How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Scarf

Last year, when Edison Elementary held its second annual EdFest† Silent Auction fundraiser, I went. I bought. I volunteered to donate a knitted item this year.

Last Monday, Brother contacted me and said, "I know it's short notice, but Saturday is EdFest."‡

There's a lot of disorganisation and misorganisation and drunkenness§ in the spaces between, but keeping a long story short,¶ I volunteered to give a gift certificate for a scarf.

Thus:





For those of you who don't read mangledese, it says "One pick-your-own-adventure scarf: I'll sit down with the winner over a cup of coffee, a beer or a glass of wine (my treat) and we'll design a scarf for you. Pick your fiber, texture and colour and I'll make it all come true."

Lisa, the appropriate committee member, asked if I had pictures or samples to go with the bid sheet. I sent some pics off Ravelry, but, of course, I don't keep anything I knit.

This whole exchange took place Thursday afternoon.

Thursday night, I had one of my frighteningly brilliant ideas:# find the school mascot and colours and knit a scarf for a toy version of the mascot in those colours. Y'know... just to have something tangible on the table.

Don't think I wasn't hoping they were the Edison R2D2s.††

Turns out they're the Edison Eagles, and their colours are blue and gold-yellow, much like my beloved Denver Nuggets.‡‡

I woke up early Friday knowing I had to find an eagle.§§ Fortunately, as an inveterate shopper with two nephews, I had a good idea of where to find a stuffed eagle.

Bless you, Kazoo & Company.

I ran to a couple of yarn stores.¶¶

At 2:00, I was home, done with lunch and casting on.

Perhaps the next time I'm on a tight deadline, I'll remember that it's not the best time to try a new technique.

At 1:00 Saturday morning, I gave up my double-knitting project. It wasn't horrible. It was just in dire need of blocking,## and I knew there was no way I'd finish the scarf, soak it and have it completely dry before I had to take it to Lisa on Saturday afternoon.

So... I got up at 7:00 Saturday morning and started knitting a new - simpler - scarf for the eagle.

Ta-daaa!




When we got to the fundraiser at 7:00, there was a bid down on the scarf, which tickled the grits out of me, as I wasn't sure how it would represent in a bidding situation. Brother noted that he was up-bidding it because he decided he needed a scarf.†††

In the end, it turned out someone outbid Brother, so I'm feeling all HKIC and shit.%

When the Auction Committee sobers up and tells me who won the scarf, I'll let y'all know. Sounds like it could be fun.‡‡‡

Plus, I'd already told Brother he had the hook-up even if he didn't win the auction scarf.§§§

So, sing it with me: "STILL A KNITBLOG."


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): "EdFest" in my world has a whole lot more Tom Cavanaugh in it, but that's OK.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Paraphrasing. Brother was more cognizant than that.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Oddly enough, not on my part. The mis-, the dis- OR the drunk.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): As my college boyfriend always said, "Too late."

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm not tooting my own horn. It's not that I have ideas so brilliant as to be frightening. No, it's that the ideas that seem so brilliant pan out to be ironically, sarcastically so and it's frightening I continue to believe in my own brilliance.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Think of it... one tiny Star Wars action figure with a couple of tufts of blue and gold yarn...

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Which led to a funny moment at Fancy Tiger when a very sweet (possibly gay, probably artistic, undoubtedly oblivious to sports) boy asked if he could help and I told him I was looking for fingering- or sport-weight yarn in blue and gold, like Denver Nuggets colours. I could almost hear the panic shutting down his organs. He pointed out every skein of yarn in the right gauge, I suspect hoping I'd make up my own mind about what "Denver Nuggets colours" meant.

§§FOOTNOTE (double confusing): There is nothing quite like waking up on your day off knowing you have to find an eagle.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (double the fun): I found my yarn at the first store, but as my brother says, I have a problem. Plus, I have a very weird upcoming knitting project (foreshadowing!) I wanted to get a jump on. In a very researchy, I-probably-didn't-need-to-buy-six-sets-of-square-needles way.

##FOOTNOTE (double the pounds): AntiM's helpful knitting tip #237: Double-knitting pulls the knitted piece in (much like cabling does) and makes your very straight scarf look like an hourglass.

†††FOOTNOTE (is it Lent again already?): Because His Girl Cindy told him he should get a scarf to go with his new Hugo Boss cashmere jacket and he made grumpy faces and stuff. Then he went to NYC and saw that everybody was wearing a scarf and decided it wasn't a bad idea.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Head Knitta in Charge, in case you forgot.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (Frankenstein's blogster): Or a complete nightmare. But I'm an optimist. Or, as Cornel West said on Twitter, "But I'm not an optimist, that's too thin...I'm a prisoner of #hope."

§§§FOOTNOTE (three esses make a full circle, right?): When we discussed particulars, it boiled down to "a tweedy/heathered charcoal in a muffler length." Then I got an update from Colourmart (home of all things cashmere) Sunday mid-day that said they had a shipment of Hugo Boss cashmere just in. So even though Brother didn't win the scarf, Brother absolutely won a scarf. Here's the yarn; its colour is called "Derby":

Alas, Poor Yorick...

...I pinned him to the sofa, Horatio.†

I figured thus: I am knitting socks for Lorree and Yorick for Jeff. Yorick must be felted, blocked and dried prior to next Wednesday. The socks can be knit in the six-plus hours I will be on planes and in airports and such. The socks can be finished on the bus from Newark to Grand Central Station. The socks, if needs be, can be finished sitting at Riverside Park across the street from Jeff's building.

So Yorick wins, for the time being.%

Praise be, Yorick is a pretty quick knit, though I have made two skulls now and neither one of them came out to the right number of stitches, or even to the same number of stitches. For some reason, multiple yarn-overs can be difficult to knit in and out of while trying to count properly.




Don't Panic.‡ The one on the left is not all wonky due to my inability to count,§ I just didn't pin that one.

I'm having some palpitations over the felting process, not for any typical reason, but because I used Ella Rae Classic for this and the pattern calls for something alpaca or angora -- y'all know... bunny yarn -- but I thought bunny yarn might not be masculine enough, so I switched to this.

Then I poked at one of Bag Lady Kathryn's felted Ella Rae bags and I'm worried about it getting too dense for a scarf. I'm envisioning Jeff laying it across the back of his neck, then bending and twisting and capturing it quickly under the front of his jacket before it springs loose again.¶

I'll just have to keep a very close eye on the felting process so it gets felted enough for me to trim out the eye- and nose-holes, but not so felted it becomes a neck pillow.

I guess if worse comes to worst,# I can tell him it's one of those draft dodger things to put across the bottom of a door or window to keep cold air out.

I also turned the heel on the second Sparkle Sock yesterday just for variety. No dick warmers in my house.††

[SUMMARY: Knitting!]

Speaking of Bag Lady Kathryn,‡‡ when we went to Hotcakes (a recommended experience) Sunday morning, we came out to this:




Kathryn said, "Do you have your camera?"

Why, yes. Yes, I do.

[SUMMARY: Mini Coopers!]

Can we backtrack for a minute?^

I didn't take my camera Saturday night because I figured they wouldn't allow cameras in the concert. Turns out they didn't check anything very carefully and I could have smuggled it in just fine. As it stands, I have these great pictures on my camera phone,§§ but I don't know if I can do anything other than send them in text messages. If I can, I sure as hell don't know *how* to do it.

[SUMMARY: Technology!]

I forgot to tell you a little tidbit: when we ran up to Coors Field Saturday after Genesis, Shanny gave me his media pass to go inside and poke around. Mostly, I took pictures of the media pass on my camera phone, but I did enjoy waving that thing at all the Coors Field official-types who wanted to get in my way.

"Media!" I said,¶¶ sticking it in their faces with all the grace and cool of a three-year-old meeting Mickey Mouse at Disneyland for the first time.

[SUMMARY: Sport!]

And this last bit is just a pretty picture of a historical building across the street from my office. I thought the sky particulalry pretty. I'm sharing.




[SUMMARY: Art!]

Happy Tuesday, ev'ry-bahdy!


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That's not even funny. I just wanted the chance to show off my crazy-big Shakespearean knowledge. The day I can toss out the primrose path speech here with jaded nonchalance... that'll be a proud, proud day. And y'all know I'm going to be looking for excuses now.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I bet you're *stunned* at the unprecedented level of logic I am able to reach. It's all the sleep yesterday, I tell you.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I miss Douglas Adams.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Both in and out of triple yarn-overs and to four.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): In my mental movie, he forgets about the rogue scarf and goes to pull his wallet out of his jacket to pay for a newpaper at a newsstand. He yanks the zipper down a couple of inches and starts to reach his hand into his inner pocket. The scarf pops out, the recoil snapping Jeff's wrist and zinging a woman (buying gum next to him) in the face.

THEN... the scarf's eyes glow red but only the guy in the newsstand sees it. He goes home in his '57 Chevy and dismembers his wife, then climbs into their chest freezer with a 45 of "My Boyfriend's Back."

The scarf whispers to Jeff's cat at night, causing the usually-docile feline to eat the neighbour's dog and several small children.

One night, the scarf inches into the kitchen, humming to itself before it slithers into the coffee maker.

Jeff and Lorree have friends over for brunch the next day and everybody drinks coffee filtered through the demon scarf and they all go mad, giving in to their basest impulses and acting out 1950s dead teenager songs.

Later that day, they all die on separate railroad tracks before the folksy sheriff with the dark past can capture them.

The scarf is last seen disappearing into a cargo crate off Battery Park.

Voilá. Stephen King story.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): "Worse comes to worst" or "worst comes to worse"? Each makes a sort of elegant sense... of course, I may just be high on my recent think-tank triumph in figuring out which project to knit first for the imminent trip.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I could get all dirty-sassy-funny here if it weren't so pathetically true on so many levels.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Nice segueway.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Just playing at polite. My blog, my backtrack.

§§FOOTNOTE (double-D curvy): Well, they seem really great when I blow them up from postage stamp-size in my head.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (para-para-para-paragraph): OK, OK... squealed.

Knitting! Mini Coopers! Technology! Sport! Art! Sometimes Sex!

Man, this blog has *everything*!

Keep Your Penis in Your Genus

Take that, Google!

Did anyone else watch "Cavemen" last night?

I just have a crapload of brain lint for you today, as I did nothing useful last night and apparently don't intend to do anything useful in the very near future.

Well, except for hockey.

Because I volunteered to help Interweave Press with this year's Sticks 'n' Stitches,† I'm on this special offers mailing list for the Colorodo Avalanche. It's not totally rockstar-VIP, but it is a nice litte tweak.

Kelley and I are attending tonight's season opener. I don't know if you've ever attended one sporting event (i.e. -- tonight's hockey game) while a big sporting event from another sport is going on (i.e. -- tonight's Rox playoff game)... it's really wound up.

The Rox score will be updated frequently -- maybe even constantly displayed. During TiVi timeouts and such, they'll show highlights from the baseball game. The Pepsi Center will hum and vibrate with the energy of 19,000 swept up sports fans.

So don't call me tonight 'cause it's going to be off the hook.‡

[SUMMARY: With hip talk like that, I could write sitcoms for CW.]

Can I just say here than anyone who doesn't read the comments... well, they're not necessary to your mental health or your understanding of the complexities of this blog (*ahem*), but brilliant and incisive minds come from all corners of the Innernets to comment, kibbutz and debate the merits of the term "pounded like a two-dollar whore."

It's a regular Algonquin Roundtable there under the surface. You should try it some time.

[SUMMARY: This may partly be a shameless slurp to ameliorate the ick that is to follow. But it works 'cause it's true.]

Right across from the office I'm working in (I can see it from my window) is a Hampton Inn Suites. I walk right past it on my way from the parking lot to the office in which I'm working

Every morning, there's about a half-dozen tourists waiting for their rental cars from valet or catching a cab or gearing up§ for a big day's cruise around downtown. An odd pattern I've noticed: they're almost always wearing Bronco shirts -- the entire family -- and the wife and daughter are more often than not wearing pink Bronco shirts.

Every day. For two months.

And about three-quarters of the nights when I'm heading to my car, Papa John's is delivering pizza. Doesn't matter if it's 4:00 or 7:00. Papa John's is there.

I wonder if the people at the front desk of the Hampton Inn Suites notice these vignettes.

[SUMMARY: Now that work has slowed down a bit, I apparently have too much time on my mind.]

I was trying to come up with a title for today's post. I got stuck in a "bits and bobs" loop, but (or because) Franklin just used that delightful little phrase. So I thought, "Google. Maybe there's a sort of thesaurus for phrases¶ and I can discover an equally delightful little phrase."

Read the footnote -- I didn't find a phrasal thesaurus,# but I did come across a website for English idiom, including a message board for ESL linguists trying to get by in the English-speaking world. I read through several of the forum entries and it fascinates me that they are so fascinated with phrases like, "to grease a palm"†† or "work like a dog."‡‡

[SUMMARY: English, she is more interesting than we remember.]

There's a girl on Ravelry with the screen name "Diva de los Muertos."

Best. Screen. Name. Ever.

Don't think I didn't stalk her and tell her so.

[SUMMARY: *slurp*]

My rug burn is almost completely healed. I need a new one.

[SUMMARY: Is she whining about sex again?§§]

Heh. I've been waiting for a good opportunity to use this picture from Cute Overload. Perhaps it could be the first installment in the Phrasaurus:

Lick the pig: jump the shark, screw the pooch, bite the big one, cock a snook, take the mickey, wag the dog, milk the joke.

[SUMMARY: This has to end soon.]

You know, when Enchanting Juno gets whimsical and musey, it's like a soft summer evening, warm and golden and jasmine-scented. It brushes melancholy and touches on philosophy and there's wisdom and usually fibre somewhere.

When I get whimsical and musey, somehow we end up with rug burns and children licking pigs.

[SUMMARY: Where do I go wrong?]

Ooh! Ooh! Fibre! I started the second Sparkle Sock last night and am halfway up the foot.

[SUMMARY: Weak attempt at knitblog.]

Second choice for TiVi quote blogtitle: "You all have numbers so we'll be doing this alphabetically."

[SUMMARY: Wow. This passes for blogfodder?¶¶]

You're right. I'm done.

Go Rox! Go Avs!##


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): January 5. Mark your calendar. $27 gets you tickets -- much better than last year, my buddy Brendan in the Avs' ticket office tells me (he also tells me, "You have my direct line. If you need tickets this season, just give me a call and I'll see what I can do." I love Brendan. I wonder if Brendan has ever operated a crane...). Your $27 also gets you a hot dog and a drink, plus a goody bag (which I will be helping to assemble in one fashion or another).

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I may have full-circled right past dork and back to cool. Humour me.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Camera, fanny pack for Mom, fishing vest with guidebook for Dad, comfortable shoes, bermuda shorts, Barbie backpack for little Amber... it's a daily festival of guppying up to the stereotype

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Nope. Not that I could find. There should be.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Phrasaurus?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I never realised how dirty that sounds until just now.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): You may be wondering why, after a certain amount of research, that's the title I came up with. Hey, a chance to use the word "genus"? I'm there.

§§FOOTNOTE (Pamela Lee got nothing on me): Why, yes. Yes, I am.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (more paragraphs than sense); Why, yes. Yes, it does.

##FOOTNOTE (pint's a pound the world around... believe I'll take two): Take Marin with you!

The Bare,* the Swear and the Family Affair

Sunday was Teach Your Male Relatives to Knit day.

Well, not all of the male relatives. Can you imagine teaching this to knit?:

Little brothers can be such a drag


Before I get a pile of comments and mail about this being the best time of life to teach kids to knit, I KNOW. But these kids?

They are wonderful. They are smart. They are charming and funny and loving and cuter than socks on a squirrel (to quote Shanny). But there's a reason we waited until after bedtime to commence the knitting lessons: Energy.

Enthusiasm for all things crashing and flying.

Volume.

They do have their quiet(er) moments.†



But mostly it's just the exuberance of the young and I don't want to be responsible for what would happen when the exuberance of the young meets the pointy sticks of the knitting.

[SUMMARY: Some people have no inside voices.]

Oh, and check out the post-bath hair.‡

Dad and Brother saw the camera come out and had a little confab about the best way to avoid being knit-outed on the innernets. They came to the conclusion that the best solution was to knit naked.

Now, Dad isn't allowed to read the blog, but Brother drops by fairly regularly. He should know better than to think naked male knitters would be a deterrent to photo ops.§

[SUMMARY: Silly sibling, dicks are for vids!]

Dad managed, through the grace of needing a lot of supervision,¶ to avoid the camera entirely. He also forgot his glasses and was worn out from the day's work -- and probably the grandsons -- so he just got started and developed a knitting headache# and went home.

Dad was gone. We had no parental guidance.% Let the wild rumpus begin!

*rumpusrumpusrumpus*

eBeth (sis-in-law) has knit before, but wanted a refresher course and perhaps some assistance in keeping her project from sprouting new stitches†† at every turn. She did great, though with knitting sport-weight yarn on size 17 needles, the elegant interlocking continuity of knitting wasn't so evident.

Next time, she will knit with the "good yarn." Lovely, thick stuff she got at the Estes Park Wool Market three? Four? Two? years ago. It's a gorgeous deep brown (maybe charcoal. I just know it's pretty) and smells of lanolin. And it's much better suited to the big needles.

Wanna see something cute?

He doesn't stick his tongue out, but he does this thing with his lower lip...

His father does that too.

I spent a measurable amount of time assuring both Dad and Brother that there is nothing sexier than a man who knits. When you're training, you have to be liberal with the praise and the knitty treats. Y'all know.

Brother turned to eBeth more than once to ask some version of "Do ya think I'm sexy?" At one point, she monotoned, never looking up from her knitting, "I've never wanted you more than I want you right now."

[SUMMARY: The family that knits together...]

For the record? Brother is a natural knitter (and I suspect he did a little pre-lesson Google prep, since he knew continental knitting as soon as I showed it to Dad). Dad likes continental, Brother sticks with English. Brother knits *tight*. Maybe tighter than me. Brother is knitting bulky, Dad is knitting worsted. Um... Brother's is green. Dad's is navy.

Anything else you need to know about the knitting styles of the AntiM family?

[SUMMARY: Sometimes it goes too far, the information. Sometimes is too much.]

Look! A Special Guest Cat for Scale (a/k/a Cousin of Cat for Scale).^

[SUMMARY: Variety is the catnip of life.]

By the way? Lizard Ridge? So my bitch.

Can I get a "whut whut"?$

[SUMMARY: Hubris...]

I've walked by this sweater at Homer Reed Ltd. many days on my way to lunch.

I think the peach on the knit portion of the rib is a little... meh. But I like the overall look of it. Maybe if the periwinkle@ were in dominant rib position.‡‡ But it's a cool knitting thing and I took a picture of it just for you.

This, because I like the clouds and the bridge and it didn't look right when I cropped I-25 out of the picture.

[SUMMARY: Sometimes just because. And sometimes just because I can.]

This, because, well... look closely at the rightish side of middle:

See it?

Look close:

The leaves are turning.

All up and down the mall, I noticed the trees getting yellowy and rusty and it's not just pollution and other urban tree blight.

It's autumn on the way.

*FOOTNOTE (asterisked): OK, so not really, but they threatened.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Dr. Doom is surfing on a copy of "I Taught Myself to Knit," for those of you scoring at home.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I wish all those super-hip young guys with the carefully-sculpted bed-head look could see how much they resemble a three-year-old straight from the bath.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Indeed, with this crowd, I should be able to make spending money charging for pictures of naked male knitting.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And don't think for a second that's a coincidence.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): If Rob Halford just wailed in your reptile brain, we really need to have a beer some time.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Poor Dad. I started him out with the Magic Cast-On and toe-up socks. Hell of a way to learn to knit.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You know, as Brother was adding new stitches with alarming regularity, I was consoling him with, "It's very manly. All the boys I've taught to knit add stitches." I have since realised that I've taught two boys and one girl to knit. Is it a guy thing or a new knitter thing? Maybe eBeth's issue is also adding stitches (generally by not dropping the knit stitch off the left needle). Thoughts? Anyone?

^FOOTNOTE (careted): You may notice the bear in many pictures. Mr. Brown really gets around. Maybe that's the bear I should have used in the heading.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Ally! Alert your nephew! Embarrassing old person hip attempt!

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Yes it is. Periwinkle and Peach. Kinda like a washed out pastel Bronco sweater.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Is that terminology? OK, now I'm just making shit up.

I Don't Know What to Say

TTHFCIF Well, that's a start.

And you're wondering to yourself, "Has that ever stopped her before?"

OK. It's 7:27 by my computer clock right now. I'm just going to leave this open and type in as things strike me. Maybe something will happen or something will hit me and I'll develop a viable theme. Maybe I'll just come up with a whole slue† of random thoughts.

Maybe you'll never see this.

Brother came to Stitch Therapy at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack last night. Well, sort of. But there was a funny moment when he did that big-eyes thing and said, "The actual Sylvia? Of Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack?"§

My brother is starting to understand the impact of imaginary friends, though he pointed out that imaginary friends you can actually meet are a big step up for me.‡

Oh, how we laughed.

Brother really came in to buy yarn for a top-secret holiday project.¶ He didn't stay for wine and tidbits and uterine dialogue. He did get the Posh bag with the pink sheep on it. I also made him carry a Little Mermaid bag home to Tallest, Hairiest Nephew and Dr. Doom.

[SUMMARY: Don't fuck with the HKIC. She can slash your street cred rating faster than you can tie your shoes.#]

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

Lizard Ridge is currently kicking my ass. It may have something to do with not being able to count to four, but I cast on THREE times†† before I concentrated on the project more than on Angel reruns and actually did the short rows right.

Then I ended up with what I thought was the wrong number of stitches and couldn't get the math to come out right,‡‡ so I frogged the whole thing and decided to start again at Stitch Therapy last night.

Then I woke up in the middle of the night, realising I was doing it right all along, I just had to carry on with the pattern.§§

Then there was too much conversation at Stitch Therapy last night and I was right back to that, "OK, I just knit five, so I need to purl four... what the hell? I'm supposed to be knitting even numbers and purling odd numbers and where the *fuck* are my wraps!?"¶¶

Because I can't quite wrap my head around how the short row stuff pans out yet,## I can't effectively tink, so I frog. Sometimes all the way back because I get overzealous.

And Noro falls apart in places. It's lovely to look at, but it falls apart sometimes.

I have faith. I shall persevere. This shall NOT be Stupid Blanket II.

I can tell it's going to be pretty if I ever get it.

This has a learning curve, right? Everybody is frustrated with Lizard Ridge in the beginning, right? I'm not just a big ol' dork, right?

[SUMMARY: Validation... anyone? Bueller? Bueller?]

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

When I'm sitting eating dinner, the cat always wants in on it. Doesn't matter if it's tomatoes or chicken. He apparently can't distinguish food by smell when he's all excited that someone's eating something that's not in his food dish.†††

Come to think of it, he treats beverages the same way, vis-a-vis his water dish.

Anyway, I generally offer him anything I don't think he'd like, hoping it will sink in that this is not kitty food and he will go lick his privates or claw my doorframes or whatever his latest hobby is.

This practise has led to, well... I'm sure you can see it's led to begging at the dinner table, but it's also led to the discovery that cats (or cat, as the case may be) will eat things you'd never think descendents of sabre toothed tigers would lower themselves to eat.‡‡‡

List of weird foods my cat likes§§§:

1. Tomatoes
2. Tofu
3. Almost any fruit, but especially peaches and grapes
4. Diet Pepsi
5. Noodles (plain)
6. Anything salty
7. Dead plants, but not live ones
8. Black beans
9. Avocado

I'd also like to note he won't eat a spider. It's the primary reason I got cats in the first place: spider control. No interest.

In fact, his sister -- rest her furry little soul -- could (and did) watch spiders for hours, only involving herself if the object of her affection stopped moving for too long. Then she'd ever-so-gently tap it with a velvety paw and set it on its way.

[SUMMARY: Holy fucking cats.]

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

Told you I had nothing to say. And it only took me 1,016 words and four-and-a-half hours to do it.

[SUMMARY: Y'all better hope I have sex this weekend or this could be the foreseeable future of the Rickety Blog.]

Happy Friday! Please come back some day!

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I looked it up. It's spelled just fine.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Sylvia is having website updates. She's even going to have an online STORE. So for those of you who have asked, you will soon be able to shop Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack in your underwear and purchase those delectables that populate my stash and are not so much available at your LYS.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For the record, no, I never had any imaginary friends that I recall. I had a piggy pillow, but no imaginary friends. Brother was just being funny. Hahahahaha.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): So don't tell anyone, K?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): The fact that Brother ASKED for the pink sheep bag and that his shrugging off the pretty turquoise Little Mermaid shirts does nothing for my story. You knew this was how it was going to come out, Brother, right?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Note: not four times. I can't count that high.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): And why did I even try?

§§FOOTNOTE (swervy-curvy): Duh.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed. twice.): I was getting all wound up. Pun! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh, I think I'm funny...

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like ): See: think I'm funny

†††FOOTNOTE (oh, so cross): She's not seriously talking about this, is she?

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (too cross for words): Really? There has to be a point here somewhere...

§§§FOOTNOTE (loop-d-loop-d-loop): Holy fucking cats. She's listing cat snacks. What's going on over at Aunt Purl?

Knitblog in the Moonlight

It took me hours to figure out what setting and how to take this picture of the Lake in moonlight,† then I forgot to post it yesterday. Good thing I'm in charge here so we can preempt your regularly scheduled knitblog to make you unwillingly appease my vanity by looking at my pretty pictures.

[SUMMARY: HKIC: it has its advantages.]

These are the yarns that showed up Tuesday and Wednesday last week. I didn't even open them before I left -- I just tossed them wholesale, packaging and all, into the Mini and took off for Nebraska.

Knowing what was waiting for me when I unpacked on the other end inspired me to the discipline necessary to organise myself and stick with the program and...

Who am I kidding? It mostly inspired me to drive about 100 all the way there.

But look:

Clockwise from upper left: Cider Moon Glacier in Rainbow Trout, Louet Gems Opal in Violet and Shamrock, Lorna's Laces in Baltic, Watercolor and Maple Leaves.



Wouldn't you drive fast if you knew this was on the other end of your journey?

The infamous Lorna's Laces, fresh from their worldwide tour.





...and the shamrock Louet is for these...

Cookie A! Twisted Flower!




...and the violet Louet is for this...

More Cookie A! Thelonius!



...or maybe these.

Cookie, Cookie, Cookie A! Gothic Spire!



Just love me some Cookie A. Theoretically, I mean, since I bought four patterns and have yet to do more than fondle and drool and daydream.

Now, the Cider Moon (new best friend!) didn't picture up as well as I'd hoped, so I took a new picture this afternoon, with the wound skein attached to its chosen project, Sulala's Swirl Socks.

The colour is called Rainbow Trout and I hope to get more to make socks for my dad. Not that my dad is so into the rainbow part, but I think when I tell him it's all about the trout, he'll snap right in line.

Isn't it gorgeous?




Just look at the progression of colours along the needle...




*sigh* Beauty surrounds us.

[SUMMARY: We've learned something important here today: I am a sock whore.]

You know one thing I really like about the Swirl Socks and the Cider Moon? Sport weight.

Here are my other current socks, the debtor's socks for my brother for Father's Day. They're not sport. They're fingering.‡ It'll probably be really good for the intarsia Arrrgyle pattern I'm putting on the leg, but it is a LOT of stitches. 72 per round, to be exact.

[SUMMARY: No greater love hath a seester...]




When I wasn't knitting the debtor's socks at the Lake, I was knitting this washcloth.§

Look! Purple!



The pattern's cool, isn't it? And pretty easy.

My big gripe¶ is that the Fiber Trends pattern is printed on dark green paper, defying photocopying, so I can't write all over it, which would be helpful since there's a lot of on-beyond-four counting involved. Plus, it's getting pretty beat up. I'm just going to have to break down and put it on my very special computer-generated index cards one of these days.

Soon, if I'm smart.#

[SUMMARY: Modern technology: Garbage In, Garbage Out. Or, in my case, Nothing In, Nothing Out.]

And this would be the Girl Colours Big Baby Blanket for Dave's daughter.



I know, I know, but after the forgetting-the-border debacle (particularly since I'd just sent First Among Imaginary Kellys the pattern that very day), I was a little demoralised.

Don't worry, I'll get there. I have to. It's deficit knitting and I want to be out of debt and free to live my life.

And...



All the way in from the coast...



Wait for it...



Cat for Scale!



Your camera strap, it fascinates me.



[SUMMARY: Not a knitblog without a cat.]

I heard the most interesting thing†† on ESPN Radio this morning.

The New York Yankees will be playing in KC tonight, which is almost irrelevant to this story. This little statistical gem goes like this:

A-Rod hit his 499th homer last night. The Yankees have won six straight.

On Friday, prior to a regularly-scheduled game, the Yankees and Orioles will be playing the last couple of innings of a game that was suspended on June 28. Anything that happens during those makeup innings will be statistically counted on June 28.

So... assuming the Yankees win tonight in KC, they will have a seven-game winning streak going into Friday.

Here's the good stuff: if they lose those makeup innings, that loss will be counted for June 28, thus the winning streak will still be alive.

Even better: if A-Rod hits his 500th during the makeup innings, that will be credited to June 28, putting last night's 499 as 500 in the record books.

It's like quantum baseball: "If Alex Rodriguez hits his 500th homer prior to his 499th homer, will there be anybody there to celebrate?"

[SUMMARY: Hate me some Yankees, but love me some weird-ass statistics.]

Wow. Is it Thursday already?

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Oddly, the simpler the camera, the harder to take pictures of the moon.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): eca, pray for me. Steph, I can hear you giggling.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Yes it is.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): You knew there had to be one somewhere, didn't you?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): RHETORICAL. No need to comment.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Now, now... you have your interests, I have mine.

ETA: Take my car keys. As I was typing and such, I realised I got the WRONG WEIGHT in the Louet yarn. Cookie A would really like me to knit her lovely patterns in FINGERING,‡ and I apparently think I should be doing them in SPORT.

Thank the wool gods I'm dealing with Wendy at Lanas de Libelula.

Wendy is marvelous.

Wendy will probably secretly laugh and wonder if she should take my car keys but she'll exchange my yarn cheerfully. For putting up with all my senility (and you haven't even heard the story about how I didn't get enough yarn the first time around and she -- thanks be -- still had the same dye lot which turns out not to matter so much when it's all going back and we're going to have to start over hopefully without all the Marin angst...), she has my undying devotion.

Good grief, I'm a dork.

Snakes on a Plane

TTHFCIF

I did something brilliant yesterday. Well, I think it's brilliant. Sarah laughed at me.*

See, Sarah, genius knitter, writes her patterns out on index cards, which helps eliminate that thing I do where I read the first six instructions on one row, then accidentally let my eyes drop to the next row and end up with some truly wonky cables.

Sarah has suggested several times, after watching me de-wonk my cables, I might want to try the index card method.

Red has seconded.

I have mostly ignored.

Until I had this brainstorm.†

I trotted over to my friendly neighbourhood Office Depot‡ yesterday and got some index cards for ink jet and laser printer.

Yeah, baby.

I put the cabled clutch pattern (row by row, with all the arcane cable instructions printed on each appropriate card) on MS Word index card templates and voilá!%

Cards I can reprint when wine is spilled on them.¶

Cards I can correct at will.§

[SUMMARY: Techmology. Making our lives better every day.]

I also discovered yesterday that it isn't easy taking a photo of a computer screen.

The cards in their natural habitat.


[SUMMARY: Techmology. Dangerous in the wrong hands.]

But look how pretty when they're all printed.



As I mentioned, there was media coverage of last night's Stitch Therapy. I still don't know where they came from (Hoboken? Mars?), but they were very nice and if I ever find my picture has been published or I've been quoted, I'll certainly make all of you read it/look at it and give me a Scooby treat and scratch behind my ears and all that.

[SUMMARY: Limelight ho!]

Anyway, Stitch Therapy meets New Camera:

Red brought her wheel.


Mary Kay spent her night patterning a 50-year-old crocheted skirt Lijia brought, while Sarah spent her night finding errors in the Vogue Stitchionary. Mary kay and Sarah may be WAYYYYY beyond my knitterly scope.


Heidi and Lisa-prounounced-Liza are just happy I didn't run the first picture I took of them. Mad photo skillz.


I hate to admit I don't remember the name of the lovely woman (hello, what's-her-name! I'm your new best friend!) on the left, and I'm not sure I know how to spell Lijia there on the right, though that's what we'll spell her for now, since that's how her name is pronounced.

Sylvia's sister, and by far the best photo I've ever taken of Sylvia, even though she looks terribly serious and she's mostly not terribly serious.

You know how I kinda dropped (clumsily) head-first into the DK Nation? ("Um, I don't know if anybody's interested or whatever but I kind of like knit at this bar...")

Well, last night Sarah was talking about hot springs and Red is planning a white-water rafting trip for Sunday and I said, "We should have a knitters' retreat to Jackson. I know a natural hot springs you hike into and we can go white-water rafting and last time I checked there's a really cool yarn store in Jackson..."

I guess I'm planning a knitters' retreat to Jackson, Wyoming in, say, September. Just puttin' that out there.

[SUMMARY: Joiner to leader in a blurt.]

By the by, I spoke too soon the other day: First Among Imaginary Kellys's blog has definite purplocity.

OK, enough of this knitting crap. Bob and Mira would be so proud if they knew I was actually delving into the socially relevant here.

There's an AP story y'all need to know about. And maybe help me out a little.

You can read the actual story here. Go now. I don't know how long it will be there.

The short of it: A man tried to smuggle 700 live snakes, including two cobras, onto a plane in his carryon bag at the Cairo airport yesterday.

Here's where you can help:

1. Does the term "smuggle" not connote some sort of... covertness?
2. How covert can you be with 700 carryon snakes?
3. Did Samuel L. Jackson ruin plane travel for the rest of us?
4. You can carry on cobras but not DPNs?#
5. As Brother pointed out, how fucked up does the security at the Cairo airport have to be that the guy even THOUGHT he might be able to bring live snakes (of any kind, of any number) on a plane?
6. How funny is the concept of carryon snakes?
   

[SUMMARY: Snakes on a plane!]

Happy Friday, ev'rybody.

*FOOTNOTE (asterisked, oddly enough): More because I was so pleased with myself than because of the actual idea, I'm sure.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And I'm sure it has nothing to do with my need to never, ever do anything the way someone else tells me I should, like a two-year-old saying, "I can do it myself!"

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Where, if you're into this sort of thing (and I have the feeling some of you are), they have Mr. Clean Erasers, the four-pack, on clearance for $5.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): How do you like my accent now? Boo-yah!

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Not that I would ever spill wine on my knitting patterns. Actually, Sarah spilled wine on my cards and I said, "No big deal! I can reprint that at will!" That's just how I roll.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not that I would ever accidentally put in an extra p2 on Card 4 or anything.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): OK, I made it a little about knitting. Just for you.

I'm getting a block (or maybe just two) of tickets for Stitch n' Pitch at Coors Field on July 28. Anyone interested (including cousins, sisters-in-law, brothers, random tourists, ladies, gentlemen, boys, girls, those undecided...) can let me know by, say, next Thursday (May 31st) and I'll include you.

It's $19 and you get a gift bag (you like gift bags), in case that sways your vote.

Blurt.

Holy Cats

Is it too cliché (lovin' the accent mark) to say TGIF?

Well, with me, it'd probably be more like TTHFCIF,† 'cause I try to avoid dangerous religion, politics and vodka preference‡ issues in my non-confrontational blog.

Speaking of non-confrontation (like the segueway?), guess who called this morning?

...and it got really busy last weekend
...and then The Boy's sister had her baby seven weeks early and everybody's in a tizzy
...and then she was going to email yesterday but it got all hectic

And she apologised, so I thanked her for that. I also reminded her with the weird non-love/ex-love triangle with The Boy, I'm overly sensitive about the blow-off thing and will continue to be. I told her I see no reason she couldn't have taken a minute or two to shoot off an email, text message or (*gasp*) phone call just to say, "Sorry, so busy, miss you."

She said she might call this weekend if she has time. We'll see.

Enough of that.

[SUMMARY: Nobody cares about Kelley's transgressions and my abandonment issues but me, but I figure if you had to live through the whole shitstorm, you might as well get the updates. Just so's you can sleep at night.]

I promised you BoyCraft. And shopping. At the same time.

This may not be nearly as funny to you as it is to me (and my brother. And my sister-in-law. And possibly Tani and Annie... OK, so I at least have a small audience here), but I took my dad yarn shopping last night.

I may have already told this story, but I'll brief it here so everybody can catch up: My father is semi-actively looking for a girlfriend. I teasingly suggested (many times, until he was maybe a little sick of me beating the dead horse of that joke) he come to knitting group to either meet women or meet women who know women he might want to meet.

He decided to take ballroom dancing lessons instead. Because it's more manly (my interpretation, not his).

I continued to make the joke about him knitting.

Then my sister-in-law, who apparently *can* see the forest for the trees, and has two small boys, so she knows something about the psychology of the reluctant, suggested he would be the absolute cherry-on-the-sundae at the the family Christmas party (where about 35 of us exchange ornamental items -- mostly handmade -- in white elephant style) if he knitted something, just 'cause nobody would ever believe it. It somehow also came about that my brother will also knit his Christmas project this year, adding to the hilarity and family legend.

The two best things that have come out of this so far:

1) Mother's Day, as Dad and I were making arrangements to get his supplies, eBeth (the sister-in-law) said we should get a bunch of movies that we've already seen, so we don't have to pay that much attention, but so we have adjunct entertainment, and I will teach Dad and Brother to knit and help eBeth remember how.

It's like I have another knitting group in the making. One where I don't get to drink beer or say "fuck," but where I'm absolute top dog, and WAYYYYY better than my brother, so at least I have that going for me.

2) Walking my dad into Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack, introducing Sylvia to Dad,§ and introducing Dad to the world of fibre.

Things Dad learned:

-you don't want to knit the whole thing in cotton.
-Addi Turbos are pricey
-finding the right colour of green or red is often impossible and you have to tailor your project to the selection at hand
-yarns have different weights
-when you buy the yarn for your first sweater, Dad, you'll want to be sure to buy enough for the whole project at once so you get all the same dye lot so you don't get weird gradations in the middle of your sweater, but if you somehow use all the white yarn for your stocking up and need more, it won't make that much difference because the white bits aren't right next to each other anyway.

I got quite a look on that last one. Nobody tosses looks like my dad.

So he bought three balls of Mission 1824 Wool ("This is wool?" "Yep." "How do you know?" "Because it says 'Mission 1824 Wool' on the ball band." *cricketcricketcricket* "That thing is called a ball band." "Oh! I see!") and a set of Bryspun circs and probably wondered why a package the size of a mating pair of hamsters cost $23.¶

I shall keep you apprised.

[SUMMARY: All happy families are the same. Families who knit together are whacked in their own unique ways.]

Meanwhile, I wish you grown-up friends, humour of family and a really, really long weekend.

And Grey Goose. 'Cause I like you.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Thank the holy fucking cats it's Friday.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Who am I kidding? All about gettin' my Goose on.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): As my pusher.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Welcome to my world, Dad. Can I have my allowance now?

This weekend... I flash my stash for SP10 Contest number 3

Lost and Flounder

-Bought the Book Club book a month ago. Lost it.**

-Bought it again. Read half. Lost it.

-Called Knit Picks yesterday over "missing" yarn. Gave wrong order number. Confused hell out of nice CSR, particularly when I continued to argue for a good three minutes over the dates involved:**

"But it couldn't have reached Denver on the 22nd -- you just ordered it on the 23rd"

"I don't know what you're looking at. Mine says it arrived in Denver on Thursday. And delivered yesterday."

"But the order was just placed Friday."

"Why you wanna fuck with the HKIC?" (no, I didn't really. Good thing since I was so thoroughly wrong.)

-Was knitting (Pink Magic) in the blank spaces at work. Made the same exact, stupid mistake EVERY FLIPPIN' ROW. Had to tink two stitches EVERY FLIPPIN' ROW. Have been working this pattern for weeks, almost a whole ball of yarn and still made the same mistake EVERY FLIPPIN' ROW.

-Got home last night at 5:00. Found book. Went to Book Club. Left book at home.

-Decided to knit/TiVi until an hour before Book Club. Planned to leave at 6:30 to allow that hour to stop by grocery store for provisions and travel to Book Club destination. Was smug and pleased when leaving at 6:20. Realised en route to grocery store Book Club at 7:00.**

-Went to Book Club. Took pictures. Left camera.

-Got in the car this morning. Got to parking garage. Had no wallet. Had to go home.

-Realised en route never went to bank for boss yesterday as promised.

-Went to drive-thru bank. Drove off without receipt. Had to go back.

[SUMMARY: I'm losing it, whatever it is, literally and figuratively.]

And it's snowing like a mother (I know that phrase doesn't make any sense) in Denver-ish, so the Snow Guys will be out in full force tonight.

*brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.scrape.scrape.scrape.* "Hey, Manny, why do you bang a blonde in the cab of a backhoe?"

[SUMMARY: And it doesn't look like I'm finding it any time soon.]

please send vodka

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): If you look back, last month's book was also purchased twice. I purchased this month's book at that time, and have yet to find either original copy. Some people's socks go into another dimension. I apparently have book trolls.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): By the way, if you order from Knit Picks and obsess over your tracking information (*ahem*), when it says "DELIVERED" in big, scary letters (scary 'cause I know it *wasn't* delivered when it says DELIVERED), it doesn't mean delivered to you, it means delivered to your post office. There will never be an indication that the post office actually thinks they delivered your yarn to you. Yeah, I don't get it either. And I still don't have my yarn.

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Book Club has ALWAYS been at 7:00.

**FOOTNOTE (unasterisked): I did knit seven rows on the Stupid Blanket at Book Club (in the midst of the traditional book shower for the mother-to-be for whom the Stupid Blanket is being constructed). I made a mistake on one end that I have decided to leave. It won't be that noticable, it will save Bert (the baby) from the wrath of angry perfection gods and it will save me from frogging four rows of 150 stitches and finally putting my head in the oven.

or chocolate

Digging Those Shins!

KELLY CRISIS: OVER... and I was *so* looking forward to an Iran Hostage-style daily count

Kelly (the one who lives in the 'hood, as opposed to the thousands of Kellys apparently reading this blog and becoming my new best Kellys**) called last night, making me a happy and relieved new-best-friend, but ruining the great scheme to turn her absence into a bit that would rival the Heathers schtick for sheer blogdorkness. Sometimes ya gotta give a little to get a little.

[GREEK CHORUS: Kelly's back!]

Meanwhile...

When the Brown Palace shindigs, they really dig their shins in.

Fabulous food, free drinks (good ones! not box wines and Miller Genuine Dreck!), free massages, 50% off a spa service booked at the event (and that makes some of their very expensive stuff -- like the $85 signature pedicure -- absolutely reasonable).

The manager of the hotel, Marcel Patin (and I have no idea if his last name is close to right. That's what I heard. He's French, so use an accent when you say it to yourself) even stopped to talk to us, and when he found I'm a regular at the spa, he was genuinely interested in whether I was getting good service or had any suggestions. I'm such a geek for customer service, even if it was all a front, I dig that kind of stuff. Almost as much as I dig shins.

Funny side story: When Marcel (and we are on a first-name basis. If only because I'm not remotely sure about his last name. And because he's my new best friend) first approached us, both Annie and I thought he was going to hit on us. Is it a French guy thing or is it a 40-something chick thing?

I did take my camera, but both the pictures I came home with had to be taken before my hands were full of martini and food plates. I was already in dire straits about how to pick up the hors d'oeuvres (are you supposed to use an S for the plural on that?) that were circulating without spilling my drink, so photo ops were limited. To two. Here they are:

The friends (Annie and Tani, respectively) and the drinks (pomegranate martini, blueberry martini and mango mojito in the background, respectively) that made it all worthwhile


Tani (or that bump in her belly) is the future recipient of the Stupid Blanket and Annie is the future recipient of the Heathers ("It's your turn Heather." "No, Heather, it's Heather's turn. Heather?" "Sorry Heather. " Nope, not old yet).

So this weekend finds me trying to smash St. Patrick's Day in with the following:

1) Baking and decorating four dozen carrot cupcakes for Tani's baby shower
2) Tani's baby shower
3) NCAA Tournament watchage
4) Taking Dad to the airport at (get this) 4:00 Sunday morning. MORNING. 4:00. I volunteered. I'm not as smart as I look.

I may sleep some on Sunday. I may not sleep at all *until* Sunday.

Oh! And because I threatened this, and I generally keep my word, I did some business (then cancelled some business) with a yarn place and I want to let y'all know what a small and irritating clusterfuck it was, just in case.

Remember the Trojan Sweater? That I kept saying the yarn would come any day? I ordered the yarn from the Yarn Barn on February 26. I ordered it there because it was one of the few places that came up when I Googled "Dark Horse Fantasy" that actually had anything to do with yarn. Y'all know what I mean.

Anyway, the next day, Pat Kirtland, owner of the Yarn Barn emailed to say thanks for the order, I don't have the seven balls you want [side note: with all this talk of fantasies and balls, I'm either going to start getting hits from Cinderella enthusiasts or... well, you know], I only have six, I'll have to order more. I asked how long it would take for me to get the yarn. She said about a week, because she had to order it from Colorado Springs. I mentioned that I live in Colorado and perhaps they could drop-ship my order directly from the Springs. She said she didn't know if they'd drop ship partial lots, but she'd check and let me know.

Never heard from her again.

Yesterday I called to ask what the status of the order was. I'm still not convinced she even ordered the right colour, since she kept talking about "reddish orange" and I ordered shocking pink (I shouldn't make fun. She may be handicapped. A colour-blind yarn purveyor. How horrifying is that?). She said she'd gotten the order in today (that would be yesterday now. Tense can be a little tense in blogworld). She didn't mention when she'd ship it or how long it would take, nor did she express any sorrow or concern over my complete lack of sweater yarn.

"Is this common with your shop?" I asked, "because my inclination is not to order again if I have to wait three weeks for yarn that I can get other places much quicker."

"Well," she said, in a defensive and snotty tone, "this wasn't in my control. There's nothing I can do about it if the yarn company doesn't send me the yarn."

I was tempted to say, "You could have written, you could have called. You could have apologised. You could have -- at bare minimum -- acknowledged my concern and answered it like you actually want to have customers." I decided not to engage. I just said, "Then please cancel my order. I can get the yarn at my local yarn store."

(I know we love and support our LYSs, but at the time I went looking for the yarn, none of them showed it on their websites as available. Then I was in A Knitted Peace one day and -- ta-daaaaa -- there it was)

"FINE!" she said. You know the tone of voice.

So I sent her an email reiterating the cancellation of the order and told her that her reaction to my inquiry earned her both a one-way-ticket away from my yarn-friendly bank account and as much bad publicity as was reasonable in my purview. So here I am, making good on the bad publicity thing. Do with it what you will.

[GREEK CHORUS: AntiM complains a lot, mostly about high class problems like too many cool social events, but at least French guys talk to her. Don't shop at Yarn Barn. And don't fuck with the HKIC.]

I leave you with this funny story from my friend Mick (who has a Blackberry and knows how to use it), who hypothesised that it's only funny if you were there, but I think it's pretty funny even though I was nowhere near the store in question at the time:

Anyway, here is a random event from my life. I went to the gas station, everyone has to pre-pay, I left my CC at home so went inside, long line I'm looking around. Next to the hotdogs are 3 pumps for condiments, one for Catsup, one for Mustard and the 3rd just says sauce. That's it just sauce. I get to counter and ask the guy, "what kind of sauce is that." He looks kinda pissed off. "Sauce!" He says. I ask for 20.00 in gas and 2 cans of Copenhagen, he rings it up. Before I pull out the cash, I ask "what kind of sauce, hot? Sour? Cheese? Just saying sauce tells me nothing." The guy isn't happy now. "30.92" he says. Now I want to play. "First tell me what's the sauce? I might like to have some. How can I buy it if I don't know what it is?" "Hot dog sauce, ok?" He says. Now the guy behind me who has been chuckling asks. "What kind of hotdog sauce?". At this point the 3 of us are only ones in store, and the counter guy figures out we are just messing with him. Anyway it was funny, probably a lot funnier if you were there.

[GREEK CHORUS: AntiM's friends are a little weird too. Figures.]

**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): There aren't thousands of Kellys reading this. Who am I kidding? There are at least two, however, and that gives me the compulsion to exaggerate for the sake of drama, blogworthiness and personal ego boost.

**FOOTNOTE (unasterisked): Didja ever notice how all blue alcohol looks like Windex?

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'.]