Sweet Baby Chuck

I was at the shoe store yesterday.  I had to get new shoes.  There was no getting around it -- my black low-top Chucks were finally dead, as the holes in the bottoms of the soles were getting big enough that I couldn't wear them on wet pavement without having to change my socks.  Some of the lacing rivets had come off, and were hanging on the laces.  The laces themselves were the same gray as the previously white rubber toes.  Those were some good shoes.  

Needless to say, I got new ones just like the old ones.  I am pleased to report that I managed to attain a few scuffs on the walk home, so they're well on the way to attaining cool-shoe nirvana.

As I was trying on my shoes to make sure they weren't, like, two different sizes, I overheard a woman buying shoes for her son, who wasn't with her.  She pointed to the Converse display and asked a salesperson, 

"I'm supposed to get some of these Converse shoes.  There's a different name for them, though, and I can't remember what he told me to ask for.  I want to say 'James Taylors,' but I know that's wrong."

That just about made my day right there.