Like Monday, we are re-visiting the "what to do with my fibre when I die" issue. I'm going to have to join the American Association of Undertakers if this doesn't stop.
And, like Monday, I open with the operative comment (from Red this time) so you don't have to go find it:
How are we going to knit your projects at your gauge? It's going to need to be picked and done again. For the love of wool don't start any big projects like afghans! Remember Stupid Blanket and his sudden growth spurt? (Is stupid Blanket a he? I just sort of assumed)
First, OK... I hadn't thought of that. "Tight knitter" is apparently a huge understatement in my case. I do have a theory, though: If you knit each stitch as tight as it will go, you have reached the single finite point to be found in tension, thus allowing you to have perfectly even stitches.*
I wouldn't necessarily recommend it to anyone, and it's not my actual strategy,† but I think it's a good point.
Shut up.
Second, c'mon... frogging and reknitting socks under promise of cashmere.‡ Are you telling me it's not worth it? eca would do it. I know she would. 'Specially for Brother.
Third, hmmmmm... lessee: Stupid Blanket looked simple, carefree -- even fun -- at the beginning; rapidly became a pain in the ass; became difficult to leave because of time invested; eventually inspired so much bitching, moaning and loathing as to drive away friends and family; required professional help and lots of wine to get over the hump toward closure; when finished, looked oddly lovely and when delivered away from me, aroused rear-view mirror longing after time.§
Yep. Pass out the cigars. It's a boy!
*ahem*$
So, yeah, when I die, you may have to frog entire socks and reknit them, lest they be mistaken for wine glass cozies, but won't it be worth it?
As for the afghan issue, you know Lizard Ridge is on the horizon, but I figure it's done in individual squares, so y'all will just have to block the HELL out of my pieces and shove yours into a vaguely geometric shape before sewing them up.
[SUMMARY: Ghouls. You're all ghouls. And my brother? Lord High King of the Ghouls.]
In other news...
Back Story:
Years ago, I had an issue with Amazon.com and they lost my business.
See, I had moved and changed my address with them and blithely shopped with them and everything was peachy and suddenly, one day, my package didn't show. And didn't show. And didn't show.
With increasing impatience, I followed their instructions to "wait one more week" and "check with your local post office" until I could take it no more. Through some digging, it turned out their software, in some sort of pre-destined audit function, had spontaneously regenerated an old address and the package had been sent to that erroneous place out of my past.
Of course, this was after I'd been away from that address for over a year, so, of course, the forwarding was expired. And, of course, the lowlife who lived in my old apartment probably just kept the shipment of CDs for himself so I was, of course, screwed.
Amazon offered me a $10 gift certificate for my trouble, but did not offer to replace the lost purchase. Cherry on top? While I had no intention of being an Amazon customer anymore, I did decide to use that gift certificate.
It didn't work.
[SUMMARY: Fuck Amazon...]
Fast forward to 2007.
In May, I ordered six skeins of Lorna's Laces from Yarnela on eBay.
EBay uses the same software platform as Amazon. Can you see where this is going?
Because the shipment came from Canada and there is this ongoing pissing match betwixt the Canadian Postal Service and all things American, the proprietor of Yarnela begged me to "wait two more weeks."
Holy fucking cats, that sounds familiar.
When we finally concluded the package was missing, said proprietor¶ was ready to ship new yarn to me right away. The email with the particulars showed my old address.
Where I haven't lived for a year-and-a-half.
My stomach made a beeline for my toes.
I pointed out that I've only had my PayPal account for a couple of months, therefore the PayPal address couldn't be anything but my current address. Les (see¶?) pointed out that the confirmation he/she got apparently drew the address from whatever eBay was dishing out. And forwarded me his/her confirmation to prove it.
Three items of interest for those who shop eBay/Amazon/whomever else uses that software platform:
- The address on Les's confirmation was, indeed, the old address, BUT there was also a specific note (marked by a question mark) that said the address wasn't confirmed and should be confirmed with the purchaser before any shipping took place. I assume PayPal concedes its address database to that of the vending website, but warns if the billing address they have doesn't match. EBay sellers: HEED THE QUESTION MARK.
- The address on my confirmation from PayPal was the correct one. It is the only email confirmation I got, so I can't tell you if the screen eBay gave me had the correct address or not. I didn't pay that close of attention, having purchased things from eBay, via PayPal, that had shown up just fine. EBay buyers: HEED THE CONFIRMATION SCREEN.
- When the package of Lorna's Laces finally showed up (much marked for the non-forwarding, returning and re-sending) last Wednesday, I went to check my eBay account to be sure I'd changed the address as thoroughly as possible, it showed yet another address, this from two moves ago, where I haven't lived for seven years. Everybody#: PERIODICALLY CHECK YOUR EBAY INFO.
Does it seem a little stupid and cumbersome that one has to think of one's address change for upwards of seven years? Does it seem outside the lexicon of modern living that one would have to change one's address harder and more thoroughly?
[SUMMARY: ...and the software they rode in on.]
To para-quote Buffy again, I suddenly find myself having to know the plural of "apocalypse."
That's my public service for the month, unless you count the one about hiring trained professionals for waxing, which is more a pubic service.††
TOMORROW: Actual pictures of the actual yarns you saw on the bed in the Lake series. WIPs. Perhaps a Cat for Scale picture. You know... real knitblog shit.
*FOOTNOTE: (asterisked... yeah, yeah): "Tight stitches are all alike; every loose stitch is loose in its own way." Anna Karenina as knitter.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like I have a strategy.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Note to self: must add cashmere to stash so knitters won't exhume and re-kill after finding they reknit socks for no cashmere. Or opt for cremation. Mental image: betrayed knitters peeing on charred remains.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Wow. Who knew that analogy was going to be so apt? Like dating situations gone babies-on-spikes, I think we're going to have to add to the argot "Stupid Blanket" for those guys you stay with too long for all the reasons listed.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): That's my changing-the-subject-away-from-the-embarrassing-revalation throat clear, for those of you scoring at home.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): On whom I'd like to bestow a pronoun, but whose name may be short for either Leslie or Lester.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Or maybe it's just me.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): No, I didn't use this whole post just as a setup for that stupid joke, though I can see why you might think so. You know me too well.
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