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Battered Footwear + Me

Sometime in the 1980s, I strolled into the Rainbow sandal factory in San Clemente, California to pick up a new pair of simple leather sandals. I don't know if they have a particular name. I don't recall the company offering anything but brown leather accompanied by a few pieces nylon, rubber, and foam. I walked out of the factory store with the same pair I'm wearing today, thirty-odd years later. It seems almost counter-productive (counter-capitalistic?) to make something so durable. I would not have predicted they would survive three decades of thrashing (I am not gentle on my feet, nor do I plan on going gently into the good night). By the mid-eighties, I was already surfing. A lot. I was

The Mill Valley Modesty Preservation Society, Special Selection

Shortly after my deep infatuation with Art Deco (a prerequisite obsession for anyone with eyes), I curiously disappeared into dogmatic reverence for minimalistic modernism. I liked my architecture stripped raw. Concrete. Glass. Steel. Mies. van. de. Rohe. I stayed in a right-angle coma for over a year. Eventually, rock reminded me that there's more, more, more, more. Reverence for the past. The Ramones had it. Spector celebrated it in "Do You Remember Rock and Roll Radio?" Ray Manzarek kept X respectful of history. The Mekons continue to pull punk from the ancient and old. Even Social Distortion sang respectfully of the Stones and covered Emmylou Harris. The Mrs. also helped me rediscovered