one, two buckle my shoe

(new Chuck Taylor's Melody Inn

Clash Tribute show)

I've been told that I "think well on my feet," that I can "stand on my own two feet."

I've always relied pretty heavily on my feet -- maybe a little more than my brain.

(pink Converse, Lockerbie Pub
Amy Lashley's going away show)

Walking to kindergarten when we lived "in town", skipping up the steps to the public library, running to the school bus on the farm, walking down rows and rows of soybeans with gloves and a hoe, working as a nurse's aid through high-school and college, standing in the corner of dark clubs listening to music, rollerblading through Philadelphia, wandering the streets of New York City, standing in front of an espresso machine, waitressing, making countless trips from my desk to the production kitchen and dock, running to meetings and chasing my niece and nephew these feet have done me well.

(Born sandals, Upper Room
Middletown show)

They aren't particularly pretty, but not bad either. Average size, right number of toes and one big scar. I'm not especially nice to them -- some days I'll spend 12 hours on my feet. I have not soaked them since the time AVS made me a foot bath from a pickle bucket and Epsom salts and I've never had a pedicure.

I am the queen of sensible shoes --dansko, Born, Seibel, Frye boots and Converse tennis shoes. I'm thrilled to see the rounded toe coming back in to style. Not that I have any pointy toe shoes anyway.

I also seem to take an extraordinary number of photographs of my feet. Most of them are born from clumsiness. I'll be talking with my hands and accidentally snap a photo. Lately I've been taking pictures of my feet to test the light and make sure I have every thing right with the camera before I stick it in a musicians face.

(dansko Mary Jane's, Melody Inn
D**g St**nh*pe show)

I took the one above on purpose. I was reviewing a Showtime comedian that was performing in a music club last week. I was tucked in to a little entry way that is just a few feet from the stage. The show was hosted by an old boyfriend. We dated when I was 21 and were a cute little punk-rock couple. He was my first real boyfriend. He played guitar in a popular punk band and drove an old motorcycle. Boy did he make my parents nervous, as they should have been.

Anyway, fast forward 25 years and I'm standing next to him in a tiny space between the door and the stage. The comedian was R-17 rated (at least in my prudish mind) and the crowd consisted of 75 guys and a handful of women. It is uncomfortable hearing raunchy jokes standing next to someone that you had, um, yeah, um, lets say "taken a nap" with.

The comedian launched in to a bit about the first person he'd ever tried to take a nap with -- her name was Nora. This caused about a dozen guys to whoop and point to me (and, no I had not taken a nap with any of them). The comedian took this as encouragement to go on with this Nora diatribe. The pointing continued. The comedian looked at me and started on a rant about preteen boys and middle aged women, while pointing at me. I was horrified and started to feel woozy. I looked down at my feet and snapped the photograph. That caused the audience to laugh and I fled.

Here is a much happier foot photograph:

(pink Converse, my backyard)

[I don't know why the spacing got all strange, but trying to fix it is causing me to stamp my feet.]