FAMETRACKER archive of the day: Battle of the Nerdy Spawn of Tom Hawks
TODAY'S QUESTION FOR COMMENTING: Your favorite pair of shoes? Tell us!
OBSESSION OF THE DAY: Going out and having fun tonight, blizzard be damned! -- Erin :)
(Continued from yesterday.)
October 2006, Evanston, IL
Walking around Evanston, killing those FOUR HOURS before the next Kenosha train, I passed the shoe store that witnessed one of my all-time triumphs. It was a Saturday morning in 1997 and two of my Northwestern dormmates, Cindy and Jenni, wanted to look for new kicks. My closet was already overflowing a la Imelda Marcos, but who was I to desert my friends in their hour of need, especially when I was such an expert on the topic at hand? It would be cruel of me to deny Cindy and Jenni access to my skills.
“I am only going for moral support,” I told them. “No shoes for me!”
And I meant it. I really did. As we opened the door to the store, I was actually repeating those words aloud, as if a good mantra could ward off the inevitable.
“I am only going for moral support,” I said again, walking in. “I’m not buying anything. I don’t need anything, and . . . ”
. . . and then, the world stopped spinning and time stood still. There they were. THE SHOES. MY SHOES. On the wall, at eye level, 15 feet from my face. They were Converse All-Stars, but oh god, they were so much more. They were plastic-y and silver, with tiny pink, glittery sparkles all over. They had pink stars where normal Cons had, what, white ones? Or black ones? I didn’t know. My memory of all other shoes had been obliterated by this pair. The edge of the sole was white with a jaunty grey stripe going around it. And . . .
“. . . and I AM A LIAR!” I exclaimed, pushing past my friends and making a beeline for the shoe display. “I need these in an 8!” I breathlessly told the clerk. I shrugged at my friends. They knew me. What could I do? The shoes were silver and pink and glittery, damnit!
I wore those shoes to my journalism school graduation two years later, along with what can only be described as Outrageous Moon Pants – silver again, in jean form but somehow made of thin, stretchy spandex – and a v-neck Radiohead t-shirt. The day before, at the campus-wide commencement ceremony, I wore a swishy dress and my black, knee-high combat-meets-go-go boots. (Long before I had the Personals as a legitimate excuse to be on stage, I loved a good costume change.)
Of course, I was wearing all that jazz under a dignified black robe. But still. During the journalism graduation, you could clearly see the silver sneakers and moon pants peaking out. It was a classy ceremony in a classy theater. Each student was only allowed a couple of tickets. I had to beg and barter for more so two parents, one stepmom, one sister, one boyfriend, and one childhood best friend could get in. Much to my dismay, they did not allow airhorns at Northwestern graduations. (I guess, technically, they didn’t allow them at my high school graduation either, but that didn’t stop my dad.) The audience was instructed to save its applause for the end.
“I don’t care what the dean says,” I told my crew beforehand. “And I don’t care what the other families do. We are Walters, and you better go beserk when they call my name.”
My family did not disappoint. They were LOUD. We’re good at that. (For my part, I made quite the fool of myself from the audience, standing and screaming like a banshee in the name of friendship when my roommate from the Portland internship was trotted out as our perfect-GPA valedictorian.) And when I crossed the stage, family hooting and hollering, the stuffy dean shook my hand, leaned in, and – I swear -- whispered in my ear, “You want to yell back, don’t you?”
And I did. Hell yeah, I did. So I did. It was an answer to the dean’s question, but I directed it to my family in the balcony.
“YEAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I screamed and thrust my fist in the air, like Metallica had just brought Ozzy out with them for an encore. It felt amazing.
Bye bye, college. It’s been real!
(Continued tomorrow . . . Maybe I'll get on the train. Maybe I'll finally tell you about that whole Oilver North/auto theft debacle.)
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16 comments:
My story about favorite shoes is both exhilarating and sad.
In 1984, when I was 15, I was a member of the American Music Abroad Choir (Sexy, I know!) We wore navy blue skirts, white blouses, red blazers, and sensible shoes while we sang traditional American music (Camptown Races!) to adoring European audiences on a 3-week summer tour of seven European countries. My use of "adoring" is not sarcastic; the audiences loved our wholesome, dorky goodness.
It was my first time on my own, without my parents, and I was intoxicated by the freedom. I was pretty square, so I didn't do anything bad... but it was delicious to be independent. I hung out with new friends, stayed out late dancing in nightclubs with cute Austrian boys, and I bought the greatest boots on the planet in Paris.
They were black, of course. The foot was vaguely cowboy boot-ish: slightly pointed toes, some curlicues cut into the leather, 2-inch stacked heels. The shaft hit just above the ankle: too tall to be true ankle boots, but not quite mid-calf. They were, in fact, the world's most perfect height for my short legs. And here's the part that makes them special, one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable: the shaft was made of skinny strips of leather -- maybe a 1/4-inch wide -- woven like a basket, pliable enough to roll so there was a cuff at the top, sturdy enough to stand up. These were NOT '80s slouch boots; they were clean, neat, and tough-looking.
I loved them to distraction. (And now I must pause to sigh and think about the perfect boots in private.)
OK. I'm back.
I distinctly remember wearing them with black skinny stretch pants, an oversized red Coca-Cola sweatshirt (is anyone else old enough to remember when Coke had a short-lived fashion line?), and black Wayfarer sunglasses. Somewhere there's a photo of that particular outfit, on me, in Paris. It is the very picture of happiness and contentment.
Loving my boots as I did, I wore them all the time. When I went to college in 1986, the heels and soles were quite worn and needed replacing. My dad, who I love even more than I did the boots, has always been a stickler for good shoes. "You can tell a lot about a person by their shoes," he said. "Shoes are a sign of self-respect."
When he offered to have them repaired for me, with a promise to return them to me when I came home for Thanksgiving, I accepted. I handed off the boots, kissing them and my dad goodbye.
When I made my first trek home to Pennsylvania from Syracuse University, I asked my dad about the boots. And he said, "Oh. The shoe repair man couldn't replace the soles. They were so beat up, I just got rid of them."
I still dream about finding a shoemaker who could make me a pair of replacement boots, reconstructed from my memory.
Alkaline Trio just doesn't do it for me.
I'm trying to think of my absoulte favorite pair of shoes of all time but I never did have a pair that I will remember forever. However, I did recently purchase a beautiful, simple pair of brown cowboy boots - something I have wanted since I suffered through elementary school year after year as practically the only person without cowboy boots to wear to "Go Texan Day." Glad that situation has been settled.
As a side note, I do remember when Coke was cool to wear. I remember friends with sweatshirts and swimsuits and I was the proud owner of a Coke sleeping bag.
Good writing. You have a style that enthralls and excites.
Sincerely Steve On Drums
I love these comments! Melicious, I am ready to go off on a shoe-hunting adventure for you right now! And Wendy, OMG! The Coke-wear! Thanks for the memories.
James, it's OK if you don't want to watch the Alkaline Trio with me in my personal rock heaven. It can be a different neverending concert for you -- that's how it works. We'll both be standing there, having the time of our after-lives, right next to each other, head-bopping and dancing and singing along to our hearts' content, but each of us will be hearing and seeing something different. It'll be awesome! :) Of course, I am putting the rock gods on notice -- I don't want to actually experience this for a good 70 years. Got that, rock gods?
Alkaline Trio are great! - "Maybe I'll Catch Fire," "Stupid Kid," "Radio," and their cover of Metro could be the soundtrack to this blog.
Erin...YOU ROCK!!!! Can't wait to read your next post!
Oh the power of the Converse! If I ever finish my screenplay it’s tag line will probably be something like “If Carrie Bradshaw lived in Austin, played in a band, and wore Chuck Taylors…” Oh, that sounds pretty crappy now, but I’d see it in a heartbeat!
Anyway, my favorite pair of Chucks I don’t even have yet! One day I was playing around on converse.com designing low tops (yes, you can create and personalize your own shoes) that said YES, for the band that never left the living room, YES GIRL. Against my better judgment I entered my email address so I could save my design for the time (never) I wanted to spend 60 bucks on the 67th pair of Converse that I REALLY don’t need. A few weeks later I received an email from converse saying I had won a gift certificate, so send us your address and we will send it to you. I didn’t really believe it but I filled it out and sent it back and two days later I got a Fed Ex overnight package from Converse containing a gift card for $250. No shit. TWO HUNDRED FIFTY dollars. And I’ve still yet to sit down and order the shoes!
great read--
oh, to be a walter at a graduation ceremony! i remember being there to support megan as she gave her speech. the sound of an air horn ringing in my ear puts a gigantic smile on my face. your family ROCKS!
my favorite pair of shoes....it's hard to point out a favorite. they all have their moments in my life. as for now...my mary jane crocs can do no wrong. they have comforted my feet for the past 6 months after every long run. i can guarantee you they will become the holy grail come 12:20 pm on sunday. nothing will feel better on my feet after 26.2 miles. :)
happy writing,
md
my favorite pair of shoes? i would have to say flip flops which by definition, aren't exactly 'shoes". they stay on just by the grip of your first two toes to a piece of material- cloth, or plastic or rubber. i have gotten fond of my black cons- which are plain i know, but oh so cute.
this is really good stuff.
Goodness...
My favorite shoes that I own currently are either my Puma hi-top boot-looking things (black & white...I've had them for a couple of years, and I don't think they make them anymore), or just my blue flip flops. More and more I dislike wearing shoes when it's warm enough not to. I need to get more shoes...I feel as though I am not keeping up. But alas, the budget is tight...
I am enjoying all this immensely. Please keep it up. I'm liking this story more than the last one.
Alkaline Trio is not a band I would give much attention to normally, but since you, Erin, seem so enthralled, maybe I should give them a shot. We'll see.
My favorite pair of shoes? That's like a mother choosing between her children! I mean, yes, some purchases were definitely blister-making exercises in masochism, but many have sentimental value, whether because they were just so pretty (perfect silver strappy heels), or because they take me back to where I was when I bought them (11-2001, NYC).
I think my absolute fave has to be a run-down pair of Adidas slip-on slides. I wore those shoes for years and they took me EVERYWHERE: through the last years of college, across Europe, and eventually to work when I became too disillusioned to dress up anymore. Even though the sole is literally peeling off, those shoes hang in my closet as a better reminder than a photo album.
Thanks for making me think--I could talk about shoes all day! And I just mean YOUR shoes :) Anyway, great story; I can't wait for the end!
Um, Converse? Is there another answer?
I suppose rocket-boots are pretty cool.
I guess my favorite pair of shoes aren't really shoes at all - they're a pair of insulated Red Wing boots my grandma got for me at this cool old sporting goods store in Enid, Oklahoma approximately 30 years ago. I still have them and they're still in very usable condition, though I don't wear them often these days. They're both a link to my grandma, whom I loved very much, and a testament to the quality of American manufacturing, an industry which has now largely disappeared. It's hard not to get choked up when I think about them...
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