Wherein This Writer Adopts Gonzo Knitting as her Raison d'Etre

Best Quote I Heard All Day
“[Ken] Kesey practices what has come to be known as gonzo journalism. The reporter, often intoxicated, fails to get the story but delivers instead a stylishly bizarre account that mocks conventional journalism.”--R.K. Sheppard

Gonzo knitting. A stylishly bizarre garment that mocks conventional knitting? That appeals. My literary hero, Hunter S., would approve, no doubt. Now, the key word here is "stylishly," which lifts "bizarre" onto a higher plateau, dontcha think?

Gonzo knitting. Anything gonzo, anything that "mocks" the establishment, attracts me to it like flies on shit. Well, if I'm not a stylishly bizarre writer, then I think I'll hang up the electronic pen and find a used Etch-a-Sketch to fulfill my scribbling needs.

PodPerson
Step One in the podcast project has been fulfilled. My Super Jeenyus, Neal, the world's Greatest Audio Engineer EVER (a sop to his ego) is delighted to help me learn to use Audacity and to be my personal engineer. Besides, he owes me big time, since I help him a lot with basic software stuff. As he says, "I'm the nerd, you're the geek."

So, when he's finished a freelance gig that he's doing on the weekends, he'll be ready to help. As long as I shut the fuck up and behave. Which is damned difficult, since we both revel in the "Neal and Marilyn Show," a constant stream of insulting banter back and forth, but delivered with great love and affection. He busts my chops, I give it right back. Hmmm, maybe he should be my podcast sidekick. He was once a deejay, so he'd probably love that.

Open Mic Thursday
OK, so it's almost 10 p.m. Thursday night but what the fuck. I was busy training today and kinda got involved in that for 4 hours. Thank God I now do it over Webex, otherwise I would have had to go to Eighty Four, PA. Yes, that's right. Eighty Four. Google it. It's about 25 miles south of Pittsburgh.

This past weekend, I finally bought the book Victorian Lace. I don't know why I waited so long but considering my rather large collection of knitting, spinning, and weaving books, along with the stacks of magazines, I've not really bought much recently, other than Carol's book. Small apartment, living room with three bookcases, all filled. But I was looking over my library the other day, picking up books that I'd bought but not really used. Yet.

And then there were my exceeding well-worn copies of the Barbara Walker Treasuries. These are the books, after almost 30 years of building my library, that I refer to the most often. And one that I almost never use, Principles of Knitting. By far, that is my least favorite book. So here's my question to you:

Which book in your library do you use the most? And the least?

And be honest. If you don't use any of EZ's books, that is not considered heresy on this blog.

Las Vegas Brights Scarf
It's growing exponentially. Almost done, I would say. I am quite pleased with it. And love working with silk that I spun.


My PhotoShop Essentials crapped out on me tonight (corrupt file, probably), so I couldn't adjust the picture's lighting and colors. But it's pretty much true, except that the color variations and subtleties are harder to see.

I've decided to give this to my friend/boss, Susan. She has finally finished her Master's after eight months of working full time, traveling, and trying to get her school work done. Susan saw it the other week when she was in the office--she lives in Tampa and only comes up to Jersey City every few months. When I told her it was hers, she was blown away because she understands how much work has gone into it. A gift of love? Absolutely.

I keep wondering when my fixation with lace will die down. I have done virtually nothing but for two years now. And yet, my fascination keeps growing, to the point where I have been designing my own lace pattern for the Chantilly Lace socks that will be in my book Rock Soxs.

Such a simple concept. A bunch of yarn loops and corresponding decreases on either a garter or stockinette field. Yet, it confounds so many and causes great gnashing of teeth, the uttering of expletives unknown to Richard Nixon, and a pathological fear of dropping stitches.

I know. I'm one of those rare and handy lunatics who is guilty of all of the above. It will never end, either.

Mountie Pride...And Other Tales From My Teenage Crypt

Best Quote I Heard All Day
High school is closer to the core of the American experience than anything else I can think of.--Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.



Yep, that's my high school yearbook picture. And the name tag I wore last night at the Montclair High School Class of 1968's 40th reunion. Yes, MHS warrants its own Wikipedia page. If you remember the movie, "Cheaper by the Dozen," the original, not the remake, the Gilbreth family lived in Montclair. Some of our alumni of note:

• Buzz Aldrin
• Joe Walsh (of the Eagles, if you're too young to remember)
• Allen B. DuMont
• Robert Trent Jones
• Christina Ricci
• Warren Littlefield

And me and Dottie Melcher, along with a host of other misanthropes. Well, perhaps that's too harsh a description. The Mad Dob and Marsh, as we were known in high school, haven't changed a whole hell of a lot.

I won't bore you with the details but suffice it to say that there is nothing better than reconnecting with people who you saw every single day of the school year from elementary school through high school. Here's the two of us, posing for a picture, which is perhaps not the most flattering but certainly indicative of the evening.


Somewhere I have a picture of the two of us at our brothers Rich and Bob's elementary school graduation, 16 years old and thought we were hot shit. I suppose not much has changed. It truly hasn't. We had not seen each other for six years. It was more like six minutes.

How We Became Artsy Fartsy Creative Types
When Dottie and I first met in 4th grade, she had a couple of Madame Alexander dolls, large ones, that were Gone With The Wind dolls, maybe Scarlett O'Hara and Melanie. I wasn't much for dolls but I was always fascinated by their clothes. We played with those dolls for quite a while. Until the following year, when Barbie became synonymous with dolly fashion.

When Barbie came out, I was almost 10 but immediately jumped on the Barbie bandwagon because at that time, her clothing was exquisitely made, miniature to-scale zippers and snaps, wonderful lace on the $5 wedding dress that took me weeks to save up for.

I wasn't much of a seamstress but I did try to knit little outfits for Barbie. Lots of dropped stitches, of course. And nothing in the way of shaping. But the garment bug had bitten me.

By the time Dottie and I were in 10th grade in 1966, Mary Quant was our fashion heroine. Our plan for life? We'd design clothes and open up our own boutique, The Mad Dob. Dottie could draw, I couldn't. But we both sewed our own clothes and figured we were hip enough to make a go of it. The dreams of two freaky teenagers. It was a wonderful time.

Going to London in the summer of 1967 and wandering around Carnaby Street whetted our fashion appetite, although we couldn't afford to buy any clothes there. And then to France, where we were blown away by the French girls' amazing style.

By the time graduation time came, our parents had managed to redirect us. Dottie went to Boston University to major in art, I went to Wilson College to major in French because I was really better at languages and I couldn't draw a straight line. The Mad Dob was put on hold, and life continued apace.

The upshot, 40 years later? Dottie is an art director, I'm a writer. We're both still involved in garment design. She specializes in Civil War costumes, crochets and sews. I can still sew, although I haven't for a long time. And you know what I do.

This is just one of the ties that bind. But it may be the most important. Because it's the fucking Vulcan mind meld. From age 9 to 58, things have remained the same--we still laugh at the same things, love the same things, and function the same way, more or less.


If nothing else in my life, I have had extraordinary friends. But this one, this lunatic of my childhood, is the best loved by far. And is she rare and handy? Need you ask? I love her muchly. (And if you ever run into Dottie, ask her about the "electrical" banana we stole one cold December night from a Christmas display downtown. And how she managed to ignite her bangs on the Bunsen burner in chemistry class, which she claims not to remember. But I do.)

NASCAR Mamas and Other American Slices o' Life

Best Quote I Heard All Day
Being Lutheran, Mother believed that self-pity is a deadly sin and so is nostalgia, and she had no time for either.--Garrison Keillor

If that doesn't describe my mother to a nicety, I don't know what does. And yes, we're lapsed Lutherans. However, she was no Church Lady.

Back from Charlotte last night. The final trip, I believe. We'll see. I truly like Charlotte, despite the NASCAR crap. All I can say is, one of the NASCAR Mamas damned near ran me over with her kid's stroller trying to beat me into the line for the security checkpoint. Charlotte-Douglas Airport is bad enough to navigate without some idiot who procreated careening through the crowds using a stroller as a battering ram.

She got some choice words from me. She shot me an ugly look. I smirked. That always annoys 'em.

Did you know that NASCAR has its roots in the textile industry? I didn't know that, either. Apparently, the loom mechanics in the mills souped up cars and raced them in their spare time, along with the moonshiners. The races were then eventually formalized into the gas-guzzling "sport" we know and avoid so well.

Open Mic Thursday
I was remiss last week--missed Thursday entirely. I know I was working from home that day but I'll be damned if I remember WTF kept me from writing a blog entry.

Anyway, I was thinking that perhaps there's a very good way to conserve petroleum. So here's my tongue-in-cheek question to you:

Should Congress impose a special tax on acrylic yarn, as it is actually a petroleum product?

I am an avid recycler and very much concerned about the crap that we can't recycle. Just think--thousands of acrylic sweaters thrown away over the years are lying in landfills, never to rot but only to become stinky, stringy rags that will confound the archaeologists of the future.

Ya wanna be "eco-friendly"? (God, that's such a fucking stupid term. Irritates the piss out of me.) This is a damned good reason to eschew the plastic crap, if you haven't yet figured out a better reason. And if you read this blog, chances are very good that you don't use acrylic, right? In the spirit of environmentalism, I challenge you to boycott all acrylic yarn, once and for all. This has nothing to do with being an elitist knitter. I've always been that. And fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.

A Wedding in the Fambly
Yeah, my eldest daughter Jenn got married last Sunday in New Hope, PA, to her longtime boyfriend, Norm. It was a nice, small, intimate ceremony. Those of you who were on the Knit List years ago perhaps remember her medieval wedding to her first husband back in 1996. (Well, that did produce my boy Ian, if nothing else.) For that wedding, Jenn designed and sewed her own wedding dress, quite a work of art with very elaborate embroidery. Jenn won't knit but she is an amazing seamstress and embroiderer. She takes after her Mamoo in her love of color and making something out of nothing.

Anyway, it's getting to be my bedtime. Tomorrow is Friday and I must prepare emotionally and physically (need a hair cut and a fresh dye job) for my 40th high school reunion on Saturday. I'm looking forward to seeing some old friends, especially Dottie, my oldest and dearest friend from childhood. There will be much laughter, much talking, and probably a few tears, too, for those no longer with us. Montclair High School Class of 1968 contained a few rare and handy people. Hopefully they'll show.