I'm giving up an indierock forum for Lent this year (or maybe forever, who can tell?) My problem is that Mason & I are passionate about music in which none of our friends are interested. So when I look for a peer group, I have to take what's available. It's…not been a positive experience. There are some nice, funny, smart people but it's the Internet. You know what that means.

This week we've been squabbling over the press release for the new BSS album, specifically whether or not Lisa Lobsinger "deserves" to be on it. There's been a lot of Caps Lock and insults and patronizing in the space of arguing, and I figure I'm through before I get really mad. We've been given this wonderful art, and all we can do is squabble over it. It's a feast of infinite variety, and I don't want to be in the position of defending the cook's choice to serve lamb rather than veal. Can't we just go back to feeling superior to everyone else rather than each other?

I mean, I'm starting to resent Emily Haines, simply because my antagonists worship her, and I don't want to be maneuvered into that space. "It's not the band I hate, it's their fans."

Speaking of peer groups…

Friday was not only the opening of the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics, it was also the Return of The Knitting Olympics! Four years ago, Stephanie Pearl-McPhee had a dream. It was a dream of excellence. It was a dream of community. It was a dream of going full-out and committing ourselves to a massive undertaking that most people would not recognize, understand or care about.

And, like many improbable ideas hatched in that marvelous head, it caught on. I was not a part of the first KO, though I watched it from afar. When the first one convened, I was barely a year into the craft. I had never been at a knitting circle, let alone a pub full of nutty crafters. I was pretty sure that Stephanie was far too famous and talented to really want to include everyone in the call. So I watched. It wasn't until the month after, when a regular pub night had been established, that I jumped in and never looked back.

This Friday, then, was not only the return of the Knitting Olympics, it was several people's anniversary. And it was the actual Olympics, so there was a lot of energy bouncing around. I have never had so much fun watching a sporting event, and it had nothing to do with the one beer I allowed myself. We stood for the anthem, but did not put down the needles. We heckled Bryan Adams and Wayne Gretzky mercilessly. We cheered for countries we liked, and sometimes at random because we liked their outfits. We were overwhelmed by the beauty of kd lang singing Leonard Cohen. And we howled with derision as the cauldron lighting turned into an epic fail.

The only thing missing was a t-shirt. I want a t-shirt, organizers. Don't make me ruin an undershirt with a laundry marker.

And my final note on peer groups: I seem to have become a Nerdfighter, or rather, I finally have a name for what I've been all along.

Labels: drunken knitters, knit, music

I showed this to my class on Friday, and I heard a voice pipe up, "ooh! xkcd! I love that strip!"

To which I, of course responded, "you're such a nerd. [pause] Have you seen the video?"

I'm pretty sure that I'm using the wrong needles for my Knitting Olympics event. Yeah. This realization comes after 1. realizing that I needed to learn a new and complicated cast-on, and deciding to go with the old standard cable CO instead, and 2. realizing that I had the wrong size needles for the cuff and 3. realizing that crowdsourcing the colour combo gave me the wrong one, and then ripping back 4 rows.

I feel like I showed up at the arena during the ice dancing event with my skates over my shoulder, and saying "yeah, I can probably do that. I can skate."

Is it worth it to rip back? Let's see how well the second one turns out. I figure I can compete and fail. Thousands do.

"What time is it? It's Valentimes!" – tgs

Today was pretty low-key, what with the small people and the church and all. Mason made a wonderful dinner for the four of us, which we ate in candle-lit style. I finished two Vamlumtines project (one for Blake, one for Mason) and continued to move stuff around to accommodate what started as a simple time- and money-saving project (i.e. let's get a unique space for Sage so we don't have to haul a playpen up the stairs every weekend he sleeps over, and let's move the 6 items out of the storage locker) and has turned into a massive re-organization of my house. Office furniture has migrated downwards, while couches have migrated upwards. Hand-me-down furniture has gone on to the next kharmic cycle at the Goodwill, there to be some one else's (literal) pain in the ass. Bookshelves are waiting to receive the crated treasures of the crawlspace. Blake's drumset is continually on the move.

The current state of affairs is baskets of office supplies everywhere, interspersed with extra furniture. One day I will reclaim my dining room, which currently holds all of my massive circa 1970's dining set and an 8 foot couch. But today I just concentrated on the love.*

* And on reducing the yelping and screaming with joy. Two small boys + extra couch = shenanigans.

Labels: blake, comics, drunken knitters, house rich, knit, mason

What the fuck is your problem? How on earth do you think you can get away with cat-calling women at the next table as they sit down? Let alone, loudly announcing that one or more isn't as attractive as the others? You are not on a construction site; we are not passing through; we are SITTING AT THE NEXT TABLE. Do you think it's cute? Do you think it's sexy? Do you think at all? As Elizabeth so rightly responded: Fuck Off.

What the fuck is your problem? Why would you and you oafish friends (one of whom belongs on MenWhoLookLikeKennyRogers.com, which is funny but irrelevant) loudly brag about sex acts you seem to have only a passing familiarity with? Do you think you sound worldly? Because I've often heard groups of teenagers who sound more experienced than you which forces me to conclude that you and your tablemates are as full of shit as my students. Also? Your female friend needs to stop bragging about sucking dick before I find one to stuff down her throat and thus SHUT HER UP.

What the fuck is your problem? Why, after several hours of loud, stupid, oafish behavior would you then turn to the only male in the group and ask him if he "likes how that feels"? Does that question make sense to you in your drunken piggish mind? It doesn't to anyone else.

What the fuck is your problem? Do you genuinely think you could follow up with that nonsensical inquiry with a loudly muttered, "ya faggot"? Where the fuck do you think you are? Who the fuck do you think you're talking to? Did you expect Mason to just cringe and take it, while the rest of us ignored you? Did you think that you were proving a point or uncovering some mystery for the rest of us? Did you think that two dozen people with sharp needles were going to let that pass after an evening of listening to your horseshit?

As I said last night (or rather, yelled repeatedly): Go Fuck Yourself. If I ever see you in that pub again I'm not going to stop until I have you kicked out. And the next time you call any of us a nasty name, I'm not going to even try to stop Mason from "fucking you up," like I did last night. You may think you can fuck with knitters, or guys in bars who do things you don't like, but I will end you. Believe it.

Yours in Christ,

Rocktbride

P.S. Just a final heads-up: What the fuck were you thinking? You're fat, stupid and ugly. You really shouldn't be throwing stones at the people you see, who quickly realize that those things on this outside are less important than the fact that on the inside you are nothing but a turd.

Despite leaving the bar shaking with unused adrenaline, I had a good time last night. Mason and I preceded knit night with a date at an excellent Irish pub, where the food was just a smidge better than the atmosphere, which was sublime. Today we got up unconscionably early so that I could do a free dance demo with Valizan, and we had a chance to explore the almost-revoltingly cute downtown area of Bronte. Then! Korean bbq for lunch, new work clothes for us both, and an hour at the gym with my brother. I always feel guilty about this, but I have to be honest: a child-free weekend is awesome when you do it right. This Saturday couldn't be any righter and still take place in public.

Labels: dancing, drunken knitters, humanity on parade, outings

Can't remember if I've mentioned this before, but Mason found a cool little brew pub in the tiny downtown where I live. It used to be a knitting factory, and they have spindles and sock forms up on the walls. This immediately made me hot to organize a local Drunken Knitters. The first one will be Friday, and now I'm just trying to get the wording right for the flyers, so I can post 'em on library billboards, which are notorious bastions of sobriety and hard work. (I'm not even trying the community centres, who need the flyers approved by the Mayor's office a month in advance. I'm not Friendly Rich; I don't have an in with Susan. So I'll just skip that idea.)

If you're a local knitbuddy who wants to come out and you haven't seen the postings, please contact me. The more people, the more validated I'll feel.

I found out about the need for mayoral approval this afternoon, when Mason & I bought new gym memberships. I was trying to give Jessamyn's gym a chance, but when I called to use the "free" 3 day passes, they insisted on administering a fit test and then tried to charge us $35 when we couldn't make it on time. I balked at the fit test to begin with; Nic refers to it as "some energetic asshole like me telling you you're unfit and trying to sell you personal training." I still remember how crushing it was five years ago when they changed my assessment from "healthy" to "unhealthy" with the stroke of a pen.

So we're hooked up with the community gyms, which are good for a number of reasons and attract far fewer asshats ramming around the parking lot in a dangerous cloud of impatience and testosterone. This afternoon we did our first session, which was productive but boring. I have to drop by Bat Masterson sometime soon so I can pick up my Walkman; perhaps listening to tapes made seven or more years ago will take the edge off continuous golf coverage on the monitors. Apparently? Older white men can still accomplish things. Who knew?

On Friday night Mason & I attended our third Arts & Crafts concert of the week: Timber Timbre. (I introduced myself to Stephan the merch guy, figuring that I now see him more frequently than I see my parents.) Timber Timbre is a skinny guy with a dog who plays stripped down gothic folk, or death blues as it is sometimes described. He and his live band – a guitar, a bass drum, a pedal steel, a sax & a violin – put on the scariest show I've ever been to. It took place in a pitch dark Anglican church, lit only by dozens of votive candles and the arc-sodium lights outside shining through the stained glass and turning Christ orange. Mason & I were in the second row of pews, right next to the sound board, and I could barely see my hand in front of my face.

It was an album re-release party, to celebrate a new signing with A&C. They played through the 8 songs with hardly a pause between them. I have to imagine that few people knew the album, as the merch table was mobbed at the end and Mason & I seemed to be the only ones who knew the words. Then again, I couldn’t see anyone so maybe they were all lip-synching along. During the first three songs, there wasn't a single bit of sound from the audience, and I was the first to shatter the reverent silence by whooping applause at the end of the third. People joined in, relieved to be able to make noise, I suppose.

Then again, people may not have been ignorant of the material so much as terrified by it. Again: it was the spookiest show I have ever been to, and I felt at several points that I had died and gone to hell, where my fears were being drawn out of me through purest art. The silences between notes were terrifying, and the melodies themselves almost crushed us with awe. It was a terrible beauty. I was glad that we had gone. But I was a little relieved when it was over, and I could take a break from fear and reverence.

Labels: drunken knitters, health, music, outings

My vaague stomach cramps have gone away. Having a wussy illness sucks: you're not well enough to do anything but not sick enough to get any sympathy. I spent a day sleeping and keeping Blake away from my belly (he knows it bugs me, the devil) and a day gingerly trying food. At least we can exorcise the spectre of pregnancy, which would be awkwardly timed at best.

My health has cleared up just in time for my first knitting-free staff meeting. Having just finished Clarissa Dickson Wright's autobiography with all the AA content, I'm starting to wonder if She Who Must Be Obeyed woulf like me to admit that my knitting is out of control and I need to give myself to a higher power. One that isn't Elizabeth Zimmerman, one assumes.

Labels: bat masterson, books, drunken knitters

110: exotic urchin

I've been finishing hats like a woman possessed. The first was last Saturday, when I took time that I should have used to mark exams to knit furiously and joyfully through a handspun Urchin. Sophie gave me this Studio Loo skein called Violet Fiction for a housewarming/birthday present. You may remember the yarn when it used to be this:

Now it's this:

Reaction is mixed, by which I mean everyone loves it but my mom, who hates it with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. I think she's just jealous.

111: beanie redux

The second hat is part of my attempt to use my knitting for social good instead of just relaxation, practice, artistry, cheap gifts, etc. It's a Boy Beanie from the Happy Hooker in variegated Patons Classic Merino called Jungle. The contrasting green is the Lemongrass Lion's Brand Wool left over from my mittens. It's going to a local homeless shelter/soup kitchen, where it will hopefully clothe one of the visitors.

112: Queen Bee hat

The third hat was done before the second, but needed embellishment. It's a Bzzz Hat for Queen Bees out of Sn'B Nation. The yarn is Headwater Wool Marupe that I picked up at the DKC Knitter's Frolic last spring with the change I found in my pockets. I've been dreaming about this hat for a long time. I've got a bit of a thing for bees, and this will eventually be a set with a scarf and possible wristwarmers. The bee buttons aren't that great, but they get the job done. I found them at the local Michael's.

113: belly dance socklets

This isn't a hat, although I finished it in the midst of my binge. They're little socklets to wear during my belly dancing class for a bit of slippage on turns. Why buy ballet flats or (ugh) cut up other socks when you can spend a few hours making small colourful tubes? I knit these while marking exams, and finished them minutes before beginning class last week.

114: kara

Also not a hat. It's an amigurumi carrot that I decided to do after an argument with Blake, in which he insisted on orange hot chocolate for my in-process toy cup. Instead of such an abomination, I made a carrot. The pattern is my own, although it's way too simple to need one. All I did was make a circle, crochet a tube, and start decreasing. When I thought it was too short, I did a plain row, then kept decreasing. It took a bit of finagling to make the tip, and I don't know that I followed any recognized crochet technique other than "givin'r," but the end result is quite pleasing, with that purposely frayed end coming off there. The orange is Sugar n' Cream worsted cotton, and the green top is more Lemongrass Lion's Wool, which I attached and chained until I felt like stopping. Then I picked up the other end and chained that too. The result is marvellously eccentric, dready leaves. The mouth is the same yarn. They eyes are 8 mm safety eyes. Tremendously fun, tremendously simple. Her name is Kara, after a girl in Blake's class. Kara the carrot.

115 & 116: cupcake & chocolate cup

The reason that I had to make Kara was because I was in the midst of making these guys for the Jakaitis kids. It's K8rs' birthday party on Saturday, and we decided to make a cupcake and a cup of hot chocolate for her and her brother to play with. They are a mix of Sugar n' Cream cotton, Butterfly cotton, and Cool Spun cotton, with fun mail order safety eyes and beads from Michael's. Do they look like sprinkles to you?

There are still a few more pictures hanging around, but I am totally knackered, so they'll have to wait. And I'm almost done another urchin!

Labels: birthday, blake, crochet, drunken knitters, fo, friends, gifties, knitty, snb

finished on August 27, 2006.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

For my 30th birthday, my mom took me out to see Hair. It was an exciting event for me: I was basically unfamiliar with the so-called storyline, but I loved some of the songs and wanted to see it all unfold. So my mom, being the theatre push-over she is, bought us some tickets and I got me an early birthday present.

In addition to the play, which was pretty awesome, we also indulged in one of our other theatre-going vices: clothes shopping (a third vice is eating, but we won’t go into that). There’s a store near the theatre called Timbuktu that’s run by an ex-hippie and filled with gorgeous exotic fabrics. Last time we were there (“Urinetown”), my mom bought a traveling suit. This time we both bought dresses. Hers was red with a flower pattern; so perfect for her that we both felt strongly that she already owned it. Mine was a blue & white layer cake of a dress, a floor-length sundress blockprinted in shades of Delft blue. Air currents want to frolic with this dress, and it’s long enough so that the world is not surprised by my nudity when the wind gets whimsical.

But as I am the type of personality that I can never be satisfied, a problem arose. To whit: I hate hate hate hate current sandal styles. So this pretty pretty dress, clearly a summer dress, would be matched with my grody flip flops, my 8-holes, or my ‘vogs. I loves my ‘vogs, but they really need socks. Therefore, I decided to knit some. All of the lacy socks I saw were way too substantial for my purpose, which was to match this confection of a dress. So I picked up a couple of skeins of my favourite Koigu PPPM, found a lace stitch on-line, and swirled in as many girly touches as I could manage.

Specs: these socks were to be super-feminine, super comfy in summer as I defied sandal fashion and stomped around in my 'vogs. I combined a picot cast-on with a simple 7-stitch, 4-row lace pattern (called Lace Wings), added an Eye of Partridge heel for the birdy implications, and then named it after my shoes. (I also watched Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy obsessively while knitting the first sock, so there's a little bit of Vogon in there too.)

I took the first one to a Drunken Knitter’s Night in July, where it was much beloved. Since drinking was involved, there came a point when I messed up the lace. I pondered tinking, but the people around me told me it didn’t matter.

”But what if I want to submit this pattern to Knitty?” I half-joked to Amy, who was sitting beside me.

”I’m sure I won’t notice,” she replied graciously.

Holy shit, I wondered, did I just pitch a design to Amy, Editrix of Knitty? Did she just say something nice instead of rejecting my lame ideas and incompetent design-work out of hand? Will I actually go through with this crazy idea? This requires much pondering.

From that point on in the summer, these were my submission socks, kept under wraps. I approached a few of my knitting friends for help with the photos, but nothing was resolved until the September Drunken Knitter’s Night, when Jacquie B. offered her sharp artistic eye and her ginchy new camera in service of the submission socks. Thrilled to be doing something before all the leaves turned, we settled on the following weekend.

The shoot itself was great fun. I’ve always wanted the glory of modelling (I am, at least technically, a Leo) but lack the traditional attributes to realize this goal (such as grace, poise, passion and beauty). Jacquie was patient with my lack of experience, and made the shoot into a big romp through Kew Gardens. If these socks look good, it’s because Jacquie made them look good.

Jacquie B's fantabulous vog on gallery

The next part of this story took place months after, as the completed socks were waiting for a seasonal submission date. Widdershins had been out there for awhile, and I found myself wondering if I had a toe-up version in me. When Michelle offered to test-knit, I knew I had to try. So I did the math, bought her some co-ordinating Koigu PPM in fire colours, and asked her if she could make my bird rise from the ashes (in this case, ashes = toes). Then we spilled tequila on the yarn. Hee!

She did a terrific job, knit them longer just for fun, and then used her mannequin feet to model. I can't help but think that her clutch-knitting is what sent us over the edge. And now, I'm a published knitwear designer! I'll try to let it go to my feet, rather than my head.

the pattern

Labels: design, drunken knitters, fo, friends, knitty, socks