All New! All Fibre!

Knitting. Ah, there is knitting to be had. Knitting to be bad.†

First, I was taken out rather unceremoniously‡ in Hat Attack. At least I reached my stated goal not to go out in the first round.




This is the hat that killed me, gleefully knit by Ravelry's llamamama. She also sent some lovely Scharfenberger's dark dark chocolate, so that helped take the sting out. Also? Cat for Scale LURVES this hat. He nuzzles and burrows and gets this dopey look on his face. I'm pretty sure the hat is 100% wool, but he's treating it the way he treats alpaca.

[SUMMARY: Like mother, like son.]

On the other end of the fibre spectrum, I finished a birthday present for SusieQ, intrepid manager/bartender at the Coral Room. I told her I'd like to knit her a scarf. She said she wanted rainbow and she said she's allergic to wool.

Off to Michael's and the five-pound wad of crayon-coloured acrylic!

I knitted this out of Caron Simply Soft worsted, two strands held together, then used the double-stranding to sort of blend the colours. Two strands of red, then one red and one orange, then two strands of orange, then one orange and one yellow, etc.

She loves it and I have enough yarn left over to keep the nephews in stuff until they're too old for rainbows.§




[SUMMARY: You can use cheap acrylic for good or evil. I choose good.]

When I got the Noro sock yarn, I was all hype for an attempt at making Lizard Ridge socks. Of course, Lizard Ridge uses short rows, so -- of course -- it can't be knit in the round. So I knitted and knitted and knitted and no Lizard bumps were evident.




I sighed, determined maybe the colour repeats were too long or too short and frogged back to the heel, where I started knitting stockinette and simply enjoying the fading of one colour into the other.

Raise your hand if you see the problem.¶

I never switched to the other end of the ball of Noro. Like you're supposed to@ in the middle of every Lizardy pattern repeat. This is KEY in getting the Lizard Ridge to Lizard Ridge.

Ah, well. I still have the other ball of Noro sock yarn. I'll do that one right and let you know how it all goes.

Meanwhile, here's a picture of the Noro socks from a couple of weeks ago. As you can see, the colour changes are starting to catch up with each other and soon we will be able to see that the socks are not only related, but definitely from the same run of yarn.




[SUMMARY: Dork dork dork dork dork.]

Meanwhile, back at the other socks...

Don't despair, Brother. I fully intend to have last year's Father's Day present done before this Father's Day.




I have to admit to having dorked these as well. I've been blithely knitting long with the 80-stitch Arrrgyle pattern, not realising until a couple of days ago that each diamond is 40 stitches across and the whole pattern spans 80 stitches. Ah, well. I'm going to have to re-chart the skull and crossbones, but I don't think I'll frog the twenty rows of intarsia# to make it right.

Call it a modifcation to the design. Call it a deliberate one, if it's OK with you.

[SUMMARY: *ahem*]

And ANOTHER dork moment in Marin's knitting: Sylvia, Grand Purveyor of Fuzzy Crack, got the Schaefer Yarn catalog and in a moment of wool fume-induced euphoria, we decided to do a Mr. Greenjeans KAL.

What we didn't know at the time was that Schaefer only dyes in batches of ten or twelve, so if you don't order ten or twelve,†† you have to wait until someone else orders enough to make a full batch.

Two months later, I was kinda climbing the walls, dreaming of my greengreengreen yarn, stroking my size 8s in eager anticipation‡‡... and I came up with a brilliant idea: Ravelry.

Surely, a plea to the Ravelers could dig up someone dying§§ to own their own collection of Rafael¶¶ yarn.

Within a couple of hours of posting my plight, Sylvia emailed to say my yarn had showed up. Apparently, they dyed so much for TNNA or Stitches or one of those big fibre fests that they could send my yarn.




Isn't it... green?

I knit a gauge swatch and found I'm getting 5 stitches to the inch instead of the 4.5 the pattern calls for. I guess it shouldn't be a surprise, since I'm apparently a tight knitter, but I've never NOT gotten gauge before. And it was on my gorgeous new Colonial rosewood needles, so I didn't want to switch needle sizes, so...

I did some math. And I had already had a little heartburn over the sizing, not quite wanting the small and not quite wanting the medium. Turns out if I knit at 5 stitches per inch and knit like I'm knitting a large, it'll come out between a medium and a small,% which seems just about perfect to me.

NOTE: Keep this little story in mind. It'll turn up again in a few minutes. You might laugh.

Friday, in the Sheridan airport, I finished "Making Money," so I cast on Greenjeans and started knitting.

I find top-down raglan construction a little magical, the way the increases line up all smooth and neat...




...and, given my adventure in Maths Land, the magic of begin able to try it on before it's finished so I don't knit a whole freakin' sweater before I find out it's all wrong.

I dropped by Sylvia's on Saturday and discovered I'd done the knitting equivalent of starting in on dinner before everybody has their food. I've never been in a KAL where anybody actually AL'd. Everybody just kinda goes their own way, occasionally asking questions or sorting out pattern translation issues.

Oops.

But I'm so intrigued and so stoked I can't stop. I don't knit it a lot, not obsessively, but I've added nine or ten rows to what you see here.

Sylvia gets her yarn very soon. I'm trying to be good.

[SUMMARY: I lied in the footnotes. It doesn't just sound cool, I *am* knitting to be bad.]

Let's move from WIPs to USOs,## shall we?

Partly because I'm a notorious joiner and partly because I want to learn how to do the leaves because they might fit in with a scarf I'm half-assedly designing, I ordered the Vintage sock kit.




I truly love the way the pattern is printed on heavy paper, on half sheets††† and held with a ring. I'm tempted to go get the whole thing laminated to keep it pristine.

Next, I became enamoured of the Silk Ribbed Camisole from Vintage Knits, so I went in search of the perfect yarn to make my own.

I came up with this:




The deep, rich red -- poorly represented here -- will be edged with the mossy green. The problem? It is a completely different gauge than the yarn called for in the pattern.

For the record? The yarn called for in the pattern is discontinued. I *had* to improvise.

So I spent one night in Sheridan at the little hotel writing desk with a calculator and a notebook, revamping the pattern to (hopefully) fit the fibre.

NOTE: Keep this little story in mind. It'll turn up again in a few minutes. You might laugh.

I've never ordered from elann.com before, but I found their new collections so exciting and afordable I decided to give them a whirl to knit the monkey version of the Punk Rock Backpack‡‡‡ from Stitch 'n' Bitch for Dr. Doom's birthday.




I'm a little worried the two browns aren't different enough. I guess we'll burn that bridge when we get to it.

Meanwhile, in tracking down the right yarn for Stacey for her part in the Black Valentine thingie, I ran across some Shibui sock yarn I needed. No, I didn't *want* it, I *needed* it.





Isn't it lovely and soft and beachy? It's called Pebble, but I'm going to love it and hug it and name it George.

And I FINALLY got some Black Bunny yarn. For ages, I've been visiting every time I see Carol is updating, and I always show up a little late, when there are colours I already sort of have or only laceweight left or something.

But this time, oh, this time was special. This is a bamboo/merino sock yarn and it feels as misty soft as it looks. The colour is Bamboo Shoots and it is now named George II.




I got all turned on by Eunny Jang's Ladylike Gloves and went looking for fun yarn to knit them and came across this Habu silk.




I have no idea if it will work properly, but I think it's hellacool, so I'll give it the old college try.

Last, but not least, I got this gorgeous creature at Sylvia's. It's Red Rocks Fiber Works Aspen Sock in Artichoke.

One of these^ is going to eca for *her* participation in the Black Valentine thingie.





I've been waiting for something good for the Waterfall Sock pattern I bought from Knit Spot last summer, and I think this is it.

[SUMMARY: Superconsumer! Just doing my part to boost our flagging economy! Just wait 'til the dyes come in this week!]

Now, let's chat a little about my sudden surge into the world of mathematics and knitting.

WHAT THE HELL DO I THINK I'M DOING? Do we remember who we are talking about? Little-miss-can't-count-to-four wants to re-size whole patterns? I fear a fiery, fiery crash is in the offing.

You wanna know something funny? I was invited to join a Ravelry group called Woolly Thoughts Fans, dedicated to geeky mathematical knitting pursuits (pis, Fibonaccis, etc). It's kinda like when I get penis enlargement offers and I wonder who these people have been talking to that I'm on their mailing list.

I joined, of course.§§§

And I'll let y'all know how that all goes.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): OK, not really, but I like the way it sounds.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Mostly 'cause I was in Sheridan. Y'all know if I'd gone to the mailbox last Wednesday and found a hat, there would have been... lots of words. Plenty of ceremony. Histrionics.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Ooooh... dagger through the heart! Maybe one will be gay and will never completely outgrow rainbows.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Stacey, I'm pretty sure this is the point where you call me a hot mess and I can do naught but agree.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): And by, "you," I mean, "I."

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Yeah, this picture is a couple of weeks old too. I've been thinking of you guys for weeks and setting up to give you knit-it-and-make-it-all-better.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Four. We each ordered four.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): That's what she said!

§§FOOTNOTE (wound up like a skein of sock yarn): No pun intended. OK, maybe a little.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (gophers): It was in the kids' yarn section, so I think it's probably named after the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I think.

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like a dollar): UnStarted Objects.

†††FOOTNOTE (cross my blog and hope to dye): I fold all my patterns in half anyway.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (in stitches!): Hereafter ever dubbed "Monkey Pack."

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Yes, I bought two. I'd already named mine George III... how could I let it go?

§§§FOOTNOTE (a veritable jacuzzi): Don't laugh. It could happen to you.

Wilds of Wyoming

Life and werk... so educational.

F'risntance: We† were working on an acquisition from a company that wants to focus on their own unique brand of oil exploration, which consists of drilling an 18' diameter hole 3000' down,‡ then dynamiting their way into various up-hole locations in a sort of stellate, hub-to-rim pattern, fracturing their way into local oil reservoirs.§

As someone who used to hang around guys, beer and fireworks, I'm pretty sure this is the result a drunken night amongst the engineers and a surplus of TNT.

Somebody at the seller's company drew a picture on their dry erase board:




Huh. Phallic.

[SUMMARY: Oilfield wishes and explosives-fueled dreams.]

The seller's office was very nice -- they call it the IT building.¶ It has cool, I'm sure custom-made oil derricks in their grand, sweeping staircase.




It was also entertaining, but that may just have been me.#

F'rinstance, I had a chance to closely examine a box of staples.




Maximum penetration? That's what she said.††

But the guarantee put the icing on the stapler cake:




Oh, how I want to test that guarantee.

[SUMMARY: Entertainment is in the eye of the beholder.]

There is a REALLY good restaurant in Sheridan‡‡ called Oliver's Bar and Grill. I had mole quail stuffed with hominy Tuesday night.

And tortilla soup and the most architectural of salads§§ Wednesday night. And pheasant ravioli and a chocolate tower Thursday.¶¶

Macchu Picchu salad and Chocolate Tower



And they didn't even sneer at my photographic dorkitude.

[SUMMARY: Oliver knows which side his bread is buttered on.]

Speaking of bread... Oliver's has a wine/cheese/bread shop attached to it, so Brother and I bought four loaves of Dakota bread to take home. Carry-on bread. A lady in the seat across from us on the tiny plane couldn't put her purse in the tiny overhead compartment for fear of squishing our bread. Her purse was buckled into its own seat and our bread rode unmolested.

Sheridan, like so many Wyoming towns, has an abundance of random acts of public art. Thus:




Brother rotated and revolved this, and it's a fully-interactive planet.##

Sheridan also has its fair share of Wyoming mud trucks...




...kitschy mom-n-pop motels...




...and a really spectacular yarn shop.






Wait, wait... you have to see how clever their logo:




See? It looks just like the window on the shop.

I wandered around for quite some time and found a book I'd never seen before, so I got it, along with some lovely silk to possibly execute one of the designs in the book, only this is very thick-n-thin yarn and it looked wonky as hell all laced up, so I frogged it and will be making something different with the silky stuff.






Before I leave for the day,††† I have to share an observation on Sheridan and its independent renaissance personnel:

They're there. In spades.

When I blew up the IT system at the Holiday Inn, the guy they brought in as their top-tier expert was talking to the office manager who'd tried to help me.

"Are you off after this?" she asked.

"I have to go fix a washing machine," he replied.

For some reason, I thought it was a joke, like, "Ha ha, the dolts here will probably be wasting my mad geek skillz fixing a bloody washing machine," only he was perfectly serious. Apparently, there was a valve malfunction.%

And Wednesday night at Oliver's, we overheard a guy talking to people at the table next to him. He taught dental hygienist courses part of the week and criminal justice classes the rest of the week.

Brother said, "Have you been listening to this?"

"Oh, yeah."

"How does that happen?"

"I don't know, but let's hope he never gets confused as to which one he's teaching. The cavity search portion of the class could be hell."

Brother pointed out I'd never, ever be able to toss that line off again. How many times are you going to run into a dental hygienist/criminologist in one person?

Once.

In Sheridan, Wyoming.

Where they drink this:




[SUMMARY: Sheep AND yarn shop. Still a knitblog!]


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And by "we," I mean "Brother and me."

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Don't ask. I asked. "How do they keep the dinosaur bones from falling on them?" I asked. Nobody knows.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Also? Don't ask what happens when you're in the bottom of the hole and the frac channel (a term I just made up, but might actually exist) starts siphoning oil into the hole around your feet. Nobody knows that either.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Not for the reasons you may think. It stands for "Ivory Tower."

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Projecting? Your dear ol' AntiM? Say it ain't so!

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): She also said, "Excuthe me, but I think you have my thtapler" about 2011 times, because the Office Space stapler bit *never* gets old.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Father informs me there are several movie stars doing the back-to-the-earth thing around Sheridan, so it's not as Wyoming as it could be.

§§FOOTNOTE (twirly!): Brother termed it the Macchu Picchu salad.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (one foot in front of the other...): For those of you scoring at home, yes, we tried no other restaurants during our stay. At least not for dinner.

##FOOTNOTE (double pounder with quarters): The little satellite you see there used to be on the right side of Saturn until Brother got 'hold of it.

†††FOOTNOTE (don't cross me again!): Seriously, dudes. I can hear crickets in the office today.

%FOOTNOTE (percentaged): ETA: in the washing machine. Possibly the computer system too.

No...

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

Nick Nolte, eat your heart out...


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

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

...for a very important date!

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

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

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

What are you still doing here? Go! Shop!


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

I Got Yer Black Valentine RIGHT HERE...

From Voltaire's What Is Goth?

Wait For It...

Oh, My Heart...

Here is a sweet little Valentine story.†

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Would this work?"

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

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

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

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

"Four inches?"

"Sure!"%

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

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




See that lathed edge?††

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

"Darn. That was supposed to go inside."

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

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

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

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

And he said, "What are fathers for?

...'specially retired ones?"

I love my dad.

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

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






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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Big Skies

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

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

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

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




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

Crane farm!



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


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

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

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

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

Hat Attack

Hat Attack. An international game of knitting Assassin.†

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

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

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

Let's examine my Saturday,¶ shall we?

Time Line of an Assassination:

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

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

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

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

8:48 am - Read pattern.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

6:30 pm - Dinner.

Epilogue:

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

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

Full Frontal Hat Attack


Face right... face left...


Note the very nice end-weaving



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that IT?

Hi, My Name Is Marin...

74%How Addicted to Blogging Are You?

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

Sick and Twisted

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

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

[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]

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

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

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

[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]

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

First, happy Super Tuesday. Go read this book:




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

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

[SUMMARY: That's what he said.]

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

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

Me and My Main Shanny doin' what we do best



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

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

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

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

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

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

Thusly:

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

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

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

"You'd drink that peach shit?"

"Not PEACH, dumbass, ORANGE..."

"Ha! That's what she said!"

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

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

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

Maybe you had to be there.&

[SUMMARY: That's what I said.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]

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

THIS JUST IN:

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

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

[SUMMARY: That's what he said!]

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

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

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

[SUMMARY: That's what she said.]

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

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



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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the Winner Is...

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

And because I loved the quote...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whoa

TTHFCIF

Thundersnow.

Here in my own back yard. Moments ago.

Imagine.