I have a pair of sneakers just like that, in fact. I bought them four years ago, and together we've walked hundreds of miles, day in, day out, and had all numbers of adventures. They were with me when I walked home for five hours from my first (and last) day on a job that involved doing horrible things to seafood best left undescribed, and getting me stranded past the point of all hope of catching a bus. They were with me when I graduated high school. They were with me when I got thrown in a pool by an insane former friend who was suffering the ill effects of being desperately (and obsessively, and frighteningly) in love with one of my best friends, being quite drunk, and hating me for being more likeable. I was wearing these shoes when I wandered through Kingston all night with a girl I'd just met, and would find myself cuddling in bed with a few hours later; who in time became a lover, a best friend, an arch-nemesis, and finally a friend again. I had my shoes on when I met Phil (there's a story to the fact that her pseudonym is Phil -- best found in the lost chapters of the Classic Snivel), my mean, pink-haired ex-girlfriend, to whom I lost my virginity. And so on. I got my first pair of Docs around two and a half years ago, and gradually, I've worn those old sneakers less and less.

They actually survived the first pair of boots, though, which I didn't take care of as well as I could have (leading to my obsessiveness with the maintenance of my new pair of larger, and consequently more expensive, boots), and for the most part, my shoes got me through last summer, after I ran out of duct tape for the boots. But the shoes are four years old now, and they're in bad shape themselves. I don't actually keep them inside anymore -- they just smell too bad. And the soles flop independently of the rest of the shoes, and there are holes eternally growing just a little larger, and they just look really terrible. I only wear them when I'm puttering around the yard (like any good suburbanite does in the summer... ugh. I really must move downtown and rid myself of these impulses before I get fat, lose most of my hair, and start concerning myself with property values and "teenagers these days."), or running to the mailbox -- anything that would otherwise mean I'd have to lace up my beloved (yet time-consuming) 20-hole Docs and, as a result, be unlacing them ten minutes later. Occasionally, if I'm wearing shorts (because after all, my legs are exceptionally sexy) I'll put them on, as to avoid looking like a dork wearing these huge boots, exposing only a little kneecap below my shorts.

So, the time has come to buy new shoes, just for puttering around and having good-smelling feet when I wear them downtown, and such things. The first problem, of course, is that I'm really picky about these things, and not just any pair of running shoes will do. The second problem is that, in combination with my finicky foot fashion fetish, the manufacturers of sneakers in general have conspired to make shoes really ugly. Everytime I walk into a shoe store, I'm confounded by the ostentatious technology that has been fashionably inserted into shoes nowadays.

Let me be blunt, ladies and gentlemen. Jocks have bad taste. The really hardcore jocks like wearing a lot of gold, a big flashy sports team jacket, those ultra-space age plasticky Nike/Adidas snow pants, a cell phone, and really fucking ugly jock shoes. God. They have doodads, hemmhaws, thingies, and a whole lot of other crap, all specifically designed to make the shoes as flamboyant, expensive -- and therefore, impressive, because a jock wouldn't be a jock if he weren't trying to impress all of his 'friends' with the true committment of his fashion to the cause of being an ignorant superficial jock -- as possible. Walk into a shoe store sometime. The shoes are constantly getting bigger, with more plastic and curves and swellings and tubes and laces that curve ridiculously up the length of the shoe, instead of jutting out from the eyelets at harsh, proper angles, the way shoelaces are supposed to.

And all I want -- all I really want, is a pair of nice, comfortable, boring as hell shoes that you could walk all day in and be happy with. I mean, really, all I want are my old shoes again. But they don't make them anymore, because shoe fashions change ridiculously often, and now nothing exists that even remotely resembles the Adidas Torsion shoes I bought a couple of years ago, when such things were fashionable. Even now, I can walk for hours in them and not complain, but let me tell you, back when they were brand new -- man, they were comfortable... with emphasis on the come.

So, with malls and malls of searching behind me, all I've come up with is that I wouldn't mind a pair of boring skater shoes. Now, unfortunately that means that these are shoes that skaters like, but at least they're just low slung, casual, simple old shoes that you can wear as you like, and not feel like you're trying to impress anyone (anyone who isn't a skater that is). And hey, even I thought Airwalk put some good money into their advertising campaigns. They've been so successful that most shoe manufacturers, big and small, have come up with shoes that look almost exactly like them. So you would think then, that with all these average, unexceptional, comfortable, boring shoes around, that I'd be able to buy a pair, and prance about in delightful non-stinky comfort. Wouldn't you? At any rate, I thought so. And this is the foreshadowing, of course, because you know what? I still haven't got my shoes yet.

You know why?

Because my shoe size is 13, and no one carries boring shoes in size thirteen! Through a phenomenal oversight and bad stocking, the only shoes anyone had in my size where all white and therefore, really fucking hideous. I mean, I'm not a giant. I don't have size 22 feet, or whatever on earth it is, that whichever famous basketball player is being heavily overmarketed right now has. They're really pretty average. I'm a little tall, but not anything that would warrant my having enormous feet -- so why, then, does nobody carry shoes bigger than 11? Or maybe, maybe size 12?

It ires me. It really does. Because I have all this money to spend on trendy skater shoes, and no one seems like they really want to take it from me. If they did, they'd have the shoes I wanted to wear. So all I can do is hit every shoe store between here and downtown, and hope one of them, just one, might possibly even have one pair of shoes in the backroom that I do want, and will even be able to fit me well.

Bastards.

J u n e 7

This of course set up a smashing contrast with the throbbing disappointment I felt when all that came out of our mailbox were a few pieces of mail that utterly failed to have my name upon any of them. I walked back home, head down low, suddenly unhappy and lethargic, because suddenly the wait I had to endure before Lilith and I could talk about our anger, and hurt feelings -- and in doing so, understand one another, and give our friendship and our love new life, and new hope -- had grown until at least Monday. In the meantime, I have to face that she's still angry with me and, because of that, I'm actually finding myself kind of angry at her. It's like, the thought of her having spent all this time angry with me -- knowing that on the tip of her tongue are all these hostile and cruel words -- I'm hurt and embittered. With the history of friendship, and trust, and love that is between us, I've never had any reason or desire to think ill of her -- to speak bitterly about her, or call her names -- and it is a matter of no small amount of pain that suddenly she can forget her feelings for me, and instead be capable of bringing forth these awful words that she was (at least) thoughtful enough to protect me from hearing last night.

It's been pointed out to me by a much cared-about and trusted friend that:

And really, in a way, he's right. Unfortunately it's just not that simple. And even more unfortunately, I can't say for sure what she means, or intends, or wants, until I read her words. And I agree, totally, that for a long time I really haven't been made to feel like her friend -- even though I know she cares about me -- and that she's treating me the way I treat people I don't actually like, but whether I feel like her friend or not -- well, she's my friend. Part of being someone's best friend is being there for them, even through all the crap. And while she hasn't really been very considerate of my feelings, she remains one of the most important people in my life (because in the past, she has shown herself to be giving, and caring, and full of love... in the past, we needed and protected each other... always concerned about the other's happiness), and I (I suppose) am still the most important person in hers. And until she tells me that she doesn't want it, she has my heart. When she tells me I'm beautiful, or I'm wonderful, the sincerity and love in her voice always makes me cry. I'm hoping that I'm not the only one who wants to stay friends. I'm hoping I'll hear these words again.

Today's the day my friend Charlotte's boyfriend visits. The funny (ha ha) thing is, she called yesterday to tell me that she'd managed to catch up on her reading of my little journal (she got behind when she moved back here, and doesn't have an ISP yet) from work. And the first thing she said after that was, "It's OK! I understand.. you don't have to meet him this weekend..." because, of course, what did I do except talk about how much I preferred not to feel like a redundancy in the face of a very loving couple who don't have much time together, like the neurotic best friend I am. And I knew she would read it, but I didn't know she'd read it before he actually came. Charlotte has been an avid reader of my entire website for a very long time, and faithfully tracked my adventures. So she was intended to see it... but I really had hoped that he would have come and gone before then, because I didn't want to give the wrong impression to her. I didn't want to come off as jealous, or petty. The fact that someone loves one of my best friends that much makes me feel wonderful... she deserves happiness, of a sort she hasn't really known in a long time.

At the same time, they have a lot of heavy things to talk about this weekend, and little time together (compared to Forever), and I didn't want to get in the way. Most certainly I would have felt like I was in the way. And when I get that way, I feel self-conscious and uncomfortable -- I sulk, and I wanted to spare two fabulous and cool people my personal curse of the attention whore.

I'm glad she understood. It makes me happy to know that they're going to have a special and tender weekend together, by themselves. It makes me happy to know that I won't have to feel like a tag-a-long, like someone's kid brother.

Perhaps you're wondering how such a screwed-up, neurotic, insecure and depressive person manages to sleep at night. But if you also ask yourself how I find the time to write this crazy thing every day, then somewhere in between you'll find your answer.

J u n e 6

As the summer ended, we both grew more and more busy. Lilith was preparing for both a musical production later in the fall, and half a dozen choreographies that would be presented in the spring, and soon she was busy with her schoolwork, or dance, every night of the week.

And I, if you are not familiar with my ways, am a dreadfully high maintenance person. At first I was unhappy because I could never see my beloved friend more than once a month. Somehow, every hardship seemed to grow into a more complicated situation. We might talk through some troubles caused by my loneliness, when she would have even less time to talk, to go out, and my loneliness grew. I'm a selfish person. I tried to be understanding, and to make her happy, but I admit it -- I wanted so much for her to be in my life the way she'd been in the summer. Still, she had so many kind and sweet things to say to me, and they eased my pain, and both her happiness and unhappiness made me resolve to just act as her best friend -- to be there, even though she couldn't join me.

My hopes were centred around the possibility of her having a lot more time to herself once, in the middle of April, Dance Night came, and the pieces she wrote, and rehearsed for each and every night, would be in the past. It didn't happen that way. Presently, it's been almost three months since she and I have been able to spend any time together. When we make plans to meet, they fall through. And though I'd call, and we'd talk happily, and I tried to grandly shrug away her sincere apologies for being unable to talk longer, or come out and play, I was truly wretched and miserable inside.

I tried to content myself with less, but it seemed that all that came of this was that she gave less. I craved little kindnesses from her. I wanted to feel missed, feel special, feel appreciated. She had so many kind things to say about others... and I kept asking myself, when is that going to be me? I know she didn't intend to hurt my feelings (which are easily hurt), and it didn't help that I kept quiet about them, but I found myself more and more upset. Lilith has a way of promising to call, or write, in complete sincerity, but for whatever reason, she isn't able, or forgets, to stay in touch. In time I stopped believing her when she said she'd call me, or write me, or whatever. I didn't say a word about it, and it always made me happy when she said she'd be in touch, and I waited by the phone all the same, but as soon it was said, the doubting voices in my head would prove her wrong. Or prove me right.

So, a couple of weeks ago, I foolishly gave up on patience. I sent her a letter, after we'd tried to make plans, and I found myself hurt and bitterly disappointed because she had broken a promise. I told her I was hurt, and I told her I no longer believed it when she promised me things. I told her I wasn't angry, but that I needed her to talk to me. I guess I was emotional enough to hope that this would change things. That, to the exclusion of any other possible reaction, she would realize how much she'd been hurting my feelings, and try to make things better.

Several weeks passed. You can read about them in the Classic Snivel.

I called her tonight, desperate for answers. I'd spent all this time knowing nothing -- assuming the worst, calling, knowing that my messages wouldn't be returned. I knew she would be angry. I couldn't be sure if we would even still be friends in her eyes.

This is what was roughly said... I've had it echoing in my brain enough that I feel better just transcribing it, instead of having to interpret and paraphrase for you.

"Hello?"
"Hi."
"..Hi." (less enthusiastically this time)
"How are you?" I asked, stupidly.
"Um.. Fine."
I wagered a guess. "Are you still angry?"
"Yep," she replied, with a kind of painfully cheery tone.
"Oh." I spent the next minute or so making various unhappy sounds, alternating with various unhappy silences.
"Rob, I'd rather not talk about this right now. I wrote you a letter about the way I felt. We shouldn't talk until you get it. Then you can call me."
"OK. Fine. I guess all I can do is wait. Can we talk at all though? Just for a little bit?"
"If we talk now, Rob, I'm afraid I'll say something really mean to you. Just wait until you've read what I have to say."
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
The question had been on my lips for weeks. "Are we still friends?"
"..Yes.." she said quickly, maybe expecting that very question from me. "I just have a lot of issues right now."

Little else was said after this. She explained that she'd been very calm when she wrote the letter, and that it was better I read it, and all that had been said, instead of her trying to go through everything on the phone with me, and risk getting angry and saying unkind things to me. So at this point, all I can do is try to patiently wait what will undoubtedly be hard words from my best friend -- someone who I love, and who, at least once, loved me. The trick will be to avoid speculation.. wondering what she's said, and what it will mean, and how the inevitable confrontation will unfold when we talk about our mutually hurt feelings.

Right now I'm torn between feeling hurt, feeling apologetic, and being angry. I mean, if I'd known (and I should have known) that my whining would lead to this, I wouldn't have bothered. It isn't worth it. I would rather keep my mouth shut, and feel alone in silence. Unfortunately, until I read her letter, I have no idea what she's said -- if she's going to be fair to me; if she understands the way I feel at all; or if she actually just considers herself blameless. And in this uncertainty, I must say, I'm not sure who is right or wrong. Still, I'm wondering when it's going to be my turn to get angry? Why is it her right to be the victim all of a sudden? How could she possibly be able to say cruel words to me, when all I've done is be hurt by her thoughtlessness? She's probably spent all of this time furious and vitriolic with me. She's probably never been this angry with anyone -- and what have I done, compared to all of the people in her past who have hurt her, and used her, and cast her aside? Why me? What did I do, except need her? Don't my feelings matter?

Maybe I'm only beautiful when I'm convenient. Maybe I'm only special when I don't ask anything. Maybe I'm only whining again.

At least you listen.

As an aside, I saw the last half of a new Radiohead video -- Paranoid Android -- and it completely flabbergasted me. It's really something. I hope any and all who know what I'm talking about will share their experiences with me.

J u n e 5

Just quickly, as a little aside note, I wanted to thank those of you who care to read my little web diary for the patience to bear with me these past three days. I'm just learning to play with some of the less basic applications of graphic manipulation, and my main index page was sorely due for at least a little refreshment. I've also been steadily tired and cranky ever since Lilith and I started feuding. When our friendship is happy and assured again, I'll have more motivation and interest towards my faithful chronicles, but I do admit that right now, it can be difficult to avoid simply hiding in bed instead of trying to give my thoughts a voice. Even, like these past few days, when I'm out and romping and having a jolly and busy time of it with friends, I still find the time to sulk. It will pass, of course -- at least, inasmuch as this entire journal isn't just one big sulk of sorts.

I'd forgotten until someone mentioned to me today that you can't actually be served alcohol during the polling hours of election day. This is the sort of detail I might misplace simply because its application doesn't particularly change my life at all -- unless for some reason the people close were made cranky and twitchy by the prospect -- but the implications are a little bothersome. I think a lot of people in this election tried to just piss away their vote. Either by staying home, or spoiling their ballot, or voting for the obvious loser. But if Canada had been largely intoxicated when showing up to mark their "X," I'm relatively certain a lot more people would have voted Natural Law, and we'd be ushering in our new Prime Minister -- Yoda.
Frankly I'd rather deal with mandatory flying lessons than the ramifications of presently having right-wing twinkies as the second most powerful party in the country. Oh well.

I'm readjusting without difficulty to the lifestyle I lead last summer when my swell friend Charlotte was again living and working in Ottawa -- our favourite city. We hang out fairly often, bantering, laughing, and musing as if there hadn't been 9 months of time and hundreds of miles of space separating us all year. She calls quite often. Whenever she has a free moment at work, or when she's bored alone at home, or just when she wants to talk, or has a question. Often that means I'm being awakened at some point tragically early in the day (that is to say, before three PM), but given that Lilith and I are fighting because she never calls me, I'm really always, invariably, much happier when someone is willing to lavish attention upon me. I need to feel appreciated.

And it's wonderful helping her out with little techie things that she might chance to ask about during the day. Or to answer her questions, or laugh because of her energetic mirth, or to talk about a lot of things that most friends ignore. Or lend her books. Or to be trusted -- and share in her secrets. But in the face of such closeness and confidence, I'm starting to question myself. I found out today that her boyfriend is coming to visit her this weekend -- which is a wonderful thing, of course. He'll be leaving for the UK -- Forever -- later in the summer, and originally they weren't sure if they'd ever be seeing each other again. As well I know, it's excrutiatingly painful to wonder if you'll ever see a person you love again.

When she called this afternoon to tell me the good news, I was almost as delighted as she was. The happiness was clear in her voice. All I've heard about this person is that he's a real sweetie; compassionate, and funny, and playful -- though gentle -- and the sort of person who hasn't managed to chase Charlotte away, or even seem capable (and certainly not willing) to make her unhappy. At the same time, though, I also felt slightly shaken. Maybe I'm afraid of the possibility that I'll have to meet him. I know I'd like him if I did, and for some reason, that makes me even more uncomfortable. That he makes my dear friend exceptionally happy is all that really matters to me -- there is a look she gets when she talks about him... I can see how special he is, and how good her memories feel -- and yet, while I can't explain it, I really do hope that she does what I would do in her position: just grab him, hold onto him, and share him with no one. Spend every free second in his company. Indoors, outdoors, clothed, naked. Whatever. Leave me to my little suburb and my little problems that will have me curled up in bed, avoiding reality.

It isn't that I harbour any secret feelings or anything. My friend is beautiful and special, but I really do have enough loves in my life, and anyway, she and I went through the pain of my easily infatuated heart last summer. But of course she's important to me. And there are times I just want to hold her and give some of my strength to her, and definitely there are times I wish I could receive some of her own strength. But I guess the feeling I have is the feeling any insecure, paranoid, self-loathing best friend might get in my position. Meeting people's boyfriends and girlfriends is always awkward for me. They interrupt the bond I feel with my close friends. I suppose I just find myself threatened by the knowledge that there are people closer to my best friends than I am. That maybe someone matters more, or makes them happier, or causes more pain in their absence.

It's astonishingly selfish.

Unfortunately, the job prospect that was so shiny and grand has fizzled into obscurity, because sadly I am this sickly pale creature, and the position -- offered by the Arctic Council -- was open only to Inuk (Inuit) youths. I'd sort of expected that to happen, though, and so that's fine. At least my hopes were only a little raised, and anyway, I wouldn't have been delighted at taking a job that really will end up being of immensely greater value to someone else -- by that I mean, beyond the money aspect. My only regret is that I hate job hunting, and the idea of a job just being suddenly made possible was tantalizing. Now I'll have to actually work at seeking gainful employment. The irony leaves kind of a taste in the mouth.

There then. I'd call this a right proper snivel.

J u n e 4

New and Improved

So, I thank you all for your responses so far. Based on the votes cast through yesterday's Snivel, I've come up with a new image that is, created through your comments and my own flip-flopping, an amalgamation of the two. It isn't too late to tell me what you think, though.

Unfortunately, my family suffered a loss yesterday, and what with the comings and goings of relatives, and the non-stop ringing of the phone, I can't really use the modem for much longer right now. I'll update today further if I can, but if I don't, rest assured that for once I'm getting a whole bunch of sleep, so that I can attack my daily whining with renewed obsessiveness and pathetic paranoia.

J u n e 3

No Neck

So, I put the question to you: which image do you like better? The frog probably isn't staying in -- the real question is whether or not you want the little stick neck in. Also, the eyes in image #2 are bigger, and I'm wondering which is best.

e-mail me with your opinion, and join me tomorrow for another daily snivel. Meanwhile, I've got some cuddling up with a naked person to do.

Note: Since the results have since been decided, all images have been replaced by the winner to save my precious (It's only four megs... but hey -- it's four megs of FREE) disk space.

J u n e 2

Unfortunately, all this election business has made me very sleepy, so instead of rambling on about the democracy we live and flourish under, or how depressed I am because of the totalitarian state my heart is living in presently, I'm off to bed so that I can wake up in four or five hours, slightly refreshed, vaguely ready to sally forth and make the most informed choice I can with a head that is throbbing for the want of caffeine. In the meantime, please do read the Misanthropic Philosophy of the Week, and then get your arse out there and vote for somebody. But not the Reform party. They're way more evil than they have rights to be. If you want to be evil, do what Satan is doing -- voting for Satan. Or, I suppose, you could vote or the Natural Law party. If you really want to piss away your vote, then do that instead of voting for those no-account rednecks and hillbillies from out west.

I won't say who I'm voting for, of course, but only because I want, for once, to just have one secret from you insatiable, eternal, voyeurs.

Oh, something that ate up a significant chunk of my time today was a little project involving me figuring out the intricacies of graphical layout. So if you wouldn't mind, check out my newishly designed index page and then let me know what you think of the implanted growths.

Brought to you by Jolt Cola, with
the buzzing and mild irritation of
caffeine induced paranoia.

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