I used to live in Corona del Mar, California. In fact, I called it home for untold millions of years, so it’s quite a surprise then that I’d never been acquainted with the quaint charms of the Goldenrod Footbridge, pictured here:
It dates back to 1928, cost a mere $10, 229 (or something like that) and it’s made entirely of feet. As such, the smell is, shall we say, intense, especially in the summer, but still, you don’t have to be some kind of bridge-o-philiac to realize that painting bloody feet stumps to make them look like concrete and flowers is pretty amazing. In fact, I first thought the bridge was made of just that—concrete and flowers—until I read the sign. Embarrassment City, Population: Me!
Now I’m pretty sure I know what you’re thinking: What did they do with all the shoes? (That’s what you were thinking, right?) They probably gave them to charity or used them to make footprints in the sand to fool people into thinking God was carrying them. That’s what I’d do, and one thing I’ve learned in my 21 years on God’s green earth is that I’m not that unusual or special and there’s nothing new under the sun. Even if you were to take all the legs from the stumps and toss in the shoelaces and make some kind of stew or goulash and then put it in cans and sell it? Already been thought of! (Probably)
But a bridge made of feet? I wouldn’t have thought of that. Guess that’s why I’m an astronaut and also a doctor of Western medicine but a practitioner of Eastern, and not a civil engineer.
I get invited to their functions often—I mean, we travel in the same circles and they rely on my findings and general analytical acuity for things like blueprinting, drafting and Friday night trivia.
But have I actually built bridges before or designed anything on CAD software? I’d have to say no.
I’d say it while assuming the lotus position and drinking green tea but also wearing a stethoscope under my spacesuit. It’s just how I roll.
Should you ever be lucky enough to visit me in the flesh–that is, if I’m not in outer space–I’d probably offer you freeze dried ice cream because we astronauts get it by the barrel full. Actually, it’s kind of inconvenient to try to get it out of the barrel in outer space because it just starts floating away and then your spaceship mom (each spaceship is assigned a ‘spaceship mom’ who acts as a den mother of sorts) gets mad at you for space littering. It’s like, get off my back, spaceship mom! Don’t tell me how to orbit!
