From: "Christina"
Sent: Wednesday, April 7, 2010 1:02:14 PM GMT -07:00 US/Canada Mountain
Subject: Congrats Slingbox Winner!
Hi there!
Congratulations! Your bracket was picked by 850 KOA to win a SlingBox for the 2010 March Madness promotion!
You need to pick up your prize at our station. We are located at 4695 S Monaco St, Denver CO 80237. The prize window is open from 10:00am until 5:30pm Monday through Friday. You have until 5/10/10 to pick up your SlingBox from us.
If you have any questions, please let me know.
Congrats!
Christina
Clear Channel Colorado
AM Promotions Assistant
KOA, KHOW, AM 760
Showing posts with label Basketball. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Basketball. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Procedural Question
Took lovely vacation.†
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): With glow sticks!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Yes, I did. The company that's been my client for the last three years offered me a full-time, permanent position. After carefully weighing the pay (a little less than contractor pay, but that's expected. I'll have to watch my pennies for most of the year, I'm guessing, until I get used to not having free rein of my gross pay), the benefits (401K AND pension, raises AND bonuses, med/dent/vision for $1 a month, garage parking for $25 a month, four weeks paid vacation a year, 10 holidays and one floating holiday a year - for those of you scoring at home, that means I get a full month of and paid per year. Well, for the next four years until I get FIVE weeks vacation a year. Discount stock plan and LTIP [long term incentive program, and when I figure out the LTIP thing, maybe I can explain it to someone else], which means more cash prizes.), the location (same place, five miles from home) and the position (they created it for me, keeping in mind my short attention span, and I will have MINIONS. FOUR MINIONS), I decided that at my age and stage, I couldn't pass it up.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Cash, yes, but bragging rights more important.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): America's Test Kitchen...
to go along with my last two Nintendo-supplied games, which we never talked about.
Professor Layton: wonderful puzzle game (I like puzzles).
Style Savvy: like electronic Barbies.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Red.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm very sensitive to onions. I hope the goggles work.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Cuisinart!
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Every happy hour at El Camino, which sounds divey and suspect, but it's actually a really nice neighbourhood bar in what is considered a pretty nice neighbourhood. Despite the name and the discount wine.
§§FOOTNOTE (head... spinning...): I'd hate to be the victim of the first exploding lottery ticket or something, which is where I fear this is headed, given the Kharmic Green Stamps I've cashed in over the last few days.
#NintendoEnthused - plus there's a new hashtag that's supposed to say I've been compensated by Nintendo, but you already knew that and I don't remember what that hashtag looks like. Y'all know Nintendo ships me stuff and I talk about it. I hope you also know that if it sucked, I'd tell you so.
It totally does not suck.
- Took fantastic new job.‡
- Won tourney pool.§
- Came home last night to find new Nintendo cooking game% on the front porch... along with a new chef's apron,¶ onion goggles,# a Cuisinart†† stainless steel stockpot and a truly beautiful, big bamboo chopping board.
- Went to happy hour with Kelley. One bottle of wine, one beer, one order of chips and salsa: $16.25. God bless half-price bottles of wine.‡‡
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): With glow sticks!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Yes, I did. The company that's been my client for the last three years offered me a full-time, permanent position. After carefully weighing the pay (a little less than contractor pay, but that's expected. I'll have to watch my pennies for most of the year, I'm guessing, until I get used to not having free rein of my gross pay), the benefits (401K AND pension, raises AND bonuses, med/dent/vision for $1 a month, garage parking for $25 a month, four weeks paid vacation a year, 10 holidays and one floating holiday a year - for those of you scoring at home, that means I get a full month of and paid per year. Well, for the next four years until I get FIVE weeks vacation a year. Discount stock plan and LTIP [long term incentive program, and when I figure out the LTIP thing, maybe I can explain it to someone else], which means more cash prizes.), the location (same place, five miles from home) and the position (they created it for me, keeping in mind my short attention span, and I will have MINIONS. FOUR MINIONS), I decided that at my age and stage, I couldn't pass it up.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Cash, yes, but bragging rights more important.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): America's Test Kitchen...
to go along with my last two Nintendo-supplied games, which we never talked about.
Professor Layton: wonderful puzzle game (I like puzzles).
Style Savvy: like electronic Barbies.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Red.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm very sensitive to onions. I hope the goggles work.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Cuisinart!
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Every happy hour at El Camino, which sounds divey and suspect, but it's actually a really nice neighbourhood bar in what is considered a pretty nice neighbourhood. Despite the name and the discount wine.
§§FOOTNOTE (head... spinning...): I'd hate to be the victim of the first exploding lottery ticket or something, which is where I fear this is headed, given the Kharmic Green Stamps I've cashed in over the last few days.
#NintendoEnthused - plus there's a new hashtag that's supposed to say I've been compensated by Nintendo, but you already knew that and I don't remember what that hashtag looks like. Y'all know Nintendo ships me stuff and I talk about it. I hope you also know that if it sucked, I'd tell you so.
It totally does not suck.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Duke Wins, BOB is King
OK, so in this scenario, the king would have to die of a mysterious stomach ailment and the crown prince would have an "unfortunate accident" so I could be king, but still... I'm aghast. I've never done nearly this well in March Madness.
In other news...
...I flat out won the Coral Room pool. That's cash in my pocket and bragging rights for... if I have my way, the rest of my bar-going life.
So this is what it feels like to be a princess.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Here Now, the News
Quite possibly not the news you would expect, given my latest post and assorted Twitterpation,† but some news.
I have just returned from San Antonio and the wedding of LisaB and Edmundo.% Pictures to follow‡ shortly, but for now, three things:
[SUMMARY: There is no summary. These things don't go together except in my head.]
Speaking of...
Sports naysayers, avert your eyes:
Due to my beloved Coach K's victory over the WVa team that propelled me to giddy heights of March Madness bracket standings, I have catapulted once again, now ranking a stunning THIRTEEN§§ out of 1124 in the 850 KOA brackets.
All hale the mighty BOB!¶¶
[SUMMARY: Once again, yay me.]
By the way... one of the perqs under this job offer is a full four weeks' paid vacation my first year, plus the eleven paid holidays everybody gets.
The executives making the offer pointed out that I would've had Friday off and paid if I were working for them right now.
[SUMMARY: Some fairy godmothers just don't play fair.]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): You know how sometimes I think I'm funny? Well, sometimes I think I'm clever too.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which are actually two separate things, as Lisa got married in Wimberley, home of one of the first (when I was eight - not this weekend) of my many near-drownings... a little story I'll probably include when I share the pictures and the shower story. Huh. Water and Wimberley and Marin are a scary combination.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And a funny story concerning a shower.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Or a birthday... or a free Tuesday night...
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Like this.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): There may have been alcohol involved.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Women's. I flew down with no fewer than twelve NCAA women's coaches. I seriously thought there might be some sort of lesbian festival in San Antonio this weekend before I found out I was going to Tournament Town.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Until you've seen cheerleaders form a pyramid on a barge, you haven't really lived.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Not to mention - because the sentence was getting too long, so I didn't - ESPN, CNN, travelling teams from the local news stations pertinent to Stanford, UConn and whomever else was in the women's Final Four.
§§FOOTNOTE (I'm all twirly): I had to write it out because there's no way to capitalise "13."
¶¶FOOTNOTE (beating a dead horse like a drum): Beasts of Burden. B.O.B. My perennial fantasy sports team name... in case I haven't already explained that.
I have just returned from San Antonio and the wedding of LisaB and Edmundo.% Pictures to follow‡ shortly, but for now, three things:
- If you have a wedding§ outside at night, hundreds of glow sticks and their flashier cousins@ are utterly cool.
- Jen, Kara and I should totally form a girl group. Our rendition of "Tainted Love" was ten kinds of awesome.¶
- If you are going to San Antonio, think twice about going during Final Four# weekend. The floating pep rally†† was fantastic, but the ballers, cheerleaders, bands, coaching staffs and all their dearest friends, family and schoolmates‡‡ were overwhelming.
[SUMMARY: There is no summary. These things don't go together except in my head.]
Speaking of...
Sports naysayers, avert your eyes:
Due to my beloved Coach K's victory over the WVa team that propelled me to giddy heights of March Madness bracket standings, I have catapulted once again, now ranking a stunning THIRTEEN§§ out of 1124 in the 850 KOA brackets.
All hale the mighty BOB!¶¶
[SUMMARY: Once again, yay me.]
By the way... one of the perqs under this job offer is a full four weeks' paid vacation my first year, plus the eleven paid holidays everybody gets.
The executives making the offer pointed out that I would've had Friday off and paid if I were working for them right now.
[SUMMARY: Some fairy godmothers just don't play fair.]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): You know how sometimes I think I'm funny? Well, sometimes I think I'm clever too.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which are actually two separate things, as Lisa got married in Wimberley, home of one of the first (when I was eight - not this weekend) of my many near-drownings... a little story I'll probably include when I share the pictures and the shower story. Huh. Water and Wimberley and Marin are a scary combination.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And a funny story concerning a shower.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Or a birthday... or a free Tuesday night...
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Like this.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): There may have been alcohol involved.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Women's. I flew down with no fewer than twelve NCAA women's coaches. I seriously thought there might be some sort of lesbian festival in San Antonio this weekend before I found out I was going to Tournament Town.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Until you've seen cheerleaders form a pyramid on a barge, you haven't really lived.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Not to mention - because the sentence was getting too long, so I didn't - ESPN, CNN, travelling teams from the local news stations pertinent to Stanford, UConn and whomever else was in the women's Final Four.
§§FOOTNOTE (I'm all twirly): I had to write it out because there's no way to capitalise "13."
¶¶FOOTNOTE (beating a dead horse like a drum): Beasts of Burden. B.O.B. My perennial fantasy sports team name... in case I haven't already explained that.
Monday, March 29, 2010
We May Never Pass This Way Again
My brackets, heading into the Final Four.
My rank, out of 1,124 people in this contest.
That's the top two percent for all you statistically-inclined math dorks out there.
I always knew I was special.
Go Duke!
My rank, out of 1,124 people in this contest.
That's the top two percent for all you statistically-inclined math dorks out there.
I always knew I was special.
Go Duke!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
The Reveal†
As you may remember, a crucial dinner with Dad was cancelled two weeks ago because of the NCAA final.‡ With that postponement, we were left on the edge of our seats as to the questions, "Etcetera... what?", "What kind of trowels exactly?" and "Does Dad have a name for the chicken footed gardening implement?"
Our mutual educations hang in the balance.
[SUMMARY: Antici... ]
The answer to the first two questions can be seen here:
OK, one question, really. I don't know about you, but I can't identify the etcetera in this drawer. I see a pile of trowels and what could be a hot water bottle.§
[SUMMARY: ...pa... ]
But I think we can definitively state that there are no garden trowels in the Trowels, etc., drawer at all, hence, no chicken footed gardening implement.
HOWEVER...%
I did flat out ask Dad about the chicken footed gardening implement, and he got that slightly bemused Dad look on his face¶ and said, "Well... I don't know that there is one... it's certainly a garden [insert international sign language for chicken foot garden implement here]... a cultivator of some kind."
[SUMMARY: ...tion]
I win!
Dad did not have a ready, conclusive name for the chicken footed gardening implement. Brother owes me lunch.#
Funny epilogue: We were in Peach's vast foyer†† explaining the trip to the basement.
"I bet Brother Dad would say, 'Well, I don't know...' and make something up for the chicken foot thing and he said Dad would *know* the name so I won. And we were curious if there were gardening trowels in the drawer, but there aren't. Just masonry trowels."
"There are garden trowels?" asked Peach
"Sure," said Dad.
"They look like a miniature shovel," said I.‡‡
"Ahhhh. And is there a name for the..." she hung out there, apparently not sure about the "chicken foot" construct.
"Well, yeah," said Dad, with a distinct hand signal. "Sort of. It's a cultivator."
"A cultivator," said Peach.
"Yeah, but you have to make the sign when you say it," said Dad, demonstrating international sign language for chicken footed gardening implement for her edification.
In case y'all ever wondered how I might have come by my sense of humour.
[SUMMARY: Your wait is over.§§]
Honestly.
That's how I came by it.
Dad, by the way, is fishing this week,¶¶ so we skip yet another father/daughter dinner.
The gelato level in my blood is getting low and I'm getting mean.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I'm pretty sure "reveal" wasn't a noun before reality TiVi. There's also a chance "reality" wasn't an adjective before reality TiVi.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): For those of you who follow college basketball, I think we can all agree dinner with me would have been WAY more entertaining than that game. We played the odds and we lost on that one.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Could be another trowel. Could be a secret door to the land of Narnia. I can't figure out what it is.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): In my best Steven A. Smith voice.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The familiar and exact look I told Brother he would get on his face.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Any side bets on whether Brother tries to welsh by saying he won because Dad *eventually* came up with a name?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You could fit my master bedroom in that foyer.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): ...deftly mixing my singulars with my plurals.
§§FOOTNOTE (tied 'em up in knots): We've just tied up so many loose ends here today, haven't we?
¶¶FOOTNOTE (I really put my foot in it this time): Miss dinner for basketball... miss dinner for fishing. One more abandonment issue and we're going to need to find a daughterly version of "Cats in the Cradle."
Monday, April 6, 2009
Lent: Day 42
Father has cancelled our weekly dinner so we can watch basketball tonight. I have thoughts on this:
I have covered Lent, trowels and communism today. I have no further thoughts and don't anticipate any throughout the afternoon. Consternation and ennui abide.
- We have dinner at 5:00. We're done by 6:30 at the latest. Tip-off is at 7:20. Why couldn't we have dinner and watch the game afterward, separately or together?
- Dad Dinners represent the one day a week I get to ignore my Lenten embargo on dessert. I feel betrayed and hopeless and the gelato level in my blood is getting low.
- I will not find out if the chicken-footed garden implement resides in the Trowels, etc. drawer. I will also not find the answer to my auxiliary question as to which kind of trowels are in that drawer: masonry trowels or gardening trowels? Or both? And if it's masonry trowels, would their be a chicken-footed gardening implement anyway? And we won't find the answer to brother's question about whether Dad has a name for the chicken-footed garden implement.
- I didn't realise until just now that Lent goes for 40+ days because the bloody Catholics don't count Sundays.
I have covered Lent, trowels and communism today. I have no further thoughts and don't anticipate any throughout the afternoon. Consternation and ennui abide.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Go to the Post
In order to make that blogtitle work, I should probably mention something like how native son Chauncey Billups is coming back to the Nuggets. Look for his debut on ESPN when the Nugs take on the Mavs on Friday.†
[SUMMARY: Connecting the dots to give you the whole picture.]
They say money can't buy happiness. It's a pretty little thought, good for Aesop and bedtime stories, but a steady stream of deliveries from Internet retailers gets me pretty goddamned giddy.
For instance, when I fully realised you can purchase discontinued perfumes at any number of online venues, I immediately went to look for Scaasi, my signature scent from 1990 through 1993.
No go.
I tried periodically, and finally a week ago, there it was.
EVERYWHERE.
So I married a discount code to a sale price on a website with free shipping and pennies later...
Still as big and bold and stupidly beautiful as I remember it.^
And I read a little something a little somewhere about a niche perfumer offering a sample set and voilà !
Don't tell me I didn't just buy myself some happy.‡
[SUMMARY: Feel-good psychology is lost on the capitalist.]
Then, because this is still a knitblog,§ there's the singular joy of the yarn club.
My new-found fibre lust for lace knitting¶ was slaked by the arrival of about 1000 yards of Black Bunny merino/silk laceweight in totally -licious# purples.††
It doesn't hurt that the purple goodness came in this‡‡:
Carol was kind enough to let me stay in the Black Bunny club even though I'm just *barely* bright enough to work PayPal to finance it. That in itself makes me happy.
[SUMMARY: The gods look out for the feeble.]
Best for last, there's the even-better of receiving unsolicited items that didn't even require a credit card number in the mailbox.
Brought to you by Skull a Day, the Magic of Kim, the number four...
...and Animal.§§
Kim... seriously, better than Nintendo in the mail.
[SUMMARY: Good things come to those who stop whining for five minutes to appreciate them.]
Know what else makes me happy?
[SUMMARY: Proof of life.@]
*************
Améthyst - Olivier Durbano (Bijoux de Pierres Poèmes)
Marin says: My very first impression was, "Oh, no... Chanel." I was sure we were heading straight into That Aldehyde, but the alcohol burned off and it was a lovely ride.
Much like its companion scent, Black Tourmaline, there is a soft richness to this that probably shouldn't appeal to me. It's very nearly vanilla, very nearly aldehyde, very nearly headshop.
Maybe this an olfactory tour of negative space, harmony, background and all those things that make good art great.
Deep, huh?
I smell cedar and pepper, I got a whiff of bitter orange, something powdery -- which always makes me think of iris¶¶ -- and a touch of those vanilla/amber/sandalwood headshop things I usually hate.
The tiniest hint of smoke?
I really like this, but it may be too pedestrian to consider buying a bottle.## Something about it just says blah, blah, masculine cologne, blah.
Upon revisiting, I'm getting more of the soft, tempered cedar, which I lovelovelove. And I have no idea what kind of crack I was smoking to get The Aldehyde.†††
Luckyscent‡‡‡ says: The second in Olivier Durbano’s Perfume Poems, Améthyst takes its name and mood from amethyst, the prized purple gemstone of lore.% The gem itself is a symbol of heavenly understanding, and of moving with ease in the religious, spiritual, and material planes. In antiquity, the gem was thought to serve as a talisman against poison, drunkenness and bad luck. Durbano’s interpretation of amethyst into perfume form has made for a deeply peaceful, mysterious scent that debuts with a surprising pepper and fruit mix before it slowly swirls into palisander wood and the silky powder notes of orris. A soft amber, sandalwood, musk and vanilla are the base upon which this purifying scent is built upon, playing upon your senses with their sweet and musky natures and sending you to a place of contemplation and reverie. The majesty, the spirituality and the intensity of the color purple all rolled into one beautifully mysterious and forever haunting fragrance.
NOTES: bergamot,$ pepper, grape, raspberry, incense,$ palisander wood, jasmine, orris, vegetable amber, sandalwood,$ musk, vanilla$
Hans says: Mmmm... very citrusy. Like orange juice. You can tell them I said it smells like Yazoo spicy barbecue sauce.§§§
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): If even one of you got my tortured jape, all the set-up will have been worth it. I am just that dork.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): And even if it's awful, it will always remind me of Mom -- who bought me my first bottle of Scaasi -- and that will always blind me to the possibility of awfulness.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And the chance to dabble in what I fool myself is Nathan Branch-esque perfume photography doesn't break my heart neither. On the other hand, the Scent Systems Jasmine is to ass AS cat piss is to honeyed rose petals. This did NOT make me happy, but I will chalk it up to the greater good and... happy again. Lalala.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): *cough*
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Despite having frogged and re-knit the first two repeats of the body of the Purple Prose scarf roughly eleventy-seven times.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): It used to say "Marin-licious." I simply couldn't keep a straight face.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Purples even a digital camera can love.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Which furthered my happiness because Cat for Scale tried wildly to catch and bat and bite the ghosts.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (beat the drum, don't eat the drum): AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!! WOMAAAAAAAAN!!!
@FOOTNOTE (atted): And proof that, though the damned cat won't sit still for a decent portrait, he can't resist hanging around when the camera comes out.
§§FOOTNOTE (the swirling elegance of irises): Largely because all the real perfume critics say iris is powdery. I don't think I'd know if an iris bit me in the ass. Rest assured if an iris ever does bite me in the ass, I'll share the pictures with you.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like cross-wise logic): Yes, upon re-reading that sentence, I realise just how dorky and sort of elitist it sounds. I never promised you logic or reason. Or a rose garden. Though I think I did just promise photographic evidence of ass-biting irises.
†††FOOTNOTE (obvious is my cross to bear): Aldehyde crack, apparently.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (cryptic triptych): I usually try to quote the actual perfumier (or the soulless conglomerate that markets the stuff), but when I went to the Olivier Durbano website, I found a cryptic splash page -- a login, an animation about beauty and truth or some such drivel, and no content to be reached without the login and password... no way to even sign up to get a login and password. I'm thinking I have to buy a bottle of something Olivier Durbano to learn the secret handshake so I can share with y'all. That's the sacrifice I'm willing to make to help further your education.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): And my very favourite stone of all time, for those of you scoring at home. Only 49 shopping days left 'til Christmas.
$FOOTNOTE (on the money): Ha! Got one! And if palisander wood could be mistaken for cedar, maybe even two!
§§§FOOTNOTE (smokey joe): This isn't like the elephant comment. We had BBQ for lunch and I had a blob of Yazoo spicy on my left wrist right next to the scent zone. BBQ trumps cedar/citrus and Hans thinks he's funny.
[SUMMARY: Connecting the dots to give you the whole picture.]
They say money can't buy happiness. It's a pretty little thought, good for Aesop and bedtime stories, but a steady stream of deliveries from Internet retailers gets me pretty goddamned giddy.
For instance, when I fully realised you can purchase discontinued perfumes at any number of online venues, I immediately went to look for Scaasi, my signature scent from 1990 through 1993.
No go.
I tried periodically, and finally a week ago, there it was.
EVERYWHERE.
So I married a discount code to a sale price on a website with free shipping and pennies later...
Still as big and bold and stupidly beautiful as I remember it.^
And I read a little something a little somewhere about a niche perfumer offering a sample set and voilà !
Don't tell me I didn't just buy myself some happy.‡
[SUMMARY: Feel-good psychology is lost on the capitalist.]
Then, because this is still a knitblog,§ there's the singular joy of the yarn club.
My new-found fibre lust for lace knitting¶ was slaked by the arrival of about 1000 yards of Black Bunny merino/silk laceweight in totally -licious# purples.††
It doesn't hurt that the purple goodness came in this‡‡:
Carol was kind enough to let me stay in the Black Bunny club even though I'm just *barely* bright enough to work PayPal to finance it. That in itself makes me happy.
[SUMMARY: The gods look out for the feeble.]
Best for last, there's the even-better of receiving unsolicited items that didn't even require a credit card number in the mailbox.
Brought to you by Skull a Day, the Magic of Kim, the number four...
...and Animal.§§
Kim... seriously, better than Nintendo in the mail.
[SUMMARY: Good things come to those who stop whining for five minutes to appreciate them.]
Know what else makes me happy?
[SUMMARY: Proof of life.@]
*************
Améthyst - Olivier Durbano (Bijoux de Pierres Poèmes)
Marin says: My very first impression was, "Oh, no... Chanel." I was sure we were heading straight into That Aldehyde, but the alcohol burned off and it was a lovely ride.
Much like its companion scent, Black Tourmaline, there is a soft richness to this that probably shouldn't appeal to me. It's very nearly vanilla, very nearly aldehyde, very nearly headshop.
Maybe this an olfactory tour of negative space, harmony, background and all those things that make good art great.
Deep, huh?
I smell cedar and pepper, I got a whiff of bitter orange, something powdery -- which always makes me think of iris¶¶ -- and a touch of those vanilla/amber/sandalwood headshop things I usually hate.
The tiniest hint of smoke?
I really like this, but it may be too pedestrian to consider buying a bottle.## Something about it just says blah, blah, masculine cologne, blah.
Upon revisiting, I'm getting more of the soft, tempered cedar, which I lovelovelove. And I have no idea what kind of crack I was smoking to get The Aldehyde.†††
Luckyscent‡‡‡ says: The second in Olivier Durbano’s Perfume Poems, Améthyst takes its name and mood from amethyst, the prized purple gemstone of lore.% The gem itself is a symbol of heavenly understanding, and of moving with ease in the religious, spiritual, and material planes. In antiquity, the gem was thought to serve as a talisman against poison, drunkenness and bad luck. Durbano’s interpretation of amethyst into perfume form has made for a deeply peaceful, mysterious scent that debuts with a surprising pepper and fruit mix before it slowly swirls into palisander wood and the silky powder notes of orris. A soft amber, sandalwood, musk and vanilla are the base upon which this purifying scent is built upon, playing upon your senses with their sweet and musky natures and sending you to a place of contemplation and reverie. The majesty, the spirituality and the intensity of the color purple all rolled into one beautifully mysterious and forever haunting fragrance.
NOTES: bergamot,$ pepper, grape, raspberry, incense,$ palisander wood, jasmine, orris, vegetable amber, sandalwood,$ musk, vanilla$
Hans says: Mmmm... very citrusy. Like orange juice. You can tell them I said it smells like Yazoo spicy barbecue sauce.§§§
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): If even one of you got my tortured jape, all the set-up will have been worth it. I am just that dork.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): And even if it's awful, it will always remind me of Mom -- who bought me my first bottle of Scaasi -- and that will always blind me to the possibility of awfulness.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And the chance to dabble in what I fool myself is Nathan Branch-esque perfume photography doesn't break my heart neither. On the other hand, the Scent Systems Jasmine is to ass AS cat piss is to honeyed rose petals. This did NOT make me happy, but I will chalk it up to the greater good and... happy again. Lalala.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): *cough*
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Despite having frogged and re-knit the first two repeats of the body of the Purple Prose scarf roughly eleventy-seven times.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): It used to say "Marin-licious." I simply couldn't keep a straight face.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Purples even a digital camera can love.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Which furthered my happiness because Cat for Scale tried wildly to catch and bat and bite the ghosts.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (beat the drum, don't eat the drum): AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!! WOMAAAAAAAAN!!!
@FOOTNOTE (atted): And proof that, though the damned cat won't sit still for a decent portrait, he can't resist hanging around when the camera comes out.
§§FOOTNOTE (the swirling elegance of irises): Largely because all the real perfume critics say iris is powdery. I don't think I'd know if an iris bit me in the ass. Rest assured if an iris ever does bite me in the ass, I'll share the pictures with you.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like cross-wise logic): Yes, upon re-reading that sentence, I realise just how dorky and sort of elitist it sounds. I never promised you logic or reason. Or a rose garden. Though I think I did just promise photographic evidence of ass-biting irises.
†††FOOTNOTE (obvious is my cross to bear): Aldehyde crack, apparently.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (cryptic triptych): I usually try to quote the actual perfumier (or the soulless conglomerate that markets the stuff), but when I went to the Olivier Durbano website, I found a cryptic splash page -- a login, an animation about beauty and truth or some such drivel, and no content to be reached without the login and password... no way to even sign up to get a login and password. I'm thinking I have to buy a bottle of something Olivier Durbano to learn the secret handshake so I can share with y'all. That's the sacrifice I'm willing to make to help further your education.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): And my very favourite stone of all time, for those of you scoring at home. Only 49 shopping days left 'til Christmas.
$FOOTNOTE (on the money): Ha! Got one! And if palisander wood could be mistaken for cedar, maybe even two!
§§§FOOTNOTE (smokey joe): This isn't like the elephant comment. We had BBQ for lunch and I had a blob of Yazoo spicy on my left wrist right next to the scent zone. BBQ trumps cedar/citrus and Hans thinks he's funny.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
I'm Number Two!
Just wait 'til you see all the knitting what took place this weekend! There's engineering! Peeps! Drama! Math! Ribs! 100% baby alpaca!
They should have made a reality TiVi series out of my weekend! And my weekend started really early because I had Good Friday off† and they closed the office at 3:00 on Thursday!‡
[SUMMARY: She exclaimed!]
Of course, the pictures are stuck in the camera for the moment,§ so you'll have to wait to share in most of the festivities. Damn it,¶ *I'll* have to wait. And I'm off-my-rocker excited to show you my knitting pictures from this weekend.#
But since there are no pictures in Olympus Limbo for the Saturday night spelling bee, I can recount that particular tale.
[SUMMARY: A spelling bee story? With no pictures? REALLY?!]
The Coral Room hosted a benefit Saturday night for Kristen, who is undergoing cancer treatment, much to the detriment of her modest cash flow.††
There was a big raffle, for which I knit a lovely alpaca scarf and bought my fair share of tickets.
There were drink specials, for which I strayed from my usual glass of Evolution in favour of a chardonnay.
There was the guy who wanted to buy Kelley and I drinks for letting he and his wife sit in our seats to eat, but we asked him to put the cash in the Kristen Kitty instead.
The Platte River Killers played an acoustic set.‡‡
And there was the spelling bee.
[SUMMARY: Cancer takes a lot of effort.]
My first word? Fellatio.§§
There were about 25 people signed up. Most made it through the first round. Most didn't make it through the second round.
I made it to the fourth and final round, and somehow decided the U in boudoir was one vowel too many and lost to he-who-shall-be-known-as-Spelling-Champ, who spelled "aborigine."
I can spell aborigine.
Apparently, my French is a little rusty.
And I could've spelled it right if I'd written in out.
And I'm pretty sure I spelled "idiosyncrasy" correctly in the round before, even though the MC said I was wrong.
And the sun was in my eyes.
*ahem*
I did get some nice parting gifts, including a dictionary, a crossword puzzle book, a $35 gift certificate to the Coral Room¶¶ and some very accomplished kisses from The Spelling Bee Champ, who also got my phone number.##
[SUMMARY: What ego was damaged in the spelling be was totally spackled over in the aftermath.]
So all in all, a good night, though not the win I anticipated.†††
As a funny aside, the final gift in the prize bag was a "green"% light bulb from Wal-Mart.^ When I got home, I flipped on the torchiere (I can spell "torchiere") lamp that I favour over the blasting overhead light and it promptly blew.
I reached into my little bag, pulled out my little light bulb, shed a little light on the subject and went on my merry little way.
[SUMMARY: I fear I used my Kharmic Green Stamps on light and The Spelling Bee Champ will lose my phone number.]
*************
I am studiously avoiding saying anything about my tournament brackets. Once again, I picked Duke to win it all. In fact, I filled out seven brackets for seven different pools and put all my basketball eggs in the Duke basket.
Unless the Kansas plane collides midair with the Memphis plane, with both falling to crush the UNC bus, the resulting firestorm taking out Tennessee, let us not speak of this again.
[SUMMARY: Krzyzewski is French for goddamnit.]
Shit. They should have given me Krzyzewski in the spelling bee. I can spell Krzyzewski.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Any Friday when I can knit for six hours and still start drinking by 3:30 is a good Friday in my book.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Note the clever (over)use of exclamation points to indicate I don't actually have the pictures to prove it yet, but I want you to be really excited.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Why? Because I was up until 1:30 this morning knitting, that's why.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): See: excited!
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Y'all have known me awhile now. I hope you are keeping this all in perspective (I can spell "perspective") and knowing deep in your hearts that this may be wayyyyy more exciting for me than for you.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): As in, "Despite having health insurance, this is costing her more than $1000 a month out-of-pocket."
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Kind of a departure. They're a metal band, complete with thrashy guitars and muppet voice.
§§FOOTNOTE (y'know... like when you swirl your tongue): To which I said, "If you can't spell it, you probably shouldn't do it." A lesbian (I can spell "lesbian") asked me to sign her autograph book with that quote.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (one Ps... no, wait! Two Ps! Could you use it in a sentence?): The winning prize package was exactly the same, only it was dinner for two at the Coral Room.
##FOOTNOTE (right in the kisser): Of course I did. I don't have so many knee-buckling kisses that I feel I can afford to snub the kisser. Or busser. 'Cause I can spell "busser."
†††FOOTNOTE (triple threat! Beauty, Brains and... uh... Boobs!): Ah, hubris (I can spell "hubris"). Hey, when my church gets off the ground, there will be a lot more saints and a lot less random smiting.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which I put in convenient quotes so you'll know I don't mean it was kelly green or moss green, but enviroweenily friendly.
^FOOTNOTE (careted -- see? I can spell "caret"): I know, I know, but they donated. And they donated green, so it could be worse.
They should have made a reality TiVi series out of my weekend! And my weekend started really early because I had Good Friday off† and they closed the office at 3:00 on Thursday!‡
[SUMMARY: She exclaimed!]
Of course, the pictures are stuck in the camera for the moment,§ so you'll have to wait to share in most of the festivities. Damn it,¶ *I'll* have to wait. And I'm off-my-rocker excited to show you my knitting pictures from this weekend.#
But since there are no pictures in Olympus Limbo for the Saturday night spelling bee, I can recount that particular tale.
[SUMMARY: A spelling bee story? With no pictures? REALLY?!]
The Coral Room hosted a benefit Saturday night for Kristen, who is undergoing cancer treatment, much to the detriment of her modest cash flow.††
There was a big raffle, for which I knit a lovely alpaca scarf and bought my fair share of tickets.
There were drink specials, for which I strayed from my usual glass of Evolution in favour of a chardonnay.
There was the guy who wanted to buy Kelley and I drinks for letting he and his wife sit in our seats to eat, but we asked him to put the cash in the Kristen Kitty instead.
The Platte River Killers played an acoustic set.‡‡
And there was the spelling bee.
[SUMMARY: Cancer takes a lot of effort.]
My first word? Fellatio.§§
There were about 25 people signed up. Most made it through the first round. Most didn't make it through the second round.
I made it to the fourth and final round, and somehow decided the U in boudoir was one vowel too many and lost to he-who-shall-be-known-as-Spelling-Champ, who spelled "aborigine."
I can spell aborigine.
Apparently, my French is a little rusty.
And I could've spelled it right if I'd written in out.
And I'm pretty sure I spelled "idiosyncrasy" correctly in the round before, even though the MC said I was wrong.
And the sun was in my eyes.
*ahem*
I did get some nice parting gifts, including a dictionary, a crossword puzzle book, a $35 gift certificate to the Coral Room¶¶ and some very accomplished kisses from The Spelling Bee Champ, who also got my phone number.##
[SUMMARY: What ego was damaged in the spelling be was totally spackled over in the aftermath.]
So all in all, a good night, though not the win I anticipated.†††
As a funny aside, the final gift in the prize bag was a "green"% light bulb from Wal-Mart.^ When I got home, I flipped on the torchiere (I can spell "torchiere") lamp that I favour over the blasting overhead light and it promptly blew.
I reached into my little bag, pulled out my little light bulb, shed a little light on the subject and went on my merry little way.
[SUMMARY: I fear I used my Kharmic Green Stamps on light and The Spelling Bee Champ will lose my phone number.]
*************
I am studiously avoiding saying anything about my tournament brackets. Once again, I picked Duke to win it all. In fact, I filled out seven brackets for seven different pools and put all my basketball eggs in the Duke basket.
Unless the Kansas plane collides midair with the Memphis plane, with both falling to crush the UNC bus, the resulting firestorm taking out Tennessee, let us not speak of this again.
[SUMMARY: Krzyzewski is French for goddamnit.]
Shit. They should have given me Krzyzewski in the spelling bee. I can spell Krzyzewski.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Any Friday when I can knit for six hours and still start drinking by 3:30 is a good Friday in my book.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Note the clever (over)use of exclamation points to indicate I don't actually have the pictures to prove it yet, but I want you to be really excited.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Why? Because I was up until 1:30 this morning knitting, that's why.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): See: excited!
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Y'all have known me awhile now. I hope you are keeping this all in perspective (I can spell "perspective") and knowing deep in your hearts that this may be wayyyyy more exciting for me than for you.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): As in, "Despite having health insurance, this is costing her more than $1000 a month out-of-pocket."
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Kind of a departure. They're a metal band, complete with thrashy guitars and muppet voice.
§§FOOTNOTE (y'know... like when you swirl your tongue): To which I said, "If you can't spell it, you probably shouldn't do it." A lesbian (I can spell "lesbian") asked me to sign her autograph book with that quote.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (one Ps... no, wait! Two Ps! Could you use it in a sentence?): The winning prize package was exactly the same, only it was dinner for two at the Coral Room.
##FOOTNOTE (right in the kisser): Of course I did. I don't have so many knee-buckling kisses that I feel I can afford to snub the kisser. Or busser. 'Cause I can spell "busser."
†††FOOTNOTE (triple threat! Beauty, Brains and... uh... Boobs!): Ah, hubris (I can spell "hubris"). Hey, when my church gets off the ground, there will be a lot more saints and a lot less random smiting.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which I put in convenient quotes so you'll know I don't mean it was kelly green or moss green, but enviroweenily friendly.
^FOOTNOTE (careted -- see? I can spell "caret"): I know, I know, but they donated. And they donated green, so it could be worse.
Monday, March 10, 2008
A Little Madness in the Spring...
...is wholesome even for the King.
-Emily Dickinson
It is March, you know; madness abounds.†
First, let us speak of Daylight Savings Time.
I'm pretty sure I can't say anything in general that every comedian and pundit on the planet hasn't already said, but I can hip you to a little Marin weirdity that will allow you to laugh at me on this fine Monday.
I have trouble getting all my clocks in the same time zone after a Daylight clock change. I know this isn't unusual, but team it up with the fact that some of my clocks don't get reset for years‡ and also I have a tendency to set my clocks randomly fast,§ and the first week after any time change is fraught with hilarity and hijinks.
Like last night, home from a chill evening¶ at the Coral Room, trying to remember which clocks were set to last year's Daylight Savings Time and never reset and which were set to Standard Time, only haphazardly foreward, and going to bed much later than I intended.
Or this morning when I got in the car, automatically subtracted an hour and added six minutes,# then realised -- halfway to work -- that I wasn't getting in at 6:45, but 7:45, which isn't all that early.
My daily dose of self-righteous dwindled away.
[SUMMARY: Madness! Madness, I tell you!]
We ran into Rizzo and his girlfriend Emily at Vita last night (I know I said Coral Room up there, but all will be made clear when you read the footnotes).
Emily recounted a story in which her roommate spotted a guy in an alley a couple of blocks from their place. Emily described said guy as a, "Fully-nude, crouching masturbator."
"That sounds like birdwatching," I said. Then I started to giggle. "Isn't that the first sign of spring? First the Fully-Nude, Crouching Masturbator then the robin?"
[SUMMARY: I think I'm funny. Again.]
As an update to our continuing series, Out My Window, the odd arms on the top of the 1999 building are gone this morning. We never saw anybody doing anything with them or anything depending from them or anything. They just moved from the north side of the roof to the south side of the roof then disappeared.
[SUMMARY: Aliens!]
Also? They changed the billboard on Thursday to advertise apartments on or near the Auraria Campus. Hans and I spent some quality time critiquing and dissecting the new billboard, with Hans coming to the conclusion they'd posted it in the wrong place, as our little corner of Denver is not necessarily a high-traffic area for Auraria students.
Sure enough, we got in this morning and there's a whole new billboard. Glenwood Springs. So much more appropriate that Hans even visited the website.††
[SUMMARY: The power of advertising!]
And, of course, the real Madness in March,% the Selection Show is this Sunday. Pop your popcorn, chill your beer.
And remember: when someone offers you a place in the pool, just do it. You're just as likely to win picking cutest mascot or best team colours as sports knowledge and win/loss record.
That drives sportsdorks crazy.
[SUMMARY: Crazy! Crazy, I tell you!]
Saturday night? Kathryn and Angel-eek and Ange's friend, Morgan, came for dinner, knitting and a movie. Only we ate pasta and pie and drank three bottles of wine and never got to the knitting and movie portion of the evening.
Ah, well. The living room is clean, even if we didn't use it. That can't be a bad thing.
The yarn room is insane because I took all the yarn from the living room up and dumped it in the middle of the room.
It's kinda like squeezing a tube of toothpaste: you move the little bits out of the space at the bottom to the top until it builds up and explodes out the end. I fear this will happen to the yarn room.
[SUMMARY: Basic physics.]
Back to the living room being clean: I'm very excited because I bought an extra-special steam cleaner^ two weeks ago and I never had enough carpet available‡‡ to make it worth the assembly it somehow required.
Tonight I plan to steam clean the living room. I'll take before and after pictures.
[SUMMARY: Spring cleaning!]
You're *so* excited.
You wish you had my steam cleaner.
You wish you were me.
[SUMMARY: I am so delusional.]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And rebounds. And squeaks its $220 endorsement shoes. Or am I the only one who notices the shoes squeaking at a basketball game?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Some are a pain in the neck and some I just don't know how, so they sit all through the winter, an hour fast. Sometimes, if I'm distracted enough or tired enough or spacy enough, I forget it's an hour fast and I get where I'm going an hour and fifteen minutes early. 'Cause even without the hour thing, I'm fifteen minutes early for everything.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): F'rinstance, I'll see it's 9:31 on the Comcast clock and run upstairs to set my alarm clock. I'll set it for, say, 9:37 to allow for the time it took to get upstairs and get in position, then I'll close my eyes and randomly set it forward a double-secret set of minutes. I go back downstairs and knit or watch TiVi. Until I get an immediate telling of the time in the same room with my alarm clock, I don't know how far ahead I am and it keeps me running early in the mornings. Madness, I tell you.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which wasn't so chill. They were doing a Lance Armstrong Team OceanGirl fundraiser with guest bartenders and a whole passel of people we didn't know, so we went to Vita instead. Then went back to the Coral. And Benny bought us a couple or four shots. And why would anyone do that on a Sunday night? I dreamed of werewolves and exploding buildings. In retrospect, it makes Monday at work a little easier to stomach when there are no werewolves in the basement or Slavic looking men putting high-tech explosives on the elevators.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because I got the car during Daylight Savings and have never changed the clock, but it's lost six minutes in two years. You're welcome.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): skiswimstay.com, if you must know. And he was dismayed by their book-with-and-save, which only gave $13 off a hotel stay/lift tickets/hot springs pool. We figure the pool pass (being the cheapest component, though more than $13) should end up being free or it's not really worth the discount.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): What's madder about March than that part of March Madness is in April?
^FOOTNOTE (careted): It does carpet and hard floors and furniture. Oh, my.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Read: visible.
-Emily Dickinson
It is March, you know; madness abounds.†
First, let us speak of Daylight Savings Time.
I'm pretty sure I can't say anything in general that every comedian and pundit on the planet hasn't already said, but I can hip you to a little Marin weirdity that will allow you to laugh at me on this fine Monday.
I have trouble getting all my clocks in the same time zone after a Daylight clock change. I know this isn't unusual, but team it up with the fact that some of my clocks don't get reset for years‡ and also I have a tendency to set my clocks randomly fast,§ and the first week after any time change is fraught with hilarity and hijinks.
Like last night, home from a chill evening¶ at the Coral Room, trying to remember which clocks were set to last year's Daylight Savings Time and never reset and which were set to Standard Time, only haphazardly foreward, and going to bed much later than I intended.
Or this morning when I got in the car, automatically subtracted an hour and added six minutes,# then realised -- halfway to work -- that I wasn't getting in at 6:45, but 7:45, which isn't all that early.
My daily dose of self-righteous dwindled away.
[SUMMARY: Madness! Madness, I tell you!]
We ran into Rizzo and his girlfriend Emily at Vita last night (I know I said Coral Room up there, but all will be made clear when you read the footnotes).
Emily recounted a story in which her roommate spotted a guy in an alley a couple of blocks from their place. Emily described said guy as a, "Fully-nude, crouching masturbator."
"That sounds like birdwatching," I said. Then I started to giggle. "Isn't that the first sign of spring? First the Fully-Nude, Crouching Masturbator then the robin?"
[SUMMARY: I think I'm funny. Again.]
As an update to our continuing series, Out My Window, the odd arms on the top of the 1999 building are gone this morning. We never saw anybody doing anything with them or anything depending from them or anything. They just moved from the north side of the roof to the south side of the roof then disappeared.
[SUMMARY: Aliens!]
Also? They changed the billboard on Thursday to advertise apartments on or near the Auraria Campus. Hans and I spent some quality time critiquing and dissecting the new billboard, with Hans coming to the conclusion they'd posted it in the wrong place, as our little corner of Denver is not necessarily a high-traffic area for Auraria students.
Sure enough, we got in this morning and there's a whole new billboard. Glenwood Springs. So much more appropriate that Hans even visited the website.††
[SUMMARY: The power of advertising!]
And, of course, the real Madness in March,% the Selection Show is this Sunday. Pop your popcorn, chill your beer.
And remember: when someone offers you a place in the pool, just do it. You're just as likely to win picking cutest mascot or best team colours as sports knowledge and win/loss record.
That drives sportsdorks crazy.
[SUMMARY: Crazy! Crazy, I tell you!]
Saturday night? Kathryn and Angel-eek and Ange's friend, Morgan, came for dinner, knitting and a movie. Only we ate pasta and pie and drank three bottles of wine and never got to the knitting and movie portion of the evening.
Ah, well. The living room is clean, even if we didn't use it. That can't be a bad thing.
The yarn room is insane because I took all the yarn from the living room up and dumped it in the middle of the room.
It's kinda like squeezing a tube of toothpaste: you move the little bits out of the space at the bottom to the top until it builds up and explodes out the end. I fear this will happen to the yarn room.
[SUMMARY: Basic physics.]
Back to the living room being clean: I'm very excited because I bought an extra-special steam cleaner^ two weeks ago and I never had enough carpet available‡‡ to make it worth the assembly it somehow required.
Tonight I plan to steam clean the living room. I'll take before and after pictures.
[SUMMARY: Spring cleaning!]
You're *so* excited.
You wish you had my steam cleaner.
You wish you were me.
[SUMMARY: I am so delusional.]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And rebounds. And squeaks its $220 endorsement shoes. Or am I the only one who notices the shoes squeaking at a basketball game?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Some are a pain in the neck and some I just don't know how, so they sit all through the winter, an hour fast. Sometimes, if I'm distracted enough or tired enough or spacy enough, I forget it's an hour fast and I get where I'm going an hour and fifteen minutes early. 'Cause even without the hour thing, I'm fifteen minutes early for everything.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): F'rinstance, I'll see it's 9:31 on the Comcast clock and run upstairs to set my alarm clock. I'll set it for, say, 9:37 to allow for the time it took to get upstairs and get in position, then I'll close my eyes and randomly set it forward a double-secret set of minutes. I go back downstairs and knit or watch TiVi. Until I get an immediate telling of the time in the same room with my alarm clock, I don't know how far ahead I am and it keeps me running early in the mornings. Madness, I tell you.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which wasn't so chill. They were doing a Lance Armstrong Team OceanGirl fundraiser with guest bartenders and a whole passel of people we didn't know, so we went to Vita instead. Then went back to the Coral. And Benny bought us a couple or four shots. And why would anyone do that on a Sunday night? I dreamed of werewolves and exploding buildings. In retrospect, it makes Monday at work a little easier to stomach when there are no werewolves in the basement or Slavic looking men putting high-tech explosives on the elevators.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because I got the car during Daylight Savings and have never changed the clock, but it's lost six minutes in two years. You're welcome.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): skiswimstay.com, if you must know. And he was dismayed by their book-with-and-save, which only gave $13 off a hotel stay/lift tickets/hot springs pool. We figure the pool pass (being the cheapest component, though more than $13) should end up being free or it's not really worth the discount.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): What's madder about March than that part of March Madness is in April?
^FOOTNOTE (careted): It does carpet and hard floors and furniture. Oh, my.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Read: visible.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Houston...
...loves the Nuggets.
Seriously, I've seen dozens of Nuggets jerseys† wandering the streets of here to two blocks from here.‡ And the Four Seasons is only a couple of blocks from where the Rockets play.
Huh. Maybe those guys in Nuggets colours really were Nuggets. Maybe they were staying at the Four Seasons with me. Ooooh... possible brush with fame.
Also, every time I see Gary Kubiak on the TiVi, I have to jump back just a little, 'cause I'll never get over him being a Bronco.§
Speaking of football, the Houstan Texans logo, like Nuggets gear, is EVERYWHERE. I note that, like Broncos fans,¶ some Texans fans don't know which direction the logo should point and it looks very odd, say, sideways on the rear window of a Suburban.
My fantasy football website is barred at this company and I must rely on the kindness of strangers% to set my team for this week. With any luck, strangers won't be my opponent this week and be tempted to trade in my running back core for Michael Vick.
[SUMMARY: I'm your dork with the sports report.]
Did I mention how lovely the weather is? And my skin is getting all pretty from this week in the not-desert climate. My hair, however, is heading# in new and exciting directions and no amount of silicone-based mousse can tame it.
[SUMMARY: Houston is opposite world.]
On the way from the airport, there was a body ornamentation barn†† with a giant billboard that said, "Tattoos! Piercings! $15."
[SUMMARY: Caught between temptation and horror once again.]
I must work now. But now you know all the important stuff about Houston.
You're welcome.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Tanks? Tops? Blouses?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): The grand sum total of my Houston geography.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For those not Bronco fans (*coughKellycough*), Gary Kubiak backed up John Elway at QB for some time, then came back to coach such luminaries as Brian Griese and Jake Plummer before achieving the head coaching job for expansion team Houston. "Luminaries," for those scoring at home, is a dry, sardonic joke.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): You may not want to get me started on people who put the Bronco logo flat on its neck like the horse is rearing, rather than on its point like the horse is running as it clearly should be. I apparently have too much time on my hands and not enough to worry about and we could be here all day while I rant and foam about that particular issue.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Well, Brother... and it doesn't get much stranger than Brother. Except maybe Brother progeny.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Ha! Pun!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I am neither indulging in hyperbole for the sake of humour nor am I making this up. It was a frickin' barn.
Seriously, I've seen dozens of Nuggets jerseys† wandering the streets of here to two blocks from here.‡ And the Four Seasons is only a couple of blocks from where the Rockets play.
Huh. Maybe those guys in Nuggets colours really were Nuggets. Maybe they were staying at the Four Seasons with me. Ooooh... possible brush with fame.
Also, every time I see Gary Kubiak on the TiVi, I have to jump back just a little, 'cause I'll never get over him being a Bronco.§
Speaking of football, the Houstan Texans logo, like Nuggets gear, is EVERYWHERE. I note that, like Broncos fans,¶ some Texans fans don't know which direction the logo should point and it looks very odd, say, sideways on the rear window of a Suburban.
My fantasy football website is barred at this company and I must rely on the kindness of strangers% to set my team for this week. With any luck, strangers won't be my opponent this week and be tempted to trade in my running back core for Michael Vick.
[SUMMARY: I'm your dork with the sports report.]
Did I mention how lovely the weather is? And my skin is getting all pretty from this week in the not-desert climate. My hair, however, is heading# in new and exciting directions and no amount of silicone-based mousse can tame it.
[SUMMARY: Houston is opposite world.]
On the way from the airport, there was a body ornamentation barn†† with a giant billboard that said, "Tattoos! Piercings! $15."
[SUMMARY: Caught between temptation and horror once again.]
I must work now. But now you know all the important stuff about Houston.
You're welcome.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Tanks? Tops? Blouses?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): The grand sum total of my Houston geography.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For those not Bronco fans (*coughKellycough*), Gary Kubiak backed up John Elway at QB for some time, then came back to coach such luminaries as Brian Griese and Jake Plummer before achieving the head coaching job for expansion team Houston. "Luminaries," for those scoring at home, is a dry, sardonic joke.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): You may not want to get me started on people who put the Bronco logo flat on its neck like the horse is rearing, rather than on its point like the horse is running as it clearly should be. I apparently have too much time on my hands and not enough to worry about and we could be here all day while I rant and foam about that particular issue.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Well, Brother... and it doesn't get much stranger than Brother. Except maybe Brother progeny.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Ha! Pun!
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I am neither indulging in hyperbole for the sake of humour nor am I making this up. It was a frickin' barn.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Time to Lick the Pig
Yes, it's brain lint time again. That time when rug burns sing, knitting goes feral and pigs get tongue-baths from winsome tots.†
Have you ever seen one of those French slice-of-life movies? Personally, I find them boring and awful, but I've seen one so I have some basis for comparison here. This first bit is basically my own little slice-of-life. It has no purpose beyond the "Huh."
When I was cosied up in my comfy chair Monday afternoon, I heard sirens from the north. They came closer and closer and a big, white fire truck pulled up right in front of my house.‡
The driver (wearing an official-looking navy blue uniform with a badge) and a fireman (wearing the giant fire coat and fire boots and placing his fire hat on his head as he hit the ground) hopped out. The fireman grabbed an axe and they both turned toward my house.
They looked up the long flight of stairs to the front door.§ They took two steps left and looked up my neighbour's stairs. They circled around opposite sides of the truck and disappeared, presumably to look at the across-the-street neighbour's door.
They came back around to my side. The fireman put the axe back in the hold of the truck and they both hopped back in.
Then they hopped out, grabbed the axe, milled¶ for a few minutes, jumped in the truck and drove off.
[SUMMARY: Huh.]
The movie people were back across the street from the office yesterday. Now they're gone again. I imagine it would be a royal pain in the ass to put up tents, take down tents, up with port-a-potties, down with port-a-potties every single day.
George Karl, Carmelo Anthony and Allen Iverson will be filming next week.
I think George Karl is going to be surprisingly good with his seven words onscreen. I seen him on the news last night and I think he's got that certain something.
[SUMMARY: Uh... really?]
Um... Brother? You won't appreciate this. I'm going to give you this 37 seconds of your life as a gift. Just skip to the next one.
I leave for New York a week from today. I think it's about time I think about my shopping list for Rhinebeck# and travel knitting.
Yorick will be done. Sparkle Socks will be done, or nearly. I'll certainly take the Massive Debt Father's day Arrrgyles for Brother and I may start a pair of Rainbow Socks out of a nice ball of Austermann Step with Aloe and Jojoba I've been hoarding.
It would probably help if I had a better Christmas plan. Both with what I should be knitting in the tens of FAA-supported hours I'll be experiencing next week and with what I should (and shouldn't) buy at Rhinebeck.
Musing.
Pig-licking.
[SUMMARY: Are we going to do this every week, AntiM?]
Oh, wait! Not this one either. Try the next exit.
Speaking of Rhinebeck... I'm going to be a bingo square in Stitchy McYarnpants's Rhinebeck Bingo.
It's not some big, unforeseen honour or anything. I volunteered.†† But, y'know... didn't get rejected.
I just thought y'all should know, just in case it makes you happy.
[SUMMARY: Attention whore.]
OK. You can tune back in now. It's football.
Just in case y'all were sitting there wondering, "Man, I haven't heard anything about Marin's fantasy football world lately. I wonder how she's doing."
I am at the top of both of my Pick 'Em leagues (one boys, one girls). Even after picking the Broncos in both leagues last week and even picking them against the Colts in one league two weeks ago.
I am firmly planted in the middle of my fantasy league, a stunningly mediocre 3-2 record and a supa-hot one-game winning streak to my name. Or the name of BOB, as it goes. Brother -- because I know you're dying to know -- has crept out of the sub-basement and is in second-to-last place with a far inferior 2-3 record.
And, while our feisty Canadian friend remains a few points ahead of me in the overall standings in the Onion Shattered Fantasies League, I whipped her sassy Canadian ass this week and am roaring toward a comeback.
[SUMMARY: I don't suck at sucking as much as you thought.]
DayQuil isn't supposed to make you dopey, is it?
You don't suppose it's just me, do you?
[SUMMARY: Getting warmer.]
I miss my Fling. I think I even miss the Male Lady just a little. Mostly I miss being able to breathe. I'm pretty sure a lack of snot-free oxygen to the brain is causing these blogblahs.
Please have a lovely Wednesday. For all our sakes.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): My father, for the record, says the kid in the pig-licking photo reminds him oh, so much of me. I was afraid to ask if it's just the blond curls or if it's the insouciant tongue action.
Hey! Stop that! My father is NOT thinking that kind of tongue action!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I suddenly became very aware of my insurance.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For a moment, I honestly wondered if my house was on fire and they were seriously contemplating letting it burn so they wouldn't have to climb the stairs.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Two people can mill. I've seen it with my own two eyes. Which... don't mill. Even though there's two. Like the story about the people. Please make me stop.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because pretty yarn out of context is a dangerous thing for the pocketbook and the stash. There are so many (whisper) useless hunks of fibre in my stash because I bought a ball or a skein in magpie mode and don't have enough to do anything compelling with it.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): With my hand waving madly in the air, shrieking, "Oo! Oo! Pick me! Pick me!"
Have you ever seen one of those French slice-of-life movies? Personally, I find them boring and awful, but I've seen one so I have some basis for comparison here. This first bit is basically my own little slice-of-life. It has no purpose beyond the "Huh."
When I was cosied up in my comfy chair Monday afternoon, I heard sirens from the north. They came closer and closer and a big, white fire truck pulled up right in front of my house.‡
The driver (wearing an official-looking navy blue uniform with a badge) and a fireman (wearing the giant fire coat and fire boots and placing his fire hat on his head as he hit the ground) hopped out. The fireman grabbed an axe and they both turned toward my house.
They looked up the long flight of stairs to the front door.§ They took two steps left and looked up my neighbour's stairs. They circled around opposite sides of the truck and disappeared, presumably to look at the across-the-street neighbour's door.
They came back around to my side. The fireman put the axe back in the hold of the truck and they both hopped back in.
Then they hopped out, grabbed the axe, milled¶ for a few minutes, jumped in the truck and drove off.
[SUMMARY: Huh.]
The movie people were back across the street from the office yesterday. Now they're gone again. I imagine it would be a royal pain in the ass to put up tents, take down tents, up with port-a-potties, down with port-a-potties every single day.
George Karl, Carmelo Anthony and Allen Iverson will be filming next week.
I think George Karl is going to be surprisingly good with his seven words onscreen. I seen him on the news last night and I think he's got that certain something.
[SUMMARY: Uh... really?]
Um... Brother? You won't appreciate this. I'm going to give you this 37 seconds of your life as a gift. Just skip to the next one.
I leave for New York a week from today. I think it's about time I think about my shopping list for Rhinebeck# and travel knitting.
Yorick will be done. Sparkle Socks will be done, or nearly. I'll certainly take the Massive Debt Father's day Arrrgyles for Brother and I may start a pair of Rainbow Socks out of a nice ball of Austermann Step with Aloe and Jojoba I've been hoarding.
It would probably help if I had a better Christmas plan. Both with what I should be knitting in the tens of FAA-supported hours I'll be experiencing next week and with what I should (and shouldn't) buy at Rhinebeck.
Musing.
Pig-licking.
[SUMMARY: Are we going to do this every week, AntiM?]
Oh, wait! Not this one either. Try the next exit.
Speaking of Rhinebeck... I'm going to be a bingo square in Stitchy McYarnpants's Rhinebeck Bingo.
It's not some big, unforeseen honour or anything. I volunteered.†† But, y'know... didn't get rejected.
I just thought y'all should know, just in case it makes you happy.
[SUMMARY: Attention whore.]
OK. You can tune back in now. It's football.
Just in case y'all were sitting there wondering, "Man, I haven't heard anything about Marin's fantasy football world lately. I wonder how she's doing."
I am at the top of both of my Pick 'Em leagues (one boys, one girls). Even after picking the Broncos in both leagues last week and even picking them against the Colts in one league two weeks ago.
I am firmly planted in the middle of my fantasy league, a stunningly mediocre 3-2 record and a supa-hot one-game winning streak to my name. Or the name of BOB, as it goes. Brother -- because I know you're dying to know -- has crept out of the sub-basement and is in second-to-last place with a far inferior 2-3 record.
And, while our feisty Canadian friend remains a few points ahead of me in the overall standings in the Onion Shattered Fantasies League, I whipped her sassy Canadian ass this week and am roaring toward a comeback.
[SUMMARY: I don't suck at sucking as much as you thought.]
DayQuil isn't supposed to make you dopey, is it?
You don't suppose it's just me, do you?
[SUMMARY: Getting warmer.]
I miss my Fling. I think I even miss the Male Lady just a little. Mostly I miss being able to breathe. I'm pretty sure a lack of snot-free oxygen to the brain is causing these blogblahs.
Please have a lovely Wednesday. For all our sakes.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): My father, for the record, says the kid in the pig-licking photo reminds him oh, so much of me. I was afraid to ask if it's just the blond curls or if it's the insouciant tongue action.
Hey! Stop that! My father is NOT thinking that kind of tongue action!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I suddenly became very aware of my insurance.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For a moment, I honestly wondered if my house was on fire and they were seriously contemplating letting it burn so they wouldn't have to climb the stairs.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Two people can mill. I've seen it with my own two eyes. Which... don't mill. Even though there's two. Like the story about the people. Please make me stop.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because pretty yarn out of context is a dangerous thing for the pocketbook and the stash. There are so many (whisper) useless hunks of fibre in my stash because I bought a ball or a skein in magpie mode and don't have enough to do anything compelling with it.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): With my hand waving madly in the air, shrieking, "Oo! Oo! Pick me! Pick me!"
Sunday, August 5, 2007
A Worldwide Phenomenon
And even at Duke University (scroll down to the cat in the tree):
You know this puts me that much closer to Coach K, don't you?
Monday, June 25, 2007
Feelings, Nothing More Than Feelings...
First, I still have nobody to take to the Brown Palace. What is up with that?
[SUMMARY: feeling unpopular...]
Second, I golfed this weekend. I love hitting balls. I love that whistling swoosh, then the satisfying *thwock* when I hit a good shot. I even love whiffing the ball and being able to say, "I came up on that one. Again," like I know what I'm doing. I love my little golf glove.
I'm not overly good at golf, but I seem to have a knack, so I figure a little practise and I'm ready for the pro circuit.
[SUMMARY: feeling delusional... and, frankly, a little stiff in the back today.]
Third, I got really yummy yarn† from the eca this weekend. Lookie!‡
Fourth, I got the 2007 Food & Wine Annual Cookbook from my aunt and grandmother Saturday.
[SUMMARY: feeling privy...]
Happy Monday. As always, the weekend update tomorrow. And trust me, with a reunion and a dinner with Grandma, you don't want to miss all the excitement!
[SUMMARY: feeling... well, Monday...]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): For those of you scoring at home, it's from Fearless Fibers on Etsy. It's boingy, it's over 500 yards (which means I can knit almost any socks in the world, and even knee-highs and any variety of lace or cables... *breatheinthebag* ...so many choices) and it's PURPLE.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Pay no attention to the blur! And pay no attention to the fact I deleted the big shot where you can see the label and everything! I'm a wreck! Take my car keys! Be my new best friend! Go to the Brown Palace with me!
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Who am I kidding? I must find the PERFECT pattern. Any ideas? Bueller? Bueller?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Two sock patterns. Not patterns for two socks. Y'all know. But I can hear my snide little brother saying, "Um... aren't socks usually in twos?"
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And maybe translate.
Blogger will not let me fix the spacing. I've tried. On behalf of Blogger, I'd like to apologise. I, personally, would never do this to you.
[SUMMARY: feeling unpopular...]
Second, I golfed this weekend. I love hitting balls. I love that whistling swoosh, then the satisfying *thwock* when I hit a good shot. I even love whiffing the ball and being able to say, "I came up on that one. Again," like I know what I'm doing. I love my little golf glove.
I'm not overly good at golf, but I seem to have a knack, so I figure a little practise and I'm ready for the pro circuit.
[SUMMARY: feeling delusional... and, frankly, a little stiff in the back today.]
Third, I got really yummy yarn† from the eca this weekend. Lookie!‡
Yarn too sexy for this blog, too sexy to frog...
[SUMMARY: feeling special...]
There's LOTS of the gorgeous purple sock yarn, so now I must find a good pattern§ for it. I am paralysed by the sheer force of the options available and the responsibility I feel to the yarn to make it into the best socks possible to show off all its attributes. Am I a dork or what?
[SUMMARY: feeling pressure...]
Fourth, I got the 2007 Food & Wine Annual Cookbook from my aunt and grandmother Saturday.
[SUMMARY: feeling domestic...]
Lastly, and this won't mean much to many of you, but I went to Jay's Patio Café Friday afternoon before I got my hair cut (4" off the length... FOUR INCHES), sort of late for lunch, and when I sat down with my sandwich, I noticed that the large-ish party next to me was none other than George Karl and most of the Denver Nuggets's front office discussing who they wanted to pick up in the draft, who they wanted to trade, movies, how AI would work with that NCAA problem child, self-help issues, the prevalence of high school players in sports media, food, Kobe Bryant...
I had knitting patterns with me (no lie -- lace socks. Two of 'em.#) and I pretended to be very, very interested in every little nuance of my knitting patterns as I leaned over and eavesdropped. And tried to figure how to surreptitiously photograph them. And how to surreptitiously call my brother so he could come listen.¶
[SUMMARY: feeling privy...]
Happy Monday. As always, the weekend update tomorrow. And trust me, with a reunion and a dinner with Grandma, you don't want to miss all the excitement!
[SUMMARY: feeling... well, Monday...]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): For those of you scoring at home, it's from Fearless Fibers on Etsy. It's boingy, it's over 500 yards (which means I can knit almost any socks in the world, and even knee-highs and any variety of lace or cables... *breatheinthebag* ...so many choices) and it's PURPLE.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Pay no attention to the blur! And pay no attention to the fact I deleted the big shot where you can see the label and everything! I'm a wreck! Take my car keys! Be my new best friend! Go to the Brown Palace with me!
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Who am I kidding? I must find the PERFECT pattern. Any ideas? Bueller? Bueller?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Two sock patterns. Not patterns for two socks. Y'all know. But I can hear my snide little brother saying, "Um... aren't socks usually in twos?"
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And maybe translate.
Blogger will not let me fix the spacing. I've tried. On behalf of Blogger, I'd like to apologise. I, personally, would never do this to you.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Picky Knitter, Sticks are for KIBs
2 Days to Harlot
After careful perusal of my financial sitch (not to be confused with "stitch," though I often do), I find my thriftiness** of the last couple of months has paid off (pun!) and I have more money than I thought. How do we celebrate "extra" money? Make a large contribution to the IRA!
Haha! Just kidding! We indulge our knitting problem and our book problem and become our own best enabler!
Besides the trips to B&N and Showers of Flowers yesterday, I came home to find BOTH my packages from Knit Picks had arrived yesterday. I'm assuming the post office has a policy that they save up packages until they have enough to fill the box before delivery.
This is what it all looks like:
From top left corner (clockwise): a bit of my purple couch, Vogue Very Easy Knits, Lace Style, Kertzer Butterfly in black and blue to make the Diagonale purse from knitty.com, Knitting Design, Knit Picks Shadow in Jewels Heather** to make the Eunny Jang Print O' the Wave stole, Domiknitrix, Knit Picks Gloss in Cocoa to make the Stitch Diva Bellocq stockings, Martin Dresser: Tale of an American Dreamer by Steve Millhauser** (the next Book Club book -- let's see if I can hang on to this one), two size one Addi circs, Knit 'n' Style, and peeking out middle-ish is the Diagonale purse picture and pattern.
First, I'd like you to notice how cool that pseudo-wrapped text is. I'm not a complete Luddite, but the html/blogcode continuum is still a bit of a mystery to me and I'm very proud every time I solve a tiny little piece of it. [NOTE: Once it got to the blog, it didn't wrap anymore. I'm still proud I discovered the possibility.]
[SUMMARY: Dork? Check. Book problem? Check. Knitting problem? Check.]
I got the Addis because I originally got Crystal Palace bamboo needles for the Sparkle Socks, but I hate them. The bamboo itself is nice -- all bambooey, as it should be -- but the join... well, it's that put-my-head-through-a-wall thing. I was taking more time sliding my stitches back and forth than it was taking to actually knit a row. And I was in danger of shredding my stitches clean off with every round. So no more Crystal Palace bamboo.
I got the Domiknitrix because... do I really need to tell you why I got the Domiknitrix? No, no, I really don't. What I need to do is ASK y'all why nobody ever told me there was a Domiknitrix. And a blog. A Domiknitrix blog. I visited, and I have a love/hate relationship with it right off the bat.
Love the concept. Love the book. Love the skull. Love the look.
BUT... there are Domiknitrix tshirts for sale and y'all know I NEED one. Not want. Need.
Hate the fact that all the coolest tshirts (i.e. - all but one) only come in junior sizes, and according to the size chart, the bust measurement on an XL junior is TWENTY-FIVE inches. Either that's a typo or these shirts are only suitable for the Kate Moss heroin-chic crowd. When the Kate Moss heroin-chic crowd were 12. You know, before they developed.
[NOTE: Dear gods of fashion and all that is holy... I lied. The 25" measurement is the LENGTH of the shirt. The bust measurement is NINETEEN inches. That has to be a typo. Tallest, Hairiest nephew's chest is bigger than 19" and he's a six-year-old BOY, for fuck's sake.]
I petitioned the Domiknitrix for real shirts for real people. I really want the blue one, but I'd like to use it for more than an iPod cozy.
OK, back to Marin's world.
Have y'all noticed I have a lot of things in the works and nothing finished? Yeah, me too. I was wandering around Showers of Flowers yesterday and realised there is enough on my plate that I'm not even that turned on by the prospect of new yarn. I think I'm more turned on by that hot tamale, Jason... oops. Did I say that out loud? What I meant was I'm more turned on by the prospect of knitting some of these fabulous projects than new yarn.
Could someone please feel my forehead?
[SUMMARY: Still a little bitchy as always, but losing interest in yarn? A sign of the apocalypse?]
As you may have gathered, last night was an important basketball night. Big picture, I mean. In my realm, college basketball died in November with Duke's suckitude, but really crashed and burned when both Kansas and NC went out in the Elite Eight, crushing my brackets into useless spitwads.**
Non sequitur? Not really. While I really am dying to get to the Print O' the Wave and the Bellocqs (and even the Stupid Blanket, now my most constant friend) and have the yarn to do it, I didn't think either was suitable for knitting in bars (a/k/a KIB), and bars are where I like to watch my sports when I'm on my own with them. The sports, I mean.
So I went to Other Favourite Bar, 'cause it's more a sports bar than Favourite Bar, parked myself at a table, ordered supper and started in on the Sparkle Socks. The waitress said, "I think Christopher's mentioned you. Is he trying to get you to bring your Stitch 'n' Bitch group in here?"
"Yep. That's me."
Turns out I was talking to Christopher's wife, Nikki (I have no idea if I'm spelling that right. It's all the Motley Crue I absorbed in the 80s). I think it's very cool to be recognised by people who have never met me. I think it's very cool that Christopher mentions me at home.** Making an impact for something other than wildebeesticide is a good thing.
[SUMMARY: KIP, bold and cool. KIB, even cooler.]
A big yee-ha to Florida. I don't have much love for Florida sports in general, but it's historical for a school to win both back-to-back basketball championships and a football AND basketball championship in one year. Witnessing history is also a good thing.
[SUMMARY: Go Florida. Take California with you.]
Tonight? Drinks with Megan-from-work, cast on the Bellocqs, maybe cast on the Print O' the Wave, commune with Stupid Blanket.
Tomorrow? Client-sponsored goof-off at Coors Field. My current biggest client is taking me to the Rockies' game. That would be 1:00 in the afternoon. That would be RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WORK DAY. The company's buying lunch, we're sitting right behind home plate and they're paying me for the whole day. Let me repeat: I'm being PAID to go to the BALLPARK and sit in the BEST SEATS IN THE HOUSE. And FED. I'm begin FED. And probably DRINKED a little, too.
[SUMMARY: You want my schedule.]
I've waited my whole working life for this moment. I'll take pictures.
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): I know you wonder how I can call thrifty when I've been barring half the nights of my life, but my pathological overtipping really pays off in free shots and bartender-sponsored rounds of drinks at a time like this. Besides, what do you think happy hour is for?
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): I know it's not THE Heathers, but it's Heathers, right? "People will look at the ashes of Westerburg and say, 'Now there's a school that self-destructed, not because society didn't care, but because the school was society.' Now that's deep."
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): By the way, if you go to B&N and you can't find the Book Club book and they look on the computer and see there are several copies, be sure to check under "Martin Dressler," even though that's the title and not the author, since that's where all seven copies at the downtown Denver B&N were. I note the CSR who dug it up for me did NOT move them to reflect Steven Millhauser as the actual author.
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): You don't make spitwads from your cracked brackets? What on earth do you do with them, then?
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Pretending here Christopher mentions me at home *without* using words like "freak," "psycho" or "scary."
After careful perusal of my financial sitch (not to be confused with "stitch," though I often do), I find my thriftiness** of the last couple of months has paid off (pun!) and I have more money than I thought. How do we celebrate "extra" money? Make a large contribution to the IRA!
Haha! Just kidding! We indulge our knitting problem and our book problem and become our own best enabler!
Besides the trips to B&N and Showers of Flowers yesterday, I came home to find BOTH my packages from Knit Picks had arrived yesterday. I'm assuming the post office has a policy that they save up packages until they have enough to fill the box before delivery.
This is what it all looks like:
From top left corner (clockwise): a bit of my purple couch, Vogue Very Easy Knits, Lace Style, Kertzer Butterfly in black and blue to make the Diagonale purse from knitty.com, Knitting Design, Knit Picks Shadow in Jewels Heather** to make the Eunny Jang Print O' the Wave stole, Domiknitrix, Knit Picks Gloss in Cocoa to make the Stitch Diva Bellocq stockings, Martin Dresser: Tale of an American Dreamer by Steve Millhauser** (the next Book Club book -- let's see if I can hang on to this one), two size one Addi circs, Knit 'n' Style, and peeking out middle-ish is the Diagonale purse picture and pattern.
First, I'd like you to notice how cool that pseudo-wrapped text is. I'm not a complete Luddite, but the html/blogcode continuum is still a bit of a mystery to me and I'm very proud every time I solve a tiny little piece of it. [NOTE: Once it got to the blog, it didn't wrap anymore. I'm still proud I discovered the possibility.]
[SUMMARY: Dork? Check. Book problem? Check. Knitting problem? Check.]
I got the Addis because I originally got Crystal Palace bamboo needles for the Sparkle Socks, but I hate them. The bamboo itself is nice -- all bambooey, as it should be -- but the join... well, it's that put-my-head-through-a-wall thing. I was taking more time sliding my stitches back and forth than it was taking to actually knit a row. And I was in danger of shredding my stitches clean off with every round. So no more Crystal Palace bamboo.
I got the Domiknitrix because... do I really need to tell you why I got the Domiknitrix? No, no, I really don't. What I need to do is ASK y'all why nobody ever told me there was a Domiknitrix. And a blog. A Domiknitrix blog. I visited, and I have a love/hate relationship with it right off the bat.
Love the concept. Love the book. Love the skull. Love the look.
BUT... there are Domiknitrix tshirts for sale and y'all know I NEED one. Not want. Need.
Hate the fact that all the coolest tshirts (i.e. - all but one) only come in junior sizes, and according to the size chart, the bust measurement on an XL junior is TWENTY-FIVE inches. Either that's a typo or these shirts are only suitable for the Kate Moss heroin-chic crowd. When the Kate Moss heroin-chic crowd were 12. You know, before they developed.
[NOTE: Dear gods of fashion and all that is holy... I lied. The 25" measurement is the LENGTH of the shirt. The bust measurement is NINETEEN inches. That has to be a typo. Tallest, Hairiest nephew's chest is bigger than 19" and he's a six-year-old BOY, for fuck's sake.]
I petitioned the Domiknitrix for real shirts for real people. I really want the blue one, but I'd like to use it for more than an iPod cozy.
OK, back to Marin's world.
Have y'all noticed I have a lot of things in the works and nothing finished? Yeah, me too. I was wandering around Showers of Flowers yesterday and realised there is enough on my plate that I'm not even that turned on by the prospect of new yarn. I think I'm more turned on by that hot tamale, Jason... oops. Did I say that out loud? What I meant was I'm more turned on by the prospect of knitting some of these fabulous projects than new yarn.
Could someone please feel my forehead?
[SUMMARY: Still a little bitchy as always, but losing interest in yarn? A sign of the apocalypse?]
As you may have gathered, last night was an important basketball night. Big picture, I mean. In my realm, college basketball died in November with Duke's suckitude, but really crashed and burned when both Kansas and NC went out in the Elite Eight, crushing my brackets into useless spitwads.**
Non sequitur? Not really. While I really am dying to get to the Print O' the Wave and the Bellocqs (and even the Stupid Blanket, now my most constant friend) and have the yarn to do it, I didn't think either was suitable for knitting in bars (a/k/a KIB), and bars are where I like to watch my sports when I'm on my own with them. The sports, I mean.
So I went to Other Favourite Bar, 'cause it's more a sports bar than Favourite Bar, parked myself at a table, ordered supper and started in on the Sparkle Socks. The waitress said, "I think Christopher's mentioned you. Is he trying to get you to bring your Stitch 'n' Bitch group in here?"
"Yep. That's me."
Turns out I was talking to Christopher's wife, Nikki (I have no idea if I'm spelling that right. It's all the Motley Crue I absorbed in the 80s). I think it's very cool to be recognised by people who have never met me. I think it's very cool that Christopher mentions me at home.** Making an impact for something other than wildebeesticide is a good thing.
[SUMMARY: KIP, bold and cool. KIB, even cooler.]
A big yee-ha to Florida. I don't have much love for Florida sports in general, but it's historical for a school to win both back-to-back basketball championships and a football AND basketball championship in one year. Witnessing history is also a good thing.
[SUMMARY: Go Florida. Take California with you.]
Tonight? Drinks with Megan-from-work, cast on the Bellocqs, maybe cast on the Print O' the Wave, commune with Stupid Blanket.
Tomorrow? Client-sponsored goof-off at Coors Field. My current biggest client is taking me to the Rockies' game. That would be 1:00 in the afternoon. That would be RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WORK DAY. The company's buying lunch, we're sitting right behind home plate and they're paying me for the whole day. Let me repeat: I'm being PAID to go to the BALLPARK and sit in the BEST SEATS IN THE HOUSE. And FED. I'm begin FED. And probably DRINKED a little, too.
[SUMMARY: You want my schedule.]
I've waited my whole working life for this moment. I'll take pictures.
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): I know you wonder how I can call thrifty when I've been barring half the nights of my life, but my pathological overtipping really pays off in free shots and bartender-sponsored rounds of drinks at a time like this. Besides, what do you think happy hour is for?
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): I know it's not THE Heathers, but it's Heathers, right? "People will look at the ashes of Westerburg and say, 'Now there's a school that self-destructed, not because society didn't care, but because the school was society.' Now that's deep."
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): By the way, if you go to B&N and you can't find the Book Club book and they look on the computer and see there are several copies, be sure to check under "Martin Dressler," even though that's the title and not the author, since that's where all seven copies at the downtown Denver B&N were. I note the CSR who dug it up for me did NOT move them to reflect Steven Millhauser as the actual author.
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): You don't make spitwads from your cracked brackets? What on earth do you do with them, then?
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Pretending here Christopher mentions me at home *without* using words like "freak," "psycho" or "scary."
Monday, March 26, 2007
Sex and Sticks and Strings
Oh, my goodness. That last post was a little unnecessary, don't you think? All the sex and the gambling and the drinking and the sex... unnecessary, I tell you.
Now let's look at pictures of my pussy.
F'r cryin' out loud, Mom...
Are the jokes worse or the photography?
[SUMMARY: I am channeling old, stale Steve Martin.]
On a more graceful note, there is knitting news (pictures at 11): I joined a knit along! I'm a dork!
Seriously, I want to knit Print O' the Wave so very much (hey! Remember last week when I had no interest in lace and didn't like shawls? Good times, good times...) and it scares me a little, so I figured I could use all the help I can get. I think we can all agree on that.
Let's start with my weird math on the pick-up stitches: I figured 240 stitches over 204 rows. Well, the math was halfway there. Almost. See, you do two panels of the thing and graft them together, but I was thinking they were grafted together side-by-side (which would give the hapless knitter 160 stitches x 204 rows). If I had looked at the handy photos of the finished product, I would have noted that it's grafted together end-to-end, giving me 80 stitches across and a whopping 408 rows to pick up 240 stitches.
OH.
*That* I can do.
Of course, I posted my bastardised version of the math on the POtW KAL (it's like being in the military, what with all the acronyms) board. I'm not sure if it's more a bad thing that I don't think before I post or a good thing that someone led me off in the right direction.
Anyway... I wanted to get the yarn and get knitting on the POtW (for which I really would like to find a better nickname, one not so reminiscent of DMZs and Jane Fonda. Unfortunately, the only other thing that comes to mind right now is that I think the town in one of the worst movies ever made, Pete's Dragon, was called Potowatamie) at SnB last week, but Sylvia doesn't have a ton of lace weight and nothing that spoke to me. So I ordered some Shadow from Knit Picks (in the Jewels Heather) and when it gets here... well, I worry about the fate of the Stupid Blanket.
Speaking of... I knit SEVEN rows on the Stupid Blanket during "Grey's Anatomy" alone yesterday (twelve rows in all). For those of you scoring at home, that's a mere 1400% (taking into account stitches per hour and presupposing I did the math right. If you find error in my calculations, please be aware I'm using knitter math) Grey's Anatomy to Top Model Marathon. I was in the zone. I wish you could have seen me (well, not really, I guess. Watching someone knit a single stitch over 1800 stitches would be stultifying).
For a brief while, I dearly loved the Stupid Blanket for letting me get away with so much.
Kinda how I feel about all y'all.**
[SUMMARY: Getting all prurient is mitigated by knit-talk. That's my story and I'm sticking with it.]
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Without the "brief" part, I mean.
**FOOTNOTE (unasterisked): This is my first Male Lady-free weekend in... months. Or at least weeks. To quote my brother (in re: not filling out a bracket for the first time in 112 years), "Mostly I feel naked and alone." Well, and safe.
**FOOTNOTE (also unasterisked): Short day at work today. Taking the tallest, hairiest nephew to Wings Over the Rockies.
**SPECIAL BASKETBALL FOOTNOTE (so unasterisked): Duke died in November. Kansas is out (Rock Chalk, damnit!). N.C. went down. My brackets and my March-lovin' soul are officially devastated. There should be a Red Cross fund it's so bad.
Hey, how are the Nuggets doing?
Now let's look at pictures of my pussy.
F'r cryin' out loud, Mom...
Are the jokes worse or the photography?
[SUMMARY: I am channeling old, stale Steve Martin.]
On a more graceful note, there is knitting news (pictures at 11): I joined a knit along! I'm a dork!
Seriously, I want to knit Print O' the Wave so very much (hey! Remember last week when I had no interest in lace and didn't like shawls? Good times, good times...) and it scares me a little, so I figured I could use all the help I can get. I think we can all agree on that.
Let's start with my weird math on the pick-up stitches: I figured 240 stitches over 204 rows. Well, the math was halfway there. Almost. See, you do two panels of the thing and graft them together, but I was thinking they were grafted together side-by-side (which would give the hapless knitter 160 stitches x 204 rows). If I had looked at the handy photos of the finished product, I would have noted that it's grafted together end-to-end, giving me 80 stitches across and a whopping 408 rows to pick up 240 stitches.
OH.
*That* I can do.
Of course, I posted my bastardised version of the math on the POtW KAL (it's like being in the military, what with all the acronyms) board. I'm not sure if it's more a bad thing that I don't think before I post or a good thing that someone led me off in the right direction.
Anyway... I wanted to get the yarn and get knitting on the POtW (for which I really would like to find a better nickname, one not so reminiscent of DMZs and Jane Fonda. Unfortunately, the only other thing that comes to mind right now is that I think the town in one of the worst movies ever made, Pete's Dragon, was called Potowatamie) at SnB last week, but Sylvia doesn't have a ton of lace weight and nothing that spoke to me. So I ordered some Shadow from Knit Picks (in the Jewels Heather) and when it gets here... well, I worry about the fate of the Stupid Blanket.
Speaking of... I knit SEVEN rows on the Stupid Blanket during "Grey's Anatomy" alone yesterday (twelve rows in all). For those of you scoring at home, that's a mere 1400% (taking into account stitches per hour and presupposing I did the math right. If you find error in my calculations, please be aware I'm using knitter math) Grey's Anatomy to Top Model Marathon. I was in the zone. I wish you could have seen me (well, not really, I guess. Watching someone knit a single stitch over 1800 stitches would be stultifying).
For a brief while, I dearly loved the Stupid Blanket for letting me get away with so much.
Kinda how I feel about all y'all.**
[SUMMARY: Getting all prurient is mitigated by knit-talk. That's my story and I'm sticking with it.]
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Without the "brief" part, I mean.
**FOOTNOTE (unasterisked): This is my first Male Lady-free weekend in... months. Or at least weeks. To quote my brother (in re: not filling out a bracket for the first time in 112 years), "Mostly I feel naked and alone." Well, and safe.
**FOOTNOTE (also unasterisked): Short day at work today. Taking the tallest, hairiest nephew to Wings Over the Rockies.
**SPECIAL BASKETBALL FOOTNOTE (so unasterisked): Duke died in November. Kansas is out (Rock Chalk, damnit!). N.C. went down. My brackets and my March-lovin' soul are officially devastated. There should be a Red Cross fund it's so bad.
Hey, how are the Nuggets doing?
Friday, March 23, 2007
fridayfridayfridayfridayfriday
I'm almost afraid to ask -- could it really be true? Is it... FRIDAY?
Thought I was going to blow.
I'm exhausted, my friends. I'm just going to give it all to you straight. Well, as straight as my fuzzy little head will allow. But there are knitting pictures, so everything will be alright.
[SUMMARY: uh oh]
Last night was a pretty good evening to be a Marin.
I walked to Other Favourite bar to catch the first halves of the first games and have a beer. Then I walked to Posh, my homeLYS, for Stitch n Bitch. Would you believe... well, remember how the first (last) time I went, it was a bridal shower of some sort? And there was food and wine and stuff? Well, I managed to show up for a baby shower this time. My timing is impeccable.
I got pictures this time, albeit bad ones. I was trying hard not to be obnoxious and obtrusive and just didn't take the time to set up and focus, even for a second, so, say, Mary Kay wouldn't have to be photoshopped with the sharpening tool until she looks like a Vermeer (not necessarily a bad thing, just a thing I wasn't aiming for) or Heather wouldn't have snacks growing out of her head. So apologies, as always, to all but the Male Lady when I dork your photo.
It doesn't necessarily mean I don't love you anymore.
Heather, 39.57143 weeks pregnant, with gift on belly and snacks growing out of head
Isn't she all glowy? Even with the snack-head thing? That tiny little garment on her bump (is it still a bump at this phase? At what point do molehills become mountains? Other than when there's an AntiM obsession involved, I mean.) is the cutest little dress that's ADJUSTABLE (genius!). Mary Kay crocheted it for Heather out of (I believe I heard) sock yarn.
Mary Kay, my new best friend from last time, happy amid the yarn, very Girl With the Pearl
Red and Janet
In re: Janet: Janet was kind enough to introduce herself and her mother-by-proxy (Irma) to me. Now, I had two pictures of Irma that were bad enough that I simply couldn't do it to her, couldn't post them (given the calibre of the photos I *did* post, you can imagine... poor Irma). She's a lovely woman and deserves better.
In re: Red: Red is to a blogdork what Dan Quayle was to comedians. And I mean that in the best possible way. You'll be hearing more about Red. I just have a feeling. If nothing else, Red is our resident Sex Toy Distributor to be.
The Naughty Librarian and Red
All apologies to the Naughty Librarian. She was loads of fun the first (last) time I went and loads of fun this time and I've never managed to catch her name. But she really is a librarian. And I'm pretty sure she's naughty.
[SUMMARY: I may do more bitching than stitching and maybe should take fewer pictures or have fewer beers.]
Huh. I had a picture of Sylvia, too. Not a good picture, and she's probably just as happy I somehow managed to leave it on the home computer, but... I hate getting old and feeble.
Sylvia owns Posh and she's just as fun and lovely, warm and fuzzy as a yarn shop owner should be. I called her before I left work yesterday. It went something like this:
"Hi, Sylvia? This is Marin. I've been in the shop a couple of times... you don't know me by name... I don't know why I even told you my name... I don't expect you to know who I am... I'm a dork..."
(Remember my first phone call to Kelley? Not as emotionally fraught, every bit as fucking painful.)
"That's OK. I'll still talk to you." Because that's just the kind of generous soul Sylvia is.
"Do you have blocking pins?"
She doesn't, really, and by the time I left the office, I realised I had a choice to make: trip to fabric store for t-pins or trip to bar for basketball. Guess which I chose?
I did go to the grocery store and bought regular ol' straight pins. It wasn't the best solution. And I blocked MBBO on a towel, which meant the pins didn't really get anchored so well.
Worst. Blocking. Ever.
Medium Blue Branching Out on to the horizon and closeup for stitch detail
Cat for scale
I think this scarf is pretty forgiving. Maybe most blocking is. Maybe it doesn't matter if you don't end up with a picture-perfect geometric marvel in the blocking phase. I dunno. Never blocked before.
In any case, MBBO didn't fight the pins, so stretching it out and leaving it pretty much did the trick. The pins were just this side of incidental. And would you believe... it's actually is 60" long? I never would have thought it possible. Imagine what I could have done with the right tools. Next time, I'll definitely use a sheet instead of a towel and longer, sturdier pins.
I'll try to get a pic of Kelley with the MBBO tonight. If she's lucky, before cocktail hour. That may be the key to good photography.
[SUMMARY: Blocking still mostly a mystery.]
I also am nearly a third through the Heathers. You know what that means:
"Killing Heather would be like offing the wicked witch of the west... wait east. West! God! I sound like a fucking psycho."
I'm pretty sure I'll run out of scarf before I run out of good Heathers lines.
Daily Boy dose:
Wednesday? When I went out with Kelley? She said, "Oh, yeah. The Boy said to give you his phone number."
"Was he sober?" asked I.
"Oh, yeah."
So I have his number. It sits in my phone as I sit and wonder. Shooby-dooby-doo.
I did the accidental stalker thing this morning. We were 10 miles from our home turf and I just -- pure chance -- ended up behind him on the road, then passed him when he waited to make a left turn. I suspect he saw me. I suspect he knew it was me. I suspect I'm going to obsess about this for *days.*
Sheesh... all these months avoiding Favourite Bar, never going to the grocery store when a Jeep is in the parking lot (This is Colorado. There is a fuckload of Jeeps here), afraid to drive down 38th...
Ah, yes! Let the grand obsession begin!
It was all work-related. I swear. But can you imagine the phone call?
"Um, hi, I'm not stalking you. I was working. I have your phone number."
[SUMMARY: The only thing more important than Heathers quotes is Boy angst.]
My current client is in the middle of sales presentations to potential buyers, and every dog-and-pony show is well-catered. Here is my lunch from yesterday:
Let's see, from upper left corner: well files, Asian salad, I think that'th my thtapler**, Fresca, two mini cookies, a southwestern chicken wrap. Eating good in this neighbourhood. And today? Friday?
It's BBQ Friday. I'm leaving you to go eat.
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Office Space. I'll probably have to knit something and call it "Office Space" so I can do Office Space quotes once the Heathers ("Transfer to Washington. Transfer to Jefferson. No one at Westerberg is going to let you play their reindeer games.") quotes run dry.
Thought I was going to blow.
I'm exhausted, my friends. I'm just going to give it all to you straight. Well, as straight as my fuzzy little head will allow. But there are knitting pictures, so everything will be alright.
[SUMMARY: uh oh]
Last night was a pretty good evening to be a Marin.
I walked to Other Favourite bar to catch the first halves of the first games and have a beer. Then I walked to Posh, my homeLYS, for Stitch n Bitch. Would you believe... well, remember how the first (last) time I went, it was a bridal shower of some sort? And there was food and wine and stuff? Well, I managed to show up for a baby shower this time. My timing is impeccable.
I got pictures this time, albeit bad ones. I was trying hard not to be obnoxious and obtrusive and just didn't take the time to set up and focus, even for a second, so, say, Mary Kay wouldn't have to be photoshopped with the sharpening tool until she looks like a Vermeer (not necessarily a bad thing, just a thing I wasn't aiming for) or Heather wouldn't have snacks growing out of her head. So apologies, as always, to all but the Male Lady when I dork your photo.
It doesn't necessarily mean I don't love you anymore.
Heather, 39.57143 weeks pregnant, with gift on belly and snacks growing out of head
Isn't she all glowy? Even with the snack-head thing? That tiny little garment on her bump (is it still a bump at this phase? At what point do molehills become mountains? Other than when there's an AntiM obsession involved, I mean.) is the cutest little dress that's ADJUSTABLE (genius!). Mary Kay crocheted it for Heather out of (I believe I heard) sock yarn.
Mary Kay, my new best friend from last time, happy amid the yarn, very Girl With the Pearl
Red and Janet
In re: Janet: Janet was kind enough to introduce herself and her mother-by-proxy (Irma) to me. Now, I had two pictures of Irma that were bad enough that I simply couldn't do it to her, couldn't post them (given the calibre of the photos I *did* post, you can imagine... poor Irma). She's a lovely woman and deserves better.
In re: Red: Red is to a blogdork what Dan Quayle was to comedians. And I mean that in the best possible way. You'll be hearing more about Red. I just have a feeling. If nothing else, Red is our resident Sex Toy Distributor to be.
The Naughty Librarian and Red
All apologies to the Naughty Librarian. She was loads of fun the first (last) time I went and loads of fun this time and I've never managed to catch her name. But she really is a librarian. And I'm pretty sure she's naughty.
[SUMMARY: I may do more bitching than stitching and maybe should take fewer pictures or have fewer beers.]
Huh. I had a picture of Sylvia, too. Not a good picture, and she's probably just as happy I somehow managed to leave it on the home computer, but... I hate getting old and feeble.
Sylvia owns Posh and she's just as fun and lovely, warm and fuzzy as a yarn shop owner should be. I called her before I left work yesterday. It went something like this:
"Hi, Sylvia? This is Marin. I've been in the shop a couple of times... you don't know me by name... I don't know why I even told you my name... I don't expect you to know who I am... I'm a dork..."
(Remember my first phone call to Kelley? Not as emotionally fraught, every bit as fucking painful.)
"That's OK. I'll still talk to you." Because that's just the kind of generous soul Sylvia is.
"Do you have blocking pins?"
She doesn't, really, and by the time I left the office, I realised I had a choice to make: trip to fabric store for t-pins or trip to bar for basketball. Guess which I chose?
I did go to the grocery store and bought regular ol' straight pins. It wasn't the best solution. And I blocked MBBO on a towel, which meant the pins didn't really get anchored so well.
Worst. Blocking. Ever.
Medium Blue Branching Out on to the horizon and closeup for stitch detail
Cat for scale
I think this scarf is pretty forgiving. Maybe most blocking is. Maybe it doesn't matter if you don't end up with a picture-perfect geometric marvel in the blocking phase. I dunno. Never blocked before.
In any case, MBBO didn't fight the pins, so stretching it out and leaving it pretty much did the trick. The pins were just this side of incidental. And would you believe... it's actually is 60" long? I never would have thought it possible. Imagine what I could have done with the right tools. Next time, I'll definitely use a sheet instead of a towel and longer, sturdier pins.
I'll try to get a pic of Kelley with the MBBO tonight. If she's lucky, before cocktail hour. That may be the key to good photography.
[SUMMARY: Blocking still mostly a mystery.]
I also am nearly a third through the Heathers. You know what that means:
"Killing Heather would be like offing the wicked witch of the west... wait east. West! God! I sound like a fucking psycho."
I'm pretty sure I'll run out of scarf before I run out of good Heathers lines.
Daily Boy dose:
Wednesday? When I went out with Kelley? She said, "Oh, yeah. The Boy said to give you his phone number."
"Was he sober?" asked I.
"Oh, yeah."
So I have his number. It sits in my phone as I sit and wonder. Shooby-dooby-doo.
I did the accidental stalker thing this morning. We were 10 miles from our home turf and I just -- pure chance -- ended up behind him on the road, then passed him when he waited to make a left turn. I suspect he saw me. I suspect he knew it was me. I suspect I'm going to obsess about this for *days.*
Sheesh... all these months avoiding Favourite Bar, never going to the grocery store when a Jeep is in the parking lot (This is Colorado. There is a fuckload of Jeeps here), afraid to drive down 38th...
Ah, yes! Let the grand obsession begin!
It was all work-related. I swear. But can you imagine the phone call?
"Um, hi, I'm not stalking you. I was working. I have your phone number."
[SUMMARY: The only thing more important than Heathers quotes is Boy angst.]
My current client is in the middle of sales presentations to potential buyers, and every dog-and-pony show is well-catered. Here is my lunch from yesterday:
Let's see, from upper left corner: well files, Asian salad, I think that'th my thtapler**, Fresca, two mini cookies, a southwestern chicken wrap. Eating good in this neighbourhood. And today? Friday?
It's BBQ Friday. I'm leaving you to go eat.
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Office Space. I'll probably have to knit something and call it "Office Space" so I can do Office Space quotes once the Heathers ("Transfer to Washington. Transfer to Jefferson. No one at Westerberg is going to let you play their reindeer games.") quotes run dry.
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