Inner City Pressure

I adore Flight of the Conchords deeply, so I figured I’d share this video.  I’m also feeling some inner sinus pressure.  Who could resist a pun like that?

I started sewing buttons onto my sweater yesterday.  I placed two correctly.  And then?  And then.  I messed up, and sewed one button about one stitch too far up and then I based another button from that button, and now I have to take them off and re-do them.  It feels insurmountable until I look at those shiny new buttons.

Aren’t they lovely?  I love metal buttons in general, but gosh, I love these buttons.  This colourway of Lamb’s Pride Superwash Worsted has a silver tone to it, and the silver buttons pick it up.  Here’s a more detailed shot.

Does anyone know what those crests symbolize?  I’m working under the assumption that they don’t really mean anything, but I don’t want to be like the one girl I knew in High School who wore a Le Tigre shirt because she liked tigers.

My Manos del Uruguay mittens are making me sad.  I took them into Ariadne and weighed them; the completed mitten weighs 32 grams and the ball weighs 19 grams.  Tragic!  I think I’m going to end up ripping out the cuff to see if I can re-knit the cuff in another yarn, and hopefully, that increase the yardage enough to make two gorgeous mittens.

I also cast on for Elizabeth Zimmerman’s baby sweater on two needles from her Knitter’s Almanac (Schoolhouse Press) last night.  I’m using Mission Falls 136 Merino Superwash in Raspberry.  Knitting this sweater is a bit strange; the pattern isn’t as, well, blocked out as more modern patterns, but the writing flows nicely.  I like how the knitter is invited to change the pattern at will.  I’ve also decided to do yarn overs instead of invisible increases so that there will be space to pull some pretty ribbons through the sweater.

I chose the colour because it’s feminine but bright.  Babies are born basically blind, so bright colours are more easily visible to them.  Pale, pastel colours for babies don’t make a lot of sense to me.  The mother of the baby looks great in vibrant colours so I hope she’ll like it.

How’s the inner city pressure treating my kitties?

Sigh-nus

I was so sad yesterday when I was nearly done my sweater that I dove headfirst into a pair of mittens.  Bella’s mittens, to be specific.  I’m not one for following patterns – so this was unusual for me – but I figured I’d try.  After all, it’s an incredibly popular pattern, and I had some delicious Manos Clasica in a rich colourway that I wanted to use.

Four hours later, I had this:

 

That said, I made a bunch of changes for my peculiar and particular hands.  I cast on 30 stitches (not 43) and used a 8 stitch cable (not 12).  I made the cuff 2 inches long and only started the cable pattern on the hand of the mitten.  I increased the gusset on every round for 5 rounds and then kept knitting with the gusset stitches on my needle for another 5 rounds.  I did that so that the gusset would jut out more – I have funny thumbs.

I really like how they look and feel.  I don’t love knitting with the thick and thin yarn, but I absolutely adore how it knits up.  It really shows off the colour way, Olivewood.  And it stretches so beautifully into the 1×1 rib!

I’m scared I won’t have enough yarn for the second mitten, but I weighed them today (the ball and the mitten) and it seems like it may work.

Is anyone else sick?  I feel so gross.  You know you’re sick when your nose transforms itself into a faucet and your friends tell you that you ‘look like crap’ – although I do appreciate the candor.

Hasta mañana everyone!  I hope my body fights this off soon.

Weather Event

This morning, I woke up to the sounds of rustling in the kitchen.  I thought that was odd, so I dragged my weary self out of bed to investigate.  Bazorov had instigated a wrestling match with the garbage bin.  The garbage bag liberated itself and one handle had Bazzy in a hold that I can only attempt to describe – he had one paw and his head through the bag’s handle and was confused as to the bag kept following him around.  Patrick was frantic for his brother’s safety (and was also scared of the rustling sound).  I rescued him, and there was much rejoicing.  (Mrow!)

But who can sleep after such a dramatic moment?  Not I.  So I got up and sat in front of the window and chatted on the phone with my mother.  The sky was a very pretty peachy golden colour, so I decided to take some pictures of my mitten that I finished last night.

I know you can’t really see it from that picture, but doesn’t it make the blue and the green in the mitten just pop?  I also like how it’s obvious that I accidentally dropped about four stitches.

I decided to take another picture of the mitten, just on the table because of the colour contrast.  I really like taking pictures of my knitting, if that’s not obvious.  It’s so cool how you can take a functional piece of art and turn it into a graphical one.  Did I just invent a word?

I did a swirly top on the mittens, and I love it.  I had intended to follow a pattern for these mittens, but heck.  I ended up improvising regardless.  I don’t like the idea of grafting the tops of mittens together, and I didn’t love the ribbing, or gusset placement, or, well, much of anything, despite the pattern being basically really good.  I have loads of respect for a good, clear free pattern.  Yesterday, though, I was at Ariadne, and some people said that they liked the striping pattern, so I think I’ll put this mitten up on the “Patterns” page soon.

While I was taking pictures, the sky darkened dramatically.  It was stark – from a peach pink to a lavender grey in seconds.  The wind!  And then?  The rain.

Sheets of rain, at about a 45 degree angle to the ground.  I watched a woman walking down the street pull out her umbrella and battle the wind.  And then?  The snow!

Here’s a shot of the garden in front of the building.  It snowed for about four minutes (just to toy with my girlish heart) and then stopped.  The sky brightened, the wind slowed, and now there’s a bright blue sky and absolute golden sunlight.  The weather!

An aside:  I’ve always hated the expression “weather event”.  The weather is so big and so deep and so tall (to paraphrase the great Dr. Seuss) that it’s continuously happening.  How can it be an event if it’s always happening?  Technically, if you can point at a specific instance of weather, you could split it infinitely into a multitude of instantaneous events to the point of silliness and I just can’t bear silliness when it comes to science.  But this morning?  That’s what I would call an event, and it was free to see.

Mad Skills

I’m taking yet another sick day, but heck, it’s only because it feels like my sinuses are dripping liquid fire down my throat.  It could be worse.

I’m finding it hard to sit upright, so I’ve made very little progress on Greg’s mitten.  I also had to frog it a couple of times to get a size that I think it more reasonable.  My partner has helped me by trying it on.

I’m hoping the striping pattern is masculine enough.  I guess we’ll have to see.

The sky is dismal and grey today, and I feel like it’s almost making an apology for my illness.  ”It’s okay to not do anything today;  look at how gross it is outside.”  I washed the dishes and cleaned the cat box in the meagre hope that my old-fashioned industrious guilt would be subsided, but it was all for nothing.  I’m awash in phlegm and shame.

Even the cats are looking at me with condemnation.  My partner (aka Knight in Shining Armor) brought me an enormous jug of orange juice yesterday (ain’t he a peach?) and the cats are just shocked and horrified at how I’ve been guzzling it down.  It’s a terrible catch-22:  I’m too weak to cook, and I’m also not hungry whatsoever, so what’s the incentive to eat?  Orange juice with pulp counts as food, right?

Although, the cats could be staring because I’ve lost the ability to keep from listing to one side or the other when I walk.  Patrick is beautiful in this light regardless.

In a completely unrelated note, I read an absolutely epic article from Esquire yesterday entitled The 75 Skills Every Man Should Master.  An aside:  all I could smell when I typed the title was Old Spice and Bud Light.  You try it and tell me what you smell.

I went through the 75 skills to find out how manly I am – you know, just in case this information proves valuable in the future.  I got a whopping 55 out of 75, which is mighty impressive for a petite vegetarian feminist who doesn’t have a drinking problem or a car.

I think my favourite aspect of the article is the portrait it paints of the uninitiated men.  You know, the men that can’t sew a button (number 20), remove a stain (number 48), or iron (number 71).  Or the men that can’t master the culinary art of eggs sunny side up (number 50) or bacon (number 61).  I have this image of Ordinary Joe, sporting velcro shoes, stained sweatpants, and a t-shirt endlessly smashing eggs and bacon into the sidewalk in an effort to have breakfast.  Tragic!

But where is this advice coming from?  What about giving succinct advice (number 1), taking a photo (number 3), delivering a eulogy (number 63), holding a baby (number 62), tying a knot (number 69) or understanding basic wilderness survival (numbers 51, 55, and 68) is masculine?  What about knowing car maintenance (number 35) or how to play a sport (numbers 4, 11, 33, 65, 66, and 67) is manly?  Brand loyalty (number 60) doesn’t seem very manly to me, nor does referring to someone as a son of an expletive (number 64) no matter how warranted the insult seems.  Neither is the heteronormativity inherent in numbers 19, 22, 46, and 73, although the Freudian slip in number 22 is pretty funny.

Basic survival skills aren’t manly, unless the author of the article is trying to imply that graciousness and humility are manly, and is working under the assumption that the majority of Esquire readers have someone else to make their beds (number 31) and tie their bow ties (number 16).  Nothing on the list is exclusively masculine, and it irritates me that things that I consider mandatory are “skills” according to the author.  Can you imagine a resume with this list on it?

Regardless, I’ll be telling jokes (number 38) and speaking respectfully to whomever I meet (numbers 12, 40, 41, and 42).

Pass the chamomile, please.