Birks walk; Docs are the talk
Hear ye, hear ye! I have an
annotuicement, a declaration, even
an epistle from the king.
Tlie Year of the Birkenstocks is
hereby declared over!
Done, finished, ancient history,
the end. As the French like to say,
le fin. As the silly like to say, el
finito mosquito.
For 365 days and 365 nights,
this campus has faced the sandal
blight.
Not too long ago, 7.5 out of
every 12 University of Nebraska
Lincoln students sported the “so
ugly they’re cute” sandals.
You couldn’t go anywhere on
this campus without seeing a pair,
usually dozens of pairs. It started
out in that faction of the ultra-hip,
stereotypical ly referred to as neo
hippies and granola girls.
“Who cares if we’re ugly,” their
clunky feet seemed to shout,
wiggling their toes, “we feel good.”
The first Birkenstocks I ever saw
were on the feet of a geometry
teacher at my junior nigh. Needless
to say, she was widely ridiculed.
And of course those spunky eighth
graders have since paraded about
shamelessly in the sandals.
A few years ago, Birks started
showing up on just about every
body, old and young, cool and
geeky. People wore them with suits
and dresses with — God forbid —
socks.
As freshmen, a high school
friend and I made a pact that we
would never ever join the masses
and start wearing what she liked to
call “Jesus shoes.”
Alas, she broke down the next
year. I ran into her on campus, and
she was wearing a pair.
“They’re so comfortable,” she
stammered.
Ah, comfort. That was
everyone’s excuse. Indeed they
probably are comfortable. But
comfort, schomfort. Since when
does that matter?
I never bought into the Birkenstock
craze, mostly because I couldn't
afford it. I couldn't imagine spend
ing almost 100 clams so people
could see my toes.
Walking around buck naked
would be comfortable, too. Fuzzy,
footed pink pajamas are comfort
able, but you wouldn’t wear those to
work.
Besides, many of the
Birkenstock wearers couldn’t give a*
rat’s patootie about comfort. If they
were so comfortable, why have
most people stopped wearing them?
I never bought into the
Birkenstock craze, mostly because I
couldn’t afford it. I couldn’t
imagine spending almost 100 clams
so people could see my toes.
I’d be more likely topay that
much to hide my feet. That’s why I
buy shoes.
My feet are horrifically ugly,
although probably not any uglier
than yours. Feet in general are
pretty putrid in my mind.
They’re icky and smelly and
ugly. Just writing about them makes
me uncomfortable. Even worse,
they have toes, which — even
worse — have toenails.
Birkenstock madness exposed
thousands of ugly, unkempt feet to
the public: hairy feet, skinny feet,
fat feet, flaky feet. Freaky deaky,
squirrely feet.
The worst are feet with small big
toes and bizarro long non-big toes
(you know — the index toe, the
naughty toe, the ring toe and the
pinky).
I know, I know, if I have such an
aversion to this part of the human
*•- -Sr- ' 5,
body, I should just not look. But it’s
like anything else really gross —
gallstones, a nasty wound, REO
Spcedwagon. You don’t want to
look, but you can’t help it.
You peek and go “blech,” peek
and go “blech.” Peek, “blech,”
peek, “blech.” Blech.
Birkenstocks opened the sandal
floodgate: Tevas, those silly sports
sandals and all the Payless imita
tors. And all of those sandals were
worn with socks — with socks for
heaven’s sake, even with bulky
silver-toed athletic socks.
Aye caramba!
But just last week, I walked all
the way across campus without
seeing a single pair. Not a cruddy .
big toe in sight. Sure, the occa
sional pair still surfaces now and
then, usually just on the people who
wore them in the first place.
The mania has passed, it seems,
and peace has returned to Lincoln,
Neb.
But the fight against trendy, ugly
footwear is far from over. Gather
your weapons and hide your
pocketbooks. Hear ye, hear ye, the
Year of the Doc Martens is offi
cially under way I
Aw well, they might be ugly and
overpriced, but at least they cover
the toes.
Rowell is a senior newaeditorial, adver
tfaUnj and English major and a Dolly Nebras
loui associate news editor.
World searching for clipper
A female co-worker sat down in
my office, a lode of distaste on her
face, and said: “Toenails? How
disgusting. Couldn’t you find
something less offensive and more
relevant to write about?”
Which just shows how little
some media people know about
America; its people, their problems,
needs, hopes and dreams.
I reached under the desk and
brought out a big cardboard crate,
filled with letters.
“Read them,” I said.
“What are they about?” she said.
“Toenails. They are all from
people pleading to know where they
can buy that amazing clipper.”
Just then the phone rang. I
listened a moment, then said: “If
your drugstore doesn’t carry them,
tell him to order some.”
The phone rang again. And
again and again. Each lime it was a
request for information about where
the amazing Easy Hold toenail
clipper could be found.
“All over the countiy,” I said.
“This has been going on for days.”
“People are weird,” she said,
heading for the door. “And I still
think it is a disgusting topic.”
Maybe so. But I seem to have
touched a deep wellspring of
frustration and despair in the
American spirit.
It began two weeks ago, when 1
wrote a column about the agony of
cutting one’s toenails and how I
found happiness with the Easy Hold
clipper.
The response has been over
whelming. Nothing I have written
in years has brought such an
outpouring of mail and phone calls.
One elderly woman sounded
near tears as she said: “Bless you,
my boy. My fingers are weak and
my spine is brittle. But for the first
time in memory I am able to cut my
toenails with an effortlessness I
have not felt since my youth.”
‘For the rest of my days, when I
look with happiness at my neatly
trimmed toes, I shall think of
you
And an elderly man wrote: “For
the rest of my days, when I look
. with happiness at my neatly
trimmed toes, I shall think of you.”
The rewards of this job go
beyond the paycheck.
The same thing has been
happening to Ric Rommerdale, 52,
the retired Navy many who in
vented the Easy Hold clipper while
working as head of lab technology
at the University of Mississippi’s
dental school.
“It’s been beyond my wildest
dreams,” said Rommerdale, who
must have rather prim dreams for a
Navy guy.
“The phones arc non-stop. All
over the country. We’ve been
!getting one call every 10 minutes,
or days now. Then I got home, and
the tape on my message machine is
just about worn out.
“An old retired Army colonel
just called me from Florida. Said he
chopped up his toes something
awful the other day and he’s primed
for my clipper.
“It is peculiar all this happening
to me. Life sure does take some
strange twists and turns, doesn’t
ur
Yes, it does, especially ifyou
invent something that benefits your
fellow man, especially those who
have thick toenails.
Unfortunately, many people
cannot Find the Easy Hold clipper.
That’s not my fault, or that of the
inventor or the manufacturer, the E.
W. Bassett Co. in Shelton, Conn.
The Bassett people would be
happy to supply enough Easy Hold
clippers to gladden every toe in
America. (And there are approxi
mately 2.5 billion toes, if unusual
statistics fascinate you).
But stores have to order them
from distributors first. And I am
shocked to learn how many drug
stores — chains and independents
— don’t seem to give a hoot about
the toes of their customers.
. They sell all sorts of frivolous
gunk for their hair, face and
armpits. They overwhelm you with
Halloween junk and quickly replace
it with Christmas doodads.
But ask them for the finest
toenails clipping aid since the days
of Roman slaves and many say:
“Never heard of it.”
So it is up to you as a consumer
to demand that they hear of it, find
it, order it and serve mankind with
something besides gunk for the hair
and armpits.
In my dreams, I can see the
golden day when no one in this
great land grunts and strains and
curses over a toenail, when those
sharp slivers no longer whiz around
the room, endangering loved ones.
A day when everyone can point
to their feet and say: “1 am proud to
be an American, land of the brave,
the free and the world’s most
perfectly trimmed toes.”
Copyright Tribute Media Service*, Inc
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Volleyball
NU vs. MISSOURI
SATURDAY
Nov. 12
3:30 p.m. Q
Nebraska Coliseum
ADMISSION
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Meet The Original
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Don’t miss your chance to meet the caped-cmsader
himself-Adam West. He will be making special
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Saturday, November 12th at the Folsom Children’s Zoo.
Friday Night, 6PM-9PM
Kid’s Night Out With Batman
Saturday Night, 8PM-11PM
Bat Bash: Cash Bar, Munchies, Music and More
Masters of the Nlght-The True Story of Bats
Folsom Children’s Zoo • 27th & B • 475-6741
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