A Tale of Two Boots

I stand accused of being cutting edge.

Yeah, it's even funnier if you knew me in high school, like my accuser did.

See, Jeffe† said she was getting some of those slouchy boots, like we wore back in the 80s, when we also hacked our t-shirts up Flashdance-style and thought the bi-level haircut‡ was the height of edgy, futuristic sophistication.

We were teenagers. Our taste was questionable.

Yet here we are again,§ shoulder pads, pegged jeans, neon colours... but the elf boot¶ is classic.

I had a pair of black suede elf boots. And when I say "had," I mean until six years ago when I decided to hand them off to ARC# in the cleaning-for-moving frenzy when I bought my house. I'd had the heels rebuilt†† and recapped,‡‡ but the suede fuzz on the toes and heels was worn to a shine, so I decided my 24-year-old boots had their day.

On into the future, I was doing a little wardrobe work last fall, when the personal shopper at Nordstrom suggested a pair of Steve Madden boots.

Boots EXACTLY like my elf boots, only cured leather instead of suede.




And, y'know, with the Steve Madden label inside.




The rest of the story is that when Jeffe said she was getting a pair of 80s boots, I told her I got a pair last year, at which point, she declared me cutting edge.§§

We all know different - I'm a dork with a streak of nostalgia who's never quite gotten over having to give up her elf boots.

Let's just call it trading up.¶¶


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Of still-Jeffe fame.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Now known as The Coach.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And by, "we," I don't mean you and me, or even Jeffe and me, I mean "society in general."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): If you were into Dio or Dungeons & Dragons in the 80s, it was definitely an elf boot. I'm not confessing, just sayin'. You don't have pictures, you can't prove anything.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I did not, however, hand off my 31-year-old Nike All-Courts with the baby blue swoosh. They're in terrific shape for their age, and I love when the skate punks stop me in the mall and say, "Rad shoes, dude. Where did you get them?" And I say, "1980."

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Once.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Twice.

§§FOOTNOTE (two slouches): And challenged me to a blog-off, in which she was going to use my "Like high school, only Steve Madden" line first. I lost the race in spectacular fashion, but maintained my stubborn insistence on ignoring people trying to get me to blog. Small victories are better than none.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two boots): 'Cause it sounds much classier than "old people nostalgia hoarding."

MonsterVision

In stunning Technicolor™!

The Monster came to live with me just before Easter.% We spent a happy day playing with my new camera† and these are the results.




We started with a glamour shot‡ by the train yard.




A train came by. And the conductor *waved* at us. It may be the single greatest moment in Monster history.




LoDo§ from the wrong side of the tracks.




There was some construction we watched for awhile. They were assembling a crane.




Like this. O hai! Crane!




We headed west past the skate park¶ to stand on the bridge over the South Platte.




A nice bicyclist thought I looked awkward holding The Monster at arm's length# to get a good river picture, so he stopped to help. Not a lot of monsters wave at train conductors and make new friends all in one day.††




It was time to get down to some serious art.‡‡ Like Common Ground, the picturesque stairway to nowhere.




We started on one side of the stairway.




Took in some rays.




Used all our America's Next Top Model training to work with our surroundings.




Played with camera angles.

Climbed the stairs, crested the summit and found a bunch of irritated, stoned emo kids hiding from the cold, cruel world there. Stepped over them and went down the other side.




Kiss the ground, we made it.




Took a moment in the shade.




"I win!"




Oh, no! MONSTER JAIL!




Braved trespass charges§§ to sit on someone's front steps.




The Monster would like to conclude with a little Public Service Announcement.¶¶ Remember kids: the more you know...


%FOOTNOTE (percented): A gift from someone who knows I am fully capable of stuffed monster wrangling as an art form.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Canon G12, for those of you scoring at home.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Flowers make everything more glamourous.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Lower Downtown. Used to be a scary industrial area. Now the hub of tragic hipness and kids you want to throw off your lawn.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which we decided to skip. You know how hard it is to get pot smoke residue out of a monster?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Poor, sweet man; he didn't realise that "awkward" is just my natural state of being.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I can say this, as am now expert on monsters.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): No art is as serious as art you can climb on.

§§FOOTNOTE (boggle): Seriously - I opened a gate and went in for that shot. Totally worth it since I didn't get caught.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (magic wands): Let's just consider that proactive community service to balance out our prior trespassing on private property. Kharma!

You Can Skip This Post

No, really. I won't be offended. This is a maudlin post full of bad photos and it's definitely an exercise in self-indulgence.

Though those of you who've been around awhile may appreciate this FB post from my brother:




Cat for Scale ceased to exist on this mortal coil April 8. He was 21, he was euthanised and he never had a health problem or a noticeable ache or pain until the last two weeks of his life. In fact, the many scans and prods and sucks and bleeds and samples and tests yielded nothing.

He just couldn't stand up reliably anymore.

He didn't eat more than a couple of tablespoons of food a day.

He had no interest in kitty treats.

He didn't even have any interest in my dinner.

He spent all day in a kitty bed. I'm going to take it as a testament to his love for me that he hauled his poor little body upstairs for a couple of nights - even though he could hardly walk on flat ground - to curl up next to me.

After that, I carried him up to my bed every night and down to his bed every morning.

It broke my heart to see my sweet, dopey old companion laid low by perversions of age and time like that. I know deep, deep down - so far it's just an abstract batch of words - that it was a mercy and a matter of dignity to put him to sleep.

But I can't shake the feeling to this day that I somehow failed him.

He was the least photogenic cat I've ever seen. That didn't stop me from trying, nor is it going to stop me from collecting all my old Cat for Scale blogphotos here.

Look at him:

He looked stoned...








...or startled...





...or asleep...












...often looking the wrong way...










...rarely in action...








...but always For Scale.






Now I wish I'd taken more pictures.









Thank you for letting me indulge.