Wednesday, February 25, 2004
R.I.P. CHUCK TAYLOR’s (1999-2004)
At approximately 3:12, early in the morning hours of Wednesday, February 25th 2004, I was walking upstairs from my basement bedroom to the living area of my house. In my right hand was a VHS copy of the terrific crime caper L.A. Confidential and in my left was my laptop computer. I was planning on watching the movie on the larger screen television while thinking of something to write about on my weblog. I really had nothing particular in mind, but I figured if the mood should strike me, my iBook would come in handy.
I passed through the kitchen, where several of my cats were eating merrily and staring intently into open space, as cats are oftentimes prone to do. I strolled past them into the dining room where I saw Lily, the only cat not in the kitchen, as apparently she had finished her meal and was now in the process of licking her paws. She was grooming herself right next to my favorite pair of shoes; which were black Converse Chuck Taylor’s that I had been wearing since my senior year of high school. I thought nothing of it as this is something she does quite frequently so I continued walking past her into the living room.
Placing my laptop on the couch and popping my video into the VCR, I was suddenly struck by the mood for something to drink. Since I knew there was no juice or soda in the fridge, a glass of ice water seemed an acceptable substitute. With that thought in mind, I went back to the kitchen, leaving my movie paused and my computer unattended.
Up in the cupboard, I looked for a glass to use. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a plastic cup I had gotten at Deja’ Vu a few years earlier. You see, me and some friends from work had skipped lunch one day to instead watch a few strippers in their natural environment and I had brought home the cup as a souvenir of sorts. It is unique in that it has the visage of a few half-naked women as well as the location of all the Deja’ Vu’s in the country adorned upon it. One of my favorite drinking receptacles, to be sure. I grabbed it from its spot in the cupboard and looked at it for just a moment, perhaps to reminisce. Before I could turn on the faucet to fill it with water, however, I heard what sounded like a cat preparing to retch coming from the dining room. Now, anyone who has cats knows this sound very well. It is a sound we all dread hearing, as it can only result in us on our hands and knees with fistfuls of Brawny towels cleaning up half digested 9 Lives from the floor.
So once I heard this clatter, I sprang from the kitchen to see what was the matter and saw Lily hovering above my shoes...now firmly coated in puke splatter.
Well, my heart just sank. As I’ve stated, these were my favorite pair. I think it’s safe to assume that owners of Converse Chuck Taylor’s have a certain affinity for their sneakers that other shoes just aren’t afforded. We have a special bond and the grimy stains and tattered fabric we sport so proudly on them tell the story of the times we’ve spent together.
For instance, the holes in my pair represent the wear and tear of nearly 6 full years of walking, working and playing on the streets of Toledo. There is a faded streak of rust that I got when I caught my foot under the driver’s seat of a police cruiser while awaiting transport downtown. But perhaps my favorite feature is the cheese stain on the left toe from when I dropped a full sized order of nachos on myself at the Showcase Theater in Maumee. Again, every deformity is a story to be told.
But, alas, the story has ended for my pair of Chuck’s because a cat named Lily could not keep her food in her belly where it belonged. Instead, she chose to heave it up on my favorite pair of shoes and destroy the legacy they have maintained for so many years.
Now, please understand, I love Lily very much. Of all my cats, I have a very special place in my heart for her. However, I think she will have to be put before the tribunal and be tried for her crimes against shoe-manity. May God have mercy on her soul.
Sure, I could clean them off and maybe have mom throw them in the wash machine, but wouldn’t the taint of cat puke be ever present upon its beautiful black canvass? Wouldn’t it carry that stigma from this moment on, forever reminding me of this horrible night in which the purity of a guy’s sneakers was forever tarnished? I think so. But instead of allowing them to continue on with this horrendous memory, I will instead do the right thing, the humane thing, and simply retire them to the Hefty Cinch-Sak in which all good sneakers are destined to meet their end. It will be tough, but I think Chuck would have wanted it this way.
I will now begin the daunting task of replacing them with another pair just like it. It won’t be the same. It never is. But maybe, just maybe, the next Chuck’s I wear will start a new legacy that will bring with it a level of joy that in some way will remind me of the times I shared with the old. I can only hope they will, Chuck. I can only hope they will.
At approximately 3:12, early in the morning hours of Wednesday, February 25th 2004, I was walking upstairs from my basement bedroom to the living area of my house. In my right hand was a VHS copy of the terrific crime caper L.A. Confidential and in my left was my laptop computer. I was planning on watching the movie on the larger screen television while thinking of something to write about on my weblog. I really had nothing particular in mind, but I figured if the mood should strike me, my iBook would come in handy.
I passed through the kitchen, where several of my cats were eating merrily and staring intently into open space, as cats are oftentimes prone to do. I strolled past them into the dining room where I saw Lily, the only cat not in the kitchen, as apparently she had finished her meal and was now in the process of licking her paws. She was grooming herself right next to my favorite pair of shoes; which were black Converse Chuck Taylor’s that I had been wearing since my senior year of high school. I thought nothing of it as this is something she does quite frequently so I continued walking past her into the living room.
Placing my laptop on the couch and popping my video into the VCR, I was suddenly struck by the mood for something to drink. Since I knew there was no juice or soda in the fridge, a glass of ice water seemed an acceptable substitute. With that thought in mind, I went back to the kitchen, leaving my movie paused and my computer unattended.
Up in the cupboard, I looked for a glass to use. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a plastic cup I had gotten at Deja’ Vu a few years earlier. You see, me and some friends from work had skipped lunch one day to instead watch a few strippers in their natural environment and I had brought home the cup as a souvenir of sorts. It is unique in that it has the visage of a few half-naked women as well as the location of all the Deja’ Vu’s in the country adorned upon it. One of my favorite drinking receptacles, to be sure. I grabbed it from its spot in the cupboard and looked at it for just a moment, perhaps to reminisce. Before I could turn on the faucet to fill it with water, however, I heard what sounded like a cat preparing to retch coming from the dining room. Now, anyone who has cats knows this sound very well. It is a sound we all dread hearing, as it can only result in us on our hands and knees with fistfuls of Brawny towels cleaning up half digested 9 Lives from the floor.
So once I heard this clatter, I sprang from the kitchen to see what was the matter and saw Lily hovering above my shoes...now firmly coated in puke splatter.
Well, my heart just sank. As I’ve stated, these were my favorite pair. I think it’s safe to assume that owners of Converse Chuck Taylor’s have a certain affinity for their sneakers that other shoes just aren’t afforded. We have a special bond and the grimy stains and tattered fabric we sport so proudly on them tell the story of the times we’ve spent together.
For instance, the holes in my pair represent the wear and tear of nearly 6 full years of walking, working and playing on the streets of Toledo. There is a faded streak of rust that I got when I caught my foot under the driver’s seat of a police cruiser while awaiting transport downtown. But perhaps my favorite feature is the cheese stain on the left toe from when I dropped a full sized order of nachos on myself at the Showcase Theater in Maumee. Again, every deformity is a story to be told.
But, alas, the story has ended for my pair of Chuck’s because a cat named Lily could not keep her food in her belly where it belonged. Instead, she chose to heave it up on my favorite pair of shoes and destroy the legacy they have maintained for so many years.
Now, please understand, I love Lily very much. Of all my cats, I have a very special place in my heart for her. However, I think she will have to be put before the tribunal and be tried for her crimes against shoe-manity. May God have mercy on her soul.
Sure, I could clean them off and maybe have mom throw them in the wash machine, but wouldn’t the taint of cat puke be ever present upon its beautiful black canvass? Wouldn’t it carry that stigma from this moment on, forever reminding me of this horrible night in which the purity of a guy’s sneakers was forever tarnished? I think so. But instead of allowing them to continue on with this horrendous memory, I will instead do the right thing, the humane thing, and simply retire them to the Hefty Cinch-Sak in which all good sneakers are destined to meet their end. It will be tough, but I think Chuck would have wanted it this way.
I will now begin the daunting task of replacing them with another pair just like it. It won’t be the same. It never is. But maybe, just maybe, the next Chuck’s I wear will start a new legacy that will bring with it a level of joy that in some way will remind me of the times I shared with the old. I can only hope they will, Chuck. I can only hope they will.
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