Walkie Talkie update

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You may remember my plea for donations for my friend Angela’s Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. Well, the walk was this past weekend. (You may have noticed, since over 2,400 people migrated up the coast from downtown to Rogers Park and beyond.)

Angela reports that she has eight blisters (I swear, one of them looks like three on top of each other). She camped in Rogers Park during the thunderstorm, and is no worse for the wear. She said that amongst the walkers was a 75-year-old and a woman seven months pregnant. (That’s good baby karma, y’all.)

All together (including Jake and Kat and myself) Angela raised $2,300, and the walk raised $5.4 million dollars, of which $2 million has been donated to Midwest hospitals.

I haven’t actually talked to Angela yet today, but she didn’t look like she was hurting too much yesterday. She’s a champ. Three and a half woops for Angela! Whoop! Whoop! Whoop! Whoooo!

I need to adopt a baby.

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I recently had a heart-to-heart with myself (not as difficult as you think) and realized/decided/discovered that I will some day adopt a baby.

I’ve planned out so much of the next few years of my life, and I think I just kept going with the planning.

Anyway, it’s not something I’m going to do for a while, but when I read that Penn of Penn & Teller named his baby Moxie CrimeFighter Penn, it jolted me into remembering my inner conversation … because I think that’s exactly the kind of name I’d want to give a kid.

And that’s why I know I shouldn’t get one yet.

I fell a little bit in love

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Did I ever tell you about the time I was at a YRUU con (Young Religious Unitarian Universalist conference) and the Saturday night activity was learning about wiccan traditions, and then we had a drum circle?

Yeah. I was in a successful drum circle. “Successful?” you wonder. I’ve decided that drum circles and eighth-hour jam sessions are either successful or unsuccessful. You either all hit the rhythm or you don’t. I’ve experienced both, but in this first percussion jam-out, it was successful.

There were several actual drums, and then we pulled all the pots and pans from the kitchen, along with various utensils, to use. I think I ended up with two heavy-duty coat hangers. They had a nice high tone. Austin Wells (Grinnell ’03) started out with a giant soup pot. In 4/4 time, we all joined in. The result was music. We sat, fascinated by the collective sound we made. Eventually there was a silent movement to get up and move around. We formed the obligatory cha-cha line of impromptu instruments.

Goddamn right, we looked like hippies. It was awesome. I’d never experienced spontaneous music, and being high schoolers, we weren’t jaded enough to not think it was the coolest thing ever. Even with my six-year-old-mind’s enthusiasm, I don’t know if I could start a drum circle with a straight face now. Isn’t that sad?

So we kind of Native-American-hopped around the room, coiling around until the head lead us downstairs. As we went, someone started singing. It was the first time I heard the lyrics, but I’ll never forget them.

We all come from the goddess
And to her we shall return
Like a drop of rain
Flowing to the ocean

It was one of those things I remember with a sense of awe. I thought of it this morning, in the context of remembering when the adults got really pissed off when they discovered a whole set of kitchenware, ruined.
I was reading my BoingBoing RSS feed today,
and read this account of an experience in a chocolate shop in Florence, Italy. As I read, I kept smiling bigger and bigger. The sensations Doctorow describes are amazing, and make me want to go home and pull out that truffle cookbook I got for a quarter, and make something really really decadent.

I mean, the look on his face in the picture says everything, and I fell a little bit in love with him just then.

Rock crystal deoderant

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Did I ever tell you about the time I was at a YRUU con (Young Religious Unitarian Universalist conference) and the Saturday night activity was learning about wiccan traditions, and then we had a drum circle?

Yeah. I was in a successful drum circle. “Successful?” you wonder. I’ve decided that drum circles and eighth-hour jam sessions are either successful or unsuccessful. You either all hit the rhythm or you don’t. I’ve experienced both, but in this first percussion jam-out, it was successful.

There were several actual drums, and then we pulled all the pots and pans from the kitchen, along with various utensils, to use. I think I ended up with two heavy-duty coat hangers. They had a nice high tone. Austin Wells (Grinnell ’03) started out with a giant soup pot. In 4/4 time, we all joined in. The result was music. We sat, fascinated by the collective sound we made. Eventually there was a silent movement to get up and move around. We formed the obligatory cha-cha line of impromptu instruments.

Goddamn right, we looked like hippies. It was awesome. I’d never experienced spontaneous music, and being high schoolers, we weren’t jaded enough to not think it was the coolest thing ever. Even with my six-year-old-mind’s enthusiasm, I don’t know if I could start a drum circle with a straight face now. Isn’t that sad?

So we kind of Native-American-hopped around the room, coiling around until the head lead us downstairs. As we went, someone started singing. It was the first time I heard the lyrics, but I’ll never forget them.

We all come from the goddess
And to her we shall return
Like a drop of rain
Flowing to the ocean

It was one of those things I remember with a sense of awe. I thought of it this morning, in the context of remembering when the adults got really pissed off when they discovered a whole set of kitchenware, ruined.

Lifetime goals

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Back in 2001, I put together a list of things I wanted to do during my life. I recently remembered this list, and realized that I’m actually working on not one, but TWO of the list items. For a list of huge things, I think this is pretty awesome.

sonya

(1) I think the midwifery might take some training, unless there was one of those pregnant-woman-and-I-stuck-in-an-elevator incidences. I’m not holding my breath on this one – I just think it would be cool.

(2) My aunt Lora was a trucker, briefly, and I think it would be a really neat experience becoming very very familiar with the cities and roadways of an area. Plus there’s all that CB action.

(3) I’m fascinated with sign language. It’s not that I don’t want to talk – I just want to augment my speaking with even more information jabbering out of my hands at the same time. The more I can express, the happier I am.

(4) I keep missing the deadline for Teach for America. I still want to do it – I like the idea of a challenge like that – but I can’t complain about the library-track I’m on.

(5) Speaking of, why I AM working on becoming a children’s librarian. In fact, I’ll be starting that whole process come August.

(6) I still think I can cram a year of massage therapy courses into my life. I give gooooood back rubs, and I have a feeling I could be really good at massage therapy. Somehow, despite my other biology abilities, I did manage to learn most of the muscle names, and where they are. Of all of these goals, I think this might be one that comes to fruition.

(7) I’m talking about Minnesota to the delta. Jason was like “I’ll canoe the Mississippi”, so maybe that could be the “yea, I finished grad school”, or “yea, it’s summer and I’m not going to take classes” plan. I suppose it depends on what my friend Em is doing then. She’s my canoe inspiration. I think my brother would want to go too. There might have to be several canoes.

(8) I’ve just finished all the parts of level 1 for the Master Knitter program, so I’m on my way.

(9) This one I can’t explain. When I was little, I was fascinated with Vermont and Maine. I had maps up in my bedroom. I’ve always wanted to live there, despite knowing little about either state.

(10) I realize that sign language is a language. What I meant was “some other language, besides the above mentioned sign language”. I’m torn between Spanish, which would be horribly convenient; German, which I know a little but will serve very little purpose unless I’m actually in Germany or Argentina; or some random language like Esperanto, because it’s cool to learn an entirely new language.

So there you go.

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.