Something for that itch.
Not safe for werk.
XOXO
AntiM
It should be noted this is from comments from yesterday and should in no way be interpreted to mean that Marcia has anything that needs, say, a cream or ointment.
Friday, November 9, 2007
If You Don't Teach Them at Home...
...they'll only get it on the streets of Ravelry.
TTHFCIF
I've been playing medical chairs with Kaiser Permanente for the last week. I had an appointment yesterday.
The good news: I lost 60 lbs in about a year.
The bad news: I gained 10 back in the last three months.†
The good news: I lost 5 in the last week.
[SUMMARY: I deserve a cookie.]
The good news: I got paid yesterday.
The bad news: They towed my fucking car% *again* and I'm going to have to shell about 400 bones to free it.‡
The good news: I have a ride to the impound lot.§
[SUMMARY: I need a cookie.]
The good news: It's Friday.
The bad news: Seriously, I can't think of anything bad that it's Friday.
The good news: It's Friday!
[SUMMARY: Gimme a cookie!]
Meanwhile, back at Ravelry...¶
I was actually starting to get... well, not bored, so much, as... um, I was starting to take it for granted. I'd explored, stashed, queued, posted, made friends, joined groups... old hat.#
[SUMMARY: Like knitting your seventh pair of plain ribbed socks.]
Then I realised just how much is there I didn't notice before.
A discussion on huge queues brought me to the "friend activity" tab,†† which shows you what people you've deemed your friends‡‡ have queued and stashed and such.
[SUMMARY: Like your eighth pair of socks being two-at-once on two circs.]
And "friends' blogs" which is a handy place to click over to... friends' blogs.§§
[SUMMARY: Like your ninth pair of socks being Cookie A socks.]
And exploring OTHER PEOPLE'S queues and favourites and such.
[SUMMARY: Like your tenth pair of socks being from New Pathways for Sock Knitters.]
And discovering Stephanie Van der Linden via Moxie Knits' queue...
[SUMMARY: Like your eleventh pair of socks being Stephanie Van der Linden socks.]
Aaaaaaaaand we're back.
As Kelley says, I may have to touch myself.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): The discovery of Brother's BBQ has done me no favours.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): This is so very not the car's fault. I'm an idiot and a dolt and an unmotivated fool. That blue Saturn was my first new car. It served me well and remains one of the best used cars on the market, meaning I actually have decent resale prospects. But I had to throw the word "fuck" in there just so you'd know the depth of my disgust on this. I have only myself to blame. Fucking me.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): While I'm tempted to just let the City and County of Denver keep the damned thing, I seem to remember my knit-charting software is in the back seat.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I know it seems I'm reaching, but at least I don't have to ask my dad again.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Yes, we were.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): New hat! Red hat! Blue hat!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Also a greater understanding of the use of queues and favourites. Also the term QUIBBLE (queue under infinity but beyond life expectancy)... and a big shout to Doctroid for that elegant acronym.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): ♪Living in a stalker's paradise.♪
§§FOOTNOTE (coreolis!): Big Duh.
TTHFCIF
I've been playing medical chairs with Kaiser Permanente for the last week. I had an appointment yesterday.
The good news: I lost 60 lbs in about a year.
The bad news: I gained 10 back in the last three months.†
The good news: I lost 5 in the last week.
[SUMMARY: I deserve a cookie.]
The good news: I got paid yesterday.
The bad news: They towed my fucking car% *again* and I'm going to have to shell about 400 bones to free it.‡
The good news: I have a ride to the impound lot.§
[SUMMARY: I need a cookie.]
The good news: It's Friday.
The bad news: Seriously, I can't think of anything bad that it's Friday.
The good news: It's Friday!
[SUMMARY: Gimme a cookie!]
Meanwhile, back at Ravelry...¶
I was actually starting to get... well, not bored, so much, as... um, I was starting to take it for granted. I'd explored, stashed, queued, posted, made friends, joined groups... old hat.#
[SUMMARY: Like knitting your seventh pair of plain ribbed socks.]
Then I realised just how much is there I didn't notice before.
A discussion on huge queues brought me to the "friend activity" tab,†† which shows you what people you've deemed your friends‡‡ have queued and stashed and such.
[SUMMARY: Like your eighth pair of socks being two-at-once on two circs.]
And "friends' blogs" which is a handy place to click over to... friends' blogs.§§
[SUMMARY: Like your ninth pair of socks being Cookie A socks.]
And exploring OTHER PEOPLE'S queues and favourites and such.
[SUMMARY: Like your tenth pair of socks being from New Pathways for Sock Knitters.]
And discovering Stephanie Van der Linden via Moxie Knits' queue...
[SUMMARY: Like your eleventh pair of socks being Stephanie Van der Linden socks.]
Aaaaaaaaand we're back.
As Kelley says, I may have to touch myself.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): The discovery of Brother's BBQ has done me no favours.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): This is so very not the car's fault. I'm an idiot and a dolt and an unmotivated fool. That blue Saturn was my first new car. It served me well and remains one of the best used cars on the market, meaning I actually have decent resale prospects. But I had to throw the word "fuck" in there just so you'd know the depth of my disgust on this. I have only myself to blame. Fucking me.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): While I'm tempted to just let the City and County of Denver keep the damned thing, I seem to remember my knit-charting software is in the back seat.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I know it seems I'm reaching, but at least I don't have to ask my dad again.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Yes, we were.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): New hat! Red hat! Blue hat!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Also a greater understanding of the use of queues and favourites. Also the term QUIBBLE (queue under infinity but beyond life expectancy)... and a big shout to Doctroid for that elegant acronym.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): ♪Living in a stalker's paradise.♪
§§FOOTNOTE (coreolis!): Big Duh.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Dear Fibre Fans,
So sorry for the detour. We'll do yarn again someday soon. And if we're* ever home while the sun's up, we may even have pictures.
XOXO
AntiM
*FOOTNOTE (the mundanity of the asterisk): And by "we," I mean "me."
XOXO
AntiM
*FOOTNOTE (the mundanity of the asterisk): And by "we," I mean "me."
Dear D-Battery Fans,
Do you suppose we could get something that hooks up to, say, a car battery?
XOXO
AntiM
XOXO
AntiM
Dear Comments Fans,
Have you ever wondered if the JoAnne who commented three comments down from you is the JoAnne that sits just around the corner and down the hall at work?
XOXO
AntiM
XOXO
AntiM
Dear Body Art Fans,
When you go for a mammogram, you don't have to remove the jewelry from your pierced nipples.
XOXO
AntiM
XOXO
AntiM
Dear Sex in the City Fans,
Yes, C batteries.
The bunny takes C batteries.
I know this because I... read it in a magazine.
XOXO
AntiM
The bunny takes C batteries.
I know this because I... read it in a magazine.
XOXO
AntiM
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Living Out Loud...
...can wind my balls.†
Blogging is much harder when you have a hundred cool things to blog and you can't blog them because Christmas is coming and that person for whom you're knitting the cashmere vibrator cosy% reads or may read your blog so you can't blow^ the whole thing by showing your goodies^ right on the Innernets.
[SUMMARY: Victim of the fish bowl.]
Blogging is also much harder when you want to vent, to bitch, to snark and snipe and you know people who read the blog will take it badly.‡
I knew this day would come.
I just erased two hours' worth of writing$ because I can't adequately explain my feelings without the very probable possibility of pissing someone off I don't actually want to piss off.
[SUMMARY: Victim of... well, still a victim of the fish bowl.]
I can't tell you how badly I don't want to go to Thanksgiving with my extended family.
Tani, eBeth, Brother... this has NOTHING to do with any of you.
I tried my best to be in Houston for Thanksgiving.§
That isn't going to happen.
I also didn't get laid last night,¶ so I'm feeling a little grumpy.#
And sleepy.
And stuffy.
And fat.
And spotty.
And hungry.
And meh.
[SUMMARY: Dwarves. All seven of 'em.]
And maybe not fit for human consumption.
[SUMMARY: Stating the obvious.]
I bet tomorrow will be better.
Not to go all Pollyanna†† on you, but there may be pictures of yarn and we all know that makes everything better.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Note the clever juxtaposition of knitting terminology with dirty thinking.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I am *so* twelve.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): This is purely hypothetical. The actual vibrator cosy is merino/silk. *rimshot* I'm twelve and I think I'm funny.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And by "you," I mean "me."
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): You're welcome. Seriously. You have enough to think about in your own world without hearing my view on pies and competitive cell phoning.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Which may give you some gauge on how desperate I am for an excuse. No, thank you for asking, but I don't believe I can back out of family Thanksgiving without a damned good excuse.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Anticipation, thou art a bitch.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And there's ample reason NOT to be grumpy, since Soldier Boy did call to tell me he brought me a present. You may not want to speculate too wildly on what a present from Iraq might look like. Then again, it's you... go ahead and speculate. Knock yourself out.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Not the cool east/west needles-of-doom type, either. The delusionally peppy and optimistic Hayley Mills movie type.
Blogging is much harder when you have a hundred cool things to blog and you can't blog them because Christmas is coming and that person for whom you're knitting the cashmere vibrator cosy% reads or may read your blog so you can't blow^ the whole thing by showing your goodies^ right on the Innernets.
[SUMMARY: Victim of the fish bowl.]
Blogging is also much harder when you want to vent, to bitch, to snark and snipe and you know people who read the blog will take it badly.‡
I knew this day would come.
I just erased two hours' worth of writing$ because I can't adequately explain my feelings without the very probable possibility of pissing someone off I don't actually want to piss off.
[SUMMARY: Victim of... well, still a victim of the fish bowl.]
I can't tell you how badly I don't want to go to Thanksgiving with my extended family.
Tani, eBeth, Brother... this has NOTHING to do with any of you.
I tried my best to be in Houston for Thanksgiving.§
That isn't going to happen.
I also didn't get laid last night,¶ so I'm feeling a little grumpy.#
And sleepy.
And stuffy.
And fat.
And spotty.
And hungry.
And meh.
[SUMMARY: Dwarves. All seven of 'em.]
And maybe not fit for human consumption.
[SUMMARY: Stating the obvious.]
I bet tomorrow will be better.
Not to go all Pollyanna†† on you, but there may be pictures of yarn and we all know that makes everything better.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Note the clever juxtaposition of knitting terminology with dirty thinking.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I am *so* twelve.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): This is purely hypothetical. The actual vibrator cosy is merino/silk. *rimshot* I'm twelve and I think I'm funny.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And by "you," I mean "me."
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): You're welcome. Seriously. You have enough to think about in your own world without hearing my view on pies and competitive cell phoning.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Which may give you some gauge on how desperate I am for an excuse. No, thank you for asking, but I don't believe I can back out of family Thanksgiving without a damned good excuse.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Anticipation, thou art a bitch.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And there's ample reason NOT to be grumpy, since Soldier Boy did call to tell me he brought me a present. You may not want to speculate too wildly on what a present from Iraq might look like. Then again, it's you... go ahead and speculate. Knock yourself out.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Not the cool east/west needles-of-doom type, either. The delusionally peppy and optimistic Hayley Mills movie type.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Hey, Kids! Do You Know What Time It Is?
It's time to
LICK
THE
PIG!
Today, our blithe little tongues will be touching on the snouts of weather, sex with soldiers, wake up calls, and any of a number of other things floating around in my fuzzy head.†
[SUMMARY: Wait, did she say, "sex with soldiers"?]
*************
My car dinged at me this morning. I knew my seatbelt was securely fastened. I was pretty sure it wasn't time to change the oil. But you know that feeling you get -- the dash light goes on, the engine makes an odd noise, something dings at you. It's like when you see those red and blue lights whirling in your rearview. No matter how safe and good and careful you think you are, your heart does that little dive.
I'm a dork.
It's been so long I'd completely forgotten that the car dings to let me know when it gets to 37° because that's where the roads can start freezing and there could be traction issues.
So it's cold this morning here in Denverish. We may see some winter yet.‡
[SUMMARY: Warming up the audience (ha! pun!), talking small.]
*************
Up until last night, I thought the line in the song was, "...living in a pony keg and giving off sparks."
[SUMMARY: *dork*]
*************
Remember when I did the big book and author list§ awhile back? I found another glaring ommission.¶
If you haven't read Ken Follett's# The Pillars of the Earth, please go get a copy RIGHT NOW and read it.
I'll wait here.
I had read some of Follett's spy novels that were lying around my parents' house, but was largely unimpressed.†† So when my dad handed me Pillars and told me I'd really like it, I trusted, but cautiously.
It remains one of the best books I've ever read. In fact, I don't know how I missed it on my list because it's the one book that's been in my nightstand constantly since I got it.%
It is the story of a town/village (Kingsbridge) in Olde Englande. The characters are compelling, the research astonishing, the story a force of nature. Nine Hundred and Ninety-Two rapidly-flipping pages of history, architecture, theology, sociology, anthropology, knights, monks, sex and violence.
Well, after 14 years, Mr. Follett has brought forth the sequel, World Without End. I'm about a quarter through it. Not as compelling out of the gate as Pillars, but so far, so very good.
I'll keep you posted.
[SUMMARY: Meanwhile, go read Pillars.]
*************
I told Susie I'd make her a scarf for her birthday.
"What colour?" I asked.
"Um... rainbow."
"I can do rainbow."
"And I'm allergic to wool."
So now what am I going to do? Even the gay pride weasel has a bunch of wool in it.
[SUMMARY: Be careful what you offer...]
*************
Dad sent this to me last week. I told him it isn't funny at all. It's a fucking documentary. Right up to the baseball bat, this is EXACTLY how my every morning starts.
Usually at 4:30 or 5:00.
[SUMMARY: Every. Single. Morning.]
*************
Last year, before most of y'all knew me, I hooked up with a soldier home on leave for Christmas.‡‡ We had many drinks, a lot of laughs and a nice naked tour of the couch, the chair, the stairs, the bed.^
I was wholly surprised when he called me and we got together again before he left. I figured, "Hey, soldier home on leave. If he doesn't have as many girls lined up for the two weeks before they send him back to the sandbox as he possibly can, he's not smart enough or passionate enough to wield weaponry for my country. It's a NSA romp and I'm good with that."
I dropped him a couple of times in the last year. Surprisingly,§§ he even wrote me (unprompted) once or twice.
Friday, I was muddling through some boxes of work at home,¶¶ and the phone rang. It was a wireless caller, a number I didn't recognise, so I let it go to voice mail.
A little later, when I picked up the message, it was Soldier Boy, back from the war and wanting to touch base and maybe get together.
I called him a little later. We did a quick recon## and he asked, "Do you still go to that little bar?"
"Oh, yes. In fact, every Tuesday."
"Tuesday, huh?"
"Yes. We knit."
"What?"
"We knit."
"I'm sorry, I still didn't catch that. You...?"
"We *knit*."
"You knit? In the bar?"
"Of course."
*wild laughter*
"So you have a couple of beers and see if you can still knit one, purl two? Like that?"
"Ek-ZACKly."
He said he'd like to get together and catch up, I said that'd be dandy.
I imagine he might show up at Drunken Knitting tonight.
He's exuberant, funny, a little wild and he drinks like me.
I shaved my legs this morning.
[SUMMARY: Will wonders never cease?]
*************
Speaking of drinking like Marin,††† that's a phrase Bag Lady Kathryn uses and it cracks me up.
See, when I say, "Drink Like Marin" in that bumper sticker tone of voice, I know what y'all are thinking. However, Kathryn uses it to denote drinking a lot of water. 'Cause I do. 'Specially in the bar.
Hey, two glasses of water for every adult beverage and I've never had a hangover in my life.
So Drink Like Marin!
[SUMMARY: There should be tshirts.]
*************
♪Today you read this com-plete-ly.
You lick the pig so sweetly.
Today the light of duh is in your eyes...
Will there be rug burns tomorrow?♪
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Mostly this isn't a pick-and-choose thing. Mostly this is a "can I remember?" thing.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Says the girl who missed the first snow luxuriating in the sweet, lush atmosphere of autumn in New York.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Have I mentioned lately how much I dig self-referential linking?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I *knew* this was going to happen. Five years from now, I'll still be saying, "Oh... remember that list? I forgot something..."
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): OK, I just went to the Google toolbar to put in "Ken Follett" to make sure I had the right number of Ls and Ts and it DIDN'T COME UP. "Pillars of the Earth" (along with pillars of the earth sequel, pillars of the earth movie, pillars of the earth book, pillars of the earth review, pillars of the earth summary, pillars of the earth audiobook, pillars of the earth audio book, pillars of the earth: the videogame...) came up just fine, but not Ken Follett. This is a kind of Googlewhacking I'd never dreamed possible.
I put in "seven deadly sins colour" and came up with actual entries and there's no Ken Follett?
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which has NOTHING to do with the very hot, female-friendly sex scenes that could potentially, if I did that sort of thing, get me through some of the C-batterier of the C-battery nights.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Not Mr. Follett's fault. I grow quickly bored with most spy novels. I like them, but I get sick of the playboy-loner-dashing-gentleman-rogue persona pretty quick. As someone whose dated her fair share of self-romanticising loners with overblown egos, I can but take a "been there, done that (heh. done that. heh.)" attitude about the whole genre.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Courtesy, Yahoo Personals.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): This is how rug burns are made.
§§FOOTNOTE (sssssssssssss): See paragraph above. Honestly, I don't know why anyone puts up with me: I'm utterly surprised when anybody likes me, then utterly surprised if someone doesn't. Trust me, it's all sincere. I am a dichotomic dork.
(I feel I should also tell you I originally went with "dichotomous dork," which I think sounds like the plucky, anthropomorphised mouse peasant who saves the rodent kingdom in some fantasy novel. Or maybe the new teacher at Hogwarts.)
¶¶FOOTNOTE (little Mickey Mouse feet): I am a dichotomic dork who has a deep-seated need to show you how dedicated I am that I was home sick and still worked all day. Therapy, anyone?
##FOOTNOTE (double pounder with cheese): See? I hang around soldiers. I know the lingo.
†††FOOTNOTE (triple-crossed): Yes, we were.
LICK
THE
PIG!
Today, our blithe little tongues will be touching on the snouts of weather, sex with soldiers, wake up calls, and any of a number of other things floating around in my fuzzy head.†
[SUMMARY: Wait, did she say, "sex with soldiers"?]
*************
My car dinged at me this morning. I knew my seatbelt was securely fastened. I was pretty sure it wasn't time to change the oil. But you know that feeling you get -- the dash light goes on, the engine makes an odd noise, something dings at you. It's like when you see those red and blue lights whirling in your rearview. No matter how safe and good and careful you think you are, your heart does that little dive.
I'm a dork.
It's been so long I'd completely forgotten that the car dings to let me know when it gets to 37° because that's where the roads can start freezing and there could be traction issues.
So it's cold this morning here in Denverish. We may see some winter yet.‡
[SUMMARY: Warming up the audience (ha! pun!), talking small.]
*************
Up until last night, I thought the line in the song was, "...living in a pony keg and giving off sparks."
[SUMMARY: *dork*]
*************
Remember when I did the big book and author list§ awhile back? I found another glaring ommission.¶
If you haven't read Ken Follett's# The Pillars of the Earth, please go get a copy RIGHT NOW and read it.
I'll wait here.
I had read some of Follett's spy novels that were lying around my parents' house, but was largely unimpressed.†† So when my dad handed me Pillars and told me I'd really like it, I trusted, but cautiously.
It remains one of the best books I've ever read. In fact, I don't know how I missed it on my list because it's the one book that's been in my nightstand constantly since I got it.%
It is the story of a town/village (Kingsbridge) in Olde Englande. The characters are compelling, the research astonishing, the story a force of nature. Nine Hundred and Ninety-Two rapidly-flipping pages of history, architecture, theology, sociology, anthropology, knights, monks, sex and violence.
Well, after 14 years, Mr. Follett has brought forth the sequel, World Without End. I'm about a quarter through it. Not as compelling out of the gate as Pillars, but so far, so very good.
I'll keep you posted.
[SUMMARY: Meanwhile, go read Pillars.]
*************
I told Susie I'd make her a scarf for her birthday.
"What colour?" I asked.
"Um... rainbow."
"I can do rainbow."
"And I'm allergic to wool."
So now what am I going to do? Even the gay pride weasel has a bunch of wool in it.
[SUMMARY: Be careful what you offer...]
*************
Dad sent this to me last week. I told him it isn't funny at all. It's a fucking documentary. Right up to the baseball bat, this is EXACTLY how my every morning starts.
Usually at 4:30 or 5:00.
[SUMMARY: Every. Single. Morning.]
*************
Last year, before most of y'all knew me, I hooked up with a soldier home on leave for Christmas.‡‡ We had many drinks, a lot of laughs and a nice naked tour of the couch, the chair, the stairs, the bed.^
I was wholly surprised when he called me and we got together again before he left. I figured, "Hey, soldier home on leave. If he doesn't have as many girls lined up for the two weeks before they send him back to the sandbox as he possibly can, he's not smart enough or passionate enough to wield weaponry for my country. It's a NSA romp and I'm good with that."
I dropped him a couple of times in the last year. Surprisingly,§§ he even wrote me (unprompted) once or twice.
Friday, I was muddling through some boxes of work at home,¶¶ and the phone rang. It was a wireless caller, a number I didn't recognise, so I let it go to voice mail.
A little later, when I picked up the message, it was Soldier Boy, back from the war and wanting to touch base and maybe get together.
I called him a little later. We did a quick recon## and he asked, "Do you still go to that little bar?"
"Oh, yes. In fact, every Tuesday."
"Tuesday, huh?"
"Yes. We knit."
"What?"
"We knit."
"I'm sorry, I still didn't catch that. You...?"
"We *knit*."
"You knit? In the bar?"
"Of course."
*wild laughter*
"So you have a couple of beers and see if you can still knit one, purl two? Like that?"
"Ek-ZACKly."
He said he'd like to get together and catch up, I said that'd be dandy.
I imagine he might show up at Drunken Knitting tonight.
He's exuberant, funny, a little wild and he drinks like me.
I shaved my legs this morning.
[SUMMARY: Will wonders never cease?]
*************
Speaking of drinking like Marin,††† that's a phrase Bag Lady Kathryn uses and it cracks me up.
See, when I say, "Drink Like Marin" in that bumper sticker tone of voice, I know what y'all are thinking. However, Kathryn uses it to denote drinking a lot of water. 'Cause I do. 'Specially in the bar.
Hey, two glasses of water for every adult beverage and I've never had a hangover in my life.
So Drink Like Marin!
[SUMMARY: There should be tshirts.]
*************
♪Today you read this com-plete-ly.
You lick the pig so sweetly.
Today the light of duh is in your eyes...
Will there be rug burns tomorrow?♪
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Mostly this isn't a pick-and-choose thing. Mostly this is a "can I remember?" thing.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Says the girl who missed the first snow luxuriating in the sweet, lush atmosphere of autumn in New York.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Have I mentioned lately how much I dig self-referential linking?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I *knew* this was going to happen. Five years from now, I'll still be saying, "Oh... remember that list? I forgot something..."
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): OK, I just went to the Google toolbar to put in "Ken Follett" to make sure I had the right number of Ls and Ts and it DIDN'T COME UP. "Pillars of the Earth" (along with pillars of the earth sequel, pillars of the earth movie, pillars of the earth book, pillars of the earth review, pillars of the earth summary, pillars of the earth audiobook, pillars of the earth audio book, pillars of the earth: the videogame...) came up just fine, but not Ken Follett. This is a kind of Googlewhacking I'd never dreamed possible.
I put in "seven deadly sins colour" and came up with actual entries and there's no Ken Follett?
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which has NOTHING to do with the very hot, female-friendly sex scenes that could potentially, if I did that sort of thing, get me through some of the C-batterier of the C-battery nights.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Not Mr. Follett's fault. I grow quickly bored with most spy novels. I like them, but I get sick of the playboy-loner-dashing-gentleman-rogue persona pretty quick. As someone whose dated her fair share of self-romanticising loners with overblown egos, I can but take a "been there, done that (heh. done that. heh.)" attitude about the whole genre.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Courtesy, Yahoo Personals.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): This is how rug burns are made.
§§FOOTNOTE (sssssssssssss): See paragraph above. Honestly, I don't know why anyone puts up with me: I'm utterly surprised when anybody likes me, then utterly surprised if someone doesn't. Trust me, it's all sincere. I am a dichotomic dork.
(I feel I should also tell you I originally went with "dichotomous dork," which I think sounds like the plucky, anthropomorphised mouse peasant who saves the rodent kingdom in some fantasy novel. Or maybe the new teacher at Hogwarts.)
¶¶FOOTNOTE (little Mickey Mouse feet): I am a dichotomic dork who has a deep-seated need to show you how dedicated I am that I was home sick and still worked all day. Therapy, anyone?
##FOOTNOTE (double pounder with cheese): See? I hang around soldiers. I know the lingo.
†††FOOTNOTE (triple-crossed): Yes, we were.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Close-Knit
I'm back!
OK, you may not have even known I was gone, but a quick bout with strep throat† took me out of the office Thursday and Friday, but I'm back now!
Miss me?
[SUMMARY: Tell me you missed me.]
First, because I was sadly remiss in not addressing the situation, let me alight on the Rockies: they are my home team. I still love them. I am still very, very proud of them. Even though they lost... lost their batting, lost their pitching and -- for that first miserable game -- lost all ability to field anything. They couldn't field a mouse‡ in that first game.
But they're still my boys.
And they still had an awe-inspiring last couple of months.
And they still haven't pissed anyone off enough to hate them.
And they're still 100% steroid rumour-free.
[SUMMARY: Go Rockies!]
Let's not talk about the Broncos.
I'm pretty sure I couldn't talk about the Broncos if I wanted to since the only two guys I can name on the (fielded) team I can name because one of them used to play for the Redskins and the other looked good in preseason.§
[SUMMARY: Take the Broncos with you!]
This weekend I knitted with my father.
He has finished the toe on his stocking and has changed colours and is doing swimmingly.¶
Which leads us to a cute story I must share:
When I was five, my grandmother sent me the entire Little House series, all boxed up and ready to read.
I was still at a stage where my parents were reading to me every night, though they didn't really need to. It was more bonding and ritual than "Marin can't read for herself."# My parents were so interested in the story†† that I could often talk them into more than the prescribed chapter-a-night.
In fact, we were all so enthralled I devised a brilliant scheme to stay up and read.^
Well, my first brilliant scheme was to turn my light on and read after I was supposed to be in bed. I then discovered the parents could see the light was on. I may be smart, but I'm not always that bright,% if you get my drift.
So I told my mom I had a stomachache and needed the heating pad. I then used the tiny orange light on the heating pad controller to read.
Now, the rule was that I couldn't read ahead on my own.‡‡
When I started giggling at Nellie Oleson's tangle with the leeches and when I cried over Jack's (the brindle bulldog) death two pages before the reading parent reached that point in the story, they were kinda on to my scam.
Eventually, it became a free-for-all. I checked the books out of the school library§§ so when two of us were reading the same book, we wouldn't be fighting over it.
Before we had extra copies, it got a little cutthroat around the old homestead. I'd be off, playing with my Lincoln Logs, when I'd get a yen for a little light reading. I'd mosey out to the living room where the Little House books lived and there would be Dad, reading MY BOOK.
"Let me just finish this chapter,"$ he'd say, so I'd grab the nearest reading material to occupy myself until he was done.
That's how Mom got the picture of Dad and me on the couch, dad reading, "On the Banks of Plum Creek" while I pored over that week's Time Magazine.
[SUMMARY: Cute, no? Has a point, really.]
Flash to 2007. Dad and Marin, TiVi on to fucking miserable Bronco debacle, me knitting Lizard Ridge,¶¶ Dad knitting his Christmas stocking, a sort of beer commercial it-don't-get-any-better-'n-this vibe in the air.
"Ah, you, me, football, knitting..." I said.
"Who'd've thunk it would come to this?" Dad replied.
"This would be a great follow-up picture to that one of you and me reading on the couch," I said.
We had a good laugh.
[SUMMARY: PSA: READ TO YOUR KIDS.]
Oh, and Brother? It's your turn. Your father is shaming you mercilessly with his chipper attitude and all-American stick-to-itiveness.## And mad knitta skillz.
[SUMMARY: Competitive knitting among the menfolk. Is there anything hotter? I mean if this wasn't my dad and brother?]
Ever notice how sometimes the summaries are longer than the bits they're summarising?
Me too.
[SUMMARY: Stating the obvious.]
I have to thank Cheryl Oberle. In other knitting news, I made my first successful spit-and-felt join this weekend@ in the midst of the Lizard Ridge. I'd tried and tried and then Cheryl demonstrated it for me during a break in the Annie Modesitt class and -- voilá! -- it all became clear.*
[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!]
OK, now I have to do that "I'm back!" thing at werk. I'm guessing they missed me more than you guys did.
I hope nobody turns up with strep or I'm in trouble.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Woke up at 3:00 Thursday morning with a hellacious sore throat. The worst part of strep for me is the part where I can't swallow because I couldn't talk a doctor into talking my tonsils out so they swell to the size of golf balls and have you ever tried to swallow with two golf balls in your throat? and don't answer that I just realised how dirty that sounds. Heh. I'm twelve.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I know, I know, but it's evocative enough of what I'm saying I feel y'all can get it even if I' m making no sense at all.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Ramsey and Graham, for those of you scoring at home.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Other than knitting very tight and occasionally forgetting to knit the first stitch on the new needle -- he just slips it to the right needle somehow, then starts saying, "Huh." Then says, "Daughter, something doesn't look right here. I think I really screwed this up." Then I magically put the loop back on the left needle and he can magically knit again. Magic!
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm not bragging. OK, maybe a little. Not *just* bragging. It's actually germaine to the story.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Despite the fact that when the story opened in the woods in Wisconsin, Mom's home state, I asked (very sincerely), "Mom, did you play with Laura Ingalls Wilder when you were a little girl?"
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Early adventures in Book Problem.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Ha! Pun! Y'know... 'cause we're talking about light? And stuff? And pun? Hahahahaha!
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I don't think it was ever spoken. Or written. It just seems the polite thing was not to read ahead when we were all enjoying the story so much.
§§FOOTNOTE (brick. house.): Which actually was against the rules. I had to get special dispensation from the librarian, my teacher and the principal of the school under Mom's request (read: demand) because the Little House books were on the second grade shelf and I was a lowly kindergartner. This was the kindergarten I eventually got kicked out of, which led me to many happy months in construction paper, glitter and rosaries at the Catholic kindergarten. But that's another story for another day.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): A precursor to "just one more row"?
¶¶FOOTNOTE (they kinda look like meerkats, don't they?): I finished the second strip and am nearly halfway through the third. Thanks for asking.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a two-penny nail -- you know you wanted the whore line): How would you spell it?
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Immediately preceeded by the weird unplied fragility that is Noro Kureyon.
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked): And the simple trick brings to mind that old joke that ends, "frayed knot." You probably already knew about the fraying part, didn't you?
OK, you may not have even known I was gone, but a quick bout with strep throat† took me out of the office Thursday and Friday, but I'm back now!
Miss me?
[SUMMARY: Tell me you missed me.]
First, because I was sadly remiss in not addressing the situation, let me alight on the Rockies: they are my home team. I still love them. I am still very, very proud of them. Even though they lost... lost their batting, lost their pitching and -- for that first miserable game -- lost all ability to field anything. They couldn't field a mouse‡ in that first game.
But they're still my boys.
And they still had an awe-inspiring last couple of months.
And they still haven't pissed anyone off enough to hate them.
And they're still 100% steroid rumour-free.
[SUMMARY: Go Rockies!]
Let's not talk about the Broncos.
I'm pretty sure I couldn't talk about the Broncos if I wanted to since the only two guys I can name on the (fielded) team I can name because one of them used to play for the Redskins and the other looked good in preseason.§
[SUMMARY: Take the Broncos with you!]
This weekend I knitted with my father.
He has finished the toe on his stocking and has changed colours and is doing swimmingly.¶
Which leads us to a cute story I must share:
When I was five, my grandmother sent me the entire Little House series, all boxed up and ready to read.
I was still at a stage where my parents were reading to me every night, though they didn't really need to. It was more bonding and ritual than "Marin can't read for herself."# My parents were so interested in the story†† that I could often talk them into more than the prescribed chapter-a-night.
In fact, we were all so enthralled I devised a brilliant scheme to stay up and read.^
Well, my first brilliant scheme was to turn my light on and read after I was supposed to be in bed. I then discovered the parents could see the light was on. I may be smart, but I'm not always that bright,% if you get my drift.
So I told my mom I had a stomachache and needed the heating pad. I then used the tiny orange light on the heating pad controller to read.
Now, the rule was that I couldn't read ahead on my own.‡‡
When I started giggling at Nellie Oleson's tangle with the leeches and when I cried over Jack's (the brindle bulldog) death two pages before the reading parent reached that point in the story, they were kinda on to my scam.
Eventually, it became a free-for-all. I checked the books out of the school library§§ so when two of us were reading the same book, we wouldn't be fighting over it.
Before we had extra copies, it got a little cutthroat around the old homestead. I'd be off, playing with my Lincoln Logs, when I'd get a yen for a little light reading. I'd mosey out to the living room where the Little House books lived and there would be Dad, reading MY BOOK.
"Let me just finish this chapter,"$ he'd say, so I'd grab the nearest reading material to occupy myself until he was done.
That's how Mom got the picture of Dad and me on the couch, dad reading, "On the Banks of Plum Creek" while I pored over that week's Time Magazine.
[SUMMARY: Cute, no? Has a point, really.]
Flash to 2007. Dad and Marin, TiVi on to fucking miserable Bronco debacle, me knitting Lizard Ridge,¶¶ Dad knitting his Christmas stocking, a sort of beer commercial it-don't-get-any-better-'n-this vibe in the air.
"Ah, you, me, football, knitting..." I said.
"Who'd've thunk it would come to this?" Dad replied.
"This would be a great follow-up picture to that one of you and me reading on the couch," I said.
We had a good laugh.
[SUMMARY: PSA: READ TO YOUR KIDS.]
Oh, and Brother? It's your turn. Your father is shaming you mercilessly with his chipper attitude and all-American stick-to-itiveness.## And mad knitta skillz.
[SUMMARY: Competitive knitting among the menfolk. Is there anything hotter? I mean if this wasn't my dad and brother?]
Ever notice how sometimes the summaries are longer than the bits they're summarising?
Me too.
[SUMMARY: Stating the obvious.]
I have to thank Cheryl Oberle. In other knitting news, I made my first successful spit-and-felt join this weekend@ in the midst of the Lizard Ridge. I'd tried and tried and then Cheryl demonstrated it for me during a break in the Annie Modesitt class and -- voilá! -- it all became clear.*
[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!]
OK, now I have to do that "I'm back!" thing at werk. I'm guessing they missed me more than you guys did.
I hope nobody turns up with strep or I'm in trouble.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Woke up at 3:00 Thursday morning with a hellacious sore throat. The worst part of strep for me is the part where I can't swallow because I couldn't talk a doctor into talking my tonsils out so they swell to the size of golf balls and have you ever tried to swallow with two golf balls in your throat? and don't answer that I just realised how dirty that sounds. Heh. I'm twelve.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I know, I know, but it's evocative enough of what I'm saying I feel y'all can get it even if I' m making no sense at all.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Ramsey and Graham, for those of you scoring at home.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Other than knitting very tight and occasionally forgetting to knit the first stitch on the new needle -- he just slips it to the right needle somehow, then starts saying, "Huh." Then says, "Daughter, something doesn't look right here. I think I really screwed this up." Then I magically put the loop back on the left needle and he can magically knit again. Magic!
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm not bragging. OK, maybe a little. Not *just* bragging. It's actually germaine to the story.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Despite the fact that when the story opened in the woods in Wisconsin, Mom's home state, I asked (very sincerely), "Mom, did you play with Laura Ingalls Wilder when you were a little girl?"
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Early adventures in Book Problem.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Ha! Pun! Y'know... 'cause we're talking about light? And stuff? And pun? Hahahahaha!
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I don't think it was ever spoken. Or written. It just seems the polite thing was not to read ahead when we were all enjoying the story so much.
§§FOOTNOTE (brick. house.): Which actually was against the rules. I had to get special dispensation from the librarian, my teacher and the principal of the school under Mom's request (read: demand) because the Little House books were on the second grade shelf and I was a lowly kindergartner. This was the kindergarten I eventually got kicked out of, which led me to many happy months in construction paper, glitter and rosaries at the Catholic kindergarten. But that's another story for another day.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): A precursor to "just one more row"?
¶¶FOOTNOTE (they kinda look like meerkats, don't they?): I finished the second strip and am nearly halfway through the third. Thanks for asking.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a two-penny nail -- you know you wanted the whore line): How would you spell it?
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Immediately preceeded by the weird unplied fragility that is Noro Kureyon.
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked): And the simple trick brings to mind that old joke that ends, "frayed knot." You probably already knew about the fraying part, didn't you?
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Billboard Installation for Dummies
Remember that day I missed the billboard change? Because I was so focused on werk (*ahem*)?
Well, Tuesday was my lucky day. And since I'm always willing to share, it must be your lucky day too.
Turns out billboards are giant printed tarps that hook to to the actual board part at the corners and in the middle, then are ratcheted in tight.
First you have to get the old billboard down.
Using a CRANE.
Then you use that same CRANE to lift the new billboard into place.
Please note Cutest Little Car in the Whole Wide World in lower left of parking lot.
While they were folding up the old billboard and the crane, I ran over to Hans's office to replay the whole thing and realised my camera was missing the best part.
And since a picture paints a thousand words, it must be that I can babble on for a thousand words to roughly the same effect. Hey, the maths bear me out... and who are we to argue with the maths?
See, once they got all cleaned up (and I think their mothers would be really proud), the two guys from the billboard went back up and ran very thin poles through a casing on the bottom of the tarp. Then they tucked the bottom of the tarp into a slot under the white part of the billboard, which pulled it taut just like doing military-grade bedsheets.
Totally magical.
OK, so not a thousand words.
I do feel better educated, don't you? In fact, I'm confident if this land thing doesn't work out, I can begin my second career in billboard deconstruction and installation.
You're welcome. Happy Thursday.
p.s. -- the answer to the question on the first billboard is, "Apparently throw in his coverage area."
No, let's not talk sports. Look at the pretty leaves!
Well, Tuesday was my lucky day. And since I'm always willing to share, it must be your lucky day too.
Turns out billboards are giant printed tarps that hook to to the actual board part at the corners and in the middle, then are ratcheted in tight.
First you have to get the old billboard down.
Using a CRANE.
Then you use that same CRANE to lift the new billboard into place.
Please note Cutest Little Car in the Whole Wide World in lower left of parking lot.
While they were folding up the old billboard and the crane, I ran over to Hans's office to replay the whole thing and realised my camera was missing the best part.
And since a picture paints a thousand words, it must be that I can babble on for a thousand words to roughly the same effect. Hey, the maths bear me out... and who are we to argue with the maths?
See, once they got all cleaned up (and I think their mothers would be really proud), the two guys from the billboard went back up and ran very thin poles through a casing on the bottom of the tarp. Then they tucked the bottom of the tarp into a slot under the white part of the billboard, which pulled it taut just like doing military-grade bedsheets.
Totally magical.
OK, so not a thousand words.
I do feel better educated, don't you? In fact, I'm confident if this land thing doesn't work out, I can begin my second career in billboard deconstruction and installation.
You're welcome. Happy Thursday.
p.s. -- the answer to the question on the first billboard is, "Apparently throw in his coverage area."
No, let's not talk sports. Look at the pretty leaves!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Fall Colour
Remember that land emergency I had last week? This was at that office.† So
from me and the people at Land Panic Inc.%
Saturday, I took a class from Annie Modesitt, who is funny and supportive and charmingly neurotic. Her cabling without cable needles is worth the price of admission just for the story about the gallant but slightly perverted prince and the wallflowers.‡
And here she is with my new best friend, Cheryl Oberle, who also took the class.§
[SUMMARY: I stalk celebrities and I have the pictures to prove it.]
And I finished the Sparkle Socks! And they're very nearly the same size!
One thing I found cool was, in knitting socks on two circular needles, I can just use one of the extra pointy ends as a cable needle.¶ It makes me feel very efficient and clever.
The Lizard Ridge, strip two, three squares down and three to go:
[SUMMARY: KNIT BLOG!]
And in keeping with the title theme, here's to prove that Colorado has trees just as pretty as Rhinebeck:
And giant sunflowers you could use to slay a dragon:
And, apparently, fall colours include green and gold.
This was taken at 3:00 the afternoon of the game. What were these people doing that early? Did they think Mile High would be general admission?
And how did the Packers end up with home field advantage in Denver?
[SUMMARY: No, let's don't talk sports. Let's focus on the pretty leaves.]
Ooooh... just wait 'til tomorrow. Boy, do I have a treat for you!
For now, I have to go watch my clients do the Thriller dance on the sixth floor.#
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I'm sure they're wondering why they're paying someone who stands -- with reckless disregard for social normalcy -- in their lobby, taking pictures of their bird.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): I'm dressed up today. I like to get my inspiration from my surroundings and let a costume come to me organically. I'm a dust bunny.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Nope, you're going to have to take the class to get the story.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Who would be *thrilled* to know I'm crowning her "new best friend," I'm sure. Cheryl teaches knitting classes at Posh (Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack) and is helping head up the new North Denver Knitting Guild (first Wednesday of every month, Tenn Street Coffee at 44th and Tennyson, starting November 7, just in case you're interested). She's my celebrity knitter brush with fame. She even knows my name. You can touch me for a dollar.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): This was before I learned about the gallant but slightly perverted prince. I had to make my own cable magic.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm not kidding.
ETA: I almost forgot the tiny little story I promised yesterday.
Once upon a time, I wound my yarn clockwise on my purl stitches. If you knit in the back of your knit stitches on the way back, it is stockinette stitch using the Eastern method. If you don't, you end up with what we call "twisted stitches." Frankly, it doesn't make a good goddamn's worth of difference to the aesthetic of the finished project, but you know how some people can be about some things.
I went to a knit night at an LYS (no longer with us), where a fussy and petulant little man looked over my shoulder and said, "Oh. My. God. What kind of stitch is this?"
"Stockinette...?"
"Oh, no it's not. I don't know what it is, but it isn't stockinette. Knit and let me see what you're doing."
Then he told me I was winding my purl stitches up wrong and made me knit a couple of rows the right way.
"See how much better that is?"
I was young (couldn't've been more than 35) and star-struck (he was knitting fussy little Nordic colour-work mittens on fussy little 00-sized needles that looked like fussy little fishing line) and meekly thanked him, even though I couldn't really see that much difference, only now my knitting looked kinda wonky from changing horses mid-saddle.
Annie taught me I wasn't knitting wrong, I was knitting in an exotic Eastern way the fussy little man could never dream of in all his fussy little dreams.
Can you tell I feel all vindicated and stuff?
OK, I'm really done now. Time to go trick-or-treating on the seventh floor.#
Dear Sister-in-Law,
I want to make all your wishes come true, but since I don't have Chad Pennington's phone number, you'll have to settle for this.
Fourth picture down.
XOXO
M
Fourth picture down.
XOXO
M
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Photolism
I don't even know what that means, but it sounded cool. In my head, I mean.
And here's my trip to NYC.
Second, I think it's important to note that I finished Yorick for Jeff as hoped. And I know how y'all like FOs.
The only thing I've done every time I go to Manhattan (other than stay with Jeff and Lorree) is visit the American Museum of Natural History.
The latter was basically a bunch of papier-mache critters with narrative explanations on their mythology and, y'know... how manatees looked like mermaids to weary sailors. The only picture I got was of a dragon wing, which was artsy, but not illustrative.%
The dinosaur in the Roosevelt Rotunda you may have seen in "Night at the Museum" or the TiVi show "Mad About You."^
Friday also brought weather I've never experienced before: 100% humidity with reasonably comfortable temperatures. Sleeping was weird and surreal, with fever dreams and kicking the covers on and off and getting up ten or seventeen times to pee and get water. I've never felt anything like it.
[SUMMARY: Not unlike my Amber experience.]
Saturday was, of course, the trek to Rhinebeck.
There were many people.
And fairground-appropriate accoutrement.#
And pretty trees.
This being my favourite.
And a bouncy pirate ship with (wait for it...)
...a skull and crossbones or five.
Sheep.
Goats.
Bunnies.
Outdoor yarn.
Indoor yarn.
Mohair locks by the bushel.
Quiet spaces to go to escape the madding crowd, if just for a few minutes.
And this is very important. A vendor I loved, with lovely Merino and Merino/Silk and CORMO and I somehow *forgot the name of the frickin' vendor.* If anyone knows who this is (maybe from the top floor of the big white barn?), could you please drop me a comment?
I didn't dislike everything about Rhinebeck. I loved the unknown yarn vendor and Spirit Trail Fibreworks. And Green Mountain Spinnery, from whom I got 500 yards of this:
And the horses. I may be the only fibre geek in North America to get this guy from the front.
Sunday, Lorree needed some Lorree time, so I asked Jeff if we could explore Central Park, as I've seen woefully little of it and feel it is necessary to my quintessential experience of New York.
Jeff said, "You're taking a picture of a sign?"
I said, "Yes. Some people might appreciate that there are eleventy hundred baseball diamonds here in the North Meadow."
People who have only seen snippets of the park on TiVi and such may not be aware of its full impact. It's HUGE.
You can hike through a forest reminiscent of Redwood National Park, fording streams and climbing rocks and hills... then come around a corner to the Great Lawn where upwards of 3000 people and their dogs are playing Frisbee and sunbathing.
There is the Pond (smaller than Harlem Meers, but large enough to row on).
There are turtles.
There is a castle.††
Oh, look. There is Jeff 180 degrees from the last photo on the courtyard of Belvedere Castle.
There is a highly artistic shot of the shadow of Belvedere Castle looking up to the south leg of the Great Lawn.‡‡
After rambling around Belvedere Castle, we cut across the park westward§§ to catch Riverside Park home. Jeff lives right by Riverside Park, though a ways north of where we were at the castle.
A barge.¶¶
Looking up Riverside Park.
[SUMMARY: New York!]
Tomorrow: WIP, another FO and Annie Modesitt tells me I was knitting OK all along.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Maybe. I know she had a garden around here somewhere.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Not that artsy isn't a fine reason all on its own to post a picture. Apparently I was the victim of a rare and impulsive moment of discretion. Enjoy it while you can.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Where young Paul and young Jamie are on class field trips to AMNH and the power goes out.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): It's too trite to sniff at art, but I actually had a visceral reaction to the bullshit they were dishing. Spittle. Hair on end. Ears hot.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Well, size doesn't count, but I don't want you to think it's maybe six stories tall and could fall into some Christo realm of scale as art.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I'm nothing if not prosaic.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): When Melissa Etheridge came out, a male friend was trying to articulate why it was so upsetting to him. In my usual succinct way (shut up), I said, "Because you want to believe she's singing the love songs to you." I want to believe the chair in the museum could possibly end up in my living room (maybe as part of the McDonald's Monopoly frenzy of prizes) and I'm not a seven-legged alien.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): With a festive fall theme!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Belvedere Castle, to be specific.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I think.
§§FOOTNOTE (a snake eats its tail): Right by the Dakota, where people take pictures of the sidewalk like they might be able to catch bloodstains from nearly 30 years ago.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (I think we just ran out of paragraphs): Maybe.
And here's my trip to NYC.
First, I think it's important to note that Jeff and Lorree live right around the corner from what may be the only drive-thru in Manhattan.
I took this from the subway platform.
Second, I think it's important to note that I finished Yorick for Jeff as hoped. And I know how y'all like FOs.
The only thing I've done every time I go to Manhattan (other than stay with Jeff and Lorree) is visit the American Museum of Natural History.
That's the rail on the fence surrounding the Eleanor Roosevelt Garden@ on the northwest corner of the museum grounds.
The Rose Center and the Hayden Planetarium are always worth a peek, and I buy an unlimited ticket to get me into every special exhibit they have going.
This trip's special exhibits were butterflies and mythical creatures.
The former:
The latter was basically a bunch of papier-mache critters with narrative explanations on their mythology and, y'know... how manatees looked like mermaids to weary sailors. The only picture I got was of a dragon wing, which was artsy, but not illustrative.%
The biosphere on the bottom floor with all the tiny fish.
The dinosaur in the Roosevelt Rotunda you may have seen in "Night at the Museum" or the TiVi show "Mad About You."^
And "truly large mouse," just because I think it's funny.
[SUMMARY: Go, museum geek, go!]
Friday, MoMA was ridiculously crowded, and for the first time I got genuinely pissed off at the pretentiousness of a piece of "artwork."†
[SUMMARY: Go, museum geek, go!]
Friday, MoMA was ridiculously crowded, and for the first time I got genuinely pissed off at the pretentiousness of a piece of "artwork."†
I don't like to guppy up to the "my four-year-old could do that" stereotype of the artistic Luddite, but I finally found the thing hanging on a wall that did it: a piece of newsprint -- not very big‡ -- folded in half, in half and in half again, then unfolded and framed.
The accompanying blather said (paraphrasing) "The artist folds the blank paper many times, transcending tradition to create a drawing without ever putting pencil to paper."
No, the fuck he doesn't.
He folded a page in eighths like they used to make us do in the second grade to create a big-pencil-friendly version of ruled paper for us to do sums on.
It's not a drawing.
It's not even art.
[SUMMARY: My four-year-old could do that.]
The art I liked was the art I always like. Every time I looked at a painting I liked, it would be Klimt or Rothko or Dali or Ernst.§
Perhaps I stagnate.
I also love the furniture section. I don't know why an Eames chair should turn me on so, but it really does.
Although I don't like alien furniture... you know, the stuff that was conceived on the artistic construct of "how would a space creature with seven legs whose spine was rigid, but whose knees bent backwards sit?"¶
[SUMMARY: I don't know art, but I know what I don't like.]
Friday also brought weather I've never experienced before: 100% humidity with reasonably comfortable temperatures. Sleeping was weird and surreal, with fever dreams and kicking the covers on and off and getting up ten or seventeen times to pee and get water. I've never felt anything like it.
[SUMMARY: Not unlike my Amber experience.]
Saturday was, of course, the trek to Rhinebeck.
There were many people.
And fairground-appropriate accoutrement.#
And pretty trees.
This being my favourite.
And a bouncy pirate ship with (wait for it...)
...a skull and crossbones or five.
Sheep.
Goats.
Bunnies.
Outdoor yarn.
Indoor yarn.
Mohair locks by the bushel.
Quiet spaces to go to escape the madding crowd, if just for a few minutes.
And this is very important. A vendor I loved, with lovely Merino and Merino/Silk and CORMO and I somehow *forgot the name of the frickin' vendor.* If anyone knows who this is (maybe from the top floor of the big white barn?), could you please drop me a comment?
I didn't dislike everything about Rhinebeck. I loved the unknown yarn vendor and Spirit Trail Fibreworks. And Green Mountain Spinnery, from whom I got 500 yards of this:
And the horses. I may be the only fibre geek in North America to get this guy from the front.
[SUMMARY: Deja vu?]
These are my peeps from the delayed train adventure.
These are my peeps from the delayed train adventure.
Sunday, Lorree needed some Lorree time, so I asked Jeff if we could explore Central Park, as I've seen woefully little of it and feel it is necessary to my quintessential experience of New York.
Jeff said, "You're taking a picture of a sign?"
I said, "Yes. Some people might appreciate that there are eleventy hundred baseball diamonds here in the North Meadow."
People who have only seen snippets of the park on TiVi and such may not be aware of its full impact. It's HUGE.
You can hike through a forest reminiscent of Redwood National Park, fording streams and climbing rocks and hills... then come around a corner to the Great Lawn where upwards of 3000 people and their dogs are playing Frisbee and sunbathing.
There is the Pond (smaller than Harlem Meers, but large enough to row on).
There are turtles.
There is a castle.††
Oh, look. There is Jeff 180 degrees from the last photo on the courtyard of Belvedere Castle.
There is a highly artistic shot of the shadow of Belvedere Castle looking up to the south leg of the Great Lawn.‡‡
After rambling around Belvedere Castle, we cut across the park westward§§ to catch Riverside Park home. Jeff lives right by Riverside Park, though a ways north of where we were at the castle.
A barge.¶¶
Looking up Riverside Park.
[SUMMARY: New York!]
Tomorrow: WIP, another FO and Annie Modesitt tells me I was knitting OK all along.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Maybe. I know she had a garden around here somewhere.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Not that artsy isn't a fine reason all on its own to post a picture. Apparently I was the victim of a rare and impulsive moment of discretion. Enjoy it while you can.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Where young Paul and young Jamie are on class field trips to AMNH and the power goes out.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): It's too trite to sniff at art, but I actually had a visceral reaction to the bullshit they were dishing. Spittle. Hair on end. Ears hot.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Well, size doesn't count, but I don't want you to think it's maybe six stories tall and could fall into some Christo realm of scale as art.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I'm nothing if not prosaic.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): When Melissa Etheridge came out, a male friend was trying to articulate why it was so upsetting to him. In my usual succinct way (shut up), I said, "Because you want to believe she's singing the love songs to you." I want to believe the chair in the museum could possibly end up in my living room (maybe as part of the McDonald's Monopoly frenzy of prizes) and I'm not a seven-legged alien.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): With a festive fall theme!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Belvedere Castle, to be specific.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I think.
§§FOOTNOTE (a snake eats its tail): Right by the Dakota, where people take pictures of the sidewalk like they might be able to catch bloodstains from nearly 30 years ago.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (I think we just ran out of paragraphs): Maybe.
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