GARBEAU DE CHANGE (garbage o' change)

Big day today. Big f'n day. After an already big day (Da Bowl)yesterday. Today, the day I am referring to now, I tossed out my old, worn down and gross Adidas shell toe sneakers. Right into the garbage bag. I thought twice about it, but not three times. See ya. Now, I know what you're thinking: “Big f'n dealio. People throw out old shoes all the time when they get new ones.” True. But I don't. Throw them out or get new ones. No, I wear shoes down to the ground – literally, my socked feet sometimes scrape against the earth through the gaping holes on the sides. And if my sock has a hole (which is very possible) we're dealing with some serious skin on cement rubbage. If you smell something resembling, (but not really at all) a burnt rubber skunk with a severe foot odour problem – then I might be in the vicinity. And like a real live black and white stinker, as long as me and my kicks are downwind, our pleasantly foul spray can and will be smelled, all intrusive and vile like from up to a mile away or more. There is no stopping stanky ass foot odour when it escapes its leather confines into the openness of fresh air. It ferociously envelopes normal, nice smelling molecules rendering them useless to its toxic powers. Especially if the shoe the foot and sock are in is just as raunchy – the shoe itself may even be the original cause of the fungus. Hmmm. Or at least a tremendous accelerator or maintainer of foot-related fumes. I usually have a rotation between three shoes: #1 - the go to all the time, easy slip on and off shoes in question. #2 - the equally worn, but not as destroyed, comfortable New Balances used for any and all activities. #3 - the least used but still old and cleanest 'going out' skater shoes. The thing is I threw out my current, everyday for everything shoes with a 'tude without having a new, fresh pair waiting on the bench. No, I am switching the old dirty shell toes for even older shoes – older and wiser just not as gross and beat up. Don't get me wrong, the ten year old purple retro runners and $18 (B and I got the same shoes and we should have bought more) cream-coloured skate board shoes I call replacements are anything but to most, however – at least the sole is still attached to the rest of the shoe unlike the bad boys I just tossed. And you can't see my bare foot unless I take them and my socks off. Yes, perhaps it's because of the spring-like essence of the day, but it seems like a good time for letting go and starting anew, so – what else could be thrown into the garbage bag 'o change? Hmmm. A torn cardboard box full of useless wires, adapters and broken head phones? Yup. Gone. Or how about every piece of literature received (letters, handouts, OSAP bullshit) and every note taken from the last three years during my time in University? How about all of Phillip Warren's mail that I've accumulated over the last year and odd months that I've meant to bring to the Post Office but have only one time? (It's all stuff he probably would have tossed himself anyways) “If you keep it, he will come." Nope. That only works in baseball movies and maybe Mr. Warren isn't the kind of guy I want knocking on my door demanding his two year old mail. He probably doesn't even look like Ray Liotta. Or how about my own mail I've also never opened or brought anywhere accept inside my house and into a drawer? It's all gone. Into the bag. Shit, scum and piss build-up on the back of the toilet bowl? (So that's what that brush beside the toilet is for) Bye-bye. Flushed down the john into hell. Sayonara stupid souvenirs a la useless, corner accumulating mementos - you're time consuming and creating dead space in my head and house is up. Hoarding is the new 'it' problem, like drunk driving. Or is it the new drastic weight fluctuation scandal captured on the latest sleazy tabloid? Either way it's all the rage now in Hollywood (even Lindsanity is doing it - hoarding and fluctuating that is, as well as whoring and flagellating), but it's not something I want to be associated with anymore. Even though I never really was. I do not strive to be on any show ever that is broadcast on A&E. Ever. Though, the station made famous for murder docs and sneaky interventions is probably my best and quickest bet to getting famous (I mean infamous) nowadays, since Much Music and TSN are more than likely out of the question - unless they're looking for an unknown, obscure and over-age guru or fact-checker for OTR's Michael Lansberg and his quirky and sometime humiliating personal questions. "So, Alexei [Kovalev], I heard you're an accomplished saxophonist." "Uhhh. Yes." "Well, I have one right here, maybe you could play us out." "Oh Shit." From now on I will keep only what I need: A decent bed and its accessories, clothes that fit comfortably (this includes socks and underwear), one television of any size, make or model, three pairs of shoes, music equipment, electric clippers for face, head and neck, a bike and/or car for transportation, moving of objects and aimless cruising, books I would like to read, or have read and want to suggest to friends and family, a computer of some sort because the world operates on-line, and a level and sensible head about life because it's a jungle out there.