I have been a bit busy, and also am trying to get my iCite-like multi-faceted-identity-blog prototype done, which all has me somewhat in limbo with blogging here. Also, yesterday, it was raining so hard that I arrived at work with soaked socks, and the attempts towards sock-drying and, later, adventures in sock-replacing, certainly supplanted my blogging recreational activities for the day.

So, if you were out and about in San Francisco at around 9 am yesterday, you know that the rain was torrential at that time. I was innocently waiting for the J-train on Church, though I should have known something was up when I had to essentially pole vault over puddles on Church street to get to the train stop.

It is pouring rain, and I am pretty wet, but I got things timed and I know the J will be there any minute, right? Wrong! Now, I assume what happened was that it took longer to convert the train into a submarine than usual, and so the schedule got out of whack. Anyway, I was waiting in the torrential downpour (which, conviently, due to the constant high winds, was more like a sidepour) for about thirty minutes.

After the train came, I figured my day was looking up and I was, you know, almost back to my groovy-underneath-business-casual self. So, I wasn't too phased when I got to work, though I started to notice this sloshing sound following me across the office. Hm, could my shoes be full of water?

Fortunately, no. My socks, thick, yet not inappropriate as business wear, had simply absorbed all of the water that poured into my shoe area, I assume, from the thirty minutes of hose-like-stream of water I couldn't deflect with my umbrella and which hit below the hem of my trench coat. But, my office is air conditioned like it's Los Angeles, so I figured they'd dry if I just aired them out.

Walking around my office sans shoes and socks was fun at first. It was like being Paul on the cover of The Beatles' Abbey Road, especially walking along with my colleagues to the two meetings I attended pied au naturel.

But, the combination of air conditioning freezing my tootsies and my scheduled presentation in front of a large room of people had me seriously weighing my options between wearing wet socks the rest of the day and simply leaving the country. Obviously, at that point, my socks weren't going to be dry again this month (yes, they are still wet!). Then, I remembered the corner drug store and, asking around, found significant support for my theory that they might sell socks.

Now, I don't know if this is in any way related to other events going on in the nation or in this city, but the drug store around the corner from where I work only sells women's socks. And, you know, I had to ask around the store to make sure, which sort-of tipped everyone in the store off to the fact that I, a guy, was going to be buying some women's socks (assuming I didn't bolt and grab the first submarine out of town).

Well, whatever stigmatization I feared, I soon learned that dry socks, whatever one's and one's socks gender, are a far greater good in world and are a cause worth fighting for. Believe me, my feet knew it by the river (extra credit for anyone who correctly identifies that reference—leave me a comment on this post).

Anyway, I have since learned that the socks I bought are not just socks, but trouser socks—women's trouser socks. And, hey, dry socks saved the day for me, even if they were, as fate would have it, women's trouser socks. Let freedom ring!