Happy Festival of Boxes! (With a Bonus Gift)

I was going to post yesterday, but between the turkey, the presents, and the family ("That's Ukrainian math, DEBI!") there was just no time. Smitty sends a bunch of seasonal wishes all wrapped in a big bow though.

Fortunately, both my Dad and my brother are music junkies, so going home is a free chance to shop for music. My Dad keeps everything in tall CD towers, in order by genre and then by name, so I just browse and pick up a stack like I'm at a music store. This year, I'm having the weirdest urge for Pearl Jam and U2. I think it might be because my brother is leaving for Korea soon, and not coming back for a whole year. I'm getting all mushy and nostalgic for the days when we were all packed into the family van for trips anywhere educational and not in the least interesting. I've been to more museums commemorating the Civil War through the medium of wax than, well... it's just bad enough I've been to any. Weirdo Americans. And their little wax corpses. Anyway, my brother was the perfect sullen teen and monopolized the car stereo and its cruddy tape deck with U2's Zooropa. I was on an utterly futile quest to play a lot of Andrew Lloyd Webber show tunes, and yet my family still let me live.

I've made it through the U2's 80s and 90s catalog and I'm on to Pearl Jam. But I'll say this- I still think that U2's Pop is an underrated album. And it's not only because of my deep and abiding love of synthesizers. They tried to do something different, and I think most of the songs have a certain end of the century ennui, with a darkness under the gloss, that I like. And it's better than a lot of their albums after the critical reaming of Pop, which have all begun to sound like diabetic versions of The Joshua Tree. But at least they give the Grammy award-carver elves employed. So, as a belated Christmas gift to anyone who needs one, here's two songs from my Secret Album Love, Pop:
If You Wear that Velvet Dress- U2
Staring at the Sun- U2
Enjoy, and have a nice winter break!

Eve and A Damn Hat

As you may have guessed, my brother wrote the last entry. But why stop at being his MySpace friend? You can also friend his page at the Southern Ontario Sex Offenders Registry page- his is the one that plays "Every Move You Make" on a loop.

It's Christmas (again) and I am power knitting (again) in order to finish my mother's Christmas gift by tonight. Somehow I managed to finish and block a lace shawl for my Mom last year before I even had to catch the train home. I wonder if she would notice if I just wrapped that shawl up again? The latest is the Basque Beret from Classic Knitted Style, in two strands of blue stashed sock yarn held together. I'll put up pictures once- and if- it's finished. Right now it just looks like a big tonal blue blob that will make a lovely Easter present. With, however, a very nice hemmed reverse stockinette brim. I did do a crochet provisional cast on instead of the one Ms. Avery calls for, and held a strand of elastic as I worked the brim so it would keep its shape. When it came time to knit from the provisional edge and the working edge, however, it did feel a bit like wrestling with spiderwebs.

If it doesn't get finished, I figure one bow and a stapler will make it into a very floppy wreath. And it would still beat my grandmother's gift to her this year- one value pack of abrasive soap pads. Lovingly wrapped. And lemon-scented. I tried putting them on the tree as Christmas ornaments, but my Dad took them off.

Eve and

Why is my big brother Nathan so cool? Why do women love him so much? I don't know, but it sure gets annoying. We keep getting calls from seductive women at strange hours asking for my older brother. Frankly, I just think that those hussies are delusional.

Seriously, it's probably because his music is so cool, and he has an even cooler little sister. In fact, since you guys are my friends, I'd highly suggest that you check out his tunes at www.nathanhunter.net, or become his virtual internet buddy at www.myspace.com/nathanhunter.

Hell, while you are at it, check out some cool music that his friends make at www.myspace.com/ericvieweg (www.ericvieweg.com) and www.myspace.com/jjipsen.

Anyways, I guess I had better go and be a good little sister to Nate (and maybe remember to turn off the computer when I go upstairs). I've got cool things like knitting and such to do (which my older brother feels I do quite well).

Disastrix!

In the past two weeks since I wrote about my hat, it has happily been keeping my ears toasty while I have failed in every other aspect of my life. The most recent? The morning of my second to last exam, I realized I had been studying... FOR THE WRONG EXAM. Yes, for the past month or so I had mixed up my two econ course numbers in my head, and it had taken me until the last possible moment to realize my error. Now, if it had been any other class than this one, which I had kind of dicked off in through out the year, I probably could of winged it. But, no, it had to be the one class I had to do well on, to make up for the regrettable midterm which featured me answering a question about utility from fixed proportions of gin and tonics with "Stephen Harper should drink less so I can be spared this question."I will never know if the prof was amused by my answer, because I was too ashamed to pick my test up. So, I desperately tried to cram in some info before I went off to school. "Mmmm hmm, mmm hmmm... don't get it." Toss paper. "Ah, yes, wait... we learned this?" Toss paper. "Ew." Toss paper.

So, I went off to the exam feeling a little, how shall we say, stressed. And then I realized once I got off the McGill metro station that I didn't have my student card, and didn't have time to go back and get it, and briefly considered just passing out in a snowbank somewhere and letting the cruel nature of Montreal take me out of my misery. But no. No, I soldiered on! I signed all the forms about improper ID and whatnot, although if I was faking my identity, I think I would have sent someone I mite more competent in my place. Like the cat. Or the cracker I found under my desk while cleaning, which had probably achieved sentience. But I wrote that exam! And it wasn't a complete horror show, more of just a sideshow. I think I did quite well on the multiple choice, and one or two of the questions. We won't speak of the others. A nice Gentleman's C, perhaps?

And on the bright side, I am going to kick ass on Friday. After all, I'm already prepared.

Snow Gear

I kept on forgetting it was December- seriously, I dated one of my notes from Monday October 3- so Montreal decided to remind me with snow. Lots of snow. "I can barely open my balcony door to put the garbage out" kind of snow. I knitted up a new hat to celebrate, and keep my ears attached to my head. So, of course it had to be photographed in the snow.
Pattern: Glaistig from The AntiCraft
Yarn: Debbie Bliss Aran Tweed in 03
Needles: 4.5 mm Addi Turbos and Aero DPNs
Mods: None, really. Knit with one strand instead of two since it was aran weight wool anyway. I must have failed reading comprehension, because I still cannot figure out why we need instructions for a back half cable- I never got around to making one. Still, it's cute and keeps my ears warm.

As for the other stuff- acute disappointment in the area of the heart is not the only thing going wrong. My Dad couldn't come and see me this weekend, he's sick, the family car broke down, I'm sick, the cat still has a questionable skin condition... it's just the most annoying one, since it's turned me into one of those Women Who Obsess. I did, however, indulge in some ego-boosting flirting with V (of the girlfriended nature) and his friend this morning. Unfortunately, I don't know his friend's name, and he may be gay. However, he is tall.

Which, at this point, is enough for me.

In Which I Exploit a Tragic Death For My Own Ends

After a disastrous Thursday evening, in which I felt like a stalker, a loser, and a trial size pack of dish soap someone chose not to use- yes, really, and it would take too long to explain- I needed an excuse for the random bouts of crying I was going through. I cried walking home, I cried eating breakfast, I cried reading a book. Of course, I probably shouldn't have picked My Year of Meats, which features that m-word troika of feel-good topics: the meat industry, miscarriage, and marital rape. I even cried during Predator, my depression cure of choice. You know, Arnold, maybe the Predator just wanted to be loved too, you know? And collect a few human trophies along the way? He didn't need to die! Maybe you should have just given him time to adjust because he might be dealing with some emotional issues, Q- er, Arnold.

And so I was provided with one: the death of Evel Knievel. I knew him first as the daredevil in the snappy suit who I was sure had years of car jumps and broken ribs in front of him. But now he's become so much more. Family man, entrepreneur, and the reason I salted mall Pad Sew with my tears. Now I will go and light a red, white, and blue candle to his memory while drunk dialing everyone I ever had a crush on in high school- barring the Crush of Doom. Look out, Chris from grade 12 English- I'll be slurring my devotion to you tonight.

Socks For November

Mismatched On Purpose Socks
As the Montreal cold sets in, a new pair of socks is always appreciated. These came from the yarn my fabulous sockpal sent for me. They're from the Regia Kaffe Fassett line that came out a few months ago, though they've been hibernating all lonely and unphotographed for a while. They're rather lovely, but the pattern is just the old stockinette standby with short row heel and decrease toe. Seriously, only two things make these worthy of mention. The fact that they're most assuredly not knit to match (one's Landscape Fire and one's Mirage Fire), and the lovely colours- that Fassett fellow sure knows colour. I do think I like the stripe versions of the colourways better though- they seem to become muddier when variegated.

As for the situation I mentioned a few posts back? That whole affairs of the hearts thing? Sweet Christ on a cracker, is that ever a disaster of DeMillean proportions. At least I have ascertained that I do, in fact, have a thing for him. However, I have also ascertained that I should not. I have also annoyed all of my friends by bombarding them with neurotic ramblings on this topic. Here's a sample conversation between the roomie and me:

"We're so awkward! He talks to me and never says anything about it! Then he doesn't talk to me at all! Then we have awkward, feeble conversation. But then we also have really interesting ones, too. I can't do this! I must delete AIM from my computer entirely so that I'm never encouraged to speak to him again. What am I doing? I can't concentrate on my studying! Why don't we have more alcohol in the house? Please, shoot me in the head, fearless roommate.
So.... enough about me. What's new with you? Wait, has he said anything about me?"

So, I have come up with an easy, three-step plan to end the madness.
1. Join more clubs and games. The brain can't obsess when it's listening to someone whinge about CKUT funding!
2. Hang out at places that are related to things I enjoy. At best, I can find someone cute who likes those things too. At worst, tomorrow I'll have some shiny new reading material from the Drawn and Quarterly store.
3. Bar it up. In spite of my looming financial insolvency, I can't think when I'm drunk. Plus, the potential for amusing, but poor, life choices is high.
In the event of none of these steps working, we move to the fail safe.
FS: I shoot myself in the head.

Microeconomic Theory Has Stolen My Brain.

No more posting until I get this horrid exam out of the way. I'm becoming a hermit for the next few days, living off of only the food in the pantry and teaching my cat to fetch the mail. Please check in a few days in case of death.

Horoscopes and Horrors

I'm generally skeptical, but I do have one unfortunate failure of critical belief: my little horoscope widget. This tiny piece of code on my Mac dashboard is on a level with the Times and the New Yorker when it comes to factual accuracy with me, due to one brilliant moment of prognostication a year ago. It correctly predicted that a coupling would result from my recent mixing of social spheres, and boom- my Guelph pal Ginger was going out with my McGill pal Oscar after meeting at my birthday party. It didn't predict that they would break up four months later, but then again, nobody- and no thing- is perfect.

Every so often I check it to see if it will repeat this eerie feat again, hopefully in some manner that is more beneficial. To me. In the Department of Sex. Which is on the same floor as the Department of In My Pants. Today's was rather cryptic. Apparently I was recently introduced to someone who can get things going. A potential benefactor. And if I don't remember their identity, then I should just wait until they pop back into my life, at which time the plan will become clear. The plan is to wander around campus, using the Terminator analysis-cam on everyone I see, trying to decide if I a) know them and b) could use them in some sort of plan. And only then c) what the hell their name is. So, if I walk into any posts or trees this is why.

From the Department of Horrors:
Pistache on Halloween. He went as Jimmy Buffett.

A Memo From the Pentagon

I was wandering around the drugstore when I spotted this. I think the reason I had to buy two is self-evident. I had the time of my life drinking them. Nobody puts my bottle in a corner. I carried a pop-ermelon.
Katie and I are going to keep these for classy centerpieces. Stick a gerber daisy in each one and hot glue my lock of Patrick Swayze's hair to the middle. Martha Stewart would be so proud.

She would probably also sign off on my newest knitting project, the Pentagon Aran Cardigan from Knitting Nature. My other KN project, the Basalt Tank, is in stasis, but I've been knitting a few rows of this in between midterms. So far I love it, but I'm pretty sure I'll be running out of yarn before this project is over. It's Cascade 220, so it shouldn't be that difficult to come up some more (paging Frankie!) but as for dye lot... well, those luscious cables will obscure everything, right? And the yarn itself is a little heathered too, unexpectedly with yellow over red, so maybe that will blend better. I'm debating whether or not to change the sleeves, but until I get to that point, I'll just happily cable away. It keeps my mind off other stuff anyway.

Well, perhaps it's best to treat this situation as hypothetical. Which it is. Totally. I mean, say your name was "Protagitron", and you had generally kept to yourself in areas of the heart up until now. With the exception of the endurance competition that was the Crush of Doom in high school.

Now, say you're carrying on an innocent in-class flirtation with "V," who has a girlfriend anyway. But maybe it's not so innocent on your part, even though you keep on telling yourself that it is. And, furthermore, imagine that he says hello to you one day, and looks like he wants to talk to you, and does the over the shoulder sexy smile thing, as you rush off to your economics class. That should be made illegal for the unavailable, right?

And then, to make matters worse, suppose your fearless roommate tells you that a friend, "Q" has a thing for you. And you're pretty sure that he doesn't, but it's enough of a novelty that you're flattered. So, you're friendly to him because you're not one of those asses who openly reject friends who were never interested in them in the first place. But then, you wake up and realize you may have, while doing this, kind of developed a thing for him, too.

And, while all of this is going on, it would be perfectly reasonable to get through it by drinking many, uh, "Protagitrons" (tea and whiskey) and listening to Roy Orbison on a loop, no?