time traveling

It's Saturday? Really? This has been a hectic week, so I apologize for not posting sooner and for not keeping up the bad fantasy story style in this post. I'm just too tired to draft and revise something funny (which I think it actually could be if I had the inspiration and the time). Sorry, fantasy fans. I mailed off the socks on Monday and by Thursday (or was it Wednesday?) my target was sleeping with the fishes. Finito. Had bought the farm. Kicked the bucket. Was singing with the choir invisible. Had shuffled off this mortal coil. Had bitten the dust. You get the picture. I'm currently waiting for my target's target to send me her socks-in-progress so I can get started and post them to her target. Her target lives in the UK, so I think there's a very real chance that I'll get whacked before she gets the socks. Hey Oxknit, take your time. Incidentally, this is the first swap I've ever done, and I am surprised by how nervous knitting for other knitters makes me. What if I weave my ends in wrong? What if I do the kitchner stitch backwards? What if I relaxed for a few rows and my tension went all funky? What if someone is RIGHT NOW laughing at my socks? I think I need to lie down and regroup before starting the next pair, so it's probably best I don't have them for a few days. But in the meantime, I'm working on a scarf for myself using the same yarn I used for my mom's Clapotis. (Which I took a horrible photo of. I'm so sorry, Cherry Tree Hill dyers -- your yarn deserves better than that.) This is the best photo I got of the yarn, which refuses to be photographed and retain all of its colors. Am I missing something? I've got the shutter speed up as fast as it can go (if I make it slower, I get photos like this) and I've got the light setting on "incandescent." Just trust me when I say this yarn is beautiful and not at all aqua or bruise-colored. Today I unpacked a bit more. I've been here for over a month and I'm still not completely unpacked yet. This afternoon I hung some things on the walls and put up curtains, which makes a huge difference in how the apartment feels. It's starting to feel like someone lives here instead of feeling like someone is momentarily pausing here on the way to somewhere else.

War Comes to Specshire, Pt 1

The sorceress known as Specs stretched as she arose from her dented seat on the sidelines of the battlefield and picked a few leaves out of her hair in a very elegant way. She had grown drowsy while laboring at her craft and the dim light hurt her eyes as only staring into the dark fabric of eternal ribbing can. She blinked and looked around her, noticing that dusk was rapidly sweeping in on silent feet like so many dusky ants, on what would be the third day of battle -- a battle that had no casualties yet, but many invisible and dark forces working behind closed doors and thick walls to bring about her eternal end. Her horse was standing to her right, and on her left her furry companion, Otto von Kittenburg, Third Heir to the Throne of Vintoozler and Keeper of the Kibble, slept fitfully, with his axe under his head for a pillow. He was tough like that. Specs woke her friend with a gentle tap on the shoulder that startled him and sent him flying into a nearby oak tree, which in turn toppled to the ground, squashing several small woodland creatures. They didn't even see it coming. She recalled the events of the past three days as her traveling companion extracted himself gracefully from tangles of ferns and vines. The troops had been rallied with a loud cry across the land that rang out like a thousand gongs being gonged at once by a large man with many wondrous arms, but who rather would have played the triangle. Numberless assassins silently slid into position in the dark shadows of the Internet and readied their sharp weaponry. Some had been waiting many months for this chance: a chance to prove their worth on the knitted field of valor. There are now war drums in the deep as the scent of new yarn wafts across the battlefield. Specs steps onto the field, grasping her pointed sticks of bamboo and holding aloft a small bundle of blue and grey. The wind whips her blonde hair fiercely around her head like so many angry snakes writhing with pleasure at the possibility of battle. She hoists her shining sticks above her head and shuffles her feet in a hesitant but nonetheless very becoming way. She cries out in a voice that is shrill in the winds of war: I'm... I'm almost finished! Her cry is whipped away by the impatient wind and carried elsewhere, perhaps to happier climes where the sun always dawns on a new day of craft and laughter. Tomorrow, she swore to her dark heathen god, tomorrow would be the day of reckoning. Tomorrow would be the day of mailing. The day she entrusted her sacred garments to the unseen and mercurial forces of the US Postal Service. Tomorrow. -------------------------------------- I think all of my Sock Wars posts may be written in this bad fantasy style. It's fun to do and nearly impossible to stop. What say ye, reading public? P.S. Visit my assassin's blog: http://oxknit.blogspot.com/ P.P.S. Thank you all for the (surprising!) compliments on my chin. It's my least favorite body part and I tend to look kind of horsey from the front. But at least I've found a good angle; I will insist on all photos of me being taken like this in the future.

'Tis Three

Three great things to report: 1. It's cool enough for tea at night! This means that true winter weather is just around the corner and I can start wearing my cardigans and scarves regularly. I do love my cardigans and scarves. 2. I finished the Clapotis scarf for Dr C. Pattern: Kate Gilbert's Clapotis via Knitty. Yarn: Zarina Extrafine Merino Modifications: I made it three reps narrower and one rep longer than the pattern calls for. I wanted to make sure that it was narrow like a scarf, but long enough to have some drape to it. And knowing that black knits refuse to photograph well, I tried black and white this time. I like the results and am glad that I've found a way to take photos of my carpet without unleashing the horrible brownness of it on you all. And Great Thing #3: MissPrism surprised me with a book from my amazon wishlist as repayment for her scarf. She is generous, funny, and brilliant; and you all should read her blog. As a general rule I don't buy "reading for pleasure" books because I need all of my book money for academic texts, so this is a wonderful gift. The weekend is supposed to be rainy, and it will be a great time to knit something, read a little for my courses, and read a lot just for the fun of it. The book is The Eyre Affair, by Jasper Fforde (who has an impossibly cool name). I've not read any reviews and put it on my wishlist after a recommendation from a friend. I'm looking forward to reading something completely oblivious to its critical entanglements and historical situation. SOCK WARS starts on Friday. Bring it.

Vrrrrmmm. Vrrrrrrrrmm.

Just a few quick comments as I woosh through my week. (I've decided to start making "vrrmmm" noises as I briskly walk across campus. I can't see how this could possibly be a bad idea.) I joined Socktoberfest! Beer! Socks! Two of my favorite things in the whole wide world and a great excuse for me to a) get going on my Christmas knitting and b) try some beer just because it has a cool label. Nearly done with a Clapotis for my recuperating high school mentor. I had originally planned to give this particular knit to someone else, but just didn't have any yarn that was right for Dr C. I spent days pawing through my stash (not constantly, but every evening I'd pick up a ball of something and toss it back in the bin within minutes), and nothing seemed right. So it's a basic, classy, black scarf for her -- and who doesn't love a basic, classy, black scarf? I'd post pictures now, but I'm just starting the decreases and should be done soon. (Tomorrow! No, really. This seems possible to me right now.) And then I plan to make up for the lush and color-saturated photos of the last post by taking pictures of this thing in a place called Outside where I hear they have a Sun and sometimes Grass and Wind.

I'm so hip.

First matter of business: Kate over at Å Strikke made me a button! It's hanging out over there in the sidebar. Save it, use it, and visit her blog. Second matter of business: I may have (another) problem with the Jamesey. I held it up to my dad when he was here last weekend, and was surprised by how small it suddenly looked. It's been feeling normal sized in my hands, but now I'm worried that it'll be too small (worst of all sizing problems!). So I tried it on. And panicked. The problem is in the hipular area. (Sorry the pictures are so crummy. I took them in my bathroom in a rush, and ended up with a ton that look like this.) It's a little tight on me, and while I'm sure Brother Joe has slimmer hips than I do, I'm still a little nervous. What do you guys think? My brother is very slim and svelte, but I have no concept of male body width compared to female. The measurements he sent me indicate that this is a good width, but damn, y'all. How can something that stretches around my hips fit my little brother? Side note: Stephanie once said that she couldn't possibly be the only woman constantly surprised by her breasts. "How, after so many years of living together can I still be shocked to find them there? How I ask you, How? I'm forever putting on clothes and looking in the mirror and thinking 'Holy crap! Where did those come from!'" I feel the same way about my hips. I was thin as a sickly board for most of my teenage years, but in the past five years or so I seem to have slowly accumulated this weird heft to my hips. I'm not saying I'm overweight at all, and I like my hips -- they're great at closing doors and balancing armfuls of books. But I'm always surprised to see photos of myself and find that I don't have the figure of a 12 year old. This is a good thing, but doesn't help me figure out how this sweater will fit an 18 year old skinny guy. I realize this isn't exactly a question any of you can answer, but I wanted to post something and to push my previous post down a little. And I wanted to show off how much ribbing I knit. I have no idea how I finished an entire sweater in mistake rib last winter -- I must have been blinded by love or desperate for an MA exam distraction.

Nostalgia.

This weekend was a blur of movie watching, eating out, and walking around with a headache. My dad and sister came to visit me on Thursday night and stayed until Sunday morning, and we had a fantastic time despite the sinus headache that wouldn't die and some cloudy weather. We just kicked around town and the apartment most of the time, but on Saturday we went to Ijams Nature Center and had a great time looking at the trees, determining who was the most out of shape as we hiked in the hills, and ruining the placid quarry by skipping rocks on it. It was great to see them, but as usual, seeing my family just reminds me that one really can never go home again. I don't live in my parents' house, I can't see them for lunch, and in fact I only see them once or twice a year. I think that still being anxious about the new city, new program, and new social environment, exaggerated the usual nostalgia and made me more morose after they left than I otherwise might have been. Also not helping the nostalgia is hearing news about the family and family friends. Over the past five years or so, I've lost contact with one of my high school mentors and a woman I admire. She has a PhD and yet she teaches reading to uppity, ungrateful 8th graders by choice (if you know a 13 year old, have one yourself, or have ever been in a mall on a Saturday night, you'll understand how mind-blowing this is). She coached my high school Quiz Bowl team, without which I don't think I would have survived adolescence in tact, and wrote me a glowing recommendation for my undergrad applications. She also gave of her time so very generously -- and this is something I've only come to appreciate recently. A few weeks ago, she was in a horrible car accident. She'll be fine, eventually, but sustained some serious injuries, probably some deep emotional trauma, and has loads of physical therapy ahead of her. My first instinct when I heard about this was to do something. This, of course, means that I need to knit. So all other projects are on hold for a while as I work on a scarf for her. It's not going to be anything spectacular or impressive, but I want her to know that I'm thinking of her. Kay has already put this need to knit into words for me: This stupid scarf isn't going to change a thing. But if there's one thing that a piece of knitting shows very clearly, it's time. Time spent sitting there putting the stitches on the needle, time I want to give to her. Here, I want to say--here's some time for you. Before I go grab my hanky and shout at my hormones to quiet down (I cried watching a little old lady discover the price of her teapot on Antiques Roadshow this evening), here's a quick glimpse of the Jamesey: Getting there!

Hi, my name is Specs.

And this is the first time I've done this. I mean, I've thought about it before, but it always seemed like something other people did. Something that other people talked about while I silently felt smug. "That'll never be me," I'd think with a smile. "I don't need those things to have a good time. I can get by on my own." I always had an excuse: too expensive, not enough time, enough free stuff on the internet, etc. But, my friends, today I bought the Fall 2006 Interweave Knits. And I fell in love. Her name is Coral Crossing and she's designed by Jennifer L. Appleby. She has cables! And a wide scooped neck! And little pockets! Whee! Of course, I'm going to make it in a more sensible color like grey, but that won't diminish the cuteness of this sweater at all. After I plow through my Christmas knitting, Coral Crossing is definitely on the needles. (Although, if I knit everything I've said is "definitely on the needles," I'll be busy through the summer. Damn you, Eunny.) Oh, and I also bought some yarn for Sock Wars, which kicks off on September 22nd. I got IK and the yarn at the other yarn store in town, and I had a much better experience there than at the first place I visited. I wasn't pressured into buying anything -- in fact, the owner sold me on some of the cheap(er) sock yarn and answered some ridiculous questions I had about patterned/fair isle sock yarn. And to top it off, this place has adorable bags: This has been a fantastic weekend. I visited with TB, went on a lovely hike along the Tennessee River, bought yarn, and found a pattern I love in a great new store. To top things off, my dad and my sister are coming to visit me on Thursday! While this is wonderful for me (I'm solitary by nature but get lonely very easily), it's bad for my schedule and means that I'll be reading every free minute between now and Thursday night. So no knitting for a while, but I'll be thinking about socks and cabled sweaters. Progress on the Jamesey with the next update.

Menacing knits.

A huge thank you to Juno for pointing out that making the armholes of the Jamesey shorter would naturally make the upper body shorter. And she did it without using the words "moron," "blonde," or "humanities student." But since the last entry, I've had project apathy. I didn't want to pick up the sweater because I couldn't face the endless ribbing. So instead I started a Christmas present for a friend. You all know what this is, right? Clap-o-tee in some gorgeous black merino that I got on sale a few months ago. If I didn't like this gal so much I'd keep it for myself. And still, while I distract myself with the lovely, quick, and sexy Clapotis, the Jamesey languishes in the margins. Knit me. Kniiiiiiiiiiiit meeeeeeeeeee. Kniiiiiiiiiiiit meeeeeeee or yoooooooou will beeeeeee a rotten siiiiiister. So I did. I'm up to the start of the pattern on the chest, and thrilled -- just thrilled -- to be done with the ribbing. I'm not acknowledging that I have to knit the arms yet. Another question for you all, but this one has nothing to do with my inability to think in three dimensions or read a pattern. Do those of you who comment (or even those who don't, if you're out there) check back and see if I replied to your comment? One of my biggest complaints about Blogger is that I can't email you in response the way that the fancy bloggers do. If no one is checking back (and be honest now), then I'm going to look for hosting elsewhere. Or, if this comment-reply method is working fine, I'll stay on Blogger. I hope to be back to posting more than once a week in the near future. I've just switched from an academic schedule that allowed me a four-day week to one that has me busy every single day from 9-5 (and then the requisite reading at night). I'm exhausted, but I hope that some creative time management and a much needed weekend with TB (every time I type that I think of the galloping consumption -- he may need a new blog-name) will help me relax and recharge a bit. Have a lovely and consumption-free weekend, everyone!