And the “wtf” factor this friday… August 22, 2008

Does anyone else find the irony of “nature” being brought into the “daily lives of urban dwellers” by a donut maker even more hilarious than the concept of grassy flip-flops itself? I’d totally wear these, especially if they were given to me free (if I lived in the UK, that is). I bet these are, above all, supremely comfy (Mr. boot, I’m lookin at you). Yet whenever I think of picnicing, the last thing I consider bringing is a donut. As far as marketing ideas go, this one sure ain’t bad, but it seems slightly misplaced. Ay, maybe that’s the point, marketing geniuses? The “wtf” factor? The “maybe I WILL bring a donut on my next park rendezvous” factor.

And, um, these flip flops are supposed to be “relaxing.” When I think of eating a donut, I think of being (a) at the office and (b) hyped up from sugar. Too bad they’re not quite office-appropriate, when I’d most want to have grass under my feet. I wonder how long they last too..steppin on grass is rough on it, to say the least.  Millennium Park, I don’t know how you do it. You have to grow the grass in the shoes first too. I’m already having bad flashbacks to the Chia pet that NEVER GREW (this happened to you too, right?).

Funny that I manage to kill every other plant I own….. Good thing I don’t have a lawn to mow.

Boot and the City August 13, 2008

Kudos to my friend Omar for coining that name of my forthcoming book. Or at least a blog posting, for now. Yup, my friends, to those who don’t know (which, really, who are you? everyone knows this slight misery by now), I’m in an orthopedically ostentatious boot. Only one though, lest I really be starting a new trend of Giant Bootedness in the Summertime. I technically have a stress fracture, which means a little piece of one of my metatarsals (foot bone, to those unbeknownst) is broken. How you break a bone in the middle of your foot and nowhere else, I’m not entirely sure, but I tell myself it’s special talent only the booted few can perfect. I’ll have to take a picture of Mr. Boot and post at another point.

It turns out, everyone becomes about 10x’s friendlier when you’re in a boot (and a skirt, making it obvious you’re only wearing one giant moonboot). It’s like that point in the party at 2am after everyone’s had their drinks and strangers start talking, only this time, it’s people on the street, or elevators, or restaurants, during perfectly respectable afternoon hours. (Apparently I think only afternoon hours are respectable.) People say such gems as, “Wha’d you do, kick your boyfriend?” “Man I hated the boot, I had one too, how’d you manage yours?” So everyone has a sympathy story, or wants yours, or just uses it as an excuse to start chatting. Which is actually quite lovely… Giving people excuses to talk to strangers is one of the best byproducts of my having to stumble around in Mr. Boot for weeks. It’s like Mr. Boot and I have become inseparable friends who everyone at this party called the City wants to talk to. It’s…say it with me now…Boot and the City!

(Now, dating in Mr. Boot is a whole other post/novel, which is currently in the works on and being saved for a later debut.)