Hodge Podge

Let's see...

Lotta little stuff. Nada so big.

I went to Posh for their sale yesterday. Sylvia, my pusher, allowed me out of the store with at least one ball of sock yarn more than I really needed. See, I wanted to get some of that nice Elsebeth Lavold Silky Wool (a hank or two maybe) to make more Branching Outs, 'cause I thought IRL Kelly's was such fun and I figured they'd make great keep-on-hand gifts.

Well, Elsebeth Lavold is 20% off at Sylvia's crack den. I got five.**

And the sock yarn. But it has aloe vera, which makes it totally new and different** and thus worthy of a place in my stash.

Here's the damage (I posted that middle picture because my camera almost captured the rich burgundy purplocity of the rich burgundy-purple-brown yarn. If my camera can find the purple, I think it's worth encouraging it with a little good pub).

[SUMMARY: If I get hit by a bus tomorrow, who will knit all the socks and scarves from my stash?]

So as long as I had the camera out last night, I took pictures of the non-fuckme shoes I got at Nordy's last week. The girl noises shoes. Note they are satin (what the HELL was I thinking? Oh, right, I wasn't thinking, I was overtaken by cute shoe fumes and it-fits-my-fat-little-feet hormones and wasn't thinking AT ALL, just waving the credit card in the air madly and making girl noises), which means they have the lifespan of a fruit fly in my world, but what a ride we'll have while the riding's good!

The bow... oh, the bow (*moan*)

[SUMMARY: I really don't have the time, patience or cashflow for another passion, but the shoes... *moan*]

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

Some time in the near future, maybe on your lunch hour, I want you to go listen to this song,** which I dedicate to the ones I love.**

[SUMMARY: Sandra Boynton rocks. Or maybe waddles. You know, like a penguin.]

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

Here is the list of non-knitting Google searches that brought people to this blog:

horse "laurie post"

where the beer canteloupe play

watches run backward

naughty librarian

g&h green stamps
"what killed the dinosaurs, darling"

I have no idea about that first one.

[SUMMARY: I'm a little surprised "balls" and "fuck me" didn't figure a little more prominently in that.]

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

I KIB'd at New Bar last night, much to the delight of Kelly the Bartendress. However, it turns out she's kind of the NASCAR fan of knitting, 'cause she mostly wanted to see what happened if I screwed up. When I failed to count to three in the universally prescribed fashion, I told her I was getting ready to tink, should she care to watch. She was so disappointed. She wanted to see a big hole in my knitting.

Kelly mixes a hell of a drink, but I worry about her around my knitting. She may have a... counter-productive attitude.

New Bar is opening a rooftop patio in June. Fast Eddie is strongly advocating water balloons for the rooftop denizens. And he mixes a hell of a drink too.

[SUMMARY: A good bar is a joy forever. A good bartender, doubly so.]

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

I will be experiencing a Brasilian meatfest tonight.

Yeah, I wish. If you know any Brasilian meats that'd like to meet me in a dimly-lit room for the kind of Marinhandling you just thought about, let me know.

Boy-best-friend Steve has a hankering for Rodizio, so off we go. I haven't actually seen Steve since the Super Bowl, so that'll be nice.

Not much to say there, but telling y'all gave me a chance to use the Brasilian meatfest line.

Style over substance, baby. Style over substance.

[SUMMARY: Did I really offer to give up sex for the sake of knitting a couple of blogposts back? Did anybody believe me?]

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

Dr. Doom's (third) birthday is this weekend. Cutest, appealingest destructo-child EVER.

[SUMMARY: My nephew did the cutest thing...]

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

Check this: IRL Kelley and I frequently have conversations that start like, "Have you been to..." On those occasions where the answer is "no," we do the we-have-to-do-that dance. So we decided to make a checklist so we'll get to some of it.

Then Kelley came up with the brilliant idea to each come up with ten things, write each on its own scrap of paper, then pull one out of a hat when the question of, "What do you want to do, sister?" comes up.

It appeals to the slut-for-ritual and the little kid interactive sides of me.

[SUMMARY: It's good to know where you're going. Or sometimes not.]

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

I was walking down the 16th Street Mall** and got in a weird (and disturbing) mental zone where I was accutely aware of panty lines all around me. Then I saw a girl with no panty lines of any kind and I'm not sure I like knowing so clearly what she's not wearing under her clothes.

[SUMMARY: You can please some of the people none of the time.]

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

If you go to Red's blog, you can see her pictures of Woolstock, and even a picture of yours truly amongst the knitters, standing next to that pusher, Sylvia.

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

In a sort of best-for-last bit, I just want y'all to know I got an EMAIL from the YARN HARLOT yesterday.

Yeah, you'd wet your pants if you got one, trust me.

See, when I told y'all I have ten projects on the needles, I *accidentally* left out maybe four. Or five. Not that you can trust me to count to four. Or five. Since the Harlot was talking UFOs, yesterday, I just commented on my dorkitude and lack of math skills and how the curly scarf is in the basket BEHIND my TiVi chair, so I can't see it so in a solipsistic sort of world it doesn't exist (Schroedinger's Scarf)... anyway. I said that I simply didn't mean to lie.

She replied to say "You're not lying. You're being selective in your admission."

Now, if only she could explain my stash to Sex Toy, we might be getting somewhere.

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

Happy Friday!

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Sylvia-the-Pusher kept reminding me that if I bought ten skeins of something, I'd get an additional discount.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Sock yarn is not simply sock yarn. There are shades of sock yarn. There is sock yarn technology. That's my story and I'm sticking with it.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): If you were sullen in the 80s, you might get "Personal Penguin" dovetailing into the tune of "Personal Jesus." There is nothing wrong with this, unless you're horrified to find you think very much like me.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked and almost forgotten): This would be most of you guys, in case you didn't get that.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): When the 16th Street Mall was first installed in downtown Denver, the Denver Post had a contest to name it. Much had been made of it being a mile long in the mile high city and on 16th Street, so, naturally, they wanted a name that wasn't so trite as to use any of those devices.

It has never been anything but the 16th Street Mall.

fridayfridayfridayfridayfriday

I'm almost afraid to ask -- could it really be true? Is it... FRIDAY?

Thought I was going to blow.

I'm exhausted, my friends. I'm just going to give it all to you straight. Well, as straight as my fuzzy little head will allow. But there are knitting pictures, so everything will be alright.

[SUMMARY: uh oh]

Last night was a pretty good evening to be a Marin.

I walked to Other Favourite bar to catch the first halves of the first games and have a beer. Then I walked to Posh, my homeLYS, for Stitch n Bitch. Would you believe... well, remember how the first (last) time I went, it was a bridal shower of some sort? And there was food and wine and stuff? Well, I managed to show up for a baby shower this time. My timing is impeccable.

I got pictures this time, albeit bad ones. I was trying hard not to be obnoxious and obtrusive and just didn't take the time to set up and focus, even for a second, so, say, Mary Kay wouldn't have to be photoshopped with the sharpening tool until she looks like a Vermeer (not necessarily a bad thing, just a thing I wasn't aiming for) or Heather wouldn't have snacks growing out of her head. So apologies, as always, to all but the Male Lady when I dork your photo.

It doesn't necessarily mean I don't love you anymore.

Heather, 39.57143 weeks pregnant, with gift on belly and snacks growing out of head


Isn't she all glowy? Even with the snack-head thing? That tiny little garment on her bump (is it still a bump at this phase? At what point do molehills become mountains? Other than when there's an AntiM obsession involved, I mean.) is the cutest little dress that's ADJUSTABLE (genius!). Mary Kay crocheted it for Heather out of (I believe I heard) sock yarn.

Mary Kay, my new best friend from last time, happy amid the yarn, very Girl With the Pearl


Red and Janet


In re: Janet: Janet was kind enough to introduce herself and her mother-by-proxy (Irma) to me. Now, I had two pictures of Irma that were bad enough that I simply couldn't do it to her, couldn't post them (given the calibre of the photos I *did* post, you can imagine... poor Irma). She's a lovely woman and deserves better.

In re: Red: Red is to a blogdork what Dan Quayle was to comedians. And I mean that in the best possible way. You'll be hearing more about Red. I just have a feeling. If nothing else, Red is our resident Sex Toy Distributor to be.

The Naughty Librarian and Red


All apologies to the Naughty Librarian. She was loads of fun the first (last) time I went and loads of fun this time and I've never managed to catch her name. But she really is a librarian. And I'm pretty sure she's naughty.

[SUMMARY: I may do more bitching than stitching and maybe should take fewer pictures or have fewer beers.]

Huh. I had a picture of Sylvia, too. Not a good picture, and she's probably just as happy I somehow managed to leave it on the home computer, but... I hate getting old and feeble.

Sylvia owns Posh and she's just as fun and lovely, warm and fuzzy as a yarn shop owner should be. I called her before I left work yesterday. It went something like this:

"Hi, Sylvia? This is Marin. I've been in the shop a couple of times... you don't know me by name... I don't know why I even told you my name... I don't expect you to know who I am... I'm a dork..."

(Remember my first phone call to Kelley? Not as emotionally fraught, every bit as fucking painful.)

"That's OK. I'll still talk to you." Because that's just the kind of generous soul Sylvia is.

"Do you have blocking pins?"

She doesn't, really, and by the time I left the office, I realised I had a choice to make: trip to fabric store for t-pins or trip to bar for basketball. Guess which I chose?

I did go to the grocery store and bought regular ol' straight pins. It wasn't the best solution. And I blocked MBBO on a towel, which meant the pins didn't really get anchored so well.

Worst. Blocking. Ever.


Medium Blue Branching Out on to the horizon and closeup for stitch detail



Cat for scale


I think this scarf is pretty forgiving. Maybe most blocking is. Maybe it doesn't matter if you don't end up with a picture-perfect geometric marvel in the blocking phase. I dunno. Never blocked before.

In any case, MBBO didn't fight the pins, so stretching it out and leaving it pretty much did the trick. The pins were just this side of incidental. And would you believe... it's actually is 60" long? I never would have thought it possible. Imagine what I could have done with the right tools. Next time, I'll definitely use a sheet instead of a towel and longer, sturdier pins.

I'll try to get a pic of Kelley with the MBBO tonight. If she's lucky, before cocktail hour. That may be the key to good photography.

[SUMMARY: Blocking still mostly a mystery.]

I also am nearly a third through the Heathers. You know what that means:

"Killing Heather would be like offing the wicked witch of the west... wait east. West! God! I sound like a fucking psycho."

I'm pretty sure I'll run out of scarf before I run out of good Heathers lines.

Daily Boy dose:

Wednesday? When I went out with Kelley? She said, "Oh, yeah. The Boy said to give you his phone number."

"Was he sober?" asked I.

"Oh, yeah."

So I have his number. It sits in my phone as I sit and wonder. Shooby-dooby-doo.

I did the accidental stalker thing this morning. We were 10 miles from our home turf and I just -- pure chance -- ended up behind him on the road, then passed him when he waited to make a left turn. I suspect he saw me. I suspect he knew it was me. I suspect I'm going to obsess about this for *days.*

Sheesh... all these months avoiding Favourite Bar, never going to the grocery store when a Jeep is in the parking lot (This is Colorado. There is a fuckload of Jeeps here), afraid to drive down 38th...

Ah, yes! Let the grand obsession begin!

It was all work-related. I swear. But can you imagine the phone call?

"Um, hi, I'm not stalking you. I was working. I have your phone number."

[SUMMARY: The only thing more important than Heathers quotes is Boy angst.]

My current client is in the middle of sales presentations to potential buyers, and every dog-and-pony show is well-catered. Here is my lunch from yesterday:



Let's see, from upper left corner: well files, Asian salad, I think that'th my thtapler**, Fresca, two mini cookies, a southwestern chicken wrap. Eating good in this neighbourhood. And today? Friday?

It's BBQ Friday. I'm leaving you to go eat.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Office Space. I'll probably have to knit something and call it "Office Space" so I can do Office Space quotes once the Heathers ("Transfer to Washington. Transfer to Jefferson. No one at Westerberg is going to let you play their reindeer games.") quotes run dry.

Scenes from a Maul

Welcome to Friday (shit!)

I still haven't blocked anything in my whole knitterly life.

Yes, there was alcohol involved (Grey Goose pear -- totally worth it). I will give you a little teaser with the UNblocked Medium Blue Branching Out:



It lounges on the typewriter in "my" office. The typewriter sees a lot of action because the only other typewriter in the office is some sort of legal typewriter that has a weird, misplaced key that manages to piss everyone off, so I bask in the illusion of great popularity as people traipse into my space to use the only non-pissing-off typewriter.

Seriously, I have to block this thing tonight (after SnB -- I'm finally going back after my Wyoming/Brown Palace hiatus) 'cause I promised Kelly she'll have her scarf when we go out Friday (cocktails, possibly an Old Navy field trip and a viewing of that "Reign" movie with Don Cheadle and Adam Sandler, followed by more cocktails, in case you were wondering).

But last night... ah, last night. Girl time with Kelly and Lauryn (works at Favourite Bar, makes amazing jewelry) and Male Lady...

Yeah, socialising with the Male Lady. And I got pictures.

Lauryn is doing this "Tuesdays with Morrie, Wednesdays with Lauryn" thing where she has a jewelry open-house once a month on a Wednesday night. Kelly and I got there early for the best pickins last night and this is what I got:

The blogcliche (accent! Where is the accent?) Picture in a Bathroom Mirror -- I've been dying to do that -- of the necklace that I can't believe I even tried on, but absolutely love and made it mine


Doesn't that little cluster of yellowy crystals in the middle look biological? There's something... alveoli-ish or ovarian or white blood cellesque about them. My photography wasn't the best, but those green things up from the biohazard cluster are squares. I like squares. I have a weird little thing for squares.

And...


Cat for scale


Yes, I bought a bracelet because it had a kitty that looks like my kitty. What kind of single girl cliche (accent!?) dork cat mom am I?

That was rhetorical.

A couple of other chicas showed up (Kelly knows them all -- Kelly is *connected*), including Male Lady. You know how in Young Frankenstein the horses always go off every time Frau Bruja's name is mentioned? That's kinda the internal reaction I have to Male Lady.

New Girl Jenny showed up, too. Jenny is cool and is really only new to me, since Kelly and Lauryn and Male Lady all know her. Jenny and I probably sat barstool-to-barstool before, but we've never been formally introduced.

Jenny had wicked funny stories to tell of a bad, bad date, so we all gathered 'round the fire and I took pictures. 'Cause I know y'all are itching to see Kelly and Male Lady. They're practically old friends of yours by now.

Cool New Jenny on the left, my beloved Kelly on the right


SIDE NOTE: Lauryn's whole family is apparently wildly artistic. You can't see a lot of it, but that thing behind Jenny and Kelly is this amazing quilt/collage/painting thing that Lauryn's mom and various female relatives made that displays a family history. It's big and colourful and complex and multi-media and just GORGEOUS. I went into kitty toy mode and stared at it for a long, long time.

OTHER SIDE NOTE: Lauryn and Lou Ann (her roomie and the chica that was getting fondlish with The Boy Saturday night, not that I'm still obsessing about that) have these cool little paintings by a Denver artist named Hyland Mather. The paintings are Little Guys, and... well, go see them for yourself. How cool are they? At $20 a pop, I'd even call them downright affordable.

Lauryn tells a tantalising tale of a rugged sex god fireman while the Male Lady looks on


And the Male Lady, in all her Roethlisbergerian glory


That's the photo you need to give to the police when my poor battered body is found in a shallow grave along a Wheat Ridge mail route.

Two mildly funny Male Lady things, then I'll get off that particular obsession and move on to something other obsession:

1. Last night, someone at Lauryn's asked how everybody knew everybody else, and Male Lady said, "I'm her," pointing at Kelly, "Male Lady." Only I think she probably said "mail lady," but it's my blog so we spell it my way.
2. Kelly has told me Male Lady would take her catalogs and magazines and sometimes she'd even mark them up before she actually delivered them (can you say "federal offense"? Sure, I knew you could). The next sentence out of Male Lady's mouth after proclaiming herself Kelly's Male Lady was, "Sometimes I even go through her catalogs before I deliver them to her."

I couldn't look at Kelly. I would have burst out laughing and ruined all pretense of being a normal, unstalked human being. Then what would I talk about here?

[SUMMARY: Grrrl Power! Plus Male Lady! And dorkcatmom jewelry! A fine evening, which could only be improved upon by...]

A trip to Favourite Bar for pear-flavoured Grey Goose.

Here are two out of my three favourite bartenders at Favourite Bar (and two of my five favourite bartenders in the world, 'cause, you know -- Cute Christopher and Cute Jim at Other Favourite Bar):

Eric and Sue -- GREAT glamour photography, no?


From the small world file: My brother and his fam used to live in a duplex, which they eventually sold to the owner of the other half of the duplex, who then rented it to Sue. This means my sister-in-law actually knew one of my favourite bartenders before I did. This seems somehow out of character with the universe, but I'm willing to chalk it up to one of those quirky little things. Chaos Theory.

Sue's mom was in town from North Carolina and Sue introduced her to Kelly and me.

"Nice to meet you," said I, "North Carolina? I'm rooting for your team! I have NC and Kansas in the final!" (I'm your new best friend!)

Fortunately, Sue works in a bar with a TV and her mom is... well, her mom is from North Carolina and totally understood and appreciated. But I can see how this may have gone wonky, socially speaking.

So I got home just after nine and there were no pins to be had so no blocking was done.

[SUMMARY: Cocktail, anyone?]

Tie your shoes, hide the pets, I'm about to get weird on your ass (no! AntiM, not you!)

My knitterly consciousness is overcome with lace knitting. While knitting the Medium Blue Branching Out, I started wondering if there was any possibility that I could design a pattern of lacy shamrocks. I can't tell you how insane I think that is. I am not a designer. I knit from patterns. Designing seems... highly advanced.

I'm going to take you on a little tangent, but it'll all come right back to the lace thing. Promise.

I have always been able to memorise information -- lines, verb lists, poems -- quickly and well. But when I've studied languages and music (and I guess acting falls in this too, though I think my process for acting, language and music is the same everybody else has for acting anyway), I tend to spend the first part of the learning curve in rote memory. Somewhere along the way, though, I *feel* the thing. The playing/speaking/acting becomes intuitive and colourful, rather than just straight off the list. Then I'm good at what I do and it becomes a real pleasure to do it.

You see where this is going, right?

I'm wondering how much lace I'll have to knit, how close I'll have to hold my patterns, before I can knit lace by love and intuition rather than bird by bird. Eunny Jang, once and future editor of Interweave Knits, knits so emotionally and intuitively that I'm both jealous and inspired. She has a whole series (check the lessons on her sidebar if you're interested) on learning the feel and rhythm of lace knitting so you can be free of patterns. She says if you know how a yarnover builds on the stitch below it, and how it will grow into the pattern ten stitches above it (kinda like playing chess, but with yarn), you won't need to mark your place in your knitting, on your pattern... lace will take on a pleasant, elegant rhythm of its own and you'll just *get it*.

I want to be there. And I know if I get there, I'll be able to design my own shamrock lace. And my own dragonfly lace (because I want that too). Maybe my own hedgehog lace (because I'm a freakin' dork). But how long will it take to get to a point where I'm off-book and processing the music through my soul instead of my brain? Will I give up before I get there?

In any case, I'm planning on knitting the Print o' the Wave stole almost immediately (must. keep. working. Stupid. Blanket.**), provided someone can get me into even the bird by bird of it and explain the math that looks all wonky to me. If anyone has knit it, could you let me know? I have questions.

I can do it. You can help.

[SUMMARY: Lace knitting makes me all emotional and poetical and shit. I need help. No, seriously, I need to know how the 80 x 204 stitch center panel can possibly be edged with the picking up of 80 x 240 stitches. If I get my sister-in-law the PhD in Applied Mathematics involved, well... I'll end up in a fetal position sucking snot. I need knitter math here, people.]

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Poor Stupid Blanket. The blanket isn't Stupid, I've made it Stupid. I've fallen in love with other projects and much maligned it, but it is a labour of love and it is pretty and special. It's just so not lace right now.

**FOOTNOTE (unasterisked): Poor photo subjects. I apologise to all the victims (OK... probably not Male Lady, but the people I like) of my camera. My camera's been having focusing issues lately.

Fd an O!

Yes, Kelly's Medium Blue Branching Out is done, at least as far as the knitting goes. Tonight I will head into the darkest wilds of blocking. I don't believe the 45" scarf will block to the 59" the pattern says it will. It's too much. But it's not a horrible length as it is, so if I only get a couple of inches of new scarf out of the blocking adventure, it's OK by me.

OK, the O and the C actually really want me to undo that last knot in the scarf and rip it out and add another repeat or two (the pattern says I'll get 27 repeats out of the ball of yarn, but I'd bet my Mini Cooper I'd get at least two more), but the cooler voices in my head will prevail and I'll leave it the hell alone and let the blocking do its magic, no matter how much I don't believe in magic.

In any case, there will be pictures tomorrow -- before and after blocking.

I'm having a weird day. You know it's weird when I'm more or less rendered speechless. Or blogless. I'm having lunch with Laurie-without-a-Link and the Suburban Sedation Crew today, so maybe I'll have more to say tomorrow.

I'll at least have pictures. Knitting pictures too! And we all know knitting pictures make everything better!

[SUMMARY: No pictures, not even a thousand words to make up for it. I sure set a lot of store in the healing powers of knitting pictures.]

Meanwhile, I leave you with these little bits I've been saving up for a snarky, twisty day like today:

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

One day, I saw a navy blue PT Cruiser one lane over and a few cars in front of me on my way home. In silver letters, oh, I'd say ten inches tall, it said, "Praise Jesus."

The first thought in my fuzzy little head? "Good Jesus! Good boy! And wearing your big-boy pants too!"

[SUMMARY: so. going. to. hell.]

*************
True story:

TROPICANA PURE 100% ORANGE JUICE
from concentrate with other natural flavors

Could someone explain what part of 100% "other natural flavors" fits in?

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

What do you suppose I have against the number four?

I've spent two months tweaking a spreadsheet on which I had to make sure well names (oil wells, gas wells, just how I roll) were correct and in line with what the engineering department (petroleum engineers... don't get me started) thinks they should be and in line with what the Colorado Oil and Gas Commission thinks they should be... so I did a lot of cutting'n'pasting, since well names tend to look like this:

METAPHYSICAL RAINBOW RANCH FEDERAL #06-15 A**...

and come in clumps like this:

METAPHYSICAL RAINBOW RANCH FEDERAL #06-15 A**
METAPHYSICAL RAINBOW RANCH FEDERAL #06-15 B, C & D**

This is the stuff cutting'n'pasting was born for. Only I (somehow) cut'n'pasted one particular well randomly all over the spreadsheet

(Um, Marin? Hi, it's Sue? I'm looking at your spreadsheet? And where it should say Bob's Big House of Oil and Gas Fun 36-16** it says Kitty Cat 17-2**? And where it should say Metaphysical Rainbow Ranch Federal 14-8** it says Kitty Cat 17-2**? Um... and where it should say Uber Oil 22-11** it says, well, Kitty Cat 17-2**? If I'm wrong, just tell me...).

I am a bigger dork than I ever knew. I can't even figure out why the Kitty Cat 17-2** was my very favourite well and I thought it the alpha well over all other puny beta wells... I couldn't explain. I could do naught but to correct the error of my wells.

THEN... Sue brings a printout of my spreadsheet to me with about thirty wells highlighted. They all have the right names, wrong numbers. Except they're all SUPPOSED to be Something Something number-4 (like the Kitty Cat Federal 15-4** and Bob's Big House of Oil and Gas Fun 22-4**) only they're all Something Something number-5 (like the Kitty Cat Federal 15-5** and Bob's Big House of Oil and Gas Fun 22-5**).

Again, I have no explanation. I don't know what I had against the number four that fateful day. O, remedial Sesame Street, where is thy sting?

What I do know is that I just cut'n'pasted that whole parenthetic Kitty Cat/Big Bob thing to illustrate the difference between the numbers 4 and 5 (Huh. I occurs to me that, given some of my knitting adventures, I may not be real solid on the difference between the numbers 4 and 5) and it seemed to work fine. Was it just that one day? Just this one spreadsheet? Just the number 4 and the Kitty Cat Federal 17-2**?

I'm going with poltergeist.

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

Boy-Best-Friend Steve and I were watching "Invincible," the Mark Wahlberg movie about Vince Papale. Papale benefited from a 1970s-era publicity stunt in which the Philadelphia Eagles opened try-outs to all comers. It's based on a true story, with Papale being the only schlump good enough to actually win a job under this system.

There is a scene in which Papale is leaving the tryout or his first practise or something and his crappy Camaro-esque car won't start (for the 15th time in the movie. Illustration! Vince is poor!) and Dick Vermeil (yes, that Dick Vermeil, though -- oddly -- he didn't cry once) walks up to the driver's side of the car to give him some good news and his (Papale's) arm moves in what (to some of us, born before the dawn of auto automation) is easily recognisable as the action of a man rolling down a window. Manually. I turned to Steve and said, "150,000 young people across the country have no idea what just happened."

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

Happy Friday!

What?

Oh, for fuck's sake...

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): I made up those well names. Can you tell?

Are You Getting Enough Fibre?

Come, children, we have much knitting to discuss.

Remember how Kelly was going to "con" me out of a scarf? Well, she's one persuasive chica, 'cause I caved after SECONDS of heated discussion ("What colour would you like? Long? Short? Functional and warm or decorative? Can I make you two in case you don't like the first one?" The answers, for those who need to know, were blue ["Light or dark?" "Medium."] and "I don't care. Whatever you want to do, I'll wear it.").

I went on a serious knitty.com rampage Tuesday last and Kelly is (probably -- that may be another story for another day) going to be the proud recipient of the Branching Out scarf, thus:

Branching Out in blue


I'm using the yarn (one of them) suggested in the pattern (Elsebeth Lavold Silky Wool -- 65% wool, 35% silk, colour: um... blue. Medium blue), which is almost unheard of, since I don't usually use patterns.

This is a late revelation for me. Like two minutes ago. I'm not sure how I made it this far not *knowing* I almost never use patterns. I'm a dork.

I have my sock software for knitting socks so I'm pretty much queen bee when it comes to the sock thing. I choose the yarn and I get my guage and I tell the software, "Software! Make me a pattern that is to my liking!" and it does. Sometimes? When it tells me to do a k2p2 rib? I do a k1p1 rib. 'Cause I'm HKIC (Head Knitta in Charge) when it comes to the sock software.

I usually knit blankets and scarves out of my head or from stitch dictionaries. Rarely does anyone tell me what sort of yarn I *should* be using or exactly how to use it. It's actually kind of cool (the using a pattern thing, I mean) -- less thinking that way. Thinking never led to any good in my experience. Yes, it's patterns and suggested fibres from now on for this little black duck! I'm a new woman!

(Philosophical question: What do you call it if your Branching Out takes you right to the root of the matter?)

[SUMMARY: There is much knitting to be had, and it will involve patterns and the yarns suggested in them. Free at last, free at at last, sweet Jesus I'm free at at last!]

I also got Cascade Indulgence (part angora, part superfine alpaca. Does that not sound like a cheesy, anthemic line from a blaxploitation movie? "Baby, I'm part angora, part superfine alpaca. Supafine!" cue that funky music, white boy) in this lovely green to make a Branching Out:

Supafine! Supabargain!


It was in the sale bin at A Knitted Peace. Half price! And I realise it isn't the yarn called for in the Branching Out pattern! Pay no attention to the chick behind the curtain! So I'm not *all* about the pattern and suggested fibre, but I'm *mostly* about the pattern and the suggested fibre!

Except when Cascade Indulgences is half price and I realise just how perfect it would be for the Yorick scarf from knitty.com:

Alas, poor Yorick. I knew his pattern.


(Heh. I like how it looks like a black & white picture but it's really colour.)

Switch up! Now I'm knitting a scarf for Annie OFF A PATTERN, OF THE SUGGESTED YARN. I'm so tricky.

[SUMMARY: Psych!]

For some reason, my camera doesn't do well with purples. Every time I snap something purple, it comes out blue. So I doctored the second one to approximate the actual purplocity of the yarn in question. This is Wavy from knitty.com in Cascade 220: the Heathers ("This isn't just a spoke in my menstrual cycle."). It's a deep, glowing purple with a very subtle heather ("What is your damage, Heather?") of dark, bright shocking pink.

Heathers ("Dear Diary: my teen-angst bullshit now has a body count.")


(How long do you think it's going to be before I get tired of the Heathers schtick?)

Now, this last new project... well, I may just be knitting something for myself. See, I got the Wool Silk for Kelly's Branching Out and I cast on to my Denise needles, of which I'm not particularly fond because, while I love knowing if I get a knitting itch at midnight I'll have the right size needle, I don't like how sticky they are. So the Wool Silk was sticking something fierce and it was Saturday at 7:00 and all the LYSs were closed and most weren't going to be open again until fucking TUESDAY and you know that simply isn't acceptable so I ran to Michael's for some aluminum or bamboo (got bamboo, in case you were wondering) and right across from the knitting needles (those marketing fiends at Michael's!) was this lovely Patons SWS (soy wool stripes). It's very, very soft and a little fuzzy. It isn't plied, so it's hard to tink (not that I ever lost count and purled an entire row that was supposed to be p5k5 due to thinking about potential dirty lyrics for Barney songs) but it has a nice sheen and gorgeous colours and I think this scarf will be mine when it's done.

(Hang on a sec. Dizzy. Need to breathe.)

I am using a sort of pattern: Crazy Aunt Purl's (that'd be Laurie *with* a link) Magic Scarf. I added four stitches to make a two-stitch knit border. I also knit five rows of garter at the beginning (and plan on doing the same at the end!). Hopefully, it will lie flat once blocked.** I love me some stockinette, but hate how it curls on me (you try scrubbing it, you try soaking it...). Anyway, here it is:

Awww... pink! And that's all I have to say about that.


And, just for the record, the progress on the Stupid Blanket. I took two pictures, one in natural light, one in flash. I couldn't decide which was better, so I posted them both. Besides, I was fascinated with the differences between the two pictures. If you haven't figure out by now, the world fascinates me. I'm kinda like a cat that way. The world is my kitty toy, imaginary bugs and all.

Natural light... and... flash


And cat for scale.

[SUMMARY: AntiM is knitting for herself! A cat may be involved! Or AntiM may be a cat! We still haven't quite figured out what the hell she's talking about!]

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

OK, one thing that kept my spirits up through the wretched, Momless holiday season was knowing that 2007 HAS to be better than 2006. In 2006, Mom died, Lucy (my other cat) died, Brad and Tehya divorced, Bonnie and Mar divorced, Michelle died, Nancy died, Diane got more cancer in the other breast... 2007 HAD to be better.

What happens minutes into the new year? Darrent Williams (one of my beloved Broncos, even though I spent all season yelling at him for shoulder tackling when he's 5'10 and way smaller than the rhinos he was trying to take down) is killed. Anna Nicole Smith died (which doesn't really affect me in a personal way, but it felt like one in a series). Damien Nash (another Bronco) died doing a charity event. Jeanne got cancer. Now Richard Jeni kills himself. I loved Richard Jeni. He was better live than any other comedian I've ever seen, and I've seen a gaggle of comedians in my day.**

Look, I'm not sure how much more sick and dying my heart can take, so could we all please eat our vegetables and get enough sunlight (use sunblock!) and stay well?

Thanks.

[**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Confession: I've never blocked anything (at least not properly) in my whole knitting life. I once made a scarf for my sis-in-law that curled into a tube and could have been mistaken for a drinking straw cozy, so I got it wet and rolled it flat in a towel. I didn't pin. I don't think I really knew about pinning. I thought maybe if it dried in a forced-flat position it would *stay* in a forced-flat position (STICK, DAMNIT! STICK!). Not so much. Both Pink Magic and Branching Out *clearly* need blocking.

I must buy pins.

[**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): I didn't put it in there, 'cause it's maybe not as... well, DIRE as the other stuff, but Duke sucking rocks doesn't help my frame of mind. Just sayin'.]