Thoughts...

1) The deadline is rapidly approaching (I'd go with midnight tonight, but it's probably whenever Tani checks email tomorrow morning) for the Black Valentine contest. I wouldn't lie to you... good stuff to be had. You'll kick yourself when you see the fabulous prize package if you didn't even give it a shot. ♥

2) How mid-80's United-Colours-of-Benetton does the Vogue Knitting Winter Issue look?




3) While "shit" is a perfectly servicable word, it's abrupt and sharp, bitten off at the end and most appropriate for under-the-breath exclamations. I'm finding a new fondness for "crap," as it rolls like a warm southern bayou and can be stretched to encompass two or three syllables if you need them. I have needed them at times this last week.

4) Go. Do good.

Morte Canard

I had all my ducks in a row.

Somebody shot them.

Knitting Education

I've had a couple of comments and a handful of IRL... well, "comments"† is as good a word as any... about knitting two socks at once.

We're talking technical knitting stuff, so those of you who glaze over at the term "cast-on" can just join us later.

[SUMMARY: So polite, so thoughtful.]

First, if you start with a copy of Judy's Magic Cast-On% from knitty.com and a copy of the free Knit Picks Two-at-Once Toe-Up Sock Pattern, you have all the support you need to knit just like Marin.‡

You'll have to extrapolate stitches backward on the toe if you're using a pattern.§ While this looks a leetle bit like math, it's really just numbers: no adding, subtracting, dividing... even counting.@

If you're translating from cuff-down, you'll note how many stitches the foot has and how many stitches the toe ends on and then you'll reverse it.¶

If you're translating from toe-up, you'll just skip all that provisional cast-on, pick up stitches nonsense and pretty much follow the footnote from the end of the cuff-down paragraph.#

Or just follow the Knit Picks pattern. I mean, you don't really have to complicate things by knitting *just* like Marin.††

[SUMMARY: So thorough, so wordy.]

I have instructions for a couple of different short-row heels I really like, so I just pick one and take the directions with me.

I always do at least one heel twice because I was watching Kelso fall off the back of the couch or finishing my second beer and you‡‡ kinda have to pay attention to heels.§§

[SUMMARY: So vague, so dingy.]

Some lace or cable patterns don't translate well from cuff-down to toe-up. I've generally found that if it's charted, you can turn the chart upside down and it all works out dandy.¶¶

So there you have it.

[SUMMARY: So helpful, so done.]

Those of you who don't knit can tune back in now. For you, I will add:

I'm Giving You the Best of My Duh.

In more ways than one.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Critics rave: "It scares the hell out of me."

%FOOTNOTE (percented): No grafting! No seam! Magic!

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Something I strive to do every day of my knitting life.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Well, a cuff-down pattern or a toe-up pattern that doesn't use a figure-8 or magic cast-on or such. See, a lot of toe-up patterns call for a provisional cast-on where you cast on the number of stitches you want for the foot, then at some point you pick up the provisional stitches and knit down to the end of the toe, decreasing as you go. I can see little point in knitting both up the foot and down the toe -- much less picking up stitches -- if you don't have to. And you don't. I'm here to help.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Which is a very important feature for some of us.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Start with the number of toe stitches (the smaller number) you would end with and increase to the foot number (the larger number) you desire. Duh.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Coincidentally indicated by the paragraph symbol.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): The More You Know... (rainbows, stars, celebrity spokesperson)

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): And by, "you," I mean, "I."

§§FOOTNOTE (two circular needles at once!): This may be another case where you don't want to knit *exactly* like Marin.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (perhaps these are stitch markers): Magic!

Busy, Busy, But...

...if you have a few minutes, go read this.

Noro Porn!

It has been suggested (Stacey) that if I posted some yarn pictures, it might make my sporadicity more acceptable. Thus:

I have jumped on yet another bandwagon. Such a joiner. Such a follower.†

eca told me to, so I did.

Noro sock yarn.

I plucked it out of the mailbox in the morning,‡ then raced home after work to cast on a pair of socks.§

And realised I really, really need a scale to do that.

This isn't one of my, "No, I don't *want* it, I really NEED it" ploys to justify my superconsumer ways. It's the actual product of knitting two socks at once. See, with two socks at once, you must have two separate balls of yarn -- one for each sock.

I've tried to eyeball the yarn in the past. It worked OK with eBeth's Glittens because it was a 500-yard skein and the wiggle room could accommodate a restless whale. But this time, I didn't want to take a chance on 110 yards for one sock and 300 yards for the other.¶

[SUMMARY: Justifi-CA-tion!]

So I hopped back in the car,# headed for target, and got this,†† the least-understood of all the knitting tools.‡‡




And raced home§§ to find that the "100 grams, more or less" on the ball band actually translates to 91 grams, which seems like a really large margin of error to me, but it's Noro Kureyon sock yarn, I have a big, grand idea for it¶¶ and I just wound the shit up and headed down to cast on.##

Here are your glamour shots of the yarn and my progress so far:












I know the toes look like members of two entirely different socks. I trust that once I have two whole socks, they'll at least look related.

Go look at the yarn again and don't worry about it.

[SUMMARY: Yarn. It makes everything better.]

That should appease you masses††† until this deal closes at work.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): For someone who prides herself on her quirks, oddities and unique perspective, I sure give a good impression of not having an original thought in my head.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): If the myriad postal workers who service my box (BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!) only realised that bringing the good stuff in a timely fashion (OK, the innuendo is going to overwhelm me) would get me out there more often so they wouldn't have to cram my Oprah magazine into accordion pleats to get it in (*snort*), they may straighten out their perspective acts.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Don't tell my brother. I'm sure he thinks I should be working on his Arrrgyles, and I am, but... Noro! Sock yarn!

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I'm a little cockeyed, apparently. (heh. I said, "cock.")

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): It was 15 degrees, icy and snowing. That's dedication.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And all kinds of good stuff for the Black Valentine prize package (heh. I said "package"). I think eca and Ally can attest I put a pretty good package together. And it isn't just for knitters -- oh, no. If a knitter wins (NOT just for knitters), that knitter will most certainly experience some sort of yarny goodness (trademark, Pam, the Yarn Goddess), but there are representatives of my favourite things and all the food groups that make me think of Valentine's Day: black, books, hearts, purple, skulls, voodoo, dark chocolate, blood, office supplies (I'll leave it to y'all to decide which are "favourites" and which are Valentines)... just sayin' it'll be worth the effort if you win. But to win, you have to enter. Hint, hint.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Or maybe I'm projecting.

§§FOOTNOTE (sushi swirls): Again.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two socks at once!): Which I will share with you if it works.

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like the snow on a prairie night in Denver): And knew I had to cast on 32 stitches for each needle and managed to divide that in half and "finished" my increases after 16 stitches. Even I could see it was wrong, so I only knit a little way with the tiny little midget toe before frogging back and trying again. Still knitting, still a dork.

†††FOOTNOTE (cross cross cross): All seven of you.

Ha! NOT a Complete Dork!

Note I said, "complete."

At least not about dilemna v. dilemma:

A quick tour of the Googlescape reveals that for some reason, nearly an entire generation of American adults in some parts of the country was taught to spell “dilemma” as “dilemna,” but no dictionary on the planet, going back however many years, has this on record. Was it a misprinted teachers’ manual? Badly transcribed handwriting? A back-formation from a similar ending with silent Ns, like “solemn?”


A. J. Kandy, King Marketing


So, OK, it doesn't say I'm right, but it does say I'm not alone. We're not alone. Just Kelly and me. And this lamp...

Did You See It?

Bloody Stupid Johnson has a commemorative hat!

The Blogger's Dilemma†

I have had nothing to say‡ for a week or more.

You may have noticed.§

But the Queensryche concert fomented a three-part series on concert venues, music in general and the Queensryche concert itself.

And I got new yarn.¶

And I'm all excited about the Ravelry Hat Attack.#

And I have a LOT more whining to do about work.

[SUMMARY: Subject matter abounds.]

Only...

We're†† closing January 31. I don't know how, exactly, but that's the plan. I have much to do and limited time and I'm hosting Book Club on the 30th‡‡ so I can't even pull an all-nighter for the final.%

[SUMMARY: Film at 2/1.]

So I figure I'll write about the concert in my vast spare time,§§ hoping to get it done before the concert is so-last-week's-news. Then I can push some off to the weekend. Then maybe next week...

[SUMMARY: I work best¶¶ under pressure.]

But the contest## was shiny, wasn't it? Did it distract you?

OK, then, go laugh at this.




I'll be back.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Could somebody tell me why I have been convinced for, say, 35 years that it's spelled "dilemna"?

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Not that that's stopped me from talking.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You may also have noticed I'm not nearly as interesting when I'm talking about knitting as I am when I'm talking about the weather. That, my friends, is a *sad* testimony.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): All the cool kids are knitting with it...

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Though I live in terror that my assassin will be Angelique -- who lives a block away and is staying home hermiting -- and my target will live in rural China.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And by "we," I mean, "the client."

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Yet another well-honed college skill gone to waste.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I already pushed it a week for Queensryche. Yeah, you heard me: I rescheduled literary endeavour in favour of Theatre of Hair.

§§FOOTNOTE (dervish!): *snort*

¶¶FOOTNOTE (beat beat): Perhaps more accurate to say, "I work ONLY under pressure."

##FOOTNOTE (pounding like a tequila hangover): BTdubs -- my cousin Tani has agreed to play middle-man and send me pristine entries, untainted by personal information, ready for unbiased perusal. Yay, Tani!

It's the Law

Murphy's Law, that is.

I am currently working on the due diligence for a good-size oil & gas divestiture.

Usually, I work for the buyer, helping him determine whether there are all kinds of icky problems and if it's worth the money he's planning on spending.

This is the fourth time I'm working for the seller, helping him get his ducks in a row, answer the questions of the buyers and prepare the myriad paperwork that goes into closing one of these deals.

In every due diligence I've ever worked for a buyer, we've had to proof the exhibits.

I'm proofing exhibits.

Why am I always on the side that has to proof exhibits? I was so looking forward to an exhibit proofing-free experience.

Yet here I sit, proofing exhibits.

Well, and whining about it.

Anyway...

Guess where I'm going tonight?



OK, I'm not actually going to 1986. But I am going to see Queensryche. I fully anticipate they will play a ton of stuff from their new album, which I've never heard and may never hear in its studio version.

I hope they play, "The Lady Wore Black," which was my personal theme song through some of the more histrionic days of early high school drama.

If they don't, it'll, like, totally suck and it's not fair and all my friends got to hear The Lady Wore Black and why do I even bother asking 'cause nobody ever listens to me? And the proofing!

Anyone?

I'm twelve.

c o n t e s t

Because I've always wanted to.

Because I have a small store of excellent, thematic prizes.

Because I can.

Once upon a time, in the dark days of high school, I sent out black valentines every year. Every year, I'd come up with a different design and would hand-make black valentines for my most beloved friends.

One year, a black chain of hearts with a dangling red "happy fucking valentine's day."

One year, a piece of black construction paper with a fortune cookie-style strip of paper with a cynical quote about love.

You get the drift.

It's time to re-visit the tradition.

This is a highly subjective contest, in which I will be the last word.

Send me anything -- ANYTHING -- that is your black valentine. A short story, a photo, an actual black valentine, a quote, a picture of something artworky... anything. Anything creative.

I have set up a special email for this:

blackvalentine2008 AT yahoo D com

Pass it on.

A distinterested third party† will strip them of their identity and send them to me for consideration.

Have your entries in by January 31.‡

I will render an opinion on February 2 and will ship the fabulous prize via priority mail on the 4th. This should be plenty of time§ to enjoy your dark valentine treasures on that special, special day.

GO!


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Presupposing I can find someone to take on the job. Otherwise, you'll just have to trust my inability to play favourites.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): If I gave you a later deadline, you'd only wait until the last minute anyway. Besides, if it's fun and it goes well, I may do it again next year, then you'll have more time to plan.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): If you are in Canada or points more distant, we'll cross our fingers and pray.

Packers vs. Chargers

Was it really too much to ask?

Paperback Buyer

TTHFCIF

Guess where I am? Guess what I'm wearing?

If you guessed my basement and footie pajamas, you are right.

If you guessed Tahiti and edible undies, you're a pervert, but thank you.†

Werk was really slow the last couple of days and I'm still coughing and wheezing a little, so I took a mental/chestal health day.

[SUMMARY: It's two vacations in one!]

By the way, I figured out why "Sohows Boobls & Thong" was so funny. It sounds like Foul Ole Ron and would go very nicely with "millenium hand and shrimp."

[SUMMARY: Buggrit!]

Anyway, here we are back at the book procurement arm of the Rickety Blog.

First, the book version of the Howl from yesterday:%




The ripples in the book just add to the artistry.‡

Speaking of artistry, I got my prize winnings for turning in the Kislings for their over-the-top Christmas light display from Cheryl. And it came with a postcard of the Stitch Diva... logo? mascot?




The prize, of course, my own personal copy of Drunk, Divorced and Covered in Cat Hair.




Knitting From the Top,§ which I have been told is an excellent book, embracing not just the classic top-down raglan, but also top-down sweaters with inset sleeves.¶




Under the auspices of the current sweater-knitting# frenzy, I also got The Twisted Sisters Knit Sweaters, which gives all kinds of good info on fit, but I'm mostly interested in being able to make an effective V-neck. There are a lot of sweaters I see and think, "That would make me very happy, if only it had a V-neck."

Now I feel I have the tools to make those changes.††

I will say I hate most of the actual sweater patterns in this book, but I really like the clear illustrations of how to make the PARTS of a sweater and issues of fit.‡‡




OK, I took a lot of pictures of this last one. I got really excited about it, which is really strange for at least three reasons:

1. I have owned one tam in my life (I was eleven) and I never thought much of it, so I have no affinity for tams and, in fact, generally believe I will look dopey in them.§§


2. I get easily confused with concept. I like patterns that tell me exactly what to do. Oh, sure, when I get all cocky, I'll switch it up -- make a sleeve a little longer, use a different rib, knit it toe-up -- but I don't want someone to just tell me how to do it and let me do my own. I want just a little more hand-holding, at least at the beginning.


3. Not nearly enough colour pictures. I am shallow. Packaging, colour pictures, presentation embodying a modern graphic sensibility -- these are all things I look for in a knitting book.

Yet this one doesn't give pictures of twelve tams and the exact instructions for making them.¶¶ It gives a bunch of black-and-white photos with corresponding charts to show how to make various shapes, like petals and scallops (first pic) and leaves and buds (second pic).




It shows how to do decorative decreases like the swirl and the zig-zag.




And it shows the relation between the floppiness, rate of increase and diameter of a tam.##




Ooooh... kaleidoscope. Pretty.




So it appears my unwitting New Year's resolution may be to educate myself on the impetus behind knitted items rather than just picking shiny patterns and knitting them verbatim.

[SUMMARY: Sea-change... no sea needed.]

I don't know why this guy was taking pictures of the office building where I work. Hans and I speculated that maybe he's a downtown building photographer. We wondered where we could get a job like that. We wondered if he could see us. We wondered whether we'd show up in his pictures. We made faces and smashed our noses on the window.

Then Hans said, "I can't believe you're not blogging this."

Thus.




Oh, crap. I just found poker is on for tomorrow and now I really do have to ship-shape my stupid basement.

We always knew it wasn't going to happen until the last minute, didn't we?

[SUMMARY: Duh.]

You have a happy weekend. I'm going to go store some boxes out of sight.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): You are my new best friend!

%FOOTNOTE (percented): One of the many advantages to being at the home computer is access to that which Blogger ate yesterday.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Humour me.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): These two books were photographed using a very special technique wherein I stand each one on its spine on the bookcase in my office, take a horizontal photo, then turn the photo vertical in Corel. It's like old Hollywood special effects magic.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And ponchos! And pants! I'm NOT going to knit myself a pair of pants or a poncho, no matter what Barbara Walker tells me to do.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Or, more correctly, "...the current thinking about knitting sweaters craze..."

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Delusion itself is a marvelous tool.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): 'Cause fit is an issue. Y'know... sohows boobls and all.

§§FOOTNOTE (tams on the fly!): Dopier.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (gooses stepping): In all fairness to Mary Rowe, she did include charts for all the colourwork shown in the book and did give patterns for knitting tams... just not one specific pattern for one specific tam, if that makes sense.

##FOOTNOTE (pounding like a ghetto hoopty): I love that illustration. It reminds me of the little black-and-white cartoons in Playboy. Or Women's Day.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

I am willing to admit I may be the only one who thinks this is nose-swallowingly funny, but if anybody in the world would laugh along with me, it'd be y'all.

The latest in creative porn subject matter in my spam filter:

Dark Haired TEMENKSTeen Sohows Boobls & Thong. [sic]

TEMENKS might stand for something totally revolting, but right now, it's just *funny*.

Sohows Boobls & Thong may surpass "that is not my cow" as my favourite phrase ever.

Furry, Fun, Fantastic Fibre

Oh, there's fibre, lots of fibre. Fibre in several formats and stages of doneness.†

The first one is Sylvia's fault because she displayed a lovely feather-and-fan scarf‡ that was too compelling not to try. She doesn't carry Trendsetter, but Knit Knack does, so off I went to procure a couple of balls of the stuff.

All the rest is Sylvia's fault because she sold it to me. At a 40% discount. Like I'm going to leave deeply discounted alpaca on the shelf. Or, apparently, deeply discounted anything.§

[SUMMARY: Pusher, enabler, purveyor and my new best friend.]

Let us explore fibre in its wild state.

Neither of these has alpaca. Tonalita is 52/48 wool/acrylic and Venus is 50/50.




Now, these... these have alpaca. And silk. And wool. And knit up at 2.75 stitches to the inch for instant alpaca gratification.%





While Brother and Father have expressed a desire to never EVER knit again, they both tentatively agreed to knit a scarf for my grandmother wherein we each knit a portion.$ I had to promise big yarn and simple stitchery. And reassure Father there would be no heels in a scarf.

So the red is for that. The purple is all mine.¶

[SUMMARY: That wasn't so bad, was it?]

Then there's the fibre tamed into the domestic service of Man. Or eBeth, as the case may be.

Her glittens# now come with a matching howl.††

If the hat looks a little small to you, it's because it's not normal human-size. eBeth has a tiny, little pinhead.@ I'm not being mean. She'd agree with me if she were here.




Here it is in hat form...




...and howl form...‡‡




...and full-on cowl form.




[SUMMARY: Now it's a hat, now it's a cowl. Magic!]

May I take a little detour here?§§

I had a lovely picture¶¶ from the book## this pattern††† came from. I uploaded it, cropped it, sized it, made it all sharp and clear for the innernets and *poof!* It's not here.

This happens with alarming frequency and I'm beginning to think it isn't me. I think Blogger eats random photos from every post‡‡‡ like some mythical creature feeding on virgins or chickens or something.

[SUMMARY: Denial? Me? Nah...]

Here's fibre of a kind you never see from me: fabric.

A hundred years ago, Ally found this stuff and I've been coveting it ever since. Even though I don't so much sew.

Oh, I have a sewing machine and I know how to use it. For the last two years, it's been languishing in the garage, collecting dust and spiders.

But Sylvia has made some lovely project bags and I'm very partial to project bags so I decided I didn't just WANT project bags out of these prints, I NEED project bags out of these prints.

I also think I need a serger.

I got a yard each in pink, green and blue.^





[SUMMARY: My fibre fetish knows no bounds.§§§]

And I even have a flotilla of photos left for tomorrow. Books! Tomorrow, we explore books!

Good talk.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): In case you're wondering, sticking a toothpick in it doesn't give you any indication of doneness.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Amber made it. It was all rainbowy and cool. This is a different colourway, but I'm still anticipating a sort of red-rainbowy coolness.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You know the old joke, "I can't be out of money, I still have checks"? Well, my subconscious (shut up) philosophy is, "I still need yarn, there's still some on the shelf."

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Does that sound dirty to anyone else? Does anyone else want to come back as an alpaca so you can experience instant alpaca gratification?

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Yes, the Yarn Harlot did it. Yes, I'm copying. I am nothing if not derivative.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Purple 'paca gratification. Heh.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Her word -- gloves that turn into mittens.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): My word -- a hat that turns into a cowl.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): *snarf* I just noticed her hands appear to be bigger than her head. Remember the old second-grade bit where you'd tell someone if their hand was bigger than their face, they... had cancer, were smarter than everyone else, had a greater chance of working in the food industry... and when they put their hand up in front of their face to check you'd pop the back of their hand so they'd smack themselves in the nose? Good times, good times.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I like the way the howl striped -- magic!

§§FOOTNOTE (Tropical Storm Marin): Just try and stop me.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (stalkin' cross the gallery): First, if you get the reference in the parentheses, I'll bake you brownies. But back to the actual footnote: Actually the picture mostly illustrated that I apparently read my knitting books in the bathtub, but you can't see it so I can tell you anything.

##FOOTNOTE (double pounder with cheese): Hats: a Knitter's Dozen, by Knitter's Magazine.

†††FOOTNOTE (triple threat): Pattern being a loose term. It's 10 inches of 2x2 rib with an eyelet round and a drawstring.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (Frankenblog!): Which is why I so often don't have photos when I say I will. Really. Shut up. Prove it.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): And a yard of each in pink for Sylvia. Because I love her. And I may have to bribe her to make project bags for me if my sewing machine or new serger thwarts me.

§§§FOOTNOTE (whoosh!): Except maybe pet fur yarn. That still creeps me out.

Did We Have Any Doubt?

100%ALCOHOLIC

We'd never have proof† if it wasn't for Yvette.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): HA!

Frickin' Stock Show

OK, the sheep is a sheep and we all think that's pretty cool, but "pretty cool" is the tip of the iceberg† in describing the blistering cold that comes with the National Western Stock Show & Rodeo.

Every year. Every SINGLE year. It's like some weird childhood myth all bulked up on reality 'roids.

You know how you remember every afternoon that year you got a swimming pool it rained -- not just rained, but thundered and lightninged^ -- but if you actually talk to your parents or check the National Weather Service charts, it only rained once every two weeks in that rainy, rainy year, and was, in fact, considered one of the worst drought years in the history of your history? 'Cause all you can remember is the days you couldn't swim because of the thunderstorms? Even though there were only apparently two all summer?

This is like this, only everything you remember is true. You can have a fairly balmy November, a downright mild December and *BAM!* The second the Stock Show comes to town, the mercury plummets.

And by "you," I mean, "I."

[SUMMARY: Global warming, my ass.‡]

Those of you who live in the midwest or eastern seaboard know cold. And it's that moist, creepy cold that worms its way in through the very stitches in your clothing. It's a cold propelled by winds off the lake.@

But that's a relatively warm cold. If there is water in the air, it's warm enough that it hasn't all gone to ice. Not necessarily warm, but warmer than.

Here in the high desert, it gets bitter. Not the good bitter, like 70% cacao chocolate, but the nasty, biting bitter of a 40-year-old with no sex life, no romantic prospect and nothing but a spoiled cat to keep her company in these, her twilight years.§

Dry cold will hurt you.

Dry cold sands your eyes and turns your lungs to styrofoam when you try to breath. It frosts your nose hairs and aches your ears. Your face shrinks instantly like like time lapse photography of mud after a summer cloudburst in the desert. You go, "Waaauuuggghhhh!!!" when you exit your car.¶

[SUMMARY: Take that, dead horse!]

It gets too cold to snow.

So many people think I'm makin' shit up again when I say that, but it's absolutely true. A simplified version, but true. The colder the air temp, the less the capability of the atmosphere to hold water. Now, you can have snow at very low temperatures, but uplift factors and upper atmosphere issues come in.

In Colorado, we have no upper atmosphere. We have precious little atmosphere, period. So it gets really cold and the water that already wasn't there isn't capable of hanging around and it doesn't snow.#

Or it spits these minute, stinging ice pellets.††

Damned unpleasant, that's what it is.

[SUMMARY: Someone got up on the cold side of the bed this morning.]

I did wake up to a newsletter from The Brown Palace in my email today:


A Bull in a China Cabinet at The Brown Palace,
Friday, Jan. 25

Well, not really a bull, or a china cabinet, but this is as close as it gets. The National Western Stock Show's 2008 Grand Champion Steer will walk down a red carpet to be put on display during Afternoon Tea in the hotel's lobby. From 11 a.m. - 1 p.m., catch a close-up of the steer and have complimentary photos taken with him.


[SUMMARY: Every fucking bitter cold winter cloud has a silver lining.]

In even brighter news, I did go to the mailbox this morning% and send many thanks to Cheryl, for rewarding me -- simply for having the most tasteless neighbours$ -- with a shiny copy of "Drunk, Divorced and Covered in Cat Hair."

And to Annie B, my new best friend at Interweave, for gifting me a book of my own choosing from the Interweave library for all my hard work‡‡ on Sticks 'n' Stitches. The "Knitted Tams" book bears closer scrutiny at a slightly later date, but let me tell you I'm excited about the principles it illustrates.§§

Speaking of principles, I also got Barbara Walker's "Knitting from the Top," and I'd like to thank Taos Books for not thinking just because other people are charging upwards of $100 for the book, they have to jump off that building too.¶¶

You'll also be pleased to know I brought my camera AND yarns and knitting books to the office to photograph them in daylight. You know what this means: I can knock off a thousand words for every photo I post.##

[SUMMARY: Tomorrow may be a better day.]

Besides, knitting pictures always make it all better.



†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Dude, I should write for Parade or one of those low-quality anti-journalistic fluff additions to the Sunday paper. Did you see that stilted opening? The tortured segueway? The bad, bad pun? Of course, I meant it all *ironically*...

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Yes, I'm pretty sure that's a word.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Well, not so much an ass as a sheep.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): There's always a lake.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Maybe I'm projecting.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which I did. And scared the nice, normal guy waiting to cross at the light next to me.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): It has to be really, really cold to actually be "too cold to snow," according to my research, but I've also been in 40-below cold. See: Gunnison (my home town and college stomping grounds). Also? "Uplift" might not be a technical weather term. I think I got it from a Victoria's Secret catalog.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): No-see-ums for the ice age.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Yea, me!

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): I'd like to thank the Academy and god and my parents and the Kislings...

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

§§FOOTNOTE (twister! ): And the pretty pictures.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (gophers): As in, "If all the other bookstores jumped off a building, would you jump off a building too?" For the record, it was a very reasonable $18.50, deemed to be in "very good" condition and is actually in brand new condition.

##FOOTNOTE (pounding like a Stock Show wind): I said, "can," not "will."

Heads Up

I was reading through the latest Vogue Knitting last night when I ran across a blurb on the knitting in "Pushing Daisies."

As those of us currently jonesing for an end to the writers' strike so we can cosy up with this Burton-esque little show know, the irascible Emerson Cod knits.† Prolifically.

Turns out there's a woman‡ who is sort of the go-to gal for knitting on screen in Hollywood. She taught Chi McBride to knit convincingly for the camera, and occasionally hangs around on-set to be sure he's still on track.

She also knits all the holsters, kleenex box covers, coffee cup cosies and other knit items that are piling up on the show. Apparently, they will continue to accumulate to illustrate his love for the craft and level of tension. So she will continue to invent and knit.

[SUMMARY: Best. Job. Ever.]

I F'd another O last night, just a simple little something I whipped up to go with eBeth's glittens.§

Poor eBeth still doesn't have her Christmas glittens and now it appears I'm withholding a second item from her.

[SUMMARY: Meanest. Sister-in-law. Ever.]

I could tell you about how the giant mucus wad that's sat in my throat for the last month has multiplied like Steve McQueen's blob and migrated both into my chest and into my sinuses, leaving me wheezing moistly and big-headed¶ with a dry, cottony cough... but you don't really want to hear about my phlegm issues.

[SUMMARY: Best. Marketing Plan. Ever. Possibly even better than my "sex sells" scam.]

I haven't checked my mailbox in a week, but I bet there are all kinds of good knitting things I could share with you if I did.#

Why do you suppose it's so hard to get the mail from the box a block away? Is it because I can't poke my head out while clad only in my robe and just pluck it off the door frame like I used to be able to do? Or do you think it's more psychological... like how I only get about half my real mail, all my junk mail and a goodly portion of various neighbour's mails†† and it's just too disheartening to see?

[SUMMARY: Laziest. Postal customer. Ever.]

Yeah. I shot my wad in that first bit. I got nothing exciting today.‡‡

Tomorrow is another day.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Y'know... so he doesn't kill people.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And if I were half a reporter, I'd remember her name. Or at least have taken note.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): A word I co-opted from eBeth herself.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): If the head cold makes my head feel bigger, why doesn't the chest cold make my boobs feel bigger?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I know I have good knitting things to share because even if none of the mail-order knitting han't arrived, I have a small shopping spree from the January sale at Posh at home. If my camera, yarn and I are ever seen together in daylight hours again, you might just see them. It may be June.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And some non-neighbours too. I've received stuff addressed to the Jiffy Lube at 1525 South Kipling in Lakewood. Wrong name, wrong numbers, wrong direction, wrong street, wrong city, wrong zip. I've received stuff where the postal carrier has transposed odd combinations of numbers to where I feel I can almost get where he decided to put that mail in my box ("Hmmmm... the last two digits of their zip is the same as the first two digits of my street number. I'm on a number street. They're on a name street that begins with the same letter, if you spelled out the number. Oh, his name is Mike. Maybe the M confused the postal carrier..."). I have yet to receive anything from an entirely different state, but that day may be coming.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): See excuses under bits 2 and 3.

Clean Sheet Night

Soft, sweet-smelling and 100% cat hair free.†

I love clean sheet night.

Brother says he doesn't get it. It may be a boy-girl thing.‡ eBeth feels the same way I do, but it doesn't make the slightest difference to Brother.

"They're all soft," I say.

"My wife says that."

"And they smell good," I continue.

"My wife says that."

"What about the cat hair?" I plead.

He shrugs and gives me a look not unlike the exasperated look I gave my compadres during the great hallucinogenic experiment of 1984, wherein I wished to convey my disdain and disgust§ at being left out of the joke.

"The trees are purple and the sky is orange," they said.

"Everything is black and grey and white and I'm bored and I want to go home."¶

And Brother says, "A bed is a bed. I just want to go to sleep."

So I get the sentiment if not the impetus.

And, oh, how I don't get the impetus.

[SUMMARY: The education of a little brother is an uphill battle.]

How could you not breathe deep the bouquet of fabric softener? Not enjoy the smooth coolness of a newly-stretched bottom sheet? Not revel in the smoothness of bedding unwrinkled by human wallowing?

And that last bit is important to me. See, I sleep naked.

[SUMMARY: Here we go.]

You may think I'm going off on one of my flights of questionable taste,# but it's really one of the dorkiest remnants of childhood ever.

When I was eight, Diane Dunn, who lived in the house right behind ours,†† told me "beauty sleep" meant sleeping naked.% We were pretty sure that meant if you slept naked, you would grow up beautiful.

I was smart enough to rationalise that bit of information under the idea of letting one's skin breathe and maybe even some sort of rudimentary idea of exfoliation, but apparently not smart enough to be wary of taking beauty advice from an eight-year-old.

I had freckles and curly hair and a very snub little nose. In the 70's, when Cher ruled (and Suzanne, who had waist-length, glossy, black STRAIGHT hair^), a hyper-intelligent mop of a child was just goofy.

When the girls played Celebrity at recess, I couldn't because nobody knew of a celebrity with short, curly hair.

"Anne Murray?" I said hopefully, thinking of the cover of the album Mom gave me.

"We don't know who that is," said Suzanne, regretfully.

Don't hate on Suzanne. Suzanne was actually very kind about it, if not particularly helpful. She really wanted me to be able to play with them, she just didn't know how I could possibly fit in.

I dreamed‡‡ of going to school and shocking all the denizens of recess by pulling off the goofy mask to reveal Alexandra Anastasia, an adopted princess§§ making her way through the Cypress-Fairbanks public school system. Then I'd be my own celebrity and I'd get to do whatever it was that the girls who played Celebrity did.

Incidentally, this was when I started playing with boys.

[SUMMARY: The foibles of youth shape the misadventures of adulthood.]

Anyway, taking beauty sleep seemed as good a regimen as any to reach my Alexandra Anastasia goals.

Surprisingly enough, it didn't work.

[SUMMARY: Duh.]

Not so surprisingly, I still sleep naked.¶¶ Mostly because I' m so used to it, any sleep clothes are uncomfortable in the extreme. Elastic make me crazy. Night shirts twist around me when I turn over.

Cuffs... don't even get me started on cuffs.

But my point -- and I do have one -- is that clean sheets are all the more exciting for me because they don't have lint and kitty litter and wrinkles and a hundred other irritants that the clothed may not even notice.

[SUMMARY: I *love* clean sheet night.]

Which is a long way of getting to the fact that it's Monday and I didn't want to get out of bed this morning.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And litter. So much litter. How can that cat carry a quarter-cup of litter in his tiny little paws up 33 stairs and across the vast carpeted wasteland of the living room? It has to be deliberate.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Which begs the question, "Why do I feel compelled to change the sheets BEFORE a boy comes to spend the night?"

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And secret envy.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Besides the secret envy, I was also secretly worried that I would lose out on a whole lifetime of fantastic under-the-influence experiences. I couldn't get drunk, magic mushrooms apparently didn't work... even something as simple as No-Doz left me aching to hurt like my friends did. My, how things have changed. That 17-year-old me would be so proud to see the 40-year-old me soused to the gills on champagne, flat on my back on my living room floor whimpering, "I just want to be normal again. I just want to be normal again."

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And after last week's "sex sells" scam, how could I blame you?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And was BFF with Allison Greenwood, who was NINE, for Pete's sake. Revel in the credibility.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): In retrospect, it may be Diane walked in on her parents post-boff or early in the morning and her flustered mom offered her the beauty sleep explanation to explain her nudity.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Interestingly enough, Suzanne also had a boyfriend. A year older than us. Which I felt lent her extra credibility. A therapist could have a field day.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Literally.

§§FOOTNOTE (is anyone else getting dizzy?): The fact that my nose was exactly my mother's and my curly hair and bright blue eyes were exactly my father's didn't take anything away from the fantasy that I was some sort of changeling.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (dancing on the ceiling): I kinda wonder if Diane still does too.

Lyda, Sarah...

...let's all clean! GO!

It's a Bird! It's a Plane!

TTHFCIF


It's an FO!

I know and trust y'all to fill in the appropriate whiny noises over my werk situation the last couple of days. Don't abuse that trust -- make it really, really annoying and high-pitched.

[SUMMARY: Breezy.]

In hopes of making yesterday's little SNAFU† a distant memory, I'm providing what I think are truly spectacular FO pictures, pictures to rival the Retarded Superhero Theatre of Christmas.

Without further ado,‡ eBeth's Mom Mittens§

In their resting state...¶




Now, watch it go from glove...




...to Muppet...

wacka wacka wacka



...to snake puppet...




...mitten!#




TA-DAAAAAA!

[SUMMARY: Are you not entertained?]

In the ongoing series of Stuff Out My Office Window, we witnessed a nasty bus-pedestrian accident the other day.††




The pedestrian had the light. The pedestrian was in the crosswalk. The bus was making a left turn and hit the pedestrian. We believe the pedestrian survived, as nothing turned up in the news. However, we‡‡ also believe it was questionable at the time because they were measuring all kinds of stuff.

The white mini-van was the RTD insurance/legal guy, who was filling out forms and taking pictures and generally wandering around in the middle of the street and almost got hit himself through his own dumbassery.

I begin to question the overall intelligence of your basic RTD on-the-street guy.

Anyway, the pedestrian was placed on a surfboard and transferred from the ground to the ambulance, which sat right there for at least 45 minutes. This lead to more wild speculation from the peanut gallery.

"Don't you think that's a bad sign?" asked the client. "If you have an injured person..."

We all took a moment of silence for the implied dead guy.

That night at Drunken Knitting, further speculation took us to the idea that the victim needed to be stabilised before he could be transported.

In any case, it never showed up on the news, so we may never know.

Being a curious sort, I asked the questions, "Are there passengers on the bus? Are they just sitting there waiting for the investigation to be done? When they're done, are they going to let the errant bus driver drive the bus back to the bus barn? Will he get a ticket? Will he get arrested?"

The answers:

1. Yes.
2. Sort of -- that bus on the left in the picture actually showed up to pick up the passengers from the bus of doom.
3. No. They sent a second RTD guy in a second white mini-van to cart the driver off to RTD debriefing (I assume).
4. Yes.
5. No.

[SUMMARY: Bus-pedestrian collision procedure. Know it. Live it.]

I'm pretty sure you have to have at least three items to make a proper pig-licking, so let me squeeze out one more story for y'all before I leave you to your own devices§§ for the weekend.

Last Sunday, in a fit of adult responsibility and unforeseen foresight,¶¶ I decided to stock up on vacuum cleaner bags against the coming cleaning spree.

You see, I will be hosting poker on the 19th in my very cool basement## and am fully aware that there is a fine layer of dust, kitty litter and cat hair over EVERYTHING in the basement. Not to mention the part where I leave any residual laundry that won't fit in a load in a pile by the washing machine, which then gets kicked over and spread about so my basement looks like the aftermath of a tornado in the garment district.

But I digress...

I went to Sears††† to get a new HEPA filter and bags for my vaccum cleaner. I located the empty pegs where they should have been, but instead found a sign saying, "Please ask a sales associate for assistance."

After the requisite half-hour quest‡‡‡ for a sales associate, I was informed by the pompadoured infant who "helped" me, "Well, there's nothing on the hook, so clearly we're out of them."

And if the sign on the hook had said, "Clearly we're out of these," I wouldn't have wasted his valuable associate time.

When pressed, he admitted they might be getting a shipment on Tuesday. Or Thursday.

[SUMMARY: Inventory is more art than science.]

So guess how I'm spending my Friday night? Yeah, baby. I can honestly say that this Friday night? I will totally suck.



†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Knitter SNAFU: Stitches and needles, all frogged up...?

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Don't you "much ado about nothing" me, young lady. Go to your room.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Mom Mittens 'cause I figure she has to hook up car seats and tie shoes and scrape guacamole off shirt fronts and other things that require naked, fully functioning fingertips. In the real world, you call them Convertible Gloves. Which makes less sense because I don't know that eBeth has ever even owned a convertible.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Isn't self-striping yarn just a little miracle? Angelique (who is a professional roadie, therefore joining Tina-Avril-Lavigne's-Former-Assistant in the ranks of people who cut my Six Degrees from Hugh Laurie by a high percentage of degrees) and I were talking about it at Drunken Knitting the other night. How do they know it's going to stripe instead of clot or zig? Miracle, I tell you. And I'm glad Angelique is on that particular dork wagon with me. Oh, I know some of you who actually dye will want to get all technical and stuff, but I know I'm not alone in self-striping worship.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yes, that's my black leather jacket. Yes, I feel I'm cool enough to wear black leather. Yes, I feel I can pull black leather and mittens off. Yes, I've always been a little delusional. Thank you for asking.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I took pictures. I know it's in questionable taste. The client, Hans and I were looking out the window, speculating wildly, when Hans said, "I can't believe you're not blogging this." Besides, I think it's part of my quest to educate the masses to be able to tell you definitively that a bus driver who hits a pedestrian is not allowed to drive the bus back to the bus barn. And provide the artistic statement of the police car sitting on the reflection of the power outlet. Deep.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): And by "we," I mean "I," since someone told me long ago -- and it may be purley apocryphal -- that they only measure when someone dies, looks like they might die, or there's more than some large dollar amount in damages (presumably if you crashed your car into Big Bob's House of Caviar and Crystal. Or a Bentley).

§§FOOTNOTE (do the twist!): May all your devices be C-Battery or better.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (Bam! Bam!): There's an oxymoron if ever I wrote one.

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a Jenny Craig before picture): I believe "cool" to all the married guys that will be joining me means mostly there's no carpet to ruin and no wife to bitch about the cigar smoke.

†††FOOTNOTE (really, really cross): Motto: Hide and Seek, You're It.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (just stitched together there): They want to make sure you're serious about needing help. They don't want to offer their valuable service to just any schlub seeking assistance on a whim. No, you earn your Sales Associate at Sears.

Some People...

...will do *anything* for attention.

Yesterday's little lesson in marketing was, of course, SEX SELLS. If your beer is blah, drop the Swedish Bikini Team in to liven it up. If you† got nothing to say, talk about sex.‡

Today's little lesson in marketing: the tease.

If your movie isn't coming out until next Christmas, tease, tease, tease. It may backfire, but the tease can generate at least a pretty good opening weekend.

[SUMMARY: Yeah, I got nothing.]

WATCH THIS SPACE!§

Tomorrow: an FO!¶


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And by, "you," I mean, "I."

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Or at least put "sex" in the title. I'm going to run another experiment one of these days and put one of those truly fucked up spam email titles like, "unsurpassable doxy playing with shaved pussy" or "goluptious whores" in the heading, then talk about nothing but the technical aspects of knitting a sock and see how many hits I get without actually talking about anything X-rated.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Oh, if only I could outline that in neon and make it blink...

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Hoping all the hype won't backfire on me.

Sex, Baby

Let's talk about it, shall we?

I mean, those who can't† do... talk.^

This is sort of a mini sexual pig-licking,‡ as I have a couple of little tidbits I've wanted to share, but not enough for a full-blown§ post of any one subject.

Let's be honest. I've been looking for an excuse to drop these in casual blog conversation, but it turns out that's not possible and I'm getting impatient.

Besides, hey, it's been awhile... for talking, I mean. Y'all are going to think I'm doing nothing but knitting and nursing my fabulous TiVi career.

[SUMMARY: Slow news day.]

First, a little trivia:

You know how a lot of sex toys (see: The Rabbit) have animals and faces and all sorts of odd sculptural elements to them? They're not just molded for your pleasure, that used to be a way to get them past customs.

When Asian countries exported such things to the US, there was a time when they had to dress them up to justify calling them art or cultural items so they wouldn't get caught in the obscenity web at US Customs and the postal service.

Why are they still that way today? I'm guessing that once you know The Rabbit, that's what you look for in a battery-driven device. You don't want to switch to, say, the Buzzbuddy 3000 with no bunny ears and cheery faces.

[SUMMARY: I said "battery-driven device."]

*************

I have two documentaries to recommend to you:

If you have HBO and On Demand, find the Katie Morgan series. Seriously. I'll wait here.

Other than that, there is a half-hour HBO documentary¶ called "Katie Morgan: Porn 101." It's funny, charming, informative, interesting... you'll even stop noticing Katie's enormous, naked breasts after a few minutes.

I love Katie Morgan. I'll probably never see one of her movies because porn bores the daylights out of me, but I love this HBO stuff.

HBO also ran "Inside Deep Throat"# which is incredibly interesting% in a historical and sociological way as well as the more prurient titillation you might get from the subject matter.

For instance, it explores the way video technology has changed the quality of pornography, as they now crank out scriptless, plotless fuck-fests as fast as they can make them whereas there used to be some nod to a storyline and production values.††

It also speaks to the obscenities charges brought up against the producers and stars, the Meese Commission and the effect those trials had on the lives of those involved, the skin industry and the nation.

You know what floored me about that? Testimony behind the Meese Report was well within my lifetime. Not just my lifetime, but my conscious news-gathering memory (1986). Yet I don't remember it,§§ nor did I really know much about it until I watched this movie.

[SUMMARY: FILM. Not movies, not flicks... FILM. Really.]

*************

So I was watching re-runs of "That 70's Show" and saw insinuation of a pop rocks blow job.

Anybody ever try this? Care to report? How 'bout that Altoids thing that went around the email circuit a couple of years ago?

[SUMMARY: Education is not all dispersal of information; you must also gather information.]

*************

Did you know there is a MUSCLE in a guy's balls?

Let me drop some science on you:

The sac around each testicle has a thin layer called the cremasteric‡‡ muscle. It acts as a sort of thermostat/insullation to keep his cojones at the right temp for sperm production. Confession: I thought the concept of a guys testicles drawing up into his body was figurative. Turns out it was literal. The cremasteric muscle pulls them up and drops them down in response to outside temperature.

Imagine. Or did you already know all this? Am I the last to know? Why didn't anyone tell me?

Also? If you tickle the inside of a guy's thighs, the muscle has a reflex response and jumps a little, which could be amusing in a penis puppet kind of way.

[SUMMARY: Ask Dr. Science...]

*************

Has anybody else seen the Viva Viagra commercial? Why is it Elvis's estate won't sell the catalog to iTunes but will allow "Viva Viagra" to be played in blatant disregard for taste and good sense?

Could Viagra really provide more income than iTunes?

[SUMMARY: In which we ask the unanswerable questions.]

*************

Now for a tiny bit of knitting, so's y'all's heads don't collectively explode.

I have bound off Lizard Ridge. I have blocked two of the four strips and will block the other two... soon. If I get a chance, I'm going to pick up some Cascade 220 for the edging and joining tonight.

You may even see pictures before the month is up.

[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!]



†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I don't mean physically, I don't mean I don't got mad skillz... just not the same without, say, a partner. For six months. But who's counting?

^FOOTNOTE (careted): And, y'know -- excite the forces of Google since we APPARENTLY can't excite red-blooded American males in person. Not that I'm bitter. Or frustrated.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): All due respect to Marvin Gaye, not exactly like sexual healing, but you could write a song about it. Besides, how often do you suppose I'll get a chance to say "sexual pig-licking" and get away with it?

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): *snort*

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Shortest. Documentary. Ever. Speaking of short films... has anybody seen the 30-Second Bunnies Theater films? I wouldn't recommend watching them en ouevre, as the novelty wears off in... oh, about 30 seconds, but funny when you run across them out in the wild.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): *gigglesnort*

%FOOTNOTE (percented): As opposed to the simple "interesting" from the paragraph above.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And you find out that Linda Lovelace lived in one of the beige neighbourhoods in suburban Denver before her death in a car accident (also in Denver) in 2002. This may be more interesting to me than to you.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Is it just me or does that word seem dirty?

§§FOOTNOTE (jacuzzi jets!): Which may be because that was early in my college career and I was paying more attention to boys, booze and music than actual news.

Lookie!

I won! I won!

Weekend Between the Pipes

For those of you not hockey-literate, that has nothing to do with the crack y'all might assume I've been smoking, lo, these past 10 months.†

Genius Sarah and I toddled over to the Pepsi Center early to "help set up." I use quotes because Annie and Sandi were really on top of it and didn't so much *need* us. But it did give us an opportunity to insist the security people at the Pepsi Center call all over the arena on their radios to get us clearance.‡

[SUMMARY: Wreaking havoc wherever I go...]

Sylvia sent a load of fuzzy crack and some fantastic prizes§ along, so we lugged those up to the Interweave Sticks 'n' Stitches% table at Section 317.

Mostly we just stood around for awhile, jawing and shifting from foot to foot. Sandi was hungry, so we went in search of our complimentary hot dogs at Section 354. "Why 354?" you might ask, when there were stands so much closer to the table at 317 and our actual seating in Section 312.

I'm guessing because you had to pass a lot of mini bars on the way and they hoped knitters wouldn't be able to pass up the chance to belly up to the bar. As I liked to say when subsequent knitters asked where it was,¶ "Go past the beer stand, two Tuaca bars and the margarita bar and it's on your left."

[SUMMARY: You know more about Pepsi Center concessions than you ever needed to know.]

Sandi, my new best friend, managed to escape my camera,^ but I snapped this lovely shot of my new best friend, Annie, and Sarah# just before the floodgates opened.




Knitters started showing up in small droves, perusing the available goodies and walking away with new stash. And magazines. And patterns. And project bags. And Posh coupons.

Annie told us when we got there to grab what we wanted and I thought, "Well, I'll just wait and see if there's anything left that speaks to me. Let the other knitters have first crack."††

This would be knitters. Taking first crack.



Sarah and I manned‡‡ the table between the second and third periods, just in case there were additional donations to Warm Up America and it looked like locusts had descended upon the table. There were a few magazines and random patterns left, but the knitters had done a pretty good job of denuding the crops.

Which is OK. I don't need any more yarn.

[SUMMARY: Need is such a confining word.]

Hockey knitters at work and play



I also got to meet my new best friend, Brendan, my rock star contact at the Colorado Avalanche. Isn't he cute? He even asked after my Lizard Ridge.§§ Apparently, Brendan's brother-in-law¶¶ works at Interweave. Maybe in accounting.

[SUMMARY: Six Degrees of Interweave Press.]




Now, this one I'm sharing, despite its god-awful camera shake because it made me laugh. More than once.




I caught Genius Sarah in a yawn, but doesn't it look like she's harmonising with the guy behind her and the chick down front? And I love the look on the face of the girl in the lower right corner. Like she was caught doing something naughty.##

[SUMMARY: Everything's naughty with the wrong mindset.]

TiVi STAR UPDATE: eBeth, the SIL, caught my SupaStar appearance on the TiVi at the gym. For those of you not following along in the comments, she first recognised me by my HANDS. Which shows a dedication to the cause I find admirable.

Also? I can't help but wonder if I went to the gym more if it might not have been bigger publicity for me. Y'know... like people would look up and say, "Hey! Isn't that the chick who's on the treadmill every day? I spotted her on the free weights last week! Ooooh! Brush with greatness!"

[SUMMARY: I may have to revisit the New Year's Resolution thing to include going to the gym more simply for recognition factor.]

Happy Monday, y'all. It's going to be a long, long week -- the first time some of us have to work five full days in AGES.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): It refers to the goal... the area between the pipes that make up the frame on the net in hockey. Let it never be said I'm not wildly educational.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): They don't let people in more than one hour before the game (we were there at 5:30 for a 7:00 drop), but you see, we weren't just PEOPLE. We were VOLUNTEERS.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I know the Columbus Blue Jackets are also hosting a Sticks 'n' Stitches, for those of my peeps in the Greater Columbus Metro Area. There may be others -- check with your local teams. If your local teams aren't on board, maybe you should look into Sticks 'n' Stitches of your own for next season.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Lovely little project bags madly run up on her serger in the back room of Posh like Nikes in a Thai sweatshop.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Because I think I'm funny.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): It was Sandi's first hockey game ever, so Annie wanted to be sure she didn't miss the skate-around or the gobo-infused introductions. Annie's from North Dakota, so she knows how important the whole hockey *experience* is for a virgin hockey watcher.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Note Sarah, in true Genius fashion, sporting the Koolhaas hat from the Interweave Holiday Issue. I'm beginning to think a good reason to knit stuff for myself would be so I have something handknit to show off at knitting events. Or so I can suck up to the Interweave crew by wearing something from their publications.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): First FUZZY crack... BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! *sniff* Sometimes I crack me up.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Knittered?

§§FOOTNOTE (tempest-toss'd): He didn't know he was asking after my Lizard Ridge, per se... he just asked what I was knitting, made some appropriately non-commital appreciative noise and exhibited extra interest by grasping the concept that I would be sewing the strip together with other strips to make a blanket.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (gone clubbing!): Or brother. Or sister-in-law. I'm old and feeble and don't necessarily remember the details, but I KNOW Brendan has family at Interweave somehow.

##FOOTNOTE (pounding like a tequila hangover): Hand-in-the-cookie-jar naughty, not rug-burns-from-the-stairs naughty.