Monthly Archives: May 2005

My Memorial Day Weekend

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There is nothing quite like sitting around a back yarn yard with ten of your closest, sitting on lawn chairs, hearing about Tim’s stepfather’s new suit of armor. There is also nothing like your best friend showing up on your doorstep at 7 a.m. because The Schnoz’s Greyhound from Iowa City was FULL, and she ended up driving him to Chicago so he could make his flight to France.

And then finding out that although they made it in time for the flight, they went to O’Hare, and the flight was from Midway. The point is that she was here, and I got to hang out and rip open Quimby’s Bag ‘O Mag with her whilst lying about Wicker Park. That’s the point.

And there’s nothing like your little sister calling you at 2 a.m. for advice.

And there’s nothing like a bit of sunburn.

And there’s nothing like finding a perfect read-a-style gift for a friend who has no idea that they’ll be getting a present before the week is out.

Also nothing like the onset of an Infinite Jest read-a-long. Not that that’s happening this month or anything…

Let’s get it staaaarteeeeed

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I woke up this morning with the song “Let’s Get It Started” in my head. The chorus only, of course. It’s now 10 a.m. and I am still plagued by it.

I hate Lion Brand Yarn, because they’re so purvasive. I hate them because they created a pattern for the poncho Martha Stewart was wearing when she left prison. I hate them because they send me a newsletter I mostly don’t want.

Somehow, though, I ended up fascinated by a link in their newsletter to the Smithsonian Institute.
purlharder

There’s nothing like a bad knitting pun, and there is NOTHING like a war poster using a knitting pun.

Bodyworlds

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050520_saddam_hmed_330a.h2

Is there some sort of grammatical interpretation of this headline that makes sense? Jake? Anyone? Post a comment if I’m an idiot for pointing out that “tyrant’s” is posessing nothing. Is it like Tyr-Ants in the Pants or just an awkward way of saying “tyrant is in his pants”?
These knitters are crazy. It’s much like I’ve read about the ALA conferences – it’s always the quiet ones who get really drunk.

I have deep purple stains on my lips from the cheap-ass wine,
I’m full of pumpkin pie,
and my SWATCHES ARE DONE! I just kept on knitting – like the little proverbial that could.

Overall, the weekend has been fairly low-key and friendly. I always worry that because we only have knitting in common, an extended period of stitch ‘n bitch will end up in random pleasantries and talk of children and grandchildren, which honestly, I find tiring.

The Chicago SnB had its own flavor of disconnection. The knitters were way more intense and really not pleasant. (I’m sure that’s changed, now that the Wicker Park unit has fragmented.)

Here, everyone is from Iowa or living here now, so there’s a deliberate head-on-shoulders attitude that Chicagoans brag about but rural folk really exhibit. The whole weekend has been refreshing because of that. These knitters have good taste (no Red Heart!) but they don’t get hoity-toity about the whole thing. That’s what I need – noncompetitive knitting.

That doesn’t mean that there wasn’t a discussion about [edited for content.]

Good God, I’m tired. I’m going to fall asleep before the cops show up. Asleep is an alibi, right?
Jason and I went to the Museum of Science and Industry to see Bodyworlds – the semicreepy livehumansstuffedwithplaydough. I have to say,
it was WAY better than that Discovery Channel show on Pompeii.

Get up, eat breakfast

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It’s 8:45 a.m. and I’m eating a big bowl full of rice crispies, grape nuts, and banana slices.

I turned on the tv, and what do I get to bless my eyes as I’m eating my delicious trifecta?

Made. Jayzus. I might as well be watching Showgirls. Much like hard liquor, there are just some things that are easier to stomach after noon.

Glitch in the matrix

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I’m having that weird thing happen again, when I’ve been doing too much graphic design. I was just knitting something, and did something I didn’t mean to do. I had that half thought/half reaction of pressing Ctrl+Z. This would, of course, undo the last thing I did.

Except I’m knitting, and neither the yarn nor myself are equipped with an undo function.

Site for my mom

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Kittenwars header
Kittenwar.com is a site where you choose between two pictures of kittens. There’s a list of the winningest kittens, and the losingest kittens. I haven’t looked at losingest yet, I bet they’re mangy.

Warning: Disturbing dream

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Last night my dream was much more weird than the night before. In this dream, I had stopped at a convenience store on my way to work, where I ran into Holly. We chatted and she told eye-rolling stories about Signs Now. The owner of the store was a letcherous-looking old man who kept trying to get into the conversation Holly and I were having. Holly left, and I was perusing the doughnuts when the owner came over and told me that he was going to kill my family if I didn’t perform a certain favor. I didn’t see what choice I had, but then realized that this guy probably didn’t know where my family lived, and if I went to the police, my family could be protected. I ran out of the store and into the parking lot where there happened to be a police car. I ran up to it and told the officer. He smiled a charming smile and handed me four quarters. He said “Go stand over there in that line, and we’ll get right to you.”

I queued, and spent several hours in line. The line thinned out as people started giving up and going home. Finally, I was left with just one other person. I asked him what the quarters were for, and he said to buy (something; I don’t remember) and then he left. I wasn’t sure what to do, because if I left, the police wouldn’t help my family, but if I stayed, the fam could be hurt in the meantime.

I left. I went to the safest place I could think of, which was an apartment several of my friends had. (These were friends I had in college: Jeff Oleshki, Jeremy Koch, and John Bowser.) I figured I’d be safe where there were big angry male friends who could fend off a crazed convenience store owner. They seemed indifferent to my story, which made me angry, and their attempts to calm me by offering me a turn with the PlayStation didn’t help.

That, my friends, is where I woke up.

Star Wars III: SIIIIIIITH

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I saw the new Star Wars movie tonight. I have to say, it didn’t suck. The first one sucked large large large amounts of antimatter. The second wasn’t much better. This third one is the best of the newbies. Now, I love the fourth, fifth, and sixth in the series – there’s a certain excited feeling I get when I watch them, a triumph.

Maybe it’s that this one aligns to the old school ones. I don’t know. What I do know is that I always find myself acting a little different when I leave movies I really like. For instance, after seeing the first X-Men movie with Abbie and Dave, I couldn’t stop chattering about what our superpowers might be (it turns out mine is the ability to turn into a 13-year-old boy by merely donning a hoodie and baseball hat). I did cartwheels out to the car.

Tonight, I raced home like the fate of the empire rested on the shoulders of me and my Taurus. Silly, yes. Dangerous? Not really. I live in a vacuum. Anyway, I have that super-jazzed feeling of just watching a really good action movie, and I’m a happy camper. It was worth the $6.