Snippy? Me? You Bet Your Sweet Ass.

Best Quote I Heard All Day
The advocates for either side are under enormous pressure, and, of course, they're being pretty snippy with each other from time to time.--Bill Clinton

So yes, I'm following all the snippiness going on in the political cesspool. Even though I generally don't use the blog for my political views, I gotta say just this to all the candidates:

Shut the fuck up if you have nothing worthwhile to say. And I haven't heard anything that qualifies, so far.

Can you imagine politically incorrect me running for office? Ye gods and little fishes. I'd give 'em good sound bites. And probably some substance.

The Long Way Home
It's been brutal, these past couple of weeks, but then, I knew it would be. Six hours a day to commute, get home at 8, get fed by Neal (he usually is home before me), and then it's el crasho grande and back up at 4:30, coffee chez Neal at 5, and we're both out the door at 6 a.m.

The train is for sleeping and knitting Neal his heavy-weight Jarbo socks. I have to say, I'm settling in now and I'm about to attempt something more pithy than stoopid socks. But I highly recommend the Jarbo. Loopy has used it for awhile and she got me hooked on the stuff. Neal is about to wear his first pair out, I swear. So now I have another pair almost done for him so he can put one set in the wash. Before they walk out the door.

This weekend will be another whirlwind. But with Mammy in the hospital this week for an overnight scare (she has diverticulitis but no pain and will be OK), I haven't had one minute to write the blog.

So fucking bite me. But I am truly snippy from lack of sleep, not lack of meds. That's what Neal calls me, when I'm crabby. You say snippy, I say crabby. Same diff.

Open Mic Thursday
Yeah, I finally found a topic that I think deserves your consideration. Actually, it's a product that I think is completely useless. So that's my opinion. But here we go:

What do you think of audio knitting books?

I know lots of people love those books on tape or whatever the fuck they're called. Moi, I prefer paper in hand and not some overpaid actor talking prose to me. If I have earphones on, it's strictly for music.

For the life of me, I cannot see the value of having Ann Feitelson's The Art of Fair Isle on any audio media. Gimme the book. Paper. No steenkin' e-book, either.

I realize it's late Thursday night, but it still counts. So go rip me a new asshole. I'm in that kind of mood. But you do know I lerves you all. And I will be writing more, now that I'm firmly ensconced in E'burg.

The New VK
While Mammy was in the hospital, I stopped by Stix-n-Stitches, my favorite yarn shop in NJ, and hung out with Sheila for a bit. She had the new VK. I was completely underwhelmed, as I am usually with Vague these years. However, Brandon Mably had a wonderful dress therein and if I were thin and under 30, I'd make it in a hot NY minute. There were a couple of OK things, and some seemingly good articles but I didn't read them all. I suspect that IK has done them previously, and frankly, better.

Sheila showed me some new sock yarn by Berroco, Comfort, completely acrylic but amazingly nice. And she had a few other Berroco yarns that were also half decent. I think that Norah Gaughan has made her mark on Berroco and hopefully the company will cease and desist producing hideous designs made with wretched yarn. So let's keep an eye on Berroco. And Classic Elite, too. I'm starting to see better ads and I know that's Pam Allen's influence.

So. It's off to bed with me. Cleo is happier than a pig in shit, these days. She has peace and quiet, no other cats to disturb her, and as she always says, "Hai, Mar. Wur u bin? Nidding? Werkin? Wat?" I depend on her Imperial Rare and Handiness to keep me on the straight and narrow.

Kiss My German Ass

Best Quote I Heard All Day
Whenever the literary German dives into a sentence, that is the last you are going to see of him until he emerges on the other side of his Atlantic with his verb in his mouth--Mark Twain

Ich bin eine Amerikanische Schlampe.

A dollah-three-eighty for anyone who can successfully translate that phrase. (All Germans must recuse themselves.) I thought it apropos to begin the first entry of the new year with a language quiz.

Open Mic Thursday
Well, of course, Neal and I both forgot what the fuck his topic was. However, knowing him as well as I do, I can think of a topic that would titillate. (Isn't that a wonderful word?)

So here's something to weigh in on:

What's your opinion on wearing skanky lingerie in the bedroom? Do ya do it? Would you admit it publicly? And how many of you have shown your partner Joan M-M's knitted lingerie (and bought the kit)?

I'll leave it to you to guess where I stand on this topic. I'm sure you know.

More Moving Angst
Still not done. This is the agony that does not seem to be followed by any ecstasy. I moved Cleo today. She rode the 43 miles in great dignity, crammed into the cat carrier. Almost no whining, as long as I drove with one hand and stuck a finger through the grille to comfort her.

She is now ensconced in E'burg, with her food, her litter, and me. She made herself quite to home.

This is a short entry for today. I need some coffee, along with a nap. However, with my bookcases available, I need to put away books. Why the fuck did I ever buy so many books? Rhetorical question, of course. This rare and handy life cannot exist without the prerequisite tomes right at hand. More on Sunday. If I survive the furniture move on Saturday.