Rocket Shoes

And That’s Why It’s Called Rocket Shoes

My best friend Kevin always likes to tell me that sometimes he feels like I just talk to hear myself talk. He also likes to say that it shocks him when I listen to him, because he usually feels like i'm just waiting for my turn to speak. I know, amazing friendship, right? (He's actually a great guy, he just takes his shirt off too much in inopportune on wedding dance floors). But I do owe him the name of this blog. And a dream car, because I crashed his back in college and promised I'd buy him a new one when I could afford it (which I can now...hey, young Drew...shhhhh...don't make promises that aren't financially fun).

I grew up literally around the corner from Kevin. As in you could hop over my fence to get to his house. It was adorable. The movie Sandlot adorable. It was, and still is to this day, like a sitcom: we're like the odd couple. We couldn't be more different a lot of the time (for instance, he exercises and plays sports...what an IDIOT), but we've always gotten along. He is also my greatest critic, and probably the only person I tolerate it from for some odd reason (besides Anne Hathaway, who I have a make believe "we don't know each other" relationship with and am willing to totally listen to what she has to say whenever she's ready). So one day I go over to Kevin's to watch a basketball game. And guess what happened? The game started, and I just couldn't stop talking. About nothing.

As they are going through the lineups for both teams, I was presumably talking about how giraffes fight funny or how my pinky toe hurts when it's cold because I think I broke it once or how I think tapioca pudding is oddly disgusting or...point being, I was probably talking endlessly about nothing. As they introduced a player named Richard Jefferson, I was staring blankly at the screen and just started mumbling to myself.

Drew: "Man, you ever seen Richard Jefferson play? That guy can jump. Like, aggressively high. It's like he's flying or something. I wish I could jump like that. I mean, it's like he's got rocket shoes or something man..."

At this moment, Kevin finally looks over at me as I continue to mumble and says nothing until I finally shut up (which could have been fourteen minutes later, for all I know). He just sat there and stared, in awe, as I continued to not stop talking.

Kevin: "I mean, do you ever listen to yourself talk? You just said a guy had rocket shoes. What does that even mean? Seriously, take a timeout. From now on, I'm just going to say 'rocket shoes' when you are doing this. That means please stop talking."

From that day on, whenever I am blowing Kevin's mind with my inability to stop talking, he just cuts me off mid-sentence and says "rocket shoes". It works like a charm. It's even usually followed by a high five.

So about a year back, when I decided to be entirely self-serving and create a blog where I could put my thoughts down on internet paper...I tried to name the blog rocket shoes, and some asshole has been sitting on it and won't give it up. Don't worry, I didn't think to myself, "man, you know what's great for a blog name?!" As easy as my last name is, I'm pretty sure rocket shoes was the better option. But that's the idea: I never stop talking. Get it? That's why it's a hilarious name for a blog full of rants!

I'll end with this.

Every mother has a million adorable stories of what their children were like growing up. My mom's favorite goes like this.

When I was born, I had my eyes wide open and stared straight up at my mom when she got to first hold me. It's a great picture, to this day hangs on my mom's wall in the kitchen. Apparently, after this, not much happened for several years. I was just a big mute who didn't seem to do much besides, you know, what kids do: throw up/stare at things and then realize my head is really heavy and fall over/sleep.

Drew: "So when did I start talking?"

Mom: "Oh god, it took forever. You were two I think. We thought you were retarded for a while."

Drew: "That's funny."

Mom: "No, it's not: we actually thought you were retarded. But once you started talking, we couldn't shut you the hell up. So it turns out you just didn't have a lot to say."

So true, Mom. So true.



13 COMMENTS ON THIS POST To “And That’s Why It’s Called Rocket Shoes”

  • Brendan

    August 31, 2009 at 10:56 pm

    Heartwarming post. I’m glad you’re not retarded Drew… I’m glad you’re not retarded.

  • Larry

    August 31, 2009 at 11:10 pm

    See, at least you have someone to stop you. I sure don’t. I keep talking at people, I think people just block me from instant messaging me because i keep talking, don’t answer my text messages and ignore my phone calls….umm yeah…I’ll shut up now before I get blocked from commenting….and go back to writing my babbling on twitter and facebook, k?thanks!Bye!

  • KJ

    September 1, 2009 at 10:32 am

    Thanks for the shout-out Dre. The great part about your blog is that if I want to hear you ramble I can, and if not I don’t have to come here.

    ps. Irony defined: DrewHoolhorst was recognized as the “Best Listener” in our high school yearbook. That’s weird…

  • Ellie

    September 21, 2010 at 9:50 pm

    That is the most endearingly hilarious story I have ever read. Well, in the past 6 months at least. :)

  • Sara

    December 9, 2010 at 8:25 pm

    Hi Drew,

    I was actually looking for the site Rocket Dog shoes (an actual shoe site) and stumbled across this by mistake. I have to say though, I’m glad I did. Your ‘rant’ on “Jews need a silly mascot, too” was freaking hilarious! I’m glad I mistakenly found myself on your blog :).

    Have a good life and keep ranting!

    -Sara, some girl you don’t know

  • Tami A

    July 21, 2011 at 9:36 am

    Hi Drew. I just found your blog through I’m catching up on your posts and yes, you like to talk a lot, and I like it. If I post twice in one month on my blog I consider it success. Go see for yourself. On second thought, don’t. My blog is boring as shit. Okay. How about you keep writing and I come over and read? Much better.

  • Gretchen

    June 12, 2012 at 5:37 pm

    So I just read this and it is shockingly similar to where my blog (“Eat More Carbs”) got its name…
    Someone once told me that carbohydrates help the brain to function, and that during the academically strenuous time of grad school, we eat more carbs in an attempt to fuel our exhausted brains. I shared this fact with my dear friend Veronica one day at lunch, no doubt as I clogged my pie hole with garlic bread and cookies. From then on, whenever I said something stupid, Veronica would encourage me to “eat more carbs!” I say stupid things a lot. Then I ate more cupcakes and got fatter.

    And then my blog was born. Where I can write about all the stupid stuff I do and say. We win the Internet, because it can never say “rocket shoes” or “eat more carbs” and make us shut up.

  • Marie

    February 14, 2013 at 9:34 am

    I have no clue why I was following you on Twitter, but I’m so glad I am and that I’ve found your site. This is cracking me up!
    Also, my son is almost two and not talking and I was kinda freaking out until I read this. I can’t wait to have the exact same conversation with him in 15 or so years :)

  • Liz

    May 29, 2013 at 2:06 pm

    Hi Drew!

    I loved your “sorta” review of the last season of the Bachelor. I have never laughed so hard at something mocking that show. Please say you are going to review the new season of the Bachelorette with Des, the bridal stylist who’s never been bridaled! It would seriously make my Tuesday!

  • Gideon K

    January 27, 2014 at 4:23 pm

    Awesome story. Friends are the best. Mums are better.

  • Anastasia928374

    November 16, 2014 at 4:21 pm

    You’re robot blocker isn’t working. I am one.

    Please, continue your recaps.

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