While I am fairly certain that the only person reading this blog so far is me, let me go on the record as saying that SOPA and PIPA are worse than washing your lovely red, silk/alpaca blend hand-knit sweater in industrial grade bleach.
Yes, I understand that piracy is a real problem. I work in an industry directly affected by piracy, and yet I cannot find a single writer, director, producer, grip, gaffer or office PA of my acquaintance who thinks SOPA or PIPA would do a bloody thing to address the problem. Furthermore, in much the same way that I would not lend my car to someone who had just crashed three of their own, I have absolutely no desire to give the US government control of the internet. Sorry, kids: you lie so habitually that I wouldn't trust you to give an honest breakfast order, you point fingers like you think the motion burns extra calories, and you abuse your power even when there's little for you to gain from it. I find myself unable to muster the naivete to trust you with the interwebs.
For more from people who put it better than I do, check out this post and this one. This issue will impact all of us. Might as well know more before it's too late.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Monday, December 5, 2011
Security Blanket
I am grateful to the sweater currently on my needles. Not because it keeps me warm while I knit it, though it does. Not because it's an absolute delight, though it is. Just because the holidays would be harder to handle this year without something pleasant on which it is possible to make visible progress, and bulky yarn is freaking genius at making you feel like you've actually gotten somewhere.
For some reason December inflates existing aggravations. It's a wonder anyone has room for Christmas trees or menorahs or snowmen, for that matter. There's so much bloated drama taking up our mind-space this time of year, from last year's disastrous holiday visit with the family to the thing your boss said last week that made you want to change jobs, which is of course impossible this time of year, and what the hell are you doing with your life anyway that you're stuck in this job that is clearly headed straight down the toilet. I think there's something about yet another waning year--plus all the various holidays that require us to have Very Special Times nearly hourly for the better part of six weeks, whether we feel like it or not--that makes all of the little setbacks feel...well, not so little. If you're anything like me, you have by now accomplished things you never thought you'd manage, and also failed to do some things you really thought would be ticked off the list by now. Those unchecked boxes rankle a little extra as the weather gets colder, and I find that they do start to crowd out the year's successes if I'm not careful.
A fabulous sweater in bulky weight alpaca, however, makes absolutely no effort to conceal any of the inches churned out in its creation. Its cables do not hide behind unsent letters and they do not pale in comparison to the Fair Isle your friends from college made this year. They are indefatigably solid and proof that something has been accomplished. Perhaps, too, they remind us that--with the exception of that project at the back of the stash bin, which is a totally separate case altogether and it's probably best to just not talk about it--very few things remain in progress forever. Eventually, we either finish or we frog the project and use the yarn for something else. The sleeve we picked up to knit when we sat down to watch Castle (or Downton Abbey, or Leverage, or Doctor Who, pick your poison) is materially different than the sleeve we have by the time we hit the end credits. That's something.
Maybe not a lot. Maybe not enough. But maybe enough to keep us from taking to the streets in a furious rampage of end-of-the-year crankiness, and that makes the holidays a little happier for everyone.
For some reason December inflates existing aggravations. It's a wonder anyone has room for Christmas trees or menorahs or snowmen, for that matter. There's so much bloated drama taking up our mind-space this time of year, from last year's disastrous holiday visit with the family to the thing your boss said last week that made you want to change jobs, which is of course impossible this time of year, and what the hell are you doing with your life anyway that you're stuck in this job that is clearly headed straight down the toilet. I think there's something about yet another waning year--plus all the various holidays that require us to have Very Special Times nearly hourly for the better part of six weeks, whether we feel like it or not--that makes all of the little setbacks feel...well, not so little. If you're anything like me, you have by now accomplished things you never thought you'd manage, and also failed to do some things you really thought would be ticked off the list by now. Those unchecked boxes rankle a little extra as the weather gets colder, and I find that they do start to crowd out the year's successes if I'm not careful.
A fabulous sweater in bulky weight alpaca, however, makes absolutely no effort to conceal any of the inches churned out in its creation. Its cables do not hide behind unsent letters and they do not pale in comparison to the Fair Isle your friends from college made this year. They are indefatigably solid and proof that something has been accomplished. Perhaps, too, they remind us that--with the exception of that project at the back of the stash bin, which is a totally separate case altogether and it's probably best to just not talk about it--very few things remain in progress forever. Eventually, we either finish or we frog the project and use the yarn for something else. The sleeve we picked up to knit when we sat down to watch Castle (or Downton Abbey, or Leverage, or Doctor Who, pick your poison) is materially different than the sleeve we have by the time we hit the end credits. That's something.
Maybe not a lot. Maybe not enough. But maybe enough to keep us from taking to the streets in a furious rampage of end-of-the-year crankiness, and that makes the holidays a little happier for everyone.
Friday, December 2, 2011
My Alpaca Talisman
Misti Alpaca is going to save me from Christmas.
My husband and I live in Southern California. This is partially due to the fact that we work in an industry that is largely concentrated in that area, but also partially due to my unending hatred of cold weather. It's ok: cold weather hates me back, so no one's sitting at home on January evenings weeping over our continued lack of affection for each other. I insist on thermostats set at at least 70 degrees to force the moderate SoCal chill out; the merest breath of properly cold weather or even just a quite chilly kitchen floor causes the capillaries in my hands and feet to shut down and threaten frostbite if not immediately treated to a warm bath. This is a war kept at bay only by my continued residence in a moderate climate and my husband's tolerance of a gas bill that's a wee-ish bit higher than it would be for someone not engaged in an icy standoff.
Unfortunately for my maladapted extremeties, our families live primarily on the east coast. My dad is in southern Pennsylvania, which is cold but not Arctic. My husband's family, however, lives in the icy mountains of Vermont. Oh yeah. That's a respectable cold. Every year we try different combinations of socks, boots, sweaters and mittens to keep me warm, and every year I freeze anyway.
Not this year.
This year I cast on Aidez with Misti Alpaca Chunky. This year I will be traveling into enemy territory armed with a soft and inviting Panzer of coziness.
The challenge, of course, is that in my infinite wisdom, I didn't actually so much as start the ribbing until Thanksgiving Day. Oh, there were reasons for that: I had a scarf to knit for my dad, and a delicious double-side lace shawl to knit for my husband's aunt, and any number of other gift knits to finish. Then I had to wait for the swatches to dry to confirm gauge, which meant casting on a project to do in the meantime. And all that boils down to me knitting furiously and glaring at the cats and my sainted husband whenever I'm forced to pause in my frantic pursuit of cardigan. 8 days in I have finished the back and the left front piece, and am about 6 inches into the right front. I will not go into the holiday season unarmed. I will not brave the battlefield of below freezing temperature without reinforcements. I will leave no alpaca behind!
Do you think I'll have time for mittens, too?
My husband and I live in Southern California. This is partially due to the fact that we work in an industry that is largely concentrated in that area, but also partially due to my unending hatred of cold weather. It's ok: cold weather hates me back, so no one's sitting at home on January evenings weeping over our continued lack of affection for each other. I insist on thermostats set at at least 70 degrees to force the moderate SoCal chill out; the merest breath of properly cold weather or even just a quite chilly kitchen floor causes the capillaries in my hands and feet to shut down and threaten frostbite if not immediately treated to a warm bath. This is a war kept at bay only by my continued residence in a moderate climate and my husband's tolerance of a gas bill that's a wee-ish bit higher than it would be for someone not engaged in an icy standoff.
Unfortunately for my maladapted extremeties, our families live primarily on the east coast. My dad is in southern Pennsylvania, which is cold but not Arctic. My husband's family, however, lives in the icy mountains of Vermont. Oh yeah. That's a respectable cold. Every year we try different combinations of socks, boots, sweaters and mittens to keep me warm, and every year I freeze anyway.
Not this year.
This year I cast on Aidez with Misti Alpaca Chunky. This year I will be traveling into enemy territory armed with a soft and inviting Panzer of coziness.
The challenge, of course, is that in my infinite wisdom, I didn't actually so much as start the ribbing until Thanksgiving Day. Oh, there were reasons for that: I had a scarf to knit for my dad, and a delicious double-side lace shawl to knit for my husband's aunt, and any number of other gift knits to finish. Then I had to wait for the swatches to dry to confirm gauge, which meant casting on a project to do in the meantime. And all that boils down to me knitting furiously and glaring at the cats and my sainted husband whenever I'm forced to pause in my frantic pursuit of cardigan. 8 days in I have finished the back and the left front piece, and am about 6 inches into the right front. I will not go into the holiday season unarmed. I will not brave the battlefield of below freezing temperature without reinforcements. I will leave no alpaca behind!
Do you think I'll have time for mittens, too?
Monday, November 21, 2011
Introductions All 'Round
You know those things that you swore you'd never do? Like maybe you swore that you'd never take a job you didn't love (it's ok: we know how that worked out and we don't judge). Or maybe you pinky-swore you'd never wear Ugg boots in summer and then one day you found yourself trudging through the July heat in shapeless footwear wondering how everything went so very wrong (ok, there we judge, but come on, kiddo, you saw that coming). It's like there's a giant magnet of irony drawing us towards the very things that will make liars out of us.
You know what I swore I'd never do? I swore I'd never start a blog. Blogs require that you have things to say that you think other people will find funny, or entertaining, or informative, or worth five minutes of valuable procrastination time. Let me warn you right now, right up front: I am fairly certain I will fail to be any of those things quite regularly. I fully expect this blog to make unexpected left turns across the county line into What the Hell Is She On About Now. There will be frequent stops in What, This Again? and the occasional sojourn into I'm Not Sure That Was English. No illusions here.
Mostly, I'll write about knitting, because that's what keeps me from going the rest of the way round the bend, or reading, because that's what I do for a living. I can't promise to stick solely to those subjects, but that's the plan as I see it.
I swear.
You know what I swore I'd never do? I swore I'd never start a blog. Blogs require that you have things to say that you think other people will find funny, or entertaining, or informative, or worth five minutes of valuable procrastination time. Let me warn you right now, right up front: I am fairly certain I will fail to be any of those things quite regularly. I fully expect this blog to make unexpected left turns across the county line into What the Hell Is She On About Now. There will be frequent stops in What, This Again? and the occasional sojourn into I'm Not Sure That Was English. No illusions here.
Mostly, I'll write about knitting, because that's what keeps me from going the rest of the way round the bend, or reading, because that's what I do for a living. I can't promise to stick solely to those subjects, but that's the plan as I see it.
I swear.
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