I'm dizzy.‡
Job offer. BIG decision. Frighteningly big. Excitingly big. Dizzyingly big. Upsettingly big. Not-sleeping-tonight big.
I need a Magic 8 Ball, like, now.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I came, I saw, I drank a really big coffee?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And blushing. Guess how often that happens.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
San Antonio
If you had two disparate days in San Antonio, what would you do?
This is not a trick question. Nor a rhetorical one.
This is not a trick question. Nor a rhetorical one.
Monday, March 29, 2010
We May Never Pass This Way Again
My brackets, heading into the Final Four.
My rank, out of 1,124 people in this contest.
That's the top two percent for all you statistically-inclined math dorks out there.
I always knew I was special.
Go Duke!
My rank, out of 1,124 people in this contest.
That's the top two percent for all you statistically-inclined math dorks out there.
I always knew I was special.
Go Duke!
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Lovelace for the Computerlorn
From Think Geek, county seat of all things wise and weirdiful:
"Attention geeks far and wide!
Did you know that [March 24] is Ada Lovelace Day? The only daughter of poet Lord Byron, Ms. Lovelace wrote the very first computer program, inspired by Charles Babbage's analytical engine. Wherever you are tomorrow, show some love to the self-rescuing code princesses you know. Buy 'em some Fritos and raise a can of Mountain Dew in Ada's honor.
Hooray for girl geeks!"
And if there are any girl geeks out there who know how to reset my wireless card, I'd be forever grateful... I'd build a shrine to Ada Lovelace in my living room.
Saints are allowed shrines, you know.
"Attention geeks far and wide!
Did you know that [March 24] is Ada Lovelace Day? The only daughter of poet Lord Byron, Ms. Lovelace wrote the very first computer program, inspired by Charles Babbage's analytical engine. Wherever you are tomorrow, show some love to the self-rescuing code princesses you know. Buy 'em some Fritos and raise a can of Mountain Dew in Ada's honor.
Hooray for girl geeks!"
And if there are any girl geeks out there who know how to reset my wireless card, I'd be forever grateful... I'd build a shrine to Ada Lovelace in my living room.
Saints are allowed shrines, you know.
Friday, March 19, 2010
The Moment You've All Been Waiting For
At least it's the moment I've been dying to share with you.†
[SUMMARY: Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.]
I shan't drag you through the litany of "stuck in the camera" and "busy at work" and all that. You know the song, I'll let you sing it on your own.
Suffice to say I finished Dr. Doom's Christmas sweater around the end of January,‡ then through the vagaries of joint custody, finally got it to him mid-February.
I took the basic top-down raglan sweater,§ I've been using for everything Nephew, added a textured alligator belly through the miracle of intarsia-in-the-round, then winged it on the sleeves.¶
%
It was the winging it part that really mucked up the works.
There I'd be in my chair at work, madly correcting, explaining, marketing, e-schmoozing and otherwise getting the job done, when suddenly, sleeve panic would hit me and I'd start doing the alligator thing with my elbows,# using paper clips to mark the place where alligator lips should be and re-figuring where alligator mouth should go...
[SUMMARY: Every person does multi-tasking in his own way.]
Is it any wonder I was so absent for so long? I had a lot going on.
In the end, I think it worked out pretty well.
But the true test is how it works for Dr. Doom.
[SUMMARY: Proof, meet pudding.]
First, getting naked in Chipotle.††
Then test-driving the beast.
Why, arm, what big teeth you have!
Let's see, important knitting stuff:
First, this is the proudest knitting moment of my knitterly life. It's the closest I've come to designing something, and it's something unique and cool and interesting and wowing and I'm just so tickled.
The sweater was originally inspired by this genius shirt from the Discovery Channel Store. I quickly realised that a white and pale grey shirt was no match for a five-year-old supervillain, so I decided to go with the classic gator.
Other than the pupils of the eyes, which are Dark Horse Fantasy, the whole thing is knit in Cascade 220 Superwash.
I made nose-holes‡‡ of I-cord loops.
The eyes took as long as the rest of the sweater put together. I had alligator eyes all over my living room for weeks. When one gets a solid vision of what one wants, it's hard for one to accept anything different.§§
One thing I believe the pattern misses, and that I missed too, is that when you put the sleeve stitches on holders to knit the body, you cast on an inch under the arm.
Which - and this is very important - adds two inches to the body of the sweater.
[SUMMARY: Math even I can do.]
On the one hand, I was delighted to get gauge. On the other, getting gauge meant I was the full two inches bigger than I wanted.
I had planned to sew up the sides, take out a couple of inches, but figured I'd better try it on the good Doctor first.¶¶ Yes, it's just a bit too big.
The neck is also big, being unfinished. I knit a nice 3-2 rib collar about 37 times and it always seemed too small.## So I left it unfinished for maximum headroom. Yes, it's just a bit too big.
I told Brother I wanted to take it home and finish it properly and he assured me Doom will be wearing a t-shirt under it most of the time, so aesthetically it's OK.
[SUMMARY: Aesthetics are what you're looking for in a sweater for a five-year-old.]
I don't know if he doesn't want to put me out or if he's afraid they'll never see it if I get my grubby hands on it again.
Hey! We've had a fair amount of knitting around here lately. You'd almost think this was still a knitblog.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And, y'know, it's all about me. And my lamp.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And I would've finished it *much* faster if Dr. Doom hadn't given me a VERY COMPELLING game for my Nintendo DS for Christmas. *ahem*
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And I'm not sure why I keep using this one, except that it's familiar. The sizing is all wrong, vis-a-vis boys S-M-L. I always ask Brother to measure a shirt that fits, then try to match the inches from there.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Wing... sleeves... heheheheheh... I'm funny.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): With the new office, I no longer have a clean white wall behind a hanger to photograph my sweaters. Whatever shall I do now?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Sound effect: "RAWR!"
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Note the find cow hat on Brother's head, a Valentine's present from his favourite Seester. He brings me Icelandic sludge and lopi, I bring him cow hats.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): nostrils-nose holes ... to-may-to, to-mah-to.
§§FOOTNOTE (twisted definition time): Read: lesser.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (you can beat it into my head): I may not be a math genius, but I do have my moments of clarity.
##FOOTNOTE (square head, round hole, pound pound): Which I determined by trying to fit it over my own head, under the suspicion that heads grow less than anything else in a person's life, therefore kid heads must be nearly as large adult heads.
[SUMMARY: Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.]
I shan't drag you through the litany of "stuck in the camera" and "busy at work" and all that. You know the song, I'll let you sing it on your own.
Suffice to say I finished Dr. Doom's Christmas sweater around the end of January,‡ then through the vagaries of joint custody, finally got it to him mid-February.
I took the basic top-down raglan sweater,§ I've been using for everything Nephew, added a textured alligator belly through the miracle of intarsia-in-the-round, then winged it on the sleeves.¶
%
It was the winging it part that really mucked up the works.
There I'd be in my chair at work, madly correcting, explaining, marketing, e-schmoozing and otherwise getting the job done, when suddenly, sleeve panic would hit me and I'd start doing the alligator thing with my elbows,# using paper clips to mark the place where alligator lips should be and re-figuring where alligator mouth should go...
[SUMMARY: Every person does multi-tasking in his own way.]
Is it any wonder I was so absent for so long? I had a lot going on.
In the end, I think it worked out pretty well.
But the true test is how it works for Dr. Doom.
[SUMMARY: Proof, meet pudding.]
First, getting naked in Chipotle.††
Then test-driving the beast.
Why, arm, what big teeth you have!
Let's see, important knitting stuff:
First, this is the proudest knitting moment of my knitterly life. It's the closest I've come to designing something, and it's something unique and cool and interesting and wowing and I'm just so tickled.
The sweater was originally inspired by this genius shirt from the Discovery Channel Store. I quickly realised that a white and pale grey shirt was no match for a five-year-old supervillain, so I decided to go with the classic gator.
Other than the pupils of the eyes, which are Dark Horse Fantasy, the whole thing is knit in Cascade 220 Superwash.
I made nose-holes‡‡ of I-cord loops.
The eyes took as long as the rest of the sweater put together. I had alligator eyes all over my living room for weeks. When one gets a solid vision of what one wants, it's hard for one to accept anything different.§§
One thing I believe the pattern misses, and that I missed too, is that when you put the sleeve stitches on holders to knit the body, you cast on an inch under the arm.
Which - and this is very important - adds two inches to the body of the sweater.
[SUMMARY: Math even I can do.]
On the one hand, I was delighted to get gauge. On the other, getting gauge meant I was the full two inches bigger than I wanted.
I had planned to sew up the sides, take out a couple of inches, but figured I'd better try it on the good Doctor first.¶¶ Yes, it's just a bit too big.
The neck is also big, being unfinished. I knit a nice 3-2 rib collar about 37 times and it always seemed too small.## So I left it unfinished for maximum headroom. Yes, it's just a bit too big.
I told Brother I wanted to take it home and finish it properly and he assured me Doom will be wearing a t-shirt under it most of the time, so aesthetically it's OK.
[SUMMARY: Aesthetics are what you're looking for in a sweater for a five-year-old.]
I don't know if he doesn't want to put me out or if he's afraid they'll never see it if I get my grubby hands on it again.
Hey! We've had a fair amount of knitting around here lately. You'd almost think this was still a knitblog.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And, y'know, it's all about me. And my lamp.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And I would've finished it *much* faster if Dr. Doom hadn't given me a VERY COMPELLING game for my Nintendo DS for Christmas. *ahem*
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And I'm not sure why I keep using this one, except that it's familiar. The sizing is all wrong, vis-a-vis boys S-M-L. I always ask Brother to measure a shirt that fits, then try to match the inches from there.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Wing... sleeves... heheheheheh... I'm funny.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): With the new office, I no longer have a clean white wall behind a hanger to photograph my sweaters. Whatever shall I do now?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Sound effect: "RAWR!"
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Note the find cow hat on Brother's head, a Valentine's present from his favourite Seester. He brings me Icelandic sludge and lopi, I bring him cow hats.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): nostrils-nose holes ... to-may-to, to-mah-to.
§§FOOTNOTE (twisted definition time): Read: lesser.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (you can beat it into my head): I may not be a math genius, but I do have my moments of clarity.
##FOOTNOTE (square head, round hole, pound pound): Which I determined by trying to fit it over my own head, under the suspicion that heads grow less than anything else in a person's life, therefore kid heads must be nearly as large adult heads.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
You Want My Brother
For all y'all knitters who weren't mackin' on my brother prior to this,† direct your attention to the following story:
Brother went to Reykjavik last week.‡
Brother and Hans and I met§ at the Tilted Kilt¶ to watch the glory that is the first day of March Madness.#
Brother brought me a present:
Which contained this:
The story behind the Lopi: Brother says it seems itchy, that they probably joke in Iceland that it's itchy wool.% He said I may never want to knit it into anything, but he figures it'd be cool to have genuine Icelandic wool carted from Iceland in my stash.††
Take a moment for that to sink in.
[SUMMARY: *boggle*]
A man, a NON-KNITTING man, who has embraced the actuality, the conceptuality and the psychology of a knitter's stash.
I think this is a real lesson for us all: what we're really looking for is a man with an older sister who knits.
[SUMMARY: And my thermos... and this lamp...]
He also brought me this box full of bath products from Blue Lagoon, one of the most popular tourist destinations in Iceland.
[SUMMARY: Yes, that is a punchline.]
Apparently, it's a hot springs, a giant pool with mineral properties that will make you live forever if you bathe in it and drink it.
Only it's not natural.‡‡
It's the output of a geothermic power plant nearby. The mineral tailings form a sludge that sits at the bottom of the pool and in conveniently-placed sludge tubs all around the pool. People get in the water and scoop up the sludge and slather it all over themselves.
"So did you feel all glowy? Ten years younger?" I asked.
"No, you feel stupid. You look around at everybody else and you say, 'Yeah, you all did it too.' "
[SUMMARY: Stupidity in numbers.]
Are you jealous? If you didn't want my new stash enhancement, surely you wish you could get your hands on my sludge.§§
Or my brother.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Those of you who were might want to look away before you're blinded.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): They were going to go to Cuba, but then it got too dangerous.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): We call it "business lunch."
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Sort of like Hooters with more obvious boobs and more TiVis to give it a greater illusion of sports barness.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Trademark.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Has anyone out there in Blogland knit with this stuff? It doesn't seem *terribly* scratchy, but if you have firsthand knowledge, I'd love to hear about it.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Bonus points to brother for using the word "stash" correctly in casual conversation.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Not in the coming-out-of-the-rocks sense that we're used to in the Rocky Mountain West at least.
§§FOOTNOTE (ssludge!): That's what she said!
Brother went to Reykjavik last week.‡
Brother and Hans and I met§ at the Tilted Kilt¶ to watch the glory that is the first day of March Madness.#
Brother brought me a present:
Which contained this:
The story behind the Lopi: Brother says it seems itchy, that they probably joke in Iceland that it's itchy wool.% He said I may never want to knit it into anything, but he figures it'd be cool to have genuine Icelandic wool carted from Iceland in my stash.††
Take a moment for that to sink in.
[SUMMARY: *boggle*]
A man, a NON-KNITTING man, who has embraced the actuality, the conceptuality and the psychology of a knitter's stash.
I think this is a real lesson for us all: what we're really looking for is a man with an older sister who knits.
[SUMMARY: And my thermos... and this lamp...]
He also brought me this box full of bath products from Blue Lagoon, one of the most popular tourist destinations in Iceland.
[SUMMARY: Yes, that is a punchline.]
Apparently, it's a hot springs, a giant pool with mineral properties that will make you live forever if you bathe in it and drink it.
Only it's not natural.‡‡
It's the output of a geothermic power plant nearby. The mineral tailings form a sludge that sits at the bottom of the pool and in conveniently-placed sludge tubs all around the pool. People get in the water and scoop up the sludge and slather it all over themselves.
"So did you feel all glowy? Ten years younger?" I asked.
"No, you feel stupid. You look around at everybody else and you say, 'Yeah, you all did it too.' "
[SUMMARY: Stupidity in numbers.]
Are you jealous? If you didn't want my new stash enhancement, surely you wish you could get your hands on my sludge.§§
Or my brother.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Those of you who were might want to look away before you're blinded.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): They were going to go to Cuba, but then it got too dangerous.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): We call it "business lunch."
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Sort of like Hooters with more obvious boobs and more TiVis to give it a greater illusion of sports barness.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Trademark.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Has anyone out there in Blogland knit with this stuff? It doesn't seem *terribly* scratchy, but if you have firsthand knowledge, I'd love to hear about it.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Bonus points to brother for using the word "stash" correctly in casual conversation.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Not in the coming-out-of-the-rocks sense that we're used to in the Rocky Mountain West at least.
§§FOOTNOTE (ssludge!): That's what she said!
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Bustin' Out All Over
I have triumph to report.†
[SUMMARY: Ta-daaa!]
My cousin Tani, who gave me my first orchid and is a seasoned orchid-grower herself, told me once that if your orchid re-blooms, that's the sign‡ you're doing the right thing.
Now, my phalaenopsis orchids§ re-bloom like bunnies,@ but my two non-phals¶ sat dormant these last couple of years, until last Tuesday.%
[SUMMARY: *POW!*]
I swear I'm not exaggerating; I watered the sink-adjacent plants in the morning as I grabbed the kitchen trash to go out for garbage day. I removed something dead-looking on this particular plant, so I got a good and memorable look at it.# There was no bloom, no bud, just plant.
When I got home, I put Cat for Scale's bowl on the counter to give him his daily dose of canned food†† and there was a full-blown, vividly dressed, life-size orchid.
The next morning, the second was nearly fully open.
This is unretouched colour‡‡:
I bought this plant almost two years ago and it hasn't bloomed since right after I got it home.
[SUMMARY: Still waters run deep?]
This must be a metaphor for something.
*************
In other amazing orchid news,§§ the two orchids I made you look at last year are in bloom again as well.
[SUMMARY: Call me June...¶¶]
Actually the Fireworks orchid, the one Tani gave me to start my collection,^ hasn't stopped blooming.
If you do it right,## if your orchids are happy and you prune them judiciously post-bloom, they'll often bloom twice.$
Fireworks budded last February, bloomed, re-bloomed and just re-bloomed again,††† with new and tiny buds showing up every other day. It may never stop blooming.
[SUMMARY: It's ALIVE!]
That has to be a metaphor for something too.
Hell of it is, it really needs to be re-potted, but one is only supposed to re-pot during non-blooming cycles.
OK... that. That should definitely be a metaphor.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Which must be a welcome change for you after the bitching about work in the last post. You may also note I am changing the footnotation colour to green to match the new blog scheme and the coming season of floral wonder.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Not just A sign, but THE sign.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The kind you generally find in the grocery store. The easiest orchid to grow, and I'm living proof.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): It's a multiplication thing, right?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The one pictured is a Cattleya. The other, still not blooming since eBeth gave it to me almost three years ago (though I nearly killed it at one point and have been nursing it back to health, so that may have something to do with it), is - I think - a Vanda. You're welcome.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Yes, Columbo, I know it was Tuesday because it was trash day.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): 'Cause as long as I was grooming, I gave it a good once-over to see if there were bugs, mold, dead leaves, buds, new leaves, a leprachaun...
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): As I am wont to do.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Forgive the Georgia O'Keefeness of it all.
§§FOOTNOTE (look at you, you're just beside yourself): Since I know you're on the edge of your seat.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (hit me with your rhythm stick!): 'Cause I'm bustin' out all over. Surely at least ONE of you (if not ALL of you) listened to Dr. Demento back in the day.
^FOOTNOTE (carated): The pink and white one in last year's post, as opposed to the yellow and pink one.
##FOOTNOTE (let me pound the point home): And by "you," I mean "I."
$FOOTNOTE (cashed): Like, in a year. Usually for three or four months, then the plant goes dormant for about six months. All previous re-blooms in my world have had a month-long break in between as the plant takes a little vacation between projects.
†††FOOTNOTE (must be Easter soon. Look at all them crosses.): Seriously... just as the last two or three blooms would hit that sad, wet tissue look and drop off, a new bud would fatten up on another stem and off it'd go.
[SUMMARY: Ta-daaa!]
My cousin Tani, who gave me my first orchid and is a seasoned orchid-grower herself, told me once that if your orchid re-blooms, that's the sign‡ you're doing the right thing.
Now, my phalaenopsis orchids§ re-bloom like bunnies,@ but my two non-phals¶ sat dormant these last couple of years, until last Tuesday.%
[SUMMARY: *POW!*]
I swear I'm not exaggerating; I watered the sink-adjacent plants in the morning as I grabbed the kitchen trash to go out for garbage day. I removed something dead-looking on this particular plant, so I got a good and memorable look at it.# There was no bloom, no bud, just plant.
When I got home, I put Cat for Scale's bowl on the counter to give him his daily dose of canned food†† and there was a full-blown, vividly dressed, life-size orchid.
The next morning, the second was nearly fully open.
This is unretouched colour‡‡:
I bought this plant almost two years ago and it hasn't bloomed since right after I got it home.
[SUMMARY: Still waters run deep?]
This must be a metaphor for something.
*************
In other amazing orchid news,§§ the two orchids I made you look at last year are in bloom again as well.
[SUMMARY: Call me June...¶¶]
Actually the Fireworks orchid, the one Tani gave me to start my collection,^ hasn't stopped blooming.
If you do it right,## if your orchids are happy and you prune them judiciously post-bloom, they'll often bloom twice.$
Fireworks budded last February, bloomed, re-bloomed and just re-bloomed again,††† with new and tiny buds showing up every other day. It may never stop blooming.
[SUMMARY: It's ALIVE!]
That has to be a metaphor for something too.
Hell of it is, it really needs to be re-potted, but one is only supposed to re-pot during non-blooming cycles.
OK... that. That should definitely be a metaphor.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Which must be a welcome change for you after the bitching about work in the last post. You may also note I am changing the footnotation colour to green to match the new blog scheme and the coming season of floral wonder.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Not just A sign, but THE sign.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The kind you generally find in the grocery store. The easiest orchid to grow, and I'm living proof.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): It's a multiplication thing, right?
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The one pictured is a Cattleya. The other, still not blooming since eBeth gave it to me almost three years ago (though I nearly killed it at one point and have been nursing it back to health, so that may have something to do with it), is - I think - a Vanda. You're welcome.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Yes, Columbo, I know it was Tuesday because it was trash day.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): 'Cause as long as I was grooming, I gave it a good once-over to see if there were bugs, mold, dead leaves, buds, new leaves, a leprachaun...
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): As I am wont to do.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Forgive the Georgia O'Keefeness of it all.
§§FOOTNOTE (look at you, you're just beside yourself): Since I know you're on the edge of your seat.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (hit me with your rhythm stick!): 'Cause I'm bustin' out all over. Surely at least ONE of you (if not ALL of you) listened to Dr. Demento back in the day.
^FOOTNOTE (carated): The pink and white one in last year's post, as opposed to the yellow and pink one.
##FOOTNOTE (let me pound the point home): And by "you," I mean "I."
$FOOTNOTE (cashed): Like, in a year. Usually for three or four months, then the plant goes dormant for about six months. All previous re-blooms in my world have had a month-long break in between as the plant takes a little vacation between projects.
†††FOOTNOTE (must be Easter soon. Look at all them crosses.): Seriously... just as the last two or three blooms would hit that sad, wet tissue look and drop off, a new bud would fatten up on another stem and off it'd go.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Knitpiphany!†
Carol Jean sent yarn.‡
Beautiful Black Bunny yarn.
Beautifuller even than I thought it was when I first pulled it out because it's so light, so pastel, I thought I'd have to let it grow on me.§ Only there's something moody and shoreswept about it, like the faded paint on a seaside ice cream shop, and it grew like kudzu in a wet summer.^
[SUMMARY: Poetic yarn.]
It's 50/50 alpaca/wool, and a generous serving size,@ so I squish it on a daily basis and didn't know what to do with it.
Then, in my current round of blog gluttony,¶ I ran across a lovely post with lovely pictures and a scarf that made me catch my breath.%
[SUMMARY: A pattern of melodrama.]
Perfect. It's *perfect*.#
This has never happened to me before. I'm a little dizzy.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Have I used that title before?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Despite my calling her Carol Jean behind her back, I got the yarn because I'm in her Black Bunny Yarn Club, rather than because I'm her BFF. I'm not as special as I may have misled you to believe.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): It may shock you, but I'm generally not a pastel person. For those of you scoring at home, I think the top picture is more true to colour - at least on my monitor.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Hans agrees.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): 530 yards of fuzzy, halo'd goodness. Just right for a saint-in-waiting.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Some of you may have noticed swarms of comments from me, some covering posts you made months ago. That's me, catching up after the great Workicane (Workopalypse? Nine on the Workchter Scale? I'm working on it. Whatever it was, it was an unnatural disaster with gale force winds.) of O'9. The boss called last week because he had dinner with the VP who brought me on here and he asked what our (Hans and I) workload would be like so he could schedule in impending projects. "Divestitures are going to slow down this year," Randy the Veep is purported to have said. "What the HELL does that mean?" I wailed at John. "Six-day work weeks instead of seven? Only working twelve hours a day?" *ahem* Excuse me. A little vent is good for the soul. A saint-in-training can't afford to have a constipated soul.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): It's not the cleverest or the most complex or the most graceful, it's just perfect for the yarn at hand. And I *really* like it. The designer calls it "Mabel's Scarf," but I recognise a Greek key when I see it, so it's All Greek to Me.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm a perfection virgin.
Beautiful Black Bunny yarn.
Beautifuller even than I thought it was when I first pulled it out because it's so light, so pastel, I thought I'd have to let it grow on me.§ Only there's something moody and shoreswept about it, like the faded paint on a seaside ice cream shop, and it grew like kudzu in a wet summer.^
[SUMMARY: Poetic yarn.]
It's 50/50 alpaca/wool, and a generous serving size,@ so I squish it on a daily basis and didn't know what to do with it.
Then, in my current round of blog gluttony,¶ I ran across a lovely post with lovely pictures and a scarf that made me catch my breath.%
[SUMMARY: A pattern of melodrama.]
Perfect. It's *perfect*.#
This has never happened to me before. I'm a little dizzy.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Have I used that title before?
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Despite my calling her Carol Jean behind her back, I got the yarn because I'm in her Black Bunny Yarn Club, rather than because I'm her BFF. I'm not as special as I may have misled you to believe.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): It may shock you, but I'm generally not a pastel person. For those of you scoring at home, I think the top picture is more true to colour - at least on my monitor.
^FOOTNOTE (careted): Hans agrees.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): 530 yards of fuzzy, halo'd goodness. Just right for a saint-in-waiting.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Some of you may have noticed swarms of comments from me, some covering posts you made months ago. That's me, catching up after the great Workicane (Workopalypse? Nine on the Workchter Scale? I'm working on it. Whatever it was, it was an unnatural disaster with gale force winds.) of O'9. The boss called last week because he had dinner with the VP who brought me on here and he asked what our (Hans and I) workload would be like so he could schedule in impending projects. "Divestitures are going to slow down this year," Randy the Veep is purported to have said. "What the HELL does that mean?" I wailed at John. "Six-day work weeks instead of seven? Only working twelve hours a day?" *ahem* Excuse me. A little vent is good for the soul. A saint-in-training can't afford to have a constipated soul.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): It's not the cleverest or the most complex or the most graceful, it's just perfect for the yarn at hand. And I *really* like it. The designer calls it "Mabel's Scarf," but I recognise a Greek key when I see it, so it's All Greek to Me.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm a perfection virgin.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Injury, Meet Insult
"I want to use a whole assortment† of four-letter words right now, doc," I said to the optometrist when he told me I NEED BIFOCALS.
I've worn glasses for years for three things:
[SUMMARY: Keep your eye¶ on the important things.]
Apparently, I got old overnight. One day, I gauged where to hold my book by how comfortable my arms were, not where I could see. Because, you see, I could see. Everything. Just fine. Far or near.
Then, *bam!* one Tuesday,# I couldn't see the computer screen. And that night, I had to hold the book an inch from my nose.
So. Bifocals.
I reeled around the mirrored displays, blindly†† picking up one frame after the other, waving them in front of my face in a desultory manner, humming "Glory Days" and craving dinner at 4:30 for some reason.
[SUMMARY: No focus‡‡ at all.]
Old, feeble brains can't multi-task.§§ It seems I was... less than thorough in my search.
To those of you youngsters out there with all this wonder ahead of you, let me give you a little tip.
Don't forget to check the whole frame before you order.¶¶
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like a big, brightly-coloured Costco assortment.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): You know how it is with free agency and salary caps. Sometimes you don't know a soul at the beginning of the season.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): When I remembered them. It was always a proud day when I could say, "Oh, we can sit anywhere. I remembered my glasses."
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I worry that I have a form of Alzheimer's which has as its primary symptom uncontrollable punning.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Um... if I remember correctly.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Oh, no...
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Punzheimer's!
§§FOOTNOTE (*so* confused): And just remembering the words to Glory Days is multi-tasking in and of itself.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (*headbonk* *headbonk*): For those of you scoring at home, the random, ugly triangles are orange, purple and white. All I wanted was copper frames. I thought they'd go with my hair. I showed Hans and he didn't even try to make like it was OK. "Your hair almost completely covers the bad part," he said, helpfully.
I've worn glasses for years for three things:
- Driving at night.
- To see the names on the jerseys.‡
- Movies.§
[SUMMARY: Keep your eye¶ on the important things.]
Apparently, I got old overnight. One day, I gauged where to hold my book by how comfortable my arms were, not where I could see. Because, you see, I could see. Everything. Just fine. Far or near.
Then, *bam!* one Tuesday,# I couldn't see the computer screen. And that night, I had to hold the book an inch from my nose.
So. Bifocals.
I reeled around the mirrored displays, blindly†† picking up one frame after the other, waving them in front of my face in a desultory manner, humming "Glory Days" and craving dinner at 4:30 for some reason.
[SUMMARY: No focus‡‡ at all.]
Old, feeble brains can't multi-task.§§ It seems I was... less than thorough in my search.
To those of you youngsters out there with all this wonder ahead of you, let me give you a little tip.
Don't forget to check the whole frame before you order.¶¶
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like a big, brightly-coloured Costco assortment.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): You know how it is with free agency and salary caps. Sometimes you don't know a soul at the beginning of the season.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): When I remembered them. It was always a proud day when I could say, "Oh, we can sit anywhere. I remembered my glasses."
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I worry that I have a form of Alzheimer's which has as its primary symptom uncontrollable punning.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Um... if I remember correctly.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Oh, no...
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Punzheimer's!
§§FOOTNOTE (*so* confused): And just remembering the words to Glory Days is multi-tasking in and of itself.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (*headbonk* *headbonk*): For those of you scoring at home, the random, ugly triangles are orange, purple and white. All I wanted was copper frames. I thought they'd go with my hair. I showed Hans and he didn't even try to make like it was OK. "Your hair almost completely covers the bad part," he said, helpfully.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
The Iggle Has Landed!
The pink† cashmerino‡ finally made its way home.§
For the record? No mail Saturday, Monday, Tuesday... seven copies of the weekly grocery flyer, a Nordstrom bill from November¶ and my yarn today.
I feel *so* lucky to have ever received this package. I believe it may qualify as a miracle.#
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): It's a lovely, lovely pink.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And the remaining two cones of green.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Home is where you hang your cashmere.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I went paperless in December.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): In the new theism, I believe my post office is Satan.
For the record? No mail Saturday, Monday, Tuesday... seven copies of the weekly grocery flyer, a Nordstrom bill from November¶ and my yarn today.
I feel *so* lucky to have ever received this package. I believe it may qualify as a miracle.#
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): It's a lovely, lovely pink.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And the remaining two cones of green.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Home is where you hang your cashmere.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I went paperless in December.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): In the new theism, I believe my post office is Satan.
Boxing Day
We're moving.
The office, I mean.
Oh, we're just moving to the other tower. Hans and I will even have roughly the same view we do now. We'll still be able to keep an eye on the billboard across the street.
[SUMMARY: Keeping you apprised of the important stuff.]
But we still have to pack everything like we're moving to Juneau.†
As a wholly-relevant tangent,‡ the last time I moved my residence, they told me not to bother emptying dressers and file cabinets and such. The movers brought these giant rolls of saran wrap§ and cosied everything right up.
The guys moving our office require we empty our desks and credenzas.
Several people have poked their heads into my office and said, "Are you ever going to start packing?"
"*snort*," I reply.¶ "I don't use my desk drawers, so I really don't have much to pack. I'll toss a few things into the crates on Friday and be done with it."
[SUMMARY: Pride... fall... bad saint! Go to your room!]
So I opened the drawers I was sure held almost nothing and boy, was my face red.
You can't imagine how much perfume# was in that desk.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I exaggerate. The nice office movers actually bring us colour-coded labels and boxes that fit onto wheeled dollies like Legos, but it's funnier if we're moving to Juneau.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): One could argue that the person tangenting shouldn't be allowed to determine the relevance, but none of you is here to help me so I made an executive decision.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): They forgot one. It's still in my garage. You never know when you'll need six miles of three foot-wide plastic wrap. Someday I may need to move bodies.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Because there is no better appetiser for a plate of crow than a good snort.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): A pile of knitting patterns too, but they can be disguised as work documents.
The office, I mean.
Oh, we're just moving to the other tower. Hans and I will even have roughly the same view we do now. We'll still be able to keep an eye on the billboard across the street.
[SUMMARY: Keeping you apprised of the important stuff.]
But we still have to pack everything like we're moving to Juneau.†
As a wholly-relevant tangent,‡ the last time I moved my residence, they told me not to bother emptying dressers and file cabinets and such. The movers brought these giant rolls of saran wrap§ and cosied everything right up.
The guys moving our office require we empty our desks and credenzas.
Several people have poked their heads into my office and said, "Are you ever going to start packing?"
"*snort*," I reply.¶ "I don't use my desk drawers, so I really don't have much to pack. I'll toss a few things into the crates on Friday and be done with it."
[SUMMARY: Pride... fall... bad saint! Go to your room!]
So I opened the drawers I was sure held almost nothing and boy, was my face red.
You can't imagine how much perfume# was in that desk.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I exaggerate. The nice office movers actually bring us colour-coded labels and boxes that fit onto wheeled dollies like Legos, but it's funnier if we're moving to Juneau.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): One could argue that the person tangenting shouldn't be allowed to determine the relevance, but none of you is here to help me so I made an executive decision.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): They forgot one. It's still in my garage. You never know when you'll need six miles of three foot-wide plastic wrap. Someday I may need to move bodies.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Because there is no better appetiser for a plate of crow than a good snort.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): A pile of knitting patterns too, but they can be disguised as work documents.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Nicknames
A nickname† says one of three things:@
1) I like you so much, I want to name you myself, to have this tiny, personal link that I give from me to you. It's a token of my esteem.‡
2) You are so horrible and laughable that I feel a need to say something derisive about you every single time I mention you.§
3) Your name or occupation lends itself so readily to a nickname I must apply one, even if I don't know you well enough to determine rules one or two apply.
[SUMMARY: I am a master of useless generalisations.]
Under the black auspices of condition No. 2, I feel my post office needs a nickname.% Post Office of the Damned? The Post Office that Time Forgot? Lost Office?
[SUMMARY: Bitter much?]
Y'all chime in here anytime. I may be starting to lose my sense of humour where the mail is concerned.
Because my post office is trying to kill me.¶
I received HALF of my Colourmart shipment yesterday. Four cones of the blue and two of the green. Four pink and two green are... where? At the Jiffy Lube on South Federal# for whom I inexplicably get mail four or five times a year?†† A neighbour's? In the parking lot of Safeway?
[SUMMARY: The Travelocity gnome got nothing on my yarn.]
On the bright side, the yarn is gorgeous. The blue is almost exactly as it looks on my computer screen and the green has a brighter, more acid edge that brings it even closer to the ideal I was seeking when I started my quest.
I'll let you know how the pink is if I ever get it.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Funny, we were just discussing nicknames in the comments. Not philosophically, just the surety that if I changed my name to Griselda, a certain portion of the population would resist "Zelda" and insist on calling me "Griz."
@FOOTNOTE (atted): For the purposes of this rant, in any case.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Even if I choose to call you Wombat or Fishlips.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Overwhelmingly childish and good for the soul.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Oh, my PO has a first name, M-O-T-H-E-R...
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Do they not know I'm prone to stroke?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Currently at least five miles away on SOUTH FEDERAL BOULEVARD, not, one would think, to be mistaken for WEST 37th AVENUE.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Oddly, when I lived on North Hooker Street, I also got mail from that same Jiffy Lube, prompting me once to write, "Do I look like a Jiffy Lube?" in angry red Sharpie on an envelope. A question, I might add, that I don't really want an answer to.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed):
1) I like you so much, I want to name you myself, to have this tiny, personal link that I give from me to you. It's a token of my esteem.‡
2) You are so horrible and laughable that I feel a need to say something derisive about you every single time I mention you.§
3) Your name or occupation lends itself so readily to a nickname I must apply one, even if I don't know you well enough to determine rules one or two apply.
[SUMMARY: I am a master of useless generalisations.]
Under the black auspices of condition No. 2, I feel my post office needs a nickname.% Post Office of the Damned? The Post Office that Time Forgot? Lost Office?
[SUMMARY: Bitter much?]
Y'all chime in here anytime. I may be starting to lose my sense of humour where the mail is concerned.
Because my post office is trying to kill me.¶
I received HALF of my Colourmart shipment yesterday. Four cones of the blue and two of the green. Four pink and two green are... where? At the Jiffy Lube on South Federal# for whom I inexplicably get mail four or five times a year?†† A neighbour's? In the parking lot of Safeway?
[SUMMARY: The Travelocity gnome got nothing on my yarn.]
On the bright side, the yarn is gorgeous. The blue is almost exactly as it looks on my computer screen and the green has a brighter, more acid edge that brings it even closer to the ideal I was seeking when I started my quest.
I'll let you know how the pink is if I ever get it.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Funny, we were just discussing nicknames in the comments. Not philosophically, just the surety that if I changed my name to Griselda, a certain portion of the population would resist "Zelda" and insist on calling me "Griz."
@FOOTNOTE (atted): For the purposes of this rant, in any case.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Even if I choose to call you Wombat or Fishlips.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Overwhelmingly childish and good for the soul.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): Oh, my PO has a first name, M-O-T-H-E-R...
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Do they not know I'm prone to stroke?
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Currently at least five miles away on SOUTH FEDERAL BOULEVARD, not, one would think, to be mistaken for WEST 37th AVENUE.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Oddly, when I lived on North Hooker Street, I also got mail from that same Jiffy Lube, prompting me once to write, "Do I look like a Jiffy Lube?" in angry red Sharpie on an envelope. A question, I might add, that I don't really want an answer to.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed):
Friday, February 19, 2010
How Wagnerian
*ringring* *ringring*
"This is Marin."
"Hello, I'm trying to reach Griselda."†
"I'm sorry, you have the wrong number."‡
I could *totally* rock "Griselda."§
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I didn't know Griselda was a real name. I thought it was strictly the province of children's books.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Usually, I'd try to figure out if they were actually calling for someone in the company and had just dialled the wrong number, but I feel confident that if there was a Griselda in the building, I'd know about it.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Griselda Elizabeth Untiedt has *such* a ring. Which is a pun, though an obscure one.
"This is Marin."
"Hello, I'm trying to reach Griselda."†
"I'm sorry, you have the wrong number."‡
I could *totally* rock "Griselda."§
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I didn't know Griselda was a real name. I thought it was strictly the province of children's books.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Usually, I'd try to figure out if they were actually calling for someone in the company and had just dialled the wrong number, but I feel confident that if there was a Griselda in the building, I'd know about it.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Griselda Elizabeth Untiedt has *such* a ring. Which is a pun, though an obscure one.
Knitting Excitement!
Of course,† not for what I'm knitting right now, today, which is a baby blanket that isn't really tripping my trigger.‡ Miles and miles§ of superwash garter stitch... great for the Olympics, not so tantalising for my cashmere-cloaked, circus-knitting soul.
And I have marvelous yarn from Carol Jean¶ - 50/50 wool/alpaca, light green subtly dappled with grey-blue. And a wonderful natural Araucania wool alpaca grey twist. But I don't know what to make with either, so I fondle them nightly and continue kniting miles of garter stitch.
I finished the infamous# Later Gator Sweater,†† but, y'know... camera... upload... we'll get there.
I also knitted lumps of coal for the Family Christmas Party, but I took no pictures, so I don't even have the "too lazy to upload" excuse.
[SUMMARY: Why bother talking about knitting?]
Despite all this waffling, there is some upcoming knitting about which I'm very excited.
Excited to the point of frantic.‡‡
I will be knitting - *whisper* - for myself.
[SUMMARY: That's why.§§]
Sweater.
Then possibly sweaters.
[SUMMARY: I'm not committing to any long-term contract here.]
I plan to knit this sweater%:
Basic Black Cardigan by Glenna C.
Using these needles¶¶:
Kollage Square Circular
In at *least* the green## of this yarn:
Colourmart 2/6NM dk wt 5/95 cashmere/merino bulky wool in pistacho,††† fuscia and azul mel
Finishing with these buttons@ on the respective colours‡‡‡.
from As Cute as a Button
[SUMMARY: A plan! I have a *plan*!]
The yarn should arrive any day. Until then, I sit at my post box§§§...
*open open open*
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): "Of course," because the alpaca is always fluffier on the other side of the fence.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Though I have dubbed it the Gay Pride Baby Blanket, so at least it has that going for it.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And even less thrilled now that I've left my state of denial and realised what I've knit so far is the right width for a bookmark and, at this rate, the blanket will be 16" x 12".
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Yes, we are on a first-name basis. When she's not looking.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Possibly only among the immediate family. Mostly with Dr. Doom, who has been dying for the sweater since he didn't get it on Christmas.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): So named because it was a very, very late Christmas present. And because it is in the shape of an alligator.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Because it has to come through my post office.
§§FOOTNOTE (here's where I turn on you): So there.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): My decision to knit this sweater has NOTHING to do with the fact that Glenna and I have roughly the same hair.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (let me beat this into you): OMG OMG OMG! I *love* these needles! They're comfy and pretty and the cable is OMG soft as chiffon and it doesn't kink or coil and they warm in your hands like wood and they're just a little grippy without being sticky and OMG did I mention copper and size printed right on the needle and OMG!
##FOOTNOTE (#Cassandra #Juno): A hard-won green, found at last by Cassandra who, while she didn't push me to buy three colours of yarn, did point me to the blue and thoroughly enjoyed shopping with my money.
†††FOOTNOTE (knitting cross - coming soon to an Olympic competition near you): [sic] Apparently, that's how you say "pistachio" and "fuschia" in Spanish.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): It won't surprise you to know I did a search for skull buttons in specific. I looked at every single button on the ACAAB website and kept stopping at this cord lock because it looks so much like a friendly, Hello Kitty-esque skull:
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (sew buttons): OK, maybe I'll switch the skulls and the pink glass. It's better to be wishy-washy in the footnotes and sound like you know what you're talking about in the blogpost proper. You might also notice I switched from "at least this one colour" to "I have buttons for all the colours." I'm sneaky that way.
§§§FOOTNOTE (boo*hisss*): Which mocks me with its tardy, black, yarnless emptiness.
And I have marvelous yarn from Carol Jean¶ - 50/50 wool/alpaca, light green subtly dappled with grey-blue. And a wonderful natural Araucania wool alpaca grey twist. But I don't know what to make with either, so I fondle them nightly and continue kniting miles of garter stitch.
I finished the infamous# Later Gator Sweater,†† but, y'know... camera... upload... we'll get there.
I also knitted lumps of coal for the Family Christmas Party, but I took no pictures, so I don't even have the "too lazy to upload" excuse.
[SUMMARY: Why bother talking about knitting?]
Despite all this waffling, there is some upcoming knitting about which I'm very excited.
Excited to the point of frantic.‡‡
I will be knitting - *whisper* - for myself.
[SUMMARY: That's why.§§]
Sweater.
Then possibly sweaters.
[SUMMARY: I'm not committing to any long-term contract here.]
I plan to knit this sweater%:
Basic Black Cardigan by Glenna C.
Using these needles¶¶:
Kollage Square Circular
In at *least* the green## of this yarn:
Colourmart 2/6NM dk wt 5/95 cashmere/merino bulky wool in pistacho,††† fuscia and azul mel
Finishing with these buttons@ on the respective colours‡‡‡.
from As Cute as a Button
[SUMMARY: A plan! I have a *plan*!]
The yarn should arrive any day. Until then, I sit at my post box§§§...
*open open open*
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): "Of course," because the alpaca is always fluffier on the other side of the fence.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Though I have dubbed it the Gay Pride Baby Blanket, so at least it has that going for it.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And even less thrilled now that I've left my state of denial and realised what I've knit so far is the right width for a bookmark and, at this rate, the blanket will be 16" x 12".
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Yes, we are on a first-name basis. When she's not looking.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Possibly only among the immediate family. Mostly with Dr. Doom, who has been dying for the sweater since he didn't get it on Christmas.
††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): So named because it was a very, very late Christmas present. And because it is in the shape of an alligator.
‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Because it has to come through my post office.
§§FOOTNOTE (here's where I turn on you): So there.
%FOOTNOTE (percented): My decision to knit this sweater has NOTHING to do with the fact that Glenna and I have roughly the same hair.
¶¶FOOTNOTE (let me beat this into you): OMG OMG OMG! I *love* these needles! They're comfy and pretty and the cable is OMG soft as chiffon and it doesn't kink or coil and they warm in your hands like wood and they're just a little grippy without being sticky and OMG did I mention copper and size printed right on the needle and OMG!
##FOOTNOTE (#Cassandra #Juno): A hard-won green, found at last by Cassandra who, while she didn't push me to buy three colours of yarn, did point me to the blue and thoroughly enjoyed shopping with my money.
†††FOOTNOTE (knitting cross - coming soon to an Olympic competition near you): [sic] Apparently, that's how you say "pistachio" and "fuschia" in Spanish.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): It won't surprise you to know I did a search for skull buttons in specific. I looked at every single button on the ACAAB website and kept stopping at this cord lock because it looks so much like a friendly, Hello Kitty-esque skull:
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (sew buttons): OK, maybe I'll switch the skulls and the pink glass. It's better to be wishy-washy in the footnotes and sound like you know what you're talking about in the blogpost proper. You might also notice I switched from "at least this one colour" to "I have buttons for all the colours." I'm sneaky that way.
§§§FOOTNOTE (boo*hisss*): Which mocks me with its tardy, black, yarnless emptiness.
Monday, February 15, 2010
An Interlude with My Brother
We call this one, "Conversation with Zach"†:
Zach: "What's the difference between set up and setup?" (Make appropriate hand gestures to delineate the two) "Like with a space and without a space, what's the difference?"
Brother: "With a space, it's a verb. Without a space, it's a noun."
Z: "Oh, boy."
B: "OK, if you're going over to Dad's house to check out his computer setup, that's no space. The setup is a thing, a noun. If you are going over to set up your Dad's computer, there's a space. You're doing something, it's a verb."
Z: "OK, so if I say the JOA‡ is set up in Quorum,§ that has a space?"
B: "Right."
Z: "What if the JOA is not set up in Quorum?"
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Zach is sort of like Brother's Hans. Though Hans is mostly *intentionally* funny.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Joint Operating Agreement, my bread and butter.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): A petroleum industry-specific database program.
Zach: "What's the difference between set up and setup?" (Make appropriate hand gestures to delineate the two) "Like with a space and without a space, what's the difference?"
Brother: "With a space, it's a verb. Without a space, it's a noun."
Z: "Oh, boy."
B: "OK, if you're going over to Dad's house to check out his computer setup, that's no space. The setup is a thing, a noun. If you are going over to set up your Dad's computer, there's a space. You're doing something, it's a verb."
Z: "OK, so if I say the JOA‡ is set up in Quorum,§ that has a space?"
B: "Right."
Z: "What if the JOA is not set up in Quorum?"
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Zach is sort of like Brother's Hans. Though Hans is mostly *intentionally* funny.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Joint Operating Agreement, my bread and butter.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): A petroleum industry-specific database program.
Friday, February 5, 2010
I Am Kermit. Hear Me Ribbit.
Hi-ho, Kermit the Frog† here.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Legal Notice: All Muppets and related images are copyright of The Walt Disney Company. I don't want Mickey Mouse kicking my ass or taking my house.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Rats Dead... Bodies Everywhere...
Is "rat-killing" specific to the petroleum industry, or do all people use this term?
Call me the Pied Piper of Petroleum Problems, St. Marin of the Dead Rat.
Sheesh. I'm putting "exterminator" on my résumé.
Call me the Pied Piper of Petroleum Problems, St. Marin of the Dead Rat.
Sheesh. I'm putting "exterminator" on my résumé.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Attached
It's not quite like that, really.
You know those times you† send out a lengthy and hard-won work email, with careful wording that shows off your vast and varied vocabulary while maintaining readability, that hints at greatness and touches on the good of the company and all hinges on the concept that you attached the illustrative document... and you have to resend everything with some version of "Oops!" when someone@ says, "I don't see the attachment."
This reminds me of that.
[SUMMARY: Drawing on common experience to make myself feel less dorklike.]
Yesterday's post about knitting angst may have lost some of its oomph when you clicked the link to find yourself in a sterile grey house with sterile grey people staring out of different doorways while their sterile grey dog blends into their sterile grey carpet.‡
See, the Unhappy Hipsters blog isn't set up so someone with the technical acumen of a WWII vet§ can figure out how to link to an individual post. Only I didn't realise that until this morning.
[SUMMARY: I'm not as quick as I used to be.]
So, at the risk of infringing on copyrights,¶ I'm simply reenacting# the blogpost here so you can see what I really meant.
Trapped by the tawny palette, he struggled through yet another brown knit scarf.
(Photo: Randi Berez; Dwell, September 2005)
You're welcome.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And by "you," I mean "I." You probably stopped doing that ages ago.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): For me, it's almost always the boss or the know-it-all from the 6th floor.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I'd never noticed how morose Dwell Magazine is.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): That'd be me.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Something a saint should never, ever do.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Like some historical event. It's not stealing or infringing, it's reenacting.
You know those times you† send out a lengthy and hard-won work email, with careful wording that shows off your vast and varied vocabulary while maintaining readability, that hints at greatness and touches on the good of the company and all hinges on the concept that you attached the illustrative document... and you have to resend everything with some version of "Oops!" when someone@ says, "I don't see the attachment."
This reminds me of that.
[SUMMARY: Drawing on common experience to make myself feel less dorklike.]
Yesterday's post about knitting angst may have lost some of its oomph when you clicked the link to find yourself in a sterile grey house with sterile grey people staring out of different doorways while their sterile grey dog blends into their sterile grey carpet.‡
See, the Unhappy Hipsters blog isn't set up so someone with the technical acumen of a WWII vet§ can figure out how to link to an individual post. Only I didn't realise that until this morning.
[SUMMARY: I'm not as quick as I used to be.]
So, at the risk of infringing on copyrights,¶ I'm simply reenacting# the blogpost here so you can see what I really meant.
Trapped by the tawny palette, he struggled through yet another brown knit scarf.
(Photo: Randi Berez; Dwell, September 2005)
You're welcome.
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And by "you," I mean "I." You probably stopped doing that ages ago.
@FOOTNOTE (atted): For me, it's almost always the boss or the know-it-all from the 6th floor.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I'd never noticed how morose Dwell Magazine is.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): That'd be me.
¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Something a saint should never, ever do.
#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Like some historical event. It's not stealing or infringing, it's reenacting.
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