Still working

I’m still knitting and crocheting last minute items for the show. Sometimes, I stop myself and wonder…why? Will it sell? Am I living a pipe dream? I guess I’ll have to wait and see.

I took a break last night to go to a concert with my husband. We jaunted down to Fort Lauderdale for a triple bill. Islands/Happy Mondays/Psychedelic Furs.

Here’s the deal: I was a big Mondays fan back in the day, and 24 Hour Party People is one of my fave movies. But it’s just Shaun Ryder and some scrubs now, and it was a sad show from them. After the show, when we left, I saw him sititng by a hot dog cart, texting. Maybe he was checking with his dealer or putting out an APB on Bez. If you remember the Madchester scene, you’ll understand. If not, I’m talking gibberish to ya.

The Furs, however, were pretty freakin’ awesome for an oldies act, and this is my third time seeing them in 23 years. Yes, I’m an oldies act, too.

Honey took this picture whilst I drooled.

Honey took this picture whilst I drooled.

It’s like this: Richard Butler is like a skinny version of Alan Rickman crossed with a fictional college professor I want to bone in the worst way, he wears a pair of glasses like my new Dave Brubeck specials, and he has the energy of a 16-year-old on stage. I wish my best friend had been there, because we would have needed a drool cup.

That is all.

But wait, it’s not: Midway through the first band, I saw my deadbeat ex boyfriend who cheated on me standing around, and I have never been so happy to be with my husband. As if I wasn’t anyway. I used to make some bad choices in life, and one of them was staring me in the face last night. And looked a like a 50-year-old woman. Oh wait, he is.

Okay, here’s another shot of some of our wares on sale this weekend:
I think I’m doing so much extra this week because I know there will be a massive let down when this is done, whatever the turnout is. Despite being stuck here in the velvet cage, I’ve been producing all summer. And knowing I won’t have anything left to “look forward” to is a massive letdown.

Let me be completely honest: after Saturday, I don’t know what I am going to do with myself. I made a call about a job this week, and am waiting to hear back. It’s only a one-day a week consulting gig. I can’t find anything else. I still don’t have a car.

So, with the exception of going to see Zombieland on Sunday and cashing in my change to see Whip It with my best friend next week, I got nothing.

I can honestly say I can’t take another year of the velvet cage, peeps. I simply can’t. I wish I could be more humourous or deep, but I think I lost those particular brain cells about four months ago.


Working down to the wire, COME SEE US!



I know most of my wonderful readers are out of state, but if you’re in the South Florida area, please come see my partner and I at the Third Annual Rock the Stitch show this Saturday, October 3rd at Old School Square in Delray Beach.

My wonderful partner, Marce, got some friends together this past Saturday and took 188 photos at the Broward County Library. As you can see, the models were all good looking. This is why I don’t model our stuff.

I’ve worked so hard to make new stuff, and am working down to the wire to make last minute items this week. I truly hope we have the success we did last year, but in this economy, well, one doesn’t know. All I can tell you is if one person tells us you can’t wear our accessories in Florida, I’m gonna tell them to watch the Rachel Zoe Project, because Miss Zoe rocks out the cabled hats in L.A. weather EVERY WEEK.

And a lot of my stuff is in cotton. So there.

In other news, I’m still getting over this cold, and I have quit smoking.


In which I am dying from pneumonia, but will talk a little fashion

My husband, God love him, got a little cold last week, and instead of staying away from me, couldn’t resist getting all up in my grill, I’m just that irresistable. So, as of Saturday, I am dying of pneumonia. Not swine flu, I checked the symptoms. I am living on chicken soup, Nyquil, Robitussin and hope. It has moved into my lungs and I have to ask:
How come I have been so sick this year, the year I have been out of the public, and in the velvet cage? How can germs permeate my airtight chamber?

I’m blaming him, but since he’s bringing the soup and the ‘Tussin, I’ll let it go.

Let’s talk Emmy fashion. I watched it all yesterday, even the red carpet on hideous E!, because I had to remain upright so the phlegm wouldn’t go into my lungs. About the only thing of value I got from those wasted hours was the presence of Miss Nene from The Real Housewives of Atlanta (yes, I watch it.) who popped off this nugget. “Only white people are into vampires.”

I agree. I just don’t get it.

Moving on!

If a dress could cure me, it would be this one:
I want to marry this dress. Yes, Bonnie, if you are reading, I want to take it behind the middle school and get it pregnant. This is hands-down my favorite color of pink, the pure dusty pink. Everyone must know this by now! I love the softness, the drape – if I had her body, I’d wear this dress. I do have a dress by Tara Jarmon in the same shade with a little sweater that goes over it. Now, it is not strapless, but I really need a strapless bra for it and since I don’t have it, the sweater is a necessity. But it’s got a crinoline, and I wore it to a Pink Martini concert. So folks, that’s as close as I’m getting.

I am shocked at how much I loved this Issac Mizrahi polka-dot number, too:
Perhaps it’s time for me to accept my innate girliness and deal with it. Chloe needs a little hair and makeup refresh, but I love this soft dress and the cat brooch, critics be damned.

Here’s one from the they love or hated it file:
I loved it, because upon first viewing, my thought was “Chrysler Building.” I think a lot of people went there. However, it does pull out from her tits, but I think it would from anyone’s who wasn’t a robot. Still and all a statement dress that ruled.

I interrupt my fashion critique to say I screamed as much as possible when this divine munchkin won:
Pushing Daisies, you are missed, as you got me through the first emotional months of my unemployment. Kristen Chenoweth, you will always have my heart, your voice is a gift I treasure and even though you look like a tiny disco ball and obviously need a sandwich, your tearful speech made me cry. And then I hacked up a lung.

(FYI: I read that she had to be carted off the Emmy ceremony after complaining of a severe migraine and inability to see – gasp! Turns out she has Meniere’s Disease, which is a lot like vertigo. Can I just say, I feel you on the migraine pain, luv?)

And now, the saddest dress I EVER saw:
Sigh. Elizabeth Moss, I love you. In a perfect world, your portrayal of Peggy Olsen would have won the best actress in a drama Emmy. But lady, this dress is the saddest, ugliest color of putty, wrinkliest, most hideous shower curtain I EVER done seen!

Well, I’m amazed I crapped that out. Understand, I can’t SPEAK, so writing is all I have right now. My husband will get a notepad with discourse when he returns tonight.

And may I say that even though Aaron Paul didn’t win best supporting actor in a drama for Breaking Bad, I was just as happy Michael Emmerson won for Lost. I have never missed an episode of Lost all these years, and his line readings crack my shit up every week it’s on. Salut, creepy Ben Linus!

A tale of two outfits

I think it’s important to blog at least twice a week. That’s what the social media experts say! Just because my life is dull as dishwater and I have no pictures to show (soon, I’ve been knitting, I swear), doesn’t mean I haven’t got something to show.

Here are two outfits, one of which you might have seen making the rounds on all the fashion sites this week. What say YOU?

Come one. I know I can copy this!

Come one. I know I can copy this!

Look, we love Cate, right? Mock this thing though you will, and I’ve heard everything from “Roseanne’s couch afghan” to “They’re granny squares! Not even delicate!” But all I can think is how can I copy it and sell it?

That’s what happens when you are poor.

Here’s something a little more…classy, and I present it specifically for fangirl Gina.

Anna Friel, perfection as usual.

Anna Friel, perfection as usual.

I’ll be honest…she had me with the hat.

So I’m going out drinking tonight with an old friend, and tomorrow is the Emmys, and I’ll be watching and giving you my thoughts on Monday. I’m hoping for an Aaron Paul/Kristen Chenoweth upset double whammy.

But you know I love to dream the impossible dream. That’s why I’m phoning about a job opportunity on Tuesday. Gah, I have to wait three whole days for that one. Talk about psyching yourself up.

See you Monday morning!

A thing of beauty

Although the sink is fixed (remember the broken sink? It was like a weeping virgin statue — it leaked when we were here alone, but whenever the plumber and super came, it miraculously dried up), the Internet has been sporadic the last few days. I pray you will never have to deal with the idiocy of our provider customer service as I did. I fixed it myself. I think the problem will continue due to work in our area, which they at first denied, then copped to. And so the fun continues…

I continue to knit and crochet in prep for the show in two and half weeks. I continue to clean the house and do laundry. I continue to search for work. In the meantime, I find I am sort of looking forward to this upcoming Jane Campion movie about John Keats and Fanny Brawne, Bright Star:

I will confess I never enjoyed my Romantic literature class in college. I remember the book well — it was thick and burgundy, with gold lettering on the outside. I loved my professor, who passed away last year. She was one of the good ones, God rest her soul.

I just never got into the whinging, pewling, overwrought otherness of it all. To make a strange correlation, Romantic poetry is kind of like the music of Nirvana to me — grow a pair, boys. Those were, and are, my thoughts. I always gravitated more to the poets who remained uncovered in our texts. William Carlos Williams, Nikki Giovanni. As if they ever would have taught HER. But still, I skipped ahead and read anyway. Please don’t even ask if I read Sylvia Plath. I think you know the answer.

And I’m not even a big Jane Campion fan. I just find myself drawn to the imagery of this movie, and the fact she has decided to focus on Fanny’s sewing as an artistic counterpoint to the boys’ poetry. Make of it what you will, as this rather typical article did. So much for well thought out criticism.

I can at least tell you two things, should you care: The actor playing the “villain” of the piece, Paul Schneider, is someone you may have seen in small character parts here and there (even in NBC comedy Parks and Recreation), but should you choose to, you might check out his leading role in one of my favorite films of the last decade, All The Real Girls. If your Netflix queue is empty, have a look.

And second, although I said I am not a particular fan of Ms. Campion, I will never forget the fact that I first saw The Piano a mere few weeks after it debuted at Cannes, at a private screening at a private Catholic school with Antonio Saboto Jr. in the audience. I offered him and Dylan McDermott (who was also there) half of my blueberry muffin from the craft services table. It was the last one, and the boys really, really wanted it.

Make of that what you will. Maybe I should have tried out for his wretched dating show on VH1 and brought it up. That man does love his muffins.

Today, I…

Applied for a job. We’ll see what happens.

Today, I…tried to reconnect with an old acquaintance who may be able to give me some job leads. We’ll see what happens.

Today, I…did laundry and goofed off on the computer. Thanks to a wonderful blog from a fellow Etsyian who I don’t know, but enjoy reading (I want to give credit where it’s due), I came upon this interesting video from a Japanese TV show that’s worth sharing. I already passed it on to my husband.

Look, I’ve slagged off on Lady Gaga in the past, but frankly, this hat made from hair in the shape of an elephant is freakin’ AMAZING, and who knew she could sing so well? I can admit when I am wrong. She certainly is more entertaining than Madonna, aka Great Aunt Esther.

In times of despair, joblessness and general ennui, I turn to pop music. I have no shame, for it’s not a guilty pleasure, it’s simply a pleasure. Here’s what I’ve been listening to on an endless loop this week: My favorite British girl group, Girls Aloud – I love this song, with production by the Pet Shop Boys:

There you have it. It’s a busy night for me; I have to stay up and do my Project Runway recap for the newspaper Web site (I do this for free) and then tomorrow, I simply must write my latest pattern that’s due next week.

Maybe one day, I’ll actually get paid for one of these things. It would be nice?!

Which is prettier?

This picture from Rolling Stone:
Or this lovely yarn the kind and generous Toni sent me a couple of weeks back?

Pictured: Socks that Rock in Firebird, Blue Moon Fiber Arts Kid Mo in Lovers Leap, and ArtYarns Silk Rhapsody in Fuschia and Pink.

Pictured: Socks that Rock in Firebird, Blue Moon Fiber Arts Kid Mo in Lovers Leap, and ArtYarns Silk Rhapsody in Fuschia and Pink.

I know, it is a tough call. Toni, thanks again, for your lovely gift and note. I have wanted to photograph these for a long time, but the light is really poor here, especially when the rain rolls in every day and it gets dark as a tomb.

FYI, my house smells like Manwich right now. We are on the “van down by the river diet.” Saving pennies!

Back to the yarn (if only I could go back to Jon Hamm/Don Draper….), this will not be used for anyone but me, and not be made for anything to see. Like I’m selling these days at all – um, I’m not. Just a few weeks till the show, so I am working pretty hard to get some last minute items done.

I think I’ll make some scarves, believe it or not. Multidirectional with the ArtYarns, and possibly a triangular with the Socks That Rock. Although I long to knit for myself, the lure of big objects is not what it used to be. So I’m going back to small. It’s just not practical for down here, anyway. Someone ask me how hot it was today. Then, add 100 degrees to that. That’s how hot it was. Who wants a freaking sweater?

One of the things I’m working on is a few bags, including a copy of this Anthropologie bag:
Sadly, I can’t show an image of the back, but it’s a simple ribbed knit in two colors, with a foldover flap, seen here. The trick is cutting up an old scarf or two and putting the shreds on the flap. I’m halfway done with the knitting. It will either be a smashing success or an epic FAIL.

In other news, a bunch of people (or should I say, a bunch MORE people) got laid off from the place of employment where the only employed person in this household works last week. Sadly, I knew some of them, since I used to work there. Though I am relieve we dodged a bullet, one wonders for how long. And I am of course, still jobless. I feel so bad for my friends, and think to myself: as bad as it was for me to lose my job, at least it happened quickly, like a bloody bandage being ripped off. The way this happened was much worse – a lot of waiting and rumours.

It’s hard out there right now. If you have a job, be thankful. I know I would be.

Springing leaks

So it’s like this: We did not go to the Paolo Nutini show last night. I might as well come right out and say it. Oh, we WENT. We just didn’t get IN. It’s a sad tale of a sold out show, and a publicist for Atlantic Records who was supposed to have my husband’s name on the list, and who did not.

These things happen. Look, I had a bad feeling when we got in line, and because this year has made me used to disappointment, I was pissed for about 60 seconds, tops. Life goes on, we have lots more great shows coming this fall, and I told hub – lock that shit down.

And I had him send an e-mail to the publicist. Who apologized, but who cares? Too late, water under the bridge.

Speaking of water, the bathroom sink and dishwasher both sprung leaks this weekend. Both were taken care of yesterday by our patient super. However, my back left molar’s crown has sprung a leak as well, sort of metaphorically speaking, and I have to go to the dentist tomorrow. The pain, it comes and goes. Right now, it’s gone. I’m hoping it might be a re-cement issue; the thought of a root canal fills my brain and my wallet with the tinglies.

However, this Saturday, when I was in abject tooth pain, and husband was at a concert he DID get into, I sat down and re-watched two movies from the 90s on the Encore channel that I had forgotten how much I loved.

First up was The Freshman, the Marlon Brando/Matthew Broderick comedy. You know, that stuff with the Komodo dragon still kills me after all these years. Fact: it takes a lot to make me laugh, but watching Bert Parks sing “Here he comes, your Komodo dragon” does it. I used to walk around the house singing that to my mother for months. And for my money freaky freaky Maximilian Schell steals the movie. (And he is an Oscar winner….)
I wish I could find a clip, but there’s a scene of Marlon Brando ice skating with a woman in a rink that is one of the most graceful, sweet images I think I’ve seen on film. It only lasts a split second, but as I told Jon, it demonstrates why I love ice dance, and why I love cinema, so much.

After that, as my tooth continued to throb, I decided to make it a double feature and rewatch Howards End. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t viewed it again since 1992, and I found it held up beautifully.
I know, as time has gone by, critics have come to dismiss a bit the work of Merchant/Ivory. But there is no denying this was their masterpiece, and I say that not just as someone who read the work in high school, long before it was a glint in their eyes for adaptation, but as someone who can look back 17 years and say, “damn, that held up well.” Hard to believe the beauty on the screen was done for only $8 million, and financing almost fell through halfway through filming. Try that, Transformers.

And frankly, I miss seeing Emma Thompson in performances like these. She was so sublime in this role, the one good, intelligent person in a sea of selfish idiots. Gah! I want her back on the screen, stat. I miss her so.

Jon and I got in it last night over what Howards End lost best picture to, and I maintained it was Clint’s Unforgiven. Jon wasn’t buying it. Well, honey, I was right, and you can suck it. Never trifle with me over Oscar trivia. If only my entire Jeopardy run had been nothing but Oscar trivia, we’d be living in the Caymans right now, and have a nice Roth IRA waiting for our retirement.


(By the way: I realize this used to be a knitting blog, but frankly, I think those have almost disappeared from the ‘Net. I could never talk about knitting all day, anyway. But I will have some pretty yarn a lovely person sent me to show off, as soon as it stops raining and I can photograph it. And if the tropical storm doesn’t hit us. And we don’t spring another leak).