Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Bad girl.

We all have our little failings, right? Yes? Hello?

I am shamefully addicted to yarn and suffer from a physical longing for it that cripples me with drooly lust. But not just any yarn, oh no. It must be hand-dyed sock yarn, that users and pushers describe with words like sumptous and smooshy and delicious and decadent. Yarns that knit up into fantastical stripes and have such a tight twist that they don't need a nylon blend to keep their shape and not wear out. Yarns like this and this and this and this, and this (scroll down) and, especially, this. Sock clubs: 29 days of torture for one day of ecstasy. One hank for one pair of socks or mittens or a scarf or hat. Single skein satisfaction all for the low, low price of my soul.

Friday, April 18, 2008

The price of idiocy.

In the past few days, I've had to fill up both cars as Christian and I have been driving a great deal. Both of us commute to work, me to two jobs and Christian a long way to his one. We also drove to Bellingham to visit the in-laws. Because I felt as though GWB had personally slapped me across the face when I saw the obscene total for filling the Corolla yesterday, which has never cost more than $35 before mid-last year, I thought I would take a little looksee at historical gas prices as reported by the Energy Information Administration.

What I found was that, averaged over all US regions and all formulations of the regular grade of gas, the price between the beginning of the current wretched administration to four days ago has increased 166.93%. We cannot use regular gas because it makes our Corolla engine ping, so this does not quite reflect the increase in price for our useable grade, but the increases are fairly consistent across grades. Because I wanted to be fair and accurately reflect what a oil-control interest can do to an administration, I compared this rate in inflation to the rate of inflation during the Clinton administration, who, as far as we know, had no familial interest in oil price fixation. From 1992-2000 (including the election year, which could have impacted the price because of public perception of impending change), the price of gas increased 22.12%. Yep, a 144.81% difference between the two periods.

Interestingly, the rate of inflation during the Clinton administration was 22%, as well, so the rate of inflation kept pace with the gas prices. Now, the rate of inflation during the current administration is 25%, and we are currently in a period of slow growth. We are watching oil barrel prices increase at a rate that will prevent many Americans from being able to get to work, consequently leading to an even greater reduction in the workforce. Ironically, this hasn't seemed to decrease gas consumption in the largest, most polluting vehicles, as those who can afford SUVs and the like can afford to fill up, so pollution will not be decreased significantly by this change. And reducing car traffic would be fine if the gas prices had increased because of gas taxation where the taxes could be funnelled back into the community and directed towards bettering public transportation. However, because gas-burning public transportation will cost more to operate, using this transportation could become prohibitively expensive for the marginal population in the US who have to budget strictly to survive.

That a president who is so utterly disconnected from his public was elected by people who thought he seemed like a good guy with whom to drink a beer, it seems somehow tragically appropriate that those people can no longer afford to drive to the bar.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Hum hum hum hum.

Man, I'm freezing.  How does my skinny neck hold up this huge head?

Keesh moi, dahlink, for I am lofly.

Please, Christian, can I have them?

I disapprove of your photos.

I really have the smoky eye thing down.

My Suri coat brings all the knitters to my corral.




Sunday, April 06, 2008


What a craptastic audition I had yesterday.  Extra breaths, poor phrasing, imperfect high notes, inconsistent God, am I 22 again?  I left the room feeling exactly as I used to when I was young and terrible, like I had just fought a battle against a horde of terrifying enemy using only a feather duster and good intentions.  I honestly thought I was past this stage, the stage where I truly don't feel like I have any skill, not to mention talent.  Not that I'm ever going to burn up the stages with the sheer spectacularity of my voice, but sheesh, some consistency would have been keen.

I think I like knitting so much because, when one is finished with a project, one can look back upon it with pride and pleasure.  No matter what you make in the future, you always have this one lovely thing from the past to remind yourself that you can make something good.  With singing, the past doesn't matter, only what you are doing now and in the future.  I sang well at my last audition but this one, but it couldn't matter less.  Singing is proving over and over that you have what it takes to be together when it's important.  It's actually seeing someone you're auditioning for look impressed at your skill or technique and getting hired because of it.

I didn't get a small part next season at SO, so I'm going to have to look for a different day job that can give me more hours, and that's a hard thing with which to come to terms.  I think I just need to know what the future holds, at least for now, and then maybe these auditions won't hold so much sway over me.  I hope.

Friday, April 04, 2008

No, officer, I'm not hiding a cria in my coat.

I know that I don't have a farm, or a barn, or a backyard big enough, but I really, really want an alpaca. I mean, I can wear a resipirator when feeding or grooming it, and can find a corner in the house for it to sleep in at night, they don't really get that big, and their fiber doesn't contain any lanolin, so I'm not allergic to it. They make nice humming sounds when they're happy or sad or mad or hungry or tired or lonely or in love so they hum all the time and they have really, really soft noses and their fleece can be sent out to be spun into yarn that would keep me happy for a long time, and they can't possibly eat that much and the boys would love them ('cause there's more than one in my imaginatory backyard now) and we could take them on walks around the neighborhood and do halter shows at Alpacapalooza and maybe someday we could have our own alpaca farm and wouldn't that be swell? Wouldn't it?

Wednesday, April 02, 2008


After picking the jalapenos off of a Vietnamese sandwich, never blow your nose without washing your hands first, because corporate tissue is useless and your finger will poke right through and the capsaicin under your fingernail will contact your mucus membranes, causing you to get a nose bleed and make your nostril feel as though you just inhaled a large quantity of fire from an acetylene torch that was aimed right at your sinuses, consequently forcing you to dance around your office like a cracked out grinder monkey holding a cold, wet paper towel to the inside of your nose just when your boss comes in to ask about his travel reimbursement. And, you know, that just doesn't send the right message about your reliability as an employee.