Unexpected Consequences

At this time yesterday, I was merely excited to have finished my first self-designed sweater.

Today? Well today I have test knitters and patterns to write in different sizes. My little sweater got a really nice reception and other people want to make it. Imagine that!

I remember when I was in elementary school, the hot topic among educators was the achievement gulf in math and science between boys and girls. I went to a fairly stellar school that was both highly demanding and highly nurturing, but it was still apparent that, by the time students reached high school, math and science were a boy's club. And much as I wish I had been the exception to the rule, I wasn't. I made decent enough grades (ok, well maybe not in advanced chemistry, sorry Ms. N), but my heart wasn't in it. And it had been earlier on. Whether or not it was the style of teaching is something I don't feel fit to judge, I only know that if the choices were between Moby Dick and plotting something on a graph, I chose the former (even though I didn't actually like Moby Dick).

Fast forward to adulthood. An adulthood that did not have the benefit of a single math or hard science course in college. And where did I end up?

Computer programming. Soft, front-end computer programming, but computer programming nonetheless. Also confectionery, which any pastry chef will tell you depends more on science than creativity. And now, pattern design. While I'd like to believe that my shining prose will carry the pattern, the truth is that, provided the math is correct, no one will care about the flowery words.

This has gotten me thinking about math education because, in my wildest dreams, I would not have spent my adult life interacting in any way with math and science. I was going to edit books or magazines. Or write them. But logic loops, hygroscopy, and geometry? Please! Those things were for math people.

Now I deeply believe that applied math and science aren't worth a damn without the basics (I am a big believer in the basics: thou mayest not read Henry Miller if one has not read Chaucer first), but I wonder if my experience with math and science would have been different if the disciplines had been presented as not merely the precursors to careers in hard sciences. I'm not saying I might not have enjoyed the life of a nuclear physicist, I'm just saying it might have been a stretch. But I didn't know how big a part chemistry played in cooking until I had to start doing it.

And, forgive me, tenured English professors, but my brain has to work a lot harder with far more satisfactory results, when I challenge it with math and science. At this point I feel confident reading and understanding what I read, especially as much of that is subjective, but when faced with a problem that has a single solution? My mind delights.

The Fruits of my Labor

It was pointed out to me by Jen, a devoted reader, that I don't show you the photos of what I knit. This was sort of intentional as I know most of you could give a crap. But perhaps, you think it's odd that I would tell you about my digestive health and not my hobbies, and I can see the logic in that. So today, in honor of Friday boredom and lack of inspiration, I give you the past several months of sweatering.


Most recently finished.


Very tiny yarn, very tiny needles, took forever.


Impulse yarn purchase in Maine. Cozy sweater of which there will be more.


Tapping into my inner Renn Faire.


First attempt at lacy work.

So now you have proof that I waste my time hobbyistically. I'll try not to forget about your deep and abiding interest when next I finish a project.

Woolapalooza

IMG_2733
Originally uploaded by reallyct

The first, and frankly most important, thing to note is that I emerged from my day at Rhinebeck very under budget. I treated the festival the way I treat the casino: take the money you're willing to lose IN CASH and do not, under any circumstances, get more. I also had a list of things I was looking for which kept me from the :SQUIRREL: effect.

The festival was huge. Way bigger than I had anticipated. Who knew so many people produced wool things?!? There were also tons of animals, including a for-sale border collie (see slideshow) that, despite the longings of my heart, remained for someone else to buy (intelligent Yelena knows that the border collie, while awesome, is about the highest maintenance of dogs and perhaps not suitable for the first-time dog owner). I also considered buying some goats. Especially after that Colbert Report report on how they can do my landscaping. But I like Pablo and I wouldn't want to put him out of a job (actual name of our landscaper is Pablo, please no one think I was making a generic Mexican gardener joke). Also I think goats might suck as pets. Though, on the plus side, if I got a lady goat, I could learn to make cheese.

And yet, amidst the sheer volume of things, I found myself rather, if not underwhelmed, undermotivated to buy. A lot of the yarn for sale was of the coarser variety than I am accustomed to, being that it wasn't very processed and kept a lot of the raw-wool essence that is especially popular with those enormous Scandinavian sweaters. Instead of shopping with my eyes, I was shopping with my hands. I'd reach into the hanks and if they weren't tactile-y what I was interested in, I didn't bother allowing myself to be seduced by color. Only if the touch was right did I then assess the colors. And, gosh, with few exceptions, there was little that leapt out at me as BOTH something I was in love with AND something that would be practical for a project I was going to make. There was lots of beautiful impractical stuff, don't get me wrong. But I was trying to be the kind of sanguine adult who makes responsible decisions.

I did have some unnecessary apple pie, though.

All in all, though, it was a simply perfect autumn day and I got lots of exercise walking from booth to booth to booth with Julie and Jen, my two fellow stich n bitchers, with whom I shared the day (thanks to the generous carpooling of Jen).

I think some of the pictures turned out quite well, though I'm still getting the hang of my prime lens. And next year, I think I might take devoted partner with me - if I can convince him to wear a kilt like some of the other boys I saw.

Going Round the Bend

There are people who like beef, and then there are people who take weeklong intensive butchering workshops. I think this is true for many likes. You have the people who passively like, occasionally indulge, etc. and the people who make special trips to bizarre locales to share their enthusiasm with likeminded obsessives.

This Sunday, I join their ranks.

I am going to my first fiber festival. Yes. An entire day of yarn-related activities. I think this qualifies as a gross escalation of my hobby.

I'm going with two of my buddies from my Wednesday night Stich 'n Bitch. We will drive nearly two hours to Rhinebeck, New York, where we will encounter an orgy of fiber the likes of which mere passersby of yarn stores couldn't imagine.

And I've been in training.

I've not bought yarn, even stuff I really wanted, in preparation. I've treated the outing, financially, the way I treat a trip to the casino: money in cash, in hand, and not a penny more. No revisiting the ATM. No, "oh just one more pull of the slots." No rationalizations that I might never see the like of x again.

I go knowing that those I encounter might be of the variety of manic crafters that I poke fun at and, that by my presence, I count myself among their numbers. I hope that this experience will not be a lifechanging one that has me flitting about the nation in search of other fiber festivals, dragging devoted partner in tow like a dog to the vet.

Trepidation abounds, but I think I'm ready for this milestone.

See you on the other side of crazy.

Gambles

I remember on my first trip to Atlantic City, David A. gave our group $10 to put on the roulette wheel - I think number 32. We did and, amazingly enough, he won. $350 bucks. Which, amazingly, we gave to him. Needless to say, no future roulette single number bet has ended the same for me which is why I don't consider betting on roulette a sound gamble.

But I know what the limit is for a bet as potentially foolhardy as that roulette bet is: $20. I am, generally speaking, willing to throw away $20 for the chance that it wasn't thrown away. Let me explain.

Vanilla beans are expensive. $2-$5 a bean expensive. Even if you are, say, a popular restaurant owned by a famous chef, you're still paying about $.60 per bean. Companies outdo each other in the marketing departments trying to dream up new copy to justify the price of vanilla, but in the end, you still wince as you cut into one for something as pedestrian as vanilla ice cream or pound cake. So, about five years ago, I asked the internet to help. And help the internet did. It found me a company that had at least gone to the trouble of getting SSL who was selling vanilla beans: 100 of them for $20. So, one of four things could happen: 1. The company takes my money and I never see anything in return; 2. Something arrives in the mail, but it isn't a vanilla bean, it's probably a monkey turd; 3. It's a vanilla bean all right, but it tastes like ashtray; 4. Through some blip in the universe, these people have found a way to sell me a vanilla bean for $.20.

It was 4. I STILL HAVE some of those beans (though I think now they're a little too brittle for delicate application). I was swimming in beans. I made vanilla extract with tons of beans and then because I had so much vanilla extract, I started handing it out as gifts with, you guessed it, a vanilla bean tied to the side of the glass. I don't know how these people did it and I don't much care. It was a $20 gamble that paid off huge.

Which is why this morning when I was sniffing around for some yarn for an upcoming project and I found said yarn, albeit in a discontinued color, for 1/5 the retail price, I bought it. The company wanted $20. Now, it is possible I'll never see the yarn, or the yarn will have goat's blood on it, or some other such calamity. But it was worth $20 to find out. Because if it's legit, I've saved myself $80 on this project. And if it isn't, I guess I'll make up the difference on my next order of vanilla.

Service Takes More Than Smiling

I freely admit that I have felt a little rageful lately. I could blame the weather as I did yesterday or simply admit that if my default position is rage, it will, from time to time, escape my well-meaning oppression. In preparation to detox once again, I feel it necessary to give a little vent to smooth the way. And I will not be talking about cellular communications.

I think I am a little more sensitive than the average person when it comes to service because my brother is in the service industry. I have seen him on more than one occasion chastise an employee for minor infractions but in a jocular way. The result is, through his efforts and the tone he sets for his workplace, a finely oiled machine of good service. So it's not like it's a difficult thing to accomplish. I would venture to say that, for the most part, restaurant service in Manhattan is of a high standard. This is necessary since the diner in Manhattan has literally thousands of choices and restaurants would like you to choose them again and again. I feel, however, that all places of business that rely on people paying them for goods and services (so all businesses) should make it a point to encourage lots and lots of repeat business yet, sadly, few do.

Smaller boutiques suffer the most. Whether due to inexperienced employees and owners (in the case of independent vanity shops) or due to the misguided notion that cache is doled out based on how poorly one can treat one's customers (in the case of high-fashion), there are a wealth of small stores that simply do not know how to make money more than once. The disclaimer I would like to make here is personal: I have extreme difficulty, after repeated polite suggestions, saying a definitive 'no' without it being, well, rageful; if I have demonstrated through words and body language in a polite society way that I am not interested in something, I find it very difficult to, when pressed, not say something to the effect of, "you retarded cow, I said no about a million times. Are you effing deaf?" This is my problem and I continue to work on it. In the meantime, however, as I have been searching mostly in vain for a knitting store I wish to return to, I offer some advice to current and future owners of craft stores:

1. Your genius pattern designer who looks and acts like one of Nikita Kruschev's mistresses? She should be in the back not speaking to or looking at anyone. She's scary. And pokes at newcomers' projects with a finger that says, "in Communist Russia you would be shot for making such abomination." This does not inspire repeat business, nor does it make me think, "gee, she's right. I'm total crap. I'm so glad I know this now."

2. New customers should not be immediately encouraged to buy your most expensive product in place of the type of product they inquired about. When I walk into Tiffany's and express an interest in a, say, $500 silver bracelet, the salesperson NEVER suggests that, instead, I might be interested in the diamond and ruby encrusted gauntlet for $72,000. Assume until told differently that I did not come into your store to purchase beaded endangered yeti cashmere for the tank top I intend to wear to the beach. In fact, let's go one step further: only I should mention the word cashmere; when you suggest it, you seem like a money-grubbing [expletive deleted].

3. It's nice that you have a coterie of loyal customers. I like walking into a shop and seeing people happily knitting away at the table. But if those people look up at newcomers and make faces like they just stepped in shit, it doesn't help new customers feel welcome. Similarly, if you are sitting with your existing customers and don't so much as raise your head and smile when I walk in, it is highly unlikely I will become one of your loyal customers.

4. If you can't satisfactorily help me make the plain black sweater I'm interested in, it is not logical to assume that instead I would like to make a fuchsia, orange, and green horizontal striped sweater instead. When you are explicitly told this information, do not view it as a challenge: it's not that I want you to convince me that I really, deep down, want that monstrosity, it's that I want a black sweater. This is an instance where going to any department store would be instructive. When there are no more size 12 black silk v-neck dresses, the salesperson, if he or she is being helpful, will generally steer me to other a) black, b) silk, or c) v-neck dresses, and generally in a similar or similarly neutral hue; he or she will not, in the absence of the size 12 v-neck, lead me to the pink victorian lace high-necked ruffle and pleats ballgown. Since clearly that wouldn't be a good replacement for the black v-neck.

5. I might be coerced, cajoled, shamed, etc. into spending some money at your store even when you have nothing I want. This is clearly my fault for succumbing. However, you can be absolutely positive that it will be the last $60 I ever spend at your store. And I'll probably tell other people about the crappy experience you provided.

Which is why I would now like to say something nice: Katonah Yarn Company in, you guessed it, Katonah, is awesome. I went in there, they didn't have what I needed, I ended up buying a pair of needles and that was it, and they were super super nice about it. Even though it is 30-35 minutes from my house, it is the only yarn store I've been to that I am eager to return to, and will buy yarn from (even at the markup - internet is bad for yarn stores, the undercutting is amazing). The people were nice without following you around suggesting you buy everything your eye lights upon, it was suggested to me that I look online for a yarn they didn't carry before getting them to special order it for me, because it would be cheaper that way. The women in the shop were friendly in an authentic way, and it authentically made me want to spend money there. And if I ever decided to make the beaded endangered yak cashmere shrug, I'll source the material through them!

Wednesday Nopropos

Yeah, I'm in a crap mood because I just spent 90 minutes at the dentist. I am now ready to assert that dental hygienists are bigger sadists than aestheticians who specialize in waxing. Therefore I am only in the mood for crying and ice cream and not so much for being entertaining.

That being said.

Having admitted my addiction to the wily yarn, I went to a weekly stich n bitch last night. And I might be hooked. First of all, grouping with women I don't know is an outside my comfort zone activity and, as such, a good thing. Secondly, these women were my age and certainly personable. Thirdly, I successfully managed to order nothing at Panera Bread save an iced tea which I sweetened with (gasp) splenda.

This weekend is the annual North Shore Animal League Adoptathon. We went last year, I got my picture taken with Cesar Milan, I played with puppies. We're going again this year. Some might say this is tempting fate, but unless I can line up some babysitters (puppysitters) for the third week in May and the second full week in June, I think we'll be coming home empty handed. I'm just hoping the people who work there don't recognize us from last year and accuse us of coming with no intent to rescue a puppy (last year we just didn't meet our dog - we met lots of cute dogs, but none of them was a love at first sight).

I am still flummoxed by people who hear that the conductor is coming to check tickets and still wait until he asks them personally before they go rifling through their bags to search for their tickets. This isn't rocket science, people, have your ticket out. The conductor has a whole bunch of other tickets to check so help him out by not sucking.

I am not green. Not by a long shot. My next car is going to be a clean diesel. Since my driving mainly consists in 3rd gear shuffles to and from the train station, I am getting abysmal mileage out of my fillups. I sort of fist pump when I make it past 20mpg.

My teeth hurt, they're making me go back in two weeks, I want a puppy, and a suntan, and a banana split. So excuse me while I go whine less publicly.

My Secret Obsession

Bamboo Camisole
Originally uploaded by reallyct

I may have hinted at it. If you've seen me recently it might even be hard to ignore. I'm not embarrassed qua embarrassment about it, and yet I haven't mentioned it. Which is strange. Because I do it all the time. All. The. Time. So, I'll just come out and say it: I'm a knitter.

There. That felt better.

I've known how to knit for years, but I had a lot of anxiety about actually completing projects. There was the ridiculous misshapen hat I made in eighth grade which I insisted on wearing; the two tone mohair v-neck; some shiny scarves. But anytime I attempted something really big, I left it in pieces, afraid that when I sewed them together, the result would look like a Frankensweater.

All this changed when we moved. I got rid of somewhere between 200 and 400 books because I was tired of going from place to place with titles like James Joyce and Pudding: A Critical Study. That left me with just enough bookshelf space for the books I already owned and not enough room, comfortably, for another bookshelf. Something had to give. I knew that having the commute every day filled with new books would quickly result in a massive storage crisis and something about storing extras in the attic still doesn't sit well with me. So I needed a new, absorbing hobby and fast. I honestly can't tell you how I chose knitting, but choose it I did. I walked into a store asking for a cool sweater dress pattern and walked out of the store with a book that had an even cooler riding jacket. Which I made. And which I wear.

That was in September. Since then, I have also made the following: a camel colored handkerchief hemmed jacket, a midnight blue tweed shawl collared sweater (a total winner - I'll be making more next winter), hats for my mother, father, sister-in-law, and Chaters and a scarf for the boy, a red daisy stitched jacket, a forest green cabled cropped turtleneck (deeded to my mother after it was apparent I could be more flattered by a garment), a sea green cropped bamboo cardigan, a fuchsia ruffle sleeved sweater. I am in the midst of three projects as we speak: the bamboo cardigan in the picture (mother's day gift), a dark green jacket for next winter, and (if the yarn ever comes off backorder) a hooded lightweight sweater for me. There. I have both bored you and looked like an insane person at the same time.

I even joined a knitting social networking site that allows you to track your own projects and see other people's. It is actually invaluable for tips, tricks, and best of all, buying other people's excess yarn at a discount. I now buy a lot of yarn. Like I used to buy a lot of books. So the net expenditure is similar, but the storage issue is different. The yarn eventually becomes a piece of clothing and we have ample closet space. I mean I have a closet I only sort of use and I mostly use it as a place to chuck things that don't have a good place to live and so live on the floor until we have guests when they go in the closet. It also saves me from having to buy clothing!

So, I admit my obsession and now I can feel like I'm not hiding things from you any more. Add knitting to my list of nerdy things.