There are so many intelligent and articulate people covering the hard-hitting
issues in our country these days, that I felt it was my duty to cover the
rather inconsequential bullshit that tends to make up the vast majority of
our lives. Actually, I'll just be griping a lot which, if you weren't aware,
doubles as a synonym for complaining, and as a descriptor for
a sharp pain in the bowels.

Friday, May 24, 2013

The Month of May

Not the month of things you will or won't do, but the month of things you might, or you may, however it is you prefer to say. May is a little more polite. Might is connoted with strength, so maybe more conviction.

You have to think maybe May is May because it may choose to be spring or it may choose to be summer. It may choose to set you up for a great three months of summer, or may choose to crap all over you. Hey, maybe you're into that.

So what am I even talking about? Generally a good question.

Well, one thing I'm talking about since they may be making a comeback, is jump boots. I can't remember the first time I caught wind of these (many years), but I thought they made less sense than rollerblades (which totally make sense in certain situations). The thing is, even when I recall these originally launching, I don't remember anyone actually owning a pair, but that could have been skewed by the fact that the demographic I associated with was one devoid of Venice Beach attendees. According to the link I embedded up there, that is the demographic, and a way better source than the "official" site.

But I suppose everything old is new again. Maybe their advertising has hit the late night TV circuit — I'm really out of the traditional broadcast/late night cable loop. Whatever the cause, just about two weeks ago now I witnessed a man running in them on Chicago's Montrose beach. He was also wearing a black Cowboy hat, black tee, black spandex (the dude was a time bomb). I figured I could chalk up his jump boot use to this attire more than anything else until I witnessed, just a week later, a woman running in them across North Ave, right by the old Second City. While I was experiencing middling dehydration effects from foolishly exerting myself in the heat, she looked the peak of discombobulated leisure moving with the pace of amble if not the relaxed grace through the crosswalk.

Might be time to go ahead and dust off the jumpsoles, brother.

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