Here’s a post that ought to handily amplify why most of the content here on Flaming Pablum pertains to the past, given that current doings are either cripplingly banal or worryingly grim. But such is life in 2015.
As I’ve mentioned a couple of times in passing over recent months, I am currently in the uncomfortable position of being between jobs. I’m endeavoring to extricate myself from this situation, but suffice to say, it’s a process that is taking some time. I’ve had some near-misses, I’m exploring new leads and looking forward to some hopefully fruitful chats in the coming days, but —again — these things don’t happen overnight. Or at least not to me.
In the interim, though, I’ve been understandably scaling back on expenditures. About two months ago, I managed to somehow lose my cherished pair of black Ray Ban sunglasses. I thought they’d turn up around the apartment, but they simply haven’t. While I was quite attached to them — given an ultimately minor anomaly on my physiognomy, I am generally vain and petty enough to not want to be photographed without sunglasses on — I can’t justify springing for another pair just yet. They’re important to me … but not essential. Similarly, after injuring my knee from running earlier this year, I’d intended to replace my pre-9/11-era pair of running shoes with some newer ones…but those, too, can wait. I should really only be spending on what’s absolutely necessary.
Today, however, I had to succumb. While I was dearly hoping they were going to survive another season, it seems my once-trusty pair of industrial “Ironbridge” boots from Dr. Marten have waved the white flag. That's them in healthier days in the pictures above -- both curiously taken by my former colleague Drew, who evidently found said footwear photogenic. They were kinda nice, though.
After about eight years of rigorous winter wear and tear, the soles have become troublingly porous. Should I step into a puddle of a specific depth, my double-socked heels feel the unmistakable caress of frost. While I confess to enjoying their needlessly clunky, battered look (somewhere between vintage GBH and John Bender in “The Breakfast Club”), the boots are no longer up to the task of keeping my feet dry and warm.
A new pair was needed. And with more snow and ice expected in the next couple of days, that new pair was needed now!
Now, despite my ever-advancing age, I am still prone to some stubborn hang-ups. In my aggrieved state of arrested sartorial development, I still bow to the need to dress like my favorite bands. As such, I eschewed the notions of procuring a pair of “duck shoes” from L.L. Bean (despite their sterling reputation, I shan’t go with anything that preppy) or Timberlands (I will never be hip-hop enough for those) and went right back to the well. For their seamless blend of both function and fashion, I ponied up for another pair of Dr. Marten's industrial “Ironbridges” (in basic black, of course…not counting the signature yellow stitching).
As up to combating cold weather conditions as they are of cultivating Cold War kool (to my mind, at least), my new boots seem freakishly huge. Half-a-size larger than my actual feet (Dr. Marten doesn’t acknowledge half-sized appendages), when I walk in them, I feel a bit like a member of KISS….or, Mr. Heavyfoot. But they are strong, sturdy and ready for action.
I may be at a crossroads. I may have some difficult decisions to make. I may be ensnared in a complicated and unenviable vocational situation at the moment. But, I'm ready for the weather.
Come at me, Winter. Come get what’s coming to you.
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