Shoe Tossin'

In reality, though, we don't buy any of that horse-hockey. We like Snopes's explanation the best: "we are a determinedly decorative society." We also are a society of smart-asses and, sometimes, assmittens. A long while ago, we stumbled upon some shoe tossers late at night. We wrote of it elsewhere, apparently still appealing to Mr. Cleaver:

Just when I thought that my flaneurin’ was a wash for the evening, I saw some young men up ahead of me, on 11th Ave NE and NE 52nd St. As I was uphill with several large trees obscuring my vision, I saw only shadows of what looked like a street sign being jostled out of the firmament. I also heard a periodic clap as if someone were hitting a fraternity initiation paddle against somebody else’s backside, which happened to be made of balsa wood or some other marginally hard, though not too dense, surface. As I approached closer, though, I began to see what was happening.

The two men looked to be in the height of their youth and somewhere near the apex of a good alcoholic buzz. Neither of them were handsome by any stretch of the imagination. The short-haired man clutched a 32 oz. bottle of Gatorade — no doubt to replenish his electrolytes. The other man, long-haired with a mane that would put Mr. Slash to shame, was holding either a cigarette or a bottle of beer. As I’m not sure which it was, let us say, for sake of argument, that he was holding a small plastic dinosaur. Both men were standing in the middle of 11th on either side of the utility wires that cross the street at this point. The aforementioned clapping happened to be the sound of a pair of shoes, laces knotted together, falling to the ground after failing to entangle themselves in the wires. Apparently precedents were set in this spot; I counted 5 pairs of shoes already up there.

Aside from exchanging pleasantries, we didn't question the men about why? they were doing this. Quite frankly, we didn't care to know. Some aura of mystery must be retained; this phenomenon need not be explained fully. We were satisfied by what we saw: the process, apparently not such an easy one, behind the artifacts. Nothing more needed to be said. When one stumbles onto Leonardo, looking fabulous in his dainty finery, painting the Mona Lisa, one just nods and observes the master.

On a related note, there apparently exists an entire tree full of shoes on UW's campus. Apparently, similarly curious manifestations may be found at other universities as well. There is also, and we have seen it, a tree full of ripe shoes on 47th Street in frat row. Poor trees. The explosion of microbes and odor must be... compelling after a nice, warm rain.

We've heard the rumors, and they seemed to backed up by the series of tubes so they must be true. It makes sense, though. If the preponderance of mainstream pornography is to be believed, the standard sexual uniform for manly gentlemen --and where do you find manlier men than in frat row?-- is nudity save for sexy white tube socks... and maybe a ball cap. We don't understand this phenomenon but, then again, we aren't very manly. In any case, as no shoes are necessary, they logically would have been tossed out the window.

Back to the boots, though, we were a little sad to see them way up there. They look to be a half-way decent pair. A few years ago, we would've categorically stated that you shouldn't desecrate boots like that. These days, we know better. Let us amend our statement, then, to say "you shouldn't desecrate a pair of boots like that, unless they are Ugg(h)s."