Friday, June 29, 2012


                                           Somebody that I used to know, Star Wars version.
                                Much funnier than the South Park episode about the same subject.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012


                                     Here lies Sock.

Pretty colors, lovely yarn, good needles: sock had every advantage and no excuse for its behavior.

Sock led a short, irritating life and will be missed by no one.  
I ignored its tiny woolen tears and scratchy promises to do better next time, and, as promised, laughed and laughed while I unwound the little bastard.

Here are the Sock's remains: more interesting and amenable on Gir's head than it was capable of being in all of its fourteen frogged incarnations. 

Ever since I learned how to knit socks, I've always had one or two to work on, to carry around in my purse and keep me entertained while watching tv or in long lines. I thought I would miss not having one to work on, but I don't. Not at all. 
After all the aggravation, I find the general lack of socks very peaceful. 
Maybe Sock was, in its own tedious, unhelpful way, trying to tell me that it wasn't really a sock. Maybe it dreamed of curling around an arm, soft and warm, the way the best gloves do. Maybe Sock was a rebel with a cause who longed to break out and morph butterfly-like into a small shawl, or even a beret, thus paving the way for other sock yarns to follow. Maybe Sock, poor old Sock, is a martyred hero who will rise from yarny ashes to become something better than it dared dream of, like a cat sweater. 

Rest in pieces, Sock.

Speaking of laughing while you kill something; Bob Schneider

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

I might be killing a sock tomorrow.

     My pedicure unintentionally matches the sock I'm knitting (kid #2 says that showing this much joy over matching toes/sock and then taking a picture of such is more proof that middle age is a curse beyond bearing).

This is what crazy looks like.

     I've used this yarn before and loved it. I've used these needles before and loved them. I've used this exact pattern many times before and loved it. The colorway is a pretty blend of blues and greens and tweed mixes of both. For some magical reason that escapes me, I loathe this sock. I've frogged the heel eight times. I've frogged the leg three times. Nothing is enormously, specifically wrong, just a few fiddly, easily fixed problems, and yet I've come to despise this sock with the kind of deep, personal hatred that I usually reserve for Best Buy. 
     I feel like I have to finish this sock, and then the pair, because that's what you do, right? You finish what you start.  I'm going to have to reach deep inside my soul for the fortitude to even knit one more row. I might have to watch some Nike commercials. This sock is making me wretched. To wit:

Dear sock, 
All your friends knitted up just fine. 
I know comparisons might upset you,

but honestly, what is your problem?

Surely you know me well enough by now

to sense your future is in peril. 

Even the needles have noticed

that you aren't trying.

Is it the pattern? I have others.

Maybe the thought of being worn on a foot bothers you?

I've got a fingerless mitten pattern,

or maybe a shawl.

I bet it could work.
I don't tell you this because of any love for you, 
it's because I'm trying to do right by you,
but you better get your shit together 
or I'll laugh and laugh while you unwind into nothing.

P.S. You make me crazy and not in a good way. I'm watching you. 
someone who probably shouldn't own sharp pointy sticks right now