MonsterVision

In stunning Technicolor™!

The Monster came to live with me just before Easter.% We spent a happy day playing with my new camera† and these are the results.




We started with a glamour shot‡ by the train yard.




A train came by. And the conductor *waved* at us. It may be the single greatest moment in Monster history.




LoDo§ from the wrong side of the tracks.




There was some construction we watched for awhile. They were assembling a crane.




Like this. O hai! Crane!




We headed west past the skate park¶ to stand on the bridge over the South Platte.




A nice bicyclist thought I looked awkward holding The Monster at arm's length# to get a good river picture, so he stopped to help. Not a lot of monsters wave at train conductors and make new friends all in one day.††




It was time to get down to some serious art.‡‡ Like Common Ground, the picturesque stairway to nowhere.




We started on one side of the stairway.




Took in some rays.




Used all our America's Next Top Model training to work with our surroundings.




Played with camera angles.

Climbed the stairs, crested the summit and found a bunch of irritated, stoned emo kids hiding from the cold, cruel world there. Stepped over them and went down the other side.




Kiss the ground, we made it.




Took a moment in the shade.




"I win!"




Oh, no! MONSTER JAIL!




Braved trespass charges§§ to sit on someone's front steps.




The Monster would like to conclude with a little Public Service Announcement.¶¶ Remember kids: the more you know...


%FOOTNOTE (percented): A gift from someone who knows I am fully capable of stuffed monster wrangling as an art form.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Canon G12, for those of you scoring at home.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Flowers make everything more glamourous.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Lower Downtown. Used to be a scary industrial area. Now the hub of tragic hipness and kids you want to throw off your lawn.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which we decided to skip. You know how hard it is to get pot smoke residue out of a monster?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Poor, sweet man; he didn't realise that "awkward" is just my natural state of being.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I can say this, as am now expert on monsters.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): No art is as serious as art you can climb on.

§§FOOTNOTE (boggle): Seriously - I opened a gate and went in for that shot. Totally worth it since I didn't get caught.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (magic wands): Let's just consider that proactive community service to balance out our prior trespassing on private property. Kharma!

Crap

One of my future co-workers† asked today, "So since you're going to be an employee, does this mean you can't wear jeans every day?"

I hate the voice of reason.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Y'know... all formal-like in another week-and-a-half. I've been working with her for three years.

Holy Cats

From: "Christina"
Sent: Wednesday, April 7, 2010 1:02:14 PM GMT -07:00 US/Canada Mountain
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Procedural Question

Took lovely vacation.†

1. Took fantastic new job.‡
2. Won tourney pool.§
3. Came home last night to find new Nintendo cooking game% on the front porch... along with a new chef's apron,¶ onion goggles,# a Cuisinart†† stainless steel stockpot and a truly beautiful, big bamboo chopping board.
4. Went to happy hour with Kelley. One bottle of wine, one beer, one order of chips and salsa: $16.25. God bless half-price bottles of wine.‡‡

The question is, do I buy the lottery ticket because I'm on a roll, or have I used up more than my fair share of luck?§§


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): With glow sticks!

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Yes, I did. The company that's been my client for the last three years offered me a full-time, permanent position. After carefully weighing the pay (a little less than contractor pay, but that's expected. I'll have to watch my pennies for most of the year, I'm guessing, until I get used to not having free rein of my gross pay), the benefits (401K AND pension, raises AND bonuses, med/dent/vision for $1 a month, garage parking for $25 a month, four weeks paid vacation a year, 10 holidays and one floating holiday a year - for those of you scoring at home, that means I get a full month of and paid per year. Well, for the next four years until I get FIVE weeks vacation a year. Discount stock plan and LTIP [long term incentive program, and when I figure out the LTIP thing, maybe I can explain it to someone else], which means more cash prizes.), the location (same place, five miles from home) and the position (they created it for me, keeping in mind my short attention span, and I will have MINIONS. FOUR MINIONS), I decided that at my age and stage, I couldn't pass it up.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Cash, yes, but bragging rights more important.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): America's Test Kitchen...



to go along with my last two Nintendo-supplied games, which we never talked about.




Professor Layton: wonderful puzzle game (I like puzzles).
Style Savvy: like electronic Barbies.


¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Red.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm very sensitive to onions. I hope the goggles work.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Cuisinart!

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Every happy hour at El Camino, which sounds divey and suspect, but it's actually a really nice neighbourhood bar in what is considered a pretty nice neighbourhood. Despite the name and the discount wine.

§§FOOTNOTE (head... spinning...): I'd hate to be the victim of the first exploding lottery ticket or something, which is where I fear this is headed, given the Kharmic Green Stamps I've cashed in over the last few days.

#NintendoEnthused - plus there's a new hashtag that's supposed to say I've been compensated by Nintendo, but you already knew that and I don't remember what that hashtag looks like. Y'all know Nintendo ships me stuff and I talk about it. I hope you also know that if it sucked, I'd tell you so.

It totally does not suck.

I'll Have a Blue Christmas

Or Flag Day.

Or birthday.

Or 4th of July.

The blue rolls on.

[SUMMARY: Airless rut or unprecedented level of consistency? You decide.]

First, I've more or less made peace with the awful raffia silk. It's still splitty as a cheerleader, but I've had some practice and it's knitting pretty smoothly. It weighs about as much as an apple pip, but I have faith it will be a lovely accessory† when it's all done and blocked.




Have I mentioned lately how much I love lace? Something like this‡ is just interesting enough to be... interesting,§ but easy enough for TiVi.

Under the auspices of full disclosure, I should note that roughly three seconds after I snapped this shot, the ball of yarn bounded off its perch and bounced on the deck, rolling under the railing and into the rain gutter.

Could've been worse; could've fallen to the alley.

[SUMMARY: Optimist dork.]

Also? I'm working that second ball now.

[SUMMARY: And still twelve.]

I cast on Sunday night¶ -- yet another blue-ish thing -- for Sebring, by Dolce Handknits.#



The Drunken Knitters decided to KAL this... oh, probably two months ago. While I'm lagging, I know Bag Lady Kathryn was two rows in and ready to frog and Genius Sarah didn't like the gauge and was going to frog, so I may not be the wet blanket on the project it appeared I was going to be.




For the record, since this photo was taken, I have knit another six rounds.††

Also for the record, the pattern calls for 6.75 stitches/inch‡‡ and this gives me 6/in, so I went down to a small, which makes me inordinately happy, artificial though it may be.

Also for the record, that's Knit Picks Shine Sport, which I'm kinda loving, and that kinda scares me. It's cotton/modal. I have been pretty vocal about my dislike of plant fibres, but this one doesn't seem to be hurting my hands the way I'd anticipated.

[SUMMARY: Bonus!]

Also for the record?% I already made a mistake on the lace panel on one side, but I figure nobody will notice, so I ain't frogging.

You see why I had to put that after the "bonus!" gloat.

Next!

Following my usual MO,§§ I fondled this at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack for about three months before settling on a pattern to justify its purchase:




Just in case you can't see the ongoing blue theme...




Another plant fibre, by the way, but a very interesting texture. Oddly silky for as bumpy as it looks. I'm just dying to see how it knits up.

I suspect the lace motif on the bottom of the tank will be mostly lost in the pebbly bits.

I suspect I don't care.

[SUMMARY: All about the journey.]

Some of you may recognise this as yarn the Harlot recently touted.

Thus, I assume some of you may be terribly jealous and impressed¶¶ at my next blue acquisition.

When I told Sylvia I was having surgery, she decided to give me an extra-special get well gift##:




What do Fiona Ellis,††† the Yarn Harlot and your dear ol' AntiM have in common?

Fiona Ellis has a skein.

The Yarn Harlot has a skein.

I have a skein.

You don't have any.

[SUMMARY: Nya-nya-n-nya-nahhhh.]

Y'all know how much I love exclusive, one-of-a-kind, limited edition, get-it-while-it's-hot stuff. More important, Sylvia knows how much I love exclusive, one-of-a-kind, limited edition, get-it-while-it's-hot stuff.

[SUMMARY: Usual MO.]

And I'm not counting this as fuss. Besides, if fuss comes in the form of silky wool, I may see if I can have open heart surgery next month.

SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Cute Christopher, late of Patrick Carroll's (I'm sure we'll get to that story when he opens his new bar in July), dropped by last night and saw me knitting the fluffly little thing. "That's a for-looks scarf, isn't it? I'm from Minnesota. Scarves like that don't make much sense to me."

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): k1, yo *k3, k2tog, yo* k2tog... purl on the other side... all with a three-stitch knit selvedge

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Wow. Too many lolcats: "Interesting cat is interesting."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): You may ask yourself, "How many blue projects does one knitter need?" You may ask yourself, "Where is my beautiful red?" You may ask yourself, "How did I get to this place?"

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yeah, we love her touseled, provocative pose and snarly face too. There may be a mass snarly-touseled-provocative picture once we all finish our tanks.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): At 240 stitches per round, I want full credit.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): ?!?

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I have quite a record with this tank already.

§§FOOTNOTE (yo, k1, yo): Or is that redundant?

¶¶FOOTNOTE (I spy -- hey, they look like periscopes to me): Please?

##FOOTNOTE (all those extra pounds...): She also called me a brat for not telling her exactly when I was having surgery, but I can be pretty laid back about the name-calling in the presence of silk and wool. 'Specially blue silk and wool. She let me pick my own colour. I picked blue. Did I mention the blue phase?

†††FOOTNOTE (Arlington): Who did a sweater workshop at Syl's last weekend. Syl treats her celeb guests right. Y'know... like the Yarn Harlot, Fiona Ellis and me.

Drop In, Opt Out, Co-Opt

Once again, I have almost nothing to say.

No wisdom to impart,† no sex,‡ no knitting.§

[SUMMARY: This could be a long post.¶]

I don't have wisdom, sex or knitting, what do I have?

I can lick the pig.




I take comfort in the thought that no matter how bleak things get, I can usually scrape together enough bits for a respectable pig-licking.#

[SUMMARY: I have a dream...]

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

First, remember how I wanted to go to Slovenia?%

The fact that there is a Slovenian Pig Stamp doesn't make me want to go any less.

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

Next, in a long-awaited update to the office trash situation,†† we did finally get our "piggy backs"‡‡ for our trash cans. The trash portion of the system is smaller than a ream of paper. Apparently they haven't seen my trash after a yarn shipment.

[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!]

Anyway, I've already thrown my kleenex in the wrong bin twice.

Further updates as the situation warrants.

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

Now for the co-opt portion of our program:

This is not my story, but Mary Kay doesn't have a blog, so it's not so much *stealing* as it is giving an outlet for Mary Kay's wonderful world.

See, Mary Kay is a Drunken Knitter and shows up at Patrick Carroll's on Tuesday nights with some regularity, but she's a double agent.

A group of acedemicians, of which Mary Kay and her husband (The Professor) are members also meets at Patrick Carroll's on Tuesdays. So Mary Kay rides the fence, spending some time fiber-geeking with us and some time science-geeking with the other crowd.

So last Tuesday, Mary Kay had the most wonderful story, a story whose punchline has innumerable potentials.§§

See, a good friend of The Professor has a .45## in his house for protection.

Now is the time I introduce you to the concept of Ninja Monkeys: "Ninja Monkeys" is a blanket term¶¶ for any threat from assaulter to zombie that may beg the presence of a firearm.%%

So this guy became concerned about what might happen should Ninja Monkeys attack while he's in the shower. His hands would be wet. The gun might slip.

He did what any respectable denizen of the 21st century would do: he Googled aftermarket grips for his gun and came across a saying I'd like to have emblazoned across my boobs:†††

Tacky Even When Wet

And I want to translate it to Latin and use it as part of a coat of arms for the Drunken Knitters.

And Mary Kay and I started using it as a call and refrain@:

AntiM: Tacky...
Mary Kay: Even when wet!

[SUMMARY: Oh, the places you'll go!]

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

I just cashed in a whole pile of Kharmic Green Stamps on titanium sporks.‡‡‡

When Dad took me to the Flyfishing Film Fest, they had a bunch of raffle prizes. I was totally hoping I'd win the titanium spork. Unfortunately, it went to the obnoxious, ungrateful wretch behind us, who (besides being loud through the whole event) did nothing but complain that he got a stupid titanium spork.

Some people don't know a good thing when they have it.

I decided it would be a funny and -- probably -- even useful gift for my father for his upcoming birthday, so I Googled it. REI has a flagship store really close to me, so I checked to see if REI carried such a thing.

Their online store has several.

As you may remember, Shane turned 40 recently.§§§ And Hinch is turning 40 soon. And I got it into my head that a titanium spork would be a perfect gift for a 40 year old guy. And I really want one too.

So I need at least four titanium sporks, an errand I haven't yet accomplished.

Let's look in on Hans.

Hans had his golf clubs stolen right out of his car recently. When his insurance company asked for receipts or photographic evidence that he'd ever actually owned golf clubs,¶¶¶ he found... he couldn't prove a damned thing.###

So he has to get an affidavit from a friend saying he golfs and had golf clubs.

Said friend is meeting him at REI.

I asked him to check and see if they have titanium sporks in stock.

Who knew the theft of Hans's golf clubs would turn out to be so beneficial to me?

Oh, yeah. I won't get a good parking space for weeks for all the Kharmic Green Stamps I've cashed in.

[SUMMARY: Somewhere a Buddhist rolls in his grave.]

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

Oh, cripes. The boss just called and one of my clients%%% is flying in from Houston at 6:00 tonight and is staying at the Brown Palace. She wants to have a business dinner at 7:00 at the Brown to get a head start on tomorrows round of meetings.

Fuck.

Y'all know I love me some Brown Palace. What's not to love? It's elegant, well appointed, upscale, cosy, well executed, helpful, has the best spa in the city and they feed and water me about once a month.

But tonight is Drunken Knitting night. And I'd like to have more notice. And I have to go home and change and put on war paint. And I just don't want to.

This is what Ange calls a White Girl Problem.

[SUMMARY: You'll note it's still a problem.]

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

UPDATE: Hans JUST came back and REI does, indeed, have titanium sporks in stock.

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

Damnit.

With the Brown Palace field trip tonight, I doubt I'll have the time or inclination to offload my camera. I have such splendid out-my-office-window pictures too...

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

Dang. You know it's a bad blogday when the footnotes outnumber the actual texts.

I better get laid soon or y'all will never have anything good to read again.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Duh.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Trust me, this hurts me more than it hurts you.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I actually have been knitting. Some. But how many times can you see the same 4x1 red silk rib before you give up on me entirely?

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Not long like my usual prolixity (look it up), but long like watched-pot-not-boiling long.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Heheheh. What do you suppose "respectable" means in terms of pig-licking?

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Oh, and I still do!

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I think I should get credit for the fact that the last office trash story was also under a pig-licking and I didn't try to make it a full post all on its own. I may get writer's block* now and then, but at least I keep office trash politics in perspective.

*FOOTNOTE WITHIN A FOOTNOTE: Thinker's block?

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Note the clever pig tie-in.

§§FOOTNOTE (dizzy... confused...): Can potential be plural?

##FOOTNOTE (numbers. We are talking numbers here.): Or a .44. Or a Glock something millimetre. Doesn't matter. For our purposes, a handgun. Can you tell I'm not much of a gun buff?

¶¶FOOTNOTE (why not just club them?): And one that might not be capitalised in anyone else's world.

%%FOOTNOTE (2 percent!): This was superfluous but so much fun. After all, I could probably do this whole story without ever saying "Ninja Monkeys," but why on earth?

†††FOOTNOTE (cross me again...): Not directly on my boobs, mind you. In fact, it would *have* to be on a t-shirt to be really funny, wouldn't it?

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Kinda like an adult beverage version of Marco Polo.

§§§FOOTNOTE (put a foot on the floor and it will stop spinning): You think I just took a total left turn, don't you? You may even think I've forgotten what story I'm telling. A good pig-licking always contains an element of surprise. Or confusion.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (one iron! three iron! five iron!): You'll love the fact that not only was his insurance agent the one who left his car window open so his golf clubs *could* be stolen, but the dink called him a couple of days later to ask him to go golfing.

###FOOTNOTE (triple pounder. With cheese.): Let this be a lesson: make sure you have a picture of you golfing. Even if you're drunk and have that smeary look on your face. You may be called upon one day to prove you had clubs.

%%%FOOTNOTE (3 percent!): I only have two right now, so every client is a big client.

I Lied

OK, not so much lied as jumped the gun.† I do have a little something to tell you, as it turns out. See, Hans was just in my office to show me something kinda funny.

A ticket.

You may wonder what is funny about a ticket.

[SUMMARY: Master of the obvious.]

Remember when my license plates were expired? For five months?

I don't know how it works in your state, but in Colorado, your license plate has a month sticker on one side and year sticker on the other and you have a month of grace period after the date represented on your plate to get good with the DMV.

Again, my plates were expired for FIVE MONTHS before anyone even noticed.‡

Hans's plates expired in March. So he had April to take care of it.

And he didn't.

And he got a ticket.

Yesterday morning.

[SUMMARY: Revel in the inequity, but wait for it...]

At 3:59 a.m.§


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Remember when jumping the gun was a fun thing you did in the back room at a Halloween party in college and vaguely regretted the next morning? Good times, good times...

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Yeah, there go all my kharma points. I also think this may be the equivalent of going to Bimini with a B-list model as far as my campaign for sainthood goes.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I envision some hypervigilant meter maid (I'm sure that's a politicially incorrect term... Ticketing-American?) dozing off at 11:37 p.m. on the 30th of April, only to awake with a snort at 3:57 a.m., gleefully writing the ticket before going home to bed.

The Score

Y'know what? Sometimes you check and it turns out there *isn't* a dial tone% and it's not just him blowing you off.

Imagine.

The first thing The Spelling Bee Champ said to me when he called last night† was, "How's your spelling today?"‡ [8] five for calling, three for teasing.

He thanked me for my email.§ [5] two for polite, three for sincere.

He explained he wanted to call me the next day¶ but couldn't find my card. [2] one for taking the time to explain, one for worrying about me.

At one point he said, "Is this an awkward pause? It's not, right? Just a normal pause," which was contextually charming. [2] one for candid, one for charming

He told me he mentioned to Sarah -- before I even got 'hold of Sue -- he wanted to get 'hold of me. [2] one for thinking of me at all in the interim, one for at least trying to find me.

He thinks bar spelling bees would be an excellent pastime, and thinks we should form teams. Those who couldn't spell could still enjoy the fun by forming Fantasy Spelling Bee Leagues. [5] funny, funny, funny

He seemed refreshingly... candid. [1] refreshing!

He allowed me to teach him a little street slang,# and is now all over "hot mess."†† [2] nearly as white and goofy as me.

He was happy to keep telling me knitting is hot, and has been heard to elaborate by saying, "so hot" and using the phrase, "hot knitter." This became a sort of running joke. [6] three for sucking up to the primary hobby, one for continued use of the word "hot" in my presence and about my person, two for ongoing hilarity.

He wants to see me, spend time with me, and made a date with me for lunch on Saturday. [5] instant gratification! immediate ego boost! that's worth five points!

He told me I have nice skin, but allowed that it was dark, so... [3] two for the compliment, one for the tease.

He has at least one step-sister and many female cousins. [2] training.

He said he remembered kissing my ear. I said, "Neck too." "I kissed your neck?" "Oh, yeah." "That's hot." "Yes, it was." [1] hot... again

I said something racy and told him I was just trying to make him blush. He said he was. [2] sucking up

He is dog-sitting for friends for a week. [4] loyalty, kindness

The dogs arrived while I was on the phone with him. He said he'd call back. He did. [5] follow-through

He lives in the neighbourhood. [4] proximity

He noted my British orthography,^ heard the tale and correctly identified it as "pretentious." [3] one for noticing, one for teasing and one for just getting it.

Did I mention the kissing? [8] kissing!

He's very, very easy to talk to and he does it well, using good words and grammar. [12] two for low maintenance, two for ease of use, five for intelligence, three for articulation

He asked a lot of good questions, remembered a lot of key things and also just talked, like a conversation rather than just an interview/rake-over-the-coals. [6] four for attentiveness, two for versatility

He's an insomniac. [2] one for consanguinity,‡‡ one for potential for late night activity

He was the perfect mix of gentelman and pervert. [8] how often do you find that?

Now, he doesn't know who Mike Krzyzewski is, which means he's not a sports guy, which is unfortunate, but not a deal-breaker. And since I'm currently a card-carrying member of The Spelling Bee Champ Fan Club,§§ I'm not going to dock him any points.

Seriously? One thing I'm enjoying immensely is that I'm not all spun on this, but I am rather delighted. I think giddy, dizzy Marin isn't necessarily the best thing, the best omen, but I'm delighted to be delighted.

[SUMMARY: By my reckoning, The Champ has 98 points and is well on his way to cashing in for a lovely toaster, or any of hundreds of other prizes in the Rickety Blog Kharmic Green Stamp program.]

Thank you to the voters... all three of you. Yes, I realise there may have been more if I'd *told* you there was a poll in the sidebar.

Tomorrow: Blue Dye

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Figuratively speaking, I mean. At least in this case.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Note how subtly I slipped that in. Yes! He called!

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Dontcha love a guy who knows the fine art of dishing shit? It's so much friendlier when nobody's too delicate for a little joshing.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Like, sincerely. More than once.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Woke up hung over and thought he needed to call and maybe apologise because he was too forward. Dug in his pocket to find a business card from a psychologist at CU. Thought, "I must have been a real dick last night. She thinks I need help," and then, "either that or I'm going to end up being the dick who doesn't call her."

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yeah, that's twice as funny as it sounds. The pasty leading the white.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): How proud are you right now, Stacey?

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Take that, elementary readers!

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I can spell "consanguinity," and also use it properly in a sentence.

§§FOOTNOTE (turn, turn, turn): He also gets a pass since, y'know, Duke lost three months ago. Let us not speak of it again.

Here, Piggy, Piggy...

A luscious little lapping of lickable pig today!†

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

I live in fear.‡

Brother's boss§ is a little... anal.

I like sitting at his desk before he arrives in the office and skewing his stapler just a tiny bit out of true just to watch him put it right when he gets there. Then he systematically touches and arranges everything on the desk just to be sure nothing else got fucked up while he wasn't looking.

I've dealt with worse, but he definitely teeters toward that end of the spectrum.

Yesterday, I had chicken fajitas for lunch while I was in his Littleton office. And I got a tiny, annoying shred of chicken stuck between my teeth. Brother's boss reached a toothpick down for me,¶ and I attended to the chicken and went on to groom my other teeth because... well, if nothing else, I kinda like chewing on toothpicks.#

I woke up this morning all groggy and warm and with a cat purring in my ear, then sat bolt upright, heart pounding like a footnote,†† suddenly aware I couldn't remember throwing the toothpick away. Try as I might, I can't visualise when or where I may have thrown it away and that means it could be anywhere.

It could be sitting in the middle of his desk.

Or chair.

Or dining room table.

Not only would this be disgusting and an abuse of toothpick privileges, but it would annoy him more than it would annoy most people. And he'd never let me forget it.

[SUMMARY: The petroleum industry: no country for odd women.]

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

They've gone to a new recycling program here at Patrick's dad's office.‡‡

We used to have individual paper recycling in our offices, with similar, larger recycling bins in the copy rooms. And there is a recycling can in the kitchen for aluminum and plastic.

Under the new system, they've taken away our individual recycling boxes and our trash can liners. We are supposed to use the trash cans for recycling and they're supposed to provide us a "piggy back" to attach to the side of our trash cans to put trash that can't be recycled.§§

For one, I fail to see how this is better than the old way. It's certainly more of a pain in the ass because, for two, our recycling boxes and trash can liners have already disappeared, but the mysterious "piggy backs" have yet to be installed.

I know the dedicated enviroweenies are too caught up in the beauty of recycling to realise that the PTB basically expect us to live without trash cans.

And it may seem like a small thing to whine about, but if you are rolling your eyes at me right now, I challenge you to get rid of the trash can in your office for a week and see how you like it.

[SUMMARY: This may be kharmic payback for leaving my disgusting, chicken-blobbed toothpick on John's desk.]

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

I knitted a monkey this weekend. No pictures, no details, I'm just thrilled to be able to utter that sentence.

Camera work to follow.

[SUMMARY: Non Sequiturs¶¶ backwards-R Us.]

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

There is a new plague.

It seems like everybody's getting it -- Hans, Genius Sarah, Bag Lady Kathryn... and I thought it was the same thing I had from mid-December until some time the first week in February, but it appears it may be an entirely different animal. In which case, I'm probably not immune.

In fact, I'm a little headachy and tired today and that's apparently how it starts.

Now, I figure I can look at this one of three ways:

In the glass half empty way, I am being punished for digressions both known and inferred.##

In the glass half full way, Job had to suffer plagues on his way to biblical stardom, right? And my primary resolution for 2008 is still to reach sainthood.

In the not-getting-the-cart-before-the-horse way, I'm not actually sick yet.

[SUMMARY: Inside my head is a swirling, volatile place. Watch your footing.]

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

Remember the big ol' deadline I had January 31? Well, the buyer to whom we sold bought us lunch today.†††

That is not what this little porcine tongue tango is about.

No, I started giggling helplessly to myself -- but in front of all the key players in Patrick's dad's office -- because of a whole tangential story in my head.

**WARNING**

Please see previous summary for caveat. Not responsible for dizziness, headache, nausea or disorientation.

See, the nice delivery girl was setting up on the conference table. She wanted to put this red-checkered, disposable tablecloth on the table, but there was a conference call thingie in the middle, which couldn't be moved without an ethernet expert, so the consensus was to leave said conference call thingie and just throw the tablecloth over it.

Which took me back a few years to when my parents‡‡‡ had their roof replaced right before they went on their annual four-week vacation. The roof didn't pass inspection, so they asked me to handle what I could in getting the job done right while they were out of town.

So after the second round of inspection rejection, I called the roofing company to read them the latest litany of inspection woes, and I added, "And there's a big lump in the top, eastern portion of the roof at the front of the house that looks like you shingled over a squirrel." Which I didn't really know I was going to say until it was out of my mouth.

It caught me so by surprise that I started laughing. The customer service wench at the roofing company didn't think it was funny at all,§§§ which made me laugh harder. I excused myself and said I'd call back later.

When I saw the conference call thingie lumping under the tablecloth today, it reminded me of the squirrel bump in Brother's parents' roof.

And I giggled. And excused myself.

[SUMMARY: Some of us will never rise above our own dorkedness in this world.]

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

Last but not least, stealing from Lyda once again:




[SUMMARY: That's what he said!]

Probably because I can spell "fellatio."


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I linked to the picture's source, but you may not want to go there. There are PIG RECIPES, and that seems a little wrong, like having Cat Foo Yung recipe cards at the desk at the Denver Dumb Friends League.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Good start!

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): We also occasionally talk about Brother's father, Brother's grandmother or Brother's cousin Tani.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): John is 6'2" or 6'3". I am 5'4". It's a math thing. Or a physics thing. Both. I couldn't reach the damned toothpicks and had to ask for help.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Until I get splinters in my tongue.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): That's pretty funny. Or at least self-referential in the extreme.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): See? Now Patrick's practically family.

§§FOOTNOTE (like two enviroweenies dancing in the glen): What can't be recycled? I quote: "We can recycle most items; here are the exceptions Kleenex tissues, food, gum, paper towels, styrofoam, light bulbs, plastic bags and garbage." [sic, mostly because I feel they're missing a period and a colon and have tossed in an ill-advised semi-colon]. I take great exception, much like Kraft claiming to have salad dressing with ingredients. As "ingredients" means nothing specific, "garbage" means fuck-all. It's like saying, "and other stuff."

¶¶FOOTNOTE (noses!): I can spell "non sequitur." Also? Take *that* elementary school readers!

##FOOTNOTE (pounding like a flu ache): Y'know... like, "I may not know why I'm grounding you, but YOU know why I'm grounding you."

†††FOOTNOTE (cross purposes?): Maggiano's, for those of you scoring at home.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (bird tracks): Or, as we like to call them, "Brother's parents."

§§§FOOTNOTE (marching monkeys): In fact, she took me so seriously she wanted details of how I knew it was a squirrel and it took me a good fifteen minutes (when I called back) to talk her into the idea that I was just being flip and was pretty sure there was no squirrel involved, just a lump that suggested what it might look like if a squirrel had been shingled over.

I'm Number Two!

Just wait 'til you see all the knitting what took place this weekend! There's engineering! Peeps! Drama! Math! Ribs! 100% baby alpaca!

They should have made a reality TiVi series out of my weekend! And my weekend started really early because I had Good Friday off† and they closed the office at 3:00 on Thursday!‡

[SUMMARY: She exclaimed!]

Of course, the pictures are stuck in the camera for the moment,§ so you'll have to wait to share in most of the festivities. Damn it,¶ *I'll* have to wait. And I'm off-my-rocker excited to show you my knitting pictures from this weekend.#

But since there are no pictures in Olympus Limbo for the Saturday night spelling bee, I can recount that particular tale.

[SUMMARY: A spelling bee story? With no pictures? REALLY?!]

The Coral Room hosted a benefit Saturday night for Kristen, who is undergoing cancer treatment, much to the detriment of her modest cash flow.††

There was a big raffle, for which I knit a lovely alpaca scarf and bought my fair share of tickets.

There were drink specials, for which I strayed from my usual glass of Evolution in favour of a chardonnay.

There was the guy who wanted to buy Kelley and I drinks for letting he and his wife sit in our seats to eat, but we asked him to put the cash in the Kristen Kitty instead.

The Platte River Killers played an acoustic set.‡‡

And there was the spelling bee.

[SUMMARY: Cancer takes a lot of effort.]

My first word? Fellatio.§§

There were about 25 people signed up. Most made it through the first round. Most didn't make it through the second round.

I made it to the fourth and final round, and somehow decided the U in boudoir was one vowel too many and lost to he-who-shall-be-known-as-Spelling-Champ, who spelled "aborigine."

I can spell aborigine.

Apparently, my French is a little rusty.

And I could've spelled it right if I'd written in out.

And I'm pretty sure I spelled "idiosyncrasy" correctly in the round before, even though the MC said I was wrong.

And the sun was in my eyes.

*ahem*

I did get some nice parting gifts, including a dictionary, a crossword puzzle book, a $35 gift certificate to the Coral Room¶¶ and some very accomplished kisses from The Spelling Bee Champ, who also got my phone number.##

[SUMMARY: What ego was damaged in the spelling be was totally spackled over in the aftermath.]

So all in all, a good night, though not the win I anticipated.†††

As a funny aside, the final gift in the prize bag was a "green"% light bulb from Wal-Mart.^ When I got home, I flipped on the torchiere (I can spell "torchiere") lamp that I favour over the blasting overhead light and it promptly blew.

I reached into my little bag, pulled out my little light bulb, shed a little light on the subject and went on my merry little way.

[SUMMARY: I fear I used my Kharmic Green Stamps on light and The Spelling Bee Champ will lose my phone number.]

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

I am studiously avoiding saying anything about my tournament brackets. Once again, I picked Duke to win it all. In fact, I filled out seven brackets for seven different pools and put all my basketball eggs in the Duke basket.

Unless the Kansas plane collides midair with the Memphis plane, with both falling to crush the UNC bus, the resulting firestorm taking out Tennessee, let us not speak of this again.

[SUMMARY: Krzyzewski is French for goddamnit.]

Shit. They should have given me Krzyzewski in the spelling bee. I can spell Krzyzewski.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Any Friday when I can knit for six hours and still start drinking by 3:30 is a good Friday in my book.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Note the clever (over)use of exclamation points to indicate I don't actually have the pictures to prove it yet, but I want you to be really excited.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Why? Because I was up until 1:30 this morning knitting, that's why.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): See: excited!

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Y'all have known me awhile now. I hope you are keeping this all in perspective (I can spell "perspective") and knowing deep in your hearts that this may be wayyyyy more exciting for me than for you.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): As in, "Despite having health insurance, this is costing her more than $1000 a month out-of-pocket."

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Kind of a departure. They're a metal band, complete with thrashy guitars and muppet voice.

§§FOOTNOTE (y'know... like when you swirl your tongue): To which I said, "If you can't spell it, you probably shouldn't do it." A lesbian (I can spell "lesbian") asked me to sign her autograph book with that quote.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (one Ps... no, wait! Two Ps! Could you use it in a sentence?): The winning prize package was exactly the same, only it was dinner for two at the Coral Room.

##FOOTNOTE (right in the kisser): Of course I did. I don't have so many knee-buckling kisses that I feel I can afford to snub the kisser. Or busser. 'Cause I can spell "busser."

†††FOOTNOTE (triple threat! Beauty, Brains and... uh... Boobs!): Ah, hubris (I can spell "hubris"). Hey, when my church gets off the ground, there will be a lot more saints and a lot less random smiting.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which I put in convenient quotes so you'll know I don't mean it was kelly green or moss green, but enviroweenily friendly.

^FOOTNOTE (careted -- see? I can spell "caret"): I know, I know, but they donated. And they donated green, so it could be worse.

Images of Marin

I will now share with you a pictorial journey of my weekend.

You are so excited. You nearly peed on your feet.

First, I don't want you to feel you're falling behind on the goings-on out my window at work.

This overall view shows you Friday's weather, My Crane, the progress on the high-rise and the lack of arms on top of the 1999 building.




[SUMMARY: I am nothing if not succinct.†]

I know some of you‡ were following the saga of the arms on the 1999 avidly and I wanted to be sure you got proper closure.

Also? The billboard debacle of two weeks ago?

Thursday's billboard:




Friday's billboard:




You're welcome.

Friday brought some interesting§ scenes.¶

Rooftop conference:




And this poor little old guy who apparently is unclear on the concept of the new freedom afforded him by his Rascal scoot-along:




I took this through the sun roof on the Cutest Little Car in the Whole Wide World while stopped in mad traffic Friday afternoon.#




And this out the window of the Cutest Little Car in the Whole Wide World:




For those not in the know, La Bohéme is a strip club and Bridget the Midget% is apparently famous.††

[SUMMARY: No education is ever wasted. Some may be suspect.]

Sunday, I went to see my grandmother. She tells my father I'm the only one of her grandchildren who comes and visits her.‡‡

I want to be sure to get that out there in support of my ongoing bid for sainthood.

[SUMMARY: I know, I know, but I'm convinced enough points will at least get me a t-shirt.]

After Grandma, I decided to stop for a grilled chicken^ sandwich at Arby's and saw this:






I believe that is what they call and attractive nuisance.

OK, maybe not in the spirit of "attractive nuisance," but how can they expect me not to be tempted to turn the entire Arby's off with such clearly-labeled, accessible triggers? That look like mad-scientist switches? I can turn the entire Arby's off while pretending to bring my monster to life.

One more sainthood point for doing nothing but taking the pictures and contemplating the possibilities.

[SUMMARY: Join me in my game of cosmic Skee-Ball.]

This is chronologically out of whack, but I wanted to save the best for last.

Beth, with whom I used to work in Boulder, came from Seattle for a visit. She stayed with Tani and the three of us§§ went shopping in Boulder on Saturday.

This is outside Paper Doll:




The rules?




Do you see what I see?

[SUMMARY: Everybody's doing it...]

Yep, I'm pretty sure you can lick the pig!


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): You can stop laughing now.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Sarah.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): It's all a matter of perspective. Hans and I were riveted.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Beyond the usual antics of the parking lot monitor. See, he used to drive up in a small, silver pick-up truck, run the paid spots off the computer, walk around making note of who was parked where and mete out parking lot justice to those scoff-laws who didn't pay. Then he'd usually get into his small, silver pick-up truck and drive away. If the weather was really nice, he'd take off walking.

We think he may have been demoted, 'cause now he drives in in a little green VW something-or-other and runs the computer and checks the spots kinda half-assedly, then climbs into his car and reads the paper for a couple of hours. We've seen people park and just walk away without paying while he was sitting there in his car and they never get tickets.

The small, silver pick-up truck still comes around, but it's driven by someone else and all he does is pull in and get the cash out of the box while the small, silver truck is still running.

Hans and I are wildly interested in what's going on with parking lot politics. Some day we will snap and go knock on the window of the little green VW something-or-other and ask a series of grueling questions until our curiosity is sated.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I was going to see Brass, Bagpipes & Co. with my Dad and his not-girlfriend (and her daughter and granddaughter). I left a little early so I could stop by the yarn store (*ahem*) "on the way," but traffic was such a claustrophobic hell I barely made it in time to his house and had to skip yarn altogether. Oh, the humanity.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I'd love to give you a link, but I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be looking up "Bridget the Midget" here at work and I'm also pretty sure you shouldn't be clicking over to Bridget the Midget there at your work. I'm saving us all a lot of grief and humiliation.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): My latter-day porn star knowledge is limited to Jenna Jameson and Katie Morgan. I don't know that I've ever actually seen a picture of Jenna Jameson, but I love Katie Morgan's HBO gig. Bridget the Midget is all new to me, but Hans says he got a friend a Bridget the Midget video once.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I win!

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Which sounded righteous and possibly yummy and tasted boiled.

§§FOOTNOTE (curly like a pig's tail): Well, and 10-month old Benjamin, who didn't so much shop as play with his feet.

Get the Pope on the Line

YESTERDAY

Yesterday was a day of rare virtue.%

I would be smugly self-righteous if Pride wasn't one of the big sins.†

I brought and ate oatmeal for breakfast.

I packed my lunch -- a healthy, reasonable lunch of tortellini, apple sauce and pickled green beans. I ate that lunch and only that lunch.^

I stopped at Vitamin Cottage on my way home and got an organic, whole grain, no preservatives burrito and a bunch of stuff for future lunches.

I got home and immediately divided fruits, vegetables, crackers and cereal into individual servings, distributed in zip-seal bags and ready to grab for those woozy early mornings.

I did the dishes, cleaned the kitchen‡ and ate dinner.

I started the laundry.

I vacuumed thoroughly,§ per the steam cleaner instructions, then I steamed half the living room.¶

I brought the laundry upstairs and folded it.#

I steam-cleaned my way out of the living room and went to bed.

TODAY

I took low-fat, high-fibre cereal and light yogurt for breakfast.

We had a celebratory lunch at work, and I ordered the fish tacos, only eating half my lunch and passing on dessert.††

IF

I can get through tonight and one more day with no sweets, being productive in my home and work life and healthy in my meals,‡‡ I believe that counts as three miracles.§§

[SUMMARY: My grasp of theology is slick and slipping.]

Canonise me, Benedict. I'm a fucking saint.


%FOOTNOTE (percented): I am completely leaving out the part where I was talking to Vickie in the kitchen while I microwaved my oatmeal and she said, "I'm just going to tuck your tag in here... huh. Well..."

"Is it inside out?"

"I think it is."

This wouldn't be the first time for that shirt. It's a button-up but I treat it like a pullover and its seams just aren't obvious enough for me to notice in my morning fog. So I huddled in the least visible corner of my office, turned it right side out and was left with big, white deodorant blotches for the rest of the day. (More about deodorant later in the footnotes. Stay tuned.)

I'm not sure this counts as a defect in virtue, but I worry they don't let dorks become saints.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Speaking of, did you see the Catholic Church is expanding the list of deadly sins? I do admit that, in researching that to make sure I remain the paragon of education you've come to know and trust, I fell a little in love with the actual words under the Catechism governing sin (paraphrasing, but only just slightly): Mortal sin destroys charity in the heart of man, while venial sin allows charity to subsist but offends and wounds it.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): No between-meal snacks!

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): If anybody doubts my three miracles, this should bolster my claim. Believe me when I tell you I've never cleaned for the sake of cleaning. Oh, sure, if people are coming over or as a matter of public health or I've lost the cat, but I just don't clean for fun. Or even because it's the right thing to do.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): OK, my vacuum cleaner has this cleaning indicator attached to an electronic eye that monitors the amount of crap being sucked into the vacuum. A lot of crap earns three red lights, then in goes down to two... one... and finally green as the carpet is picked clean. I live and die by the lights. I vacuum slowly, slowly... RED LIGHTS! Sit! Stay! Three red... two red... one red... GREEN! Inch to the next red light, repeat. I am such a dork.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The half I wasn't using to fold laundry and knit.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): If there is any question, this counts as our second auxiliary miracle. I tend to leave the laundry in the dryer overnight when I do it. Then I go down every morning (two-and-a-half flights of stairs, three levels) and pick out an outfit, tossing it into the dryer with a damp cloth to steam the wrinkles out. I dress in the basement (which almost always entails at least one trip back upstairs for shoes or socks or bra or something) and go out the garage from there. Also? I keep my deodorant in the car. There's a reason. You don't need to know it right now. Just take comfort in my current state of martyrdom that I'm putting this forth to make your wacky life seem utterly sane.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I skipped COMPANY SANCTIONED DESSERT. Dessert SOMEONE ELSE WAS PAYING FOR.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I should probably point out it's the night of Drunken Knitters, so I'll really want a beer. Do I still get my miracle if I drink? Catholics aren't averse to drinking, right?

§§FOOTNOTE (spinning in a sea of beatitude): I believe now would also be the appropriate time to point out (again) that I am suffering through Lenten deprivation even though I'm not Catholic and I think I should get saint points for that.

The Prayers of Heathens

TTHFCIF

I've told y'all the story of how I couldn't knit after my mom died. I couldn't even knit when she was in the process of dying. For, oh, nine months or so, I'd pick something† up, knit a couple of stitches, go "meh," and put it down.

[SUMMARY: When good therapy goes bad...]

When I heard a childhood friend was fighting cancer, I decided it was excellent motivation to knit something and finish it. A prayer shawl seemed an appropriate choice, so I purchased some fuzzy suri alpaca from Knit Picks in a cheery blueberry shade and set to work on a simple garter stitch lap blanket on great big needles.

My hands had grown unused to the motions, but I quickly fell into the groove. As its lacy, haloed drape grew, I slipped into the meditative state that can come from gentle repetition.

[SUMMARY: It's the new yoga! *ducking*]

Nancy's condition worsened and I stepped up my efforts.

I finished the prayer shawl. The next day, I got the email she'd died.

[SUMMARY: Timing is everything.%]

The sense of failure was... immense.

Then came the news that Annie's husband's‡ mother had been diagnosed with a cancer of the immune system and she would be starting treatment soon. I felt a little surge of joy§ and sent the prayer shawl to her.

I got a very nice thank you note.

Isn't it funny how one can assume no news is good news?

[SUMMARY: "Never make an assumption. It makes an ass out of you and umption."¶]

I didn't hear anything more until this Wednesday at Book Club. Annie tells me Hector's mom is deteriorating.#

I'm sad to hear this. I believe I only met her once, but I have a soft spot for sick mothers and I certainly feel for Hector.

But I also have a wildly inappropriate desire to giggle over the Prayer Shawl of Doom. It's pretty clear to me my knitting kills people. I monologued a short play for Dad last night:

"Charles Manson, for crimes against the state and your fellow man, I hereby sentence you to be swaddled by the Prayer Shawl of Doom until dead. May God have mercy on your soul."

[SUMMARY: Oh, why did I choose to use my power of knitting for evil instead of good?]

The moral of this story: never let a heathen pray for you. It confuses the heathen and angers the gods.

Off to San Diego tomorrow, back on Monday, Houston on Tuesday, back on Sunday. Pray for me.††

If you're not a heathen, I mean.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Dad's rainbow socks. It took more than a year to finish the rainbow socks. Then some bimbo he met off Match.com looked at his feet one day and snarked, "Do you have another pair just like them at home?" He explained they were lovingly hand-knit by his daughter, she expressed the sentiment to him that she couldn't believe he'd go out dressed like that and he subsequently expressed the sentiment to me, "I believe that's about over."

Bless the man who puts hand-knit socks above sartorial splendour.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Speaking of timing... did I mention only 24 knitting days left until Christmas?

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Hector. Not his real name. Not because I'm trying to protect his anonymity, but because I've lost track of what they call him at home. He's a man of many names.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not because she was in medical straits, you ghouls, but because the prayer shawl could go to some use.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Jeff Berry, 2007. Jeff and I may be the only two people in the world who actually think that's funny.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Annie also tells me she loves the blanket/shawl and wears it all the time. In all seriousness, that warms my heart beyond the telling of it. How much greater glory can simple craft achieve?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And maybe throw in a kind word for Hector's mom while you're at it. Heck, if you only have time for one prayer, make it Hector's mom.

Feng Schwogie!

Hey! Any Mets fans out there?

OK, this post actually has nothing to do with Feng Shui, I'm just so taken by the Frontier animals and the new-ish ads with Jack... well, I'm in love. I plan to start interjecting, "Feng Schwogie!" almost as often as I do, "That is not my cow!"†

Anyway, this post is *really* about paying it forward, apple style:

As Robin found out last week, people are oddly opinionated about apples.‡

And, oddly enough, Bag Lady Kathryn and I had an apple discussion, oh, a little over a week ago. Her bemoaning the fact that she can't always find the Pink Lady apples she prefers led to me extolling the virtues of Honeycrisp apples.

Once upon a time, maybe three years ago, I found Honeycrisp apples at Safeway. I bought a couple to try -- hey, with a name as evocative as "Honeycrisp," it seemed a good investment.

They were outstanding.

I went back and bought a whole bag and foisted a bunch on friends and family. My parents really liked them, so I thought I'd bring them a whole bag all their own.

Only there weren't any at the store.

Or a bunch of other stores.

King Soopers had never heard of them. Safeway shrugged and said it was a specialty item, available for a limited time only.

It seemed I would never see them again.

[SUMMARY: I don't have enough drama in my life, clearly. Starting to miss The Boy...]

Last fall, I went drift-boating with my father in Oregon. My aunt went on the trip too, and she and I travelled together. We took a field trip to the Harry & David compound in Medford.

Lo and behold!

Honeycrisp!

I bought a half-dozen, lugged them home in my carry-on and savoured them.

[SUMMARY: Obsession can take a strange path.]

Fast-forward to 2007, last weekend.§

Somewhere in our breakfast-at-DJ's, alpaca-stalking travels Saturday morning, Kathryn mentioned her Pink Ladies. I, in turn, rhapsodised, soliloquised, damn near canonised¶ the elusive Honeycrisp apple. When I left Kathryn Saturday afternoon, I headed to Whole Foods.

Yep. Right there in the produce section. There were Honeycrisp apples. Dozens of them. Hundreds.

It was like Christmas. Only with apples.

I decided to take one to Kathryn at Tuesday's installment of Drunken Knitting.

She was elated; I was gratified.

Then she told me a story:

She had brought an apple to the school where she works, thinking she'd probably have to go get something for lunch, but the apple could tide her over. A colleague had forgotten her apple... or her apple had been taken out of the fridge... I don't precisely remember.# The important part is that Kathryn gave the woman her Pink Lady.

It was an apple pay-forward.

Then I showed up that evening with the prize from her Kharmic Green Stamp catalog, the surprisingly straighforward balancing gift of an apple.

[SUMMARY: Kharmic Chain Letter? Will I get hundreds of apples within the next couple of weeks?]

But it doesn't end there, exactly.

Kathryn sent me an email Friday saying she'd shared the Honeycrisp I gave her with the awesome librarian at the school and he was impressed.

[SUMMARY: Apple dating? I should write a book...]

If Kathryn gets married because of that Honeycrisp, I want her to name her first-born after me.

Maybe the kid's middle name should be Honeycrisp.

Happy Monday.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): It's a Pratchett thing.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And pears. That's a Harry & David thing. If you've had the Royal Rivieras, you know of what we speak.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not the very last weekend. Not like yesterday, when the Colts beat the Broncos. More like last last weekend when the Jaguars beat the Broncos.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Like the way I juxtaposed "damn" and "canonised"? I think I'm clever, but I'm probably just going to hell.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): The details aren't nearly as important as the message, people -- let's not get bogged down by facts.

Um... where's the knitting?

Don't worry, little campers. The knitting will be back when the camera battery is charged.

Hush...

...if you close your eyes can you hear the pigskin singing on the wind?

Training Camp officially opened yesterday. The long, dark summer is almost over. Be still, my grass-stained heart.†

You may be familiar with the phrase, "It's preseason for the [fill in the blank] too," a sentence which will be spouted with increasing density from the Hall of Fame game on August 5th, right through the final preseason games on August 31. It will be used to excuse gaffes for everybody from the coaching staff to the sideline reporters.

Sometime around August 17, it will cease to be viable and start becoming a joke.

"Well, it's preseason for the hot dog vendors too, Marv," you'll hear me utter. "It's preseason for the guys who make Quizno's‡ commercials."

I'm going to preempt the joke phase and say, "It's preseason for knitblogs."

We haven't been through a football season together. I can't tell you what this will do to those who think of this as a knitblog.§

I can't tell you how much football I'll feel compelled to spread out here at the Rickety Blog.

I can't tell you I won't be spewing gleeful bile$ about the damnblasted Raiders every single week for the next seven months.

[SUMMARY: For someone who talks so much, I'm not telling you a lot.]

I can tell you I fly my mom's Bronco flag each and every game day.

I can tell you I play fantasy football. Oh, hell, let's not sugar-coat it: I have commissionered my fantasy football league for the past three or four years.¶

I can tell you I love college football as well, but I'm OK if I miss a college game. We don't know yet what happens if I miss a Bronco game, but defibrillators are standing by.

I can tell you my mom was a HUGE Bronco fan and football season might open up some space for more of that sentimental stuff that keeps anal beads from taking over the blogiverse.

I can tell you to go to NFL 101 in your local NFL city if you are a woman# who loves football or wants to learn about football.††

I can tell you I do get a LOT of knitting done during football season, so there'll still be plenty of knitting -- maybe even more FOs than you're used to from me.

[SUMMARY: Please disregard the last summary. I just talk a lot.]

We'll just have to see where the season‡‡ takes us.

Meanwhile, how 'bout them Broncos?


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): 'Cause, y'know, astroturf is for the birds. Like Falcons or Eagles maybe. Wow. That was lame even for me.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Y'all know this is a brand name, right? And it's all copyrighted and trademarked within an inch of its life? Hi lawyers! No infringing here!

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Including your dear ol' AntiM.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Because they're going to suck hard this year. Much like last year. And the year before. And probably next year. Possibly until several years after Al Davis goes to that big black tracksuit in the centre of the earth.

Oh, look! It's started already!

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And I don't want to brag, but I won the first fantasy super bowl (the Elk Bowl, in our parlance) and, by golly, I won the last. Hey, it's not bragging if you put it in the footnotes. Who reads footnotes anyway?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yep. Women only. Which is a pity. I've met some boys who could benefit.

I won't go into too much detail, but there's a goody bag and an equipment demonstration where they strip a fine young football specimen right down to his skivvies. And an open bar. At least in Denver.

Did I mention goody bag? And mostly naked man? And open bar? Always worth repeating...

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Brother heartily endorses NFL 101, which turned Sis-in-Law into a football fan. And one who knows what she's talking about. So it has the approval of men AND women. So go. You may still not like football, but at least you'll know exactly what you don't like about it in greater detail and with penalties and everything... and you'll get a goody bag out of the deal.

Did I mention the goody bag?

Did I mention mostly-naked man?

And open bar?

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I'm thinking I better not tell you 'bout hockey and basketball quite yet... and it's more than a year until the Olympics...



I know, I know... I implied there would be sex. I'm holding off until, say, Monday, as there may be actual sex this weekend, rather than just confusing and dangerous hypothetical sex.§§

Rhetorical sex is rarely as interesting all on its own as rhetorical sex backed up by a little rhythm and rhyme.

[SUMMARY: eca teases Marin. Marin teases the world. eca stops teasing. Marin still thinks it would be fun. Spending my Kharmic Green Stamps right and left.]


§§FOOTNOTE (double-curvy, sexy, swervy): Is it kind of wrong that hypothetical sex has become more dangerous than real sex in my world?