Sunday, Woolly Sunday

There are a LOT of footnotes on this post.

It appears I'm partial to goats. I think it's the horns. I've always been partial to horns, which explains my lifelong big band fixation.†

Now, Red has these same goats on her blog. Probably the *exact* same goats. But while she calls them by their proper names, I prefer to think of them as curly goats and sleek goats.

Curly goat - my people! Um... my goats!

Sleek goat... verrrrry suspicious of your dear ol' AntiM

Alpacas have a lot of neck.

Vampire dreams and fibre things

While it looks like the 'paca on the right is giving the 'paca on the left a kiss, we should restrain ourselves from anthropomorphising too much; he's actually eating his pen-mate's chin strap.

Tell me you love me

You can anthropomorphise on this one, though. The goat on the left is *clearly* whispering to the goat on the right about the quality of spectators at this year's market.‡

If can't say anything nice, come sit by me

Turns out that, much like my new-found jones for Latino men, I have a thing for spotted animals. If anyone is getting me a pony for my birthday, I'd really like a pinto.

I will love him and feed him and name him Spot

[SUMMARY: Going to the dogs... er, sheep. Um, GOATS.]

Yes, I did buy some yarn. Going to the Market on Sunday rather than Saturday was really good for my budget, as there were several yarns I would have bought by the caseload for sweater patterns I have lined up, but there wasn't enough of any single dye lot to make a sweater. Yea, bank account!§

Remember how in the last couple of weeks I've purchased my own weight in yarn? Well, I've lumped all the stash enhancement at the end of the post. But let's continue with Sunday, shall we?

After all, Sunday wasn't just about curly sheep and dusty feet... Sunday was about my sister-in-law abandoning me to single-handedly feed and fete the fathers in my life while she cavorted in Cancun at Math Dorks in Paradise.

Question: why do math dorks have to go to Cancun to talk about imaginary numbers? Couldn't they pretty much email each other and say, "Hey! I nuzzled¶ the best imaginary number today! Guess what it is...?#"

[SUMMARY: Math Dorks in Paradise. I crack me up.]

Anyway, while I basically just threw money at dinner,†† I spared no personal comfort on the cherry pie$ I baked on the 94-degree day in the already-84-degree house. I love my father and my brother (and, apparently, my sis-in-law) THAT much.

After dinner‡‡ we opened presents. And cards. And really enjoyed the musical card that played Johnny Cash. Over and over and over and over and over again.§§

Dr. Doom meets The Man in Black

Dad opened his lovely pair of knit-with-love socks.¶¶

- Size: Men's 13

- Needle: US5
- Yarn: Plymouth something-or-other I bought three years ago and lost the ball band. Superwash, though, and green, yellow, navy and white.

- Method: toe up, two circulars, two socks at once (and I can't express how cool that two-at-once thing is)

- Socks are for: Dad (Father's Day)- Finished: June 17, 2007

FO!

There's a funny story about Brother's present.

See, one day, Brother was doing his pre-workout regimen (stretch, hydrate, put a DVD in to watch while you ride the bike) and as the previews came on to Shaun of the Dead, he heard a familiar voice. Minutes later, he was on the phone to me.

"Tell me there's a good reason you didn't tell me Hans starred in a movie called Drunken Jackass: the Quest."

I did have a good reason. I didn't know.

Brother and I work## with Hans. We like Hans. And we feel comfortable enough with Hans that we would surely dish out a ration of shit for this little piece of his near-past. You can imdb.com this movie if you 1) don't believe me, or 2) want more information.

The problem with Drunken Jackass (other than the obvious) is that it has never been released in the US. Like David Hasselehoff, Hans is very big in Europe. So way back in May I started my own quest to find a copy for Brother for his birthday.

Birthday came and went.

So I tried for Father's Day.

Last week, Hans informed me that there were no strings to pull, it just isn't available in American coding.

[SUMMARY: Sometimes it pays to know people in high places, sometimes, not so much.]

I was left without a Father's Day present for my brother.

I gutted up and did the noble thing: I let him loose in my sock yarn stash (NO GREATER LOVE HATH A SISTER) and told him I would knit ANY OF MY SOCK YARN (even the stuff I was saving for Cookie A) into socks for him. I let him loose in the silk, I let him loose in the wool. I let him loose in the Rabbitch hand-painted, which means I let him loose among the rare and wonderful one-of-a-kind yarn.

So there's this giant bag of yarn. Paralysed by indecision, overwhelmed by choice, he began to separate the yarn into yes and no.†††

[SUMMARY: I let him TRAIPSE through my STASH. *breatheintothebag*]

The discerning fiber palate...

...gives way to the mine!mine!mine! mindset

Brother has expressed the following:

1. This is very cool and he would just as soon I do the same thing for him for Christmas.
2. Silk is very tempting.
3. It's still no to lace socks
4. He may come and steal some sock yarn.

Yeah, that last one is going to earn him a poke with a sharp stick... and I got sharp sticks, baby.‡‡‡

[SUMMARY: Fibre obsession: Nature? Nurture?]

So are you ready for some quality Yarn P0rn?

Huh. I've somehow misplaced the big picture of the stuff I bought at the Wool Market. Here are the close-ups, though.

100% alpaca, shot through with glittery stuff that makes it look rainbowy-coppery

The cream-coloured sister of the yarn above. The glittery stuff gives this one a delicate pastel sheen I just wish you could see. And it's not nearly this green.

Brooks Farm Yarn's Acero, 60% Super Wash Wool / 20% Silk / 20% Viscose -- totally glowy-slinky

Brooks Farm Yarn's Duet, 55% kid mohair / 45% fine wool

And all this came in the mail last week (along with my Louets dye kit from Purl Soho and a complete fuckload of undyed yarn of varying weights and varying fibres from varying sources):

Knit Picks Gloss in burgundy and woodland sage, Knit Picks Essential in African violet and dusk and Cherry Tree Hill in peacock

Let's take a closer look at that Cherry Tree Hill, shall we?

And this is all my Noro for the Lizard Ridge. I think I may even have someone to knit the Lizard Ridge for, which is comforting.

I had one skein of vintage Noro in my personal stash (I think the colourway has been discontinued), I got four skeins at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack and the rest is mail order, mostly courtesy of poor, Noro-allergic Hazel (a moment of silence, please).

You may now cease your silence and do the happy dance with me.

I still need one skein...

When I checked the mail this morning (the mail man is coming really, really late, but as one of the Drunken Knitters pointed out, at least it's not a male lady), I had two skeins of Shibui sock yarn (if you get Knitter's Review, you want it too) from Knit Purl§§§ in Pagoda and Blossom. I also had my nice dye kit from Hello Yarn.§§§

There. I think I almost qualify as a knitblog again.

Tomorrow I may even be able to show you another FO, in the form of the Green Gables -- I bound off the body part last night and tried it on (form-fitting, oh yes, but the decrease under the boobs was magical -- thanks for the encouragement, Juno!). All it needs now is sleeves, and I'm guessing that won't take too long.

[SUMMARY: Let there be knitting!]

Katzen in Himmel, I'm down below the 14-project mark. I must cast on something new, and quick!

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): *rimshot* I think I'm funny!

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Is it paranoid to think the little monster is whispering about my outfit? Note to goat: it was hot. And dusty. I was going for comfort and washability. At least I didn't have alfalfa hay in my hair. So there.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Who the hell do I think I'm kidding? If Kelley had let me know she was blowing me off for Saturday, I could have had my nosed pressed to the... to the... well, the split-rail fence around the fairgrounds when the Market opened and I could have HAD MY WAY WITH THE YARN. I did save money, though. I'm a lucky, lucky girl... just keep telling yourself that, Marin. I'm a lucky, lucky girl. There are children in Third World countries with no four-ply alpaca... I'm a lucky, lucky girl.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I have no idea how math dorks express their love of their numbers. I'm just assuming it looks a lot like fibre geeks at a yarn festival. Nuzzle, nuzzle, nuzzle.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): 1) isn't it funny (not funny ha-ha so much as funny coincidence) that one of the math dork footnotes comes after the number symbol? and 2) I think it's wildly funny (totally funny ha-ha) for math dorks to play guess-the-imaginary-number.

††FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Cheese and crackers and fruits and vegtables and hummus... cold, finger-ready and already cut up at the store.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): By the by, I promised Susie, the Naughty Librarian I'd bake her a cherry pie for her birthday. Brother would like to join Knit Therapy, if only for a day.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Much to Dr. Doom's chagrin. Dr. Doom is firmly in the camp of opening presents -- anyone's presents -- as soon as possible. In fact, he tried to get me to open several of Dad's presents as soon as I walked in the door.

§§FOOTNOTE (too, too curvy): Dad tried to sneak out of the house without taking the musical card. Brother tackled him on the front walk and shoved the thing in his gift bag.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two turntables and a microphone): Do the cuffs look short to you? I think the cuffs may be too short, partially a function of my inability to judge what 10 inches actually looks like (and I hold the men in my life -- though not my father and brother... that would be icky -- personally responsible for that spatial failing) and partially a function of madly k1p1 while the cherry pie cooled and just hoping the get them *finished* by the deadline.

##FOOTNOTE (totally pounded): Did I ever mention my brother and I work together? Well, the same guy signs our paychecks in any case -- we're rarely traipsing about Wyoming together.

†††FOOTNOTE (the judges give it a perfect three crosses!): The pile on the table in front of him represents only the yes pile. Did you think I had that little sock yarn? Silly wabbits...

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (triple-double!): For those of you scoring at home, Brother has selected the Arrrgyle in blue, grey and purple. I charted it out last night and will cast on... soon. After Green Gables. Just 'cause Green Gables is *thisclose* to done. This should in no way reflect a propensity for procrastination or a measure of how much I love my brother.

§§§FOOTNOTE (so, so curvy): Knit Purl was lovely. The yarn was neatly wrapped in tissue, sealed with a Knit Purl sticker and there was a personal note inside not only wishing me happy knitting, but telling me the Pagoda is a great colour that looks good on a bunch of people. I love personal service, don't you?

Hello Yarn also put in a handwritten thank you note and some very pretty yarn postcards. With all the grungy customer service I get, little things like that totally suck me in and keep me coming back.

p.s. -- go back and check out the pictures of Dr. Doom and Brother. Further proof that cute skips a generation.

My brother is flipping me off even as we speak...

[SUMMARY: Holy fucking cats, that's an assload of footnotes!]

Skate On With Your Bad Self

When was the last time you went skating at Skate City?†

It's just exactly like you remember it, only they're playing more Green Day and less Heart.

Not surprisingly, they're playing the exact same amount of Michael Jackson.‡

I don't know if I've mentioned this, but back in January, I decided to do a 40 days and 40 nights celebration for my birthday, seeing as I'm turning 40. It started May 20 and is culminating in the big birthday thing at my house on June 30.@

I put it out there to my friends and, well, they've come through, some in bigger and/or weirder ways than others.

[SUMMARY: Follow your dreams. You can achieve your goals; I'm living proof.]

Matt (Laurie, of Suburban Sedation Crew fame, her husband%) set up a big Skate City bash for the EIGHT June birthdays^ (including yours truly and his wife and both of his kids.) out of my school crew.

So anyway, there I was at Skate City, all deer-in-headlights with clonky brown-and-orange skates,§ stuttering and stumbling my way around the rink (the flashing lights and gobos, while festive in a Donna Summer kinda way, DON'T help). However, I got many compliments on my ongoing weight loss (Jen is my new best friend!), which I attribute primarily to the illusion created by the super-model height lent me by the skates.

For the record, I went around the rink a grand total of 3.1 times.& My hips were still sore last night. It's a hell of a workout, skating. Remember when you used to fly around the rink for two hours and be all disappointed and shit when they told you to exit the floor and turn in your skates? Good times, good times...

[SUMMARY: Skating: not for the faint of hip.]

Most of my pictures from Skate City suck¶ but I did get this utterly adorable picture of Dance Machine C (Jack's son -- you may remember Jack from poker night). Kid's got rhythm. I suspect he got it from his mother.

Dancing to Michael Jackson. Seriously.


I have long been fascinated with the carpets in casinos and movie theatres.# I was unaware (or perhaps had blocked it out) that Skate City gets their carpet from the same colour-blind clip-art dizzy junkies who make casino carpet.

My next remodel will look like this.


[SUMMARY: Skate City: still cheesy after all these years.]

After Skate City, we headed to Legends (of Aurora!) for beer and wings and stuff and I dragged out my knitting.

[SUMMARY: This is still sort of a knitblog, right?]

Of course, y'all know I'm never averse to knitting in public or even knitting in bars (perhaps *especially* knitting in bars), but I was among non-knitters and did get a little dose of grief. Jen, who was so kind to tell me how skinny I was, kept poking at me about my knitting.

"What, are you on a deadline or something?"

Well, yes, I was on a deadline, but I made sure Jen knew I would probably have been knitting anyway. Just to uphold the KIP/KIB tradition. Y'all know.

[SUMMARY: Jen, no longer my best friend. How quickly the fickle winds blow wonky...]

After Legends (of Aurora!), we headed to Laurie's and Matt's for drinks and, apparently, bathrooms. Several people had apparently expressed a need to pee, so Laurie said, "My house has three bathrooms!"

Off we went.

Unfortunately, Matt had Laurie's keys, so when we got to the house, with several adults (kids have no problem peeing at Skate City or in bar bathrooms) doing the pee-pee dance on the front lawn, we couldn't get in.

And Matt wasn't showing up.

And there were reports from reliable sources that Matt hadn't even made the turn to come home.$

I said, "Does Matt have his phone?" and Laurie dug in her purse, only to find, "Matt has MY phone!" Laurie didn't know Matt's phone number, so I called her phone and Matt answered, "I have Laurie's keys!"

Meanwhile, it had been determined that with... well, with a certain amount of effort, a small child could break into the house and let everyone in.

Plan B


Austin got through the window just before Matt showed up with the keys.

B&E


Once Austin went through, all the kids wanted to do it. Some even got back in line to ride again. So when Matt pulled up, all the moms were inside peeing and the kids were streaming up the ladder and into the window like ants to a jelly spill.

[SUMMARY: In the suburbs, they make their own fun.]

I gotta say, those suburban family folks know how to set up a birthday. I got three bottles of vodka and a bottle of wine (not to mention the cookie mix, which is, you know, separate from the alcohol thing, but at least as exciting).

And the sky was really pretty.

[SUMMARY: I'm a lucky, lucky girl. Just keep telling yourself that, Marin... I'm a lucky, lucky girl.]

Guess what I have on deck for you tomorrow? KNITTING PICTURES! Well, one knitting picture, but a whole array of Yarn P0rn and some very funny Boys-with-Fibre stuff.

Stay tuned!

[SUMMARY: AntiM: Still trying to suck you in with the cliffhanger.]

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Or whatever it is in your neck of the woods. If it's less than 10 years, you're either too young to be reading this blog (go ask your mom what "holy fucking cats" means), you have small children or there's something suspect about your hobby scheme.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): One song. "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough"

@FOOTNOTE (atted): The fact that a 40-year-old is far too old to party for 40 days and 40 nights is no longer lost on me. It's a good thing I have a vacation coming up after this debauchery.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): It's funny to put it that way, since I've known Matt for 25 years and I've known Lauries since she started dating Matt. But, anyway, Laurie's husband Matt...

^FOOTNOTE (careted): I'm telling you, September is the sexiest month.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Yes, they still have the same skates. Probably the *exact* same skates.

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): The point-one was when I agreed to head out with Laurie and darlin' Mary, datesake of my heart, and the lights came up roughly point-one into that round and they announced they were going to play "Red Light Go, Green Light Stop" and I beelined for the exit, knowing anything that required me to start or stop at will was a losing proposition and mostly an opportunity for mass hilarity on the part of the spectators.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Don't be mean. I *know* you want to say all my pictures suck. This time it's because of the wonky lighting, not because of my anti-mad* photog skillz.

*FOOTNOTE (inside a footnote): No, AntiM isn't short for "anti-mad," no matter what my brother may tell you.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): The world is my kitty toy.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Matt, a good father, had headed to Walgreen's to get sunburn spray for his hurting son, unaware he was the linchpin on which Operation Adult Pee hinged.

sky candy

TTHFCIF

From my front porch last night

Doesn't get out much

Good things that happened yesterday:

1. The arrival of several skeins of Noro and a big ol' hank of Cherry Tree Hill sock yarn from the The Yarn and Fiber Company


2. Good lunch with a good friend who hugged me in person, which, even on a good day is a lovely proposition


3. Discovering a new sock yarn


4. Discovering my neighbour's zen bunny fountain


5. Knit Therapy at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack... with really, really, really good margaritas provided courtesy of Susie, the Naughty Librarian


6. Look up. Did you see that sky?


7. Knowing I'd wake up and it would be a new day. Specifically, Friday.‡

Thank you so for jumping in on the desperate request for hugs yesterday.

You know, some days just suck -- little stuff, big stuff, stuff that isn't even yours† to worry about but you have to anyway, tiny little things that (in the mirror) are larger than they appear, someone dies, you stub your toe, nobody wants to warm your bed or hold your hand, the sock yarn hank is all wonky on one side and you really need it to be perfect, someone else dies, allergies are acting up, tragedies not yours still traumatise you, your forgot your fucking wallet again, you're hormonal, someone is Diagnosed-with-a-capital-D, you have more friends absent than present, what the hell is up with your hair, the yarn from Canada STILL hasn't come... and there just aren't enough C batteries or bottles of Grey Goose in the world to take the knots out of your mind and your soul and your heart and your neck and your babymaker -- and there's not much you can do but ride that sucky, sucky wave and let it take you on to the next good day.

Estes Park Wool Market is this weekend. Just guess the good day...

I love you all. Have a splendid weekend.

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

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Don't cry for me, Blogentina

Hug Me?

It's a bad day.

The universe may owe me for this day.

It's a betrayal day.

It's a day of winged spiders.

My head hurts.

It's a reminder day.

It's flag day and I forgot to put my flag out.

My heart hurts.

I got Noro in the mail (and Cherry Tree Hill sock yarn) and I still don't feel much better.

It's a funeral day.

It's a sunny day, but I don't have any windows in this office.

My eyes are all buggy and watery.

Can I have a hug please?

[SUMMARY: Did I mention "bad day"?]

I'm a Believer

Can you believe I forgot some semi-useless Male Lady updates yesterday?†

1. I came out of my house some time last week and the For Sale sign was gone from the neighbours' house. That evil bitch (Male Lady, not the neighbour) has too much hold over me when a lack of sale sign makes my heart thud like a jackhammer thinking she may be the cause. Turns out they were just lowering the price again, but still.
2. The Boy joined Kelley and I at Favourite Bar before he went to play softball Friday evening. I got home and -- you guessed it -- a call from the Male Lady at 6:11, about twenty minutes before The Boy left.
3. Kelley and I had drinks at Favourite Bar Saturday night and the Male Lady came in and sat with us. Now, Favourite Bartender was working and Auxilliary Favourite Bartender was hanging out at the bar and both set up a bitch about Male Lady (who we've now dubbed "Wilda," as in "Wildebeest"). When she came in, though, everybody said hi, even HUGGED her.
   
   I maintain that if everybody acted like they hated her half as much as they actually do, she might stop sticking her beastly nose into our world.‡
   
   Personally, I give her an icy cold shoulder and don't ever talk to her.§ I think I've got it right.
   

[SUMMARY: Stalking makes the rockin' world go round.]

Can you believe I forgot to mention my great good fortune with the Fancy Feet book?¶

See, over at Nicomara's place, we were discussing Anna Zilboorg's sock book and, well, I had just leafed through it at an LYS that morning, so I called and asked them to hold it for me since the only available copies I found online were running upwards of $100 and I went to pick it up Saturday morning and it was $18.95 and they gave me a 30% discount because the paper dustjacket was torn and taped and so I got it for $13.27.

I may be jealous of the autographed copy, but I only paid $13.27 for mine.#

[SUMMARY: Or maybe socks make the rockin' world go 'round.]

Can you believe I forgot to tell you I ordered my own weight in yarn last week, probably in response to getting MY OWN MONEY back from the IRS?%

[SUMMARY: Or maybe just yarn makes the rockin' world go 'round.]

Can you believe I forgot to tell you about the shindig going on at the ever-popular Brown Palace for my billion-dollar-with-a-B clients and their closing?

p.s. -- they're picking up the tab on hotel rooms for the night along with dinner and cocktails.

Now... which of the boys should I invite?^

[SUMMARY: Sex. Sex makes the rockin' world go 'round.]

Can you believe I still continue to act shocked and surprised every time my brain goes haywire?


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And can you believe I wrote this on Tuesday and accidentally hit "publish" instead of "save" and in the seven seconds the post was up, Sarah-with-a-Murphy commented on it?

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And if The Boy would, y'know, not SLEEP WITH HER and shit.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And I never, ever sleep with her.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And further unwitting cashing in of Kharmic Green Stamps.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Nya-nya-ny-nya-nyah

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I'm thinking of selling tickets to my mailbox so the knitters can see the uber-bounty as it flows in over the next couple of weeks.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Hint: I've already offered first rights of refusal to one, but I kinda expect him to turn me down, so I'm prioritising the rest of them. Do I put them in order of likelihood to say yes, mad bed skillz or wardrobe?

Big FO... oh, and the weekend too

I'm too sexy for this yard.

First, CLCWWW† went to the MiniDoctor last week (as y'all know if you've been paying attention) and got a clean bill of health. And a bath. Look how pretty!

I know it's not really news, but it does give me a chance to post another glamour shot of my babycar.

[SUMMARY: Yeah, yeah, we know you have a Mini Cooper, Marin...]

Friday night was mild mayhem, starting with lunch‡ with Kelley, drinks with Kelley, more drinks with Kelley, pedicure and drink§ with Annie, drinks with Annie and a stupid, stupid round of waiting for a boy at Favourite Bar.¶

Saturday was perhaps a little more sensible, at least on the outset, as the Drunken Knitters (DK Nation represennnnnt!) took off for a field trip to the Bucksnort Saloon in scenic Sphinx Park, Colorado (yeah, none of us had ever heard of it# either and some of us have lived here for 30 years.)

You can see a picture of the four of us at Red's blog.^ A nice man was taking the group pictures for us and I didn't see a lot of point in making him spend his whole afternoon with our cameras. So I'll just crib off Red for the group shot, and this is what I got:

The menu

It was Worldwide Knit in Public Day, which, as Drunken Knitters, we pretty much call "Saturday." Anyway, gorgeous drive,†† OUTSTANDING (yes, I'm shouting. Trust Marin.) burgers, great bar, making bikers with braided beards stare at us.

Red with the menu

Sarah, Genius Knitter with funny part of the menu

Kathryn, camera shy Bag Lady, is off to my left. The Bucksnort was her idea. It was a good one. We're going back.

[SUMMARY: KIP, KIB. Check.]

After that, I had a family birthday party in Aurora. Oh, not my family, per se. Sometimes it's nice to be family with a family not your family.

Mick (you may remember Mick from poker night) and Tommy, his nephew

Laurie, ringleader of the Suburban Sedation Crew and Liam

Matt and Liam

Carrie and Liam

I imagine you're sensing a Liam theme right about now. Not only is he a frightfully cute little chunk of baby goodness, but he spent all day going from adoring adult to adoring adult. It was hard to get a picture *without* Liam.

*ahem*

Unless, of course, it had Tommy.

Now, I've known Tommy all but his whole life, so I'm not allowed to think of him this way, but there's no reason you shouldn't:

Smart Firefighter Hockey Player. With ink.

Wipe the drool, change your panties and let's talk knitting.

[SUMMARY: *gurgle*]

Guess what I finished? Yep, it's the FO to conquer all the freakin' FOs.

Stupid Blanket is DONE.

Stupid Blanket it stunning. It's lovely and once I washed it, it went all soft and drapey and... *sigh*

I'm going to miss fondling Stupid Blanket.

Damn. I forgot the wine bottle for scale.

Stupid Blanket:

Pattern: linen stitch... 40 acres of linen stitch (body) and Two Leaves from Nicki Epstein's Knitting On the Edge (border)

Yarn: Plymouth Encore Worsted (75% acrylic, 25% wool), Marls #9625

Needles: Addi Turbo, US9

Assisted by: Seth, Red, Sarah and the New Belgium Brewing Company

And here are some close-ups for the knit geeks who like this sort of thing:

40 acres of linen stitch, redux
Back of linen stitch
Edge

[SUMMARY: na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na, hey hey hey, goodbye...]

Ah, just in time to start Stupid Blanket II, the Sequel.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Cutest Little Car in the Whole Wide World

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I'm using the term "night" a little loosely here.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): At the Brown Palace. You remember the Brown Palace, don't you? The nice pedicurists asked if we wanted a cocktail and, of course, we did, so we ordered cosmos and a man in a tuxedo with a snowy white napkin draped over his arm brought them [new best friend!] on a silver tray with a rose in a bud vase in between them. He set the drinks down on the arms of our massaging pedicure chairs, then placed the rose between us and left. His shoes were *really* shiny.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Not The Boy, just another boy, one who called me at 1:00 in the morning Wednesday for a booty call. Unfortunately, I'm not too sharp when you wake me, so I didn't even realise that's what it was until about five minutes after we hung up the phone. Then I was all hot and bothered and couldn't sleep for awhile. He said he'd look for me Friday night at Favourite Bar. He didn't find me. Sometimes there just aren't enough C batteries in the world.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Sphinx Park, I mean. Everybody's heard of The Bucksnort.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): It should be noted, particularly since Red just called so I wouldn't have to wait all day to envy to the ends of the earth her new DPN case, that my Green Gables is SOOOOO much farther along than hers.

††FOOTNOTE (doublee-crossedd): Did I mention green?

Does anybody know why Blogger does this weird-ass thing with photos that makes the spacing on my posts (probably everybody else's too) all wonky? Is there any way to avoid it?

Blogger Wanna Cookie?

It says the post is posted.

It even sent me an email notification of the post.

It lies.

Oh, look! A blogdork milestone! The Blogger-ate-my-blog moment!

I feel like a real blogger now.

Seriously, it was a spectacular post, full of pathos and awe and drama and humour and sunshine. I laughed, I cried.

I probably even had pictures.

*ahem*

Slog Blog

As usual, it's Monday but I'm not going to blog the weekend until tomorrow. Because the pictures are still in the camera.

[SUMMARY: Same shit, different day.]

And I have a very exciting FO, but (again) it should probably wait until there are pictures.

So what the hell am I going to talk about today?

How 'bout Marin's World of Blogs?

[SUMMARY: Fishing... Stretching...]

I'll let you in on some of the inner workings of my mind. If that doesn't scare you straight, you're not paying attention.

Anyway, Marin's Rules for Reading Blogs:

First, when I'm reading blogs, I read them all the way through. From the very beginning.† And I don't post their links on my sidebar until I've both read all the way through them and found some merit in them.

There are a lot of bad blogs out there, by the way.

Second, there are some blogs I like but don't put on the sidebar because they haven't seen a new post in months. In fact, I took one off the sidebar for that very reason. I have a short attention span, people; your August 2006 post isn't going to keep me enthralled forever.§

Third, I almost never post comments to a blog until I've read it all the way through. There have been minor exceptions. Not many. I am a patient lurker.

Most of the blogs I find come off other people's lists. Or from the bottom of Knitty patterns. Or out of my comments.‡

I play bloggames. I'll check (as I'm cruising through the archives) as to what the person posted on my birthday or the day Mom died.

Or who never posts pictures on Monday.

*ahem*

[SUMMARY: I have remarkably high standards for someone whose favourite phrase is "holy fucking cats."]

A few weeks ago, Anna-Liza posed the question about how the Internet has affected our knitting lives. I rolled that around in my head a lot and almost answered it several times. As long as I'm in the ballpark of the subject, I'll touch on it here. For Anna-Liza's sake, you know. Not just because I love to talk about myself.#

Years back, I was a regular on the message boards on a site called Way Too Personal.& A chick showed up there who had a blog, but it was before they called it a blog. I believe they just called them online journals at the time,^ and I thought it was interesting and thought about doing my own, but at the time that required¶ special software and your own domain. All that requirement made the shiny thing dull for me and I lost interest.

Funny... I've been a citizen of the Internet for fifteen years -- longer than a lot of people -- but when I started knitting in earnest a few years ago, it never occurred to me to check the 'Net for knitting help. There would be a lot fewer single skeins of nearly-useless yarn in my stash if I'd done a little digital preparation.

Like so many of us, I credit/blame Stephanie Pearl-McPhee with my urge to blog. Probably with my blatant obsession with knitting, too. And my ready justification for having 14 projects on the needles at any given time.

Until I discovered The Yarn Harlot one day at the Tattered Cover, I thought my yarn collection was shameful and unique.

Knitting in public didn't make me part of the gang, it made me weird and may have put me on a FBI watchlist.

LYS was a non-concept.

Knitting groups? Really?

On one hand, it was a little disappointing to find out just how many Marinesque knitters there are out there. On the other, it's also a great comfort to have people around who understand the call of the alpaca.%

And I'd never have discovered drunken knitting if it wasn't for the Internet.

[SUMMARY: Tomorrow will have stories. And knitting pictures. It will all get better tomorrow.]

ETA: Here's a new one: Blogger won't let me post. I've been trying for an hour. I've seen all manner of OPBs where the authors complain about not being able to post and I've always kinda shrugged and thought, "Huh." But now I'm experiencing the true blogging experience: posts sucked into the ethernet.

If you see this, it means I've succeeded. If you don't, please send the Coast Guard.$

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And you wouldn't believe how difficult some people make this. I won't mention names, but I've run across more than one blog where the archives fall under pull-down menus, one each for month and year.

This system sucks ASS.

See, you have to choose the month from the pull-down and as soon as you do, it takes you to that month in the current year. Then you choose the year from the other pull-down menu and it may give you a message that says there are no posts for that month and year. Yes, I've tried doing the year first. Inevitably, I get an error message telling me to choose a month. It takes half of forever to find an archived post and there's a reason I don't list any of those blogs in my sidebar. I can't read the fucking things, so I'm surely not going to recommend them to you.

You're welcome.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Or, you know, the Yarn Harlot mentions them once or twice.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Unless your August 2006 post has a picture of a crane on it. I dig cranes. The heavy equipment, not the birds.

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Imagine... a time when online dating was more important to me than knitting. Good times, good times...

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Yeah, it probably wasn't a requirement as such. But I generally like adopting technology. The toys are part of the fun.

#FOOTNTOE (pounded): And I do like to talk about myself, but not for the spotlight-hog, me-me-me reasons you might think. Mostly because I'm the only thing I know anything about for sure.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): When I was your age. And there was a digital wolf behind every electronic tree. And we walked our 256k modems uphill both directions. Barefoot.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Look, Ma! Only two hands!

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): If anyone points out that if you don't see the post you won't know to send out the Coast Guard, I'll have to revoke your membership to Marin's mind. This may actually be your best hope for survival.

Stop. Me.

TTHFCIF

Lantern Moon Gelato†

Isn't that pretty?

Wouldn't it be nice if I could stand knitting ribbon enough to make myself a tank or cami out of it?

Isn't it funny that when you "save picture as" on this, the default file name is simply "balls"?

Yeah, I'm four. You're used to it. It's why I love you so.

[SUMMARY: Fiber. Fiber, fiber, fiber. Fiberfiberfiberfiberfiber.

Not to be confused with groin or panties.]

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And doesn't it knit up pretty?

Anybody have a pattern?

Happy Friday.

Going to the Dogs

Cutest Little Car is going in for her first check-up in a few (they grow up so fast), so my time is limited.

I leave you with this news item, to be added to Snakes on a Plane in the holy fucking cats category:

Making Faces at Police Dogs.

Which is worse?

1. Making faces at a police dog.
2. Arresting someone for making faces at a police dog.
3. Asserting making faces at a police dog is animal cruelty.
4. Asserting someone has a Constitutional right to make faces at a police dog.

The latest AP report says the trial has been cancelled, which speaks to the good of *someone* in that local legal system. Still...

Happy Thursday.

"The Time Has Come," the wombat said...

"...to talk of many things."

...happy birthday, dear BROOOOOOTHER... happy birthday to you

With Red's permission, I shall brief you (pun intended) on her date Monday.

I had the honour of being Red's bail-out and safe call on a semi-blind date Monday night. She provided me the location, boy's phone number & name† and strict instructions to call at 9:00 to see how she was doing and possibly provide a graceful out. We devised an Izzard-based code word system‡ and we were ready to go.

Actually, there was a whole scenario under which I would show up at the date site in pajama pants and curlers with a little water splashed on the front of my shirt to mimic the look of an uncontrollably lactating woman, brush my hands clumsily down my breasts a couple of times and sniffle, "When you coming home, Red?"

It was REALLY funny at Goosetown Friday night.

Things were going well enough halfway through that she called to tell me they were switching locations and the 9:00 call was unnecessary.

She called at 10:30 to tell me she got home safe and, well... things went a little downhill from the mid-date call to the safe-home call.

Besides some inappropriate touching, Inappropriate Remarks Boy (as he will forever be in my mind) used the word "babble" at least three times. Not good.

The crowning jewel of his inappropriate evening, though, was when he told her, "I didn't think the date was going to go anywhere when you showed up with visible panty lines."

When Red relayed that to me, my first thought was, "Is this guy gay? Do men even notice -- or worry about -- panty lines?"

I've always suspected that the mere thought of panties, the sheer concept of panties, the presence, hope and promise of panties is enough to carbonate most boys' brains beyond the noticing of panties.%

[SUMMARY: Panties. Panties, panties, panties. Pantiespantiespantiespantiespanties. This is now a companion piece to Roger Clemens's groin.]

Taking the concept a little further, I thought, "Maybe he's a fashion snob and was saying he'd never date a girl who subjected him to the horror of panty lines."

I mulled for a second more.

It finally hit me.

"Was he saying you didn't care enough to dress properly for him, so he figured you'd already written the date off?"§

Apparently, yes.

Girls think so much about every little detail (so the story goes) that if they show up with panty lines, well... apparently it's the next generation's version of not shaving your legs and wearing ratty underwear so you don't accidentally sleep with a boy on the first date.¶ And Inappropriate Remarks Boy was pretty well convinced he'd cracked that code.

Wonder what he would have done with "babies on spikes."

Poor Red. It gets funnier every day, though she had a little setback into bitter some time between Dairy Queen last night and comments this morning. Squint, Red. Squint and turn your head to the left and maybe you can pretend I'm talking about someone else.

[SUMMARY: boys=dumb]

Here's a funny thing I got in my email Sunday:




That's from the Canadian Housing Association.

Ally? Anything you feel you need to tell me?

Or maybe the CHA just goes through the blogiverse looking for fond mentions of Canada and British spellings.

[SUMMARY: I love Canadians and now Canada wants me to live there.]

Meanwhile, back at the knitting...

I cast on for the fourth and final border bit for Stupid Blanket last night. We are talking mere hours from complete satisfaction of the obligation and frustration that has been Stupid Blanket.

And if the Drunken Knitters tell you I told them I fondle Stupid Blanket every night and think of it as a little miracle of textile goodness, I'll deny it to the ends of the earth.

Green Gables is in the final stretch... and that may be an apt phrase. I read Enchanting Juno's account of short-row shaping for us boobalicious gals and thought I'd try to wing that.

After a couple of hours of basically knitting heels into the sides of the sweater and ending up with completely backward darts on one side and something resembling a pockmarked caterpillar on the other, I gave up, frogged and decided to follow the pattern. If it's too wonky to wear happily, I'll make the next one better.#

[SUMMARY: Short row takes practice. Tailoring takes engineering.]

The toe-up, two-at-once socks have reached the heel(s) and I'm trying to do anything to avoid a lot of wrapping and turning. Anybody know a good, readily available (i.e. -- I don't have to order a two-year-old issue of Interweave Knits to get it) toe-up heel pattern that doesn't require a lace needle and double-joints to pick up wraps?

[SUMMARY: Lazy much?]

And last on our list of promised topics for today: Strings.

I just happened to discover destash.blogspot.com yesterday and showed up just moments after lovely Hazel posted her Noro Kureyon. Seems she was all excited about Knitty's Lizard Ridge^ but then found she was allergic to the Noro.$ So I got ten skeins of Noro and a damned good start on my own Lizard Ridge, after which I've been lusting,& for $70.

Not a huge savings, I know, but all that Noro, all at once, and THROUGH THE MAIL. I love yarn that comes in the mail. Well, as you know, I love anything that comes in the mail that doesn't have an obligation attached.

[SUMMARY: NORO!]

For whom shall I knit Lizard Ridge?


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Much like you are in charge of giving the police my blog as a record of hostile Male Lady activity should I be found dead in a ditch, I was in charge of making sure justice was served should Red meet a similar fate at the hands of Inappropriate Remarks Boy.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Jam = good. Babies on spikes = bad.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): It's why lingerie is not such a big deal to most men. As Steve once said, when asked if matching bra and panties mattered to men (I think I phrased it, "Doesn't it impress you when a girl's bra and panties match?"), "Marin, if I'm seeing panties, I'm not much worried about what they go with."

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Serious re-engineering of the conversation. I spat out a bunch of words that eventually got across the *idea* of "Was he saying...?" My gast was flabbered and I wasn't speaking so good.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Yeah, it didn't always work for me either.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): By this, I mostly mean I'll actually look up directions and not count on my own engineering and math skills (hello?! FOUR!) to apply advanced tailoring techniques to my knitting.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Thus:

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): I know, I know. Breathe into a paper bag and pray for Hazel.

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Yes, I know I just spent several precious words whining about wrapping and turning. I never said I was stable. Or logical. I've readily admitted to not being able to count to four. Somehow, miles of wrapping and turning...

...huh.

Did Stupid Blanket teach me NOTHING?

Birthdaybirthday irs Birthday Birthday Birthday

Oh, yes. It's birthday season.

I know I'm not the only one experiencing this. Let's count back nine months, shall we? What drives people to fuck like bunnies in... September?

It's not so cold you'd want to generate the body heat.

It's not so hot you'd be half-naked, sweaty and tempting on a daily basis.

*thinkthinkthink*

Back to school?

[SUMMARY: September is the sexiest month?]

Anyway...

Thursday night, I helped Annie make train cakes for her twins. Well, mostly I drank wine and affixed M&M's to tiny little Oreos for wheels and ate stray licorice.

And piled on extra mini-marshmallows when Annie wasn't looking.

Here is the finished product†:

All aboard the Cabernet Express! Woo-woo!


Friday was First Friday and we KIP'd at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack until about 9:00, then headed to Goosetown Tavern to do some damage. This is where the IRS showed up and ruined my weekend when I found my bank account emptied and my debit card rendered worthless.††

[SUMMARY: Not that I'm bitter about the IRS thing, nor that they ruined my ENTIRE FUCKING WEEKEND. Nope. Not a bit.]

Saturday morning was the train cake party, where I was the only single person and the only person without kids and I didn't even win a prize.

But, awww... wookat da twins.‡ Reward enough and reason enough, to be sure.

And the very important blowing-the-candles-out picture with the ever-lovely Annie:§

Later, that same morning...

I went to Elitch Gardens with this man...

To ride stuff like this...

That man would be Shanny. That ride would be the Boomerang.&

There's only one person in the world I've been friends with longer than Shanny. Shanny lived around the corner from me in high school and we met around Christmas 1981 outside our houses, causing trouble. We were theatre fags together from the fall of 1982 through all our illustrious high school careers. Now we vacation together.

His daughter was born on my birthday, semi-deliberately, and his wife's birthday is the day before mine. Shanny knows from June birthdays.

Maybe he could explain the September thing.

Anyway...

Elitch's was Shanny's contribution to my 40 Days & 40 Nights celebration leading up to the big 40th birthday bash. Well, that and a radio remote which may not be that exciting for Shanny, but was interesting for me.

Anyway...

Some of the rides at Elitch's have... tailored seats. Shanny was denied access to three rides we wanted to go on, and he suggested the title for this post should be "Too Fat for Fun." Honestly, as my brother said, he's not THAT big.

Despite that, he is contemplating a diet based on wanting to get on the tailored rides. I think it would make a hell of a best-selling book.

Tangent: Shanny became aware of my total blogdorkedness when I struggled to get this photo:

That's a t-shirt on a kid in front of us for one of the roller coasters. I told Shanny I had to get it because... well, chicas, firefighters? Playing hockey? *drooldrooldrool* I want y'all to kick back for a second, close your eyes and daydream on that one.

Got it?

Good, now wipe your chin and change your panties.

[SUMMARY: Saturday...]

Anyway...

Sunday brought Red's birthday. Kathryn and I walked over to Tastes for the festivities. Would you believe... at least a half-dozen knitters and not a scrap of WIP to be seen? Truly a testimony to Red's compelling nature that we'd all rather watch her than knit.

Kathryn and Red

Dark C¶ was there, darling girl. Brian, too, but I won't darling Brian.%

It's simply not a birthday until the birthday girl has cake. Really good chocolate cake with raspberries.

Then it was time to head to Brother's house for Brother and Dad# birthdays.

Sis-in-Law had just (justjustjust) returned from her Princeton reunion@:

Hold that tiger!

Tallest, Hairiest Nephew got a tiger tail.

Dr. Doom got a tiger tail... and proceeded to soak it^ and fling the water about, sometimes sucking the water out of the tail and saying, "bleagggh!"

[SUMMARY: Sunday...]

According to Brother, Grandpa (upon watching Dr. Doom operate for awhile) said, "You don't deserve this. Now, your sister... your sister may deserve this, but you don't deserve this."

The kid is undeniably weird in ways I was weird when I was a kid. Of course, most of Tallest, Hairiest Nephew's weirdities are very familiar to me too.

What do you suppose that says about my level of weird?$

Anyway...

Brother, Sis-in-Law and Grandpa looking deceptively normal

Let me present a little evidence that there is an element of heredity, and some wayward male relatives maybe shouldn't throw those house-shattering stones *too* hard:

There's a self-portrait setting on the new camera*

Uh-huh. Everybody else is normal.

[SUMMARY: Nature vs. Nurture]

And just for the record:

Cat for Scale on Sperm Chair: a Still Life

Tomorrow? Oh, the places we'll go! We'll talk of many things, of panty lines and Canadians, of WIPs and strings...

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): perhaps more properly, "ARE the finished PRODUCTS."

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): It's OK. It was their error and they're fixing it fairly quickly. With one exception (and I suspect that exception was the bitch who precipitated this little cash-flow debacle), every single person I've ever talked to at the IRS has been lovely and helpful and kind and all that... I just wish they'd get a little more organised.

And stop fucking stealing my money.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And it means NOTHING that that's almost exactly how I reacted to Ally's new puppy.

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): I think. Anyway...

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not to be confused with the Annie referenced yesterday. Though this Annie has a sandy sort of dog and isn't very tall, she's much less likely to burst into song.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I think that's what the kids are calling her these days. At least Red is calling her that.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I hardly know Brian. I don't even know if he's a Brian or a Bryan. You'd think I had no background in journalism at all, as cavalier as I am about people's names on this thing.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): OK, mostly we call him "Grandpa" these days, but my dad. Anyway...

@FOOTNOTE (at'd): Yeah, I know. We love her anyway... through all the math and the degrees and the Ivy League.

^FOOTNOTE (carated): Prompting one of the great phrases of the day: "If you're going to water your tail, do it on the grass." As a parent, you get to say all variety of shit you never thought you'd say. You never thought *anyone* would say. Anyway...

*FOOTNOTE (asterisked): My brother and I have climbed a 14,000-foot mountain together. We've survived hundreds of family gatherings together. We've braved the wilds of Antarctica and enjoyed the fruits of New Zealand together. We survived my aunt in Los Angeles together. And every single event has a photo of us that looks an awful lot like this.

The self-portrait setting on the camera is a real boon, let me tell you. We can be all goofy and shit in much clearer format than ever before.

Hey! you can see up my nose holes from here!

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Rhetorical.

You Had Me at pbthththphphbth

Dudes, I have so little to say right now. I have a whole flock of photos* from a full and frolicsome weekend, but they haven't made it from camera to computer. Tomorrow will have to be the weekend update day.†

Let's see... items that don't require photos...

I have spent the weekend experiencing the IRS in a way that is making me sosososososo cranky. It has caused me some embarrassment, though now that I know what's going on, I'm not all weepy and hot-eared, just pissed.

[SUMMARY: Tea in China? What?]

Oooooh! Oooooh! I do have a picture I forgot to post last week! You are SO excited!

Remember Media Day at Stitch 'n' Bitch at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack? Here's the group shot, including Ligia (who, it turns out, is not "Lijia" no matter how I said she should spell it) and Red and Genius-Knitter-Sarah and Lisa-Pronounced-Liza and Heidi and Mary Kay (best friend!) and Sylvia and Janet and Irma and Alicia and the usual couple of people whose names I've never gathered...§

Enough about me...

In baseball news, Roger Clemens called DURING THE GAME Sunday to tell... whomever baseball players tell when they *coughcough* won't be in to work today *cough*... to say he has a fatigued groin. I thought nothing could be better than spending the weekend watching "Clemens scratched (groin)" on the ESPN crawl, but "fatigued groin" definitely tops that for sheer, ongoing# entertainment value.

[SUMMARY: Groin. Groin, groin, groin. GROINGROINGROINGROINGROIN!]

OK, back to me.

As for today's title, I frequently go around the office talking to myself, making little noises to myself and -- when I'm frustrated and unfocused -- flapping my hands in little circles and blowing raspberries to indicate (in my mind) "I am a bug. Probably a fly." Yeah, it's weird. No, it's not pathological. Megan-from-Work thinks it's funny and I live to entertain Megan, so... *shrug*

Well, Megan stopped by my door a little while ago, twirling belt ends suggestively in the manner of a 1920's flapper/hooker.‡ When I told her it was certainly sassy but didn't do much for me personally, she made the fly noise and cracked me up. At which point I said, "You had me at pbthththphphbth."

Because I am a blogdork, I immediately asked how you spell "pbthththphphbth" so I could use that for my title.

A little insight into the workings of the AntiM mind.

You're welcome.

In the immortal words of Annie, orphan extraordinaire, tomorrow is only a day away.

Happy Monday.

[SUMMARY: Can you believe I didn't do my "picture may be worth a thousand words but I bet I can tell you in three thousand" thing?]

*FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Some of which may even be publishable.

(Hey, did you notice how I only used asterisks when I forgot to footnote something and have to do an interim/insert sort of footnote mark? I'm sure Secret Pal is rolling her eyes somewhere for my lack of respect for the stylebook protocol. Sorry, Secret Pal! Not trying to make your head explode!

Um, speaking of... Secret Pal? Are you OK? Has anyone seen Secret Pal recently?)

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I say that like my weekend update isn't usually on some day other than the day right after the weekend. I know you know better. Please humour me.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded and out of order): 'Cause "Clemens scratched (groin)" is a one-off (heh) but you can really MULL "fatigued groin."

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Thus:

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not in any particular order. And that's me, front and centre on the ground, next to Ligia and her newly-finished Clapotis.

Pssssst...

...they gave me the day off. I'm taking it.

Have a fantabulous weekend. I leave you with this utterly knitterly weirdness from an email my dad sent me.