I’ve done it: I’ve purchased new shoes.

Those of you who know me know what a big freakin’ deal this is. I’ve owned my old Cons for no fewer than ten years–back then you had to look freakin’ everywhere to find Cons and they were still made in America. We’ve had a good run, my Cons and me. I wore them to my first real gig, in the Bayville Commons on Saturday mornings from 11 - 12. They carried me through coming out as bi and the entire four-year relationship that ensued. We trekked around the east village together, picking up copies of The Village Voice and pizza bagels and an overpriced pair of stripey arm warmers that I still have. We explored Ohio and parts of Indiana and Kentucky together (my ex-girlfriend was there too). We were poor and unemployed together, we moved to a really good (boring) neighborhood followed quickly by a really bad neighborhood, we took a job in Times Square and rode the subway to it. They were there when I started my business, and they’ve accompanied me to a good many of my recording sessions at Sound on the Sound studios. Ragged blue Cons, you will be long remembered.

I plan to spray them with something to make them stiff and turn them into bookends. This obsessive need to make my dirty old footwear into a display item stems from my childhood: my mom took the shoes I was baptised in and got them dipped in something that made them like glass or ceramic or something, and they are currently sitting in her china cabinet. Pink velcro Weeboks, I believe: even as a baby being initiated into a religion I don’t believe in, I had style. Mom, why was I wearing sneakers to a baptism? Isn’t that kind of a fancy affair? Maybe I have this story mixed up. It was a long time ago.

Anyway, the time has more than come. My cons were so full of holes that the balls of my feet were dangerously close to actually communing skin-to-skin with the sidewalks of BedStuy. So today, I went down to MooShoes and purchased my new No Sweat anti-cons. (That’s kinda like anti-folk but cooler and with more substance.) They’re lovely and they don’t have any holes in them. They also come from an awesome fair trade company, No Sweat Apparel. I have named them Amanda and Tegan, after two women whose songs have gotten me through stuff (much as my shoes get me through stuff by like, sheltering my feet as I travel). Here is a portrait: