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.