a "pause" button for life?

I bought a dress to wear just about an hour before I left for the event, a silly set of circumstances that would only happen to me. I didn't need a new dress, but tagged along with a couple of friends just for the heck of it. I tried on sundresses, things that reminded me of 50's style party dresses, (it is true, nothing ever really goes out of style) and things that didn't fit, or fit me badly. Coming out of a dressing room, I saw a stunning light blue gown made of floaty sort of material hanging at a cash register, and I asked the salesgirl if they were holding it for someone. "No," she said, "We were looking for another size at another store." So I picked it up and checked the size, and wonder of wonders, it might fit me. When I tried it on, it was perfect. Everything else I'd tried on had been about $40, but of course this one was over $90. And a color that I have nothing else that will match it, no shoes, no purse, no wrap in case it gets cold.

So I wandered to the shoe department, and found the perfect strappy sandals to go along with it. More than $100 later, I was ready to party! It looked fantastic, though. I'm vastly entertained that the shoes bear the label "Jessica Simpson."

It was a late night, and I've had a slow start to the day. But the house is clean, the sun is shining, and the day calls out to me. Tomorrow is the first official day of my unemployment, and I have it planned so that I'm not sitting at home moping. I'm toying with the idea of going to a spiritual retreat up in New York state for a few days, as I try to figure out what the hell I'm going to do with my life. Seems like a good idea to go and meditate and reflect and plan. For now, however, I'm off to enjoy the sun while it lasts.

Listening to: Mix of Swedish pop including Per Gessel, Lisa Nilsson, Marie Fredrickson.

Empowered. Empowerment. Strength. Brought to you by a Christina Aguilera video.

I was on the treadmill today, as usual, and watching MTV or VH1 without any sound, as I do each morning. It entertains me a great deal to be watching a video for, say, Nellie Furtado while I'm listening to The Beastie Boys. Or listening to The Angel while bubblegum pop is on the TV screen. Disconcerting, and funny as hell. Oh, and the mystery of when does MTV really play music videos? Solved. At 05.30 in the morning, they're playing top 20 stuff.

Christina Aguilera's "Candyman" came on, and I watched the whole video, something I rarely do. I'm usually looking around, or if I'm running, my eyes are unfocused and I'm concentrating on my breathing, trying to keep the asthma monster at bay. But I love this video. Christina looks fabulous. The video makes me think of several things, all tied to female empowerment (I know, if you've seen it you're thinking....WHAT? With the WHAT?) and the inherent strength in femininity.

The song, if you haven't heard it, is reminiscent of that bugle boy song from the 40's, Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy. I love swing and jazz, and big band sounds too, so every time swing makes a resurgence, I'm happy about it. When I watch this video, I think of the women of my grandmother's generation, who went to work while 'the boys' were overseas in WWII, paving the way for the women's movement of the 60s and 70s. The art director, or costuming folks, did a good job of choosing wardrobe for her, especially when they've got her in a pair of capri-length jeans and button down shirt, with her hair wrapped in a kerchief. Somewhere in my family archives is a pic of my paternal grandmother in a very similar outfit, from about 1940.

So why does something intended to be so incredibly sexy, and overtly sexual, make me think of female empowerment? Because I think that Christina is one very smart lady. Who knows that sex sells, and she's done an amazing job making men want her and women want to be her. Even though each character she plays in the vid is being objectified through what she's got on, or how she's dancing, she's in control. She's in charge. Every single eye in the room is on her. That's power.

A while back, on another feminist's blog, I left a comment talking about 'owning the pink', much like taking back the word 'bitch', I think we ought to take ownership of the pretty pink boxes that the world would like us to fit into. There's a dress that Christina wears in the video that looks like maybe it is made out of pink cashmere, but a cashmere skirt wouldn't flare the way that one does, so I have no idea what it is made of. Anyway, she's got on this cute, very short, very pink dress, and she's rocking it like no one's business. She's also got on one sweet pair of bad-ass Mary-Janes, you know, catholic school girl shoes? These are spiky and high heeled, and I want a pair. A look around the net for them finds me stunned to discover that they're nearly $900 a pair. So much for that. I may spend silly amounts of money on shoes, but that's out of my reach for a single pair.

Sidetracked! That happens with me and shoes. Regardless, I was talking about the contrast between the shoes and the dress. The shoes are like a great "screw you" contrast to the uber-pink dress.

I know that I'm probably attributing much more thought than what actually went into a three minute music video, but I know that Christina knows she's a role model for young girls everywhere, and I think that by being strong, sexual, provocative, and even a lot flirtatious, she's showing that you can be pink & pretty and be powerful at the same time.

I remember an interview with Madonna, years and years ago, when Dick Clark asked her what her ambitions were, where she wanted to go from AT40 fame, what she wanted to do with her career. She chuckled a little bit and said, "To rule the world."

Watching this particular video makes ME feel strong, makes ME feel like I can get out there and rule the world, and that's powerful stuff. Dare I say it? Empowering.

Ships, shoes, sealing wax, and dreams

That's what I'm thinking about this week. My friend Amanda M over at We Shall Not Be Moved wrote a post about shoes the other day and I was thinking about all of the really silly shoes I own. I admit it: I have a shoe problem. It is an addiction, I'm seeking treatment, really, right after I get some new summer shoes.

I'm being sarcastic about treatment, and the truth is that I love shoes. Tall shoes, short shoes, heels, flats, sandals, boots....love them all. I own a pair or two that are really stupid shoes. They're extraordinarily painful to walk in. So I wear them on days when I plan to stand around and look cute. But really, why the heck do I do that to myself? I dunno. The easy answer would be that I'm not very smart, but I am smart. And the thing is that I buy stupid shoes because I like them. And I will probably continue to do that until I wise up like Amanda has. :-)

Soundtrack? These Boots are made for Walkin', the Nancy Sinatra version.