Great Moments in Analysis, Episode Whatever

" The most blatantly sexual couplet Pope has transferred from Thalestris's angry speech in 1712 to Belinda's lament when she addresses the Baron:
Oh hadst thou, Cruel! been content to seize
Hairs less in sight, or any Hairs but these!
What else could this mean except pubic hairs...?"
-Halsband, The Rape of the Lock and its Illustrations (1980)

Well, duh.



Sorry about the absence, there was a glut of school and life business, but my camera batteries are charging right now so expect photos of the green sweater, and the cardi in progress tomorrow.

Facebook Cattiness at 10pm

Yeah, I know I promised pictures, but I haven't figured out how to take pictures of myself that aren't a charming close-up of my chin. So, you get to hear about my Facebook habits instead. I have an acquaintance of an acquaintance who I'll call "Frank." I obsessively check Frank's Facebook profile once a week.
Why?
Because Frank is GIGANTIC KNOB. And because I'm a bitter, small person I get a kick out of his terribly pretentious profile. His interests include "giving food to beggars on the street." Yes, beggars . Careful! He might break into a song from Les Misreables at any moment! Oh, and he's "got a little obsession with nature and the beauty of the aesthetic around us all." I hope this includes the gigantic neon boobies on display on St. Caths. Knobbity knob knob. He treated my friend like crap, so I think my cackling is completely morally justified here.
Unfortunately, checking his Facebook profile also leads to the sad reminder that he has a girlfriend, and the realization that someone loves him more than anyone loves me. Except for my fat cat with the FIV and the scabs. And that he will probably do better in life hacking at monkey brains or whatever his thesis is than I will do in my entire life. So, the lesson: the people you despise are probably more love than you are. On the bright side, repressed jealousy makes the cattiness that much sweeter. See, the world takes care of its own.

Finishing the big green sweater finally kicked my knitting mojo into gear. I wanted to knit projects- all kinds of projects, the more intricate the better. Looking through Interweave Knits or Rowan magazines became a pornographic experience. However, most of my favourite sweaters are currently destined to remain unattainable centrefolds. I can't really afford a whole sweater's worth of Jamieson's for a Fair Isle sweater. I do, however, have a bunch of Cascade 220 I've been dying to knit with. I knew I wanted a cardigan, but I wanted something more exciting than just simple knit and purl, or traditional cables. So I've swatched for Norah Gaughan's Pentagon Aran. And I'm really excited to begin cabling. Right after I stop sniggering that one of Frank's favourite bands is Nickleback. There's aesthetic for you.

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.