tha' ONP!

A Collection of Shoes

The apartment opposite mine had a collection of shoes in different shapes and sizes outside its door yesterday. I think they had visitors and with all the drizzle, had left their shoes on the landing.

Plenty of people will disagree, but I think an assortment of different shoes is a rather charming sight.

Visiting Hoddesdon Police Station

I was shadowing my colleague again. Today we visited Hoddesdon Police Station's cells.

This police station follows the same policy that Sandro recommended for hotels- the guests must leave their shoes (including shoes without laces) outside their rooms.



(The picture is not Hoddesdon police station)

Toxoplasmosis

Those of you with cats will know about Toxoplasmosis. Its a nasty parasitic infection that our feline friends get from eating bad meat.

Toxoplasmosis can survive in soil over a year. That means that being careful not to step on cats' mess is not going to make a difference; you cannot see the stuff in the soil.

Toxoplasmosis that is brought into the house and onto your floor can infect small children. This can lead to fever, pneumonia and damaged vision.

Just insist on all shoes being removed at your door. Its not rocket science.

Little si Today, Olympics Tomorrow.

Just wanted to drop a short line about the beauty of the day today. Not a cloud in the freakin' sky. The blue shades reached as far as the horizon would allow your gaze to wander and my friend Dom as well as myself were wrapped in conversation. The drive time was an afterthought. Before I knew it, I was standing in front of Rainy Day Women, soaked with my own sweat(read previous post for more details). Shedding my button up short sleeve, donning my flowery chalk bag, and blowing the dust off of my quick draws I hesitantly made my way up this inconsistent route; stopping only to grasp the back of my neck to infuse some warmth into my extremities. Pleased with the warm up-we both were-yet shaken by the lack of precision in beta remembrance, we both headed to the looming(read:chossy) wall of False Idol, Jealous God, Graven Image, and a number of link ups that I won't bore you with yet fill my scorecard so as to inflate and derail the importance of the scoring system involved within.
I walked False Idol, a relatively 'easy' or 'soft' 7a, then re-figured out the beta to the crux of Graven Image. V.3?
Dom repeated my former process and I tried to make an ascent of the neighboring and adjoining line I dubbed Godly Image, which in my opinion is a 3 star line(hehehe). Despite all of the hairline fractures and seemingly degradable rock. I tried the line for the first time completely shaking myself off the crux from over(?) enthusiasm. Then re-re-leanred my beta, Dom had another go(same result), and then I managed to fire my link up(yay!), followed shortly by Dom who sent Graven Image(bigger yay!).
The day was a wonderful success and noone had gone into hypothermia, yet. In fact, it was turning out to be perfect temps, on top of the entire wall being dry!!!??
Perfect.
We manned up for an ascent of Psychosomatic, which turned into a gut wrenching, worst time ever(!!!!), worst climbing experience ever(maybe), ascent of the lesser part Psychowussy. Followed by an encore skecthmaster ascent of Aborigine, which I subsequently fell on. It was a foot slip!!! Besides, Dom took 15 minutes to send, so there. It was a sad end to our glorious and victorious day/return to 'real rock' climbing.
I just wanted to say how awesome it was to get back to World Wall after a 4 month hiatus. It felt sooooooooooo good to get on a rope, and go up. Way up. This weather is 'awesome', despite what's causing it(stupid global climate change). Hope to get back out there sometime soon before the Spokane trip.

The Huffington Post: Shoes Off at the Door? New Reasons Why

The Huffington Post: Shoes Off at the Door? New Reasons Why

by Annie B. Bond

The author does not like taking her shoes off when visiting people, but she admits there are some good reasons to do so. For instance;

"In a new study, and the largest ever conducted, 22 pesticides were commonly found in the dust of homes in Salinas, California. Salinas is an agricultural community, but not all the pesticides found were agricultural pesticides. The Environmental Protection Agency and National Institute of Environmental Health have found that low level chronic pesticide exposure as found in these homes can cause numerous health problems, especially for fetuses and young children. The study was by the California state Department of Public Health and researchers with the Center for the Health Assessment of Mothers and Children of Salinas (CHAMACOS) with the University of California, Berkeley. Protection Agency."

San Carlos First Time Buyer's Tip: Kick Off Your Shoes

San Carlos First Time Buyer's Tip: Kick Off Your Shoes

This post suggests that when viewing homes, removing shoes is in the interest of the buyer as well as the seller.

It's not a cold weather thing

Occasionally some people suggest that the difference between countries where shoes are removed and where they are kept on is the climate. This is pretty misleading.

It is true that most countries with harsh winters like Canada and Finland are in the shoes-off camp, while the gentle weather of Mediterranean Europe is enjoyed by Spanish and Italians who for the most part, keep their shoes on indoors.

However, there are many countries with warm climates that practice the shoes-off rule. These include:

Morocco

Guyana

India

Hawaii (USA)

United Arab Emirates

Saudi Arabia

Bangladesh

Malaysia

Thailand

Nauru

Fiji

Maldives

Sri Lanka

And in some countries which have cold winters, but warm summers, for instance Albania and Croatia, shoes are removed over the whole year, winter and summer.

The fact is that whether the weather is hot or cold, dirt is still dirt. The fact that the weather outside is warm does not mean that the streets and the soil outside is clean.

Athlete's Foot

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An unpleasent fungal infection.

A lot of people mention Athlete's Foot as an argument against people having a shoes-off policy. However, this is a quite unnecessary concern.

Athlete's Foot is generally associated with swimming pools and changing rooms. It is possible to catch Athlete's Foot on one's barefeet at a swimming pool or in a locker room. However, recent research indicates that this is not so likely as was previously thought.

Most importantly, the reason people catch Athlete's Foot in those places is not because people there are barefoot, but because the fungus needs a warm and wet environment. People get exposed to the fungus in the damp conditions. If they fail to dry their feet, the fungus is very comfortable and even more so if the victim puts on sweaty socks.

The fungus will not survive long on the clean, dry floor or carpet of a person's home and so you are very unlikely to catch Athlete's Foot in somebody's house, even if the owner has the condition.

What is more, people who are not wearing socks are likely to put on sandals when they leave, as opposed to closed shoes. Thus, they will not create the right environment for the condition to thrive.

Of course, if you are worried about it, you can always bring some slippers or socks when you visit a shoes-off home.

People who have a shoes-off policy ought to let their visitors know in advance and be willing to lend a pair of clean socks.

John Tesh: Should You Have Your Guests Remove Their Shoes at a Party?

John Tesh: Should You Have Your Guests Remove Their Shoes at a Party?

I loved this statement:

"Let the rule slide for someone with a medical condition. Although your friend, who shows up in the four inch stilettos, is probably lying if she tells you her plantar fasciitis is acting up and she can’t take off her heels."

This will probably interest some of you..

Some of you seem to love discussing removing shoes at work, so do what you will with this.

I am on holiday at the moment and went into a pub in Hastings for an half pint. It was in the morning and the pub was not very busy. I noticed one of the young barmaids had no shoes on and was barefoot. I imagine she would not be shoeless at busier times in the evening.

Should One Provide Slippers For Guests?

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In some Eastern European and Asian countries, guests change from their shoes into slippers provided by the host.

Some argue that if you intend to have a shoes-off policy in your home, you should keep some slippers for guests to wear. It is argued that this will make them feel more comfortable and prevent embarassments such as foot odour and holes in socks.

I am not inclined to think so. If slippers are provided, then they must either be disposable plastic slippers or else slippers that can go in the washing machine. It would be quite unreasonable to expect guests to wear slippers that have been worn by somebody else that day. I am not sure whether most slippers are machine washable. Some guests might not even trust you that they really have been cleaned and may prefer to stay in bare or stocking feet.

I think the practise of providing guest slippers might be just a bit too weird for British. Many British people will have been to a house where shoes-off was required, but not many people will have been offered guest slippers to wear, unless it was in another country. I think a lot of English guests would prefer to go barefoot, rather than wear slippers that are not their own. In conversations I have had with people about Japan, I have noticed people go 'ew' at the idea of wearing borrowed slippers.

It might be a good idea to buy slippers for family and regular visitors and keep them at your house. These should be worn only by the person they are provided for. Hopefully, one's family and close friends would be delighted by this consideration.

Providing clean socks is a different matter. I would suggest keeping a supply of clean socks in different sizes by the door for guests who are not comfortable going barefoot.

I think it is very sensible to let visitors know in advance that one has a shoes-off rule in one's home. That way, they can be sure to wear socks without holes or bring their own slippers if they prefer.

I Got To Visit the Cop Shop!

I shadowed a colleague today. She is a drugs worker who works with drug users who have entered the criminal justice system (I work with drinkers who end up in hospital).

My colleague took me on her round at Stevenage police station's cells. Here in Britain we euphemistically call our holding tanks custody suites.

At Stevenage custody suite, all prisoners have their shoes confiscated, including those without laces. They are given rubber beach sandals to wear. A very sensible policy in my opinion.

Shoes off in the house; shoes off in the cells.

More on the Fifth Avenue Couple

Pop News Daily: Rich Lady Wants You and Your Grubby Shoes to Know She Is Not a Bad Hostess

A celebrity gossip writer stands corrected. High society hostess, Suzanne Murphy made it clear on her invitation that she wanted shoes-off at her party. She and her husband, Robert Albertson, are big names in the finance industry.

NZ National Business Review: Leave your troubles at the door – and your shoes

NZ National Business Review: Leave your troubles at the door – and your shoes

'Leaving the shoe at the door to protect precious carpeting is an increasing sight in New Zealand homes, but it’s also becoming a more familiar sight in some of the country’s biggest offices.'

Sometimes Star Trek is beyond belief

On the Star Trek spin-off show, Deep Space Nine, there is a Japanese character, Keiko O'Brien. Surprisingly, Keiko and her family do not remove their shoes in their apartment on the space station.

It may be the far future and it may be that the floors are cleaned by invisible nanobots, but I am quite confident that the Japanese are not going to start wearing their shoes at home.

A Sermon on Shoes!

The pastor of Kingdom Baptist Church, Joey Faust preached a sermon on shoes! You can find it here.

Faust strongly attacked women's high heeled shoes as immodest and unhealthy. Its kind of refreshing to hear the kind of old-fashioned fundamentalism that has something to say about clothing. Personally, I think Christian women are at liberty to wear high heeled shoes if they wish, but I think they should at least consider whether they are really modest or appropriate.



Faust's sermon seems to have been at least partly inspired by recent scientific evidence, evidence which he referred to, which suggests that expensive running shoes are a waste of money and counter-productive. It seems the more ankle support and padding you put on your feet, the weaker and more vulnerable to injury they become. This philosophy is good news for people like me who love to wear flip flops with zero support.



Faust would have horrified the fashionistas by his suggestion that if Christian women wear sandals, they should wear socks. As much as I love Faust's preaching and endorse his ministry, I hope this idea does not catch on. I think women look lovely in flip flops with no heel.

Need2LearnChinese Blog: Asian House

Need2LearnChinese Blog: Asian House

Nice article on different attitudes to removing shoes in Asia and the West.

Can you believe this guy?

Yahoo! Answers: What do I do about my girlfriend's Asian roomate and my shoes?

The guy who asked this question has one seriously daft attitude, as nearly everybody who answered agreed.

RIP Brittany Murphy

The late Brittany Murphy is asked to remove her shoes in the movie Uptown Girls.



Thanks go to Sandro for pointing this one out.


Funnily enough, I mentioned another Brittanny Murphy film on this blog a while ago, Ramen Girl.

The ‘Sweaty Guy’

There I was again, punching helplessly at the console of the Stairmaster. Weight:180, Level:11, Time: 30, Workout: Steady Pace. The machine sprung into action forcing me to match its pace. WHIZZ WHURR WHIZZ WHURR, my legs began to pump like an oil rig in the middle of a wind swept Texas plain, sage brush adrift, blood orange sun slowly disappearing over the brim of another dry day. I gave a glance at the mirror to my left stretched out along the length of the wall, not allowing my gaze to linger for too long. Don’t want to look like one of those self-involved ass holes down in the weight room. The brightly illuminated numbers on the slim console in front of me glow red flickering from MILES .54 to .55 to .56 in what seems like a staggering amount of time. Great, just over a half a mile down. In another five minutes (.5 miles) it will inevitably start. And I always look forward to it. The cold feeling of weakness begins to leave my body only to be replaced by a slowly growing fire that spreads until it oozes out of my skin in the form of tiny drops of sweat beading my arms and forehead. WHIZ WHURR WHIZ WHURR. I take a look around the small room almost crowded with aerobic equipment. Four stationary bikes, three elliptical machines, three tread mills, and two stair masters. A small door in the middle of the far right wall opens into an even smaller room housing a seldom used heavy bag that looks as if it has seen better days. The top corner of it ripped open and bleeding dingy yellow foam, its spongy innards sprawled beneath it in a small pool as if to say ‘Look! Look! I was useful, once…’. Pieces to a story of some angry boxer who had finally HAD it and exploded his rage into the helpless dangling sack.

I’m not the only one working my frustrations out tonight. I can hear the hiccupped pace of a jogger start a ‘going nowhere’ journey on the treadmill behind me. I catch a glimpse of the silhouetted jogger in the lower corner of the mirror and make out a woman’s shape, her long pony tail whips back and forth as each shoulder turns in and out, in and out. I straighten up now, try to look the part. No one can see my weakness, my slumping shoulders or burning thighs. There are two more girls side by side on the elliptical machines in front of me and to my right. All of the machines in the room are faced the same direction, as if they are at attention, their lifeless machinery frozen in a trance, overlooking the large Doug Firs and Cedars that live outside the full length windows that make up the front of this little room. None of it can be seen now. The brightly lit room creates a mirrored reflection of the contents of the room against the unyielding blackness that has enveloped the outside world. It creates another exercise room staring back at us, its exercise equipment inhabited by our looking glass souls, translucent, but there, staring back at us, mimicking our every move, our every step, walk, run, pedal. WHIZ WHURR WHIZ WHURR WHIZ WHURR.

The glowing red digital numbers on my console have changed to 1.23 now, and I’m suddenly conscious of how warm I feel. I pull my head down in a half nod and feel lines of sweat race down my temples, forehead and cheeks. Large droplets pregnant with sweat form on my chin and nose now and quickly morph into each other before giving into gravity and raining down onto the flat black rubber mat beneath me. The same process is repeated on my elbows and it has begun. A salty torrential downpour. My bodies own weather system. The flat black rubber mat beneath my arms is beginning to turn from a non-reflective rubbery surface to an almost shiny plastic, as microscopic sweat pools emerge and form together to create one large sweat pool. They start as microcosms, then tiny islands, larger continents, and then finally form one large land mass that seeps and slowly creeps towards the brim of the rubber mat. My grip on the thick stationary handles, protruding from the Stairmaster like antennae, begins to slip and I have to keep readjusting their position near the top of the curvature in the plastic bars. I start to suck in breath as if each one might be my last and let it out in short spurts, hee-hee-hooo. I’m giving birth to my own fitness. For a split second I feel like giving up, going home, cracking a beer and forgetting all about this nonsense but I wipe that notion away like the never-ending streams of secreted sweat that I keep dabbing at, my shirt tail grasped helplessly in the fist of my right hand. 1.97, the tiny numbers read, glowing red hot. Almost two miles. I suck it up, whatever ‘it’ is and start to feel my muscles relax slightly. My breath comes in a more controlled rhythm and I feel my second wind kicking in. My pace is a comfortable one and I just keep pumping my legs up and down, up and down.

I slip in and out of concentrating on what I’m doing and in those moments of separating my metaphysical self from my physical self I think about all kinds of things. The approach to Little si. Game nights. What should I fix for dinner? I want to start running around Capitol Lake. Did I forget to turn off the light in my room? E-mail your reader! Jobs. Sweet potato fries. OW! My EYE! A large droplet of sweat has accumulated on my eyebrow and immediately made its presence known by invading the smooth membranous envelope of my optical lens. I squint with my right eye trying to free a hand so that I can wipe the salty contents away without further interruption. The temporary pain has brought me right back to focusing on the burning sensation in my thighs and calves. I lean over again providing a short break for the major muscle groups in my legs trying to co-opt most of the work load into my lower back. I feel like Quasimoto doing this maneuver, my shoulders hunched, butt sticking out, and suddenly remember the woman directly behind me getting a nice soggy eye full. I straighten up again to the regret of my acid filled leg muscles. The console numbers give a digital read of 2.39, wait, 2.40 and it breathes new life into me. I realize I have only a little over half a mile to go before I can break. I retighten my slacked pace and continue on, WHIZ WHURR WHIZ WHURR. I notice a slender looking blonde girl setting up shop on the stationary bike one Stairmaster over from where my unbridled precipitation event is taking place. Her soft features and pallid skin form a delicate and pretty face and I’m thrown off pace a bit by trying to catch glimpses of her in the mirror without her noticing, too much. I can only hope she doesn’t regret choosing a bike in such close proximity to the growing pools of effort accumulating beneath my left and right arms; however I do resemble a melting wax statue at this point. She seems uninterested in both me and working out as she nonchalantly pumps her legs in a circular motion while burying her gaze in a book with ZEN written on the cover in large letters followed by something I couldn’t quite make out through my shy fifth grade glances. I hear the approach of a new-comer and utilize this opportunity to turn my head in the direction of the door in order to get another full view of the ZEN blonde. She looks up as well, but not in the direction of the door. Our eyes meet, but I quickly jerk my head back to the accepted frontal position and remain cool as a cucumber, pretending I was looking at the time. The time. The time, the time. What is the time?! I dab quickly at the ‘time’ button on the console just in time to see the red hot glow of the numbers counting down, 5…4…3…2…1. A fading !BEEP! lurches from my machine and the pedals lock in place. YOU HAVE REACHED YOUR GOAL! The glowing digital words read across the slim console and I am temporarily relieved of duty. I step down with a sigh, and begin to pant a little. I avoid stepping to the right or left of the machine, for good reason and make my way to the half tube shaped plastic housing for the sanitary wipes hanging on the wall. My best friends. I return with a fistful and wipe the handlebars, reminded of a time when I worked in a restaurant called The Yankee Diner. Dante, a waiter who worked the evening shift there was told to clean something because it was slow. He picked up a chair, positioning it so that one of the legs was protruding from his groin area and began polishing it in a masturbatory motion. I had just happened to be walking by as he pointed his wooden erection at me and said “Hey Micah, Derek said it was slow so I should clean something.”, with a devilish grin stretching the length of his goateed face. Wiping my sweat off the handlebars always reminds me of this memory for some reason. I wad up the sanitary wipes and make a basketball shot at the garbage, fading away. The wad overshoots its target but hits the wall with a moist squelching sound and drops impotently into the dark gray plastic bag.

Choice

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Some people are of the opinion that it is very important that guests have the choice of whether to keep their shoes on or not.

However, it is not as simple as that. Some choices may impose on the choices of others.

Some visitors may want to take their shoes off, but may fear that doing so will be considered rude. Being informed that shoes-off is encouraged will be a great welcome for these people.

The shoes-on folks might then argue, "Yes, but you can still let people keep their shoes on without imposing on the people who prefer to go shoeless."

However, this is not the case. Firstly, those people who want to take their shoes off may fear, if there are lots of other guests, particularly at a party, that their feet may get squashed by other peoples' shoes. In a crowded party, it can be hard to avoid having people tread on your toes.

Secondly, people who take their shoes off will prefer to walk on a floor that is cleaner. In fact, there is another issue here, as Angie pointed out in a previous post. Some guests will enjoy sitting on the floor. And sitting on the floor is a much more pleasent experience when it is clean. So allowing guests the choice of wearing shoes imposes on those who like to sit on the floor.

The simple truth is that no host can please everybody. However, there are far more good reasons to insist on shoes coming off at the door than for allowing shoes to stay on. Let guests chose between slippers, socks ot barefeet. That is choice enough.

Autopilot

You ever get that eerie feeling when you don't remember doing something that you have done?

Yesterday at the home fellowship meeting I realised I could not remember removing my shoes. I had no idea whether I had left them in the porch or in the hallway of the home where the meeting was held. For a moment, I had to check I had removed them.

One More Disagreement

I mentioned this blog to a colleague. He told me that he felt no need to remove his shoes in his place and would not be incliend to visit a home where he was asked to remove his shoes. I reeled off a list of reasons why a no-shoes rule makes sense, but he was not convinced.

I tend to find myself disagreeing with this chap on quite a few issues, with his views being generally left of centre views and my own being more to the right.

Never mind. He is in his forties. That generation did things there way. Younger people are more inclined to see the sense of removing shoes and tend to see it as a necessary courtesy.

Feel free to recommend this blog to your friends and colleagues.

Burglar Alarms

It does bother me that in many houses, the burglar alarm control panels are situated at some distance from the doors.

This is fine if like me, you wear shoes without laces (a sensible choice if you are a shoes-off person), but if you are wearing laces you will end up having to walk across the hallway in your shoes or else risk the alarm going off.

Can the installers of these devices not see the sense in putting the control panels closer to the doors?