No...

Apparently, this quiz has never *seen* me† at 6:49 a.m.

Nick Nolte, eat your heart out...


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Or *heard* me. Heh... "I'm quiet, peceful and contemplative" like a slug. "I move slowly, like a relaxed" slug. With hair. Wild Nick Nolte hair.

I'm Late, I'm Late...

...for a very important date!

Well, not late yet, so hurry over to Pam's brand new store, Yarny Goodness.

She'll open at noon (PST) today and there will be prizes all day. But forget about the prizes for now (I know... it's hard)* and focus on Pam's excellent taste and fantastic connections.

You'll find indy dyers and things you've never seen before. How often do you get to experience that in this homogenised, innernets-driven, suburban shopping world?

What are you still doing here? Go! Shop!


*FOOTNOTE (asterisked, 'cause I don't feel like going and digging up all the other pretty pictures): That's what she said!

I Got Yer Black Valentine RIGHT HERE...

From Voltaire's What Is Goth?

Wait For It...

Oh, My Heart...

Here is a sweet little Valentine story.†

Friday last, I dropped by Dad's for fun. And to see if he wanted to go to dinner.

He was psyched to show me his clean, organised, exotically lighted workshop.‡ Being a power tools kinda girl,§ I was excited to see it.

One whole wall is pegboard and all the repressed memories of dyeing^ schemes long buried floated to the surface.

"I want to get some pegboard and the holes... and the pegs... wood... posts... not metal... plastic? non-reactive..."

As I burbled, Dad reached between two workbenches and pulled out a piece of pegboard. Roughly four feet by 18". Roughly what I'd dreamed would be PERFECT for some sort of dyeing board.

"Now, what were you saying? No metal?"

"Acid dyes react with metal... well, not stainless steel, but they must make the metal pegs with, say, rubber coating on them..."

As I burbled, Dad walked over to a bucket full of dowels# and pulled out a handful of 1/4" dowels.

"Would this work?"

"That would be *perfect*!" I crowed.

We talked about what I was envisioning. We continued to bat about design flaws and solutions over dinner.

Family Dinner was Sunday. At some random point in the evening, Dad turned to me and said, "How long should the dowels for your dyeing rack be?"

"About... this big," I said with my hands.

"Four inches?"

"Sure!"%

Monday morning I got an email saying, "Your dyeing rack is done. You can pick it up any time."

So I got a mixed six of the finest beer I know and headed to Dad's after work. We thought we'd have a beer to celebrate, but first...




See that lathed edge?††

I was ooing and ahing over the board and Dad turned it over to show me the risers that both keep air circulating and allow the round dowels‡‡ to stand stably§§ in their round holes.## There was a rough spot on the edge of the frame.

"Darn. That was supposed to go inside."

"That's OK. It won't hurt anything."

"Yeah, you'll get splinters every time you pick it up. I'll just smooth that off..."

And he did. And it was a little like Lloyd Dobler saved Diane Court from the broken bottle.

On the way out after our celebratory beer, I said, "Thank you *so* much, Dad. It's perfect."

And he said, "What are fathers for?

...'specially retired ones?"

I love my dad.

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

Pics of the finished product... and cat for scale.






†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Bet you never thought you'd see the day.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Visualise if you will: The workshop used to be the garage. Dad built another garage right on the mouth of the original garage. Thus, you can open two garage doors and have one four-car garage where the cars would be stacked two-by-two. He mounted tube lights in the workshop, but had to allow for the roll-up on the garage door, so he created a sort of track system where the lights can slide out of the way of the garage door when he needs them to, but slide back to optimum lighting position when he's working. I just wanted to slide the lights back and forth because I could.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): That's what he said!

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Not "dying," as in "tits up," but "dyeing," as in, "look at all the pretty colours!"

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): NOTE: This computer with the missing space bar also does not support paragraph symbology. We apologise for any inconvenience.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Why... where do you keep your dowels?

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Because, y'know... I've been told "...this much" is eight inches for so long, I have no sense of measurement at all.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Is "lathed" a word? Is it the word I want? I tried to check dictionary.com, but it crashed the entire Holiday Inn and I don't want to do it again. I don't think they'd let me near their computers if I crashed them again. Anyway, Dad took a slidy-scrapy thing (like a mandoline you use in the kitchen) and smoothed that edge.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Cut to five inches to allow for the inch of dowel lost in the stabilising process. He thought of everything.

§§FOOTNOTE (my little heart is all awhirl!): Stabily? Damn you, dictionary.com and your porn-pulling, computer crashing ways!

FOOTNOTE (we are experiencing technical difficulties with the paragraph symbol. Please tune in to our regularly scheduled pounding):

##FOOTNOTE (like the pounding of my heart): Not that I expected square dowels in round holes, but it would not have been inappropriate.

Big Skies

Through the magic of the Innernets, you barely even noticed I left for Wyoming yesterday morning.†

And here I type, in the suburbs of Sheridan, on a computer with no space bar.‡

I gotta motor if I'm going to meet the guys for breakfast, but let's indulge in a little nostalgia for the homefront, shall we?

How long has it been since you saw my crane?§




I took an unusual route out of downtown the other day,¶ and snapped this on the fly out of the car window:

Crane farm!



OK, gotta go get the most out of my Priority Rewards with my free breakfast.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I flew. Which seems ridiculous. I mean, it's northern Wyoming, practically Montana, but still... neighbour.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): It technically has a space bar, but you have to hit it just right or it just ignores. Let's spin this: I'm learning a new computer skill.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Look how blue the sky!

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): A little detour to the yarn store "on the way home," don't ya know.

Hat Attack

Hat Attack. An international game of knitting Assassin.†

The yarn was purchased over a week ago. I swatched, I got gauge. I cast on 100 stitches to give myself a little head start.

The night before the unveiling of the pattern, I laid out my tools‡ and plotted my strategy.

I also said the single dumbest thing a person could say, should they not wish to go down in a flaming rocket of hubris: "Fffft. I've never knitted a hat that took me more than two or three hours. So even if it's really complicated, that's... what? Four hours? Five? It's going in the mail tomorrow."§

Let's examine my Saturday,¶ shall we?

Time Line of an Assassination:

7:42 am - Wake up. Realise pattern was to be released "some time between 9:00 am and 10:00 am, EST." It is now 9:42 EST. Pound madly to basement, yanking footie pajamas on on the way down the stairs.

7:43 am - Congratulate self on not killing self yanking footie pajamas on on the way down the stairs.

7:44 am - HOW FUCKING SLOW IS THIS COMPUTER?! Finally get to the website with the pattern. Click "print." Receive error message from printer, but not the standard error message. Standard error message says, "Black ink tank is running low. Continue? Cancel?" Shiny new message says, "You may continue to attempt to print this page, but you could damage your printer. Cancel?" *blink* *blink* Hmmm... I can always buy a new printer...

8:46 am - Return from Wal-Mart.# Replace ink cartridge. Print pattern.

8:48 am - Read pattern.

8:49 am - Re-read pattern in disbelief.

8:50 am - Mad scramble to locate Size 6 needles for the "you will also need needles 1mm/2 sizes smaller than that used to obtain gauge" portion of the pattern.

9:01 am - Say "fuck it" to re-casting on and transfer stitches to smaller needle and start knitting.

9:12 am - Realise *should* be knitting k2p2 rib, even though it is written p1, k2, p1, k2, p1.†† Frog. Have to re-cast on smaller needles anyway.

9:25 am - Realise it's NOT a k2p2 rib and I did it right the first time. Frog. Cast on a THIRD time.

9:27 am to 5:30 pm - Knit. Knit like the wind. Knit smoothly and easily with no questions or glitches and STILL take eight hours to knit one stupid hat.

5:31 pm - Rush to downtown post office. Stand in line to ask if Priority Mail is very, very likely to get there the same time as Express Mail.

5:32 pm - Hear postal clerk tell lady in front of me Express is guaranteed, Priority is just likely. I knew that. Have sudden, painful memory of sending boyfriend's birthday card via Priority Mail and having it take two weeks to get to western slope of Colorado,‡‡ missing his birthday by a full 12 days.

5:34 pm - Leave line to fill out Express mail form.

5:36 pm - Run to car and race home to get address, last seen on a sticky note stuck to computer.§§

6:01 pm - In line at post office, form filled out, hat in hand.¶¶

6:04 pm - Postal clerk delivers sweet, sweet words: "Guaranteed delivery Monday morning." Poor guy seems nervous. You'd think he'd be used to weird last-minute people doing weird last-minute things.

6:06 pm - Glance in rearview mirror in preparation for pulling away from curb. Realise I've never once looked in a mirror all day, and I'm basically sporting that "just rolled out of bed" look, which on me most closely resembles Nick Nolte in lockup. No wonder postal clerk was nervous.

6:30 pm - Dinner.

Epilogue:

Sunday, 4:47 pm - Dad and I are baking a pie for family dinner and while in the baking phase, we're enjoying a beer on the deck, revelling in the nice weather.## When Dad, in recounting his Friday night beer-tasting adventure reveals, "I got a parking ticket last night. Somewhere along the line, I thought I knew you didn't have to pay for metres downtown on weekends," I realise I never fed the metre in front of the downtown post office.

The gods still love me a little. I didn't get a ticket.

Full Frontal Hat Attack


Face right... face left...


Note the very nice end-weaving



†FOOTNOTE (crossed): See "Gotcha" for historical reference.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Knit Picks Andean Silk in Moss, gorgeousgorgeousgorgeous Size 8 Colonial rosewood needles. I just got these and they are viciously, terribly wonderful. They cost $40 a pop. Why can't I ever get addicted to the cheap version of anything? Wait! Burritos! I have a gross and unnatural love for Little Juan cheapo burritos. And I'm gonna have to eat a lot of them to save enough money to afford my new knitting needle love.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): My father is still laughing at me. Even he knew better than to anger the woolly gods.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Seriously, my mental schedule went something like this: 7 to 11 - knit. 11:30 - post office. 12:00 - lunch. Afternoon/evening - housecleaning, gloating on Ravelry, work, dinner and drinks, maybe a movie...

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I know, I know. Office Depot wasn't open yet.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I know, I know. You can see it, big as life. I was in panicked adrenaline mode and talked myself over to the dark side, absolutely convince it was k2p2, absolutely blind to that extra little "p1" in the middle.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Yep. In the same state. A trip that usually took standard mail two days.

§§FOOTNOTE (symbolising the two circular needles on which I knit my hat): A funny sticky note, captioned, "Too busy mopping up floor to turn off faucet." The irony does not escape me.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (symbolising... um... the two ends of each needle): In more ways than one.

##FOOTNOTE (pounding like a cabled hat migraine): Of which we had a total of three days. Of which I spent one knitting the stupid hat.

Is that IT?

Hi, My Name Is Marin...

74%How Addicted to Blogging Are You?

(Thanks, Carol -- helping me keep my post count up!)

Sick and Twisted

Talking literally, here, folks.† I had a really spectacular flu the last three days. Poor Steve had it first, and I had to call him Monday to say, "Hey, hope you're feeling better, but I really need to know this is going to be over soon."

It was one of those where I spent a significant amount of time thinking I was going to die and another significant amount of time thinking it may not be the worst thing.

[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]

I've been gone so long... today I feel I'm a stranger‡ in a strange land.

It's going to be disjointed, but we'll all get there together. Without joints.§ And you know what that means...

That pig is gonna get the tongue-bath of his life.

[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]

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

First, happy Super Tuesday. Go read this book:




I'm a big fan of the "Click Clack Moo" series¶ anyway, but this isn't really a kids' book. Well, maybe. But you'll get more out of it than your five-year-old.

And you can read it standing up at your local B&N.

[SUMMARY: That's what he said.]

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

Second, happy Super Bowl. Don't drink this:

Me and My Main Shanny doin' what we do best



And maybe you think you have no call to drink Boone's Farm Sangria-Flavoured Wine Product Food Stuff, but, hey... this isn't what I thought I'd be using my college degree for either.

See, our Super Bowl is about tradition. The Elks have been Super Bowling for nearly 20 years. In fact, next year is our 20th anniversary.# Because most of us were just out of college when this whole mess started, a lot of our traditions revolve around alcohol.

Because we're all still wildly immature and in denial about our age,†† we've seen no reason to delete, modify‡‡ or render symbolic+ any of these alcoholic traditions.

These traditions include the National Anthem Chug, in which the *stated* object of the game is to begin chugging a grossly cheap beer§§ at the first note of the anthem, finishing as the anthem finishes. Around, "...does that star-spangled banner yet wave..." it devolves into a highly competitive race to finish first.

These traditions also include the Lonely Guy Hour, which used to mean passing around a bottle of Boone's Farm at half-time, but now means everybody brings four or five bottles, which are cracked right after the national anthem and somewhere around the post-game confetti explosion, someone says, "Gorrdamit! Where's the best of the Roone's Flarm?"

After years of delicate tasting, we have highly sophisticated Boone's Farm palates.

Thusly:

"Where's the pink?¶¶ The pink is really good!"

"Are you high? The pink made me barf. Now, the blue..."

"Oh, dude, the blue SUCKS! Ya gotta get the orange."

"You'd drink that peach shit?"

"Not PEACH, dumbass, ORANGE..."

"Ha! That's what she said!"

Anyway, our verdict is the Sangria is just bad. It actually tastes like blood.##

Also? This year we may have started a new tradition. Y'all twelve-year-olds will appreciate it: just about anytime anybody says anything, answer with, "That's what she said," or the occasionally snarf-worthier, "That's what he said."

Funniest thing ever. I still giggle every time I say it.

Maybe you had to be there.&

[SUMMARY: That's what I said.]

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

Soldier Boy called Friday night. I think I'm gonna get me some this weekend.

[SUMMARY: WOOOOOOOOOT! I mean... That's what she said!]

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

At one time, I had a lot of words to impart on the whole Queensryche/Dokken experience. Because it's so far gone, I'm going to give you some bullet points:

• Look! Bullet!
• We got our tickets under face value from a scalper. I didn't know that happened. I felt dangerous and hip and savvy.
• It was the first time in (probably) twenty years that I haven't been vigorously frisked going into a concert. 1) Damnit. It would have been the most action I'd seen in months, and 2) if I'd had a clue, I'd've brought my camera.
• Don Dokken now looks like Kenny Rogers.
• Don Dokken did an all-acoustic set, and all of Dokken's Greatest Hits sound pretty much alike, acoustially presented.
• Don Dokken pulled a Tragedy Vampire on the whole Heath Ledger thing with, "I wasn't going to play anything off the new album,% but this is for a guy... a guy who liked music. And he used a lot of music. And I met him a couple of times..." I will never forget the chorus to the alleged song because I was so intent on memorising it just so I could share with ya'll:

I've been driven by wild horses, dragged beneath their feet.
Why do the children cry? How can we get relief?

• All that said, Don Dokken was personable, friendly, cheerful (other than the Tragedy Vampire portion of the program), played the hits and got off stage. I think I could have a beer with Don Dokken.
• Queensryche rocked. Geoff Tate has lost the tiniest bit off his highest wail, but mostly just rocked like an antiformal syncline.$ They did not do "The Lady Wore Black," though I had a dork moment when I thought they were going to and I turned to Greg and said, "No way. No fucking way." Later, I had to confess I'd failed to recognise some Queensryche hit that sounded a lot like TLWB and Greg said he thought it was TLWB too. So... vindicated.
• Geoff Tate is DEADLY serious about his work. While that often makes art and culture more laughable, I came to the conclusion that if he wasn't so very, very serious, his work would be a joke.
• Geoff Tate doesn't cuss. Not so much as a "hell" or a "damn." Particularly in contrast to Don Dokken's every-other-word-is-fuck, it was kinda refreshing.
• Reservoir tip ski hats are back in. Half the roadies were wearing them, but I also saw a couple of escaped Abercrombie & Fitch models in front of us and one was wearing a Dolce & Gabbana reservoir tip hat and I have a strong feeling that if it was five minutes passé, the boy wouldn't be caught dead in it.
• I'm pretty sure the couple to my left at the encore actually had sex. Right there. Next to me. And she was wearing this strappy, complicated, dominatrix thing that took her about ten minutes to get straightened when the lights came up.

[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]

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

THIS JUST IN:

I received an plane ticket sales email thingie* from Frontier under the heading, "Why Hibernate?" and saying you could escape with low airfare. On the "to/from Denver" list? Anchorage. Chicago. Billings. Rapid City. Detroit.

What exactly am I escaping? And why would I leave hibernation to do it?

[SUMMARY: That's what he said!]

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

Speaking of concerts, did I mention Rush? At Red Rocks?@ I got my ticket last week. $120. Fuck me.^

So I guess I won't be leaving the eighties any time this year. It's a total celebration of lack of maturation.

[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]

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

While I was sick, I spent a lot of time in front of the TiVi,††† and this is on Comcast On-Demand. Watch it:



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

Dang. I'm sure there's lots more. I'll probably have to lick that lucky pig tomorrow.

[SUMMARY: All together now: THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!]


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I know you're used to my metaphorical... um... flights of fancy and purple prose whatsits, but there I was, sick (throwing up every hour on the hour for 22 hours) and twisted (wrapping myself around the toilet in new ways I never I could manage).

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Well, even stranger than usual.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not those kind. If you ever saw me stoned, you'd know why I never, ever mean *those* kind. Mentally, I went straight to Lyda's zombies.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Don't judge. Anyone who has kids or has bedtimed for, "Read it again. Read it again. Read it again," appreciates a book you can both appreciate.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): There will be T-shirts.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Except for some of the guys whose daughters are rapidly approaching teenage-hood. Ah, Mateo... this is where you get it back for all your slick, horn-dog years.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): At least not to save our souls and livers.

+FOOTNOTE (plussed): You know... like substituting Crystal Light for Boone's Farm or tossing confetti instead of our cookies.

§§FOOTNOTE (now, there's a nice, tight spiral... that's what she said): In honour of our humble beginnings.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two bottles for the price of one!): Because Boone's Farm, like Gatorade, doesn't so much come in flavours as colours.

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a Patriot): Well, Blood-Flavoured Wine Food Product Stuff, in any case.

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): I will, of course, be forcing it down your throat for the rest of the post. *pause* *think* *giggle* That's what he said!

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Yes, Don Dokken has a new album coming out. Acoustic. All new stuff. Seriously.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): A little geology humour for those of you who are so inclined. Or synclined. Or anticlined, if you'd rather. Gosh, I think I'm funny.

*FOOTNOTE (asterisked, if you can believe that): Plane Ticket Sales Email Thingie® Frontier Airlines. All saints preserve us.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): The place where U2's "Sunday Bloody Sunday" video was shot. You know, where the girl in the polar bear jacket mauls Bono, then he waves a flag.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): That's what he said.

†††FOOTNOTE (triple your pleasure): Except for Monday, when I spent a lot of time in front of the toilet and the rest of the time chasing ducks in fever delusions. Fever delusions are kinda cool.

And the Winner Is...

Lyda! Lyda gets the fabulous prize package with ton of edibles, usables, knittables, giggles and skulls!

And because I loved the quote...

"I love being married. It's so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life."
~Rita Rudner

...and because I loved the punchline...

"I was used by a priest to make another woman jealous."

And because only three people responded... I'm sending a little something to eca and Stacey too.

eca, I have an Ashburn address for you, which I'm pretty sure is the right one. Stacey, I don't have yours anymore, as that Yahoo mailbox expired. Lyda, I never had yours and I certainly see the irony in the fact that you're the only one I've met IRL and I have no idea where you actually live.

So email me anything I need to get you your winnings. You earned them, you deserve them, you should get them.

Whoa

TTHFCIF

Thundersnow.

Here in my own back yard. Moments ago.

Imagine.

Thoughts...

1) The deadline is rapidly approaching (I'd go with midnight tonight, but it's probably whenever Tani checks email tomorrow morning) for the Black Valentine contest. I wouldn't lie to you... good stuff to be had. You'll kick yourself when you see the fabulous prize package if you didn't even give it a shot. ♥

2) How mid-80's United-Colours-of-Benetton does the Vogue Knitting Winter Issue look?




3) While "shit" is a perfectly servicable word, it's abrupt and sharp, bitten off at the end and most appropriate for under-the-breath exclamations. I'm finding a new fondness for "crap," as it rolls like a warm southern bayou and can be stretched to encompass two or three syllables if you need them. I have needed them at times this last week.

4) Go. Do good.

Morte Canard

I had all my ducks in a row.

Somebody shot them.

Knitting Education

I've had a couple of comments and a handful of IRL... well, "comments"† is as good a word as any... about knitting two socks at once.

We're talking technical knitting stuff, so those of you who glaze over at the term "cast-on" can just join us later.

[SUMMARY: So polite, so thoughtful.]

First, if you start with a copy of Judy's Magic Cast-On% from knitty.com and a copy of the free Knit Picks Two-at-Once Toe-Up Sock Pattern, you have all the support you need to knit just like Marin.‡

You'll have to extrapolate stitches backward on the toe if you're using a pattern.§ While this looks a leetle bit like math, it's really just numbers: no adding, subtracting, dividing... even counting.@

If you're translating from cuff-down, you'll note how many stitches the foot has and how many stitches the toe ends on and then you'll reverse it.¶

If you're translating from toe-up, you'll just skip all that provisional cast-on, pick up stitches nonsense and pretty much follow the footnote from the end of the cuff-down paragraph.#

Or just follow the Knit Picks pattern. I mean, you don't really have to complicate things by knitting *just* like Marin.††

[SUMMARY: So thorough, so wordy.]

I have instructions for a couple of different short-row heels I really like, so I just pick one and take the directions with me.

I always do at least one heel twice because I was watching Kelso fall off the back of the couch or finishing my second beer and you‡‡ kinda have to pay attention to heels.§§

[SUMMARY: So vague, so dingy.]

Some lace or cable patterns don't translate well from cuff-down to toe-up. I've generally found that if it's charted, you can turn the chart upside down and it all works out dandy.¶¶

So there you have it.

[SUMMARY: So helpful, so done.]

Those of you who don't knit can tune back in now. For you, I will add:

I'm Giving You the Best of My Duh.

In more ways than one.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Critics rave: "It scares the hell out of me."

%FOOTNOTE (percented): No grafting! No seam! Magic!

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Something I strive to do every day of my knitting life.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Well, a cuff-down pattern or a toe-up pattern that doesn't use a figure-8 or magic cast-on or such. See, a lot of toe-up patterns call for a provisional cast-on where you cast on the number of stitches you want for the foot, then at some point you pick up the provisional stitches and knit down to the end of the toe, decreasing as you go. I can see little point in knitting both up the foot and down the toe -- much less picking up stitches -- if you don't have to. And you don't. I'm here to help.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Which is a very important feature for some of us.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Start with the number of toe stitches (the smaller number) you would end with and increase to the foot number (the larger number) you desire. Duh.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Coincidentally indicated by the paragraph symbol.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): The More You Know... (rainbows, stars, celebrity spokesperson)

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): And by, "you," I mean, "I."

§§FOOTNOTE (two circular needles at once!): This may be another case where you don't want to knit *exactly* like Marin.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (perhaps these are stitch markers): Magic!

Busy, Busy, But...

...if you have a few minutes, go read this.

Noro Porn!

It has been suggested (Stacey) that if I posted some yarn pictures, it might make my sporadicity more acceptable. Thus:

I have jumped on yet another bandwagon. Such a joiner. Such a follower.†

eca told me to, so I did.

Noro sock yarn.

I plucked it out of the mailbox in the morning,‡ then raced home after work to cast on a pair of socks.§

And realised I really, really need a scale to do that.

This isn't one of my, "No, I don't *want* it, I really NEED it" ploys to justify my superconsumer ways. It's the actual product of knitting two socks at once. See, with two socks at once, you must have two separate balls of yarn -- one for each sock.

I've tried to eyeball the yarn in the past. It worked OK with eBeth's Glittens because it was a 500-yard skein and the wiggle room could accommodate a restless whale. But this time, I didn't want to take a chance on 110 yards for one sock and 300 yards for the other.¶

[SUMMARY: Justifi-CA-tion!]

So I hopped back in the car,# headed for target, and got this,†† the least-understood of all the knitting tools.‡‡




And raced home§§ to find that the "100 grams, more or less" on the ball band actually translates to 91 grams, which seems like a really large margin of error to me, but it's Noro Kureyon sock yarn, I have a big, grand idea for it¶¶ and I just wound the shit up and headed down to cast on.##

Here are your glamour shots of the yarn and my progress so far:












I know the toes look like members of two entirely different socks. I trust that once I have two whole socks, they'll at least look related.

Go look at the yarn again and don't worry about it.

[SUMMARY: Yarn. It makes everything better.]

That should appease you masses††† until this deal closes at work.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): For someone who prides herself on her quirks, oddities and unique perspective, I sure give a good impression of not having an original thought in my head.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): If the myriad postal workers who service my box (BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!) only realised that bringing the good stuff in a timely fashion (OK, the innuendo is going to overwhelm me) would get me out there more often so they wouldn't have to cram my Oprah magazine into accordion pleats to get it in (*snort*), they may straighten out their perspective acts.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Don't tell my brother. I'm sure he thinks I should be working on his Arrrgyles, and I am, but... Noro! Sock yarn!

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I'm a little cockeyed, apparently. (heh. I said, "cock.")

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): It was 15 degrees, icy and snowing. That's dedication.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And all kinds of good stuff for the Black Valentine prize package (heh. I said "package"). I think eca and Ally can attest I put a pretty good package together. And it isn't just for knitters -- oh, no. If a knitter wins (NOT just for knitters), that knitter will most certainly experience some sort of yarny goodness (trademark, Pam, the Yarn Goddess), but there are representatives of my favourite things and all the food groups that make me think of Valentine's Day: black, books, hearts, purple, skulls, voodoo, dark chocolate, blood, office supplies (I'll leave it to y'all to decide which are "favourites" and which are Valentines)... just sayin' it'll be worth the effort if you win. But to win, you have to enter. Hint, hint.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Or maybe I'm projecting.

§§FOOTNOTE (sushi swirls): Again.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two socks at once!): Which I will share with you if it works.

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like the snow on a prairie night in Denver): And knew I had to cast on 32 stitches for each needle and managed to divide that in half and "finished" my increases after 16 stitches. Even I could see it was wrong, so I only knit a little way with the tiny little midget toe before frogging back and trying again. Still knitting, still a dork.

†††FOOTNOTE (cross cross cross): All seven of you.

Ha! NOT a Complete Dork!

Note I said, "complete."

At least not about dilemna v. dilemma:

A quick tour of the Googlescape reveals that for some reason, nearly an entire generation of American adults in some parts of the country was taught to spell “dilemma” as “dilemna,” but no dictionary on the planet, going back however many years, has this on record. Was it a misprinted teachers’ manual? Badly transcribed handwriting? A back-formation from a similar ending with silent Ns, like “solemn?”


A. J. Kandy, King Marketing


So, OK, it doesn't say I'm right, but it does say I'm not alone. We're not alone. Just Kelly and me. And this lamp...

Did You See It?

Bloody Stupid Johnson has a commemorative hat!

The Blogger's Dilemma†

I have had nothing to say‡ for a week or more.

You may have noticed.§

But the Queensryche concert fomented a three-part series on concert venues, music in general and the Queensryche concert itself.

And I got new yarn.¶

And I'm all excited about the Ravelry Hat Attack.#

And I have a LOT more whining to do about work.

[SUMMARY: Subject matter abounds.]

Only...

We're†† closing January 31. I don't know how, exactly, but that's the plan. I have much to do and limited time and I'm hosting Book Club on the 30th‡‡ so I can't even pull an all-nighter for the final.%

[SUMMARY: Film at 2/1.]

So I figure I'll write about the concert in my vast spare time,§§ hoping to get it done before the concert is so-last-week's-news. Then I can push some off to the weekend. Then maybe next week...

[SUMMARY: I work best¶¶ under pressure.]

But the contest## was shiny, wasn't it? Did it distract you?

OK, then, go laugh at this.




I'll be back.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Could somebody tell me why I have been convinced for, say, 35 years that it's spelled "dilemna"?

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Not that that's stopped me from talking.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You may also have noticed I'm not nearly as interesting when I'm talking about knitting as I am when I'm talking about the weather. That, my friends, is a *sad* testimony.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): All the cool kids are knitting with it...

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Though I live in terror that my assassin will be Angelique -- who lives a block away and is staying home hermiting -- and my target will live in rural China.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And by "we," I mean, "the client."

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Yet another well-honed college skill gone to waste.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I already pushed it a week for Queensryche. Yeah, you heard me: I rescheduled literary endeavour in favour of Theatre of Hair.

§§FOOTNOTE (dervish!): *snort*

¶¶FOOTNOTE (beat beat): Perhaps more accurate to say, "I work ONLY under pressure."

##FOOTNOTE (pounding like a tequila hangover): BTdubs -- my cousin Tani has agreed to play middle-man and send me pristine entries, untainted by personal information, ready for unbiased perusal. Yay, Tani!

It's the Law

Murphy's Law, that is.

I am currently working on the due diligence for a good-size oil & gas divestiture.

Usually, I work for the buyer, helping him determine whether there are all kinds of icky problems and if it's worth the money he's planning on spending.

This is the fourth time I'm working for the seller, helping him get his ducks in a row, answer the questions of the buyers and prepare the myriad paperwork that goes into closing one of these deals.

In every due diligence I've ever worked for a buyer, we've had to proof the exhibits.

I'm proofing exhibits.

Why am I always on the side that has to proof exhibits? I was so looking forward to an exhibit proofing-free experience.

Yet here I sit, proofing exhibits.

Well, and whining about it.

Anyway...

Guess where I'm going tonight?



OK, I'm not actually going to 1986. But I am going to see Queensryche. I fully anticipate they will play a ton of stuff from their new album, which I've never heard and may never hear in its studio version.

I hope they play, "The Lady Wore Black," which was my personal theme song through some of the more histrionic days of early high school drama.

If they don't, it'll, like, totally suck and it's not fair and all my friends got to hear The Lady Wore Black and why do I even bother asking 'cause nobody ever listens to me? And the proofing!