Over the last few days, my beloved black Croc's finally bit the dust.
Now I'm sure some of you believe that Croc's are a hideous blight on humanity, and to anyone who espouses that sentiment I would just like to communicate that you are a total dolt. While Croc's may be the footwear version of sweatpants, signifying that the wearer has completely given up on presentation and now only is concerned with comfort, they are to me a lightweight, waterproof, inexpensive version of a Dansko. (Dansko's if you aren't familiar are the choice of Minneapolis' service industry. Being seen on servers all over the city and other folks who work on their feet all day)
In short, they rule. They are easily the most comfortable shoe I own for standing around in all day.
Due to the blowout, and wearing the soles down so much that I can now feel every pebble, it is time to send these off to the great shoe heaven and buy some replacements. It seems like a travesty to just throw them out, after all the miles and good times.
Because I am awesome, I was contemplating a viking funeral. You know, being put on wooden ship and burned at sea. This concept was short lived though since they are plastic, and that would be a straight dick move to mother nature.
This then made me sad that I myself cannot have a viking funeral, or even a Gram Parson's or Vader style sendoff. For our country's rules just don't allow it. I have an irrational fear of being buried alive, everyone having taken me for dead, and waking up in a coffin with no means of escape. I saw it once on a soap opera as a child and it wounded me (same thing with a Geraldo show about ghosts). Being burned would totally solve that and it is obviously metal as fuck.
Then I realized, that although I cannot have a viking funeral, the closest I may be able to get is giving my dog one. So perhaps one sad day when Baroo has passed, I will honor his life and passing with one of the viking's most dramatic rituals.
That would be totally sweet.