15 September, 2009

The Problem of Shoe-sin

I spend all my time with Belle & Sebastian and Camera Obscura lyrics stuck in my head. It just keeps happening when I run into some completely ordinary fact of life (if I was Scottish)--Debenhams, Marks and Spencer, a bus that says NHS on it. Yesterday, before I got all sad, I had planned on making a post about how I went on a long walk to Marks and Spencer to buy dishes, a mug, and silverware. It was wonderful. I love how cold it is here.

In some ways I'm very spoiled, but my parents are usually willing to buy me any expensive thing I ask for because of my tendency to wear incredibly old, sweaty, worn-out shoes and clothes. So I ended up asking my mom for the most beautiful fancy shoes ever:

It took me a while to be willing to put them on. For the past four years I've pretty much only worn Saucony Jazz sneakers, down to the bone over and over again, because they're exactly perfectly comfortable and I'm just used to seeing them when I look down. But the thing, when my mom forces me to start wearing a new pair, is just that it's sensory insanity for a day or two when the texture of them is crowding in on my feet and making me upset. I was afraid that it would be even worse with the Beautiful Shoes.

It wasn't, though. In fact my only problem with them is the opposite--they're kind of like not wearing shoes at all, after a while. I feel like I can feel the cracks in the sidewalk through the soles. I should probably not wear them when I am going on long walks like to Marks and Spencer, but they make me so happy when I look down. And they have flowers inside them. I love clothes, just not in a typical girl way. I love clothes because they're beautiful and colorful and soft. My interest in dresses or high heels is pretty much nil; they make you feel worse, not better, in my opinion.

This blog is not exactly my first attempt at Serious Blogging. Not that this is extremely serious, but I just want to actually work on composing entries that say something interesting. This entry is just a mess of things I wanted to say yesterday and want to say today.

I finally met my flatmates. Now I feel a lot better, even though it's not like I have talked to them a lot or anything. It was kind of perverse that I wasn't talking to them at all.

I've been talking to my friend Erin a lot online. Erin is this girl I met at the end of school last year who is incredibly fantastic. I don't have a lot of friends who are gay, for good reason I think. This is a huge generalization and I know it, but the gay people at my school are so busy being nonconformists that they seem to have no time to actually be unique or even smart. This gay guy at my school who used to be a funny, interesting person has been totally absorbed by the liberal arts college machine and now writes a blog called DeQueeRycum which is just a bunch of terrible prose poems accompanied by pictures of him wearing sparkly glitter nail polish and growling. This is a guy who used to be butch, and I'm not saying that butch is better than girly, but just that he seems to act less like himself, and more like his idea of what's radical. Which makes him a lot more of a stereotype than a human.

Anyway, Erin is so delightful because she is very gay but for her it's all about being introspective and intellectual. She likes dead gay writers. Last night we had a big face-off where we linked Google Images back and forth, arguing about who was cuter--Carson McCullers, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Virginia Woolf. I think Virginia Woolf is overrated in the looks department, but Erin is obsessed with the ancient study of noses and I guess Virginia Woolf has the kind of nose that is supposed to indicate a noble person. Erin is just so smart! I wish we had a crush on each other, because I could talk to her forever and never get bored.

Yesterday I gave money to a homeless man because he had a dog. My whole life I've believed that I shouldn't give people money because they will only buy drugs, but the more I think about this the less sense it makes. How could you possibly get enough money to buy drugs just by begging? Drugs are expensive. The social interaction factor makes me uncomfortable--I don't like doing something like this so visibly, like I'm expecting to be thanked, I wish I could just drop it in their cup when they're not looking. I give money to buskers more because they're absorbed in what they're doing. But this is so stupid, buskers probably need money less. Anyway, tomorrow I promise to write an entry with a beginning, middle, and end, about something profound.

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