When your hobbies get in the way of your work - that's OK; but when your hobbies get in the way of themselves... well. --Steve Martin
I think mine has long since gotten in its own way. So I'm thinking perhaps it's time to simplify.
Does that mean I will buy nothing at Stitches and Rhinebeck? Like the presidential candidates, I ain't promising shit. Will someone please tell me why lately Hillary insists on laughing at anyone who challenges her? I find that most annoying. But then, I'm no FOH.
Open Mic Thursday
Now, when your hobby gets in the way of life's necessities, then you've got a problem, methinks. So, in deference to one of my beloved Wolvies (and because I'm fucking brain dead, as usual these days), I am offering up her topic for this week's Open Mic Thursday, in her own inimitable words. I wouldn't be so presumptuous to paraphrase her. Of course, if she wants to own up to this one, she can so do in the comments. But you'll probably guess who it is, anyway.
Would you rather have sex or knit?
(Maybe it'll bring Susan Maurer out of the woodwork to tell us about God's plan for our sexuality.)
I rather doubt that dear Susan reads this blog. However, if she does, please take your comments and post them on Joe's blog. He loves it when you infiltrate his comments and cause all of us to spit up small amounts of vomit. A self-proclaimed hits 'ho, he finds it satisfying to view his stats after a Maurer polemic.
Yee Haw or Some Shit Like That
Dallas looms on Monday. I'll be posting over the weekend, and most certainly from Denton next Thursday, since the laptop is always with me, as the camera will be too.
I asked Liz if she wanted me to bring her back something from Dallas. "Yeah," she sez. "I wanna cowboy hat." Cripes. Perhaps one in black with pink accents? Do they make punk cowboy hats? No doubt. I'll do my best.
The War
I don't know if any of you have been watching Ken Burns's documentary but I've been glued to the TV while knitting the Squeeze Socks (pics on the weekend). I've even forgone watching the Yanks, it's been so engrossing.
I was born a scant five years after the war's end and I still remember my mother talking about rationing, seeing my dad in his Army uniform when he went to Ft. Drum for reserve training. Because my father was German, I was frequently called a "Nazi" by kids in school, even though my dad and his family fled from Germany in 1939 because my grandfather was a Jew and my grandmother a Gentile.
Dad learned English from comic books, or so he told me. He was 16 when they came over and was immediately shipped to Oakwood Friends School, a private school in Poughkeepsie run by the Quakers. One of his pals was the actor Lee Marvin, who had been thrown out of many private schools and was incorrigible. He and Dad made moonshine and got caught. Lee was booted out. Dad got suspended.
However, the Quaker teachings did make an imprint. He wanted to be a medic in the Army but because he was a German national, they decided to put him into Intelligence, where he spent the war behind the lines, interrogating captured German Army and SS officers, and the like. He once told me that he would have become a Quaker because he believed in their principles, except that he understood that war sometimes was a necessary evil. As it was in WWII, well he knew. So he did his bit.
I think he would have enjoyed this documentary. As necessary as WWII was, the war in Iraq is its precise, reckless opposite. Dad and the men of his generation understood what truly constituted an Axis of Evil. They were a rare and handy breed. We will not see their likes again in our lifetime.
I rather doubt that dear Susan reads this blog. However, if she does, please take your comments and post them on Joe's blog. He loves it when you infiltrate his comments and cause all of us to spit up small amounts of vomit. A self-proclaimed hits 'ho, he finds it satisfying to view his stats after a Maurer polemic.
Yee Haw or Some Shit Like That
Dallas looms on Monday. I'll be posting over the weekend, and most certainly from Denton next Thursday, since the laptop is always with me, as the camera will be too.
I asked Liz if she wanted me to bring her back something from Dallas. "Yeah," she sez. "I wanna cowboy hat." Cripes. Perhaps one in black with pink accents? Do they make punk cowboy hats? No doubt. I'll do my best.
The War
I don't know if any of you have been watching Ken Burns's documentary but I've been glued to the TV while knitting the Squeeze Socks (pics on the weekend). I've even forgone watching the Yanks, it's been so engrossing.
I was born a scant five years after the war's end and I still remember my mother talking about rationing, seeing my dad in his Army uniform when he went to Ft. Drum for reserve training. Because my father was German, I was frequently called a "Nazi" by kids in school, even though my dad and his family fled from Germany in 1939 because my grandfather was a Jew and my grandmother a Gentile.
Dad learned English from comic books, or so he told me. He was 16 when they came over and was immediately shipped to Oakwood Friends School, a private school in Poughkeepsie run by the Quakers. One of his pals was the actor Lee Marvin, who had been thrown out of many private schools and was incorrigible. He and Dad made moonshine and got caught. Lee was booted out. Dad got suspended.
However, the Quaker teachings did make an imprint. He wanted to be a medic in the Army but because he was a German national, they decided to put him into Intelligence, where he spent the war behind the lines, interrogating captured German Army and SS officers, and the like. He once told me that he would have become a Quaker because he believed in their principles, except that he understood that war sometimes was a necessary evil. As it was in WWII, well he knew. So he did his bit.
I think he would have enjoyed this documentary. As necessary as WWII was, the war in Iraq is its precise, reckless opposite. Dad and the men of his generation understood what truly constituted an Axis of Evil. They were a rare and handy breed. We will not see their likes again in our lifetime.
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