Not me.
I mean, I am, but I'm not reporting here. I just checked in on Allison's blog. She's a writer, but clearly she has an interest in knitting too.
Showing posts with label BoyCraft. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BoyCraft. Show all posts
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Things I Learned in 2007
- It's not "rock seals and planes," it's "rocks, hills and plains."
- Page views go up every time Tommy makes an appearance.
- Never knit a baby blanket in linen stitch.
- Expired license plates are serious business.
- Estrogen is my friend. Sometimes friends abandon.
- Judy's Magic Cast On is... magic.
- Smile for the camera.
- Life is too short for bad friends, bad yarn or bad wine. Bad boys are another issue entirely.
- There is a fine-line difference between rap and hip hop, but I have to be in a room with you to explain it to you because there are hand gestures.
- You can never have too many T-pins.
- There is a Law of Conservation of Patience in my realm: patience can neither be created nor destroyed, only transferred. Thus, all the patience I may have exhibited in teaching Brother and Father to knit was eventually counter-balanced by an irrational blow-up at a customer service agent.
- No matter how much I pare back the nephews' gift list, I always end up getting them too much.
- Champagne can be a harsh mistress.
- Nothing bad ever happens to clean people (OK, I've known this one for years, thanks to my friend who works for DPD, but it bears repeating).
- Cars are cuter when they're clean.
- No matter how much you pay for kitty toys, they always play with the boxes. Figuratively speaking.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
The AntiM Family Christmas Party
Saturday was our Family Christmas Party.
Thirty years ago my grandfather died right around Christmas. Legend has it his wake was the advent of the Family Christmas Party.†
There was probably tequila involved.^
There was definitely Mom involved.
These two factors in conjunction would generate a predictable outcome: when irresistible Christmas force meets unmovable margarita object, far-ranging traditions are born.
[SUMMARY: Your family does it their way, my family does it Mom's way.]
Besides, the family group had been a nice, manageable dozen or so, but branches of the tree were coming back to roost‡ and Christmas presents for everybody would be prohibitively expensive.
Besides, Mom *really* liked Christmas.$
So they% came up with the idea of (basically) an heirloom generator.
Each person would make a set of ornaments or a wreath or some such, then we would exchange them. Mom had been to a white elephant party§ and was champing at the bit to perpetrate that brand of chaos¶ on someone else.
Over the years, people have lost hair, sleep, dignity, humility and/or ego over their contributions. Four-letter words are the order of the day.
[SUMMARY: What goes better with Christmas than a little profanity?]
This year was no exception, since, as you may also remember, Father and Brother knit their projects.& And, as y'all know, knitting fully embodies the joys of lost hair, sleep, dignity, humility and/or ego and four-letter words.
And I helped.
I learned a lot about the male portion of my family this year.
Brother would misstitch, try to fix it, try to fix that, try to fix the result and finally put it down thinking, "I should probably stop before I fix it so much Marin can't fix it."
Father would pick up the knitting, think it looked wrong, place it carefully in its bag and call.
"Daughter, something's wrong. I can't figure out what it is, but something doesn't look right."
Brother would say, "I need you to fix my shit.
Father would email under the subject "@#$% knitting."
See? Four-letter words.
But they figured it would be worth it for the disbelief and awe when the rest of the family found out they'd *knit* their Christmas projects.
[SUMMARY: Is better to look good than to feel good, darling.]
Here's the actual true story -- in pictures@ -- of Dad's stocking at the Christmas Party:
He has a friend whose wife quilts and has one of those fancy embroidering sewing machines. She made the label.#
I came back from San Diego and Houston expecting, "Daughter, something doesn't look right," but when I called Dad upon my return, he said breezily, "I'm just about done with the leg. I'm just going to knit a couple more rounds, then I'll change colours and I'll be done."
[SUMMARY: I couldn't be prouder.]
And Brother... ah, Brother. The curse of the tight stitch is apparently hereditary. I got it from Dad, and Brother got it in spades.
As I've always told y'all, though, the only finite point in gauge is the tightest possible stitch. Everything else has room for variables, thus may not be so even.
How much more even can you get than this?††
He finished the thumb, felted it and embellished it with no Seester supervision whatsoever.
*sniff*
[SUMMARY: Knitting talent abounds.+]
Then there was my project.
[SUMMARY: Then there was my project.]
It was going to be a poinsettia, based on a watercolour of Mom's,* needle-felted to a lovely white felted bowl.
Waylaid by the felting incident, I decided to just take my practice piece from the needle felting class I took in November and frame it.
Only it's a wonky size and wouldn't work in a frame.
So I went total cheese and just strapped it to a bit of wood,‡‡ added a loop of yarn and called it a wall-hanging.
Don't adjust your monitor; it's felted. It's supposed to be blurry.
[SUMMARY: Fuzzy. In so many ways.]
As for the original felted bowl, here it is in all its blue-lint glory.
Bet you never dreamed you'd be looking at close-ups of lint this holiday season.
[SUMMARY: You're welcome.]
I believe my plan is to felt the hell out of the bowl, lint and all, and see if it will take on a nice, pebbly, seemingly-deliberate look.
Then I will give it to my SIL, who expressed a strong desire to own such a bowl.
Maybe this will be next year's Christmas card.
Bet you never thought you'd see someone get all artsy over a big ol' mistake this holiday season either.
[SUMMARY: Merry Chrismakwanzukkahstice to all, and to all a good knit.]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Yes, that's capital Family, capital Christmas, capital Party.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): And Mom didn't drink so much (I don't know where I got it), so the tiniest hint of tequila would send her into a twinkle-light-and-tinsel fantasy world. Why that didn't disappear along with the margarita hangover, I'll never know.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Mixed metaphors can make for interesting mental images.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Y'all know -- where the gifts are placed in the middle of the room and everybody draws a number. The first person opens a gift, everybody oohs and ahs, then the second person is up. That person can either open a new gift or take the gift from the first person. Down the line, you can spend a half-hour or forty-five minutes trying to get back to the numbers while people steal from each other and go for replacement gifts.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): And by, "they," I mean, "Mom."
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Like some people *really* like to breathe.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): People go feral, sentimental dreams are crushed, small children cry... the quintessential Christmas spirit. When a gift has made its full three trades and is deemed a "keeper," the new owner does a keeper dance, ostensibly to express joy, but clearly to say, "Nya-Nya-N-Nya-Nyah." If nothing else, the Family Christmas Party raises thick-skinned kids.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Funny side story: I was worried that once Father and Brother had a chance to knit their own items, they'd realise how relaxing and easy it really is and all mystique and awe would go out of Seester/Daughter-knit gifts. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Some of you expressed some doubt as to the existence of knitting pictures. Some of you may think you have reason to doubt, but some of you exhibit shockingly little faith. Stacey. :P
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Note the very clever obliteration of the last name.
+FOOTNOTE (plussed): For the record, complete virgin knitters executed a magic cast-on, colour changes, short rows, heel, i-cord bind-off and i-cord (Father) and ribbing, stitch holders, thumb gusset, decreases, thumb (Brother).
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): The answer you're looking for is, "None. None more even."
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked - imagine!): Thus:
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Lovingly but incorrectly identified as a knitting needle. It's a bamboo shish kebab skewer.
Thirty years ago my grandfather died right around Christmas. Legend has it his wake was the advent of the Family Christmas Party.†
There was probably tequila involved.^
There was definitely Mom involved.
These two factors in conjunction would generate a predictable outcome: when irresistible Christmas force meets unmovable margarita object, far-ranging traditions are born.
[SUMMARY: Your family does it their way, my family does it Mom's way.]
Besides, the family group had been a nice, manageable dozen or so, but branches of the tree were coming back to roost‡ and Christmas presents for everybody would be prohibitively expensive.
Besides, Mom *really* liked Christmas.$
So they% came up with the idea of (basically) an heirloom generator.
Each person would make a set of ornaments or a wreath or some such, then we would exchange them. Mom had been to a white elephant party§ and was champing at the bit to perpetrate that brand of chaos¶ on someone else.
Over the years, people have lost hair, sleep, dignity, humility and/or ego over their contributions. Four-letter words are the order of the day.
[SUMMARY: What goes better with Christmas than a little profanity?]
This year was no exception, since, as you may also remember, Father and Brother knit their projects.& And, as y'all know, knitting fully embodies the joys of lost hair, sleep, dignity, humility and/or ego and four-letter words.
And I helped.
I learned a lot about the male portion of my family this year.
Brother would misstitch, try to fix it, try to fix that, try to fix the result and finally put it down thinking, "I should probably stop before I fix it so much Marin can't fix it."
Father would pick up the knitting, think it looked wrong, place it carefully in its bag and call.
"Daughter, something's wrong. I can't figure out what it is, but something doesn't look right."
Brother would say, "I need you to fix my shit.
Father would email under the subject "@#$% knitting."
See? Four-letter words.
But they figured it would be worth it for the disbelief and awe when the rest of the family found out they'd *knit* their Christmas projects.
[SUMMARY: Is better to look good than to feel good, darling.]
Here's the actual true story -- in pictures@ -- of Dad's stocking at the Christmas Party:
He has a friend whose wife quilts and has one of those fancy embroidering sewing machines. She made the label.#
I came back from San Diego and Houston expecting, "Daughter, something doesn't look right," but when I called Dad upon my return, he said breezily, "I'm just about done with the leg. I'm just going to knit a couple more rounds, then I'll change colours and I'll be done."
[SUMMARY: I couldn't be prouder.]
And Brother... ah, Brother. The curse of the tight stitch is apparently hereditary. I got it from Dad, and Brother got it in spades.
As I've always told y'all, though, the only finite point in gauge is the tightest possible stitch. Everything else has room for variables, thus may not be so even.
How much more even can you get than this?††
He finished the thumb, felted it and embellished it with no Seester supervision whatsoever.
*sniff*
[SUMMARY: Knitting talent abounds.+]
Then there was my project.
[SUMMARY: Then there was my project.]
It was going to be a poinsettia, based on a watercolour of Mom's,* needle-felted to a lovely white felted bowl.
Waylaid by the felting incident, I decided to just take my practice piece from the needle felting class I took in November and frame it.
Only it's a wonky size and wouldn't work in a frame.
So I went total cheese and just strapped it to a bit of wood,‡‡ added a loop of yarn and called it a wall-hanging.
Don't adjust your monitor; it's felted. It's supposed to be blurry.
[SUMMARY: Fuzzy. In so many ways.]
As for the original felted bowl, here it is in all its blue-lint glory.
Bet you never dreamed you'd be looking at close-ups of lint this holiday season.
[SUMMARY: You're welcome.]
I believe my plan is to felt the hell out of the bowl, lint and all, and see if it will take on a nice, pebbly, seemingly-deliberate look.
Then I will give it to my SIL, who expressed a strong desire to own such a bowl.
Maybe this will be next year's Christmas card.
Bet you never thought you'd see someone get all artsy over a big ol' mistake this holiday season either.
[SUMMARY: Merry Chrismakwanzukkahstice to all, and to all a good knit.]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Yes, that's capital Family, capital Christmas, capital Party.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): And Mom didn't drink so much (I don't know where I got it), so the tiniest hint of tequila would send her into a twinkle-light-and-tinsel fantasy world. Why that didn't disappear along with the margarita hangover, I'll never know.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Mixed metaphors can make for interesting mental images.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Y'all know -- where the gifts are placed in the middle of the room and everybody draws a number. The first person opens a gift, everybody oohs and ahs, then the second person is up. That person can either open a new gift or take the gift from the first person. Down the line, you can spend a half-hour or forty-five minutes trying to get back to the numbers while people steal from each other and go for replacement gifts.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): And by, "they," I mean, "Mom."
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Like some people *really* like to breathe.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): People go feral, sentimental dreams are crushed, small children cry... the quintessential Christmas spirit. When a gift has made its full three trades and is deemed a "keeper," the new owner does a keeper dance, ostensibly to express joy, but clearly to say, "Nya-Nya-N-Nya-Nyah." If nothing else, the Family Christmas Party raises thick-skinned kids.
&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Funny side story: I was worried that once Father and Brother had a chance to knit their own items, they'd realise how relaxing and easy it really is and all mystique and awe would go out of Seester/Daughter-knit gifts. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Some of you expressed some doubt as to the existence of knitting pictures. Some of you may think you have reason to doubt, but some of you exhibit shockingly little faith. Stacey. :P
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Note the very clever obliteration of the last name.
+FOOTNOTE (plussed): For the record, complete virgin knitters executed a magic cast-on, colour changes, short rows, heel, i-cord bind-off and i-cord (Father) and ribbing, stitch holders, thumb gusset, decreases, thumb (Brother).
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): The answer you're looking for is, "None. None more even."
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked - imagine!): Thus:
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Lovingly but incorrectly identified as a knitting needle. It's a bamboo shish kebab skewer.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Nizards to the Left of You...
Nizards to the right.
Nizards gonna gets you,
Cuz nizards likes to fight.
-from the Lobotomy Club Hymal†
Look! Camera and computer, together again!
Which is nice 'cause then I get credit for a thousand words per picture‡ and it's like I baked it all from scratch.
First, I have for you pictures of a vast raft of rampant consumerism. OK, you've seen worse.§ You've seen worse from me. But it's basically stuff I bought that came in the mail.
And first among mass consumerism is something I didn't actually buy, but in fact WON, which makes at least ten times cooler than if I'd bought it.¶ It's a SplitYarn case from Caro Sheridan, my reward for carrying the I'm a Square Rhinebeck Bingo bag all over the Dutchess County Fairgrounds.
I do have one a lot like this, only a slightly different size and red and pink. I love these colours.
[SUMMARY: I'm a winner!]
I also got my limited edition Ravelry shirt# and my limited edition Skull-a-Day shirt.††
Note the ongoing "limited edition" theme.
[SUMMARY: Sucker!]
I also got my Moo cards, which I dearly love. See, I have business cards, but there are some situations‡‡ under which I don't want to give my address or even my last name to someone.
I'm making this sound all logical and stuff, but really they're just cuter than Disney.
All of them have my phone number and email addy on the back, and most of them just say "Marin" on the front. If you look closely, though, you may be able to see such provocative covers as "don't lose this number," "for a good time," and the wildly saucy "you + me?"
Oh, yes... so practical.
[SUMMARY: Justifi-CA-tion!]
The Moo people got me for life, though, with this receipt:
And now, fellow fibre freeks, the Lizard Ridge update that prompted the ritual singing of the Nizard song at the top of this post:
7 & 8
9 & 10
16 & 16.5
[SUMMARY: Pretty Nizard... and I'm sure there's a Chameleon joke in here somewhere too, for those of you playing along in the comments.]
For your knitting entertainment, Brother joined us at Drunken Knitting night. The emotions ranged from
to 
If you think those are disturbing, you should see the look I got right after the flash went off.
[SUMMARY: He can't hit a girl.]
And they were hanging Christmas lights downtown. Christmas light-hanging guys don't use cranes, but they do have colourful ladders.
And apparently some of them are hams.§§
[SUMMARY: And the gods bless us, everyone!]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That's not a misspelling. Not anymore.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Let's see... nineteen pictures at one thousand words per picture... ought plus ought, carry the ought... ow! my brain! three... four... many... an assload...
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Oh, American guilt.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The fact that I actually have purchased one of Caro's cases at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack should in no way influence the cool factor of also having won one.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Where My Stitches At?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Mostly involving alcohol or dim lighting.
§§FOOTNOTE (two hurricanes fighting under a blanket): Note the guy in the navy blue sweatshirt taking a break from untangling strings of lights to get his picture took.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (three wood, five wood?): No, seriously, I would have taken him anyway. In fact, the appointment was originally at 8:00 in the morning and there was no lunch involved. I'm just a good daughter. But he's still going to feed me.
Nizards gonna gets you,
Cuz nizards likes to fight.
-from the Lobotomy Club Hymal†
Look! Camera and computer, together again!
Which is nice 'cause then I get credit for a thousand words per picture‡ and it's like I baked it all from scratch.
First, I have for you pictures of a vast raft of rampant consumerism. OK, you've seen worse.§ You've seen worse from me. But it's basically stuff I bought that came in the mail.
And first among mass consumerism is something I didn't actually buy, but in fact WON, which makes at least ten times cooler than if I'd bought it.¶ It's a SplitYarn case from Caro Sheridan, my reward for carrying the I'm a Square Rhinebeck Bingo bag all over the Dutchess County Fairgrounds.
I do have one a lot like this, only a slightly different size and red and pink. I love these colours.
[SUMMARY: I'm a winner!]
I also got my limited edition Ravelry shirt# and my limited edition Skull-a-Day shirt.††
Note the ongoing "limited edition" theme.
[SUMMARY: Sucker!]
I also got my Moo cards, which I dearly love. See, I have business cards, but there are some situations‡‡ under which I don't want to give my address or even my last name to someone.
I'm making this sound all logical and stuff, but really they're just cuter than Disney.
All of them have my phone number and email addy on the back, and most of them just say "Marin" on the front. If you look closely, though, you may be able to see such provocative covers as "don't lose this number," "for a good time," and the wildly saucy "you + me?"
Oh, yes... so practical.
[SUMMARY: Justifi-CA-tion!]
The Moo people got me for life, though, with this receipt:
And now, fellow fibre freeks, the Lizard Ridge update that prompted the ritual singing of the Nizard song at the top of this post:
7 & 8
9 & 10
11 & 12
Huh. Where did my pretty picture of Strip 2 go? Would y'all check under the bed and behind the fridge and let me know if you see it?
Anyway...
Strip 3
13 & 14 & 15
13 & 14 & 15
16 & 16.5
[SUMMARY: Pretty Nizard... and I'm sure there's a Chameleon joke in here somewhere too, for those of you playing along in the comments.]
For your knitting entertainment, Brother joined us at Drunken Knitting night. The emotions ranged from
to 
If you think those are disturbing, you should see the look I got right after the flash went off.
[SUMMARY: He can't hit a girl.]
And they were hanging Christmas lights downtown. Christmas light-hanging guys don't use cranes, but they do have colourful ladders.
And apparently some of them are hams.§§
[SUMMARY: And the gods bless us, everyone!]
Leaving to take Dad to the eye doctor. He promised to feed me, so I gotta do it.¶¶
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That's not a misspelling. Not anymore.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Let's see... nineteen pictures at one thousand words per picture... ought plus ought, carry the ought... ow! my brain! three... four... many... an assload...
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Oh, American guilt.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The fact that I actually have purchased one of Caro's cases at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack should in no way influence the cool factor of also having won one.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Where My Stitches At?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door.
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Mostly involving alcohol or dim lighting.
§§FOOTNOTE (two hurricanes fighting under a blanket): Note the guy in the navy blue sweatshirt taking a break from untangling strings of lights to get his picture took.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (three wood, five wood?): No, seriously, I would have taken him anyway. In fact, the appointment was originally at 8:00 in the morning and there was no lunch involved. I'm just a good daughter. But he's still going to feed me.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Close-Knit
I'm back!
OK, you may not have even known I was gone, but a quick bout with strep throat† took me out of the office Thursday and Friday, but I'm back now!
Miss me?
[SUMMARY: Tell me you missed me.]
First, because I was sadly remiss in not addressing the situation, let me alight on the Rockies: they are my home team. I still love them. I am still very, very proud of them. Even though they lost... lost their batting, lost their pitching and -- for that first miserable game -- lost all ability to field anything. They couldn't field a mouse‡ in that first game.
But they're still my boys.
And they still had an awe-inspiring last couple of months.
And they still haven't pissed anyone off enough to hate them.
And they're still 100% steroid rumour-free.
[SUMMARY: Go Rockies!]
Let's not talk about the Broncos.
I'm pretty sure I couldn't talk about the Broncos if I wanted to since the only two guys I can name on the (fielded) team I can name because one of them used to play for the Redskins and the other looked good in preseason.§
[SUMMARY: Take the Broncos with you!]
This weekend I knitted with my father.
He has finished the toe on his stocking and has changed colours and is doing swimmingly.¶
Which leads us to a cute story I must share:
When I was five, my grandmother sent me the entire Little House series, all boxed up and ready to read.
I was still at a stage where my parents were reading to me every night, though they didn't really need to. It was more bonding and ritual than "Marin can't read for herself."# My parents were so interested in the story†† that I could often talk them into more than the prescribed chapter-a-night.
In fact, we were all so enthralled I devised a brilliant scheme to stay up and read.^
Well, my first brilliant scheme was to turn my light on and read after I was supposed to be in bed. I then discovered the parents could see the light was on. I may be smart, but I'm not always that bright,% if you get my drift.
So I told my mom I had a stomachache and needed the heating pad. I then used the tiny orange light on the heating pad controller to read.
Now, the rule was that I couldn't read ahead on my own.‡‡
When I started giggling at Nellie Oleson's tangle with the leeches and when I cried over Jack's (the brindle bulldog) death two pages before the reading parent reached that point in the story, they were kinda on to my scam.
Eventually, it became a free-for-all. I checked the books out of the school library§§ so when two of us were reading the same book, we wouldn't be fighting over it.
Before we had extra copies, it got a little cutthroat around the old homestead. I'd be off, playing with my Lincoln Logs, when I'd get a yen for a little light reading. I'd mosey out to the living room where the Little House books lived and there would be Dad, reading MY BOOK.
"Let me just finish this chapter,"$ he'd say, so I'd grab the nearest reading material to occupy myself until he was done.
That's how Mom got the picture of Dad and me on the couch, dad reading, "On the Banks of Plum Creek" while I pored over that week's Time Magazine.
[SUMMARY: Cute, no? Has a point, really.]
Flash to 2007. Dad and Marin, TiVi on to fucking miserable Bronco debacle, me knitting Lizard Ridge,¶¶ Dad knitting his Christmas stocking, a sort of beer commercial it-don't-get-any-better-'n-this vibe in the air.
"Ah, you, me, football, knitting..." I said.
"Who'd've thunk it would come to this?" Dad replied.
"This would be a great follow-up picture to that one of you and me reading on the couch," I said.
We had a good laugh.
[SUMMARY: PSA: READ TO YOUR KIDS.]
Oh, and Brother? It's your turn. Your father is shaming you mercilessly with his chipper attitude and all-American stick-to-itiveness.## And mad knitta skillz.
[SUMMARY: Competitive knitting among the menfolk. Is there anything hotter? I mean if this wasn't my dad and brother?]
Ever notice how sometimes the summaries are longer than the bits they're summarising?
Me too.
[SUMMARY: Stating the obvious.]
I have to thank Cheryl Oberle. In other knitting news, I made my first successful spit-and-felt join this weekend@ in the midst of the Lizard Ridge. I'd tried and tried and then Cheryl demonstrated it for me during a break in the Annie Modesitt class and -- voilá! -- it all became clear.*
[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!]
OK, now I have to do that "I'm back!" thing at werk. I'm guessing they missed me more than you guys did.
I hope nobody turns up with strep or I'm in trouble.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Woke up at 3:00 Thursday morning with a hellacious sore throat. The worst part of strep for me is the part where I can't swallow because I couldn't talk a doctor into talking my tonsils out so they swell to the size of golf balls and have you ever tried to swallow with two golf balls in your throat? and don't answer that I just realised how dirty that sounds. Heh. I'm twelve.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I know, I know, but it's evocative enough of what I'm saying I feel y'all can get it even if I' m making no sense at all.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Ramsey and Graham, for those of you scoring at home.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Other than knitting very tight and occasionally forgetting to knit the first stitch on the new needle -- he just slips it to the right needle somehow, then starts saying, "Huh." Then says, "Daughter, something doesn't look right here. I think I really screwed this up." Then I magically put the loop back on the left needle and he can magically knit again. Magic!
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm not bragging. OK, maybe a little. Not *just* bragging. It's actually germaine to the story.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Despite the fact that when the story opened in the woods in Wisconsin, Mom's home state, I asked (very sincerely), "Mom, did you play with Laura Ingalls Wilder when you were a little girl?"
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Early adventures in Book Problem.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Ha! Pun! Y'know... 'cause we're talking about light? And stuff? And pun? Hahahahaha!
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I don't think it was ever spoken. Or written. It just seems the polite thing was not to read ahead when we were all enjoying the story so much.
§§FOOTNOTE (brick. house.): Which actually was against the rules. I had to get special dispensation from the librarian, my teacher and the principal of the school under Mom's request (read: demand) because the Little House books were on the second grade shelf and I was a lowly kindergartner. This was the kindergarten I eventually got kicked out of, which led me to many happy months in construction paper, glitter and rosaries at the Catholic kindergarten. But that's another story for another day.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): A precursor to "just one more row"?
¶¶FOOTNOTE (they kinda look like meerkats, don't they?): I finished the second strip and am nearly halfway through the third. Thanks for asking.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a two-penny nail -- you know you wanted the whore line): How would you spell it?
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Immediately preceeded by the weird unplied fragility that is Noro Kureyon.
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked): And the simple trick brings to mind that old joke that ends, "frayed knot." You probably already knew about the fraying part, didn't you?
OK, you may not have even known I was gone, but a quick bout with strep throat† took me out of the office Thursday and Friday, but I'm back now!
Miss me?
[SUMMARY: Tell me you missed me.]
First, because I was sadly remiss in not addressing the situation, let me alight on the Rockies: they are my home team. I still love them. I am still very, very proud of them. Even though they lost... lost their batting, lost their pitching and -- for that first miserable game -- lost all ability to field anything. They couldn't field a mouse‡ in that first game.
But they're still my boys.
And they still had an awe-inspiring last couple of months.
And they still haven't pissed anyone off enough to hate them.
And they're still 100% steroid rumour-free.
[SUMMARY: Go Rockies!]
Let's not talk about the Broncos.
I'm pretty sure I couldn't talk about the Broncos if I wanted to since the only two guys I can name on the (fielded) team I can name because one of them used to play for the Redskins and the other looked good in preseason.§
[SUMMARY: Take the Broncos with you!]
This weekend I knitted with my father.
He has finished the toe on his stocking and has changed colours and is doing swimmingly.¶
Which leads us to a cute story I must share:
When I was five, my grandmother sent me the entire Little House series, all boxed up and ready to read.
I was still at a stage where my parents were reading to me every night, though they didn't really need to. It was more bonding and ritual than "Marin can't read for herself."# My parents were so interested in the story†† that I could often talk them into more than the prescribed chapter-a-night.
In fact, we were all so enthralled I devised a brilliant scheme to stay up and read.^
Well, my first brilliant scheme was to turn my light on and read after I was supposed to be in bed. I then discovered the parents could see the light was on. I may be smart, but I'm not always that bright,% if you get my drift.
So I told my mom I had a stomachache and needed the heating pad. I then used the tiny orange light on the heating pad controller to read.
Now, the rule was that I couldn't read ahead on my own.‡‡
When I started giggling at Nellie Oleson's tangle with the leeches and when I cried over Jack's (the brindle bulldog) death two pages before the reading parent reached that point in the story, they were kinda on to my scam.
Eventually, it became a free-for-all. I checked the books out of the school library§§ so when two of us were reading the same book, we wouldn't be fighting over it.
Before we had extra copies, it got a little cutthroat around the old homestead. I'd be off, playing with my Lincoln Logs, when I'd get a yen for a little light reading. I'd mosey out to the living room where the Little House books lived and there would be Dad, reading MY BOOK.
"Let me just finish this chapter,"$ he'd say, so I'd grab the nearest reading material to occupy myself until he was done.
That's how Mom got the picture of Dad and me on the couch, dad reading, "On the Banks of Plum Creek" while I pored over that week's Time Magazine.
[SUMMARY: Cute, no? Has a point, really.]
Flash to 2007. Dad and Marin, TiVi on to fucking miserable Bronco debacle, me knitting Lizard Ridge,¶¶ Dad knitting his Christmas stocking, a sort of beer commercial it-don't-get-any-better-'n-this vibe in the air.
"Ah, you, me, football, knitting..." I said.
"Who'd've thunk it would come to this?" Dad replied.
"This would be a great follow-up picture to that one of you and me reading on the couch," I said.
We had a good laugh.
[SUMMARY: PSA: READ TO YOUR KIDS.]
Oh, and Brother? It's your turn. Your father is shaming you mercilessly with his chipper attitude and all-American stick-to-itiveness.## And mad knitta skillz.
[SUMMARY: Competitive knitting among the menfolk. Is there anything hotter? I mean if this wasn't my dad and brother?]
Ever notice how sometimes the summaries are longer than the bits they're summarising?
Me too.
[SUMMARY: Stating the obvious.]
I have to thank Cheryl Oberle. In other knitting news, I made my first successful spit-and-felt join this weekend@ in the midst of the Lizard Ridge. I'd tried and tried and then Cheryl demonstrated it for me during a break in the Annie Modesitt class and -- voilá! -- it all became clear.*
[SUMMARY: Still a knitblog!]
OK, now I have to do that "I'm back!" thing at werk. I'm guessing they missed me more than you guys did.
I hope nobody turns up with strep or I'm in trouble.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Woke up at 3:00 Thursday morning with a hellacious sore throat. The worst part of strep for me is the part where I can't swallow because I couldn't talk a doctor into talking my tonsils out so they swell to the size of golf balls and have you ever tried to swallow with two golf balls in your throat? and don't answer that I just realised how dirty that sounds. Heh. I'm twelve.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I know, I know, but it's evocative enough of what I'm saying I feel y'all can get it even if I' m making no sense at all.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Ramsey and Graham, for those of you scoring at home.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Other than knitting very tight and occasionally forgetting to knit the first stitch on the new needle -- he just slips it to the right needle somehow, then starts saying, "Huh." Then says, "Daughter, something doesn't look right here. I think I really screwed this up." Then I magically put the loop back on the left needle and he can magically knit again. Magic!
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm not bragging. OK, maybe a little. Not *just* bragging. It's actually germaine to the story.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Despite the fact that when the story opened in the woods in Wisconsin, Mom's home state, I asked (very sincerely), "Mom, did you play with Laura Ingalls Wilder when you were a little girl?"
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Early adventures in Book Problem.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Ha! Pun! Y'know... 'cause we're talking about light? And stuff? And pun? Hahahahaha!
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I don't think it was ever spoken. Or written. It just seems the polite thing was not to read ahead when we were all enjoying the story so much.
§§FOOTNOTE (brick. house.): Which actually was against the rules. I had to get special dispensation from the librarian, my teacher and the principal of the school under Mom's request (read: demand) because the Little House books were on the second grade shelf and I was a lowly kindergartner. This was the kindergarten I eventually got kicked out of, which led me to many happy months in construction paper, glitter and rosaries at the Catholic kindergarten. But that's another story for another day.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): A precursor to "just one more row"?
¶¶FOOTNOTE (they kinda look like meerkats, don't they?): I finished the second strip and am nearly halfway through the third. Thanks for asking.
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a two-penny nail -- you know you wanted the whore line): How would you spell it?
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Immediately preceeded by the weird unplied fragility that is Noro Kureyon.
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked): And the simple trick brings to mind that old joke that ends, "frayed knot." You probably already knew about the fraying part, didn't you?
Thursday, August 16, 2007
The Bare,* the Swear and the Family Affair
Sunday was Teach Your Male Relatives to Knit day.
Well, not all of the male relatives. Can you imagine teaching this to knit?:
Little brothers can be such a drag
Before I get a pile of comments and mail about this being the best time of life to teach kids to knit, I KNOW. But these kids?
They are wonderful. They are smart. They are charming and funny and loving and cuter than socks on a squirrel (to quote Shanny). But there's a reason we waited until after bedtime to commence the knitting lessons: Energy.
Enthusiasm for all things crashing and flying.
Volume.
They do have their quiet(er) moments.†
But mostly it's just the exuberance of the young and I don't want to be responsible for what would happen when the exuberance of the young meets the pointy sticks of the knitting.
Oh, and check out the post-bath hair.‡
Dad and Brother saw the camera come out and had a little confab about the best way to avoid being knit-outed on the innernets. They came to the conclusion that the best solution was to knit naked.
Now, Dad isn't allowed to read the blog, but Brother drops by fairly regularly. He should know better than to think naked male knitters would be a deterrent to photo ops.§
[SUMMARY: Silly sibling, dicks are for vids!]
Dad managed, through the grace of needing a lot of supervision,¶ to avoid the camera entirely. He also forgot his glasses and was worn out from the day's work -- and probably the grandsons -- so he just got started and developed a knitting headache# and went home.
Dad was gone. We had no parental guidance.% Let the wild rumpus begin!
*rumpusrumpusrumpus*
eBeth (sis-in-law) has knit before, but wanted a refresher course and perhaps some assistance in keeping her project from sprouting new stitches†† at every turn. She did great, though with knitting sport-weight yarn on size 17 needles, the elegant interlocking continuity of knitting wasn't so evident.
Next time, she will knit with the "good yarn." Lovely, thick stuff she got at the Estes Park Wool Market three? Four? Two? years ago. It's a gorgeous deep brown (maybe charcoal. I just know it's pretty) and smells of lanolin. And it's much better suited to the big needles.
Wanna see something cute?
He doesn't stick his tongue out, but he does this thing with his lower lip...
His father does that too.
I spent a measurable amount of time assuring both Dad and Brother that there is nothing sexier than a man who knits. When you're training, you have to be liberal with the praise and the knitty treats. Y'all know.
Brother turned to eBeth more than once to ask some version of "Do ya think I'm sexy?" At one point, she monotoned, never looking up from her knitting, "I've never wanted you more than I want you right now."
[SUMMARY: The family that knits together...]
For the record? Brother is a natural knitter (and I suspect he did a little pre-lesson Google prep, since he knew continental knitting as soon as I showed it to Dad). Dad likes continental, Brother sticks with English. Brother knits *tight*. Maybe tighter than me. Brother is knitting bulky, Dad is knitting worsted. Um... Brother's is green. Dad's is navy.
Anything else you need to know about the knitting styles of the AntiM family?
[SUMMARY: Sometimes it goes too far, the information. Sometimes is too much.]
Look! A Special Guest Cat for Scale (a/k/a Cousin of Cat for Scale).^
[SUMMARY: Variety is the catnip of life.]
By the way? Lizard Ridge? So my bitch.
Can I get a "whut whut"?$
[SUMMARY: Hubris...]
This, because I like the clouds and the bridge and it didn't look right when I cropped I-25 out of the picture.
[SUMMARY: Sometimes just because. And sometimes just because I can.]
This, because, well... look closely at the rightish side of middle:
See it?
Look close:
The leaves are turning.
All up and down the mall, I noticed the trees getting yellowy and rusty and it's not just pollution and other urban tree blight.
It's autumn on the way.
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked): OK, so not really, but they threatened.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Dr. Doom is surfing on a copy of "I Taught Myself to Knit," for those of you scoring at home.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I wish all those super-hip young guys with the carefully-sculpted bed-head look could see how much they resemble a three-year-old straight from the bath.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Indeed, with this crowd, I should be able to make spending money charging for pictures of naked male knitting.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And don't think for a second that's a coincidence.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): If Rob Halford just wailed in your reptile brain, we really need to have a beer some time.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Poor Dad. I started him out with the Magic Cast-On and toe-up socks. Hell of a way to learn to knit.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You know, as Brother was adding new stitches with alarming regularity, I was consoling him with, "It's very manly. All the boys I've taught to knit add stitches." I have since realised that I've taught two boys and one girl to knit. Is it a guy thing or a new knitter thing? Maybe eBeth's issue is also adding stitches (generally by not dropping the knit stitch off the left needle). Thoughts? Anyone?
^FOOTNOTE (careted): You may notice the bear in many pictures. Mr. Brown really gets around. Maybe that's the bear I should have used in the heading.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Ally! Alert your nephew! Embarrassing old person hip attempt!
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Yes it is. Periwinkle and Peach. Kinda like a washed out pastel Bronco sweater.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Is that terminology? OK, now I'm just making shit up.
Well, not all of the male relatives. Can you imagine teaching this to knit?:
Little brothers can be such a drag
Before I get a pile of comments and mail about this being the best time of life to teach kids to knit, I KNOW. But these kids?
They are wonderful. They are smart. They are charming and funny and loving and cuter than socks on a squirrel (to quote Shanny). But there's a reason we waited until after bedtime to commence the knitting lessons: Energy.
Enthusiasm for all things crashing and flying.
Volume.
They do have their quiet(er) moments.†
But mostly it's just the exuberance of the young and I don't want to be responsible for what would happen when the exuberance of the young meets the pointy sticks of the knitting.
[SUMMARY: Some people have no inside voices.]
Oh, and check out the post-bath hair.‡
Dad and Brother saw the camera come out and had a little confab about the best way to avoid being knit-outed on the innernets. They came to the conclusion that the best solution was to knit naked.
Now, Dad isn't allowed to read the blog, but Brother drops by fairly regularly. He should know better than to think naked male knitters would be a deterrent to photo ops.§
[SUMMARY: Silly sibling, dicks are for vids!]
Dad managed, through the grace of needing a lot of supervision,¶ to avoid the camera entirely. He also forgot his glasses and was worn out from the day's work -- and probably the grandsons -- so he just got started and developed a knitting headache# and went home.
Dad was gone. We had no parental guidance.% Let the wild rumpus begin!
*rumpusrumpusrumpus*
eBeth (sis-in-law) has knit before, but wanted a refresher course and perhaps some assistance in keeping her project from sprouting new stitches†† at every turn. She did great, though with knitting sport-weight yarn on size 17 needles, the elegant interlocking continuity of knitting wasn't so evident.
Next time, she will knit with the "good yarn." Lovely, thick stuff she got at the Estes Park Wool Market three? Four? Two? years ago. It's a gorgeous deep brown (maybe charcoal. I just know it's pretty) and smells of lanolin. And it's much better suited to the big needles.
Wanna see something cute?
He doesn't stick his tongue out, but he does this thing with his lower lip...
His father does that too.
I spent a measurable amount of time assuring both Dad and Brother that there is nothing sexier than a man who knits. When you're training, you have to be liberal with the praise and the knitty treats. Y'all know.
Brother turned to eBeth more than once to ask some version of "Do ya think I'm sexy?" At one point, she monotoned, never looking up from her knitting, "I've never wanted you more than I want you right now."
[SUMMARY: The family that knits together...]
For the record? Brother is a natural knitter (and I suspect he did a little pre-lesson Google prep, since he knew continental knitting as soon as I showed it to Dad). Dad likes continental, Brother sticks with English. Brother knits *tight*. Maybe tighter than me. Brother is knitting bulky, Dad is knitting worsted. Um... Brother's is green. Dad's is navy.
Anything else you need to know about the knitting styles of the AntiM family?
[SUMMARY: Sometimes it goes too far, the information. Sometimes is too much.]
Look! A Special Guest Cat for Scale (a/k/a Cousin of Cat for Scale).^
[SUMMARY: Variety is the catnip of life.]
By the way? Lizard Ridge? So my bitch.
Can I get a "whut whut"?$
[SUMMARY: Hubris...]
I think the peach on the knit portion of the rib is a little... meh. But I like the overall look of it. Maybe if the periwinkle@ were in dominant rib position.‡‡ But it's a cool knitting thing and I took a picture of it just for you.
This, because I like the clouds and the bridge and it didn't look right when I cropped I-25 out of the picture.
[SUMMARY: Sometimes just because. And sometimes just because I can.]
This, because, well... look closely at the rightish side of middle:
See it?
Look close:
The leaves are turning.
All up and down the mall, I noticed the trees getting yellowy and rusty and it's not just pollution and other urban tree blight.
It's autumn on the way.
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked): OK, so not really, but they threatened.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Dr. Doom is surfing on a copy of "I Taught Myself to Knit," for those of you scoring at home.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I wish all those super-hip young guys with the carefully-sculpted bed-head look could see how much they resemble a three-year-old straight from the bath.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Indeed, with this crowd, I should be able to make spending money charging for pictures of naked male knitting.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And don't think for a second that's a coincidence.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): If Rob Halford just wailed in your reptile brain, we really need to have a beer some time.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Poor Dad. I started him out with the Magic Cast-On and toe-up socks. Hell of a way to learn to knit.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You know, as Brother was adding new stitches with alarming regularity, I was consoling him with, "It's very manly. All the boys I've taught to knit add stitches." I have since realised that I've taught two boys and one girl to knit. Is it a guy thing or a new knitter thing? Maybe eBeth's issue is also adding stitches (generally by not dropping the knit stitch off the left needle). Thoughts? Anyone?
^FOOTNOTE (careted): You may notice the bear in many pictures. Mr. Brown really gets around. Maybe that's the bear I should have used in the heading.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): Ally! Alert your nephew! Embarrassing old person hip attempt!
@FOOTNOTE (atted): Yes it is. Periwinkle and Peach. Kinda like a washed out pastel Bronco sweater.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Is that terminology? OK, now I'm just making shit up.
Friday, August 3, 2007
I Don't Know What to Say
TTHFCIF Well, that's a start.
And you're wondering to yourself, "Has that ever stopped her before?"
OK. It's 7:27 by my computer clock right now. I'm just going to leave this open and type in as things strike me. Maybe something will happen or something will hit me and I'll develop a viable theme. Maybe I'll just come up with a whole slue† of random thoughts.
Maybe you'll never see this.
Brother came to Stitch Therapy at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack last night. Well, sort of. But there was a funny moment when he did that big-eyes thing and said, "The actual Sylvia? Of Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack?"§
My brother is starting to understand the impact of imaginary friends, though he pointed out that imaginary friends you can actually meet are a big step up for me.‡
Oh, how we laughed.
Brother really came in to buy yarn for a top-secret holiday project.¶ He didn't stay for wine and tidbits and uterine dialogue. He did get the Posh bag with the pink sheep on it. I also made him carry a Little Mermaid bag home to Tallest, Hairiest Nephew and Dr. Doom.
[SUMMARY: Don't fuck with the HKIC. She can slash your street cred rating faster than you can tie your shoes.#]
*************
Lizard Ridge is currently kicking my ass. It may have something to do with not being able to count to four, but I cast on THREE times†† before I concentrated on the project more than on Angel reruns and actually did the short rows right.
Then I ended up with what I thought was the wrong number of stitches and couldn't get the math to come out right,‡‡ so I frogged the whole thing and decided to start again at Stitch Therapy last night.
Then I woke up in the middle of the night, realising I was doing it right all along, I just had to carry on with the pattern.§§
Then there was too much conversation at Stitch Therapy last night and I was right back to that, "OK, I just knit five, so I need to purl four... what the hell? I'm supposed to be knitting even numbers and purling odd numbers and where the *fuck* are my wraps!?"¶¶
Because I can't quite wrap my head around how the short row stuff pans out yet,## I can't effectively tink, so I frog. Sometimes all the way back because I get overzealous.
And Noro falls apart in places. It's lovely to look at, but it falls apart sometimes.
I have faith. I shall persevere. This shall NOT be Stupid Blanket II.
I can tell it's going to be pretty if I ever get it.
This has a learning curve, right? Everybody is frustrated with Lizard Ridge in the beginning, right? I'm not just a big ol' dork, right?
[SUMMARY: Validation... anyone? Bueller? Bueller?]
*************
When I'm sitting eating dinner, the cat always wants in on it. Doesn't matter if it's tomatoes or chicken. He apparently can't distinguish food by smell when he's all excited that someone's eating something that's not in his food dish.†††
Come to think of it, he treats beverages the same way, vis-a-vis his water dish.
Anyway, I generally offer him anything I don't think he'd like, hoping it will sink in that this is not kitty food and he will go lick his privates or claw my doorframes or whatever his latest hobby is.
This practise has led to, well... I'm sure you can see it's led to begging at the dinner table, but it's also led to the discovery that cats (or cat, as the case may be) will eat things you'd never think descendents of sabre toothed tigers would lower themselves to eat.‡‡‡
List of weird foods my cat likes§§§:
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I looked it up. It's spelled just fine.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Sylvia is having website updates. She's even going to have an online STORE. So for those of you who have asked, you will soon be able to shop Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack in your underwear and purchase those delectables that populate my stash and are not so much available at your LYS.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For the record, no, I never had any imaginary friends that I recall. I had a piggy pillow, but no imaginary friends. Brother was just being funny. Hahahahaha.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): So don't tell anyone, K?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): The fact that Brother ASKED for the pink sheep bag and that his shrugging off the pretty turquoise Little Mermaid shirts does nothing for my story. You knew this was how it was going to come out, Brother, right?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Note: not four times. I can't count that high.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): And why did I even try?
§§FOOTNOTE (swervy-curvy): Duh.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed. twice.): I was getting all wound up. Pun! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh, I think I'm funny...
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like ): See: think I'm funny
†††FOOTNOTE (oh, so cross): She's not seriously talking about this, is she?
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (too cross for words): Really? There has to be a point here somewhere...
§§§FOOTNOTE (loop-d-loop-d-loop): Holy fucking cats. She's listing cat snacks. What's going on over at Aunt Purl?
And you're wondering to yourself, "Has that ever stopped her before?"
OK. It's 7:27 by my computer clock right now. I'm just going to leave this open and type in as things strike me. Maybe something will happen or something will hit me and I'll develop a viable theme. Maybe I'll just come up with a whole slue† of random thoughts.
Maybe you'll never see this.
Brother came to Stitch Therapy at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack last night. Well, sort of. But there was a funny moment when he did that big-eyes thing and said, "The actual Sylvia? Of Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack?"§
My brother is starting to understand the impact of imaginary friends, though he pointed out that imaginary friends you can actually meet are a big step up for me.‡
Oh, how we laughed.
Brother really came in to buy yarn for a top-secret holiday project.¶ He didn't stay for wine and tidbits and uterine dialogue. He did get the Posh bag with the pink sheep on it. I also made him carry a Little Mermaid bag home to Tallest, Hairiest Nephew and Dr. Doom.
[SUMMARY: Don't fuck with the HKIC. She can slash your street cred rating faster than you can tie your shoes.#]
*************
Lizard Ridge is currently kicking my ass. It may have something to do with not being able to count to four, but I cast on THREE times†† before I concentrated on the project more than on Angel reruns and actually did the short rows right.
Then I ended up with what I thought was the wrong number of stitches and couldn't get the math to come out right,‡‡ so I frogged the whole thing and decided to start again at Stitch Therapy last night.
Then I woke up in the middle of the night, realising I was doing it right all along, I just had to carry on with the pattern.§§
Then there was too much conversation at Stitch Therapy last night and I was right back to that, "OK, I just knit five, so I need to purl four... what the hell? I'm supposed to be knitting even numbers and purling odd numbers and where the *fuck* are my wraps!?"¶¶
Because I can't quite wrap my head around how the short row stuff pans out yet,## I can't effectively tink, so I frog. Sometimes all the way back because I get overzealous.
And Noro falls apart in places. It's lovely to look at, but it falls apart sometimes.
I have faith. I shall persevere. This shall NOT be Stupid Blanket II.
I can tell it's going to be pretty if I ever get it.
This has a learning curve, right? Everybody is frustrated with Lizard Ridge in the beginning, right? I'm not just a big ol' dork, right?
[SUMMARY: Validation... anyone? Bueller? Bueller?]
*************
When I'm sitting eating dinner, the cat always wants in on it. Doesn't matter if it's tomatoes or chicken. He apparently can't distinguish food by smell when he's all excited that someone's eating something that's not in his food dish.†††
Come to think of it, he treats beverages the same way, vis-a-vis his water dish.
Anyway, I generally offer him anything I don't think he'd like, hoping it will sink in that this is not kitty food and he will go lick his privates or claw my doorframes or whatever his latest hobby is.
This practise has led to, well... I'm sure you can see it's led to begging at the dinner table, but it's also led to the discovery that cats (or cat, as the case may be) will eat things you'd never think descendents of sabre toothed tigers would lower themselves to eat.‡‡‡
List of weird foods my cat likes§§§:
- Tomatoes
- Tofu
- Almost any fruit, but especially peaches and grapes
- Diet Pepsi
- Noodles (plain)
- Anything salty
- Dead plants, but not live ones
- Black beans
- Avocado
I'd also like to note he won't eat a spider. It's the primary reason I got cats in the first place: spider control. No interest.
In fact, his sister -- rest her furry little soul -- could (and did) watch spiders for hours, only involving herself if the object of her affection stopped moving for too long. Then she'd ever-so-gently tap it with a velvety paw and set it on its way.
[SUMMARY: Holy fucking cats.]
*************
Told you I had nothing to say. And it only took me 1,016 words and four-and-a-half hours to do it.
[SUMMARY: Y'all better hope I have sex this weekend or this could be the foreseeable future of the Rickety Blog.]
Happy Friday! Please come back some day!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I looked it up. It's spelled just fine.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Sylvia is having website updates. She's even going to have an online STORE. So for those of you who have asked, you will soon be able to shop Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack in your underwear and purchase those delectables that populate my stash and are not so much available at your LYS.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For the record, no, I never had any imaginary friends that I recall. I had a piggy pillow, but no imaginary friends. Brother was just being funny. Hahahahaha.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): So don't tell anyone, K?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): The fact that Brother ASKED for the pink sheep bag and that his shrugging off the pretty turquoise Little Mermaid shirts does nothing for my story. You knew this was how it was going to come out, Brother, right?
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Note: not four times. I can't count that high.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): And why did I even try?
§§FOOTNOTE (swervy-curvy): Duh.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed. twice.): I was getting all wound up. Pun! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh, I think I'm funny...
##FOOTNOTE (pounded like ): See: think I'm funny
†††FOOTNOTE (oh, so cross): She's not seriously talking about this, is she?
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (too cross for words): Really? There has to be a point here somewhere...
§§§FOOTNOTE (loop-d-loop-d-loop): Holy fucking cats. She's listing cat snacks. What's going on over at Aunt Purl?
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Sunday, Woolly Sunday
There are a LOT of footnotes on this post.
It appears I'm partial to goats. I think it's the horns. I've always been partial to horns, which explains my lifelong big band fixation.†
Now, Red has these same goats on her blog. Probably the *exact* same goats. But while she calls them by their proper names, I prefer to think of them as curly goats and sleek goats.
Sleek goat... verrrrry suspicious of your dear ol' AntiM
Alpacas have a lot of neck.
Vampire dreams and fibre things
While it looks like the 'paca on the right is giving the 'paca on the left a kiss, we should restrain ourselves from anthropomorphising too much; he's actually eating his pen-mate's chin strap.
Tell me you love me
You can anthropomorphise on this one, though. The goat on the left is *clearly* whispering to the goat on the right about the quality of spectators at this year's market.‡
If can't say anything nice, come sit by me
Turns out that, much like my new-found jones for Latino men, I have a thing for spotted animals. If anyone is getting me a pony for my birthday, I'd really like a pinto.
I will love him and feed him and name him Spot
[SUMMARY: Going to the dogs... er, sheep. Um, GOATS.]
Yes, I did buy some yarn. Going to the Market on Sunday rather than Saturday was really good for my budget, as there were several yarns I would have bought by the caseload for sweater patterns I have lined up, but there wasn't enough of any single dye lot to make a sweater. Yea, bank account!§
Remember how in the last couple of weeks I've purchased my own weight in yarn? Well, I've lumped all the stash enhancement at the end of the post. But let's continue with Sunday, shall we?
[SUMMARY: Math Dorks in Paradise. I crack me up.]
Dad opened his lovely pair of knit-with-love socks.¶¶
- Size: Men's 13
FO!
There's a funny story about Brother's present.
See, one day, Brother was doing his pre-workout regimen (stretch, hydrate, put a DVD in to watch while you ride the bike) and as the previews came on to Shaun of the Dead, he heard a familiar voice. Minutes later, he was on the phone to me.
"Tell me there's a good reason you didn't tell me Hans starred in a movie called Drunken Jackass: the Quest."
I did have a good reason. I didn't know.
Brother and I work## with Hans. We like Hans. And we feel comfortable enough with Hans that we would surely dish out a ration of shit for this little piece of his near-past. You can imdb.com this movie if you 1) don't believe me, or 2) want more information.
The problem with Drunken Jackass (other than the obvious) is that it has never been released in the US. Like David Hasselehoff, Hans is very big in Europe. So way back in May I started my own quest to find a copy for Brother for his birthday.
Birthday came and went.
So I tried for Father's Day.
Last week, Hans informed me that there were no strings to pull, it just isn't available in American coding.
[SUMMARY: Sometimes it pays to know people in high places, sometimes, not so much.]
I was left without a Father's Day present for my brother.
I gutted up and did the noble thing: I let him loose in my sock yarn stash (NO GREATER LOVE HATH A SISTER) and told him I would knit ANY OF MY SOCK YARN (even the stuff I was saving for Cookie A) into socks for him. I let him loose in the silk, I let him loose in the wool. I let him loose in the Rabbitch hand-painted, which means I let him loose among the rare and wonderful one-of-a-kind yarn.
So there's this giant bag of yarn. Paralysed by indecision, overwhelmed by choice, he began to separate the yarn into yes and no.†††
[SUMMARY: I let him TRAIPSE through my STASH. *breatheintothebag*]
The discerning fiber palate...
...gives way to the mine!mine!mine! mindset
Brother has expressed the following:
[SUMMARY: Fibre obsession: Nature? Nurture?]
Huh. I've somehow misplaced the big picture of the stuff I bought at the Wool Market. Here are the close-ups, though.
100% alpaca, shot through with glittery stuff that makes it look rainbowy-coppery
The cream-coloured sister of the yarn above. The glittery stuff gives this one a delicate pastel sheen I just wish you could see. And it's not nearly this green.
Brooks Farm Yarn's Acero, 60% Super Wash Wool / 20% Silk / 20% Viscose -- totally glowy-slinky
And all this came in the mail last week (along with my Louets dye kit from Purl Soho and a complete fuckload of undyed yarn of varying weights and varying fibres from varying sources):
Knit Picks Gloss in burgundy and woodland sage, Knit Picks Essential in African violet and dusk and Cherry Tree Hill in peacock
Let's take a closer look at that Cherry Tree Hill, shall we?
And this is all my Noro for the Lizard Ridge. I think I may even have someone to knit the Lizard Ridge for, which is comforting.
I had one skein of vintage Noro in my personal stash (I think the colourway has been discontinued), I got four skeins at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack and the rest is mail order, mostly courtesy of poor, Noro-allergic Hazel (a moment of silence, please).
You may now cease your silence and do the happy dance with me.
I still need one skein...
When I checked the mail this morning (the mail man is coming really, really late, but as one of the Drunken Knitters pointed out, at least it's not a male lady), I had two skeins of Shibui sock yarn (if you get Knitter's Review, you want it too) from Knit Purl§§§ in Pagoda and Blossom. I also had my nice dye kit from Hello Yarn.§§§
There. I think I almost qualify as a knitblog again.
Tomorrow I may even be able to show you another FO, in the form of the Green Gables -- I bound off the body part last night and tried it on (form-fitting, oh yes, but the decrease under the boobs was magical -- thanks for the encouragement, Juno!). All it needs now is sleeves, and I'm guessing that won't take too long.
[SUMMARY: Let there be knitting!]
Katzen in Himmel, I'm down below the 14-project mark. I must cast on something new, and quick!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): *rimshot* I think I'm funny!
††FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Cheese and crackers and fruits and vegtables and hummus... cold, finger-ready and already cut up at the store.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): By the by, I promised Susie, the Naughty Librarian I'd bake her a cherry pie for her birthday. Brother would like to join Knit Therapy, if only for a day.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (two turntables and a microphone): Do the cuffs look short to you? I think the cuffs may be too short, partially a function of my inability to judge what 10 inches actually looks like (and I hold the men in my life -- though not my father and brother... that would be icky -- personally responsible for that spatial failing) and partially a function of madly k1p1 while the cherry pie cooled and just hoping the get them *finished* by the deadline.
##FOOTNOTE (totally pounded): Did I ever mention my brother and I work together? Well, the same guy signs our paychecks in any case -- we're rarely traipsing about Wyoming together.
†††FOOTNOTE (the judges give it a perfect three crosses!): The pile on the table in front of him represents only the yes pile. Did you think I had that little sock yarn? Silly wabbits...
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (triple-double!): For those of you scoring at home, Brother has selected the Arrrgyle in blue, grey and purple. I charted it out last night and will cast on... soon. After Green Gables. Just 'cause Green Gables is *thisclose* to done. This should in no way reflect a propensity for procrastination or a measure of how much I love my brother.
§§§FOOTNOTE (so, so curvy): Knit Purl was lovely. The yarn was neatly wrapped in tissue, sealed with a Knit Purl sticker and there was a personal note inside not only wishing me happy knitting, but telling me the Pagoda is a great colour that looks good on a bunch of people. I love personal service, don't you?
Hello Yarn also put in a handwritten thank you note and some very pretty yarn postcards. With all the grungy customer service I get, little things like that totally suck me in and keep me coming back.
p.s. -- go back and check out the pictures of Dr. Doom and Brother. Further proof that cute skips a generation.
[SUMMARY: Holy fucking cats, that's an assload of footnotes!]
It appears I'm partial to goats. I think it's the horns. I've always been partial to horns, which explains my lifelong big band fixation.†
Now, Red has these same goats on her blog. Probably the *exact* same goats. But while she calls them by their proper names, I prefer to think of them as curly goats and sleek goats.
Curly goat - my people! Um... my goats!
Sleek goat... verrrrry suspicious of your dear ol' AntiM
Alpacas have a lot of neck.
Vampire dreams and fibre things
While it looks like the 'paca on the right is giving the 'paca on the left a kiss, we should restrain ourselves from anthropomorphising too much; he's actually eating his pen-mate's chin strap.
Tell me you love me
You can anthropomorphise on this one, though. The goat on the left is *clearly* whispering to the goat on the right about the quality of spectators at this year's market.‡
If can't say anything nice, come sit by me
Turns out that, much like my new-found jones for Latino men, I have a thing for spotted animals. If anyone is getting me a pony for my birthday, I'd really like a pinto.
I will love him and feed him and name him Spot
[SUMMARY: Going to the dogs... er, sheep. Um, GOATS.]
Yes, I did buy some yarn. Going to the Market on Sunday rather than Saturday was really good for my budget, as there were several yarns I would have bought by the caseload for sweater patterns I have lined up, but there wasn't enough of any single dye lot to make a sweater. Yea, bank account!§
Remember how in the last couple of weeks I've purchased my own weight in yarn? Well, I've lumped all the stash enhancement at the end of the post. But let's continue with Sunday, shall we?
After all, Sunday wasn't just about curly sheep and dusty feet... Sunday was about my sister-in-law abandoning me to single-handedly feed and fete the fathers in my life while she cavorted in Cancun at Math Dorks in Paradise.
Question: why do math dorks have to go to Cancun to talk about imaginary numbers? Couldn't they pretty much email each other and say, "Hey! I nuzzled¶ the best imaginary number today! Guess what it is...?#"
[SUMMARY: Math Dorks in Paradise. I crack me up.]
Anyway, while I basically just threw money at dinner,†† I spared no personal comfort on the cherry pie$ I baked on the 94-degree day in the already-84-degree house. I love my father and my brother (and, apparently, my sis-in-law) THAT much.
After dinner‡‡ we opened presents. And cards. And really enjoyed the musical card that played Johnny Cash. Over and over and over and over and over again.§§
Dr. Doom meets The Man in Black
Dad opened his lovely pair of knit-with-love socks.¶¶
- Size: Men's 13
- Needle: US5
- Yarn: Plymouth something-or-other I bought three years ago and lost the ball band. Superwash, though, and green, yellow, navy and white.
- Yarn: Plymouth something-or-other I bought three years ago and lost the ball band. Superwash, though, and green, yellow, navy and white.
- Method: toe up, two circulars, two socks at once (and I can't express how cool that two-at-once thing is)
- Socks are for: Dad (Father's Day)- Finished: June 17, 2007
FO!
There's a funny story about Brother's present.
See, one day, Brother was doing his pre-workout regimen (stretch, hydrate, put a DVD in to watch while you ride the bike) and as the previews came on to Shaun of the Dead, he heard a familiar voice. Minutes later, he was on the phone to me.
"Tell me there's a good reason you didn't tell me Hans starred in a movie called Drunken Jackass: the Quest."
I did have a good reason. I didn't know.
Brother and I work## with Hans. We like Hans. And we feel comfortable enough with Hans that we would surely dish out a ration of shit for this little piece of his near-past. You can imdb.com this movie if you 1) don't believe me, or 2) want more information.
The problem with Drunken Jackass (other than the obvious) is that it has never been released in the US. Like David Hasselehoff, Hans is very big in Europe. So way back in May I started my own quest to find a copy for Brother for his birthday.
Birthday came and went.
So I tried for Father's Day.
Last week, Hans informed me that there were no strings to pull, it just isn't available in American coding.
[SUMMARY: Sometimes it pays to know people in high places, sometimes, not so much.]
I was left without a Father's Day present for my brother.
I gutted up and did the noble thing: I let him loose in my sock yarn stash (NO GREATER LOVE HATH A SISTER) and told him I would knit ANY OF MY SOCK YARN (even the stuff I was saving for Cookie A) into socks for him. I let him loose in the silk, I let him loose in the wool. I let him loose in the Rabbitch hand-painted, which means I let him loose among the rare and wonderful one-of-a-kind yarn.
So there's this giant bag of yarn. Paralysed by indecision, overwhelmed by choice, he began to separate the yarn into yes and no.†††
[SUMMARY: I let him TRAIPSE through my STASH. *breatheintothebag*]
The discerning fiber palate...
...gives way to the mine!mine!mine! mindset
Brother has expressed the following:
- This is very cool and he would just as soon I do the same thing for him for Christmas.
- Silk is very tempting.
- It's still no to lace socks
- He may come and steal some sock yarn.
Yeah, that last one is going to earn him a poke with a sharp stick... and I got sharp sticks, baby.‡‡‡
[SUMMARY: Fibre obsession: Nature? Nurture?]
So are you ready for some quality Yarn P0rn?
Huh. I've somehow misplaced the big picture of the stuff I bought at the Wool Market. Here are the close-ups, though.
100% alpaca, shot through with glittery stuff that makes it look rainbowy-coppery
The cream-coloured sister of the yarn above. The glittery stuff gives this one a delicate pastel sheen I just wish you could see. And it's not nearly this green.
Brooks Farm Yarn's Acero, 60% Super Wash Wool / 20% Silk / 20% Viscose -- totally glowy-slinky
Brooks Farm Yarn's Duet, 55% kid mohair / 45% fine wool
And all this came in the mail last week (along with my Louets dye kit from Purl Soho and a complete fuckload of undyed yarn of varying weights and varying fibres from varying sources):
Knit Picks Gloss in burgundy and woodland sage, Knit Picks Essential in African violet and dusk and Cherry Tree Hill in peacock
Let's take a closer look at that Cherry Tree Hill, shall we?
And this is all my Noro for the Lizard Ridge. I think I may even have someone to knit the Lizard Ridge for, which is comforting.
I had one skein of vintage Noro in my personal stash (I think the colourway has been discontinued), I got four skeins at Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack and the rest is mail order, mostly courtesy of poor, Noro-allergic Hazel (a moment of silence, please).
You may now cease your silence and do the happy dance with me.
I still need one skein...
When I checked the mail this morning (the mail man is coming really, really late, but as one of the Drunken Knitters pointed out, at least it's not a male lady), I had two skeins of Shibui sock yarn (if you get Knitter's Review, you want it too) from Knit Purl§§§ in Pagoda and Blossom. I also had my nice dye kit from Hello Yarn.§§§
There. I think I almost qualify as a knitblog again.
Tomorrow I may even be able to show you another FO, in the form of the Green Gables -- I bound off the body part last night and tried it on (form-fitting, oh yes, but the decrease under the boobs was magical -- thanks for the encouragement, Juno!). All it needs now is sleeves, and I'm guessing that won't take too long.
[SUMMARY: Let there be knitting!]
Katzen in Himmel, I'm down below the 14-project mark. I must cast on something new, and quick!
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): *rimshot* I think I'm funny!
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Is it paranoid to think the little monster is whispering about my outfit? Note to goat: it was hot. And dusty. I was going for comfort and washability. At least I didn't have alfalfa hay in my hair. So there.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Who the hell do I think I'm kidding? If Kelley had let me know she was blowing me off for Saturday, I could have had my nosed pressed to the... to the... well, the split-rail fence around the fairgrounds when the Market opened and I could have HAD MY WAY WITH THE YARN. I did save money, though. I'm a lucky, lucky girl... just keep telling yourself that, Marin. I'm a lucky, lucky girl. There are children in Third World countries with no four-ply alpaca... I'm a lucky, lucky girl.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I have no idea how math dorks express their love of their numbers. I'm just assuming it looks a lot like fibre geeks at a yarn festival. Nuzzle, nuzzle, nuzzle.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): 1) isn't it funny (not funny ha-ha so much as funny coincidence) that one of the math dork footnotes comes after the number symbol? and 2) I think it's wildly funny (totally funny ha-ha) for math dorks to play guess-the-imaginary-number.
††FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Cheese and crackers and fruits and vegtables and hummus... cold, finger-ready and already cut up at the store.
$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): By the by, I promised Susie, the Naughty Librarian I'd bake her a cherry pie for her birthday. Brother would like to join Knit Therapy, if only for a day.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Much to Dr. Doom's chagrin. Dr. Doom is firmly in the camp of opening presents -- anyone's presents -- as soon as possible. In fact, he tried to get me to open several of Dad's presents as soon as I walked in the door.
§§FOOTNOTE (too, too curvy): Dad tried to sneak out of the house without taking the musical card. Brother tackled him on the front walk and shoved the thing in his gift bag.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (two turntables and a microphone): Do the cuffs look short to you? I think the cuffs may be too short, partially a function of my inability to judge what 10 inches actually looks like (and I hold the men in my life -- though not my father and brother... that would be icky -- personally responsible for that spatial failing) and partially a function of madly k1p1 while the cherry pie cooled and just hoping the get them *finished* by the deadline.
##FOOTNOTE (totally pounded): Did I ever mention my brother and I work together? Well, the same guy signs our paychecks in any case -- we're rarely traipsing about Wyoming together.
†††FOOTNOTE (the judges give it a perfect three crosses!): The pile on the table in front of him represents only the yes pile. Did you think I had that little sock yarn? Silly wabbits...
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (triple-double!): For those of you scoring at home, Brother has selected the Arrrgyle in blue, grey and purple. I charted it out last night and will cast on... soon. After Green Gables. Just 'cause Green Gables is *thisclose* to done. This should in no way reflect a propensity for procrastination or a measure of how much I love my brother.
§§§FOOTNOTE (so, so curvy): Knit Purl was lovely. The yarn was neatly wrapped in tissue, sealed with a Knit Purl sticker and there was a personal note inside not only wishing me happy knitting, but telling me the Pagoda is a great colour that looks good on a bunch of people. I love personal service, don't you?
Hello Yarn also put in a handwritten thank you note and some very pretty yarn postcards. With all the grungy customer service I get, little things like that totally suck me in and keep me coming back.
p.s. -- go back and check out the pictures of Dr. Doom and Brother. Further proof that cute skips a generation.
My brother is flipping me off even as we speak...
[SUMMARY: Holy fucking cats, that's an assload of footnotes!]
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