Dispatches

I'm just the slightest bit tipsy, so no real blog post. The Greenberry sweater? Is finished, thank Christ- AND IT IS AWESOME. Although, in the morning, when my critical faculties are once again available, we'll see whether it truly is that awesome. Until then, as I told my pal Ginger last night: "Don't ever say you're not really drunk- or a creepy stalker. 'Cause nothing will make you seem more like either."

Until tomorrow...

Spin Class: A One Act Feeeelm by Protagitron B. Protinski

Open on THE SPIN ROOM, your typical athletic room with wood floors and the MIRROR OF SHAME. Forty students are exercising on spin bikes. Facing them, is CAPTAIN PEPPY, a keen, but tiny, Asian man on his own bike. Track in to PROTAGITRON, sweating profusely.

CAPTAIN PEPPY
Come on ladies, PUSH IT!

PROTAGITRON
I hope you CHOKE on your [beep] pep, you [BEEP]ing [beep]sucking spawn of SATAN.

CAPTAIN PEPPY
Give it all you've got, guys! Go the extra mile!

PROTAGITRON
You suckled at Beelzebub's teat, didn't you?

CAPTAIN PEPPY
Alright, I want you to go even faster for the next thirty seconds, okay?

PROTAGITRON
One day I will fashion a charming scarf from your entrails, you SON of a-

Protagitron seizes up and clutches her chest

-heeeeack!

Protagitron falls off her bike and to the floor. One pedal bobs, as her left foot twitches sadly.

CAPTAIN PEPPY
Alright, now we're trekking up Mount Everest. Climb, everybody! Climb!

Track back out through the door. END SCENE.

Note: I actually do enjoy spin class. Shh.

Om, my brothers.

I've been a very naughty girl lately.

I've even picked up a crochet hook.

I thought I had sworn off hooking ever since the Ugly Hat Debacle of Aught Four. Then I tried to make a yoga mat bag. I started off with good intentions and the Om Yoga Mat Bag pattern from Stitch and Bitch Nation. I did well for a while, but since you're knitting it lengthwise the rows are very long, and I am very capable of screwing up even the simplest lace patterns when the stitch count gets to anything above, oh, 75. So, I frogged and cast on for the Lacy Yoga Bag from the Summer '07 Interweave Knits. I knit one whole pattern repeat, and decided I wanted my bag sometime before April. God, if I wanted to knit lace that badly, I could just go the whole hog and get a Heirloom Knitting pattern. Then I remembered that crochet does at least, and possibly only, two things well. It goes quickly and it's easy to make a 3-D object. Except I couldn't find a yoga mat bag online or in books that I liked. Apparently yogis only knit between their shavasanas. So I cracked open a beer and my copy of the Happy Hooker. This bag is the result.



Pattern: The Lazy Yogini Mat Bag
Yarn: Kertzer Butterfly Super 10
Hook: 5.00 and 4.00 mm
Notes: Seriously, this took me about a night to make. All hail crochet. I started off by making a circle in double crochet just large enough to go around my mat. Then, I single crocheted around without increasing, to create the beginnings of a cylinder. I used fishnet lace for the body because it rather handily uses a multiple of four, just like my circle. Sub whatever crochet patterns fits with the number of crochet stitches of your circle, or can be fudged in. Once it went about 3/4 of the way up my bag, I did about 5 more rows in single crochet, and then bound off. You want to make it a little shorter because it will stretch in this pattern. Chain stitch until you have cord about two feet long. Thread this cord through the last row of fishnet lace before the single crochet border.

Sew on a 2" thick strip of sewn fabric, thick ribbon, or even crochet a strap for the bag. My strap came from Americo Original, and cost an obscene amount of money- I had a momentary lapse in fiscal judgment. Okay, I just didn't want to seem cheap. At first I thought it was just embroidered burlap, but after touching it, I think it's llama, or alpaca, or God knows what else. It also, hilariously, came in a classy little boutique bag that looked like it came from a lingerie store.

Toss your mat in. It may be tight the first few times, but this bag stretches. Cinch the top closed, toss it over your shoulder, and you're ready for some deep meditation, along the lines of "God, I hope I don't fart in class today."

Protagi-green: Part 3

One out of one cats agree: Labour Economics is dull, and naps are good.

Sometime, between July and August, my social conscience came out of hibernation. Thus, I present to you Protagi-green: Slowly Greening Marty, or How to Get that Self-Righteous Glow (In Many Steps). Each week I'll try to make at least one change that will reduce my impact on the environment, and the wee cuddly beasties that live there.

Change 3: In Which I Try to Save Energy, and Am Late For Class
My next change for the environment was to cut my energy consumption. Now, as a poor university student, I don't own a car. I can't even set the heat for my apartment. So, I'm already relatively energy conscious, ignoring my secret dream to own a burgundy muscle car named "El Vigilante". But a steady diet of Treehugger and Worsted Witch gave me a twitch and the conviction that I could be better, god damn it, or else all the dead polar bears would be ALL MY FAULT.

Okay, I think Pistache the cat just farted.

Never mind, back to energy consciousness. ALL MY FAULT, WOULD THE DEAD POLAR BEARS BE. So, I decided to find ways to keep my energy down. I tried to remember to turn off the lights when I left the room. I put my computer and my TV systems on a power bar with a surge protector. Apparently these appliances suck energy even when they're on, like little energy vampires. I even took my wind-up alarm clock, with the pecking chickens, out of storage to replace my power-sucking one. And you know what? I must hate pecking chickens as much as I hate the polar bears. I always forgot to wind up that clock. I would set the time, set the alarm for 6:30, wind the alarm ringer, go to sleep... and wake up at nine. Sure, my favourite class begins at 8:30, but did being half an hour late stop me from confusedly lurching around the room, trying to get my stuff because I really had to go if I wanted to make it on time. No. No, it did not. I did start off well, however, with the power bar thing. At least in my room. There's nothing more depressing than flopping on the couch after a long day of academic and athletic classes, and wondering why on Earth your TV isn't working, and where your Simpsons are, damn it, so the TV power bar thing died ever so swiftly. I'm thinking of giving it another shot though. And this time I'll think of the penguins, the roly-poly penguins down at the South Pole. They won't grow up to crush my bones and eat my blubber.

I am old, my dears.

I turned twenty on Tuesday, but since the 18th turned out to be a rather lackluster day, I've decided that my birthday really fell on the 19th this year. Because that was the day of the great McGill costume sale. Turns out that the costume department at my school had been hoarding some real treasures down in their basement hovel, and they were finally releasing them. At a price, granted, but at an entirely reasonable one. I had the date marked off in the calendar since the signs went up, even though I was more interested in just wondering through the costume department as some kind of cheap outing. I also figured Katie and I would be the only people there, at twelve, gleefully bouncing on our heels like kids at Disneyworld. I don't know if it was the the allure of 50 cent tights, but the place was packed. We even had to wait in line to get in, but it may have been their awesome vintage room that was getting all the folks in. But it was all worth it.

Here's my fabric haul. All this for a bunch of spare change.

A cute shirt, that was made in London, possibly from the sixties. On the right: a brightly printed summer dress for those hot, muggy Montreal days. Sure, I won't be seeing those days for another few months, but that gives me enough time to excise the monster shoulder pads. Or to buy a can of AquaNet to complete the look.

And my favourite piece. A sheath dress with a beaded collar, dating from the early sixties if the label is any indication. The beading is in perfect condition, and it actually fits quite well- I may take the waist in a smidge, but it's not a neccessity. And it only cost me 8$!

So, everything all put together cost me a whopping 21.00$. A few more bucks and I may have been able to buy one shirt at the Gap.

And then I just got a belated birthday present this morning! I won a competition over at Whip Up, for a bunch of Amy Butler-related swag. I never win anything! Even if I deserve to! Clearly, the universe is not in alignment this week. So, if there's anything you guys usually screw up, give it a shot this week. It's the perfect time.

Protagi-green: Parts 1 and 2

Just try and make me care about global warming, you bastards.

Sometime, between July and August, my social conscience came out of hibernation. Thus, I present to you Protagi-green: Slowly Greening Marty, or How to Get that Self-Righteous Glow (In Many Steps). Each week I'll try to make at least one change that will reduce my impact on the environment, and the wee cuddly beasties that live there.

Change 1: Ditching the Plastic Bags.

Plastic bags are the devil. There's really no way of getting around it, plastic bags choke the environment, take forever to degrade, and are just plain ugly. However, those bastards are useful. They're light but strong, you don't have to remember to pack enough when you go grocery shopping, and they can be used again as disposable lunch bags and as cat poo disposal units. And everyone is keen to give you some. If I don't have your hands on an item and are desperately stuffing it in your reusable bag, the eager bag jockeys will put it in a plastic bag. Even if the only thing you couldn't fit in your cloth bag... was a bag of milk. Which comes with its own bag. But I don't blame them. They get paid dick all, they have to impress the boss, and they could be made redundant at any time if my local Provigo decides to follow the discount route and cut the amenity of the bagger. And dropping a snotty "Thanks, but I prefer *sniff* that you use my re-usable bag instead, it's better for our precious environment." is not an option, because that makes you a dick. So, my solution is to eagerly toss them a bag, with a friendly "Here's some bags! Thanks!" and help put some of the stuff in. They seem cool with that, it doesn't make me sound like an enviro-dick, and I've really cute down on my plastic bag use. I even backpacked my liquor home from the SAQ.

So, what bags have I been using? I had my eye on these, but they don't deliver to Canada, and it seemed wasteful when I already had a bunch of perfect grocery bags kicking around anyway. So, I use one of my flowery totes made from some wacky plasticized floral print fabric, or that President's Choice bag obnoxious Galen Weston wanted me to buy, all good choices for grocery shopping. The benefit to having reusable bags is that they offer the shoulder-slinging option that plastic bags so sorely. I also have that Everlasting Bagstopper waiting for straps so that it can be stuffed in my backpack for those impromptu purchases. Unfortunately, I'm having some cash flow issues, and I think I'll just have to steal parts from the old clothes that weren't good enough to make it to Value Village. Thrifty and ecologically responsible... yes. But hardly pretty.

Part 2: Green Mah Kitteh!

See that beast of a cat up there? That's what Pistache looks like. Pistache probably takes up a small country's worth of carbon emissions on his own. Because Herr Chubfat needs a special food, I can't really green his meals. He drinks tap water like the rest of us. What else am I supposed to do? Buy him locally-made, artisan-crafted, ecologically-sound ceramic food bowls? A bamboo litter box? Sometimes, things just go too far. So, my admission is that his litter box is a plastic behemoth from the local pet store, probably made in China. And his food bowls were from the Dollar Store, probably the product of some crazy lead-spewing Chinese factory. Because he's just crapping in the litter box, and any kind of nice bowls would be destroyed by my clumsiness. So, I can only green his litter. And thus we started to use Swheat Scoop. It isn't strip-mined from the earth, it still clumps, and it won't cause lung problems for my kitty. And Pistache surely doesn't need any more problems. Now, would looking into holistic pet dandruff fall under "taking it too far?" Pistache loves Kaffe Fasset socks.

Ouch.

The cat has dropped. Actually, more like thudded. This cat is huge. Pictures with household objects for scale (pens, Heinz ketchup bottle, medium pizza from 2 pour 1) to follow tomorrow.

What else dropped? My left leg, onto the ground, after my right ankle did a funky twist move in front of James McGill's tomb. Sure, I walked it off, and thought at most I had a pair of grass-stained pants and a mildly bruised ego. Instead, the mild pain in my right ankle became an intense pain, and now it's slightly discoloured and swollen. I think I tempted the Great Lever of Fate in my last post, when I mentioned my klutziness. Now, I can't even put weight on it, and have resorted to crawling around my apartment on all fours, or undignified hopping. Pray for a miraculous recovery tomorrow, so that I can attend my Film Studies class, taught by Nedward, and bake a cake.

At least Pistache is absolutely adorable. He's already out and socializing, and even managed to heave his girth up onto the couch for some TV-watching with Protagitron the Invalid. I'm also hoping that, if I can't walk, then this will be my excuse to get some much-needed knitting time in.

Tomorrow isn't Thursday!

It's Catday! Yep, tomorrow the roommate and I are off to pick up our new foster kitty, Pistache. He's apparently so large that he wouldn't be able to move around in a normal cage, and has to go to a foster home. We'll see if he can give Beast Cat Champ '07, Oliver, a run for his money. He also has FIV. Which means he'll fit in well with our household, where asthma, deadly peanut allergies and terminal klutziness run rampant. If he can survive the falling glass, that is.

We picked up supplies today, and this time we went right for the Jumbo-sized cat litter box. And, honestly, I think Katie was that such a purchase would be terribly damaging to any cat's psyche. It looks like the cat version of those bath fixtures designed for seniors. I also insisted on buying Swheat Scoop instead of conventional kitty litter, but more on that Saturday, when the first part of "Protagi-green: Getting that Pompous Asstwit Glow" drops.

Now With Actual Knitting Content!

Yes, Frank the Bear finally makes his belated debut on my blog, complete with Fu Manchu. I didn't intend to put any facial topiary on the little guy, but because of some row gauge issues I could either embroider his mouth above his nose and have it look weird from the side, or embroider it on his nose and have him look deformed from the front. The 'Fu does a good job of camouflaging this, and gives him that rugged, Brut-wearing, Camaro-driving, je ne sais quoi. I think he turned out pretty well, and he makes me giggle every time I look at his pictures.

Pattern: Blue Sky Alpaca's Baby Bobbi Bear
Yarn: Manos Del Uruguay Wool in Turquoise (you'll need more than 1 skein if you're subbing Manos at a dense gauge)
Needles: Clover 5.00 mm dpns
Notes: The pattern is fairly easy to follow if you have some knitting experience, but if you're a relative newbie who is comfortable with double-pointed needles, I'd suggest looking for the clarifications page Blue Sky has posted. Make sure to buy lots of stuffing, and mold as you stuff. Don't be concerned if it looks a little odd as you go along- with out ears and facial details Frank looked like a Smurf. The embroidery is the key to adding personality, and I'm glad I went with the red instead of a more staid black or brown. Gives him a bit of punch.

The Manos was gorgeous to work with, as always. It has to be one of my top 5 desert island yarns. I have a whole stash of Manos that needs to be knitted, including a really lovely, smoky lavender, which I think will become those fingerless gloves from AlterKnits.

These pictures were taken with my new cell phone on the drive back to Montreal. "Vive le Québec!", dit François l'Ours!

Too Damn Hot.

I'm in a constant state of sweat right now. I'm convinced that, at the rate I must be losing fluids, my flesh must have the texture of freeze-dried beef. And it's even cooler than it has been for the past few days in Montreal. Too hot to knit, particularly anything mohair. Too hot to move. By Friday, my room mate and I were in a state of advanced crankiness. The RC cable for the DVD player still hadn't turned up, our house felt like a steam bath, and the fridge had reached that state of condiment-heavy emptiness, where it's either starvation or a mustard and PC Memories of Canton sauce saltine sandwich. So, we went for milkshakes at the mall, but that wasn't enough to lift our spirits. We had to pull out the big guns: the pet shop.

There were adorable puppies, and sweet little ginger kittens sleeping like little packages. And then there were the fluffy kittens. Five of the six were staring at the cooing customers all googly-eyed, looking like they had spawned from a Charmin commercial. The last one was conked out in front of the litterbox, and covered in poo. Poor choice of real estate, that. He promptly became our favourite. My roommate thought my suggestion of "HRH Krap Kitty" as a name would be damaging to his self-esteem, but she's also the one who refused to buy the "Jumbo" kitty litter box because she thought it would give Oliver body image issues. Silly Katie, cats can't understand English! Old Egyptian, maybe, but not English. We settled on Buster as a suitable name. Oh, Buster. Come live with us, and I promise fountains of shampoo, and to never, ever crap on you.

University, or the Death of Culinary Aspirations

No knitting pictures today. The torso and left sleeve of the Greenbell sweater are finished now, but I want to wait until it's proven flattering to take pictures. My only other project is the seemingly endless lace mesh of my Everlasting Bagstopper, made from an everlasting skein of Butterfly cotton in a rich red. I know conventionally-grown cotton is the devil, but it was a cast off (ah, wordplay) from a friend, and I figure using vintage yarn would be better than going out to buy some hemp. So, instead you get a picture of the dinner I whipped up tonight, in the hour I had at home before I had to run to a class movie screening.

At the beginning of the week I bought a bag of baby spinach and some radishes in a rare fit of health-induced shopping. I preceded to make a spinach and cheddar omelette, a large spinach salad with radishes and cherry tomatoes, dressed in an easy, homemade vinaigrette, and... still had a bag of spinach and a bunch of radishes left. But I wasn't about to go shopping again, so I just grabbed ingredients in the kitchen and hoped for the best. Praise the parents for sending a box of non-perishables. It's just fettucine, sautéed radishes with some spinach thrown in to wilt, a touch of herbs and garlic... and then a generous slosh from the mysterious Pad Thai sauce jar my parents sent up. Verdict? Surprisingly tasty, considering its chimeric origins. And yet... there's still spinach left. Screw the bag- now that's everlasting.

Curse Bell!

I arrived safely in Montreal on Saturday, to find a suspiciously clean apartment. I'm a little concerned that a single thirty year-old with a bong can keep house better than us, but no matter. All my energy is currently concentrated on wishing Bell a painful and drawn-out death. I even hope that Alexander Graham Bell is being prodded in the ass by Satan, if there's an afterlife. Heck, I'm even thinking of switching to a religion with an afterlife so that I can fervently pray for this event.

Yes, I'm having technical and billing issues... why do you ask? Is it because I've been repeatedly stabbing a stuffed beaver in effigy of the Bell mascots? And I want to dance in their entrails and make a hat out of their little beaver livers? Because I am. National animal, or no national animal, the next beaver I see industriously chewing down a sapling is getting punted into the next field.

But it hasn't been all rage blackouts and psychotic thoughts. La Roomate and I hit up the free movies downtown with friends to see Bon Cop Bad Cop, and we wandered through Lush and ended up buying a few massage bars. I also finished my Bobbi Bear, with Fu Manchu, but sent him back to Guelph. I'll post pictures once I figure out how to transfer them from my new cellphone. Until then, I'll be constructing a small ranch house out of cardboard boxes, and wondering how I ended up with 8 sticks of deodorant.