I like to write when I feel spiteful. It is like having a good sneeze.--D.H. Lawrence
There's nothing like a nasty case of bronchitis to bring out the bitch in me.
Especially when I heard on the news that we now have to request over-the-counter cold medication that contains ephedrine from our pharmacist, who keeps it behind the counter, not over it. Then you can buy it if you sign a form with your name and address. I don't mind having to ask for it, if it helps prevent methamphetamine production.
I do mind giving my name and address.
Thank Bush and the Patriot Act for this one. So I hear.
Slowly She Moved
Too damned slowly. I'm not getting shit done. Well, being sick doesn't help, either. Except that I found spinning to be just the thing. Easy to stop and blow your nose, I guess.
So first I messed around with the spindle and the BBF Atlantic. That was certainly slow enough. I'm really not liking my spindling at all. Too inconsistent. I just need to be patient.
But it was perfect for couch-potato fiber activity.
Then today, I was ready to complete some plying that I had started prior to the move. (Imagine moving the wheel with attached Lazy Kate. And not breaking the singles, either.)
Two big skeins of this are going to Selma the Axe Murderess. To refresh your memory, this is the Emerald City.
I really had to get this plyed up because we have a new denizen in the house [canti a catoccu]:
Did we need another fucking cat in the house? I didn't think so. However, I was overruled.
Now, don't go ooohhing and ahhhing and "how cute"sing because he (Buster) is a pain in my ass. The other three cats don't care about my fiber, my yarn, my wheels.
Buster believes that the Matchless is a feline amusement park placed in the living room expressly for his pleasure.
This is war and I'm not kidding. His kitten ass is going to get spritzed every time I see him near anything remotely related to my fiber activity.
Things Buster Better Stay Away From
I'm making some small progress on the F 'n' F shawl but not so much that I think I'll be done by Rhinebeck. Oh well.
(Nice artsy-fartsy shot, ala Joe)
I'll Pick Whoopi for the X and the Win
So those of you who'll be playing Rhinebeck Bingo in three weeks can expect to see me wearing a Square button, that will look like this:
Franklin did such a great job on this, did he not?
For those of you who have not met me and have no clue as to what I look like, here I am.
Yeah, it's blonde from a bottle. But hey, it works for me.
Don't be afraid to approach me. I don't bite, in person. Unless, of course, you feverishly accost me and bounce around like an idiot.
I'll be talking more about Rhinebeck in the next two weeks.
I have a few thoughts in my shaken-not-stirred brain that may culminate in a podcast or two, specifically interviews with other bloggers in a My Dinner with Andre scenario.
I don't foresee podcasting as a permanent feature, just something that would be an interesting experiment. And no, I am not interviewing bloggers who get more than 200 comments per entry. They've been overdone already. We've heard enough from them. I'll be choosing the chosen ones. And I guarantee they'll be interesting people.
Knitter's. Still. And always. Michelene is exactly right--A batwing poncho. In magenta. So your boobs look like you're on Jupiter. Knitter's never fails to disappoint.
I did like Candace Eisner Strick's socks. I always like her stuff. But the rest of it? Ask yourself this, in the name of conservation: How many fucking trees died to make this run of Knitter's?
Save a tree--don't buy the magazine.
Thinking back, the last knitting project I made from any commercial pattern was the Melanie shawl. These days, I'm content to spin my own yarn, do my own socks, buy designs directly from the designers, if possible, or do my own designing.
And here's another thing: How many of these so-called designers deserve that title? I would call myself a "constructor," not a "designer." I construct garments by plugging a stitch pattern into my garment calculations. The stitch pattern usually comes from one of my reference books.
So that makes me a designer? I don't think so. Sometimes, as in Fair Isle, I do create my own patterns. And I'm sure that if I had the time, I would be able to experiment more with stitch patterns. But I don't. Therefore, I am a true knitting Bionical. I take bits and pieces and put them together.
Of course, given what I've seen lately of the work knitting designers have been doing in the magazines, I'm rather glad that I make my own crap.
Because being a knitting constructor is good enough and certainly rare and handy.
Post Scriptum: The wonderful, doughty Jean Miles has broken her arm. Go to her blog and leave her a get-well message. Short of amputation, there's nothing worse that could happen to a knitter, particularly one in Jean's league.