Yarn Ball Boogie

Out of the nest

So I've been doing a lot of thinking. I've really sifted through a lot of stuff with a fine toothed comb. Some of the good has come from therapy. It's allowed me to think about stuff so much clearer. I highly recommend therapy. And I'm not attracted to my therapist, so there's no chance of me sexualizing him. Ha ha. One of the major points in all this psychoanalytical work is that I am more than I have always thought I was. I don't have to PLEASE as much as I've tried. I can let the work speak for itself. I can stand on my own two feet. I don't have to depend on a mother bird to hunt for worms and then regurgitate them into my mouth in order to survive. I can think, act for myself.

I'm not the coolest, best, worst, brightest, richest, or any other -est for that matter. I'm not sure I'd ever want to be, cuz then problems fall in your lap. Think rich celebrity. Brittany Spears...oh gawd. And by the way Brittany, I TOTALLY relate to your "country" sensibilities and your white-trash tendencies, but girl, you can't tell Matt Lauer you just want to be left alone and raise your country family and then appear completely NAKED on the cover of Harper's Bazaar. Anyway, off the topic....

So, I'm learning to be more proud of myself. It's ok to do that. There's a difference between being proud of your accomplishments and being annoyingly self-promotional and all you do is talk about yourself. I'm working toward being the former. I was told recently that something I made had "MANY design flaws" - after it was thunderously approved as "beautiful" - yes, I'm quoting, by a Creative Director (who I greatly respect) and one other person. (this other person was the same one who said it had many design flaws later) This, among other things, fueled the John-is-taking-another-path mindset. I won't be working for them anymore. Ironically, the things I learned were more to do with other things than with knitting and designing. Besides, when I have people like this behind me that sell my designs to Takashimaya in New York City under his label, my knitting skills ain't all that bad.

Exhibit A:

You must go to his WEBSITE and check out how he talks about his inspiration, etc. He's really brilliant and I sooooo enjoyed working for him. Originally he studied architecture but later decided he wanted to "build clothes, not houses". How cool.

<------What you are looking at here is my proudest accomplishment. A true collaboration, a sharing of ideas, a belief in me that I could get the job done. Now, all you knitters will appreciate this. Greg has a unique way of garment CONSTRUCTION. That's his thing. You know how typically the front of a sweater stops at the shoulders, yes? Well, this sweater (look closely) continues around to the back and the flaps continue and seam to the back piece, eliminating the shoulder seam, and making a unique design of its own on the back. You'll just have to visit Takashimaya on 5th Avenue to see for yourself.

Believe in yourselves, not what someone else tells you.

Photo credits: theboxphoto@aol.com

Hat Hell

So there was a birth around these here parts. Fraternal twins.

These are 2 in a series of 13 hats I just finished for and upcoming issue of Knit Simple. It's a cute magazine. In the current issue, I have a couple designs, the crocheted chevron skirt, and the office-y brown short sleeve sweater. Their website is a dream to navigate. And the hat story will be coming out in the next issue (I think). The story is a really good idea. There's like a million different possibilities with hats, as you know, and this one nails down many different ones. You'll just have to wait and see.

Have you ever just let it rain into your house? You know, instead of going, "oh my god!! it's raining in!!!! shut the windows!!" Just kinda looking at your SOAKED hardwood floors and now-opaque-from-rain window screens and going, "hm. oh well. gee my floors are wet." It's just ok. I'm literally looking at the rain RIGHT NOW as it pounds the shit out of my kitchen floor and I couldn't care fucking less. It's kinda funny, really.

Ok, now I'm starting to care. I knew it would come soon. But you know, what if everyone in the house were gone for the day? The floor would still get wet. The rain would still come. I'm trying to learn on a daily basis the message in all of this. It's a screamin' one, too. Perspective. I need it, I crave it, it serves me well. When you see a child that can't walk without crutches...when you see someone who can't breathe without a nasal canula pumping oxygen into their nostrils, when you see a baby born WAY premature and you just gasp and wonder..."oh my god. seriously." When you see entire communities being blown away, when you _______________________________________. (fill in the blank) My picture is clearer today than it was before. I'm so glad I have choices. I'm so grateful that I can use my hands to type and knit and hopefully play piano again one day. I'm so thankful that I'm healthy. I'm happy that I have a fully functioning brain. I read a journal entry that I had written in May, 2003. You know what I said then? "....I have a lot more to be thankful for than to bitch about....." I soooooo needed reminded of that right now. Journals rule.

Boycott

First of all, let me just start off by saying the following is solely MY OPINION. You are entitled to yours, as well, and I beg all of you to have one on this matter....

Secondly, this tirade is fueled by the fact it is 97 fucking degrees in New York City and I have no a/c. I'm starting to sweat in places I didn't know had sweat glands. Sheesh.

Now -

Hollywood has gone too far. I indulge, I buy into hype, I'm just as entertainment driven as the next guy or girl. But the movie World Trade Center???!?!?! Who the FUCK are they kidding? Have you seen the previews? They are touting it as a 'true story of courage and survival'. What?! You know, I remember sitting on my sofa a couple years ago thinking to myself, "I wonder how long it will take to make a movie out of the WTC disaster?" And I'll be damned. Truly America is not that vulnerable and stupid, are they? Are people actually going to fill the wallets of people like Nicolas Cage (who plays a huge role in the movie), the producers, directors, set designers, costume makers, caterers, location scouts, makeup/hair artists, extras, and whoever the fuck else worked on this movie????!!!?!!?! It's bad enough that people are allowed - yes, ALLOWED - to walk nonchalantly around the WTC site and SELL FOR PERSONAL PROFIT picture books with disaster photos hoping to tug at heart strings, hoping for a quick fucking dollar. Those people should be locked up. Again, only my opinion.

If you are looking for entertainment in the form of big blockbuster movies, I beg of you - all my fellow human beings - go see Superman, Devil Wears Prada, or start your own porn collection. Just DON'T go see this movie. We need to send a message, and it needs to start somewhere. I'm not trying to be anyone other than someone who has an opinion. But what Hollywood has done to the sacred ground that is the real World Trade Center, and not some movie set, is despicable. Nicholas Cage should be ashamed of himself. And everyone else, for that matter, who thinks that making a movie out of this is ok. And if I hear, "oh, the movie is told in a very artistic, honest way, that Americans need to hear, and have a right to see....blah blah blah..." I'll throw up.

Boycott the movie "World Trade Center". Period.

John Galliano RULES

For the moment, John Galliano is my favorite designer. Not just knitwear designer - I'm talking all over the place designer. His designs paint a clear picture of what the inside of my brain looks like and how my mind works. Completely over-stimulated and image-saturated, and I love it. Go here for some of what I mean.

Now, I know many designers achieve busy collections. But for some reason, his completely rocks me, and I stare at his runway shows like they are the biggest freak shows on the planet. Who needs bearded ladies? Who needs a 4,000 pound man? Dream job? You guessed it. Working for John Galliano. Oh, no - I don't mean designing knitwear! I mean something like, oh, I dunno....cleaning his toilets? Seriously. I adore that man. Risk-taker extraordinaire, TRULY original, unafraid, and one of the REAL cutting edge fashion people. So.

If only I would look as good as one of these boys with nothing on but undies and knitted armwarmers parading around my house. John Galliano, you fucking rock my world. The pictures are a little blurry, so you might as well look at the link above - it's worth it.

MOSTLY a knitting blog

.....but every now and then, I come across something inspiring. Completely unrelated to knitting. You know, I was originally going to type something like, "oh, if MY stomach looked like this....." But, I'll just admire his. Cuz it's purdy.

So, all you guys that are tempted to erroneously describe your body as being "swimmer's-build"-like, just remember you are doing the real thing an injustice. Truly. I mean, why lie? Where does it get you by saying something so OBVIOUSLY untrue? When I hear "swimmer's build", the connotation I get is the beautiful specimen in the picture. So you can imagine peoples' disappointment when they get anything other than the real deal. Kinda like when you ask for filet mignon and your steak comes with tough fatty tissue impossible to digest. Why not be experimental in the adjectives used to describe your body to a prospective date/mate/lover? (And that's if they must know and put that much importance on your BMI or fat content). Use words like, "mature", "sinuous", "high-octane", "super-human", "grossly underrated", or "strong". These words are much more ambiguous and will at least afford you the opportunity to weasel out of a moment of egocentricity gone wrong.

Translations: High octane - "oh, ok. I admit it. I was a little high when wrote my profile".
Mature - "I'm starting to hang. And not in a good way".
Sinuous - "I curve out at all my fatty parts".
Super Human - "Hey! I'm only human!!"
Grossly Underrated - "One time someone told me my body odor was gross".
Strong - "I can talk for two whole hours and never shut up".

Why am I on this soap box? I've been in the market for a date/boyfriend lately. I don't know why, but I feel the urge to like someone. Ha. And in perusing the ads, profiles, friendster-this, my-space-that, I am fascinated by the number of people who describe themselves inaccurately. Why do they do it? Why!!!??!?! What happens usually when you get something you didn't order???? YOU SEND IT BACK! Usually accompanied by a strongly-worded letter, hurt feelings, or bitterness. At the very least, a "Hmph!" So, to the guy with the REAL swimmers build.....thanks.

Oh - I sooooo DON'T have a swimmer's build. I'm deathly afraid of water.

Oh #2 - "that muscle" is my favorite. It's called the Aponeurosis of the External Oblique.

Thank you Thursday

Thanks Rebecca, for this. I remembered this morning that I wanted to thank her, but forgot. She found the pattern here. (I think)

Evidence of a Crack Habit

So I heard that the Suss Cousins Design Store here in Manhattan was closing. What was my reply? "Well, that's the LAST thing I need is MORE GODAMM YARN." Of course, they're having the 75% off all Suss yarns sale (which is enough to make any fiend start twitching and salivating). What do you want from me?!?!?!? I have a problem, ok? If anyone needs anything, I'd be HAPPY to go get it for you. In other words, if you give me the opportunity to buy yarn vicariously through you, I'll snatch up the chance. Hey Cari - you need a personal yarn bitch..I mean shopper?? I mean, come on - you got a baby and all.....just sayin'.

But for now:

I must go now.

Well, it's been quite a stay here in the 'ole Battery Park City.  Overall, I've enjoyed myself.  I've enjoyed staying with Moose.  He's a dream to take care of.  You know, runny poops that you still have to clean up or receive a ticket from the parks people....5a.m. nudgings that say, "oh come on...I REALLY have to pee!"....biting....loud yappy barking....--Moose doesn't really display much bad behavior at all.  Well, aside from the occasional "I'm tougher than YOU", unprovoked lunge at another dog. It's funny, I always have the same line when it comes to him doing that.  I just look at the other dog owner, roll my eyes, and say, "Hey!  Moose!  That's not nice!  Cut that out."  Then he snorts and keeps walking. The truth is, Moose is like a good friend.  I talk to him about things.  And, he listens intently, wishing he had the right words to say.  He usually just stares at me, though.  And then starts playing with something that squeaks.  Loudly.

So I've seen a few things down here (remember, it truly IS like a vacation land) that I feel like sharing with you all.  I'll forget half of what I originally planned on posting, but I'll try my best.  I really could see myself living down here someday.  Not that I'm planning a move, even though a murderer hid in my current apt.  There's so much to do.  Now, NYC is the mecca of "so much to do", but along the Esplanade that is the lower tip of Manhattan and along the Hudson Parkway a little further north, you'll find stuff that's just gonna keep you busy for years.  There's a batting cage, there's a trapeze school, sailing schools, there's a runners' station, there are numerous piers to look all romanticky on, there's a number of beautiful parks all tucked into themselves, so each one looks different than the one you just passed, there are all kinds of courts, gyms, and even waterfalls.  Museums, galleries, restaurants litter the way.  One of my favorite stops?  The Ciao Bella store. Hands down the best Sorbetto you will EVER have.  I'm addicted to that shit.   I found myself a little overwhelmed by the sheer evidence of extravagant living, though.  I mean, do you REALLY need a 200 foot yacht?  These boats looked like a boat version of Trump Tower.  Ugh.  They all came in around the same time I spent my first night here.  Fourth of July, you know.  So, I had the opportunity to look at them a lot.  No pictures, though.  I just imagined the owners of the yachts sitting at a glossy table with a martini chatting about whatever and being the one with the smallest penis on the yacht.  You know, like compensating for their shortcomings.  The bigger the yacht, the smaller the penis.  So naturally, I was more enamored with the little bitty paddle boats. 

I watched volleyball alot, kinda wanted to play, but I probably would have embarrassed my whole team, since, oh, I dunno, maybe because I've only played volleyball once or twice in my LIFE??!  Last night I bought some new running shoes at an athletic store on the Marina, went for a jog and re-injured my calf muscle.  So, that's it for running for a while.  I'm getting a little nervous about it, like it won't heal in time for me to train for the NYC Marathon.  Wish me luck.  Along my run (pre injury) I saw a drum festival...so cool.  There were literally a couple hundred people sitting in a huge circle in one of the parks, hitting things (mostly drums) to the beat of a Drum-God-In-Charge.  I stopped and almost quit my run and ripped off all my clothes and started Afro-Carribean Dancing right there in the lawn.  But, again, the sheer embarrassment factor kept me in check.  Thank God. 

Right around the corner from where Moose and I start our walk, there's this:

It almost looks like Bart Simpson post collagen implants.  But it's not.  It's a piece of the actual Berlin Wall that was donated to the city of Battery Park in November, 2004, which marked the 15th anniversary of the wall's dismantling. 

It's surrounded by a gate, but I got a pretty good picture.  There's really no reference point in this, mainly because I wanted to take up the whole frame with the image, but the concrete that this is painted on is about 15 feet tall by about 7 feet wide.  So stack 2 Shaquille O'Neals on top of each other and lay one down on its side, and there.  Instant perspective. 

Moose and I went to the dog run a couple times, but usually he just sits there and acts disinterested.  Now if you're a person, and you go into a crowded room/bar/party, find a corner where no one else is sitting and don't speak to anyone - what's the result usually?  Exactly.  But we went today for sheer entertainment value.  It seemed hoppin'.  It didn't disappoint.  I got to see this ADORABLE dachsund.  And not any old dog, either...This dog is spotted, long wiry hair, with the cutest little wiggly butt you have ever seen.  He immediately takes the "OK! OK!  I'll be submissive" pose every time I see him.  Hmm.. Then this other dog got into a flower bed he wasn't supposed to be in and started RUNNING back and forth, kicking up dirt like he was a monster truck at a tractor pull.  It was HILARIOUS.  I thought I would die laughing.  Hey, I got no pics of it, but I'm rich on imagery.

Just outside the elevator is this:

I just thought the placement of vowels was interesting.  It's a little anti-climactic, but whatever.  Get it?  I O U U O I

So, it was a great week, now I have to go sleep in my own bed for the first time since my apartment became a crime scene, and get life back to normal.  Oh, and the reason there's no knitting talk or pics is probably because I AIN'T GOT NONE.  I didn't really knit that much.  I was too busy looking at things like this every night.

The view from my "room".  This is for Matt, by the way.  Cuz he likes sunsets.

Crime & Punishment

So I'm dogsitting.  In Battery Park City.  Jessamyn, I haven't seen you yet, by the way.  That's going ok.  But I got home yesterday about 11:30am, and I see some peculiar things around my apartment.  You know, when you're the one who rules the coop, you know when a cage door is left open.  I look around, and my roommate's door is open.  He NEVER leaves it open.  I called out to him.  No answer.  I walked into the hallway - saw my bedroom door open.  What the fuck?!  I see a wadded up tshirt in the floor of the spare, empty bedroom.  I walk into the kitchen.  (this is where it gets bad, kinda like in a scary movie when you say 'oh-I just can't watch!) There is a broken Rolex watch on the floor by the window, a sneaker on top of my kitchen cabinets, and black, dirty handprints all over my walls.  No, really.  What the FUCK!  So.  I immediately think my roommate has had a big party and things got a little crazy.  Whatever.  I call him and leave a message (in sort of a hateful tone, mind you) to call me AS SOON as he gets the message.  No call.  I'm freaking out.  I call again and he answers. 

I ask him if he knows what the fuck is going on, and he politely says, "John, I haven't been home in two days".  So I put two and two together and voila.  I called my landlord and told him we had a little problem, that someone has broken into my apartment.  Nothing was taken, but odd things in odd places were left around, and the front door was open and the roof access hatch was BROKEN OFF COMPLETELY.  He proceeds to tell me in a very nonchalant tone that apparently there was a guy the police were looking for and he stopped by my apartment for a visit.  In my bedroom.  A double homicide suspect, no less.  He was literally using my apartment for a hideout until the police search was called off.  There were helicopters, swat teams, you name it.  And thank GOD I missed all the action.  I don't know if you've ever been robbed, violated, etc....but I just don't know what to do.  I think I'm still in shock.  It hasn't hit me yet, and I haven't even slept there since it happened.  When this dog-sitting thing is over, I don't know.  Apparently, the neighbor upstairs heard all the action and was the one that ran outside to tell them that he was on the roof, after he ran out of my apartment.  It's been really hard on my brain trying to piece all of it together, and I think it would make me feel better if I just had some clarity with all of it.  Like why, when, where, how long was he there?  So I called the cops, they collected his wardrobe he left behind and left with a "sorry, no dice".  No fingerprints could be lifted.  They were all smudged and left on textured surfaces.  So I was left with a trembling feeling, a broken apartment and lots of fingerprint dust to clean. 

Since this has happened, I've had this quite normal reaction, I suppose, of being ready to right all the wrongs in the world.  Change everyone.  Start with myself.  Fuck the system.  It doesn't protect you, anyway.  So tonight, on the way home from teaching knitting, I took the subway.  Very uneventful ride, except for the occasional glare at someone, daring them to say something the slightest bit off to me, and watch me explode, because "I'm not going to take it."  No such opportunity presented itself.  However, a quite different opportunity DID present itself.  As I was just about to climb the final staircase to the street level out of the oppressive heat that is the subway system, I saw a woman, appearing to be hiding, our eyes meeting for a brief moment.  It's not uncommon for people to wait outside the turnstyles and beg for people to swipe their card for them so they may enter the subway.  Which is what she wanted.  I usually oblige, and given my state of mind, I was ready to cheat anyone out of extra income.  Especially the MTA.  Just when I was about to swipe my card, I hear a man in a burgundy vest (this will be important later) say, "HEY!, that's illegal! If the cops were here, they'd arrest you!"  I thought, in an instant, are you fucking kidding me?  This woman is pregnant, she had one measly bag of groceries, and was probably trying to get home to her other kids in a 230 degree subway system.  And you're going to care that much?  I thought I was the only one who cared that much.  So, unlucky for the man in the burgundy vest's ego, I DID care enough to look at him and scream "God forbid anyone HELP ANYONE AROUND HERE!"  So I marched upstairs, found three cops standing around chatting, (one would have sufficed) and asked them - "Hey guys, if I swipe my card for someone who doesn't have any money, is that illegal?"  Police officer #1: "Did you collect a buck?"  Me: "No."  Police officer #1: "Then, no, it isn't.  I wouldn't worry about it."  Police officer #2: "Are you really worried about someone that has that much time to care about it??!"   Me: "No."  Police officer #3: **laughing and smoking a cigarette**

I started with the rest of my walk home.  About 100 feet into it I did an about face, went right back to the station where the woman was.  Something just hit me; something MADE me turn around.  She was still at her post, the man at his. He was like a cheetah staring down his prey.  The timing couldn't have been better.  Just as I was about to approach the area, a tourist came up looking for directions.  Left with no choice, he started assisting the other customer with a map, and assuming he sees thousands of people during his shift, didn't pay me much attention.  I quickly swiped the card and said "go, mama, go" and she looked directly at me and said "thank you so much." (with heavy Spanish accent)  It was such a quick transaction of strangers meeting, one helping the other, that I didn't have time to savor what I had just proven I could do.  And that I was actually blessed with the opportunity to genuinely help someone.   And despite the arrest threats, I pulled it off.  I was so stricken with fear walking back to that station and at the moment I swiped my card and heard the *click* - I thought I had actually killed someone.  My brain and stomach and heart all went three different directions and violently slammed back into place.  I thought, "what have I done!"  She scurried off, as did I.  My nervousness subsided quickly, and when I walked back by Police Officers #1, #2, & #3, I didn't have the courage to look at them.  Fear of arrest if they found out.  But, if they saw me, they knew. 

Oh, and the sign in the vacant ticket agent's booth said, "I'm temporarily in the station assisting customers.  You'll recognize me by my burgundy vest."