blogging your inadequacies.

it seems as though pithy criticisms of people's attire are a tradionally female and/or homosexual pastime, here in the blogorama and in the remainder of the 'world.' does anyone else think that the term blogosphere is awful? i mean, it's certainly useful. but it's just about the lamest term ever to say. it sounds like something that captain kirk would have to fight and/or sleep with on the barren moon of Tremulon Mector, or some such shit. i just realized, also, that i would love to be able to put footnotes in my blog entries.

but i digress. i too, demand to be able to mock and critique! what with school being back in session, people need to have their failings pointed out more than ever.

i've always been of the opinion that you can tell a great deal about a person by their shoes. so, let's see what broadly-drawn generalizations i can make about people based on some random pictures i dug up on google image search. see where you fit!


if you have a pair of shoes like this, you probably play basketball. and/or talk about basketball. clearly. you have a 'favourite' team, and when they're playing a game, you refer to them in the first person plural. i.e. "we gotta start hustling better out there," or whatever you sporty types play. you think that 2pac is still alive. you're probably wearing sweat pants. you drive a honda civic, and you think it would be "sweet," or even "bitchin,'" if you put some neon lights underneath it. you have never spoken to a girl without imagining how she looks naked. your courses are chosen based on the number of words there are which you can't pronounce in the calendar description.

if you have these shoes, you are not only unfazed by the fact that everyone else has them, you have them because everyone else has them. you don't leave the house without putting on makeup, unless you woke up next to a guy (perhaps wearing a pair of those air jordans), and it's not your house that you're leaving. your tank tops, for reasons unknown, extend well below your ass, covering a good chunk of your tennis skirt. you have never played tennis, of course. when you go to the bar, you get bitchy if you have to pay for a drink yourself. you also get bitchy if you feel the guys buying you drinks are not adequately greased/beetle-browed/grovelling. your low-cut outfits conveniently exempt you from such traditional requirements as speaking, having opinions, and more or less having to do anything yourself.


if you wear shoes like these, you go to business school, or wish you did. you also think that being a CEO is the highest calling to which a human being could ever aspire. somewhere between mother teresa and gandhi. but white, obviously. you drive a BMW on which you have never made a payment. you speak a foreign tongue of "appointments," "scheduling," and "networking." you pay three-digit-plus sums for bottles of liquor at the bar, in the hopes that you can find someone drunk enough to think you're interesting. you're in a fraternity because you hope to one day build your coke-addled roommates into strong corporate partners.


you better be on your way to or from the gym if you're wearing a pair of shoes like these. please tell me you're going to or have been engaging in some type of athletics if you've got a pair of these on. if you're wearing these regularly, then you just don't care about yourself, even a little bit. why do you cut your hair? or wash? or go out in public? you suck. you think that the term 'taste' can only be applied relative to a meal of some form. your pants fasten only slightly south of your bellybutton, and you have at least one sweater with a picture of a wild animal on it. most of your clothes were probably purchased by one of your parents - if they were, you can at least be grateful for that excuse.


if you thought i was going to conveniently omit my own demographic, you thought wrong. if you wear shoes like these, you think that Boathouse is a "skate shop." you skateboarded and/or dated a skateboarder for a few months in grade nine, and thus think that you now have official licence to wear this stuff for all eternity. your ability to criticize the 'corporateness' of others is unhampered by any consciousness of your addiction to branded clothing. you know of at least twenty different ways to refer to marijuana.



if you wear shoes like these, then, personality-wise you're basically the slippers girl, except you like to feel as though you've stuck your foot up a sheep's ass. the world may well have been a better place if you had died to keep the sheep's feet warm. you suck more than the new balance guy, because at least he doesn't think that his shoes look good.


if you're wearing these shoes, you are only marginally a human being. your feet have been eaten whole by rabid foxes. that little dog that you have didn't descend from a wolf, it ascended from a rat. and the fake-tan isn't fooling anybody. if anyone ever doubted that we're all being controlled by mind-rays from mars, here's your proof. i'm going to build myself a tin-foil hat before i start getting the urges to leash rodents and play with wildlife.

now, i'm sure that many of you who read this have found yourselves scathingly critiqued right here. but, as we all know, if you can't take a joke, then the martians have already won. does anyone know if there's foxes in london?