You say you want a revolution
well, you know...
...we all want to change the world
Sponsor my private revolution:
What am I selling on Ebay today?
Let the Revolution begin...
*You can be any age to join the knitting revolution. It's not just grannies any more.
*To join, just grab the nearest pointy things, and tie them to the nearest string-like substance. Wave them enthusiastically in the air, yelling passionate cries such as "och aye the noo!"
*The revolution requires that you supply your own weapons. Er, needles. *Knitting can be sexy. Sure, it can. Go to knitty and be inspired!
*Knit in public, and if anyone looks at you funny, you've always got a sharp metal thing handy with which to poke their soft bits.
*Get all knitting-zen on people. Then when you really let your hair down, you can get away with it, because you're "that nice person, who knits". *insert evil laugh here*
*Oh, yeah, almost forgot. The revolution will not be televised. Or... something like that.
I moved to Canberra last November, and am now involved in the best Canberra knitting group! ... so any locals or visitors interested, go on over to Canberra Stich N Bitch yahoo group and join us in our dark endeavours! I mean, creative meeting of minds... er, yeah. Something like that. We meet at Starbucks in Civic on the first Thursday evening of every month, and the third Sunday of the month at 2pm. Come along! If you feel shy, feel free to post online first, or email someone to ask a few questions. :):):) If you want, use the contact button and I'll give you my details so we can get in touch. Always happy to get the interesting people of Canberra out of the woodwork... I know you're there, ya just hard to find sometimes *chuckle*
Sydney Knitting Adventures continue at "my" previous knitting group in Newtown: Meet up for coffee, cake, and knitting adventures galore at Barmuda Cafe, Australia Street Newtown. It's opposite the police station, and across the intersection from Newtown Train Station.
See the SSK Website for details :D
You, and this many other people with a cramp in their forefinger:
Interesting in knitting, and what other knitters are doing? Or are you just bored, or farting off at work while the boss ain't watching? Well then, I have just the thing to keep you busy for hours on end... go exploring the wonderful world of knitting blogs. Can you believe there's so many of us?
I have my favourite blog-days, and these are some of them:
A hairy tale
God on the brain
Blogging from behind a mask
Creativity and productivity
I am SUCH a nerd
Deliver me from Swedish furniture
Modern beauty is a myth
Instant karmaís gonna getcha
Harris the Well Clad Fish
The love is in the food
Embarrassment, Humiliation and Joy
The birth of a grammar avenger
Traffic Lights, part 1
Spawn of Satan
Traffic Lights, part 2
A long time ago, in a knitting bag far, far away...
And my other blog, complete with a few little patterns: http://miscsqueak.blogdrive.com
The Bald Man has a close encounter with Mother Nature
I'm sitting here yesterday hanging about the house when I get an excited call from the Bald Man. Had their cricket team won three hours early? No, actually, he'd just found a new friend.
"He's sitting on my shoulder", he told me excitedly.
It all became clear when he explained that his new little mate was a baby mynah, which had fallen out of its nest and was sitting on the ground, most pissed off, squealing its feathery little head off for its mama. What it got instead was the Bald Man.
So, he picked it up, and it promptly scrambled to the nearest highest perch, his shoulder, (as birds are wont to do) and sat their keening away to itself. I could hear it carrying on when I got the phone call. When he got home, I was bundled into the car along with the camera to come along and take these pics.
Beauty and the Beast (guess which one's which)
That is NOT my mother! Mum! Muuuuuuuummm!!!!!
A drunken choir is a scary thing
Our choir had its annual dinner last night. After all sorts of shenanigans, including several plates of garlic snails, much drunken singing, and a copious amount of red wine, the night culminated in the sharing of free grand marnier and port, which would probably be why I feel so shoddy today. Heh. So my gorgeous bald man took me out for brekky, and I'm happily recovering at home with some aspirin and the final chapter my current read.
It's The Fresco by Sheri Tepper. Good, thought-provoking writer. Go the feminist eco-warrior philosophical sci-fi. All my favourite things all rolled up in one. I luuuurv it.
So, this is one of the things I've been doing while not working, getting drunk with the choir, or attending the Lion King (and wasn't that fun...):
starts as this.....................................gets spun into this...........................and plied into this!
It's superchunky, soft, airy yarn, I'm hoping to leave some at my local yarn shop (they have some other handspinning there but nothing as colourful or chunky). So keep your fingers crossed for me. It would be good fun, and of course the pocket money never goes astray.
So. I think I'm gonna go nurse my hangover and veg in the sun a bit. As far as the shawl goes, I'm about 1/4 way through the tree panel but it doesn't look much different, so once I'm finished a few more rows, photo then.
Oh, and speaking of photos, sorry to anyone (Jewel!) who has been looking for last weeks photos on the SSK site. I took the camera, but got a bit distracted and forgot to take pictures. Duuuuuuh! *pokes tongue out with eyes crossed*
Och. My head hurts.
I swear this does nothing for my ovariesÖ
Those of you who know me personally know that Iím valiantly holding at armís length my husband, mother, mother-in-law, father-in-law and several other interested parties in respect to the little matter of bearing small children in the near future. This, it seems, is the great and profound path laid out for me to tread when I complete my degree. With any luck my body clock will have kicked in by then, and will be demanding the production of cute little babies, echoing the cries of previously mentioned husband etc etc.
I promise Iím not a child-hater. Babies are pretty neat. They smell nice (most of the time), they canít break much (until they start walking) and theyíre a great accessory (darling, youíre just glowing! Estee Lauder? Nope, flush of hormones.)
Problem is, like puppies, they grow up. I must say, (tangent girl that I am, off I go) that is the really cool thing about birds. A cute 6 month old cockatiel looks the same as a cute ten year old cockatiel. This of course, means Iíll just have to take a pic of my sweet Phoenix, who is sitting on my shoulder preening my hair as I type, and gets all shirty with me when I spend too much time away from home (bit like a cat in that respect).
So. Little kids grow into big kids. Also known as *gasp*Ö teenagers! *quivers in fear* I swear my ovaries crawl northwards just thinking about it. Do parents look wonderingly at their teenage chillen, and just think "Öwhat theÖ???" So. Teenagers. They donít need contraceptives. They are contraceptives.
Now that Iím on the blogdrive favourites list (how in the name of all thatís unholy did that happen?) I'm famous among thousands! However, it seems Iím merely popular among... a few *snicker*. This morning some snotty brat wrote a pile of comments saying "get a job outdoors" "stop knitting" and "get a life" etc etc. Did I rant? Did I rave? Did I say, oh yes, I SO have the physique to be a brickie's labourer, Iíll run right out and get that outdoors job right now? Well, actually, this is the rant/rave... which was postponed until after I had eradicated all of his slimy little footsteps with a single touch of the "delete" button.
Ooh. I love the power of being webmistress. "Submit!" she commands, as she whips her mousecord. Little sots just want attention. Well thereís your attention, you can fuck off now, right after youíve learned to spell, and kissed my freckle. Mwah!
Now, Iím off to hit the great outdoors (mmm smell that pollution) and stick posters all over Sydney Uni and Newtown for our upcoming choral concert, which Iíll write about another day.
Green grows the shawl, oh...
Yup, here 'tis...
Those little holes are representative of a flock of seagulls. I'm sure it gets clearer as the shawl progresses, not to mention when I manage to get the camera in focus! Ah well. I'm more interested in getting some quality dinner in my belly at the moment, so off I go to slurp some more red wine and get some steaks happening. Yummoo.
I drew the 6 of wands today, which pretty much sums up how my interview went with the temping agency. Whoo hoo! Now all I need is to be available on just the right days. Och, I'm optomistic today! A perfect ray of sunshine since 1974.
A very knitterly blog entry...
I finally started knitting the Pacific Northwest Shawl, after much fiddling about with dyeing and winding of wool.
The Filatura Di Crosa merino that I'm using is truly glorious. An entire hank of the stuff cost me only about $6AU and it's as soft and light as a kitten; not to mention that the entire hank did not have ONE join in it (until I got overly enthusiastic with the wool winder and yanked a tangle too hard, whoops, it was joinless, hehehe). Nice to know for Aussie knitters, it is hard to get this nice fine stuff, and it's a bummer ordering wool over the net without seeing it first.
So, here is the shawl, in its first minutes of existence...
I started it a dozen times. Blech. Those provisional cast-ons are tricky, and now I know why lace-knitters love bamboo needles so much... since the metal ones always fall out of something so light, and whoosh! There go all your stitches.
So, after much frogging, I was up to about row 12 or so when I took the pic, then knitted to about row 20, made a mistake, and started again from scratch.
I then proceeded to re-start it another half a dozen times. I'm reeeeeally good at that bit now.
Then I knitted right through to row 67 without any noticable mishaps. Noticeable being the operative word here... realised I had a row of deformed seagulls at about row 53, so frogged back to row 49, put it aside, and picked up my latest novel. Aaargh! I thought knitting was supposed to be bloody well relaxing!!! *falls over, limbs twitching* Gimme a coffee! I mean, a chamomile!!!
Thai Red Bull
My friend Matt, who is a huge sugar fiend, gave me a very special gift at pub on Wednesday night. This is Thai Red Bull. (Not to be confused with Thai red curry, which I believe I may have for dinner tonight. Mmmm, yum)
I know that everyone says small things amuse small minds. Luckily for me, I've had brain reduction surgery (otherwise known as recent exams) and I just laughed my head off at this cute little bottle. It smells like cough syrup. It tastes like kiddies' cough syrup. He tells me it's illegal in Australia because it's crammed full of so many caffeine-related stimulants that they couldn't even fit bubbles in. I just thought it was funny, this teensy little innocuous looking bottle with all this nifty-weird Thai writing all over it.
Actually, the funny thing is probably more to do with Matt than the drink. Besides the fact that he will sit and eat sugar for the fun of it, and consumes more coke and guarana drinks than anyone I know, he's amazingly calm and low-key. Maybe he's narcoleptic and would just fall asleep if he didn't drink all of this stuff. I wonder where he gets it from. *shrugs* I drank it at work yesterday. I felt like my too-heavy insides were trying to crawl out of my skin. Maybe it was just cough syrup and he'd gotten me all excited over nothing. Hehehe...
So, to make my itchy pancreas feel better, I went on a walk. A long walk, all the way from Bondi Beach to Bronte Beach, along the coastal walk and back again. Yum. Talk about a delish way to let off steam. I ran into a couple of friends drinking beer at the top of the beach at the old RSL there, and went in for one too. (Isn't life all about balance? Healthy walk plus alcohol = balance. Yeah. That's my story and I'm sticking to it).
So today... I'm gonna slob about home and knit like there's no tomorrow! I'm going to start knitting the pacific northwest scarf after I wind up the skein into a ball. (I love you, my wool-winder! What would I do without you?)
Actually, thereís not likely to be another tomorrow like today for a while. One whole day of pure, unadulterated selfishness. My beautiful Bald Man is working until 1am tomorrow morning (poor habibi, I think Iíll offer him a chauffer ride home if Iím still awake then) and so Iíve got the whole day to myself. So. Iím running about the house in an old green skirt which is disintegrating around the hem, and having fresh-made juice (apple and carrot, oh god, sheís a health nut as well as a nerd!) and just gonna slob and play and knit all day. I might go have a great fat bubble bath and read until I wrinkle up beyond recognition. Oh yeah. Thereís something really special about lounging about in a bubble bath with a glass of wine and a book, knowing that most of the poor bastards in the country are at work. Laziness is much more fun when you put it into perspective like that. Mmm mmm. If I could work out how to net-surf while in the tub without electrocuting myself and killing my computer, I think Iíd just be delirious with joy. You could just about get a Nobel prize for coming up with an invention like that.
So. The green shirt, she is finito!
Ye gods. I've written the blab from hell. This girl can talk!!! Why can't I make this many words when an essay's due? *grin* Adios amigos! Card was Knight of Wands today. I'm gonna go get enthusiastic and verbose somewhere other than on the blog.
Embarrassment, humiliation, and joy (in that order, too!)
Embarrassment and Humiliation. I just love it. I thrive on it. There must be a streak of the masochist in me. (Ooh! See The Secretary).
I sent my resume off to several temping agencies yesterday. There was a nice polite letter with my resume attached, photo and all. Off they go through cyberspace, and I print a final one to fax to someone who hasnít heard of email yet (scary, I know). I notice that there is a monumentally idiotic error in it. Iíd left part of the example template which I had taken straight from Word and overtyped, except I hadnít overtyped this bit, and so where I explain what I did as a receptionist several years ago, I claim that I "Developed an Excellence in Training Course".
So I have three options. First option, I can pretend itís not there, and hope they donít see it, which Iím positive they will, and look like a complete IDIOT.
Second option, I can just email them another copy of my resume, changed to reflect ordinary receptionist skills rather than some crappy bullshit, and look like a complete IDIOT.
Third option, I can send them all another email, and simply tell them that Iím a complete IDIOT.
I went for option three.
I emailed Ďem all, telling them that Iíd missed taking out that bit of the template, and that Iíve never developed any sort of course in my life. "Iím hoping", I said in my email, "that this will be viewed as evidence of my superior (if slightly belated) proof-reading skills" and pretty much took the piss out of myself. Hey, ya gotta laugh.
Out of the four, I didnít hear back from two. One guy wrote back to me, laughingly saying that he wouldnít put me in the proof reading role he had available for me after all (ha, yeah good one mate, now offer me a job, all right?). And one woman rang me back within about twenty minutes and offered me an interview. Whoo hoo!
I finished my green shirt. Double whoo hoo! (That'll be the joy bit). I attached the second sleeve during the last hour of choir rehearsal last night. Sigh! I love finishing things. Mind you, with the gauge the way it was, it should have been finished months ago, but I just keep getting startitis. Iíll get someone to take a pic. For some reason, the timed pics on my camera suck, but it looks okay when someone else takes it.
I really like the way the collar turned out (which you can see in yesterday's entry anyway), sort of assymetrical and modern. I wonít lie; that was an accident. Which just goes to show that accidents, like getting lost and making silly mistakes, are completely under-rated.
cheering myself up
I'm cheering myself up. I feel crap crap crap. So. What cheers up a sad squeak when she's feeling like crap?
- old corny musicals. I have Seven Brides for Seven Brothers playing in the next room. It's hideously sexist and ridiculously unrealistic, but it's irresistably cheerful. You can't help yourself, even if I'm laughing at them, these old movies make me smile.
- looking at the ocean. Peter Carey, in Oscar and Lucinda, says that it smells of death. Somehow this only makes it a more calming experience for me.
- putting a bit of makeup on... trust me! It really does make ya feel better. Boys, get yourself a good makeup remover before you try this one, hehe
- spinning. Rhythm and grace, baby... something that doesn't happen to me very often! Just ask the poor bugger sitting next to me at choir rehearsals.
- cooking. Don't have much in the house though, and grocery shopping just shits me. So that one cancels itself out today.
- hiring a DVD for myself. That is, husband-free choice. No smash-em bash-em. I got "The Secretary" out a couple of days ago. Whew! *fans self* ... that one cheers me up just thinking about it. James Spader *drool* ... and laugh! I adore black comedy.
- finishing a project (knitted, calligraphied, whatever), or starting a new something. After this, I'm finally getting the green shirt done. This is me, with the very cool brand new buttons sewn on, only the 2nd sleeve to be attached now.
- and finally, blogging! Whee! I've taken a pic of my freshly made-up face, and stuck it on the side for a profile pic, and yes, that is a mirror-reversed clock behind me. I can read it easier than regular clocks these days.
No dearies, I'm not talking about backsides.
Well, actually, come to think of it,that's a lie. I do have a booty story as in backsides. I saw this tv show the other night (staring blankly at the screen, spinning wheel lifeless in front of me, too spaced to turn it off and go to bed) about this girl who wanted a nice big round booty "just like J-Lo's". Can I tell you how excited I was when I found out that big butts were back in fashion? Ah! The joy!!! Suddenly I stopped bewailing the fact that I was born into a time when being a stick insect shape was sexy. Why, why, I wailed, was I not born in the time of the Renaissance? Chicks there had cellulite, fat bellies, massive butts and thighs, and were considered the paragons of beauty.
Anyway, my new-found joy at possessing a nice big butt was just trampled all over by this heartless television wench, who stated that big wasn't good enough, oh no, you gotta have round, perky and balanced as well. "It's not enough", she confided in an authoritative tone which brooked no argument "to just have a big white butt. It's got to be just right".
Well, the shock was just enormous. My butt isn't cool after all! I turned in my seat and attempted to glare at the offending big white butt, but as usual it was hiding. Ah well, back to the telly screen, where Miss Big Gorgeous Butt-in-Waiting was having things drawn all over her by her plastic surgeon, including her boyfriend's name on "his spot". Riiiight. So. No implants for this sophisticated lady, oh no. What this surgeon did was liquefy all of her unwanted fat (back, upper tummy etc) and put it into 250 syringes (that is NOT a typo) and proceeded (none too gently I might add) to spend the next couple of hours injecting all her liquefied fat into her butt. Thank god I wasn't eating dinner in front of the tv.
Anyway. Enough disgusting diversions.
BACK TO THE REAL BOOTY STORY!
See what I got in the mail? Whoo hoo!
Sarah of Yarn Dreams sent them to me. What a legend! Actually, the agreement was that she'd send me some shrinky dinks. What I actually got was way cooler, as those little beady thangs are stitch markers, which I am assuming the wonderfully creative Sarah has actually made herself. Unreal. You sling 'em on your needles to remind yourself of your spot. Sort of like bookmarks for knitting. So. After completely bamboozling you with a ridiculous story about liquefied booties, this is actually the "real thing".
Ooh! Another diversion... Went and saw a play called The Real Thing last night. Who was sitting opposite me with a gaggle of lovely friends, but Mary-Helen and Sandra! I had to hop up and down, hang my tongue out and nearly decapitate the man next to me to get their attention, and when I finally did I think they nearly ran away in embarrassment. Hehe. Anyway, the play itself was all right, and the acting (especially Hugo Weaving) was great, once I got over the fact that I was totally aggravated by the put-on accents. Ergh. Hugo Weaving had the most amazingly expressive face, wonderful to watch.
Anyway, since I obviously have the concentration of a ferret on red cordial today, another booty photo, this time something that I've bought myself. Got a massive flyer to ply my bulky handspun on for $30 at Virginia Farm. Yay! I totally embarrassed myself by pointing out that there was something wrong with it, but it actually turned out to be a very clever part of the design. Doh! But I bought it anyway. I put it next to a regular sized flyer so you can see the difference between it and the new fat one.
So how about that. Bigger apparently is better. So there. I'm off to hit the temping agencies today and see if I can rustle up some money for HECS next year. Oh joy! I'm employed again! *dashes off in a cloud of sarcasm*
Nifty green woolly stuff
First of all, take one luscious skein of Italian merino, 2 ply. Envision your gorgeous future shawl. Ooh yeah. Letís do it.
Follow the instructions for the dye and cook it in your microwave. Steamy hot wool smells really odd. The Bald Man came home one day after Iíd been cooking handspun merino, and nearly died when he walked in the the door and took his first breath. Imagine the smell of dog. Now imagine the smell of sheep. Okay, try thinking about the smell of wet dog. Wet sheep really ainít that different. And hot, wet sheepÖ well letís say only the Kiwis are getting excited over that one, but the Bald Man on the other hand was singularly unimpressed. HeheheÖ
After youíve cooked it, and itís cooled down, baptise it. Thoroughly. I name theeÖ black wool? Huh? Believe me, your slight surprise at black wool when I was aiming for green, is nothing compared to the rising panic I was feeling. Noooo! How will I survive??? Wah! Oh, hang on a minute, itís going to be a lot darker when wet. Oh yeah, thatís right. Just like hair. (remembers hair-dying experiences from younger days with fondnessÖ and thanks the gods it was always someone elseís head. Mwahahaha!)
Then, get the skein in between two towels and stomp on it. This is my self-designed agitation-free, felting-risk-free spin dry cycle. Cute Italian boots and swishy skirt optional. Sings *la cucera-CHA! La cucera-CHA! LALALALALALAÖ* and clatters imaginary spanish clickety things whose proper name escapes meÖ
Finally, shake it a bit to separate all the wet strands, hold at arms length and proudly photograph. Whee! Actually, it's not quite as dark as the photo makes it out to be, it's a nice deep bottle green which should be a bit paler when dry. Yuuuuum.
Inner Monologue Transcript, as I stand admiring my handiwork:
So. Next time Iím sitting there with a slight frown on my face, working on deepening my a-la-Alan Rickman forehead crease, staring off into space and completely ignoring any conversation I may have previously been quite actively involved in, you know Iím just smacking the negative bitch down and will be with you very shortly.
Now, Iím off to dinner with Eva and her gorgeous family to gobble a deliciously fattening Portugese feast. Right after I do about a weekís worth of dishes here at home. Yeeah. Housework is so a priority in my heart. A low priority, that is.
Idiotic joke of the day, thanks to Triple J: Where do paw-paws come from? Dog-dog trees.
Todayís card was King of Cups. Like anyone who isn't into tarot gives a flying fart. Heh.