July 27, 2005
Answers to some vitally important questions
I'm feeling somewhat better, although I've still got several days worth of antibiotics left to swallow, which means several more days of everything tasting like metal. A metallic taste in the mouth and a fridge full of Guinness don't go together very well. And the amount of different drugs I'm on right now makes me feel like an old woman, but I won't list them all for you. Because I'm not an old woman yet, damnit. Just teetering on the edge of middle age.
Just for fun I'm posting from my brand new laptop, to try and get myself used to this crazy, tiny, so tiny keyboard. It's driving me nuts, I feel all scrunched up here with my hands so close together, and why is the back button so small and buried? Don't they know how often I need to use that? It should be big, and also raised. For dopes like me who constantly type the wrong word.
Okay kids, sit back and get ready for question and answer period. Here, here's a little rocking chair for someone who likes to rock, and an armchair over here for two more to curl up in. Make yourselves comfortable. I'd like to take a moment to address some of the recent search queries that have brought people here. I'll skip the truly dirty stuff, since I seem to be some kind of magnet for people looking for p*rn, especially those types of p*rn of which I disapprove.
So: to the person (people) who came here looking for sofia loren weblog, lovely armpits and are hairy armpits sexy, yes, they are, and I suspect that the sexy hairy armpits are the only thing that Sofia Loren and I have in common. And sadly she doesn't appear to have a blog.
who was the girl who was in the picture pretending to be nancy drew of the crook who stole the book: go to your library. Go to the reference desk. Ask them to show you how to use a search engine.
agnetha's ass: for crying out loud. How come nobody ever goes looking for Frida's ass? She's pretty cute too, you know.
caroline mortimer blog: ah, here's one I can help you with. Link's right there in the sidebar, under friends.
magic 8 ball voice: perhaps you'd better get back on your medication. Immediately.
who is jesus murphy: just some Irish guy. I'd be careful around him if I were you, I think he might be from Lucan. And you know what they say about people from Lucan.
solid yellow line highway ontario: sometimes I wonder how the hell these searches lead to me. I can tell you this: if you happen to see the yellow-line painting truck going down the highway painting a brand-new yellow line, don't try to write your name in the paint with your finger. It's not the same as fresh cement, and you will only end up with a finger scraped raw and a stinging wound that is filled with yellow paint. And I learned this in Ontario.
drawings of motley crue: you must be kidding.
naked pictures polly montreal: to the best of my knowledge, Polly has never been to Montreal. During the twelve or so years we've been together she's pretty much stayed in London and Windsor. She doesn't talk much about her life before we met, though, so it's possible it was her you saw there. I do know that before she moved in with me she spent a few years locked in a scout hall attic in Waterloo. It upsets her to talk about that time in her life, so I don't bring it up. And she does spend a good deal of her time naked.
meaning of the word bushmill: I think it means something like "good for removing nail polish" or "you will surely vomit".
pittsburgh salad: it's nice to see that I'm still coming up pretty high in that search, because I feel it's my role in life to warn all the little children of the world away from such awful food. Do. not. eat. the Pittsburgh salad. You will surely vomit.
zombie jesus ohio: it's just a statue. I don't think it's really a zombie. I mean, I took all those pictures of it and didn't see it eating any brains or anything. It's possible that it was Jesus Murphy from Lucan that you saw eating brains in Ohio. People from Lucan are wacky that way.
jodi's curse: boys and girls, I think we'll save that story for another day.
July 25, 2005
Invasion from the sea
Foam rested in the Sea's bed:
Swollen with wind, the deep played,
And the Welling Waves were washing
The awful heads of the war-ships.*
We saw this reproduction of an old Norse boat on the Detroit River yesterday. It was too far away to make out the heraldry on the shield.
*from the Prose Edda of Snorri Sturlson, ca 1200.
July 23, 2005
Too Sexie for my shirt
So Sexie it hurts. . .
Pattern: Sexie halter from SNBN, by Kim Fairchild
Yarn: sparkly red ribbon, recycled from a Value Village tunic. The original sweater was totally something one of the Golden Girls would have worn on a hot date: loose and frumpy, sparkly old-lady glam. Ugh. Working it way too tight in order to get the called-for gauge created a dense and stretchy fabric that Blanche Devereaux wouldn't be caught dead in.
Mods: 1)I eliminated the vertical row of eyelets in the centre front because the yarn wasn't showing them. I first tried a double yarn over to make a larger hole, but it looked sloppy, plus it just would have been something to get my navel piercing caught in.
2) The first three sizes all had six eyelets on each side of the back while the larger sizes had nine. I made the third size, and worked eight eyelets on each side instead of six because I wanted the lace panel to fill as much of my back as the model in the photo, who I suspect was wearing the smallest size.
Satisfaction: about 75%. It's a gorgeous shirt and it worked up beautifully in this yarn, but I think I made it too big. You can see in the top photo that it's a little gapey in the front, and there's some extra fabric under the arms. Also, if I wanted to I could pull the back completely closed. But it looks good enough to wear for now, and since I only used about half of the red yarn, I'll make another one in a smaller size and then give this one away to someone it'll flatter better. Then I'll probably make one for me in another colour as well. Because I love. this. shirt.
Of course, it's perfectly hot hott hottt enough to wear for my going-away party tonight.
The throat thing? Definitely an infection and not a virus. So I'm now on an antibiotic that makes everything taste like metal, and probably won't be able to drink my Guinness. Gah.
One last thing: have any of you guys ever had the chicken pox vaccine? After two days, is it supposed to look like this?
July 22, 2005
Forget grad school. Why don't I just go join some shake-a-rock and roll band?
Warning: long rant ahead. Lots of tiny frustrations, all snowballing. A snowball this size is liable to crush me.
In order to be able to register for my courses, I have to prove that I've been immunized against measles-mumps-rubella, tetanus and chicken pox. I knew that I'd had the MMR as a child and the tetanus five years ago, and I've had chicken pox, so I started calling around to find my immunization records, which turned out to be an almost complete waste of time. My mom managed to find an old record from 1973 that I'd had a shot for measles and rubella, but not mumps; the receptionist at my old doctor's office, where I had my most recent tetanus shot, pretty much refused to give me my records. And I couldn't prove I'd had chicken pox, since nobody goes to the doctor for that, so I had to get a blood test.
Since it's impossible to get a family doctor in this town I've been relying on the university health centre for the last four years, and now that I've graduated, they have cut me off. So I went to a walk-in clinic near where I live to have the blood test ordered. Apparently I chose the wrong clinic, because when I got to the blood lab and handed over my form, they all looked at it and started rolling their eyes and sighing and saying they'd had nothing but problems with this clinic. . . the doctor didn't fill out the request properly AND they couldn't read his writing, and where he had meant to write "tetanus" it clearly did not say tetanus. Of course, the clinic wasn't answering their phone, so the lab drew my blood anyway but had to wait for confirmation from the doctor before sending it away, delaying my test by several days. And, of course, now I'm stuck having to rely on the crappy unprofessional nothing-but-trouble clinic to get my results, because the lab won't just send them to me or forward them to a different doctor.
That was a month ago, and the MMR is the only test for which I've seen any results. The others are things they don't often test for, and one was sent to Toronto and one to Hamilton, apparently by bicycle courier or possibly pony express. Because, hello? I could have taken all of my blood to Toronto in four hours. It has been four weeks. And I have been panicking because there's a special course I want to take that I was convinced would be really popular, and I really don't want to be shut out of it.
I called the clinic about a week and a half ago and was told my results were in, so I walked over, and found that only the rubella was back (my levels were just on the borderline). The doctor was able to call the lab and find out that I had tested immune to measles but not to mumps, so he went ahead and gave me the shot. I asked him to just give me all the shots but he refused and told me to wait another week for the lab results (he said they don't give a chicken pox shot to people who have had it, but the test was going to take a long time because they don't often test for it, so how the hell else are people supposed to get proof of immunity, for fucksake?). So I waited. And when I called back in a week the clinic was moving to their new location and the phones were not working.
After trying to reach them for three days, finally yesterday I stormed down there, and was told that the tetanus and chicken pox were still not in and that their phone was down but they would call the lab as soon as it was fixed, or I could call the lab myself. I said, but the tests were sent to Toronto and Hamilton, and she said, the lab in town will have the results. So I went home and called the lab, knowing full well that the results would go directly from Toronto to the clinic, not to the local blood lab. And I was right. Just for fun I asked the woman at the lab, do you think the people at this clinic are assholes? would I be better off never going back there, and just getting the shots at some other clinic? and she said, uh, maybe?
In the meantime, I thought I'd better call the school and make sure that this was indeed the last hoop I had to jump through before I could register, and after having to dial the admissions office and go through the labyrinth of recorded options six times, I finally reached a human being who was able to tell me that my transcript had arrived and that restriction had been lifted, but the art school hadn't processed my advising form thing yet (the thing I did in early June when I visited the school). Because apparently the art school can't clear me to register until graduate admissions does, it all has to be done in a particular order, you see.
Finally, in a complete tizzy by now, I called Andra at the art school, and can I just say, Andra? My favourite person. She took care of the advising thing, helped clear up a few other things regarding course registration and my assistantship job, and also checked on the class I'm worrying about and told me there's still room in it for me. I wonder if the school has already flagged me as high-maintenance? There's probably a note in my file, this is the girl who was so stupid she had to come all the way down from Canada to get help filling out forms. File under "high-strung". Shit.
So last night I went to the after hours walk-in clinic to get immunized. After a (remarkably short for health-care deficient Windsor) 40 minute wait, the doctor told me that he could give me the tetanus but chicken pox isn't something they normally give to adults, and hadn't I ever had it? I said, yes, but I need proof and I can't get proof so just give me the damned shot, please. He asked me why I needed proof and I told him, and he reached for a blood test request form. And I FREAKED. I seriously freaked. So the guy gingerly put the form back, leaning away from me a little, and wrote me a prescription to take to the pharmacy next door. And assured me that when I came back I wouldn't have to sit in the waiting room again.
Well. My drug plan doesn't cover the chicken pox vaccine. I had to pay eighty dollars to be immunized against a disease I have had. And I'll tell you this: if the clinic calls today to tell me that my blood test results are in, I am going to go down there and smash their window. I'm that high strung.
But all restrictions have been lifted, and I'm cleared to register. As soon as the fucking online system decides to play nice and allow me into my classes; the only one it will let me into is the one I was afraid of being shut out of, but it won't actually put me down in the class until I've selected a full course load of classes, and it keeps saying I still don't have the department's permission to take the teaching practicum (I do so) and that printmaking is full (AS IF I can be shut out of printmaking. As if). Gah. So now I'm calling Andra again ("hi, Andra? It's me again, the moron. Can you hold my hand?")
Oh, and I woke up with some intense throat pain this morning, after sitting for 40 minutes last night in a waiting room next to a woman who had some kind of infection in her throat and sinuses. So, back to the clinic (a different one, as if I'm going back to the asshole place, no way!). The doc says maybe it's just a virus but gave me an antibiotic anyway, and I'm just going to take it. Fuck it.
July 20, 2005
A little scare
This morning when I came out of the bedroom, only Fat girl was lying in the hallway waiting for me. The usual routine is for both of the fats to rally in the hallway (can you call it a rally with only two attendees?) before six in the morning, and start making noise and clawing at the door when we don't get out of bed right away after the clock radio comes on. Then when I get up and go into the bathroom they follow me, cornering me on the toilet to get attention and to bump against my knees, and when I come out of the bathroom the two of them go tearing down the stairs together and straight to the food dish. Today, only Fat girl. Fat boy was nowhere to be seen. I didn't start to worry about it until he didn't turn up at the sound of the cat food being dished out (Fat girl didn't seem at all worried about where her brother was, she was too intent on getting her breakfast). I looked around, looked in the basement, went back upstairs: no fat boy. I checked under our bed. Not there.
Beginning to panic, I went down the basement again and called him. I even put my arms in the slimy sink water and felt around to see if he'd fallen in and drowned (our sinks aren't draining very well, and fill to the top every time we do laundry so that we have to bail them out with buckets for every single load. And of course I didn't bail last time, so they're still full). He wasn't there. I realized then that I hadn't seen him since before bed last night, when Peter shooed Fat girl in off the back deck and locked the back door. I went outside and looked around the back yard, then up and down the street out front, then in the back yard again and under the deck. I went in and told Peter that Fat boy was lost and that he was going to have to help me go out and look around the neighbourhood for him.
Peter went downstairs into the kitchen, opened the screen door and said "here he is".
He did get locked outside last night. He spent his first night ever all alone outside. The fats are indoor cats, and only go outside in the daytime, and only when I'm home. Fortunately, he's too big a chicken to run off; I have to prop the screen door open for him to go outside at all, because if it closes behind him he freaks out and cries like his life is ending until I open it and let him back into the house. So probably he just cowered under the deck all night and worried and felt sorry for himself, the dumb little shit. He was pretty shaken, but okay. And as soon as he'd had his breakfast he was right back outside.
July 19, 2005
Cruising on fumes
It's too hot to do anything but this right now. By the time this heat wave is over, I'll be moving to Georgia. I've always had crappy timing.
I'm thinking about starting an anonymous blog. Actually, maybe Pete and I will start an anonymous blog together. Because sometimes there are stories to tell that just can't be told here, and then because I can't tell those stories and have nothing else to write about, I just wank about something frivolous instead, and that's boring and no fun for anyone. But hey, my dad reads this sometimes, and I'm sure you'll all agree that my dad does not need to know about things like what size padlock some guy I met at a party can put through his Prince Albert. So it's best if we don't even discuss it, okay?
Actually we've met a few circus-freak types lately. And on an unrelated note (honest!) I went out to Royal Oak to hang with the knitdetroit group last night, and it was a blast(no freaks there, except for me, but I think I hid it well). Kirsti was working on a gorgeous project, but I think it might be a secret so I won't talk about that either. It was almost done, so maybe she'll unveil it soon.
Pete drove over with me to hang out and have supper with Kirsti and I at the Mexican place near where the group meets, and it was people-who-look-under-thirty day at the border, or tattooed-person day or long-haired-guy day or something, so for one of those reasons we got hauled in and had our car searched. But it wasn't too big a deal and didn't take long, since we're law-abiding geeks with nothing but hockey sticks and stuffed animals in the car; we don't provide very much excitement in the boring day of a customs officer. Thank goodness. I did look like a moron, telling the car-searching guys that the van's sliding door is kind of hard to open because the inside panel is falling off, and when they said "you open it for us, then" it opened no problem, even though I know it was jamming up on the kids all the time. Apparently Peter fixed it and didn't tell me, so the Customs guys were no doubt thinking I was making some kind of lame attempt to cover up the fact that I couldn't get the panel back on properly after I was finished hiding all the crack cocaine in there (hi, dad, JUST KIDDING).
I have finally got all of my immigration stuff figured out, but they sure don't make it easy. Yesterday I was almost in tears because the 800 numbers they give out on the Homeland Security website don't work if you're calling from Canada. So finally (almost in despair; really, I've got to try not to be such a drama queen sometimes) I called the U.S. Consulate in Toronto, and while they weren't willing to help me either, through an elaborate rigamarole I finally managed to find a phone number that was answered by a real human being (a real human being I had to pay two dollars and twenty five cents per minute to talk to, but by that time I was willing to pay anything; that's the trick, I guess, they break you down with a series of recordings and option menus that don't include anything remotely close to what you need, so that you're weak and defenseless when they finally tell you it's going to cost you money, and you give in and pay just to hear a human voice that might have an answer for your questions). And I found out that I don't have to do anything until I'm ready to cross the border with my van load of stuff.
So, the United States requires proof that I am going to return to Canada and not try to stay in the US once I've weaseled my way in on a student visa. I said to the lady, I can show them the deed to the house I own in Canada, is that enough? and she said it would be good if I could get letters from my family saying that I'll come back. Because, yeah, that's official. Can't fake a letter from Gramma. I said, my common-law spouse will be driving me down but he's not moving with me, so if I show the deed to my house and they can see that I also have a spouse in Canada, is that enough? and she said he needs to bring proof that he has reasons to come back to Canada too, like for example proof of employment. Okay, I said, I'll bring the deed to our house, my spouse will bring his salary letter which outlines his recent promotion and pay raise, is that enough? and she said, it would be good if he had letters from his family too. Then she said, they probably won't want to look that deeply into it, but just in case. Because, apparently a bunch of letters that could be written by anybody and signed "Jodi's mom" are going to convince them if they don't think the official proof that I (hello) own a house with my spouse who is remaining in Canada where he has a respectable job with a good salary and, oh yes, he has children here too is enough. Whatever. The letters thing just seems stupid to me. I'll bring the deed, the salary letter, maybe a bank statement. Pictures of Pete's kids, for crying out loud. I'm tempted to just show them my OHIP card; really, the fact that health care is free here should be proof enough that I'll be coming back to Canada.
July 15, 2005
The mailman cometh
Look what arrived in the mail yesterday, from Alison at six and a half stitches--it's my back-tack package!
Alison made me a lovely needle roll
(oh, that flower! that cute little buttoned pocket! can you tell I'm excited? the fat little pincushion! somebody get my finger off the exclamation mark key)
and a sweet little notions bag with sashiko embroidery
I can hardly wait to pack for our camping vacation now that I don't have to keep all my knitting needles and sewing stuff in ziploc bags and plastic food containers.
The roll and bag were filled with great goodies, notions, soap, some very tasty tea, fantastic stuff. Some of the wrapping was so elegant I didn't want to open it up. Like this:
But it was worth it.
I feel spoiled. Thanks, Alison!
July 13, 2005
Brand new me
jodigreen.ca version 2.0 went live last night. It's now much easier to navigate, and more slick-looking. All of the creative work as well as the boring slogging through html pages was done by Peter; my role in web design is pretty much restricted to sitting back at his elbow and saying, I want more green, or I want a fatter typeface. Thanks, Pete, for spending all weekend on this and for making it all look so classy (and for wisely talking me out of the orange and green stripes idea).
There's space for a shop now, and I hope to have that up and running in about a week. Pete still needs to design the pages and I have to come up with some content, and set up a shopping cart.
If you see any mistakes, typos or broken links, be sure to let us know so we can make it perfect!
July 12, 2005
Stories from the 'hood: the kids are alright, but the animals are freakin' crazy
When we first moved to this town, we rented a cheap apartment in the second floor of a house, in what turned out to be the worst neighbourhood in town (east of the Casino). There's a lot of poverty there, a lot of substance abuse, a lot of chain link fencing around the front yards, garbage spilling into the street, and unhappy-looking, angry children with mean eyes who look like they might slash your tires just for driving by and disrupting their street hockey game. The guy downstairs was always drunk, always noisy and almost always fighting with somebody, often on his front porch (right under our bedroom window). In fact, our corner seemed to have some kind of magnetic attraction for angry people, or else there was something causing temporal-lobe stimulation that made people want to fight (maybe all the alcohol fumes and testosterone wafting out into the street from Louie's apartment below us). Many times we would lie in bed and hear people walking up the street, and when they got to our corner they would suddenly start fighting, then stop when they had walked past. One time it was a couple, talking normally until they were right in front of our house, then suddenly he was shouting "I'll rip your face off! I'll rip your fucking face off!" and she responded "rip my face off then! come on, rip my face off!". Then they crossed the street and resumed talking normally. No faces got ripped, as far as I know.
After two years there, we bought our house. Now we're on a charming, tree-lined street filled with young families, the children are happy and friendly* and nobody has chain link around their front yard or garbage on the sidewalk. It's only 8 blocks straight up the street from the old place, but it's like a different world. We're just on the edge of a pretentious little urban-professional neighbourhood (one of those neighbourhoods so pretentious that it insists on being referred to by its old town name it used to have before it became a part of the bigger city), and though it galls a girl with working-class roots like mine to admit it, we are part of the gentrification of this neighbourhood. However, since we're on the "wrong" side of W. street, our house cost us fifty thousand dollars less than people pay to live on the "right" side, and there are still quite a few rental houses owned by absentee landlords, and several crack houses in the next block over.
All of this is really just background to the story I wanted to tell about the crazy killer bird. But it's impossible for me to just tell a story, it's alway talk talk talk! around here, so deal with it. You should all be used to it by now.
So I was coming back from my walk out to the market and the yarn store (I got some black ribbon to finish Sexie--whee!) and when I came in my back gate the neighbour called me over to tell me that while she was on her back porch smoking a cigarette at 6:30 this morning, she stopped some guy from breaking into our van. She recognized the guy as someone who lives in or hangs around one of the crack houses around the corner (not that my neighbour goes to the crack house, she's just seen him around). These streets all have alleys running behind them and our parking is off the alley, and I'm sure that people's cars get broken into all the time back there. In fact our van was broken into back there once already, but we don't keep anything valuable in it; all they took were Peter's hockey sticks (only one was new, the rest very beat up) and our pop crate full of washer fluid and oil-soaked rags and a funnel. Very lucrative haul, there. My neighbour also said that a little while ago she saw someone break into the car of a house behind ours, and now they've installed a motion-sensor light out there. Maybe we'll get one too, but our stuff was stolen in broad daylight, while we ate our supper.
One more tangent, then I'll get to the story I meant to tell. Here is how much protection the residents of my neighbourhood can expect from the Windsor police: one afternoon about two months ago I was working at the computer and looked out the back window to see three men standing in our parking lot (there's a concrete slab at the back of our lot that stretches across the width of the property). They had bicycles and backpacks, and were looking over the fence into my yard and the yard next door. Then they started digging in their backpacks and pulled out some bottles of beer and started drinking it, and I noticed that one of them was wearing white gloves. So I called the Windsor police non-emergency line, explained the situation, and was told to call back if they did anything. I said, they are drinking beer on my property. They are sizing up the back of my house. They are WEARING WHITE GLOVES. Then they rode away. The lady said "call us if they come back". Why, so you can do nothing? Next time I'll go out there and take their picture and publish it on my website so when they do break into my house, well, I don't know what. I'll have their picture, anyway.
While I was in the back yard talking to my neighbour about all of this there was a sudden ruckus from the crowd of house sparrows who've taken up residence at our place ever since the mulberries started to ripen. They were shouting their heads off and swarming around a larger bird (the size of a starling, but it seemed to be solid black; my neighbour thought maybe it was a crow but if so it must have been awfully young). The black bird came out of the mulberry tree and landed on the sidewalk, and we could see then that it was attacking a smaller bird, and the other birds were flapping and shrieking, all in a tizzy. Then they all retreated and the black bird flopped and pecked around a bit then stopped and stood there looking down at what it had done. A neighbour cat who had been watching with interest from next door crept across my parking lot and under the gate, scaring the black bird back to the tree, where it did a kind of frenzied dance, gaping its beak but not making any sound. To my dismay, the cat did not avail itself of the fresh and free meal, and I had to go over and clean up the dead sparrow. The entire back of its head had been smashed in.
I don't think this is normal behaviour for crows. Is it for starlings? Is there some kind of bird gang warfare going on in my back yard (and if I cut down the mulberry tree, will it stop)? I hope it wasn't a zombie bird, bent on eating bird brains. Because I don't want that sparrow to become undead in my garbage can. Ew.
*The other day when I was on the front porch taking pictures of my shrink plastic, about half a dozen neighbour kids came up on the porch to
bug assist me. The 3 kids across the street had just been running up and down the block calling for their dog and I had heard the older sister say "she jumped out my bedroom window". So I asked A., the younger sister, "your dog ran off?". She said nah, we found her hiding in the house. I said that fat boy does that all the time, I'll think he's run outside and then find him cowering in the basement. J., the ten-year-old from up the street, rolled her eyes, shook her head and sighed, "Animals these days!".
Heh. Animals these days don't know how easy they have it. Why, when my dog was your age, he had to walk six kilometres barefoot in the snow twice a day to bring me my slippers. Uphill both ways, even.
July 11, 2005
Disregard my nervousness (please, ignore my vacant stare)
I've been in a profound funk the last little while; I'm finding it hard to motivate myself to do anything productive, and just generally feeling sorry for myself. Little things upset me more than they should, and it's as if every day is the Thursday before my period, when I'm liable to either freak out and maim somebody or cry over nothing.
I haven't really talked about this too much here, but when I go away to Athens for school in August, Peter is not going with me. We're going to be living in different countries, umpteen-however-many thousand miles apart, for the next three years. Of course I'll have lots of time off, and we'll be able to visit fairly often, but, still. The next five weeks before I go loom darkly.
So. I cannot bring myself to do any of the things I need to do that are connected with my going away. Like packing. Like putting everything I'm not taking with me into some kind of order so that Pete doesn't have to live in a pile of my crap. Like, making art. I have plenty of work I could be doing, but I can't force myself to touch it. Even though I feel a pang of longing when I walk past cellulose sponges in the grocery store (they're an essential tool for lithography, and since I graduated I haven't been able to do any printing), the wood for the woodcuts I wanted to start still sits upstairs, untouched. If it's something I'm taking away with me, I don't even want to look at it.
I haven't really felt like posting here either, mainly because I knew I would just whine about my plight. Like I just did. There are lots of other things I want to write about, but, you know. That motivation thing. Maybe tomorrow; for now here are some pictures of some of the things I've been doing to while away the time.
Bonus sexy armpit shot! Rrrrowwwr.
I'd been plugging away on this Tivoli and stopped to try it on. Whoa! Off the needles she went, postehaste. I'm using a heavy recycled cotton yarn, and had to rejig the pattern to fit my gauge. The resulting top is too loose and too thick, a big no-no on a short chubby torso like mine. It's not the pattern's fault, I love this pattern and intend to make at least three. But this isn't the right yarn for it. This yarn will have a much better and more attractive life as Stefanie's lace tube skirt from SnB Nation:
Evening Diamonds is finished and enjoyed her first night out on Saturday. Here's an arty wanker-type picture.
For anyone who's counting, this would be the 5.5th time I've knitted a top out of this yarn. It's a mystery cotton with a rayon slub, bought at the Hudson's Bay Company way back in the long ago time when they still had a yarn section. I made the same cabled racerback tank three times before figuring out that no matter how many times I reknit it, it still wasn't going to fit or look good. It then spent many dark years in a box before being dyed blue and unravelled last summer, and knit into a too-big Evening Diamonds halter. So I unravelled it one last time and knit it on a smaller needle, but when I was almost done the neck decreases I ran out of yarn. After tearing my house apart and flinging obscenities at an innocent man and a few cats, I unravelled the top half and changed the pattern enough to get a finished top out of the amount of yarn I had.
The yarn has a tendency to stretch out and lose its shape, which is the cause of at least half of my previous problems with it. If it stretches out too big again, I'm just going to put grommets up the back and lace it tight. Either that or have a ritual burning.
Here's a closeup of the beaded trim:
After the top was finished and the crochet trim on, I found this in my gym bag:
A very kind lady from Freecycle gave me an old Spirograph set from the seventies, and I made some more shrink plastic stuff:
and these little pieces to make into bracelets. I am addicted to watching the things shrink, and the only thing keeping me from running up a huge hydro bill using the oven all day is the fact that we're having a heat wave.
Peter is working on a new and improved version of my website, and unlike when they changed the recipe for your favourite breakfast cereal and raised the price at the same time, my new site is actually going to be better than the old one. We're hoping to be able to launch it by the end of the week, with an online shop going up soon after. Soon!
[To those of you waiting for t-shirts, I haven't forgotten or just slacked off; I've decided to wait until I've moved to order shirts. I am working on some designs though, and will post them as soon as they're ready.]
Claudia sent me this gorgeous skein of handspun cashmere:
My new pet. I can't stop stroking it. Thanks, Claudia!
The Sexie halter is this close (imagine fingers held soooo close, almost together) to being finished, but I still need to get some contrasting ribbon for the edging and lacing. It's been sitting on a stitch holder for three weeks, just waiting. Camocleo is similarly pining away, waiting for two measly seams and some i-cord. Motivation. Problem.
The OSW, however, is a quick little breeze to finish, so I did.
It is a wonder, all right. It's like a little boob lift, without the cutting.
So. After identifying my problem, do you think I made any steps to overcome it? Did I pack a box of stuff, or start my woodcut?
No way, baby. I went to Franco and Jelena's place and showed them how to pickle garlic. Isn't it pretty?
In the interest of getting me moving on the cleaning up my crap and putting it in boxes front, we've invited people to a going-away party for me on the 23rd of July. If you didn't get an invitation and want to come, send me an e-mail, and as long as you're not a creepy stalker I'll give you our address. The more people show up, the more crap I have to clean out of the way. There won't be any pickled garlic there, since it needs to sit for six weeks. But you'll forget all about that when you taste my amazing chutney, I promise.
July 07, 2005
This much madness is too much sorrow
I'm fasting today, and I was going to use it as an opportunity to gather my thoughts about hunger, and gluttony (and buffet), and write some of them down. But today is not the day for that. I have no words today, only sadness.
July 04, 2005
I got your back
I also made a matching pincushion, and some shrink plastic pins with spirograph and boomerang shapes and a tiny rocket ship. Whee! I really like the little plastic spirographs, and I think I'll make a bunch more for jewellery.
The embroidery designs and the pins were inspired by patterns on some of the vintage dishes in my kitchen, and by a table I have that my uncle Delmar made in the early sixties for my mom using diner-table formica. The fabric I was sent for this project is so amazing I was tempted to keep it for myself.
So I'm finally finished and ready to send it all off tonight, a few days late but hopefully worth the wait; I had so many ideas for goodies to fill it with that I had to get choosy because only so much would fit, and as it is the pouch is so full of stuff I can barely get it closed. I hope she likes it!