Thursday, August 25, 2005

I. Am. Broke. For various depressing DEEEEpressing reasons I won't go into, I. Am. Broke.

So when I went to a job interview yesterday (at the world's nicest bookstore, Davis-Kidd) because I. Am. Broke., I decided to stop off at our local knitting mecca, Yarns to Go. After all, just sitting there with some Lenny's chicken salad and crackers and knitting up your own yarn don't cost that much, right? I could finish up my mitred KPPPM kercheif in relative peace and quiet, free from my toddler who tries desperately hard to impale himself on my little size-one circulars. You know, the ones that are so sharp, they pierce the side of my pink naugahyde Hello Kitty purse? Yep. Those. They are so bloody sharp, they are banned in 22 states and 16 countries.

But I digress.

So I'm sitting there, chatting with Yarns to Go's manager, Jeff. I like Jeff. He's a nice guy and a really good knitter. But he gets me into trouble, you know, just by the nature of his being there. So I ask him, "What's really selling right now?" He said, "Not novelty yarns like eyelash." Whereupon I think--but don't say-- "About damn time." He then tells me that something called Misti is flying off the shelves. Flying. Can't keep it in. What's Misti, you say?

And herein lies the seemingly innocent start and I say to you, Dear Reader, you don't want to know. You're better off NOT knowing. You're better off just sitting there in your "acrylic is nice, marino is great, cashmere is best" mindset. You don't want to know.

But I'll tell you anyway, and no calling me Rent Girl after you try the stuff, cause you ain't gonna be blamin' me, you yarn junkie scum.

Here it is, already on the needles, folks. It is too good to touch my stash. My stash would defile it. My stash of cheap acrylic and wool would forever taint its essential heavenly purity. My stash would recoil from it's beauty.

One of the shop gals had piles of it on the counter, ringing herself up so she can make some pull-over cowls for a church bazaar. (She had requests from older paritioners to make something that would hide their turkey necks). She had it sitting on the counter, color after color, my favorite being the crimson. I looked at the price of the worsted, expecting a sticker shock. At $5.25 a skien, this stuff is waaaay too affordable, even for me to resist, even though I. Am. Broke. I cannot tell you the sheer surge of contentment and a feeling of wellbeing that enveloped me whilst holding this stuff. Prozac-schomozac, we'd have a lot happier bunch of people in this world if they would take up knitting and just hold some Misti alpaca. I sighed and told her, "This is like herion for fiber people." She laughed.

So. After mooning over it for a little while and after a trip to the restroom where I tried to collect myself and after picking up some half-price yarn and after reasoning with myself that I. Am. Broke., I still walked into their wool room (where they have all the natural fibers; very organized of them) and asked the clerk, "Where's the herion?" The lady standing next to her drew a blank look, but she just laughed and pointed. Bless her. Show me the way to financial destruction. The wide, wide, oh-so-comfy extra-extra-wide path to ruin.

I decided to buy the large bulky hank, I couldn't resist. It's not my favorite shade, a black and red-tinged combo, but I'm putting it together as a balaclava for a friend of mine who is my ginger-hookup in San Fran and he leans towards dark colors. He already has one out of some lovely maroon Superwash Brown Sheep, but my friends.... Alapca is heaven. Your fingers will never be the same.

God help us all...

Saturday, August 20, 2005

Knitting is manual labor, folks. That would explain why I seem to be so reluctant to get any done. Plus, it feels like 102 here. Days like this, I wish I were in Ayrshire, for sure. But, for your viewing pleasure, (or displeasure) here is the final bike seat cover, all crazy Aztec-color schemed. It's brilliantly colored and practically bulletproof. How do you get bulletproof felting? Your LYS runs out of bulky Brown Sheep and you have to use two strands of worsted. On a 10, folks, this stuff comes out TIGHT. Felted, it's downright in-dee-structable. This has gotten a lot of wear, which makes it look a bit scruffy, but it really wears well. I will stick to dark colors next time, however. I'm afraid the scan makes it look pretty ragged and... kinda ugly. (Tucie never outright calls something Ugly. She always says, "Momma, that's... kinda ugly."

I have a few pictures of a more sedate one I made with Manos Y Uruguay, which felts really well, too. More later.

Yes. More Boobah's died. They're getting harder to come by, unfortuately.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

Is it me, or is this the most boring Klog ever???

Was that a resounding YES I heard? Not the thrills and chills of Stephaney Purled-WhateverComesAftertheHyphen? Okay, then, I'll kick it up a notch, since you are all thrill knitters and need to be titilated with spectacles of Extreme Knitting. (Shame on you). Okay. Have it your way, I shall henceforth pander to you! Especially now that I am spending so much time blogging. (To klog or not to klog, that's is the question). The website is scheduled to be up and running by the third week in September, so stay tuned for some useful pattern-type stuff. Meanwhile, to make this little spot more interesting, I have decided to discuss WIP's and the Harmonious Adventures of Being A Patternless Wonder. Oh, and the wonder doesn't mean wunderkid or anything of the braggadocious sort. It means you are too stupid and/or lazy to bother with learning to read patterns, so you hold it up every once in a while and wonder, "What the hell is that?" Or "WHY did I increase there?" Or, "OMG that decrease is practically day glow!" This involves a lot of coping skills and chocolate, so I don't recommend it to everybody. But, you know how it goes, whether you're using a pattern or NOT. Nothing bloody harmonious about it. Bloody, yes, nothing harmonious. It's like I always say, boys and girls, nothing will teach you profanity like knitting and marriage. Nothing.

Anyway, here's the current WIP, soon to be submitted to an online knitting resource near you. Of course I knit without patterns, always have. That being said, sometimes you have to make it a couple of times before it comes out right--not in form, necessiarly, but in function. Take this lovely bike seat cover for example. Great look, but the cotton does not wear well at all. In fact, it's total crap. The design only took me one try, although I tweaked it a bit on the bottom next go around, I found it didn't take much petaling before it started screaming for mercy. I very soon realized a felted cover would work MUCH much better--being a new bicylist, I had no way of knowing how much of a beatin' the front of the "saddle" takes. (I felt so goofy in the Petal Pusher in Midtown. I called it a seat, silly me!) With my rear end, I was more concerned about the weight load (HENCE me being on the bike in the first place). My poor son--his first memory will more than likely watching my fat butt going up and down like two pigs wrastlin' under a denim blanket, cause I'm sure it dominated the view from the baby seat. Never fear, we're saving for therapy; I digress. This is made using Rowan DK cotton, (which I like) and the cotton stretches out at the front of the saddle so much that it just looks tacky. You can tell its a bit gappy even in this picture, with it laying inert on the scanner. Also, the drawstring isn't necessary when you felt it. See post about the first and second knit models. I do so love the Squiggle; it looks like I put a couple of Boobahs in a pasta maker when they were good and ripe. That would explain why it entertains my son Aslan to no end. I think he thinks they're unraveled fruit loops or something...

Either way, it shure 'nuff makes yer bike stand out from all the others! I can just hear y'all sayin' to yerselfs richt now: "Whoo wee, sarge, I gotta knit me one of them!"

...and I'd like to take a moment to thank all the Boobah's who gave their life for this project, except for the surprisingly intelligent Zing Zing Zingbah, who kept smelling of the Kool-Aid and asking why it smelled like bitter almonds.