For some reason, clogs make me laugh. There was a guy who always wore turtlenecks, old corduroy pants, an extra-long string of beads, and a macramé vest. When he wasn't roller skating around town, he would skip about in clogs -- sometimes even doing impromptu tap-dance style jigs. I know what you're thinking: San Francisco in the 1970s! Nope. Park City, Utah, in the 2000s. Man, what a clown. His name was probably Gene or Sascha. Anyway, I don't care if clogs are Dutch wooden shoes or those old suede-and-wood clunkers from the 1970s. They never really improve over the years -- they just get uglier. Crocs anyone? And don't give me that crap, "Oh, but they're just so comfortable. You have to try them!" No thanks, and go stand in the corner and think about what you've done. Just when you thought they could not possibly get any uglier, by name or style, we are introduced to Iggdrasil by El Naturalista, by those earnest hippies at Eastern Mountain Sports.

Here's one reviewer's take that pretty much sums up clog people. "I spent the weekend out in the desert, looking at art, eating yummy Indian food, and exploring dirt roads. On the way out, I wore my new El Naturalista Iggdrasil mary janes, fully intending to change to something more practical after the art-viewing was done. But they were so comfortable, and looked so at home against the desert soil, that I couldn't bring myself to do it!" Well, sister, I've seen those clogs, and I beg you to please change them. Or just wear them in the desert where nobody will have to see them but you.