Up Front: First Footing
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it's christie innit!! bet he's the guy with the unicorn on his heel.
Ah, this has the makings of a fun game.
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it's christie innit!! bet he's the guy with the unicorn on his heel.
Ah, this has the makings of a fun game.
Yeah, see I was totally gonna guess dolphins
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The only shoes I own which have persistently drawn favourable comment are Camper pelota shoes. I love them because they have no heel and very flexible soles (good for your back and your gait), and soft leather uppers (leather = acceptably formal, soft = stretches to fit feet). They also look quite nice in a non-descript sort of way. I am on to my second pair and intend to buy replacements as long as they are available.
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which featured a story where a girl was digging her garden in bare feet, and put a fork through her foot.
Ha. I managed to put a garden fork right through my boot and pin it to the ground as a young lad. Luckily it went between my big toe and next one in, just nicking the webbing a little and rubbing a bit of skin off both, nothing serious. The boots don't help. Similar experience once with a rusty nail coming right through the sole of my shoe, and fitting in the same gap on the other foot with the same result.
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I think there's a Hans Christian Anderson story about that sort of thing...
There is
I don't want to admit how many shoes I own, but it is probably safe to assume I am going to need a podiatrists/orthopedic surgeon's help in my future.
About a year ago, I went to Christchurch, and walked barefoot on my parent's backyard. I immediately got a prickle, and couldn't remember when the last time that had happened was. And then I realised that is because I never walk anywhere in bare feet. My new year's resolution was to develop the ability to walk on the road in bare feet. It hasn't gone well.
Three years ago my resolutions were to learn how to walk in stilettos and how to drink straight spirits. That was much more successful.
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About a year ago, I went to Christchurch, and walked barefoot on my parent's backyard. I immediately got a prickle, and couldn't remember when the last time that had happened was.
Onehunga weed. I hate that stuff so bad. It used to be really uncommon down here when I first moved to Chch, but now I seem to run across it all over the place.
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Onehunga weed.
Ew, gross feet!
The thing was, i didn't mind the prickle, because it was such a nostalgic feeling of wandering on the grass, in hot christchurch summers, back when I used to come home with feet that were black from the tar on the road.
Ok, I may be romanticising my childhood slightly.
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liam,
Emma said According to the barefooters site, this kind of thing isn't legal in the States:...
Being as I am in the US now I get interesting looks when I fire up the chainsaw wearing jandals. I have to explain (slowly and carefully) the concept of Samoan safety shoes... I wear jandals most of the year, when asked why I am not wearing shoes I just politely point out that there is no snow on the ground. Either the logic of this is very evident, or the concept blows any chance of them coping as that generally ends that line of questioning.
Mind you, when I was spending time at Welling Teachers College in Karori I would get told off by some of the women in the hostel I was in when I showed up on a thickly frosty morning in my normal jeans, bush shirt and jandals. They would point out to me that it was far too cold to be barefoot, and I would politely point out that I wasn't barefoot - I was wearing jandals. This was never a satisfactory answer.
I am not the worlds smallest person, and I have feet that are in proportion to my size - however they do rather like the shoes with width in the multiple 'e' category. Preferably eeee or eeeee. Which I have found I can get reliably from zappos :-)
I work at a University right now and although the 'dress code' appears to be fine with shorts, t-shirt and jandals I wear business casual. It's really nice to get home and toss off the work duds and get comfortable, I am appreciating the contrast.
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Ok, I may be romanticising my childhood slightly.
Heh, I stubbed my toe the other day. That hurts! I really don't remember it hurting that much when I was a kid.
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Heh, I stubbed my toe the other day. That hurts! I really don't remember it hurting that much when I was a kid.
You know what else really hurts? Bee stings! Yow!
It's not that I don't remember it hurting, more that I'd come to assume that it was because children are more sensitive and/or dramatic. Nope. Painful.
Also, soap in the eyes, although this is nor so closely related to the practice of going barefoot.
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Heh, I stubbed my toe the other day. That hurts! I really don't remember it hurting that much when I was a kid.
Banging your little toe on something, like a table leg as you walk past, is the most painful thing I've experienced (and I have a tattoo on my elbow AND collarbone)
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Onehunga weed.
And the memories come flooding back ... that probably explains a lot about why I like shoues, and don't like grass. It was everywhere in ChCh in the 80s.
Ok, I may be romanticising my childhood slightly.
I think that's the nub of it. So much of the nostalgia for the "great kiwi summer" isn't so much about any change of climate or of culture, but the simple fact that we're not kids any more. Of course we had great long expanses of mucking around doing nothing: we had long summer holidays, whereas these days we're like, y'know, working. And a couple of months seemed like a loooong time when we were eight. Ice creams were a treat, and now we can buy ten every lunchtime if we wanted.
I'm quite happy not to spend all my time looking to the simple pleasure of the past with L&P-tinted spectacles, but to enjoy the complex pleasures of adulthood, such as Martinis, sex, bespoke suits, coffee, dancing until dawn and wearing really, really elegant shoes.
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...but to enjoy the complex pleasures of adulthood, such as Martinis, sex, bespoke suits, coffee, dancing until dawn and wearing really, really elegant shoes.
Preferably all at once, Tom?
I am still working on a list of shoes a well shod woman needs. I'll be a while.
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Preferably all at once, Tom?
Don't be silly, Megan! One would spill one's Martini.
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Emma,
Avoid America.
I've been tossed out of restaurants in Indiana and Colorado for having bare feet - the first time as part of the culture shock of living there, the second when I was back in the states on holiday and had forgotten - and each time the manager was *sure* that state law forbade bare feet in a restaurant.
I'm sure the barefooter website is right that it's not. But many (most?) Americans really, truly believe both that bare feet are in some inexplicable way unhygienic, and that it's illegal to have bare feet in a place that sells food. And if the people who believe it work in the shop or restaurant then you're just out of luck.
Someone tried to justify the ban to me in terms of the presence of hookworm (Necator Americanus) in the USA, but though that enters the body from the ground via the skin it leaves the body via faeces so you can't walk it into someones shop. I think it's purely the cultural remnants of an old American class prejudice.
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Avoid America.
Done.
The worst pasting I ever took for having bare feet was from an American woman, she was genuinely deeply disgusted. I try to be calm and adamant, but y'know... I'll be flying a few times in the next few months, and I probably will chicken out and just wear shoes to avoid the hassle.
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Avoid little villages near Amsterdam.
I had a couple of old ladies incapable of understanding I hadn't been robbed, and a curious policeman who was too curious.
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Re America - a lot of Americans I have talked to firmly believe that places of business are private (as opposed to public) spaces and therefore laws that state that it's ok to go barefoot or feed a baby or sport a certain skintone don't apply in shops and restaurants.
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I'm quite happy not to spend all my time looking to the simple pleasure of the past with L&P-tinted spectacles, but to enjoy the complex pleasures of adulthood, such as Martinis, sex, bespoke suits, coffee, dancing until dawn and wearing really, really elegant shoes.
Yeah, but one of the complex pleasures of adulthood is looking at the past with L & P tinted specs (love the metaphor, btw).
In moderation, of course, like those things you mention.
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So much of the nostalgia for the "great kiwi summer" isn't so much about any change of climate or of culture, but the simple fact that we're not kids any more.
See, I don't think that is just nostalgia. I was born in 1964, and I started school in 1968. I went to kindy and school at a teeny weeny school right beside Takapuna Beach, so I can tell you when the weather started to go warm, because what with going to school on a beach, and having a pool at home, and being a yachties' daughter, and spending holidays at various baches around the place, I spent most of my summers, as a child, in the water. And Labour Weekend was when it started to get really warm. So yes, the summers really were hotter for longer in our childhood years. It started in mid October, and went through to the middle of March, if memory serves.
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G P,
Interesting thread; I also dislike wearing any footwear, and am usually barefoot on the train and at the office. Have sometimes been successful boarding flights barefoot, and sometimes been challenged - Emma ; don't give in to the shoe police - as long as you have some emergency footwear of some description with you that you can whip off as soon as you are on the plane.
G P
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Here at PAS we can do all sorts of things.
Does the first registration of the new year count as a traditional first footer? And what would be the internet equivalent of the gifts?
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A metaphorical shout? Imaginary whiskey, hmmm, not much fun, really. Or what about an offering - a poem, a song?
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G P,
I could offer someone else's song - Kate Melua - Two Bare Feet
I venture gently into two oh oh nine
walking unshod alongside the railway line
the train is coming for me
to take me to the city
for a lunchtime conversation
and some mental mastication
where not one of the patrons pay -
it must be the public address cafe. -
Oh, nice work GP. You can stay.
I did fly at the end of November, and caved and just had sandals in my luggage to slip on. Yesterday I couldn't walk on the footpath because it was too damn hot, and melted tar is a bitch to wash off. I love summer.
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