Written 12 January, 2008
Clackety Damn Shoes!
By Sweetie
If a girl walks through the mall and nobody hears her, does she still exist?
YES!
So please! PLEASE! PLEASE take off those stupid clackety shoes!
Like pink fluorescent t-shirts in high school, they were cool for about five minutes.
As I mentioned in response to comments about my “Please Don’t Bury My Avatar in This Outfit” blog, I quit taping mini-flashlights to the sides of my tennis shoes when I was ten years old, and I stopped clipping playing cards to the spokes of my bicycle when I was twelve.
Okay, fourteen.
Okay, sixteen, but I lived in a rural area and there was nothing to do.
And I’m talking rural, like no mall to go to and wear your clackety damn shoes for three hours.
My point is clackety shoes are just straight-up repetitious noise pollution. If you’re a tap dancer in Second Life or a dominatrix whose john gets a thrill from having you stomp around him in your boots, go for it. Otherwise (Sweetie nods her head vapidly), “Oh, yeah, those are really kewl!” NOT!
1 comment:
In defense of clackety damn shoes... I have to say I like the sound--at least it beats the clodhopper galumphing noise I used to hear when I walked. Besides, it reminds me of the genius of Joni Mitchell...
"Handy's cast in bronze
And he's standing in a little park
With a trumpet in his hand
Like he's list'ning back to the good old bands
And the click of high-heeled shoes..."
Would I deny the statue of W.C. Handy that pleasure! No, no, a thousand times no!
Now, I have to admit I giggle when I walk on the sands of Pele and my heels click. Uh, yeah, Cheyenne installed drum sand, like on Arrakis. Yeah, that's the ticket!
Post a Comment