January 31, 2005
The knitting has been finished for a week, and it's taken me this long to weave in the ends and put the sleeves on. Lazy cow.
The pattern, of course, is Rogue from Girl from Auntie. The yarn is a recycled mystery wool, unravelled from a pale gray Value Village cardigan and dyed three times to get the perfect red. I first dyed it with cherry Kool Aid (ugh! I can hear the purist dye snobs groaning) then again with some other red Kool Aid flavour. It still wasn't perfect, so I overdyed it with red Tintex. I know, that stuff is crap! but hey, it cost me three bucks to get the perfect red, and if it fades I'll just dye the whole thing again.
My row gauge was way off, which I didn't realize until I got to the end of the sleeves and they were too short (I added about three inches), and by then the body was done. I don't think it looks too bad, except that I don't think the pocket is supposed to go all the way up to my boobs like that. I might be able to block it out a little longer, but as this is used yarn, don't count on that. In fact, because it's used yarn I didn't block the pieces before putting it all together, and now she's draped over the chair in the bedroom and every time I go in there I can hear her shouting "block me! BLOCK! ME!" in that Exorcist-kid voice. Maybe tonight.
(special bonus points to anyone who can name that wrestler up on the shelf behind me, and his tag team partner who got cropped out on the left there)
If you want to see how fab Rogue looks when you don't make her too small, go check out Claudia's, it's gorgeous. I think later on I'll make a cardiganized one, like hers.
This morning I sent in my last online application form for grad school. I'm just putting the finishing touches on my portfolio package so that I can put it in the mail tomorrow, ahead of the deadline for a change. (I'll spare you all the photos of slides in sheets or a plain black binder; I know I'm more excited about these things than most people are).
So. All my grad school applications are done. Will any of them want me? The Magic 8-Ball says
January 29, 2005
33 inch Mariah
As requested by Eilene, here are the directions for making Mariah with a finished bust measurement of 33 inches. Later on I'll make a special Mariah page and post the instructions there, but for now I've posted them to the knitalong group and here.
For the back, cast on 81 stitches and work the set-up row as follows: k3, p1, k2, p1, then starting at point "c" work the 22-st repeat (not the whole chart!) 3 times, then work (k2, p1) twice, k2. Your first and last stitches will be worked in garter stitch for the selvage, on wrong side rows work all other sts as they appear.
For the right front, cast on 41 sts and work the set-up row as follows: k2 (selvage), start chart a at point "d" and work to the end of the 22 st repeat (not the end of the chart), work the 22 st repeat (starting at point "c") once, then work k2, p1, k3. The first 2 and last 1 st will be worked in garter st.
Your left front will be a mirror image of the right front: cast on 41 sts and k3, p1, k2, p1, then work the 22 st chart rep (starting at point "c"), then work half of the chart repeat again (start at point c) to last 2 st, (you will end at one st before point "d" in the chart), k2. First st and last 2 sts are worked in garter st.
Work the sleeves as for the smallest size.
When you reach the yoke, after working the joining round you will have 327 sts.
Work the yoke decrease row a total of 20 times, so that you will be left with 167 stitches. Work the hood as for the smallest size.
*Note: the total number of stitches in the yoke were wrong, and although corrected numbers were sent in to Knitty I don't think they've been posted yet (corrected numbers should be in pink). Don't worry about it; you can work most of the rest of the sweater without needing to worry about the exact number of sts since you are only decreasing from the edges and where your original markers are. When you reach the top of the hood, instead of counting the sts to know where to place the final marker, simply place your marker in the centre of your row and continue the hood decreases to the end.
January 28, 2005
I've never made a drawing of Jesus
I am addicted to checking my server stats, especially the search query part. Look at the breakdown from yesterday:
It's nice to know that I come up in so many masturbation searches, but how come nobody has ever found my site while spelling masturbation correctly? See, Farrah, you're not alone. (note to the person who did the search at the top: I hope you were very, very disappointed with the results of your search, you sick fuck). I think we need to keep our masturbation stories private for a while and talk about something different, to throw these losers off our scent.
Here's something funny: if you search Google with "how to install a toilet seat" in quotations, mine is the only site that comes up. Rest assured, you are not going to learn how to install a toilet seat here (although I do know how).
I know you're all dying to know what happened to Rogue. I'm still weaving in ends, my least favourite part. There are more ends than usual because I used a recycled yarn. I'm putting the sleeves on before I block, because it's not brand new wool, it's not going to block out that much anyway. Soon, you'll see her. Maybe tomorrow.
For Nancy, who likes the Star Wars sheets: that is a Star Wars comforter, the only one I have ever found. I used to buy a lot of those sheets in thrift stores (and other ones too; A-Team, Dukes of Hazzard) and would make stuff out of them. I had a great dress that I made from a sheet from the first Star Wars movie that was a different pattern than the one you saw yesterday--light blue with head shots of the characters--but I can't find it, I must have given it away. (Emer, do you have it? if so, send a pic!) But here's a picture of Miss Polly modelling a parti-colour cotehardie that I made about ten years ago (to piss people off at an SCA event); one half is Star Wars and the other half is Empire Strikes Back.
This is possibly the geekiest garment I have ever made. No, I don't wear it.
*edited to add: Look over here! A finished Mariah!
January 27, 2005
Secret identity revealed!
Meet Mr. BooHoo. My pesky commenter was none other than my beautiful and dear friend Farrah (who knows all about the joys of masturbation, even if she can't spell it), playing a trick to bug me. The bitch. I think posting this picture of her getting drunk at my grad show is probably punishment enough, so please don't offer to pee on any of her belongings for me, okay?
She really pissed me off, though.
The papermaking classes on Monday went swimmingly, and I'm going back a week from Friday to do a more in depth, hands on session just with the students who are interested. I took the camera along and was going to take lots of really exciting pictures to show you all (the Hollander beater, a wet sheet of paper, maybe some pulp in buckets, riveting stuff) but I was so busy I forgot. Next time (you can't wait, I know).
I also made some great new friends, the professor of the native studies class and her partner, who took me to their house and fed me dinner, so I got to drink wine and have good conversation with some cool people instead of sitting in the Greyhound station for three hours waiting for my bus. It was splendid.
The only knitting I took along was the back of the Must Have, and only got a few inches done on it; it's just past the armhole decreases now. I had someone beside me on the bus ride down, so every stitch that makes my right hand needle jut out dangerously (k2tog tbl, and any cable cross, since I don't use a cable needle) had to be done p-a-i-n-f-u-l-l-y s-l-o-w-l-y so that I didn't wake my sleepy seatmate up with a POKE! I should have brought a circ along for it, but ah well.
I think I promised not to post boring progress pictures of the Must Have, but since I just joined the Must Have Too Knitalong I figured I'd show where I am.
I promise not to show any more partial pieces, but if you don't know what a slutty promise-breaker I am by now, it sucks to be you.
January 24, 2005
I love the snow
It hides the junk in my backyard, so no-one knows that Sanford and Son live here. Yes, we have only half a deck. The deck on this house is huge and oddly shaped (to accomodate the nasty old above ground pool that used to be here, which we removed pretty much as soon as we'd closed on the house). We're taking the deck off so only the original porch will be left, which means more garden! This is the year we're finally going to do some work putting in the garden back here, because next year I *might* be away at grad school. So expect to see lots of pictures of dirt coming up this spring (whee!).
The fatties got their first taste of snow yesterday. They are almost 11 years old, but only go outside in good weather, under supervision. I let them poke their heads out the door while I was taking pictures:
This is how far they got.
Because I know you guys love the exciting photos of slides in sheets, here's what I did this weekend:
These are going to Nova Scotia College of Art and Design.
I only have one more package to do, for the University of Georgia. I've decided to only apply to three grad schools instead of the original six. I have a pretty good reason for this, but I'll have to tell you later. In the meantime, today I'm going to London to teach papermaking! It's a two hour bus trip each way; how much knitting should I bring?
January 22, 2005
Please allow me to masturbate for a moment
First of all, this morning I Googled "slap the beaver" and my blog was the only site that came up. But now there are two more! Damn. Oh, and someone found me by searching "smarmy bastard". Funny, I don't remember talking about N--- G--- here.
Okay, let's get down to the meat and potatoes of this post (or how about just potatoes; I'm vegetarian). Today I received my very first nasty, insulting comment on the blog, and in a fit of pique I stupidly deleted it, which I am very sorry for. So I'll just tell you what it said:
"Well I just glanced through the past few months of your rambling on, I must say boo hoo to you. your hands should be tired and bruised from masterbating, not knitting. I will let you know when my masterbation blog starts up, call it an independant orgy if you will. I promise to have pictures, as you are my inspiration. Love your friend in "building hand strength", BooHoo"
Okay, first of all, dipshit, your barbs would sting a little more if they were spelled correctly. Second, this is a PERSONAL BLOG. That means it is about ME. Sorry if it seems like masturbation to you (note correct spelling for next time, please) but what exactly do you expect people to write about in their personal blog? If you don't like what I have to say, don't read it, simple as that. Third, I see from your ip address that you and I attend the same university. So next time you see me on campus, please introduce yourself so I can tell you what a lameass you are to your face. Fourth, did you go to the trouble of creating that firstname.lastname@example.org e-mail address just for the sake of telling me off, or is that the address you always use when you're too cowardly to give your real name? Feh. Fifth, masturbation is a pleasurable and therapeutic activity which in no way damages the hands. You should try it sometime.
Oh, and thank you for your concern about my wrist, Mr. BooHoo. It's feeling much better.
January 21, 2005
I don't usually post twice in one day, but. . .
So: the 3 items I can't live without:
1. my knitting needle gauge ruler thingy
2. ink. absolutely my favourite substance to have smeared up past my elbows.
3. castor canadensis (if you thought I could get through a day without mentioning my castor canadensis, you were so wrong)
The first 3 people I kissed:
1. Liane L, my little next-door neighbour. I was eight and she was six.
2. a boy named Chris, my summer "boyfriend" at Windmill Trailer Park. He gave me a necklace that was a tiny plastic Coca-Cola can on a piece of plastic gimp, we kissed behind the pavilion during the movies, and when he dumped me the cheap little prick asked for the necklace back. I was eight or nine.
3. Todd P, my grade seven boyfriend; he moved to our tiny town from London and introduced me to The Clash. I think he was considered something of a catch because he was the paperboy and thus had money; for me he was my first real contact with life outside my hometown, my first inkling that there were people in the world that I could fit in with, they were just somewhere else. The kiss: we grappled furiously for three embarrassed minutes on the floor between the coffee table and the couch, then went back to doing our homework. Very romantic.
3 things I swear I'll never do:
1. get married. Never, ever, ever, unless for immigration purposes.
2. move back to Huron Park, Ontario. Especially now that I'm way too old to mess around with hockey school boys.
3. eat a salad with french fries on top of it. Sorry, everyone.
Stepping on children's heads
I have a crush on this artist: Felieke van der Leest. I found her through a link on MK's blog, and her kooky knitted jewellery is hilarious and lovely. Some favourites: cockroaches in sweaters, stripey little bangle creatures and tampon socks (look! one of them is Pippi Longstocking). She's talented, beautiful and kind of a nutcase, my favourite kind of person. I just want to hold her hand and leap fences and skip across the Kinderkoppe, and go lie in a meadow in the soft focus sunshine, like in the movies, watching little animals leap off the ends of her tiny, tiny double pointed needles.
Have you ever had a dream where your brain played a silly joke on you that you didn't figure out until you'd been awake for a while? (no, I didn't dream about Felieke van der Leest, it's not that big a crush). Last summer, after my mom wrenched her ankle on the cobblestones in Paris, my grandma told me that in Holland they call cobblestones "Kinderkoppe"; literally, children's heads.
Well. After that I had a dream that I was walking across a field that someone had told me was a First Nations burial ground (hah! maybe it was down by the river here in Windsor, where the city doesn't even have the decency to not put a park overtop of people's bones), and I was stepping over stones that were sticking out of the earth, all of them carved to look like the tops of heads. These spirits were not at rest: the heads were twisted and straining, and from time to time I would catch a glimpse of a furrowed brow, the curve of a cheek, eyes squeezed tightly shut; in places a hand stuck out of the ground, fingers grasping at nothing. When I reached the other side of this creepy field I rested in a little ruined building with my companion (Krista, I think) and I told her about the Kinderkoppe, except in the dream the word I used wasn't Kinderkoppe, but Kopfschmerzen. Which, of course, means headache in German. I guess people walking on your head all day would be somewhat Kopfschmerzen bereitend, eh?
Hey, look over in the sidebar there: I figured out how to put buttons on! Soon, maybe today, I'll put some links to my friends and my favourite blogs, just like everyone else has. That will be a good thing to do while I'm procrastinating with these grad school applications. So far I've only sent one out (to the University of Wisconsin-Madison), and actually getting the written part of the package together for the rest won't be that much work but I still don't have the rest of my slides taped and labelled. Doing these applications has sent me into a slough of self doubt; last month my ego was all puffed up, thanks to all the nice praise I was getting after having my grad exhibition and being published in Knitty at the same time. But now all of my hard work, and everything about me, is reduced to this one plastic sleeve of 20 slides, which total strangers will look at and then decide my future. And suddenly I'm terrified that my slides are crap, that my work doesn't look very impressive, that the lovely subtleties of layers of ink on paper don't translate well enough on a screen.
Ugh. I know, I just need to shut up and get over it. They'll either want me or they won't, and life will go on.
January 20, 2005
Slap the beaver
So I come up number one now if you Google search "beaver jodi".
Small pleasures, folks.
In other news, my wrist feels much better; I've been taking some time off from knitting and going to bed every night with this castor oil poultice my dad told me about, which feels really good. I've also started lifting weights again.
Because of the time off I've been giving my wrist, I haven't had anything to show (hence the recycling of old stories). I have done some work on the printmaking front, but so far it's all just naked pictures (of me) on the computer, and sorry, you're not seeing those. I hope to get in to the shop and work on something tomorrow, though.
Rogue is still not quite put together (the sleeves still need to be put in, that's it!) but I finally got the hundreds of ends woven in on my Cathode and wore it to class yesterday.
Now I'm off to Google "slap the beaver" and see what happens. God, I'm a geek.
January 18, 2005
Why I eat at the P.O.
Well, because of my hand, I haven't been knitting or printing, and I don't really have much to show. But I did exchange some e-mails with Christiane this morning about the big party I attend each year in Pennsylvania, and that brought to mind this vacation story.
This past summer, Peter, Claire (that's Mariah Claire, the sweater's namesake) and I went for lunch at the P.O. Diner in beautiful downtown New Castle PA. We picked it just because of its name, of course; we're big Eudora Welty fans around here. So we're ordering our food, and I have to be a freak and ask how many fryers they have, because I can't (won't) eat anything that's been fried in the same grease as fish (incidentally, the only place I've ever found that cooks their fish in a separate fryer is Bill's Sandwich Shop, also in New Castle). So after learning that they have only one fryer, I order a salad.
After a minute the waitress comes back and says "I guess you don't want the fries on your salad, then?". A salad comes with fries on the side? No, she says, the fries are on the salad.
Fries ON the salad? Like, where salad dressing will get on them?
The waitress says "you're not from around here, are you?", and proceeds to tell me that every place around here does it, and she even went to Florida last year and they had fries on the salad there, too.
Is this true? Has anybody ever heard of this? I've eaten in plenty of places in this area of Pennsylvania, and I've never before heard of fries on the salad. I mean, come on, it's gross.
Here's Claire and I looking at the waitress in utter disbelief; I think this may be the moment where I was saying "you put salad dressing on them?".
I bet she was making it up, just fooling around with the foreigners; it's all some kind of plot, and next year I'll go to the P.O. and ask for my salad without the fries and they'll think I'm crazy.
By the way, since I just can't believe that nobody wanted to know what the Amish guys had in their suitcase, I'll tell you: Wonderbread. The suitcase was jammed full with Wonderbread.
January 17, 2005
Because I can't just skip the blog thing for one goddam day
Today I'm coddling my left wrist to try to alleviate the pain of the repetitive strain injury I'm giving myself with too much computer-work and knitting. The only knitting related work I'm allowing myself today is seaming up Rogue. (don't worry, Dad, I'm going to try that poultice tonight).
Since I don't really want to type much either, I'll just give you a little cut-and-paste today. I've often wanted to put a tape recorder in my bedroom to capture the absurd conversations Peter and I have in bed. But I'm afraid that our awareness of its presence will change what we say, and it will end up like the time I was making casts of my first steps out of bed each day; because I knew I had to step into the moulding material, it changed my routine and ceased to be a pure recording of that routine.
So anyway, here's an excerpt of an online chat I had with Pete the other day (minus anything incriminating). Just because I feel the need to post, I thought it was funny, and I don't have to type it. Also, it's an excuse to use the word "beaver" again, since I discovered that someone found my site by Google searching "beaver jodi", but when I tried that my page didn't come up. So maybe now it will.
J: my dad was alarmed at the "Popeye-ish" appearance of my forearm in last night's post, he sent me a crazy home remedy for forearm and wrist pain
P: that's one big-ass forearm
J: well, my wrist is turned and I have tiny wrists, also my forearm was working, it doesn't bulge like that at rest
J: castor oil poultice
P: you know where they get castor oil....
J: why don't I just soak my arm in my own vaginal juices?
J: are you serious about the beaver
P: no... but "castor" is french for beaver
J: oh... duh
P: it actually comes from the seeds of Ricinus communis or Palma Christi (family Euphorbiaceæ)
P: thank you
J: palma christi? like the palms on the ground when he came into Jerusalem?
P: yeah, I guess so
J: that's okay then
J: I told my dad I'll try anything as long as it doesn't come from fish
P: you had to tell him that?
J: yeah, why not?
P: he should know by now
J: well I guess I wouldn't try anything from beaver either
J: I don't want to hurt a beaver
P: me neither... except, in rare occasions, where the beaver really wants to be hurt
J: slap it baby!
P: but if the slapping is too loud, all the other beavers run away
P: and rightfully so
J: can't have that
J: I don't have anything to write about today, can I just cut and paste this whole convesation onto my blog?
P: nope... confidentiality
P: and spelling
J: I especially wanted to put in the part about pigs flying out N----'s arse
P: that's be especially one of the parts to leave out
J: the record clearly states that I said it, not you
J: well I could edit a few things out
P: just skip the blog thing for one goddam day
J: wah wah
J: that was a Pingu wah wah sound, not a crying baby sound
P: don't cry, baby, you can do it
Peter clearly doesn't understand the burning need to blog. every. day.
January 15, 2005
A Bill Bixby moment
I was about twenty-six years old when I figured out that Bill Bixby and Lou Ferrigno were not the same person (okay, I didn't really figure it out. Someone had to tell me). I mean, I knew who they both were, but somehow I thought that when Dr. Banner turned into The Hulk, that was just Bill Bixby in makeup. It just never occurred to me to wonder how they got him to look so much bigger.
Have you ever had one of those moments where something you really should have known all along suddenly becomes clear? I had two Bill Bixby moments today:
I was chatting online with my cousin this afternoon and she mentioned in passing that our family used to be Mennonite. I said "what! you're making that up" and she said "Pennsylvania Dutch". Well. I thought Pennsylvania Dutch just meant German. Okay, I knew they were Mennonite. But I guess because our family was Lutheran, I thought that some Pennsylvania Dutch were Mennonite and some were Lutheran. Well, I was wrong. Not that anyone's religious beliefs really matter that much to me, except for mockery purposes (but I'm trying my best to quit that, lest some higher being decides to break my blog again for spite). So I won't even talk about what horrible things Amish men who take the Greyhound to Bowling Green, KY carry in their suitcases. That could get me into trouble.
The other Bill Bixby moment happened in the pub, where instead of the usual crappy tweedle-dee-dee music they had the Detroit classic rock station on: I never understood why you always heard Queen's We Will Rock You and We Are the Champions together. Pete said they are the same song, and I laughed and laughed, and probably called him a mean name. Well. They are the same song.
In other news, we've had a fairly successful graft:
You can see the graft, but I think that only a knitter would really notice. Actually, I know a lot of knitters who probably wouldn't notice (not you guys though, you guys are hawks). Now that I feel like I'm racing, I've got the hood done and one sleeve sewn up. But, true to form, halfway through seaming I started something new.
I bought this sweater secondhand; it's cheap acrylic, but I liked the mix of red, black and white, and there's a cable in it that you can't see in the picture (a boring rope cable though, don't get too excited). When I tried it on it made me look like a middle aged former football player--huge shoulders, beer gut. So I cut it off, and I'm making a skirt. I'm not even sure I'll like it as a skirt, but we'll see.
January 14, 2005
All I need is a little kick in the arse. . .
All ready to seam up:
Of course, as soon as the photo was taken, Miss Fatty had to get in there. Look, she's bigger than Rogue!
And now, to bed.
This big mouth is a curse
So. After showing you a picture of Rogue the other day and then not touching it since (I'm the queen of abandoning a project in the home stretch; there's a vast collection in this house of lovely, nearly finished garments I've jilted at the altar), I saw how far Claudia is on her hood. And challenged her to a race to the finish.
Well. I was working on something new, something fun and spring-ey and NOT CABLED to submit to spring Knitty. But then I threw that silly gauntlet down, and I can't not follow through, especially when my last post was all about how tough I think I am. So I did a few more rows, and I'm now right where I think Claudia is (at least, where she was when she posted this morning. She might already be done and I'm wasting my time). So here's a picture, at row 62:
Wish me luck.
January 12, 2005
Back to the grind
This here is one of my favourite tools. If I ever become a professional wrestler (and you know it's a possibility) I would base my wrestling persona on this tool: THE LEVIGATOR. Say it with me in your best pro wrestling voice and hear how tough it sounds. What kind of special grappling skills does The Levigator possess? Well, she's heavy. And abrasive. And she spins like a banshee (I know, don't write and tell me that banshees scream, not spin, okay? because I think that anything worth doing with gusto can be done like a banshee).
Just picture it: I slam my great heavy roundness against my opponent, knocking him sprawling on the mat. I sprinkle carborundum, heretofore concealed in my spandex shorts, all over him ("ladies and gentlemen, there's a foreign object in the ring!") and flop! down, belly first, spinning on top of him with gusto. My opponent is flattened, and smooth as a baby's bum.
Oh, yeah. Move over, Chyna.
So my litho stone had a spa day today; after all the times I've left her crusted with thick layers of ink and cobalt dryer in the last year, she deserved a little pampering. She had her edges filed down and everything. Remember those butt-ugly prints I was working on? The ones with the nasty colours and silly frou-frou bullshit? That image is gone, daddy, gone. A victim of The Levigator.
January 10, 2005
Gackak-uk-ugh cough-guh-guh. Ugh.
We've been a little sick around here. Peter has been home from work since last Wednesday with a cold virus, and we've pretty much done nothing but sit around arguing over who gets to use the computer, drinking tea and watching the Live Aid dvd (my season-of-getting gift from my brother, who is quick to pick up on subtle hints like "I want this but Pete says it's too cheesy to hint that I want it on the blog so how's anyone going to know that I want it?"). And old South Park episodes. Guh. It's times like this I'm glad we don't have a tv set, or you know we'd just be lying in front of it in our pyjamas, turning into zombies. (since I'm always eager to plug my friends, can I just say that we have been thinking about getting a tv, but I want to save up for one of these ones).
I've also been trying to get my grad school applications in order, but I started feeling sick on Friday, and spent the whole weekend trying to write but feeling too crappy. But it's all done now, almost. It's my own stupid fault for leaving it to the last minute, as usual, but I only seem to be able to pull good writing out of my arse when the heat is on.
And hey, I didn't mention this last week because it wasn't a sure thing and I didn't want to jinx it, but I got a job teaching some papermaking workshops at Western this semester. It'll only be three, maybe four days and I'll have to go up to London on the Greyhound, but it's good experience and I really like their papermaking shop, it's clean and well-lit (unlike ours) and I made some really good paper there, back in the day. And it's a paying job! It's so nice when a little bit of cv-padding drops in your lap like that, right when you have to send your cv out to people. Mwah.
I fixed Cathode up, re-knitting the neck ribbing with more stitches so that it lies flat and lengthening the bottom ribbing so it's not too short anymore. Hah! It wouldn't have been too short if I hadn't made it a size too small for my chub, but then I wouldn't have had enough yarn for the body part. And as you might already know, I like it skin tight. Look, it's better now, eh?
Looks pretty sexy with the kittycat pyjama bottoms, doesn't it? I had to cut out my sick head; trust me, you didn't want to see it. You can see up around the neck opening there that I still have some serious ends to weave in; the whole inside of the sweater is still full of them and I'll probably wear it like that anyway, it's just the kind of careless slag I am.
January 06, 2005
First of all, go and check out what Stephanie's up to; the running total of donations she's solicited for MSF Canada is past eighteen grand--woo hoo! And all from knitters and knitting bloggers. I guess we're not just a bunch of geeks wanking about our craft in public. (woops, I almost wrote pubic, but hopefully most of us don't wank that in public either).
I'm chugging away on Rogue's hood, a little slower than I'd hoped because of pain in my right hand (the knitter's curse). I started to feel it while trying to knit while watching Canada whip Russia's ass the other night, then it got really bad while knitting last night at a meeting. So I'm taking it in smaller bouts for a while. But hey, wanna see the hood?
Here's what I'm doing today.
Putting together some of my grad school applications, because deadlines are coming up pretty fast. Thankfully I only have one set of slides to send out this week, but you can see that I still haven't even taped these off yet. I have to put the knitting down and hurry. Ugh.
January 04, 2005
An imposter bites the dust
I have a bad habit of watching the ground whenever I walk anywhere, because I'm convinced that I'm going to find some kind of treasure some day, just lying there on the sidewalk. Of course, I have found some treasure, but I've also fallen off curbs and walked into poles (yep, I'm a thing of grace).
The other night Peter and I walked down to Milk and on the way back we picked this oddly squishy figure up off the ground.
It was pretty dirty, but we suspected that this was a rare gummy representation of that elusive yet talented superhero, Mazurka Man. Look at him boogie. He's even doing the devil horns:
Clearly Mazurka Man knows how to rock and roll.
[As an aside, and because I'm a little link-happy today, here is something interesting that I found while looking around for a picture of the mazurka to show you: Kromski Wheels (scroll down a little to see the Mazurka). Lovely, isn't it? If anyone comes across a spinning wheel named after the Korobushka, let me know, I think I'll get one.]
Imagine our dismay when we gave the thing a bath, only to discover that it was just a cheap gummy Spiderman, trying to weasel his way into our house by covering himself with mud and pretending to be something better than he was (because, after all, who would want to pick up a gross dirty gummy Spiderman toy off the ground? but Mazurka Man, well, that's different).
The smarmy bastard. There was nothing to do but throw him to the lions.
January 01, 2005
Some things I learned in 2004
I learned how to cable without a cable needle. I taught myself to do it while on vacation, and it's so easy and fast that I can't believe everyone isn't doing it.
I learned that in order to be a real activist, you have to be able to devote yourself to activism full time. There is no time for jobs, or school.
I learned that although I am not the kind of person who can be a full-time activist, when I need to I can arm myself with enough knowledge and enough help to wage a fierce battle, and to win.
I learned that good whiskey is not cheap, and cheap whiskey is not good.
I learned that you should always check your dye lots.
I learned that writing a knitting pattern is a lot harder than it looks.
I learned that I can't really do math after I've been drinking.
I learned that when a beautiful stranger asks if she can scratch your itch, that's a come on.
I learned that blogging will take over your life.
I learned that it's easier to teach a child to knit than it is to teach an adult to draw.
I learned that sometimes losing can be a godsend.