Three mutant cats

YarnCon and Where are you, Robert Mattison

2007-10-10T09:25:00.000-07:00

Many years ago, my best friend was Robert Mattison. I have no idea where he is today...let's just say my Google-fu isn't strong, and he might not have choosen to be as active on the internets as I have been/am.

He was a great kid, and I'm wondering what kind of man he grew up into.

And, on to http://www.yarncon.com
YarnCon.

Saturday. 10am-4pm.

I will be there, will you?

Indie-type yarn people...this might be well, probably not your Woodstock, but maybe your Pitchfork?

If anybody is going, and wants to meet up during or after, give a holler.

I'll do it myself

2007-09-27T06:49:00.000-07:00

Soooo,

Things were great, and not too crazy, and everything look fine, and then:

Fitted Knits let me down a little.

I'd been whizzing through the Airy Lace Wrap Cardigan, and was down to the cables (yes, cables), when suddenly the pattern stopped making sense. Now, granted, it could very well be that it's because I've never done cables before. And, I understand that my learning curve is, well, pretty steep. Oh, and I know that I'm not a great knitter. I do it for fun. I like knitting and spinning...a whole bunch. I just feel no need to go out and learn how to knit faster, or smarter or better, because, it's not a contest.

I tried it, it looked stupid, because both cables are snuggled up next to each other, and not on opposite sides of the cardigan. I'm I on the crack?

I seriously don't know. I'm setting that puppy aside for a tiny bit, and returning to my old friend, fingerless mitts. Ah, simple tubes with a thumbhole, how sweet you are.

So, if anyone has knit this thing, and you have input, or simply are smarter than me, please, feel free to drop a line, and let me know.

Cheeseworld is opening, and as the date aprroaches, I realize that I simply have a ton to do, because my job got bigger. As much as I love this job (and, I really, really, really do), this comes at a suck time, 'cause now that there's a chill in the air, and the light has changed, I'm ready to spin and knit.

I lost my mojo all summer, and now desperately just want to sit around drinking coffee while I listen to podcasts and surf ravelry, and knit.

Oh, wait, that's what I did last week...oh, and Monday. Oh, and...maybe I should shut up now.

This is where I digress, and talk about how cool Ravelry is. And how nifty it is.

I'm on the 'pro' ravelry team. It's because quite fashionable to hate it in some circles, but, I really think that it's a great knitting resource. I'm always hesitant about 'community' on the internets.

I didn't expect it to take the place of my best friends, and I didn't think I'd meet all these cool people who would usher me inside the velvet rope of 'cool' knitters.

That would be left to me.

That said, because of Ravelry, I've gotten an offer to do some
*gasp*

writing about knitting for something quite large.

No, until that first piece is published, and it's out there, and you all can read it, I'm not telling where or when. Because those things aren't set yet.

I just got a lovely little PM that said that I was articulate, and had good ideas.

Wow. Thanks.

And, that they were wondering if I wanted to write for them?

Yes, yes I would.

Knitters, beer and yarn.

2007-09-20T07:33:00.000-07:00

So, just to prove that I'm a total D-list blogger who doesn't deserve to be read, let me show you the fabulous photos that I took at the Knitty meet up on Wednesday.

Waiting....

Waiting....

Waiting...

Still there? Yeah, keep waiting 'cause I didn't take any.

So, there was jpknits, and fujiyamamama, and snickerdoodle, and errs, and bina from the knittyboards, and it was fun and fabulous and they were really nice, and I probably talked too much in run-on sentences, and was too happy.

Then, I got really tired and had to leave right now or I will die.

So, there.

Oh, and there was the candy expo. I worked for a giant corperate conglomerate.

The funny thing was, I didn't think about candy like it was this big, cut-throat industry. But it is. Holy Crap.

I had to learn phrases like "silky sm**th texture is what separates D*** from other brands."

Jesus help me.

And I did it.

I did it for the money, but I did it. So dirty, so dirty.

So, I watched the behavior the the folks who go to the candy expo, and was totally fascinated.

On the last day of the show, people are trying to get rid of their stock, so that they don't have to ship it home.

Traditionally, this day was the day that people brought their children and then brought big duffel bags, and then went nuts.

Kid in a candy shop, anyone?

This year, they changed the rules. They only let one official show bag on the show floor, and they were taking the other bags away.

There were fights with security. Over candy.

Oh, just when I'm trying to find the good in humanity...and I actually have witnessed the Burning man spirit, and I'm just glowing in how good knitters are...this happens.

So, I've come away with some good, and some bad, and like most other things, it's changed me.

All those who read this blog for the non-knitting content...you can probably just leave now.

The photo is of the yarn that I'm using for my next project. Because I finished Jen's fingerless gloves just in time for fall. So, I'm starting on something for myself. I'll probably cast on today.

I love the book Fitted Knitts. I love almost every single pattern in there, and I think that in many ways, it's an almost perfect book.

I've cast on a v-neck sweater, and I even went out and bought the specified yarn for it.
It's an alpaca/wool blend. The problem is that it sheds like a Persian cat in September.
I wear alot of black. It's not a good combo for the likes of me.

So, that project has become really...not so high on my list. I'll finish it, but me and the light blue sheddiness? Not so much.

So there's this wrap sweater in fitted knits. It's lovely. It's also (in the book) done with mohair.

Jesus.

Mohair sheds.

What I have is lovely Blue Moon Fiber Arts Geisha. It's a light fingering/heavy laceweight, in shades of blue that is nylon, silk and a tiny bit of mohair. 950 yards per skein. That's a fuckload of yardage for 25 bucks.

I bought it at Stitches Midwest, from Toni, at The Fold. I've since found out it retails for about 40 bucks. I bought it for 25. I have two skeins. I'm going to make that wrap by holding two strands together. This should cut down on pooling, and be about the right weight. I lurve this yarn.

I would lurve to finish a larger project that I can actually wear.

I photos I've seen of other finished wraps make me a little nervous, because the yarn, it's bunched up around the waist of the peoples, but, me? I'm hopeful.

To Bring us all up to speed...

2007-09-10T16:19:00.000-07:00

This is the view from outside my 'front door' at burning man.

I was here for a week.

Sometimes, I was dirty. See how dirty my goggles are? That's because of the dust storms.

Dust storms make you drink during the day.

Dust storms make you fight at the thunderdome.

Then, on the way back, we stopped in Omaha. My internet friends who had never met me, took pity on us, and let us stay at their house.

Unfortunately, one us (not me) was a complete and utter asshat, and let one of their dogs loose. We found it.

Nobody died.

But somebody might have wanted us dead.

My new internet friend (hopefully) doesn't despise me, and was talking about comming out for a yarn crawl/YarnCon thing.

I hope so. Female yarn friending with a touch of goth/industrial is so sorta just my thing.

I traveled without Professor Al. I missed him a whole lot. I was glad to see him.

I saw my mom in South Dakota when we traveled through.

I was really sick of men, and the way they burp after 3 days each way of non-stop driving. Men burp a lot.

I now have to go back to work, and to Ravelry.

Oh, and there is another knitting and drinking event planned.

Sept 18th...at Goose Island. 6pm til?

Please come.

I'm back...photos soon.

2007-09-07T17:35:00.000-07:00

So, the burning man? Pretty fucking fab.

The dust storms? Awesome?
Yes.

The Thunderdome? Cool.

The hospitality of internet strangers in Nebraska?

Saved my ass.

Someone let their dogs out, and we almost lost one, that was horrid. I was mortified.

There was some tension on the trip, but I'm going to try and let it slide.

I will post photos, I will give a full decompression, I swear...but right now, I'm checking out Ravelry, and it's freakin' awsome.

As the man burns...

2007-08-20T18:34:00.000-07:00

Yup, that's me being clever...it's like "As the world turns", get it?

So while there's a ton of stuff going on here...like packing for the burning man, and working for the Cheeseworld, I'm just going to show off my newest tattoo, now that it's fully healed, and doesn't look all scabby, shiney, skanky.

I got it at Insight Tattoo, here in Chicago.

My tattoo artist is Scott. He's amazing. The shop is fantastic.

And yes, it's a comment on how I broke my arm at this very same time last year.

The crazy, the loud, and the not-so-fast

2007-08-15T14:14:00.000-07:00

So,

the crazy: Me. Who was I to think that I could not work at all, so as to spend time with Dan and T., and then have money to go to burning man?

Oh, and also, all the stuff I have to do for the newer, bigger, Cheeseworld2.o. Done by next Wednesday? Not so much. I am insane. Oh, and I'm soooo overextended for when I get back it's not even funny. No, I do not laugh so much.

the loud: My neighbor's friend who drops by every weeknight at 11pm, and honks, and honks, and honks, and honks. I think tonight I maybe might run out in my bathrobe, and pound on his window, and yell "Are you okay? Should I call the police?"

Methinks scary, crazy white lady showing concern might make him stop.

The not so fast: My knitting of course. Nothing is done. Nothing. All works in progress, all not so much finished.

What have I been doing? Tasting over 250 wines in increments of about 30 per meetings with various wine reps. Buying about 80 of those. Trying to keep track of what I've bought. Trying to make sure I have a good spread of all countries, and styles. Trying not to just buy the delicious, expensive stuff, but dig for the fun, welll-made everyday wines as well...oh, and make sure they are food-friendly, and they all are small production, handmade, biodynamic, organic or sustainable.

It's really a little more difficult than just sitting around drinking. I swear.

Oh, and the new wine of time?

Viognier.

Stop laughing, it's really a grape.

Say it with me Vee-Ohn-yay. That's it!

What it is:

Tradionally Viognier was only grown in the Rhone Valley in France. It was bottled as a single varital, and was heavily oaked, as to add 'structure' so that it would be ageworthy.

Now? It's grown in California, Washington State, Australia, and most cheaply, in Chile and Argentina.

What it's like:

To me, good Viognier smells like orange blossoms, peaches and ripe apples. Stylistically, the Viognier from France might be oaked, and will have a darker color, less exhuburant fruit profile, and more baking spice and vanilla from the oak.

New world viognier is rarely, if ever oaked. Most viognier is full-bodied (that means, like 14 percent alcohol, which is going to get you shit faced if you drink it on an empty stomache. Ask me how I know), and will have a beautiful mouth-watering acidity.
It loves root vegtables. It loves rich foods and firm cheeses. It's my friend.

Little cash? 10-14 bucks a bottle. Search out Con-0-Sur, from Argentina.

Lots of cash? 25 bucks and up. Search out Westerly, in Santa Barbara...I think all the viognier is sourced from Paradise Vineyard, but I might be wrong.

Also, Witness Tree Vineyard in Orgegon makes a killer viognier.

Middle amount of cash? There actually isn't much out there...Viognier is a hard to grow grape, with only a wine geek following, so there's not much of a market.

Drink on.

Blogging! Now with less photos!

2007-08-09T08:38:00.000-07:00

I still can't bring myself to buy batteries for the camera...actually, I can't find time to buy batteries for the damn thing, and the moment I do, the photo-type-deal will resume.

So, onto the eat local thing.

There was a thread on the knittyboards that got a little snarky...what with folks saying that they didn't have a farmer's market, ect, ect...

I went sluthing, just for shits and giggles on LocalHarvest http://www.localharvest.org, and wanted to see what I could get if I lived in Arizona.
See, there was a woman who claimed that she could get nothing but peppers and potholders.
Uh, not so much...

I was curious about why so many had so much hate for this book...seems that people felt it was unnecessarily political, and were turned off by the fact that she left the Southwest because she felt like the climate, the car driven lifestyle, and the non-water-havin' of the area were not condusive to leaving a small carbon footprint.

Well...it's not. Seriously. That's like being upset that someone leaves SouthBeach, Miami because they don't feel intellectually stimulated.

Major urban areas in the southwest can't fill their own water needs. They beg, borrow, or steal water from other parts of the country. If the damns broke, and couldn't be repaired, there wouldn't be enough water for the residents. The Colorado River now trickles into nothingness.

If one decides to live there, one should know. No judgments from me, just stop being deluded.

Now, if you live in Tuscon, you can eat local, maybe take a bus, and stop trying to grow roses, maybe plant some native plants in your yard, and you can reduce your footprint. It's not impossible.

It does take a little work to recycle...and in Chicago, it's really questionable to recycle at all. Our system sucks. However, almost everyone can compost their kitchen waste, and reduce the amount of garbage bags that end up in landfills.

It's maybe a little more work to buy veggies and fruits at the Farmer's Market...you might have to shop when you might like to be sleeping...but, here at the little house in the ghetto, we think it's worth it. If you don't...that's okay.

Not everybody can bike or bus to work, but almost everybody could decide to bike or walk to some small errand once in a while...I know people who take their car everywhere, even if it's close enough to walk.

I still buy wine made all over the world, but I'm trying really hard to drink local beer.

I don't know, it just seems like we don't have to make these grand, sweeping plans, or stop living in a way that makes us comfortable...just be mindful, and do what we can, when we can do it.

Is that really so political?

I guess so. I'm not sure why, but in many people's minds ecology=hippy.
I live with an ecologist, so it's just sorta part of our lives, everyday.
I don't want to destroy habitat, or kill things with noxious chemicals because I will enjoy my life a little more without tumors and with animals and plants.

I remember when I found out that most household cleaning can be done without a ton of chemicals, and that vinegar and salt are a kick-ass tool. I still buy windex and bleach, I just use it really sparingly.

Having had a health crisis when I was younger of the vaguely spooky kind, I'm more willing to embrace things that don't have a proven tumor-growing effect.

Is that political? or personal?

Oh, and i'm not going to say I'm sorry for getting all heavy, or possibly offending someone.
I think that we, as women, are taught to 'be nice', which turns into 'be nice in public, but say and do really nasty things behind people's backs". And I hate that.

Oh, and I might start trading yarn for soap at my farmer's market, and I'm jazzed about that, just jazzed.

What's that? No Photos? Shocked, truely shocked

2007-08-06T10:50:00.000-07:00

Ahhh, now to continue onward with my photoless blogging. My batteries are dead, and thus, not so much with the camera. Someday.

Yesterday I cooked down 15 lbs of Roma tomatoes with 4 cups of homemade Syrah (no spices, no nothing...this is a basic starter sauce for this winter. I wanted to be able to have options.)
for about 4 hours on simmer, and made approximately 9 cups of tomatoe sauce. I froze it all in freezer bags in 2 cup portions. I may do this again before summer is over.

I also made a huge batch of 'everything' stock. I had 3 chicken carcasses in the freezer, so I tossed in some beef bones, some onions, some shallots, carrots, bay leaf, salt, pepper, and three fire roasted green peppers, and simmered for about 4-5 hours. Strained, and let sit overnight in the fridge so I can pull the fat off the stop, and package, once again, in 2 cup portions, and freeze.

The kitchen was hot last night with all the simmering, so I decided, what the fuck, let's bake.

So, with the leftover red hen chocolate bread, and some frozen overripe bananas, I made some chocolate bread pudding, and with the zuchinni from the garden I made chocolate zuchinni cake.

I will start freezing blueberries from the farmer's market today,and will be making a batch of freezer jam, as well.

Whoa, you say...that's alot of cooking.

Yup, but when I have frozen organic blueberry jam this winter, it's gonna be worth it. Sooooo worth it.

I read Animal, Vegtable, Miracle last week, and it really changed the way I think about food...I was always for eating seasonally...that's the snooty restaurant training, but I never thought about perserving the food for later...that's the Kingsolver message, and I'm totally down with it.

I'm not sure if I'm going to take the canning plunge, but I'm for sure going to stuff my freezer with the goodness of summer, and my wine cellar is going to have to share with potatoes and onions from the farmer's market.

Now to finish up those slippers for Dan, and to make sure the house is okay for business visitors.
I'm starting the tastings for the new Cheeseworld, and I have reps comming over to taste this afternoon.

I know, it's weird that I'm forced to taste beautiful wines for free in my own home. Sometimes, I have the best job ever.

Summer. Whah. Boom. Crash

2007-08-01T09:35:00.000-07:00

So, we've had houseguests. The good kind. The kind where you are all "You guys don't really have to leave in August, right? You can just stay here forever."

However, since I love our houseguests, I haven't been doing much blogging. I have been doing some knitting, and frankly, I'll be taking some pictures, soon, 'cause I know that pictureless blogging, is sooooo, like, uncool and boring.

Knittingwise...Fingerless gloves are almost done. I just have to do a thumb, and then finished.

I started slippers for Dan, and the Fuzzy Feet (from knitty.com) are halfway done.

Socks of Hate? Still one lonely sock. fuck them.

Winewise?
Gruner Veltliner. Wine of the Summer. Oh, and dry reisling.
I can hear you now. "Reisling isn't dry, it's sweet. I know this 'cause I spent one summer in Germany and..." Shut up now. Wine doesn't decide how sweet it is. Winemakers follow their heart. Sometimes, local tradion rules their heart (like in Germany). Sometimes they just want to drink a delicious, aromatic reisling...and they make it dry.

Try 2006 Charles Smith Winery's
"Kung Fu Girl" Reisling, Washington State

It's about 14-16 bucks almost everywhere.

I'll wait.

Okay, now wasn't that amazing? Aren't you like, falling all over yourself? Me too, the first time I tried one.
Think about it, how many other wines have you not tried 'cause you made assumptions?
Get out there and drink.

Chez Ghetto

2007-07-13T09:14:00.000-07:00

Yeah, that's exactly where I live.

I'm not talking about the 'oh, somewhat gentrified area that still has some drug deals on the corner'...no, that would be Logan Square. Or, 'used to be bad, but now has million dollar condos'...that would be Wicker Park. Or, 'still isn't great, but there's a whole bunch of us, and we're trying'...that would be Garfield Park.

I'm in the "where?"

People ask me where I live, and there's a pause, and then they say "where?"

Then I tell them, and they sorta squint. They have no idea where I live. It's sorta funny. Chicago is the 'city of neighbourhoods', and truely it is. It's just freaky that most people, unless they were born and bred in Chicago, have no idea about many of these 'hoods.

Ask your friends (if they live or used to live in Chicago) if they know where these neighborhoods are

Bridgeport. Maybe.
Canaryville. Bet they don't.
Blue Island. Fat Chance
Back of the Yards. Perhaps, but I'll betcha they've never been there.
Ukranian Village. Probably
Oz Park. They've been there, they just didn't know it had a name, because it's been swallowed up by Lakeview.
Austin. My home. Nobody has any clue.
Pilsen. Perhaps. It's my favorite 'hood right now. I wish I lived there.

Oh, and there's all the hoods in the far northwest side of the city, and all the hoods on the south side, and, and....but, odds are, if there's not a starbucks, and there's no faux Irish pub, they haven't been there.

It's sad, really. People fear where I live, and yet, it's filled with kids playing safely, who are called in when it gets dark, and mowed lawns, and construction and people who work for the city and the county...garbagemen and postal workers and cops.

I'll give you two guesses why.

Lessee...could it be race?
Um, yeah.

I'm a little sick of it, frankly. We have nice people living on my block. We don't have shootings on my block. We have families who live and work, and kiss their kids, and paint their houses, and remodel their kitchens and many of them are just like most people in this city. Okay, in the name of full disclosure, my across the way neighbors are not. They are a leetle trashy. The older son just got out of prision. He said it was drugs, but, it's not. I used the internets and he was arrested for sexual assault on a minor. He is creepy. I don't like him. He keeps trying to get into the house by starting long conversations with me, and asking if he can borrow tools. He is moving, soon, back to Michigan. Godspeed, child molester, Godspeed.

The whole west side isn't one drug-deal filled shooting gallery full of thugs. We don't have drug deals going on all night outside our house. We have a quiet block, one that has lightning bugs after dark, and the chirping of frogs when they mate.

Lovely, really. Big trees and turn of the century houses. Seriously. Drop by on a Saturday night. People will be in their back yards. They will be grilling. or sometimes Barbequing. (different things entirely).

However, if you do a search on the internets for your block, you might be surprised at some of the things that happen.

Chicagocrime.org is a great pastime.

Or, you can look up all the child molesters. Illinois has pictures of them all, along with what they've been convicted of, with the first numbers of their address, and the rest blocked out...for privacy.

I'm just sayin'.

Oh, and on the Etsy/craftfair front, I'm thinking that I'll do shows in October, November and December, and I'll start posting stuff on Etsy soon. I'm thinking that I'll get a retailer tax number, and that way, I can order fiber and yarn wholesale. I'm going to jump on the dying bandwagon, and see how that goes.

Maybe it's just that my empathy is off...

2007-07-06T10:48:00.000-07:00

So, last summer, I was reading a back issue of the Utne Reader, and there was an article about living in empathy...basically that sympathy is not so useful, but that empathy, that you really take the time to try and 'feel' how someone else feels, is good.

That it can cut down on conflict, make you understand that your own point of view is not the only valid view, ect...

So, I'm walking around, trying do be more mindful and shit.
Day 1.

Morning:
Fine. I'm about a skijillion times less bitchy than I had been, and was feeling all good about how I'm finally a little more in contact with other's feelings and shit.

Afternoon:
Okay, it might have been a slightly trying day at Cheeseworld, but, you know, I'm still into the idea. I sorta wish everybody else was trying too, but wtf, I'm not in it to have others love me, I'm in it to learn how to love others.

5pm:
So, my shift at Cheeseworld is over, and I stop by Apple Bite (the real name of the corner store)
and buy a can of starbuck's frappiwhatever, mocha flavored.
I was caffine-deficient, and it was hot, and even though I never buy those things, sometimes, they just seem like a good idea. Mostly, they just taste like chemicals, and I think they suck, and frankly, this was no exception. But, the caffine calls....

...so, I then figure out that I've left my cellphone at Cheeseworld. I run back to Cheeseworld, and grab my phone.

Back, back towards the bus stop.

There is one problem with Lakeview (just one? well, for the sake of this story, just one. I'll write a full list later), and that is the gross amount of traffic and congestion of said streets. The 'hood just isn't built for that many cars.

Many of the north/south streets get clogged durning rush hour, and I was walking along one of those major arteries.

There are many little one way side streets, and they get clogged as well.

Then I see it.

There is an old, old woman. She is using a walker. She is bent over nearly double, and she wasn't all that tall to begin with. She is trying to cross the one way side street (which has a stop sign).

There is an asshole (I'll call him Todd) who is driving his huge SUV, talking on his phone, or blackberry or whatever, messing with his stereo, and inching out from the one way street into traffic. He hasn't come to a complete stop, because, the car in front of him is trying the same passive-aggressive manuver into the the North/South street. Traffic is not moving in any direction. It's now about 5:30pm. Nobody is going any where any time soon.

Todd, however, just really needs to go...now. Even if it's an inch at a time, Todd is not going to just sit at a stopsign. Noooooooo, Todd is Important. On The Move.

Todd hasn't noticed the woman with the walker, because she is...

Not Taller than Todd's Hood.

Myself, I'm not much taller than Todd's hood, 'cause Todd's got the Big Wheels and the Jacked up, and the Bling, and the Really Big Car.

Todd, living in his bubble, is running this poor woman down an inch at a time.

She is trying to scoot out of his way, and is not moving fast enough, but Todd is moving slowly, and it's scary.

There is an air of quiet desperation to this struggle, and, at the time, it seemed like a metaphor for a lot of things.

I, feeling all empathetic, RUN out in front of Todd's car and jump up and down, waving my arms.

"Hey Stop! STOP!"

Todd's stereo, his blackberry and whatnot, are all taking up all of Todd's brain. He doesn't Stop, because he doesn't see me, and since he's assuming that his low-speed crawl is sooo safe, he's just keeping it up. An inch at a time.

I finally bang on Todd's hood. He looks up, puzzled.
He stops.

I usher the woman past the Hummer of Death, and Todd leans out the window and says,

"What the Fuck" Todd's angry.

I get the woman to the curb, and turn around.
I walk back up to Todd's gas guzzler.

"You were running that woman down. You didn't see her. She almost fell, and you almost ran her down..."

Todd squints, "You hit my car"

"You didn't stop when I was yelling"

Todd Rolls his eyes. "Fuck you, I didn't hit anyone"

"Did you see her?"

"Crazy Bitch"

This, pisses me off. I'm way past empathy for Todd.

I do it.

I lob my almost full can of starbucks into his open window, splashing Todd and his Electronics,
scream "Fuck You", and run, as fast as I can.

Todd starts to get out of his car, but then doesn't. I am glad I'm not wearing the Cheeseworld uniform.

My empathy thing didn't go so well.

The more things change...

2007-06-27T10:04:00.000-07:00

So, lately, I've come to accept that certain things will never change.
I will always be who I am. Others will be who they are.
But why do the two always have to come into conflict?

I'm thinking of one person in particular, at work.

It is mucho irritating to have someone that believes that their way is the -only- way, it's -right-, and nothing should ever get better, even if it takes a tiny bit of effort on their part to solve a huge, honkin' problem that affects everyone.

I tried something new this week. I spoke up, and alerted the bosses that there might be a problem, and gave them a way to resolve it.

It's like I peed on their Prada.

It's freaky.

I'm not the only person who wants said changes to happen. It's a tiny change. Just a bit of code on a website.

But no.

"People just have to work harder"

They already work really hard, and this tiny bit of code could make them more efficient. It's just about three minutes at the computer. I could fix it.

"Don't you dare."

I get the part about them not wanting to do the fix, but if I'm willing to do the fix, what's the big deal?

Personal Pride.

I am stubborn, and when something really matters, I'll dig my heels in and not let go.
However, right around this time last year, I made a choice to sorta...let go on the little stuff.

I'm happier. Seriously. More people should try it.

Oh, and stop asking me to knit you mittens right after you're a ginormous bitch.

I'll have pictures soon, I promise. My camera has about 15 million photos that don't have anything to do with knitting, and I have to take care of those.

What I'm knitting.

The Socks of Hate (see open letter to Lorna's Laces)
The Sweater of Fuzz
The Sweater that's not going to get done, cause it's freakin' hot here.
Slippers.

What I finished?

Purple socks for my Mom.
in an astounding 2 weeks. That's a sock a week! For me, that's like a personal best.

I'm in love with the Fitted Knits book, and that's the Sweater of Fuzz. I'm using the suggested yarn, which is wool and llama, and it's a loosely spun single, and seriously, I'm sick of picking fuzz out of my nose, which because it's hot, sticks. and itches.

I've begun listening to podcasts. They rock.

I've decided that the more tolerant I am, the more of a Buddhist 'fuck you' it is to those who aren't.

What's a Buddhist 'fuck you'? It's something that started when I waited tables. When there was a guest who was seriously into their own "bitchy for the sake of hating" trip, I'd smile, and jump through hoops to make them happy. I'd love them, in my heart, in all seriousness until they stopped. I didn't take it personally. I didn't get involved...in fact a certain amount of distance was part of it.
Every single person who got this treatment stopped their stupid behavior.
Why?

Well, because most people who behave badly, do so because they want a negative response. It's like the person who's in a bad mood walking in and dissing everyone at the party.
They feel bad, and they want company.

When they were getting what they said they wanted ie...a different glass of wine, no parsley on their plate, a different table, a pepper grinder that met their own personal standards, coffee that wasn't as hot (seriously, wtf? It'll get colder.), with a smile, they got to the point (I think) that
they had a moment of clarity.

"Shit, it's not these things that are making me unhappy. It's me. I'm unhappy. No matter what."

"What a miserable human being I've become."

They didn't leave happier, they just knew where their awful behavior sprang from.

I'm trying to be mindful. I'm trying to be empathetic. Last time I tried this, I ended up throwing a starbucks through the open window of an SUV because they almost ran a little old lady over.

I might write that story down as well.

Purple socks, you are done...an open letter to the folks at Lorna's Laces

2007-06-25T09:14:00.000-07:00

Dear Yarn People,

My purple socks are done. I did them in the 'Purple Club' colorway, and in sportweight, because these were really ment to be 'house socks', and they are beautiful, just loverly.

I buy your yarn because you are local, because Beth buys cheese and wine at cheeseworld, because I have a friend who (albeit for a single hot second) dated one of your employees.

Because you are part of the local community. I totally get that, okay? Don't think that I don't love you, because I do, but can we talk about the misleading name of your 'stripe' collection?

Sure, technically, it stripes, but I really, really thought that there would be a longer color run, which would result in a thicker, more substantial stripe. Something with some heft, as it were.

I think your stripe is paltry. Barely a stripe at all, and I'm feeling a little cheated.

Thanks,

Me

New Knitty:open letter to Amy

2007-06-19T11:03:00.001-07:00

Thank you, Amy.

I know that I was a little harsh in the past, what with the hatey and everything.
Don't get me wrong, I ment it. But the new summer Knitty is pretty awsome. There are cool socks, and an awsome little cardie, and only two cute kids things, that, quite frankly, I would knit for the kidlets that are not mine.

You are doing this full time now, it's a business. I am thrilled for you. That does come with a downside.

I expect great things from you. Amazing things, because you rock. You are a Public Figure.
Like EZ, or the Harlot.

The very first thing I knit was from Knitty. You were there for me, with my stupid questions, and the not understanding tension, and the witless fuckwittery. I was a moron, and you made me slightly more informed.

You tell me cool things, and support my habit, and let me feel less alone.

I'm sure that you are up to the challenge.

Thank you from the little house in the ghetto.

Wine and happiness and knitting

2007-05-26T10:21:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about the fact that most knitters don't drink amazing wine. I wonder why?
I mean, they're happy when they get a knitting or fiber related wine that has a name like "Funky Llama" (real wine, btw), but wouldn't everyone be happier if they got a wine with a real, solid fiber link that tasted really, really good?

So, here it is, the beginning of a short list of wines that are made by folks with a real fiber content:

Owen Roe (I see you frowning. Owen Roe? What's up with that?)
Google the wines.
He's a Irishman who makes amazing wines in Oregon, and the last time I went to a trade tasting (His name's not Owen btw...) he and I had a nice little chat about his sheep. He owns sheep. and shears them. and makes cheese out of their milk. He's a sheep guy.

I like the Abbot's Table. It's not super-expensive, it's a fun blend, and it's complex and lovely.

Of course, he's got a second lable, as well, that's less expensive.
O'Reilly's. He makes a stunning dry, citrusy Pinot Gris that's amazing.

So, drink handmade wine. With real fibery content, not just some stupid name.

We fiber people value so many things handmade...there seems to be bleed over from the fiber stuff into the slow food movement and eating local. Think about the booze.

My focus at Cheese Wonderland (not it's real name) is handmade, organic or sustainable or biodynamic wine that's made by people and not by machine.

It's not all expensive, and it's not all snotty, and really, it tastes better.

Try it.

My rock n' roll life

2007-05-15T10:34:00.000-07:00

Or not. Depends on how you view it.

The good doctor has taken up rock. He's learning how to play. Rock. Loud.

I am not learning to play. Not even rock. Because I don't want to.

The Teva Loop Lace Whatever sweater, however...that will be beat into submission today. Come hell or high water, I will have that sweater sewn and kitchnered, buttoned and washed today. Period.

I have massive amounts of leftovers from Sunday's get together. I think we had many people say 'yes, I will come', then remember it was mother's day, and not come. I have a whole roasted chicken with lavender, sage, rosemary, garlic and lemon in my fridge. Chicken salad sandwiches, here I come.

Russon played the fuck out of that cello. It was amazing...awsome. It was great meeting his mom, and frankly, I got to catch up with people in a way that would have been impossible if we had more people over, so it was a blessing.

Yesterday, was awesome, and sad. Awesome because it was a whole day with nothing on my plate. Alan and Chris and I went on the long walk to ice cream, and sadly, Peterson's has closed. Sniff.

However, it didn't suck just to walk around Oak Park, look at great plants and housed and just soak up the pre-summer day.

Amazing day it was.

Blue Wednesday

2007-04-11T09:20:00.000-07:00

So, here at the little house in the ghetto we've been having big, big, big fun.

Firstly, a soffet fell off the side of the house. Whee!

We'll fix it, but seriously, this homeowner shit is getting troublesome.

Also, Florida!

Both Miami, and Key West.

Someday I'll blog about the trip, but right now, let's just talk about the snow here in Chicago.

Snow. After Easter.

Why?

It's beautiful, frankly. The kind of wet spring snow that we used to get in South Dakota around this time of year.

I'm not pissed, because frankly, I don't pack away the winter clothes until oh, about July. Because of the South Dakota in me. One year we had the fireplace buring on the 4th of July, it was so cold. The fireplace was our main source of heat. Cold hard butter in the mornings. Cold, cold floors.

A Day Off, and and what the fuck is up with Knitty?

2007-03-12T13:00:00.000-07:00

So, I finally have a day off. And I'm doing absolutely nothin' with it. Which was my plan. After kind of getting roped into to too much work, and missing things I wanted to do....like knitting and book club stuff, and not being able to just hang out, I'm at a dead stop. For a day. Then, I get back on.
Don't think that I'm not grateful for the money...I know that I will need money for Burning Man and Miami. I just don't like to work all that much.
Don't think that I'm too good to wait tables...with my title and all...I'm not. It's just funny to me when some second-rate wine snob lips off to me like I'm a moron because I'm taking their order. It's hilarious.
Jerk, in two weeks you'll pay good money to hear me talk (I know, because you were bragging to your asshole friends about it. Oh, I'll kill you with kindness then.)

There will be a Knittin' and Drinkin' or Poundin' and Purlin' at Bin Wine Cafe (Wicker Park)

Monday, March 19th

6pm to whenever

Non-smoking. We do have a small selection of Beers. There is a full bar.

So, now on to the non-knitting crap. (this does have knitting content...it's mostly about what I'm not knitting)

I haven't been knitting because everything I touch seems to turn to crap. Maybe, after a long bath, I might start on the neck of the Loop D Loop Sweater that I started. Teva, seriously, you are kicking my ass with your lack of stitch counts on the increase rows.
Are you to good to give them out? Too busy because of your vast fame and general Englishness? Well, I've frogged and reknit about 11 times now, only to have the lace leaf become wonky, and I'm sick of it.

Oh, and the socks for me? Not so much. However much I like to look at sock books, the next time I drop 80 skizillion stitches off size 2 needles, remind me why I said I was going to just frog that shit and be done.

Feather and Fan Triangle shawl from Folk Shawls. yesh. It languishes.
Mostly because of my lack of stitch markers that aren't really heavy.

And now to the meat of the matter.

What the fuck is up with Knitty.com? This latest batch of patterns is weak. Weeeeeeeeak.
Oh, my a skilzillion sock patterns, and one good sweater? A 'manly' reworking of an already exsisting pattern? Oh, and the seriously un-shaped cardigan. Ick. Double Ick. I expect more, especially now that Amy R. Singer is doing this full time. When this was just a serious hobby, I was okay with a few small missteps. Not anymore. The 2006 summer issue was bad enough, but now this. Jeez. Maybe the book took away some time from your online mag, huh? Oh, and the Spinknitty section, with the clever tie-in to your book. Very subtle.

How about the serious lack of articles?

What the Fuck?

I'm a little dissapointed, to say the least. Oh, and just do a kids issue already, okay? I'm okay with it. It's just that, well, there are a lot of kids patterns out there already. But just stop slipping them in...and if you do, make sure they are seriously different than the ones you already published. Thanks

Oh, and moving on to other betrayals. The new issue of IK. Thanks for making it just like Vogue Knits. Awsome Idea.

Good thing you drastically cut back on editoral content and articles, because that means if I don't like most of the patterns, I can't even fall back on that. Really. Great job.

Thanks, no really, I mean it.

2007-02-26T10:33:00.000-08:00

Okay, so it seems that I have not missed the knittig and books thing.

I can breath, thanks to knitmongrel.

So, really what have I done in the last few weeks, knit-wise.

Finished the sweater for Izzy.

Little, pink, fuzzy, and very, very, very, late.

I'm going to ask her daddy for a picture in it, because even though she wore the thing non-stop last weekend I have not one decent photo.

Finished Sweater for Dr. Al.
He hasn't let me block it. It's finally finished. It was about the 2nd thing I'd ever started, and it was in a bag, mellowing. I finially seamed it together, and then worked the sleeves in the round.

I'm now working on the lace leaf pull over from Teva Durham's book, and I've finished both sleeves.

Thing is, I found out when I worked on Izzy's sweater, that I suck ass at seaming. That, and I can't find a good pictured of how to do the fucking mattress stitch. Thank god Izzy's five, because otherwise, she'd simply turn her nose up at the mess that was her sleeve seams. Knitting for children is good.

Not even Domaknitrix, who has some of the best photo tutorials out there, gives me a good picture.
I know that it's supposed to be easy, and intuitive. That's just not me.

I'm now obsessed with Norwegian knitting and colorwork. Just the thing that when I started knitting, I wrinkled up my nose at, and thought, "Ew, just not for me, ever".

Well, now that I'm haunting Amazon for a copy of "Poems in Color" as history of Bohus-style knitting, I think we all know who's laughing last, and loudest.

Hint:

It's not me.

Ack. Just Ack.

2007-02-25T14:14:00.000-08:00

When did I get so busy that I need a datebook? I seriously can't remember where I'm supposed to be and when.

That, and my emails that I save, with important info in them, just dissapear.

Knitdds, Knitmongrel, did I miss the knitting book club? Am I a crackhead?

Yes. Simply Yes.

That said, the documentary that I'm filming is going...ok. Just ok. Tech stuff has come up, but, frankly, I think I can get the help I need.

Talking for a living. That's going ok.

Wine buying. Sure. It's not shoveling shit, so I'm pretty happy with it.

Not being able to go to the Pogues on March 5 because I'm hosting a wine dinner? Sucks.

I'm picking up a couple of waitressing shifts as well, 'cause cash money is good.

Oh, and there will be a non-smoking, yet booze related knit night
on March 19th, Monday at Bin wine Cafe.

Peace out

Drinkin' and knittin'

2007-01-17T08:19:00.000-08:00

No really, it's an idea of mine.

See, the stich n' bitch closest to my house is filled with really nice ladies, who can knit.
They meet at a coffee house on monday nights.

See, even though they are really nice, mondays are bad for me, and frankly, I want a adult beverage, sometimes.

So, Knittin' and drinkin' is born.
Anybody can come

The first meeting will be on January 22, at 6pm at The Webster wine bar.
You can Mapquest where it is, if you don't know.
(I know, I said mondays are bad for me...they are. Mostly because I'm usually in the city...the Oak Park stich n' bitch is closest to me.)

A couple of things to note:

The venue is not smoke free. This might be a problem for some. It isn't for us.
If it is a problem for you, simply don't show up. Really.

There are several newcomers to knitting. If you don't want to spend time helping them, you don't have to. Just. Be. Nice.

We haven't set the venue for all time. This is a purely experimental group. We are open to new places.

To wit, we are not associated with Webster wine bar. They will not know what the fuck you are talking about if you contact them. Please leave a comment if you have any questions.

Oh, and crochet and other needlework? Totally cool. I wouldn't recommend bringing a quit frame, however.

Cool.

So, I'm crazy into knitting now that my hand is almost back to full capacity. I can open a bottle of wine, too. Pretty cool, huh? Open jars? Check.

The problem seems to be that I have a choice.

Spin

or

Knit

Not both. So, I've been knitting. I finished the Doctor's socks. I'm working on a pair of my own.
I've finished a feather and fan lace scarf, and I've been plugging away on both Izzy's sweater and the good doctor's sweater.

I'm also buying tickets to burning man today.

Yes, I do want to run around, covered in dust, in the middle of the desert.
Yes, I have lost my fucking mind.
Yes, I do consider it a-poc-o-lyp-so training.

Freakin' Finally

2006-12-11T14:42:00.000-08:00

Okay,

So, this is what I've been doing lately.

And yeah, that is commercially made rayon ribbon. I think it's pretty. It's not fun to work with, however, so, we'll probably never use it again.

So, just a holiday hint:

Stay on your meds. Please.

Not for you. I really don't care how you feel. For us.

Thanks.

We're Experiencing Some Technical Difficulties...Please Stand By

2006-12-05T08:04:00.000-08:00

That sound you hear?

Blank Silence.

That's the sound of my digital camera not downloading pictures.

I have no freakin' idea why.

Whatever. I was going to post a shitload of stuff on Etsy, but now? Not so much.

I'll figure it out. And I have another video cord lying around here somewhere.

So, we'll talk about Craft Shows:

October Handmade Market @ Shuba's
Great room, lots of natural light. No customers.

Not one. And it wasn't just me. It was everyone. Nobody sold shit. It was lame.
I blame the neighbourhood.

November Handmade Market @ The empty Bottle
Rockin' as always.

Here's my favorite discussion with a 'customer'...I'll use that term, because 'clueless fuckwit' doesn't sound very nice. The interaction took place at Shuba's.

Clueless Fuckwit fondles my yarn for a while, and her equally clueless daughter of about 40 stands next to her.

CF: So, we pick the yarns out, and you knit it into something for us?

Me: No, people buy the yarn, and then they do stuff with it. You know, knit, crochet, whatever.

CF: So, you don't make it into anything?

Me: Nope, I just hand spin the yarn. You know, like on a spinning wheel.

CF gives me a narrow-eyed look. She holds up a hank of yarn.

CF: So it's almost 20 dollars just for the yarn? That's too much money!

I imagine the satisfaction I feel as I rip the yarn out of her gnarled hand and kick her fragile, brittle bones to dust. I slap on a fake smile.

Me: We'll these are very special. Mostly rare breed, or locally shorn sheep.

I offer another fake, bright smile, willing them to just move on to the next table and torture her.

CF: At most kitting shops they knit it for you!

Okay, so she was old. And, things have changed. I decide to cut her a break.

Me: That used to be true. For a small price, many Yarn Stores (notice my clever phrasing) did have some knitters that, for a small price, would knit a custom item. That's really not so true anymore.

CF: I don't believe that!

Me: Well....

I pause here. She is leaning over my table, lower jaw jutting out, sort of looking like a nasty, elderly bulldog. I hate her. I could continue this exchange, which, really isn't pissing me off, but she would get madder and madder, until her wraith-like body started twitching. She -could- have some sort of stroke. Am I up for this? I take a deep breath.

Me: You know, there's a yarn shop right around the corner. You should go talk to them about it.
I'm probably wrong.

CF snorts, tossing down the yarn.

CF: You don't know anything about knitting.

Okay, so I do feel bad about sending this woman to a LYS. But they were kinda bitchy when I was there...

Blogger ate my brilliant post.

2006-11-17T10:04:00.000-08:00

Fuck.

Out Damned Spot, Out.

2006-11-04T07:50:00.000-08:00

My hands are stained with wine.
My bra is stained with wine.
My sweater was stained with wine.

Just another big night out?

I think not.

I was making custom wine blends for the Hospitality Mines with the Boss in California.

The Stats:
In two days:

I hand-corked 810 bottles of wine.

I drank 5 glasses of wine.

I had 4 Amazing Meals. (breakfast is breakfast everywhere you go)

I got no knitting done.

I drank 6 beers.

I handled over 120 gallons of wine.

I watched two cute guys stomp grapes.

I watched 10 tons of grapes get made into wine.

I had over 5 gallons of wine spilled on me.

I met one great dog.

I stayed in one amazing house.

My hands will never be clean. They are stained with wine.

I will be used, and I'll like it

2006-10-28T09:17:00.000-07:00

So, I have been teeter-tottering about this California thing.

Sure it's great that I go. It's awesome. I'm thrilled, really.

But why? Why after almost 5 years of screaming indifference, or sometimes outright hostility, is The Wine One being nice to me? Really, really nice. Almost kind.

It freaks me out. I'm uncomfortable with it.

However, I've decided that it doesn't matter why this situation has turned around, it just has, and as long as I'm not dirt to be scraped of Himself's shoes, I should sit back and enjoy the ride.

Yarnwise, I'm in high gear. I've been spinning every second that I can to make yarn for the upcomming craft fair. At Shuba's. On Sunday. noon to 4pm.

I'm pretty excited. Keep your fingers crossed for me, and stop by and say hi!

Go big, or go home

2006-10-23T08:59:00.000-07:00

So, in The Knit/Spin Blogosphere this was a Big Weekend.

Why?

Rhinebeck.

Rhinebeck, is the New York Sheep and Wool Festival, and it's a Big Deal.

You -must- make a Rhinebeck sweater, and perhaps some Rhinebeck socks to wear at Rhinebeck. I think it's because this is a cool weather festival, unlike the spring/summer ones.

You must take part in blogger meet ups, and cool little games, and meet other knitters, and well, become A Part Of the Action.

Sometimes this stuff pisses me off a little.

I mean, people brag about how much they bought. They show you all sorts of yarn and wool you didn't even know that you needed. They talk about their shame. But they don't mean it.

It's like calling your girlfriend and talking about how great the body was on that guy that you banged when you were drunk.

"I didn't even know his name when I woke up. I'm so ashamed"

"Really? Were you careful?"

"Yeah..."

"And?"

"He was fucking hot. And, um, though I don't know his name, I've got the imprint of his chin on my inner thigh...you know what I mean?"

Envious sigh from friend. "Yeah.....Bitch."

That, in a nutshell is what Rhinebeck is like for me. I didn't bang some stranger last night. I'm just hearing it second hand. So. Blog on about the wool, and the sheep, and your new sweater.

I'll admit it. I'm green. That's what envy does.

So onto other, happier things.

I bought an entire fleece.

From here http://www.cormo.us

If you look under 2006 Fleece, there is a sample of my wool.

It's got the romantic name of 562. I know, there's all these names, like Karma and Hippie and stuff, I go for the most unromantic name ever. However it's Hogget.

A Hogget fleece is a fleece that was shorn when the sheep just past lambdom...thus the ends of the fleece are lamb's wool (which is super duper soft). Cormo are a cross breed of Merino and um, they are supposedly the cat's meow when it comes to spinning.

Three pounds of dirty fleece are on the way.

I have a feeling I'll be washing that bitch in stages. I don't want to risk using the washing machine method because Merino and related breeds felt easily. So, while I could have used the washing machine for that Romney, all bets are off for 562.

Oh, and yes, my arm is getting better, in little ways, every day.

New Yarns, upcomming Craft Fair, and Fiber time

2006-10-20T09:36:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I had a great time with Sarah, who came over and did some fibery stuff the other day.

We spun, and fondled fiber, and she crocheted. The picture is the finished yarn that I was spinning...I'm calling it 'Grape Jelly' and it's super soft, shiny and delovely. It's in the shop.

Sarah took some hand spun to make into a sample.

People who love fiber are cool.

My right hand (whom I call Mr. Burns), won't let me knit all that well yet. The funky way my hand now sits on my arm is probably at fault...that, and the fact that I can't really bend it, and I have no strength in it. But. No Cast. Groovy.

I'm now experimenting with some royal purple for her, to pay her in trade.

There are some new yarns up in the shop. I am doing the Handmade Market on the 29th of October, right before I fly to California. Cali. Wine. Groovy. Beckmen Vineyards. Hitching Post. Santa Inez. Groovy.

Wine. Yum. -insert Homer Simpson sound of food happiness here-

The new job type thing that I'm doing for the Hospitality Mines is fun. I am the voice of all wine education, which is cool. I just go in, talk about wine, and leave. Pretty fucking ideal, I have to say. I can't beleive that I'm getting paid just to do that.

Cheese world is edging up onto crunch time, and we've had some amazing wine sales...we're already ahead of where we were last season...

So, off to teach about wine.

The other day

2006-10-13T20:21:00.000-07:00

Mailperson:Blah, blah, unimportant gripe, blah.

Phang, the hairless one, takes this oportunity to dart out the open door, onto the steps.

Me:Phang! Get in here.

(to mailperson)

Me:Sorry about that. We don't have outside cats.

Mailperson:Oh, I'm sorry that your kitty is sick. That's why she can't go outside, right?

Me: Um...sure.

Phang is freaky looking, but really...sick? I just didn't have it in me to explain genetics right then.

So far, she's been misidentified as a dog of some sort, been so icky that the cable guy screamed...well, it was more like a scared moan, and now she looks like she's sick.

neat.

Wow, maybe I shouldn't say this, but things don't suck right now.

2006-10-11T09:17:00.000-07:00

Really, I don't have to expound too much, do I?
I just got a call from He Who Runs The Wine...He's taking me to Santa Barbara to make wine for the hospitality mines.

Back the truck up, shut the front door, it's true.

I lurve the area, and I love wine.

My job just got really amazing.

New Yarns

2006-10-03T09:05:00.000-07:00

Yarns on Etsy, or "Will I suck?"

2006-10-03T08:47:00.000-07:00

So,

Now that the hospitality mines have finally let loose their grasp, and the Cheese World doesn't need every second of my spare time, I'm commiting some time to the yarn.

And the comic book.(Yes, I'm turning one of our screenplays into a comic book. I should say
-we- (my writing partner and I and a very talented young man who is an amazing artist) are making a comic book.

I've got to say...I heart my new yarns. Very much. And, I heart the time I give to them. I just washed up some Romney and it's drying in a white, fluffy cloud.

A little side note about the Romney...
It was full of poo. And, since I had bought the raw Romney at Susan's Fiber Shop in Wisconsin last weekend, a word of warning.

Susan's is -dirty-.

I mean, when you go to The Fold, it's clean. Sure, there's fuzz everywhere, and hey, I wear a decent amount of black, so like, I understant when I walk out of The Fold looking like a lint brush. But I don't have to scrub my fingernails.

Susan's is on a farm, so I totally get the sheep smell. And she sells wool from her own sheep in the shop, both washed and raw, so a little 'sheepy' smell is expected. But, man what about the dust, and the grime, and the poor organization? It's fucking awful.

That, and I felt a little hosed with my Romney.
There were some poorly skirted spots in my wool...which I didn't see when I was going through the bag, which was on the floor of the shop. When I asked for a pound of it, the girl who was working that day stuff a bag full of wool (fine) held it up (fine), and weighed it (fine).

It wasn't until I got home, opened up the ziplock, and spread it out to wash that I noticed the entire center of my bag was a big mass of poo. I feel like she tucked it in the middle so that I wouldn't see it.

Look, I know that there's going to be some sheep shit in raw wool, but it was excessive, and with the sneaking suspicion that I was mislead, and the dirty shop, I probably won't ever make a trip to Susan's Fiber again.

Anyway...

I have a new online shop at Etsy! I'll post yarn and I'll probably post spinning batts as well.

visit if you want

www.mutantcatsyarn.etsy.com

I'll be adding stuff, like a cool logo, and making my profile much more...uh, concise, very soon.

Yarn sold

2006-10-01T12:20:00.000-07:00

you must support this yarn shop

Chix with stix in River Forrest.

Why?

www.chixwithstixknitting.com

They bought my yarn!

They are my LYS, and, frankly, they rock.

Pictures of new yarns to come, and the Handmade market information, once I've confirmed a table.

Where was I, and other small humiliations

2006-09-26T14:21:00.000-07:00

Okay,

I broke my arm. bad.

nuff said.

However, I am beginning to get on track with the yarn thing.

I've taken my first order.

It's due friday.

I'll post once they've paid.

2 hott 2 nit

2006-07-31T11:29:00.000-07:00

It is, really.

It's 2 hott 2 spinn as well.

I sit, drenched in sweat, wearing only underpants as I write this.
Frightened, yet?

The air conditioner is on.

And it's still this hot.

When I walked into this room it felt cooler than the rooms around it. That's because it is. But it's still soooo hot that here I sit, sweating.

I plyed some yarn to day, but the idea of actually holding wool in my hands, while I move a treadle with my foot, scares me. It's why I can't function.

Help me.

I'm melting.

Big Mystery Pt. 2

2006-07-28T13:54:00.000-07:00

So, what would I have done differently?

And how do I deal with my regret?

I don't hold on to my regret. I don't tresure it. I hate it. I never want to be old, and looking back, and filled with it, either.

I try to make sure that whatever I did, when faced with the same situation, I do differently the next time.

I figure that hey, I sucked the last time, if I suck this time, at least I tried something different.

I feel like I owed that little girl, the one who's 9 now, more.
I feel like I helped her mother down the path to self-destruction, by standing by and 'helping' when she fucked up.

It haunts me that years ago, I didn't look into her eyes, say

"You're killing yourself and I can't keep watching. Clean up or Get Out"

Instead, I looked into those big brown pools of manipulative pain, heard the suicide threats, and kept 'helping'.

I didn't want her to die.
I didn't want her to be mad, cut herself off from me, and fade into that large, black night.
I thought I could help save her.

My regrets are mixed with a weird sort of anger that I let myself be played. I let myself think that I could save someone who had absolutely no plans to save herself.

She worshipped at the altar of good looking corpses, and dead poets.
She lived for the feeling of not feeling at all.
Her demons were enormous, all encompassing, and something I cannot even imagine.
She had been degraded in horrible ways by the time she was 12. At 13 her mom and her did coke together. She was using herion and tricking by the time she was 15.

Her photos are still all over the internet. She has weird stalker-fans who want to know where she is.
I google her name to see if she's dead yet.

I wonder.
I wonder that had we not been such a soft landing, always there, always willing to give shelter both physically and emotionally...

Would she have hit a different bottom, earlier?
Would she have not lived in such a fucked up way, for so long? Would that have given her the strenght to save herself? Get some help?

Would she have checked herself into a psych ward that day I took her in, if I hadn't caved, and promised that we would take her to get help? I should have told the doctor that she was doing meth. I should have thought about the then 2 year old.

I shouldn't have blamed it on the people she was with.
I should have let her deal with the doctors. I should have insisted that she stay.

Would she know her own daughter now?

When she swore that she was cleaned up, and then I watched her do the line of coke, I should have walked away right then.

I should have thrown her out when she appeared, dirty and sad with a story about her boyfriend (really, her pimp) kicking her out. I begged her to get a job.

She didn't.

I begged her to get counsling.

Really, that was laughable at that point. She was such a host of problems at that point, where would have a doctor started? With her childhood? Her drug problem? Her prostitution? Her shattered marriage? (Her husband had taken her back at this point, 'for the baby' 5 times. Each time, the time together was shorter and shorter...the memories less good. The anger worse. He was still willing to take her back at this point. She was still young enough so that she had a good cover story for her lack of 'real' job experience. She was savable, I thought)

She said that she didn't need it.
Her husband finally threw down the gauntlet. Get help, -any- help, of -any- kind, just to show him that she knew there were problems. At the time, I bought that he was an asshole. In retrospect, he deserved my respect and support.
She flew to New York 3 days later, and stayed with her sister.

2 months later, she showed up on my doorstep, complaining that she had lost all her cash (junkies lose massive amounts of cash. I've never figured out if it's a cover for how much their habit costs, or if they are just so fucked up that they drop cash, don't notice people stealing...)and complaining that her planned overdose the night before didn't work. She was still alive.

I should have stood firm. I caved.

I wish I could have saved her. I regret not being able to. I wonder if anyone could have?

In the year that has passed since we last spoke, I think about her often. Because of another young, beautiful damaged woman.

A young woman who I think, really has a chance. A young woman who I can see a way out for. a young woman who desperately needs professional help. who I think, could lead a life that would not be a short, quick, road to hell.

I wish that things were simple. I wish that nobody ever would get hurt. I regret hurting people, through my supposed good actions. I regret working against a child's best interest because of my own, self-aggrandising, hope that she would, get help on her own time.

She only calls in the middle of the night. There is never a place where she lives. She chose that.

I regret the part I played in it.

I regret not being better.

I regret.

The Big Mysteries

2006-07-28T10:40:00.000-07:00

I've been having a series of rather difficult conversations with a friend.

Last night, I realised that sometimes it might seem like I think I have all the answers. Nothing could be further from the truth.
I simply seem to have all the questions.

We were discussing a problem to which there are no right answers, and the concept of regret. My friend has very few regrets, but those he has, haunt him.

I've always been one to live in the present,
judge people by what they do,
try and do right, despite, not because of what others do.

That could pretty much be my credo.

What do I regret?

I regret not saying the truth when I knew it. I regret getting played. I regret things I didn't do more than things I've done.

When a friend was caught in the most awful downward spiral, I thought that to support her insanity and self-destruction was, in the long run, the right thing to do. I never told her the truth. That she was the only one hurting herself.

Years later, one night, she came to my house.
Her hands were covered in mild chemical burns. She hadn't slept in days, and a beautiful woman (who was always exceedingly vain) sat on my porch smelling like shit, with dirty/stained clothing on.

"I'm trying to burn off my fingerprints, so that nobody can find me"

We washed her clothes.

"I'm just going to run out for a minute"

She left, in little more than a bathrobe to go buy more crack.

"I just need to fix my hair"

She smoked the crack in my bathroom.

I understand when deception becomes the norm. I understand when someone has manipulated everyone, and can no longer even be honest with themselves. I understand when you go along with the manipulation (Hey, at least I -know- when I'm getting taken for a ride, right?) just to make the other person feel better.

When she told me -anything- I had doubt, but it was easier to beleive than fight about the little lies, right?

I'm big on personal responsibility. I really think it's key. However, this person was never held responsible for her own actions in my eyes. I just figured that someone who had basically been raised by wolves on the mean streets of Chicago, living off her good looks, and the kindness/perversion of strangers, didn't have that in her.

Her daughter will be 9 this year.

Luka won't remember her mommy holding her in her arms, looking up at me with absolute wonder and saying, "I just feel at peace when I hold her in my arms. I love her sooooooo much".

I thought that having a child would save her. That she'd pick up the peices of her life, make that kid her first priority, and live for her kid.

She hasn't.

The look in her eyes when she held Luka, that look said, "I'll do anything for my baby." I believed that look, completely.

I got taken.

I got taken for over ten years. I got taken in by the little lies and the big ones.

I called her pimp at one point and begged him to buy her a ticket to Denver, so that she could see her kid, and clean up. I figured that she couldn't buy drugs with no money and no car.

She said that it was what she needed to do. That it was the only way.

She was back in Chicago in three days, sucking strangers dicks for drug money, surfing couch to couch, with a crack pipe wrapped in plastic wrap shoved up her vagina, and stories about how her former husband didn't want her anymore.

That was a lie. Matt always talked about how much he loved her. He has never found another woman. Sure, he dates, but I think this whole life has been haunted by this beautiful, fucked-up wraith.

She felt regret at how things had worked out, but she never acted on it.

She never made the small steps needed to get him to trust her. She said it was insulting, demeaning even.

She was/is demanding. She would show up on our doorstep, saying how much she missed us. I sometimes wonder if she ever ment it. Her eyes said she did, but was that only an act?

She disappeared one night, amid shame, paranoia, and a general sense that she would burn us, just to save herself. I think that was the truth. I think that it was all the truth.
I think she ment everything. I think she ment nothing.

She calls late at night, always. Never a number to call her back on, just a payphone, or some stranger's home. I'm sure they're passed out in the bedroom, while she who never sleeps combs their house and hides things.

She steals.

She cries.

Once, I answered the phone. I knew instantly it was her. The timing was right.

I asked her if she was clean.

"Kind of"

I told her that wasn't good enough. I wished her luck. Told her I would see her later, when she was clean.

I hung up.

I cried.

I still never told her the truth.

Drumcarder of my dreams.

2006-07-14T10:17:00.000-07:00

Oh, and one last thing.

This http://susansfibershop.com/pat_green.htm

I lust over the 'deb's delicate deluxe', but would be happy with the 'Deluxe'...fur drum, of course.

Send all your money to the Professor.

Uh, How 'bout August?

2006-07-14T09:54:00.000-07:00

I find myself saying that this summer. Seemingly, in August, I will have tons of social obligations that will be mucho fun. The ACS happens next week. I'm actually looking forward to it, because, on Sunday and Monday, we will go to many fun wine producers, and we will drink:)

In August, however....

Let's see:

Dan and Telina will arrive (yeah, I'm thrilled...I can't wait)
Dan and Telina have a friend in town from Napa who's going to stay with us and go to Lalapalooza...fun.
Marrissa will be in town for Lalapalooza.

Stitches West is in August (Stiches West is like a nationwide conference for kitters. They have classes and stuff. They also have fiber and spinning tools.)

There is a fiber fair in Michigan that I would love to go to.

There might be time to camp/visit friends in Wisconsin, which means that I could go to Freene Creek Farm, and Susan's Fiber Shop, and fondle fiber, and look at a drum carder.

It's my birthday in August. August 23, to be exact.

I have said to more people than I can count,

"We'll do it in August"

We're going to go back to work on the house in August.

Um, I think I'm busy.

Baby Lucifer

2006-07-13T08:50:00.000-07:00

Well, on from my most recent spate a health issues.

I'm fine. A shot of antibiotics, an ultrasound, and a couple of other things later, it's been proven that I will not die.

On to some of the cool things that I wish I could take pictures of:

yesterday, when we came home, there was a Cardinal and two goldfinches eating the sunflowers in the backyard.

I just finished the 'Morell Family Yarn'. I turned it into a cool super-coil, two ply that is curly and soft.

I dyed. A lot. Some great tencel and merino that looks like silk.

I still can't spin silk worth dog crap, but it's getting there.

I want, no, need, no, desire a drum carder.

The professor's fiber languishes in a cupboard. I have not started spinning for his sweater. I sort of think that I should finish his first sweater, what do you think? Yeah, that's what I thought.

The standstill on the house continues. I am lazy, and the good doctor is busy...up to his eyeballs in classes. Soon, they will be over. I'm voting for the back of the house to be 'finished', cause it looks like trash. However, when there is no work on the house, there is no stress over the work. Neat.

I go to Portland, to the ACS, soon. Wish me luck! I am only taking a sock to knit on the plane. That's it. No more. Why? Well, because Portland has an amazing yarn shop, that sells fiber. And wheels.

Is it wrong? Sure it is.

That's why I like it.

Midwest

2006-07-11T08:44:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday, Shane

2006-07-11T08:33:00.000-07:00

Well,
One of the people in my life has had a birthday, and since I can't be there with him to cut some cake and tell him how glad I am that he's in my life, this post is dedicated to you, baby.

Over the course of your life you've:

traveled
lived
loved
made some horrible mistakes

Over the course of your adulthood you've:
made some kick-ass art
made some kick-ass kids
met some really cool people

During the time that I've known you, you've:
Dressed up like a clown and threatened bar customers with a chainsaw.
Caused me great concern when your back was injured.
Had some big health scares
Pissed me off (remember the poker game?)
Fathered the most amazing child I've ever known.

During the last year you've:
Moved. Far away. Damnit.
Made some big, hard choices. I have to say, I admire you. I'm sure it's not easy, but you have found new strength this last year.
Gone in a new direction with your art. Bravo. Old dogs can learn new tricks.

Happy Birthday, Shane. We all love you, and miss you.

What is it exactly?

2006-07-07T11:54:00.000-07:00

Well, since I broke the digital camera, I'm back to good, ol' fashioned no-photo blogging for a while.

I haven't spun a darn bit since I returned from vacation. Part of it was I was burned out, part of it is that it was too darned hot, and part of it was just that I'm a lazy bum who got sick and just didn't feel good.

I'm looking at my wheel right now, and wondering
"Could I make enough money off spinning to quit my job?"

Not just spinning, mind you. Dyeing too, and maybe even using a drum carder to blend fibers into custom batts.

Frankly, I'm going to buy these spinning toys anyway. 'Cause it's like an obsession, and, I, like, love it, so what's to be lost by putting up an Etsy page, and making a commitment that this fall I'll do as many craft shows as I possibly can?

I'm not talking about quitting wine, god no. I'm just talking about not having to go to the hospitality mines every week. I would have to set up an online shop, and I would have to get wholesale orders from yarnshops. That's a jump from hobby spinning.

However, I look at all the stuff that's for sale, both uber-novelty, and not, and I think..."I can do that"

It's something that I've been playing with, in my mind over the past couple of weeks.

There's no other way but to try. I think that right this minute there is a significant demand for handspun...there has been a knitting revolution out there, so if I decided to go ahead and get a wholesale tax number, and started ordering wholesale undyed fiber, instead of paying retail, decided to link this blog up to a couple of rings, decided to really, really commit to the idea of the craft fair thing this fall (fall/late summer is a great time to sell yarn to knitters...they smell the oncomming cold, and they want to prepare.) If I decided to buy more raw fleece and process it myself, there might be a profit margin.

It's an interesting question I'm pondering.

What I learned on my Summer Vacation

2006-06-30T11:44:00.000-07:00

The thing that my family taught me was:

Playing Poker is cool.

It is, really. You get chips, and you get to tip the dealer, and um, they bring you free drinks, and you get to chat and laugh...so much cooler than those machines.

My cousin Zach talked me into trying it, and now, well...I lurve it. The next time I find myself in gamblin' country, I'll be playing 4 card poker.

The thing that divides my family is:

Guns, Homosexuals, and Race.

That's more than one issue? Really? 'Cause it really seems to be one big ol' jumble to us.

The thing that sucked most was:

My camera got broken. Sob.

The odd thing about my family reunion:

I found out I am now related to an honest to god wine magnate.

Really, I'd love to post pictures, but...see above suckiness.

Wine of the Week (er, month? whatever.)

2006-06-16T08:30:00.000-07:00

2003 Montpezant "Palombieres"
Coteaux du Languedoc, France

This is fucking good juice. Not expensive, either. A simple (I'm guessing, here) blend of Grenache and Syrah from a fairly small producer. Cow standing in a field of blackberries with a basket of coffee and vanilla next to said cow.
Yum.

A week's worth of family

2006-06-15T07:42:00.000-07:00

So, on Wednesday, I will climb onto a plane, and fly back to my hometown. A hometown that, seriously, I don't love so much.

A hometown where two drugged out 'punks' tried to kill a homeless man while he slept in his truck in a Safeway parking lot.
Interestingly, he actually killed one of the kids. He was hurt really badly during the attack, but when he was fighting them off, he knifed one of the kids, and he ended up dying. The courts, of course, said 'self defense', which is probably one of the few things I've ever agreed with that's been handed down by the South Dakota court system.
Weirdly enough, if you google 'South Dakota Serial Killers', you will find that a whole slew of homeless, mostly of Native decent have turned up dead in Rapid City. Mostly during the time that I lived there. Oddly enough, I remember hearing nothing about it on the news.

A hometown where people protest the Planned Parenthood clinic. Fuckers.

A hometown where I was almost arrested on obscenity charges.

A hometown where my first marriage collapsed under the weight of our collective stupidity and carelessness.

Wow! Sounds like fun, you say.

Yeah, I have to say, that I hate my hometown. However, I lurve my family. My brother, my Mom, and the assorted eleventy bazillion cousins, uncles, great aunts and assorted third and fourth, once-removed people that will be there.

Because I'm very closely related to my Mom, I even get to sleep in the house, not, like in a tent out in the yard. Fancy, very Fancy.

So, today, I'm going to see what's what, and maybe, if I'm lucky ship some wine home, and figure out how the fuck I'm going to get Wheelie on the plane.

I'll ignore how much I'm going to miss the Professor, and the cats, and the bird, and the turtle.

I'll ignore the little things that make me crazy...like how nobody recycles, and how most folks don't really even think about the environment.
How, very often rural folks think hugely different things about Katrina, and the survivors, than us blue state folks. (It is scary to think that a huge portion of the U.S. population beleives that 'most Katrina survivors are better off now than they were before the tragedy'.)

And mostly, I'll reacquaint myself with people who really haven't seen me since I was 9 at the youngest, or 18 (gaaah) at the oldest.

Frightening, isn't it?

Wish me luck while I'm there, and keep your fingers crossed that I don't offend anyone.

2006-06-14T15:51:00.000-07:00

Lobby

2006-06-14T15:49:00.000-07:00

More fluff

2006-06-14T15:48:00.000-07:00

Fluff

Um, sure I'm high

2006-06-10T10:08:00.000-07:00

Okay, so in the past week I've decided two things:

I should knit socks.

I need one of these
Jesus, I'm out of control.

I would show you pictures of the piles of fipping fiber stacked window-high in my front room, but I'm ashamed. I have something like way to much stacked in that room.

I know the llama weighs about 8 pounds, and then the fleece...that was 5 pounds, oh, and then...let's just say that speaking about fiber in weight really downplays the issue. Let's just say that you pick up your heaviest "winter in Chicago sweater"

That bad boy weighs maybe a pound and a half. Fiber is not that heavy.

Let's just say I have a feeling that I'm sneaking up onto twenty pounds of fiber.
That doesn't count the yarn. The yarn that is on every surface that you can think of upstairs. The yarn that's tucked into the cupboard where we keep coffee cups. The fiber and yarn that I turned into a cute little art still life in the living room. Could this be a sign that perhaps I've taken this thing too far?
No, really.
Shut up.

I'm about to order three pounds of really wonderful fiber for a sweater for The Professor, too, but that's not indicative of a problem.
No, really.
Shut up.

I'm also trying to figure out how I'm going to get Wheelie to my family reunion in South Dakota, too. Because. I. Can't. Stop.

I know that some of you have said "Why can't you just knit?"
You'll be surrounded by family, and you've even said you love that side of the family, and they're really funny, and one of them even married a vineyard owner,
and really, you'll be having such a good time, you won't even have time to spin.
or
It's ridiculous to drag your hobby with you on vacation. Wouldn't this be a good time to think about other things?
Like the huge speach that you're going to give in Portland, Oregon in July? Or how you need to find a new job soon? Shouldn't you face some of these upcomming issues instead of just diving into a pile or wool, or yarn, even, and ignoring these issues? Isn't that a little dysfunctional?
or
Honey, put down the wool. It was fun for a little while, but it's gone too far. This isn't funny anymore. You have tools like hand carders, and a diz, and a niddy noddy, and you worry about if your orifice needs oil, but shouldn't you think about the really important stuff? Like Zombie attacks?
No, really.
Shut up.

Oh, I laugh and laugh

2006-06-09T11:42:00.000-07:00

So, yesterday this was what I got in my email:

edits have been made to protect the guilty

"Minion,
>
> Do you have any restrictions next week? The Manager that was really good, but is leaving us, will be gone as of Saturday
> the 10th. Can you work
> everyday, including Monday as we are doing some "deep cleaning" No
> really,
> what's your deal?
>
> Love, The Two Overlords"

Oh, yes, I laugh and laugh, because these fuckers have had over a month to find a new manager. And they haven't.

Nor have they discussed me taking more hours. I think, juding by this email, that they might have assumed some stuff, but there was no discussion.

This was the answer:

"Overlords
Um, no that's not workable, because I am visiting the old man and Her this week.
I will be out of town until Wednesday sometime, probably the evening.

Minion"

What I really want to say is

Fuck you. You haven't found a replacement, and you assume that I'm going to do it? If I were you,I would stop making assumptions, 'cause I'm not the one holding my balls in my hand, am I?

Perhaps you could have one of those 'sit downs' that you're so fond of, and actually try asking me how available I could be to the company.
That's a new idea, but by gosh, I think it just might work.

So, tonight, I will return to the hospitality mines, and work, and we'll see how this is all going to play out.

2006-06-02T09:27:00.000-07:00

Cool, huh?

2006-06-02T09:25:00.000-07:00

Tulips!

2006-06-02T09:22:00.000-07:00

Got Voodoo?

My Husband Lurves Me

2006-06-02T08:47:00.000-07:00

So, on Wednesday, The Professor made the ultimate sacrifice to prove his lurve for me.

What could that be? Diamond rings? Mink Coats?

God, no. He got into the car (he hates driving), and drove me to the middle of nowhere, to The Fold, which is in Maringo, Il, so that I could take a spinning lesson.

What the fuck is The Fold?

It's like heaven for fiber addicts.

It's a spinning/knitting shop. It's the same place where I bought Wheelie.

Okay, so back to how awsome Dr. Al is. After a two hour drive, with a stop at a Dairy Mart, for hamburgers...Great small-town stuff...little kids with dirty faces eating ice cream, and everybody sitting outside at picnic tables talking to each other, we got to The Fold. It's not like Dr. Al can just head to Starbucks and read, 'cause, yo', this shit is sort of remote. So he just sat outside patiently.

Because he loves me.

Pretty awsome, huh?

So, I sit down with Toni, who owns the shop, who is incredible. Super nice, not mean, very unjudgemental, and a lovely person.

And she tells me I'm doing everything pretty much right. She says that my form is fine, that my yarn is good, and that, in general, besides Wheelie's mystery noise, things look good.

She gives me a couple of tips, and tells me to fill my bobbin more carefully, and gives me free shit! (a WPI gauge/Diz...which only means something to spinners)

She compliments the roving I'm spinning with. I tell her I dyed it.
She tells me it's pretty. I leave it for her. Why?

She's like a goddess, and she liked my shit.

I have never seen another live human being spin before. It was great. I wish I could go to a guild, or find another spinner in the area, who is cool, but I don't think there are any.

Maybe someday.

This week, I dyed. I've made tons of pretty colors, and, at some point, I'll move everything dye-related upstairs, to the old kitchen. All my finished yarns from this round of dye-related insantity will be named after H.P. Lovecraft monsters.

2006-05-23T09:07:00.000-07:00

Yum

This weekend

2006-05-23T08:46:00.000-07:00

I sold yarn!
Saturday, I sold everything but 3 skeins!

The photo that I posted, in the center, there is a yellow/red/green combo that I've secretly named 'Stupid Clown'. It was my least favorite yarn...first to go.

And,I got to trade yarn for cool shit, like jewelry...

It was fun. I ordered good dye. I'm looking forward to making more.
People liked my shit. I felt validated by other knitters. It was awsome.

2006-05-16T21:29:00.000-07:00

this is my life

Full o' Anxiety and uber-personal Fug

2006-05-05T11:33:00.000-07:00

Lately, between some personal stuff, and 'the company', I've been filled with a huge amount of anxiety. Heart-pounding, bursting into tears, please-don't-make-me-go-there-anxiety and general ickiness.

And, honestly, I think it's the company's fault. It's not the job, it's the politics surrounding the job.

It's not that I'm unhappy when I'm actually at work, it's the work meetings, the email, the things around my job that suck the life out of me.

That, and, frankly, I won't be going to a sheep-type-wool-festival thingy that I have been planning on going to for a few months now.

And, frankly, I'm not going because one of my bosses, someone who is 'more important', wants to go on a ten-day vacation. And, so, I'm fucked.

The boiling anger I feel as I write this is overwhelming.

It's such a small thing, that weekend that I want, and yet, when it's taken away, it becomes impossible for me to wish the boss, and the girlfriend of the boss well on their vacation, and then, that causes problems for me and Dr. Al, 'cause the girlfriend of the boss is his good friend, and a friend of mine as well. And, like I should at least be able to say, "Have a good time!", but I can't because my throat becomes clogged with resentment.

What I really want to say is,

"Thanks for fucking me. I hope you get scabies!"

or

"Really, have a good time...don't let my wishes for your everlasting unhappiness screw anything up!"

or, last, and possibly most honest.

"Hey, I resent you, 'cause it seems that your happiness is more important than mine! I'll get over it, but I feel like you owe me an apology, even though you have no idea I feel this way, 'cause I'm emotionally dysfunctional!"

I hate that. I hate that when I try to express this stuff to Dr. Al, it gets all clogged up in other issues, and that in general, I just want to whine like a two year old,and yell, and stomp my feet,

"It's not fair! Everybody else gets to have a good time...and I can't because of...."

What? That's not super-annoying?

Uh, yeah. And I don't think it's cool, so I'm trying to keep a lid on this shit, and not dwell on it, and frankly pretend that, like I'm not resenting it

EVERY SECOND OF EVERY DAY SINCE I'VE HEARD ABOUT IT.

yup. every second.

It's the background to everything I've done since about, oh...Saturday.
And, even though it seems like I've just been hanging out, and going to my other job, and reading books and knitting, and like, hanging out having quality time with Dr. Al, it's the voice, the whisper of my discontent.

So, I'm trying to knit. And I'm trying to spin, 'cause next Saturday, I'm supposedly going to go to the alternative crafts fair and sell yarn, and I'm trying to just put one foot in front of the other, but honestly, it feels like this is the straw that broke the camel's back.

I'm trying to see the cool black tulips in the backyard, and I'm trying to think about little things that used to give me pleasure, and I'm trying to listen when my friends talk, and be effective whilst I work, and I'm trying to do all those things, but honestly? I'm faking it.

The upside of faking it is that I know that this will pass. These bad feelings and general angst will be over, and this will be a distant memory, but all those things,
our garden, our friends, my knitting and spinning, my jobs, those will all still be there, because most of this bullshit will pass...bullshit is transitory, I tell myself, just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and you will walk out the other side.

but seriously, universe?

Fug you.

Happy Global Warming Spring!

2006-05-04T07:55:00.000-07:00

We are having an ungodly mild spring in Chicago. The tulips are in full bloom, the iris that I planted have come and gone, we're waiting on the blue flag iris(a later bloom) the croci have shot their load, and the huge, purple ornamental onions that I planted (they look like globes of purple coolness), two are ready to bloom.

I say what the fuck? Last year, nothing was up yet, because it was still too cold.

The plants all say 'Dude, we're fucking -on- this summer. Bring it.'

The fucking peonies are going to blossom in the next few weeks. Last year, it was late June.

I have food-ready rhubarb already.

We planted a honeysuckle bush this spring that has already sprung into bloom. WTF? Seriously.

I expect snow in July. Really. This is just really fucked up.

This is going to be a long, hot summer, and I hope that it's not going to be a scanty on the rain supply as last year, but I don't think my hope is going to change the fact that our climate is changing.

It's a spooky reminder right in my own back yard that we, have fucked the planet up, and that things are just going to get weirder.

I hope we run out of oil soon.

Next Saturday, I'm taking my yarn to the Empty Bottle for the alternative crafts fair. I have soooo little yarn. It's going to be interesting to see if I can kick my lazy ass into gear and produce between here and next Saturday.

Dr. Al is taking students to Mammoth Cave next week, so perhaps with nobody to bother me, I mean, distract me, I can get some serious face time in with wheelie.

Wish me luck.

Wisconsin Death Trip

2006-04-28T08:42:00.000-07:00

Uh, where do I start?

Mostly, where do I start without being unethical?

Let's just say that I had huge amounts of time wasted by Foxxy, who is now living with the transvestite decepticon.

Let's just say things were not as bad as I thought, on one level, and much worse on another level.

Let's just say that if I ever start killin' whores, I'll know which one to start with.

On to better stuff.

Northern Wisconsin is much, much prettier than I thought.
Slab City has one bar, which is named 'The Morgue'.
Needless to say, I now really, really, want to live in Slab City.

Oh, and I now want to raise sheep and alpaca and llama in northern Wisconsin.

I have fallen, and how to wash a llama

2006-04-21T08:33:00.000-07:00

I'll admit that when She left, it threw me for a loop. Along with the fact that things have not gone swimmingly for the old man, at their undisclosed location, and that I've been a teensy bit pre-occupied at work.

All this adds up to no blog.

I hate when people will blog "Things were bad, no blogging" or "Life. Gah."

Let's just say that I slipped into a bit of a depression, that I was really worried, and that I'm not utterly happy with the way I handle stress.

I'm turning over a new leaf.

Now, on to the fun part.

How to wash a llama.

The backstory is thus:

Dr. Al's teaching assistant was listening to him talk about how I spin, and she said, "We have llamas."

Dr. Al said "Give us the llama wool."

She said, "Okay."

So we have two llama fleeces, right? and I'm like a little freaked out, 'cause like you should wash and pick this stuff, right?

Well people on the internets have lots and lots of opinions. Some think that you shouldn't have to wash your llama. Some people say that you should wash your llama.
To get slightly technical here, sheep have lanolin in their wool. Lanolin is used in hand lotion, and if you leave it in the fleece, you are "Spinning in the grease."

If you make yarn in this way, you will get a sweater that repels water (Good if you are an Irish fisherman).

If you choose not to spin in the grease, you must scour your fleece, to get rid of the lanolin. Lanolin can fuck up your pipes and your septic system, so be careful.
Scouring your fleece is a long project, needing orvus paste, and lots of hot water.

Fun, huh? Welcome to my new hobby.

Llama don't have lanolin in their fur. They have a completely different structure, and llamas have a top coat (long, course hairs called guard hairs), and a downy undercoat which is soft and yummy.

Llama, like alpaca lacks 'crimp'. In essence, good sheep wool has a little 'curl' which makes it easy to spin and gives in memory, or 'spronginess'(sure motherfucker, spronginess is not a made up word. It's a technical term. So shut up.)

The llama that we got were also work animals, they carry backpacks on long camping trips, so those llamas weren't wearing little coats to keep shit out of their fur.

So, these llamas, see needed to be washed.

I'm not claiming that my way is the right way, but if anybody out there has llama that is so dirty that they want to wash it, here you go.

1. Open the garbage bag that the llama is in. This is the scariest part.
My llama was 'skirted', which pretty much means that they had cut off the part filled with llama poo.

2. Pick through said llama. I tried to leave the llama in the biggest pieces I could.
Give each piece a good shake. Little bits of hay, and llama skank will fall out. There were a couple of good-sized chunks of llama poo.

You can compost all this stuff!

If there were any parts that were felted together, or if there were short 'second cuts', this is where I got rid of them.

At this point I suppose I could have sorted the guard hair from the soft down, but I didn't. More on my choice later.

At this point, I lost about a quarter of my llama. Not a huge loss, as a matter of fact.

3. Fill your extra bathtub with hot water.

4. Drop the llama in to the hot water, and give a couple of good sized squirts of dishwashing liquid.

Do not put llama in bathtub, then fill with hot water. Why? The agitation of the water hitting the fur might felt it. Felting is no bueno.

5. Carefully push llama under water. Do not move the fur around in the water too much.

Treat this shit like pastry, yo. Handle as little as possible.

6. Let llama sit. It will release a huge amount of a substance that I call 'llama skank'.

7. Move llama towards the top of the tub. Drain tub, and rinse out as much llama skank as you can.

8. Refill tub. Repeat steps 6-8 until there is very little llama skank.

9. Remove llama. Press out water between towels. Gently.

10. Spread llama out to dry. There are some people who suggest using an old screen door for this. I want an old screen door now. I spread mine out on the floor, on top of a sheet, and then covered llama with the other half of the sheet. Because of the three mutant cats.

11. Flip the sheet, so that llama can dry on both sides.

Do it again with the other llama.

So, I've been carding the llama together with hand-dyed wool top. One llama is a pretty carmel color, and the other is white. I'm going to dye the white llama.

I've made to skeins of llama/wool so far, and I'm going to keep them as singles, they have long color repeats so that they are self-striping.

Faux-no, is it were. (if you don't knit, you don't know about the Japanese company that makes self-striping yarn. Trust me, yo. This shit is the bomb. It's a cult)

I'm also thinking that it's time to invest in some more, and better dyes. Viva helped me with that.

I want true yellows, and oranges.

I want vibrant, pretty purples.

I want firehouse red.

Um, hell yeah.

So, I'm driving to a undisclosed location to see the old man on Sunday night. Dr. Al is staying here, and Bruce is driving.

I'll miss Dr. Al a whole bunch. I wish he could come, but frankly, this shit can't wait, and once I get it done, I'll feel soooooo much better.

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone...

2006-04-08T10:21:00.000-07:00

She left this week.

I am heartbroken.

Dear Restaurant Customer:

2006-03-15T09:17:00.000-08:00

I know I am supposed to address you as a guest, as per our policy.

However, a couple of evenings ago, you crossed a line, and now, to me, you are simply a 'customer'.

These are simple guidelines for dining out. By your disregard of these guidelies, you have made your own night much more difficult.

Please review before you return to our establishment.

Do not lie and say you have a reservation, if you do not.

It is rude to lie, and frankly, we know when you are lying.
"Sir, when did you make this reservation?"
"Uh, a couple of days ago".

"Can you remember who you spoke to?"
"No"
"Man, woman?"

At this point you are squirming, but you refuse to admit that this is all a falsehood. You press forward.

"Uh, it was a woman? Maybe it was you?"

Not likely, Fuckface.

I really want to take the man aside, look deep into his eyes and say,
"Dude, none of this happened, did it?"

The end result? We say we're sorry, buy you a glass of cheap bubbly, and shove your ass into the worst seat in the house. Your wait for your "reservation" 1.5 hours. Exactly how long it would have taken had you put your name on the waitlist.

If you made a reservation for 6 people, please have six people show up at the restaurant at the appointed time.
Not twelve, not four. Six. If you have more than six, we cannot seat you when you want to be seated, 'cause, like, we didn't know that there were going to be twelve people, and at 9pm on a Friday night, we don't exactly have tables sitting empty. You'll wait. Up to, or longer than, two hours.

Please, when we say we can't take a reservation for ten people, that means that we can't take a reservation for ten. Don't then, make a reservation for six people, call your friend, have him make a reservation for four people, and then think, "We'll just pull our tables together."

Or, if you choose to do this, don't be shocked, and upset when it doesn't work.

Do not claim allergies that you don't have. Maybe this is a good idea at Cheesecake Factory, but we're pros at my fine establishement. You don't like nuts? Tell us.
Say you're allergic to nuts, and will die if you come in contact with them?
Out of concern, we'll tell you it's not safe to eat anything in our kitchen.
We're serious.

You say, "Well, as long as I don't eat any nuts.."

"Sir, we chop vetables with the same knives as we crush nuts with. Those oils are transferred to everything. We use the same pans for everything. If your allergy is as serious as you say, you shouldn't eat here."

You squirm. You cave. We know you are a liar who just doesn't like almonds.
You could have just said that.

Please leave within 20 minutes of closing time.

Lingering long after all others have left the restauraunt is not cool.
Sitting in an empty room does not make it 'fun' or 'exclusive'.
It makes you an asshat who is keeping me, and several other people from going home.
Going home to play with their kids, or feed their cats, or knit,or drink themselves to death...whatever. You are holding them hostage.

When we say, "We're calling last call, can I get you anything to drink before we close the bar?", please, don't think that what we're saying is, "Hang out for as long as you want, oh, and if you want another drink in a half-hour, you can totally have it."

That's not what we're saying. We're saying, "Get the fuck out."

Please don't walk in a half-hour after our kitchen closed and want us to reopen the kitchen just for you.

Please don't say:

"What about cheese? Just some cheese?"

No.

"I see people in the kitchen, I bet you they wouldn't mind making me a pizza. Go back and ask them."

No.

How 'bout this. How bout you ask Willie, who hasn't had a cigarette in four hours, and who's blood-alcohol level is dangerously low, who just at this moment is down on his hands and knees scrubbing behind the stove, that he should drop everything to make -you- a pizza. I dare you.

"I sure wish I could have an order of fries"
This will be said loudly, with a sideways glance at me, like I'm the nazi who's keeping you from your frites.

No.

Fuck you. McDonald's has a drive-thru.

Please don't pound on the window at 2am, freaking out because you can't find the valet. He might have gone home. Why would the valet hang out in the cold and the dark, on the street waiting for you? He leaves when we close. Just because you left our fine establishment, and then went barhopping, -WITHOUT TELLING THE VALET-, he should stand in the freezing rain and wait for you?
Oh, dear customer, I laugh and laugh.

Thank you, and come again.

I'm Pro-Choice, and I'm from South Dakota

2006-03-10T11:09:00.000-08:00

The South Dakota state legislature is full of asshats. Asshats, who honestly believe that women shouldn't have the right to choose. Asshats who hate ecology, despise the idea of evolution, and love the bible and guns.

I was raised, for most of my life in Rapid City, South Dakota. I feel I have the perspective to make these perjorative statements.

Last summer when we took a road trip to So.Dak., I was both horrified, and slightly amused by several billboards.

One stated:

Did you forget something?

Your Fetus?

Which, honestly made for 200 miles of:

"Oh shit, dude, I left the fetus on top of the car. I just forgot about it."

The other, which was on the Nebraska border, stated:

vegetarians, you are not welcome in South Dakota.
Then, there was a list of all the ways that South Dakotans make their living off killing animals.

The last which made an impression was a picture of a chicken with a boot to it's ass, with a statement along the lines of
"My animals, and I'll abuse them if I want."

I'm not a vegetarian, but even I found these offensive.

If you live in a blue state, it's easy to think "Well, they just don't know any better."

uh, yeah they do. They just fucking hate you, you liberal shitbag. I mean, really hate you.

They hate me. They hated me when I lived there, and when I go back to visit, they hate me then, too.

We stand so far divided on so many issues as a nation, and shit like this doesn't help.

Gun Control. I like it. I personally don't like guns. I don't think it's a bad idea to have a couple of days to check out a potential gun buyer for restraining orders, past convictions, and the like. It's not that I don't think you shouldn't have a gun if you want one, hell, have as many as you like, just wait for a couple of days whist we make sure you're not set on killing your girlfriend with it. Is that too much to ask?

South Dakotans say "Yeah, it is."

Sustainable, organic farming. I think it's a good idea. I think it's the only thing that will save small, family-owned agriculture.

South Dakotans say, "Fuck that."

I'm pro-choice. I don't think gay people are evil. I have no particular hatred of anybody based on skin color. Uh, kids, red states don't like any of this shit.

Today, there is a strike, and a march by illegal aliens who don't want to be criminalized for seeking a better life. Support them. In Chicago 40,000 people will be marching through the loop, and frankly, they are marching for you.
Our laws become ever more Draconian.

Freaks like the Minutemen (the racist militia, not the cool punk band) wholly support these new laws.

One minuteman supporter in all her Anglo/Aryan glory spoke about the march today, saying, "They want to remake American."

Uh, yeah. And I want that American, not the one we have.

Piles of wool? Check.

2006-03-07T20:11:00.000-08:00

My Lendrum wheel is the shit. As I grow to understand the physics and science behind what I'm doing, I'm blown away. Fiber lenghth, crimp, twist. s-twist, z-twist, niddy noddy. Mother of all, maidenhead, orifice hook, footman. It all sounds like phrases you'd hear at a local S&M night.

By the way, Shane, I was absolutely fucking serious about that whole sheep offer. I'll buy the sheep, you can have the milk, and breeder's fees, and all you have to do is feed that fucker. I'll pay for sheering. I keep the wool.

I'm surfing Local Harvest for fleeces to buy. Everyone knows that it's fleece season, right? Right. Oh, and if you google Local Harvest, you'll see tons and tons of cool stuff that local farms have for sale. Support your local farms. They need you. You need them.

Okay, so on to other shit.

If you work for unreasonable assholes (see Dion Antic Post), and you don't like it, quit.
And even if you just feel like you are working for unreasonable assholes, quit. Don't stay, and bring everybody down with your complaints. It's the service industry.
Nobody makes you stay. Hate it? Leave. You'll find another job within the week. If you don't, well, maybe the problem isn't your employer.

Maybe it's you.

That said, don't shit on me at work.
Don't 'dare' me to do something. Don't get shitty with me when I ask for an explaination about why your entire station was a cluster fuck all Saturday night.
Oh, and I didn't ask it like that. What I actually said was,
"The kitchen said that there were some problems with your tickets. What was going on last night? Could you show me how you are ordering things?"

Don't think that I'll feel sorry for you 'cause you don't like to work Sundays. Nobody does. It's your turn. Be a fucking man. Stop whining like a little sissy bitch. You have a penis. You own the fucking patriarchy. Shut up.

Don't play "Fuck you, I'll talk to you like your dirt, and try and avoid the real question, and if you don't like it, send me home." Fine.

I'll do it.

Not only that, I'll sleep fine, 'cause I know that you got what you wanted. I know that you'll go home, grab a drink, and feel okay about what you did.

Honestly, you've been a horror show lately. And even though I think that you are smart, and funny, being late every fucking day is shitty.
I know customers love you. I also know that you can't turn a two top in under 3 hours, and that you almost got into a physical confrontation with a guest about a shitty tip. A shitty tip that you really deserved, imho.

Don't ask the question, "What am I supposed to do when the train stops in a tunnel and makes me fifteen minutes late?"

Uh, dude. This has happened four days out of five. May I suggest the novel idea of leaving fifteen minutes earlier?

So that's my week in shorthand.

My Kingdom for a digital camera

2006-02-28T09:52:00.000-08:00

I would pretty much kill for a digital camera.

I would like to snap photos of pretty yarn, pictures of our backyard, or pretty much anything else, so that the people who read this, but who never post a comment (Dan), could see what we're up to, since they're so far away.

That said, I re-arranged the upstairs this weekend. Alan now has an office/studio type space where the living room used to be, and the little room at the top of the stairs has become the spinning/television room.

Why? Because we have very different styles of working.

Like right now.

I am supposed to be working on a class for le cheese shop, so I have the laptop on the couch, the t.v. on, and all my books, cigarettes, and coffee spread out around me. This is how I work. Very often the television is on, and I'm not watching it...very common, or like right now, there is music on...and a movie playing on the vcr, with the sound turned off. I need stimulation, otherwise, nothing happens.
Henry, Portrait of a Serial Killer is good to work by, with The Clash providing a soundtrack.
I've always worked better call scrunched up into a ball, with my legs tucked under me, in low light. As a kid all I heard was "You're going to ruin your eyes reading in the dark." "Sit up straight."

Alan is a desk guy. He likes to sit at a desk, and type (freak).
So, now he has a desk, in a room that he can actually use. We need a comfy couple of chairs in that room, but other than that, we're set.

So, since the back room has great light, I thought he would actually use the desk/table that we have upstairs if we set it up right, and the wubby and the little couch (which is exactly the right height for me to sit at while I spin...all other chairs are too high, and I spin unevently when I sit in them), and my wool are in the little room.

I'm pretty happy, because I've been sort of avoiding doing anything to the upstairs, because we've done zero rehab work up here. Sort of a 'Don't look at the Elephant' deal. However, in my quest to live imperfectly ('cause the other choice is to not live at all), I'm trying to do stuff even though the final product will be imperfect.

So, imperfect as the upstairs is, we're living in all the rooms.

Five fucking seventeen

2006-02-25T03:14:00.000-08:00

Yeah, it's just a little past 5 am. See, I cannot just come home and go to bed, no matter how tired I am. Funny, no? I got home just under two hours ago, and my goal is to be asleep before 6 am. I will wake up around noon. I will probably go to bed around 2 am Sunday morning. Nope, even though I love sleep, I don't sleep much.

No.

I must lay on the couch. I must surf the internets. I must talk to the husband. No matter what.

When I was little, I was not a napper. Nap time was the horrible time when I was forced to lay down, and not sleep. Sometimes my mind will just not shut off.
Most times, I can, if I am on the edge of exhaustion, go to bed without too much talking to Alan. Sometimes, I lie in bed and read until I fall asleep with my face all smooshed up on the book. That is how my glasses get scratched.

Right now, I'm just killing time until the white noise in my brain takes over.

Insomniacs, Unite! Take Over.

Roads less taken...no Fug

2006-02-24T12:12:00.000-08:00

Really, not so much Fug this week.

I'm tired. Really, really tired. And I am sore.

It's a good tired, but it's there. I really need to grout the bathroom, and start to think about the house again. We took a short rest from the house stuff, 'cause seriously, it was starting to becomming a serious stressor on the marriage. So, we took a little break, and things have become a ton better. But I can feel the call of a pretty bathroom, and I know that I want to move into the downstairs bedroom for the summer.

Why? I don't know, it just seems like it would be fun to sleep in all the rooms of the house.

I want to paint the downstairs bedroom a deep, deep red, and do something funky to the bed down there.

I also want to find a bead curtain with the virgin mary on it. I saw one years ago in a shop in New Orleans. I didn't have a place for it then, I think it was too much money, as well.

I want to put that sucker between the living room and the downstairs bedroom. I want to buy some new curtains for the downstairs, and I also want to finish the entry way.

Baby steps, though. So tomorrow I grout! I will soak the paper backing off the tiles, and grout. I will not obsess over the tiling job. I will not think that there is too much space between tiles. I will respect, and like the job that Alan put so much time into.

I know that I have control issues. I know that my OCD-like tendency stuff is destructive. So, I'm going to let go.

Then, we can call the people who resurface bathtubs, and we'll have them come in and fix the tub all pretty.

I might actually re-grout the floor as well. Then, with a sigh of relief, we can pretty much call that bad boy finished, and move on to the entry way.

I am proud, and impressed by all the work that Alan's done. And a little sad that I'm such a slacker.

I really want to work on the outside of the house this summer. I would like to think about the garden, and the front porch. I would like to think seriously about the windows, 'cause we can't do another winter like this one.

I can't wait to drag the wheel out onto the back porch, and do some spinning...I would love to see what is going to come up this spring. I would like to start a compost bin. I would like to cut and stack wood for the fire pit. I would love to figure out some rain barrels.

I want to plant some climbing vines on the west side of the house, 'cause that fucking side of the house gets so much sun it's painful in the summer.
But mostly, without sounding like some sort of hippy, I want to be more mindful and happy while I do this work.

Alan is really good at that, for the most part. He seems to inherently like the process, and isn't so concerned about everything being perfect. He can just sit back and enjoy. He's also better at habits than I am...he just gets into a groove, and then just does things.

I admire that.

Spring is almost here.

I'm coming, Dan and Telina

2006-02-23T23:39:00.000-08:00

So, if there was a sentence that summed up what I want to do in California this time:

I'm here to drink some wine, and buy some fiber, and at some point, we're going to run out of wine.

Okay, so last time we visited T. and D., the first night was a silly, silly night of cheese eating, wine drinking, and in one person's case, late-night trailer puking.

We will not let that happen. This time we will be grown ups. This time we will not go into a freak-show, wine geek, show and tell, that slowly de-evolves into lots of drunken "I love you's" and "I really, really miss you. Hippie"

We will not smoke medical marijuanna. Ever. Again.

We will not drink 19 bottles of wine in one night.

We will not be super damaged, and we will eat and drink ourselves silly. In moderation and stuff. There will be morning beers. I learned this magic at the funeral in Wyoming, and I'll tell you, there's nothing like a crisp morning beer, with the fog rolling in off the mountains...er... off the bay.

We will not yell at our husband for bringing beach sand into the tent...er...guest house.

You hear me Dan? I know you read this fucker, you're just scared to comment, like the government doesn't already have you on the radar, buddy.

We will eat at super-secrect, Chef Caputo suggested Dim Sum places. We will order the Chicken Feet, and goddamnit, we will like it.

This is a bullshit manifesto based on nothing but all that makes me happy, and you will comply.

Or, uh, we'll just do it like we did the last time.

Plans...to take over the world

2006-02-22T08:51:00.000-08:00

Or not.

Really, I'm not sure if I want to take over the world, I just want to go to California, and see Telina and Dan.

Alan and I are planning to take a little trip to California over Spring Break, and visit his family.
We won't be staying with his Mom and Dad for two reasons (well, more than that, but these are the big two).

Flesh eating bacteria. Yeah. You saw it here first. Alan's parents have been complaining about 'spider bites' for some time now. Turns out, they were boils
(ewwwww), and they are caused by flesh eating bacteria. Yeah, I'll pass on sleeping, eating or bathing in a house that has that teensy little problem.

The house is cold, damp, and I don't ever feel like having sex there.

So, we'll be staying in a hotel. I love hotels. Fancy sheets, and a thousand channels of cable television.

My biggest conundrum is that I'm going to have to leave my wheel behind. Or not. I'm already figuring out how I can bring the wheel, er make sure I get my fix, on our little vacation.

Maybe I could just knit with some of the yarn? Ha, I say, Ha. Knitting is fun, sure, more fun that a hooker and a bucket of KFC, but not as fun as spinning.
Right now, at least.

I have a plan to spin up enough yarn to knit into a sweater this summer. Two pounds of wool. That's a lot of yarn. It's sort of my informal challenge to myself. I'm not sure if there's anything in my stash that I want to wear...so maybe I should look for roving...

We'll be going to Napa Valley, and there is one great spinning shop in San Fran, and at least one out in Napa. Wine and wool, nothin' rocks better than that. Oh, and Dan and Telina! That's even better. Oh, and seeing lil' kids who are related to me. That's cool, too.

Maybe I'll knit. I still have to finish the cursed mittens. Oh, and I've got a couple of hanks of new yarn that I made that I should take out for a spin. No pun intended.

Wine of the Week:

2003 Runquist Syrah
Paso Robles, California

Um, yeah. This is tricksy, seductive little wine. When you first open the bottle, you think, whatever...it's just a fruit bomb. Sure, a perfectly balanced fruit bomb, that has a finish that lasts, and lasts, and lasts, but shit, it's a fruit bomb. Then the magic happens. Pepper, and coffee, and leather, oh my! Not a fruit bomb. The slightly grippy tannins suggest that you could keep this around for a couple of years, if you wanted to, but why wait?

All introspective and shit

2006-02-18T13:03:00.000-08:00

So yesterday I vented. Perhaps I shouldn't have, but I did. There are so many bad things in the world, and sometimes, they bother me.

And yet, today, listening to Waylon Jennings and the Clash, with the sunlight reflecting off my old wood floors, sitting upstairs with some coffee, things might not be that bad.

Sure, my house is colder than a witch's tit. Sure, Phang, the hairless one is curled up directly on one of our radiators trying to keep warm, and sure, in less than one hour I have to be bathed, spit shined, and happy to teach some stranger and her friends about wine (but, hey, they bought me at an auction for AIDS research, so it's like drinking for a cause, right?)

Alan is creating small, Cathulu creatures out of sculpy, and then sticking wool onto them. My wheel is in the corner, at rest. I have lots and lots of books, and wool, and good friends that I love. There is wine in the cellar (some of it made by us), Bud in the fridge, and food on the shelves.

All of this is good, and unexpected. I didn't dream that we would be the only white people in a high-crime neighborhood, homeowners, and that I would find a career (not a job) in wine. Ten years ago, I knew fuck-all about wine. (Some would argue that I still know fuck-all)
I always thought that we would be living in Wicker Park in a run-down loft for ever, and ever. We even have furniture that didn't come from the alley now.

Weird. Late night slut-bartender to wine professional. Ten years ago, I didn't even drink wine.
Now, it's what I do for a living. It feeds my soul.
Two years ago, I was miserable. Overworked, and on the fast track to burn out.
I let other people define who I was, and what I should do. I surrounded myself with people who were really nothing more than vampires, addicts, and in one very special episode of 'Jan's Life' a really self-involved hairdresser who nearly destroyed my faith in humanity with her 'friendship'.

Fuck them. I'm really, really happy now.

It's cold out. Now.
But the bulbs that I planted last fall will bloom, and the strawberry plants are holding on. Maybe this year we'll get fruit.

The good, the bad, and the ugly

2006-02-17T09:52:00.000-08:00

...is one of my favorite movies. Really. There's just something sooooo badass about sweaty dangerous men, out in the middle of 'the west' doing dangerous, criminal things. In the movies.
In real life, not so much. My life is so not filled with criminals and dynamite. My life is filled with a spinning wheel. Seriously. I'm not kidding. Since Alan is the best husband ever, he and I went on a field trip to Maringo, Ill. on Saturday, and picked out a wheel. It's a sweet little wheel, and frankly, I can't stop touching it. I'm obsessed. I've been trying new techniques, learning, learning, learning. And when I'm done, I have yarn. Some of which doesn't suck. I also bought a buttload of fiber to turn into yarn. Which is awesome. I'm a sucker for colored balls and batts of pretty hair. That's what this has all come to. So, that's the good.
The bad? The death of my Mom's sister, and the funeral. The trip to Riverton, Wyoming sort of fucked up my schedual, and left me feeling absolutely tired and drained. There was a silver lining however. That side of the family is awesome. Seriously funny, intelligent, People who Drink.
Sure, men are men. They have guns, and women cook. And I had to hear "I just couldn't live in a big city" about a thousand times.
"Uh, yeah you could...and frankly, I could live in a small town. I just choose to live in a big city. Don't sell yourself short."
So, it was good to reunite with a side of my family that I had been rather estranged from.
My favorite moment was when I was accused of secretly being the author of "Brokeback Mountain." What could be better?
I did come back from that sucker seriously stressed out, though. Mostly work related, but there was a little stress about what happens if my Mom dies? How can I keep her alive forever? I'm not sure that I could take her dying. Facing that eventuality saddens me beyond belief. So, that's the bad.
The ugly? My friend Shane's life. Without going into details, his life is in shreds right now. There's not a whole shitload I can do to help, either. He's in a place where no matter what decisions he makes, his life is going to change drastically, and it's going to be a painful, screwed up time for he and Izzy.
Having a child means that every single decision that you make has to be weighed by your concern for that child. (You hear me, Katie? Every fucking choice. Every single thing you do has to be good for you kid. Not just 1 out of 5. 1 out of 5 makes you a shitty parent. 2 out of five? No prize to you. 4 out of 5? Still not good enough. 5 out of 5. Hear me.)
Word.
I'm not sure what choices I would have to make if I had a kid. I'm sure I'd be plagued with self-doubt constantly, and I'm sure I'd find plenty of reasons to worry, and fret. But what pisses me off so much about this situation is that this isn't the little shit. This is big, life-destroying behavior, that has happened over and over. And it's not good for Izzy. Period. End of story.
The choices that have been made by both parents consistently ignores the big picture, and focuses on little details.
Yeah, ballet classes are a great idea. If your rent is paid. And you aren't struggling with a bigger fucking problem. I'm angry. There is a beautiful child in the middle of this shitstorm. She didn't ask to be born.
I'm angry with the world, because it's such a shitty place. I'm angry because it's a world that forces people to make choices that suck.
I'm angry with people who consistently delude themselves.
I'm just fucking angry, and sad. So sad. Because at the end of the day, it's really none of my business what happens, and my job is to support my friend, whatever choices he makes. And I will.
I promise.

Fug You? Not so much

2006-01-27T11:58:00.000-08:00

Okay, since ebola put me to bed for four days, there's not so much Fug You.

Really, if I see nobody but Alan, and my cats, there's just nobody to hate.

So, Fuck you, ebola-like stomache flu virus thingy.

On a somewhat hatey and "fug you" note, if you go to shamelessrestaurants.com, and click on "other cities", go to the Chicago forums.You can see a very long, pretty darn funny, flame-filled thread on my old boss Dion Antic, of Food and Drink (Iggy's, Harry's Velvet Room, ect.)

It's so nice to know that other people hate, too. And hate much more than I do.

Of course it's not so recent for me, so the hate has probably faded...but I'm not so sure that I ever hated Dion like some of these people. Feared him, at some point, then, was just sorta sad that he wasn't as cool as his PR, then well, sure, I had absolute contempt for him, but, really, who doesn't?

Sure, Dion is a sad little man, but he always paid me. Most bar/club owners are egomaniac, coke-sniffing freaks who fuck their more-attractive employees. I am thankful I got into fine dining and left the bars behind.

Dion is no better or worse than most, but damn, the posts that he posted on himself are truely a look into the black hole where his soul used to be. I wonder what it's like to be that empty?

Next week is filling up, work-wise.

I think I'm speaking at some sort of cheese thing for 'the company' on Monday, then there's class on Tuesday, I'm helping a friend re-vamp a restaurant's wine list on Thursday(or, if that doesn't happen, I'm going to go to a spinning guild meeting. Then I'm sure the company has me for the weekend.

I would really love to have a Saturday off. There, I've said it.

I want a whole Saturday to do shit with Alan. I want to get up, and go thrift shopping. Then, maybe look for some sort of 'Stash Storage'. Yarn stash, not anything else, degenerates. Then, lunch. Come back, maybe work on the house for a couple of hours, then take a shower, and go out to dinner, or see a band, or maybe hang out with a couple of friends at a bar, have a couple of drinks, or even see a movie.

Or, I'd like to drive out to Maringo, Illinois, and go to the spinner/wool paradise out there.
Or, drive out to Janesville, see the llamas, buy some wool, and try out a spinning wheel, then lunch, (see above to end of perfect Saturday) you know, fun stuff.

What I don't want to do is be at a restaurant, as an employee, for one weekend night. Or, beholden to work at somebody's private party.

Knitting wise, I'm done with the front of Izzy's sweater, and i'm about 3 inches into the back. It's a quick knit, and I think it's going to be done within two weeks.
Alan's sweater: I'm almost done with the body, then onto the sleeves, then the turtle neck. I'm thinking that this might be done by the end of February.

Wine of the week:

2003 Granger "Cuvee Speciale"
Julienas, France

If you find this, buy and drink. It's fucking amazing. Complex, full bodied, earthy, fruity...it's got everything. It's a rock out with your cock out kind of geek wine. I bought a case. If you're lucky, you'll get to drink this with me.

Sick, Sick, Sick

2006-01-24T12:26:00.000-08:00

That's what I am. Sick.

Right now, I'm cowering on the couch upstairs, shivering. My eyes hurt. My neck hurts, and my head hurts.

I slept all day yesterday. Woke up at 11 am today. Had juice. Went back to sleep and woke up again about a half hour ago (2pm)

I would like to clean, or organize, or knit or do anything...but I can't.

I'm pathetic. Please send ice cream.

Fridays are for "Fug You"

2006-01-20T09:48:00.000-08:00

I think that Fridays are for bitching. My week has been uneventful, for the most part, but I think that there are certain things that need to be addressed every once in a while.

Mainly the list of stupid people that I run into.

Kid on the Diversey Bus:

If you are rapping, loudly, you need to go fuck yourself. Double this if

a) you are white. Score!

b) you are wearing a really stoopid looking fake-fur parka and a belt buckle that lights up to present the message of your choice. I noticed that yours read "Whitey" No shit. Double score!

c)you rhyme "Chi-town" and "my town". You are not dope. You are not "the voice of the mean streets". Dude, considering where I got on the bus, you most likely got on at Diversey and Harlem. Not a rough place.

Kid on the Diversey Bus, shut the fuck up. Forever. You are only embarassing yourself.

Guy who asked me for change in Lakeview.

You are wearing really nice clothes. Your shoes were spotless.

Fuck you.

The lady who needed to talk about 'white people' on the North Avenue Bus (see a pattern?)

I'm right here. I could correct many of your mistaken ideas, but since you seem to know everything about *all* white people, I'll just keep quiet. I'll just say, I'm surprised to find out that all white people :

Don't give correct change in some sort of global conspiracy.
Sell good stereos to each other, and only sell the broken shit to people of color.
Work to keep your son out of a university.

(This was not all...there was much, much more. These were just the highlights)

I mean, how do I have time to knit and have sex with Alan, what with oppressing you?

Lady on the Bus, shut the fuck up. Perhaps the fact that you've devoted all this time to conspiracy plots ment that you perhaps put your son's edumacation on the back burner?

My boss(es). Just in general, 'cause if you didn't do something to piss me off by friday, you'll sure as hell do something this weekend. Don't even pretend.

The emoliscious duo. If, you have a new apartment, and you have a car between the two of you, and you have a couple of days off, get your shit outta my house. It's almost a week since you dissappeared into the night. No call? No "Hey, we're thinking that on X day we'll be over to take some stuff, return the key, ect?"

Rude. Unacceptable.

Get your rotting food out of my refrigerator. Get your half-eaten crackers off my counter. Get your shoes out of my entry way...or, at least give me time frame. Cause, see I want the molding coffee cup that's in the bedroom back in the kitchen, and since the guest room belongs to you, and I don't want to invade your privacy (or, wade through the three feet of shit that is piled all over that room), I can't have it until you tie up loose ends.

Even when I was your age, I was soooooooo much more responsible. See, when I left my room a complete and utter mess, I was paying rent. Then, my mess was paid for. My roomates couldn't say shit about it. There's the rub.

So, emo kids, get your shit together. You are both nice kids. I still think you are both nice, smart funny kids, but I think you lied when you said you were clean and neat. Totally lied.

Fridays are soooooo for Fug You

See, I'm old. I'm uptight. I have issues.

Hot Pink Yarn

2006-01-19T07:41:00.000-08:00

One day, I shall have a digital camera, and I shall display pictures, but alas, no time soon.

Until then, let me talk about hot pink yarn, or, more to the point, the four year old that picked out the hot pink yarn.

Yesterday, my friend Izzy (four years old) and I went to buy all the things that you need to make a sweater. A sweater for Izzy. And, since Izzy is four, I figured she should have maximum control over said sweater, because, uh...if she didn't, she wouldn't ever wear the fucking thing.

So, Izzy and discussed color over the phone. "Pink. Or, Pink and Green. With a cat and a Rainbow?" I told Izzy that maybe the cat and rainbow are beyond my skill level. Okay, what I really said was, "We need to work from a pattern. Do you know what a pattern is? "

"No."

"It's the instructions. Like the rules to Candyland."

"I don't like rules."

"I know, honey. That's why you cheat."

She giggled. "I know. I cheat."

If we all had that much self-awareness, we'd be better off as a species.

So, Izzy and I went off to the yarn store. Izzy was perfectly well-behaved, and sweet, as she always is with me. I've got 'special friend clout', which means, for the most part, Izzy doesn't ever really misbehave around me. It's something that, if I were a parent, would really piss me off. But, I digress.

So, we looked at patterns. One thing I noticed is that Izzy would choose patterns based on the little kids in the pictures. She picked the ones that looked happy, or were doing something "fun." She didn't really choose based on color of sweater (which surprised me...I thought we'd have to talk about how "we can make the sweater in any color, hot stuff, 'cuz that's different".

Instead, we talked out how the kids in the pictures looked rich, and how it's good to have lots of money. (A concept which, btw, fucking horrified me).

I, of course, said that the kids in the pictures looked happy, not rich. And while having enough money to pay the rent and keep yourself in macaroni and cheese is good, being rich is not necessarily a good thing. How lots of rich people are unhappy, and lots of rich kids don't have mommy and daddy who spend time with them, and how Izzy is really lucky to have parents who love her and spend time with her, and how that's way more important than being rich.

"And you."

"What, honey?"

"You spend time with me too, so that means that I'm lucky, right. Cause I have friends, like Dave, and you, who spend time with me?"

Amen.

So, we picked a turtleneck sweater, which is done on number nine needles in a 1x1 rib, which might drive me insane. There might be some tiny changes made to that pattern. I'm just sayin'.

Then, we picked the yarn.

That kid has awsome taste in fiber. She breezed right past the Cascade 22o (an inexpensive wool yarn), and headed right towards the 'good stuff'. She's a yarn snob in the making. God, I don't know if I'll ever feel prouder of her.

She fondled the yarn like a pro. Picked it up, and rubbed her little cheek against it, and said "This is really soft."

I could have cried. In her hands was my favorite yarn. Malibrigio. 100 percent merino wool, soft as a baby's ass, and lovely to knit with. No machine washable yarn for this kid. No acrylics.
Sure, the name is "Barbie Rose", and to me, it's fucking pink. Too pink, but what the fuck, she's four, and aren't we all allowed to love pink at four?

We went back to Izzy's house after lunch. I taught her the knitting poem.

Open the door.

Put on a scarf

Take the cat out

Before the cat barfs.

And she wrapped the yarn over my needles at the appropriate time.

The kid's a natural.

In many ways, the best time I've had in a long time.

These are the days...

2006-01-05T13:17:00.000-08:00

Let's be frank, 2005 wasn't all 'highlights'.

There were some real bummers, as well.

The husband getting robbed at gunpoint in front of our house.

A couple of good friends have been going through some very hard times. (I love you Shane)

The plumber had to come out a couple of times (He always costs lots and lots of money).

Lessons Learned?

None really. Sometimes people go through shit. Sometimes you can't fix the leak by yourself. Sometimes some kid decides to rob whitey.

Note to the shithead who robbed Alan: Fuck you. You only got three dollars. So fuck you very much, and your stupid cultural bias that all white people are rich.

Abortion in Yarn

2006-01-04T09:45:00.000-08:00

So uh, yeah...what did I knit in the few short months that my obsession has started?
Let's see...in order of knitting.

Keyhole scarf and matching hat for my mom (still not sent), and frankly, they are so ugly, that they might not be sent. See, this was my very first thing I knit, and I did fall into the trap of novelty yarn.

I sorta hate these things, and, frankly, think that I can do much, much better now.

Lesson Learned? Novelty yarn is not my friend.

Stripy scarf for my husband (the sexiest evolutionary biologist at UIC). Though the quality of the finished product (weave in ends? Huh? Whatever, I'll just knot these bad boys.) leaves something to be desired, he loves it, and wears it all the time. So, it's not that bad, is it?

Lesson Learned? My husband Rocks.

Big-ass furry fucking poncho-thing. Uh, yeah, I didn't really understand about gauge yet, so I just picked the biggest, chunky angora I could, then used a strand of mohair. Then just knitted away on size fifteen needles.

Does it shed? Like a Persian cat in July, baby. Uh yeah, and it was huge, and so I felted it. Uh, now it looks like something any old caveman would just casually toss on to go kill a mamoth.
I do wear it though, since the house in the ghetto gets cold, since it has no insulation, and that makes it chilly.

Lesson Learned? Gauge swatches are your friend. Use them. Also furry yarn sheds like a motherfucker.

Cleaves, from knitty.com

Okay, so the gauge thing sunk in. And, I bought beautiful Manos to make it with, and I really like the sleeves part, it's just that the cowl is really freakin' big, and I don't think the pattern really was well thought out, and I am now thinking that it's time to frog the cowl, re-size the cowl part, and re-knit it.

Lesson learned? If the model for something is standing all weird and twisty, think twice.

Mittens for Dan.

No pattern, just me thinking that I could do it. Bad. Bad. Me need pattern, and DPN's. They are an abortion in yarn. I am re-making them.

Lesson Learned? Directions and patterns are not the enemy.

Purse for Telina. Pretty, little, felted. Cute. No pattern, but I Understand the concept of the felted purse, and can sorta just get along. Not sent yet, 'cause of the abortion in yarn, and Dan and Telina live together like Dirty Hippies in a RV with tons of cats.

Lesson Learned? Felted purses are sooooo freakin' easy.

Scarf for Little Hateful. Feather and Fan lace pattern. Good yarn. Soft merino. Soft as a high-priced hooker's ass. Light blue. It turned out better than I could ever imagine. She loves it. I loved it. Her mom even liked it. Wow.

Lesson Learned? If you think very carefully about what you are about to knit, and the moon is in just the right place, and those voodoo candles you light aren't a scam, things will all work out.

The Lorna's Laces scarf. I bought worsted yarn, which I thought was very cute. I was going to knit a very cute little vest from Loop-D-Loop (yes, Teva, I bought your freakin' book).
Uh, except the nice lady at the yarn store totally lied to me when she said that the mohair and the Laces looked cute together. Totally lied. 'Cause when I knitted a swatch (see gauge lesson, above) they looked like shit together. So then I thought, scarf, and I'll do the feather and fan thing, 'cause that's cute, but now that I'm, like three feet into this fucker, I still think that it looks like four pounds of shit in a three pound bag.

Lesson learned?

Cute yarn in skein does not=Cute yarn knitted up.

So, here in the little house in the ghetto, lots of things were learned from knitting.

Oh, and yeah, someday, I'll begin to post pictures.

Highlights of 2005

2006-01-03T12:37:00.000-08:00

Started to knit.

Started to spin.

Learned how to dye with koolaid.

Finished the damn kitchen.

Finished the damn living room.

Finished the damn dining room.

Destroyed the addition from hell.

Almost finished the damn bathroom.

Brought mutant cat 2 and 3 into our family.

Went back to 'the company'.

How do if feel about all these things? Well, for the most part, I feel good. Even returning to the company, and the fact that there is still a big amount of 'crazy' in the company, I wouldn't change a darn thing about my life. I'm busy. Real busy, but not as hectic, "I never sleep and I drink too much to kill the bug inside me", as I was when I worked for the company the first time.

I love both my jobs, and they both allow me to do different things.

I love my three mutant cats, but I especially love Phang, the hairless wonder, because she needs me. Lobby and Tidbit do not need me like Phang needs me, and that makes me a God to Phang and I love it.

The third mutant cat

2005-10-10T16:05:00.000-07:00

Well, here she is.

I know that some of you will say, "Wow, that's one fugly cat." But I love her in all her nearly hairless glory.
She's a Cornish Rex, and she's a rescue kitty. She's nursing her kittens right now, and then when they're weened, she'll be fixed, and then she'll come home and live with her two mutant cat buddies, Lobby and Tidbit.

I'm so thrilled that she's comming, I keep wondering what we'll name her. My husband thinks that 'Fang' is a good name or 'Scar'. I'm thinking about Coco. You never really know, though until you look that new cat in the eye, and the name just pops out, unbidden.

My Husband thinks that I am perhaps a little too keen on collecting mutant cats, and has made me promise that no more than three cats will live in this 'little house in the ghetto'.

I promised.

Why I'm here

2005-10-08T18:19:00.000-07:00

I guess that's a good question...er, but I don't have an answer. Hopefully, over the months, I'll have a place for far away friends to check into, and the curious to check out what joys mutant cats can bring to your home