Greenjeans: Now with cables!

This is the fun part. I really do like doing the cables, which are far easier than I had ever imagined. And I have no shame in admitting that I get giddy every time I've added at new twist to the cables. Joy in the small things, for certain.


Related: I stayed up into the wee hours of this morning updating my Ravelry account. I have most of my projects on there with pictures and notes. The site may be more addictive than the knitting itself, but it is an incredibly useful tool. How else would I find over one thousand other knitters who have completed or are in the middle of completing the very cardigan you see above? I'm in awe.

Go. Join. I'm washedup. Who are you?

Greenjeans: an update.

It is becoming more and more apparent to me that I actually am knitting a sweater. A plus size sweater, at that. And that is certainly something. I brag not. I myself can't believe that I'm making this thing appear on the needles. Off the needles. Wherever. Here is an off-needle picture. I did (successfully) try it on, but the pajama pants and general unkemptness told me I was not a model today.



I don't believe the color is accurately represented here. While I know the color is indeed called olive, it's not so olive drab in person. It's far happier -- with a hint of yellow, even. Oh, and the periwinkle business is just waste yarn keeping everything from unraveling until I come back and pick it all up. So, no. It isn't going to be a sleeveless, bare-midriff number.

Still to come: Ribs and cables to the bottom, three-quarterish sleeves with rib-and-cable cuffs, and a ribbed button band and collar. I wasn't feeling too bad about the future of the project until I picked up Knitting Rules today for some between-row reading, and the Yarn Harlot made me fear the button band for reasons I don't yet understand. And she told a horror story about a green cardigan. Great.

The truth is this: I've probably made too much progress. "This is a knitalong, not a race," says Kim, the knitalong ring leader. Oops. I've even done a few rounds of cables since taking this picture, which testifies to how much I really do not want to do all that planning for school. And I have some serious planning to do, considering the three-week KTIP marathon staring me down.

I am a very productive procrastinator.

Bandwagons, ho!

It may not last for another twenty seconds, but I am -- watch me screw this lingo up -- twittering. Tweeting? Oh, what is it? Am I now so old-fashioned that I shouldn't be allowed a login on the website?

By way of being old-fashioned... I got organized last night. Well, with my yarn, at least. I bought one of those dorm closet shoe organizers at Big Lots and then Roy G. Biv-ed my yarn. My shoes, mind you, are piled up and pairless at the bottom of the closet and so they shall remain.

Who knew I had so much yarn? And this set-up doesn't even include my whites, blacks, grays, and browns. Nor the in-use, recently in-use, or soon-to-be in-use skeins. Just as with books, I buy more before I can read (or knit) what I've got. *sigh*

Here's to seven years -- some more interesting than others -- in the archive list.

Considering the new year's resolve.

With the new year fewer than two days away, I am almost inspired to renew my dedication to this blog. Almost.

More than half of my school winter break (to be politically correct) has passed, and I am just now unearthing the tools of teacherliness that have conveniently been out of sight -- and undoubtedly out of mind. I'm trying to get last semester -- in all its incompleteness due to snow days -- graded and out of the way, but today, I found myself preparing for this coming semester during which I get to be an English teacher, too. In theory, it sounds exciting. A little bit, anyhow. We'll see. So I must carve out that path for myself and my students. Plus, I need to apply all of my lessons learned from this past semester to rethink my strategies and routines for this semester. Is organization next to godliness? Or is it preparedness?

And so it is now time to reflect upon that hideous false construct of the new year's resolution. I am leary of saying them out loud, much less writing them down, much less publishing them for others to see. I think it is a curse akin to that of the senior yearbook ad. (Refresher course: The couples who take out an ad in the back of the yearbook in order to profess their love for another are doomed to break up before the yearbooks come off the press.) I'm not sure I've accomplished any goal I've ever written down save purchasing an item on a grocery list, which is still a dubious example.

With the above in mind, I will not share my list of very specific tasks I have proposed for myself, both personal and professional. But there is a list! In my mind and nowhere else. Of course.

A wake-up call

Presenting installment número tres, in which I get a wake-up call and realize that I'm up to my old blogging tricks again.

I made this last night, so to update the info: I did get the application mailed, and I did get my shot in the arm. It hurts. Wah-wah. And I slept even later today. Of course, if I want to wake up early in the morning, I probably shouldn't stay up half the night making a silly video blog. Though, I have to say that I am learning so much about revising and editing a "text" through this process. So I'm going to tell myself that this is an exercise in improving my writing. Right.

Possible future topic of discussion: the word adventure. Look out.

I've been running ever since.

I am beginning to wonder if I have ADHD.

It has come to my attention (deficit?) that I am incredibly fidgety. I cannot cannot cannot sit still. I remember that when I was a kid, my mom was constantly on me about messing with the mini-blind string behind the couch and about kicking things with my feet. I pop the battery cover on the remote control incessantly. Too bad that the remote for my TV now has a screwed-on battery cover. In my education class right now, we have little name plates that we've made for ourselves. If someone ever needed to know my name, they'd never see it because I am flipping and twirling my name plate around the whole time. I am a pen clicker. I cannot help myself.

Being an education person -- God, the regret -- I have to think about these things. And as I have come across some ADHD symptoms, it is like looking in a mirror. All the signs are there. I don't have the patience to proofread. My mind is incredibly scattered. Just look at the babbling incoherence that is my blog.

My whole life -- or just recently, whichever -- I have been trying to channel that confused and pent-up energy toward something. I have wondered why I have about nineteen hands-on projects going on all the time. I have a new one, by the way. I have a dulcimer now. Play me some mountain music, yeah.

Interestingly, according to those personality/learning styles assessments, I hardly ever come out as a kinesthetically-inclined person. I am beginning to think they are all wrong.

Now, I think I am going to go run a lap or something, thank you.

All centered now.

I finally figured out how to center my blog. It's a glorious day.

The iPod recovered. And I hooked myself up with an FM transmitter -- as Holly suggested -- and now I can enjoy my music in the car. I very excited about this. Now, I could stand to get a charger to go with it. It really never ends.

Well, I found a new best friend: Last.fm. I'm finding and enjoying all kinds of new music. The problem is that my iTunes bill is racking up. Not cool.

Tomorrow's the first official 5-week summer class Wednesday off. This makes me happy. It's not as if I am dedicated every fiber of my being to this class anyway, but it will be nice to have it out of my hair.

I have a few goals for these five weeks, and I'm not meeting them very quickly. I need to find a job for next semester. I need to work on Fulbright things, and by that, I mean that I need to find out about the program in general. And I need to be working on Spanish. I have hardly practiced since school's been out, aside from singing some along with some CDs I got in Spain. How am I going to be of any use in Mexico come August?

I'm going to watch Kathryn tomorrow while Sissy goes to the dentist. So. Yeah.

I've discovered -- long ago, actually -- that I have a very difficult time finding a way to end a blog entry. Perhaps I should think up something creative to do instead of just concluding with, "Well, I guess that's all I have to say about that."

Thanks, Forrest.

Quick update.

Photography is crazy. I shot pictures all afternoon and evening yesterday. And then I went to the dark room, and all that developing jazz took me almost three hours. I'm not sure how well my pictures turned out, but it's looking bleak. I guess I'll find out this afternoon 'cause I'm going back here in a minute to print some pictures. We have eight prints with the theme of shadows due Friday. I bet it will take me today and tomorrow to get my prints done. 'Cause, you know, I have to figure in American Idol time.

Back in the habit

Like Sister Act 2. But this is probably just a phase, right? I'll get tired of blogging again and quit. Again.

Day One of photography. Not stressing yet. Today was pretty laid back. The big news is that I think I might've broken/sprained (more likely the second one) something in my foot. I was just walking down the steps to go into Fine Arts before class and my foot just did something funny. Nice omen, eh? Now I am limping around. Anyway, we went around campus and took pictures on a group roll of film. I think mine sucked. I did take a picture of a dead baby bird, though. That's gotta count for something. I mean, I probably contracted avian flu. Great. Look at all the sacrifices I'm making for the class. Breaking some bones, starting an epidemic... What more can one ask for?

I started a roll of film this weekend. I reckon I need to clear it off before class tomorrow, and I need some pre-highly-valuable-course-fee-film practice. So I'm going to drive around and snap some shots to make myself feel better about the photographic crap I produced today. I didn't perform well under the pressure of five of my classmates watching me take pictures with a camera I wasn't used to. Hopefully I can do better by myself.

On an unrelated note, grades come out over night. Oh, the anticipation.

I took some knock-off Claritin before class, and I'm feeling a bit spasmodic. Thank you, high school vocabulary.

Forecast for Saturday

Windows will be opened since, after all, it is a window-opening sort of day.

A steady stream of music will be played from iTunes.

Dishes will be done. Today, I ate my Honey Nut Cheerios out of a cup.

Sweeping, mopping, and vacuuming will happen.

Enormous mounds of laundry will be done.

A general cleaning of the apartment would be agreeable.

The first half of Mending Skins will be read for Hovie. I'm thinking midterm won't be looking down upon me favorably in that class, and our post-midterm midterm is over this book.

Or perhaps I'll read the second half of any of the extracurricluar books I've gotten halfway through.

And today, merriment will be had at Adrienne's. This, of course, I'm looking forward to the most.

Happy Saturday to all.

i love the '90s

This, which I stole from Jenny, is one of the best you-know-you're-a-child-of-the-'90s-if things I've seen. So here it is with the ones I identify with in bold and my comments are in italics.

You’ve ever ended a sentence with the word “PSYCH!”

You watched the Pound Puppies. I vaguely remember watching it.

You can sing the rap to the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Don't make me illustrate.

You wore biker shorts under your skirts and felt stylish. But I did own Spandex.

You yearned to be a member of the Baby-Sitters Club and tried to start a club of your own.

You owned those little Strawberry Shortcake pals scented dolls. No, but I always wanted to.

You know that “WOAH” comes from Joey on Blossom.

Two words: M.C. Hammer. Isn't that three words, kind of? How 'bout Hammer Time?

If you ever watched “Fraggle Rock.

You had plastic streamers on your handle bars. Most definitely.

You can sing the entire theme song to Duck Tales. Hmm, not all of it, but how about Rescue Rangers?

You remember when it was actually worth getting up early on a Saturday to watch cartoons.

You wore a ponytail on the side of your head. Does it matter that it wasn't during the '90s?

You saw the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on the big screen. No, but I remember watching it at school. I was more of the cartoon kinda girl. I wanted to be April.

You got super-excited when it was Oregon Trail day in computer class at school. Somehow, I managed to be in the class that went all the way through grade school without having Oregon Trail opportunities. Darn 01s.

You played the game “MASH” (Mansion, Apartment, Shack, House). And more elaborate versions, too.

You wore a Jordache Jean jacket and you were proud of it. No, but I'm pretty sure my sister did.

L.A. Gear.

You wanted to change your name to “JEM” in Kindergarten. Is it okay that I don't understand this? But to make up for it, I'll tell you that I did go by "K. Z." amongst my friends for a while in fifth grade. What kind of friends let me do that?

You remember reading Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing and all the Ramona books.

You know the profound meaning of “Wax on, wax off.” I don't think I've ever seen all of Karate Kid.

You wanted to be a Goonie. Another cinematic failure of mine. I have seen all of The Goonies, but it was far too recently.

You ever wore flourescent clothing. Haha, 701 Green.

You have pondered why Smurfette was the only female smurf.

You took lunch pails/boxes to school. But for the life of me, I can't remember what was on it. But I had the thermos and everything.

You remember the craze of taking lunch pails/boxes to school.

You remember the craze then the banning of slap bracelets.

You still get the urge to say “NOT” after every sentence. And an occasional "DUH!"

You remember Hypercolor T-shirts.

Barbie and the Rockers was your favorite band.

You thought She-Ra and He-Man should hook up.

You thought your childhood friends would never leave because you exchanged friendship bracelets. And all sorts of other friendship wear. Buddy bands, anyone? Okay, not really.

You owned a pair of jelly sandals. One for each time the fad came around, which was at least twice.

After you saw Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure you kept saying “I know what you are, but what am I?” But the big effect of that movie was the generation-specific fear of clowns.

You remember “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!”

You remember going to the skating rink before there were inline skates. But I could never do it. Rollerblades saved my roller-career.

You ever got seriously injured on a Slip ‘n’ Slide. Well, it doesn't help that most of the ones in existence were make-shift: garbage bags, a water hose, and a bottle of Dawn. And lots of obstructing objects.

You have ever played with a Skip-It.

You had or attended a birthday party at McDonald’s. I was just thinking about this the other day. I don't remember whose it was, but I had a horrible time.

You’ve gone through this list occasionally saying “totally awesome.” Some things I've been able to weed out.

You remember Popples. Still have them somewhere ... I really wish I could find mine. I loved it. It was pink and blue.

“Don’t worry, be happy.”

You wore like, EIGHT pairs of socks over tights. I didn't like socks now, and I didn't really then. So to heck if I'm going to wear multiple pairs.

You wore socks scrunched down. Okay, so I did do this.

“Miss Mary Mack Mack Mack, all dressed in black black black” "With silver buttons buttons buttons all down her back back back."

You remember boom boxes vs. CD players.

You remember watching both Gremlins movies.

You know what it meant to say “Care Bear Stare!” I think I saw one episode of that show and don't remember anything about it.

You remember watching Rainbow Brite and My Little Ponies.

You thought Doogie Howser was hot. I was in love with him.

You remember Alf, the lil furry brown alien from Melmac.

You remember New Kids on the Block when they were cool. I had a tee-shirt with them on it, a sweater (not a sweatshirt, mind you) that had the name of the band on it which I wore in my kindergarten picture, books about them from Scholastic Book Fair, and a little view-finder with pictures of them on the inside. No, I don't remember them. Actually, I don't think I ever had their tape. Strange...

You knew all the characters names and their life stories on Saved By the Bell, the ORIGINAL class. Are we talking the junior high episodes with Miss Bliss or the high school ones. Either way, I'm on top of it. I pride myself on knowing the first and last names of the actors and their characters.

You know all the words to Bon Jovi's "You Give Love a Bad Name." No, but I do have a tendency to sing, in a most disgusting voice, the like "Shot through the heart, and you're too blame. You give love a bad name," with mine and Holly retarded voice distortion on "love" and "name."

You played and /or collected Pogs.

You used to pretend that you could transform into a Power Ranger. No, I was more like one of the kids that made fun of the other kids who pretended to transform into Power Rangers.

who knew it was super bowl sunday?

I have been Super Homework Queen this weekend. (That's right. Not just a royal ruler, but a royal ruler will hero powers.) And the sad part is that I'm still not done. But that's okay. This sense of accomplishment drives me on. I only have to study for a Spanish quiz and email BarbCobb a revised thesis for my paper. The Spanish is no big deal. I just don't know how I feel about nailing down a thesis prior to even writing the paper. But here's to decision making, right? Surely it'll help.

Most of this homework I've done, I had to do somewhere else because the internet and all those stinkin' name-that-tune challenge you Xanga kids are throwing at me keeps me from accomplishing much. Really. Earlier today, I sat down to look at SparkNotes to see if the section of Republic I planned to read pertained to the question I needed to answer. Note that I didn't have any intention of copping out and just reading the SparkNotes. Anyway, I thought, Before I do that, lemme check those survey things out first because, hey, that's more fun. Ooh, look. Something shiny. A brand new list of twenty-five songs from Holly... Fifteen minutes later, I'd completely forgotten about looking at the SparkNotes and was still confused about what I was supposed to read for philosophy.

So I had to get out of here. Yesterday and today, I went to Starbucks to do my reading. That means I've spent something like five hours and too much money on Venti Caramel Macchiatos in that place. By the way, I was a big girl yesterday and could hold my Venti, aside from the fact I was soon unable to focus on the words on the page of the book I was reading. But today, I barely made it. I'll save my money for special occasions. But anyway, I've come to really love that place. No wonder most of the civilized United States is obsessed with it.

What will they drag out next to scare off the birds? Canons? For the past couple weeks, the scene around this neck of Murray's woods has looked like a scene from a Hitchcock film. And from the sound of it, various groups of people--or maybe it's the same group--have attempted to rid the place of the birds, but it hasn't worked. I'm not so sure what's so special about the six or eight trees behind this corner of Brentwood, but at least once a day there are probably five thousand of them hanging out on the limbs and screaming like crazy. The gunfire, the fireworks, and the bombs, some of which I think are stink bombs, have not done the trick. Now it sounds like someone's trying out his pellet gun. Good luck with that, sonny.

On a much more lovely note, hasn't this weather been awesome? With all the recuperating (AKA sleeping) I've been doing, I haven't been out enjoying it much, but now I feel much better. I hope it hangs around a bit this week.

bottom of the barrel

So I was weaving my way through a series of blogs, linked by association, and I found one I rather enjoy. There was a subtitle of sorts that went like this: There is a kind of happiness and wonder that makes you serious.

After reading through the blog for a while and moving on to others, I recalled that line and realized how true and beautifully articulated it is. But I remembered that there was no attribution. Though the author of this blog seems to be very insightful, I couldn't quite conceive that he penned it. So I took to the search engine. I was and was not surprised to learn that this was written by C. S. Lewis. What did indeed throw me off was that I've read it. In The Last Battle in The Chronicles of Narnia.

It took a lot of frustrating searching and skimming, but I finally found the context of it, which I felt was necessary for my own benefit. I learned a lesson through this process: It is very helpful for people looking for the origin of a quote to not only name the work from which it came, but also to guide, at least loosely, them to the location. So for anyone looking for the place where this quote can be found through a search engine, as I just did for far too long, and having stumbled upon this page:

"[T]here is a kind of happiness and wonder that makes you serious."

C. S. Lewis, The Last Battle, near the end of "Further Up and Further In"

Okay, I just felt like I owed that to the internet.

I find myself in the midst of a terrible mess. In the wake of the first three weeks of school and being sick, this place has collapsed in on itself. Or something like that. So much laundry needs to be done. So many dishes need to be done. (I need someone to train my incompetent self in the skills of dishwasher-using. Sad, I know.) I haven't straightened the couch up since Dale left last Saturday. And books. Sweet mother at the books. Strung from one end to the other. It's driving me insane, but all I really want to do is sleep. Yes, yes. I know this sounds much like the symptoms of depression. I don't think that's it. Though I am not sure what it is. Laziness, maybe? But I feel that it's possible that I am on the cusp of a cleaning spree. Might I add that the word cusp disgusts me?

So, uh, I have a new guitar. Yeah, I know. A friend of my cousin's was selling it for $50, and my cousin thought I might want it so she told my Mom. Well, they bought it sight-unseen. I don't need it, but hey, it won't hurt to have another, right? It's an acoustic Yamaha. That's all I know. Oh, and it came with the case. Mom has it at home. I guess I'll eventually get it. But right now, what I need is a tuner.

Um. Yeah. I'm out of boring things to talk about. How's that for the bottom of the barrel?

hoopla

They're having a showing of Napoleon Dynamite at the BSU tonight. I'd like to have stayed to see it, but I have a lot to do as far as homework goes: read on The Republic for philosophy, read whatever it is that we won't talk about in women's lit, and all kinds of Spanish hoopla. (I know hoopla isn't the right word there, but it sure is fun...) And I over-achieved and went ahead and did my advanced comp stuff. BarbCobb's a crazy woman having us email her two assignments with two different deadlines between two classes. But whatever. I wasn't about to wait until the last minute (being 7:59 tomorrow morning) to email her the second assignment. I'm going to try to go to bed at a decent hour tonight and sleep until at least 8:00. That'll be glorious. (Note that this is the only reason I didn't go and get a Caramel Macchiato after TNT.)

Now for more Spanish hoopla. I was extremely bored in the library today--though I'm not sure why because it seemed everybody was having a computer problem--and I was looking up the suggestions that dictionary.com returns when you search my name. No. I don't know why. Anyway, it turns out that my name is very similar to the scientific name for plants, usually flowering ones. Way to go, botany. But I also noticed casita, which I thought was pretty and looked rather Spanish in nature. And I was right. It means little house. So I looked up the word for prairie, and discovered that yes, Little House on the Prairie is La Casita de la Pradera on Spanish-speaking television. I felt much better after I settled that. Then I thought on the fact that adding -ita or -ito as the ending to lots of nouns makes them little. So at my favorite translating site, I began making my own Spanish words to see if they meant small this or small that. I had both successes and failures.

So ladies and gentlemen, for your multilingual pleasure, here is my presentation of

Words That Do and Do Not Mean

What I Thought They Did in Spanish

Cuadernito does mean little notebook.
Pezito, pesito, pescito, and pescadito do not mean little fish.
Librito does mean booklet.
Hombrito does not mean little man.
Gatito and gatita do mean kitten.
Vacita does not mean little cow.
Mesita does mean small table.
Carrito does not mean little car, but it does mean cart.
Perrito does mean little dog.
Estafadorito does not mean little racketeer.

Yes, so that was very fun and enlightening, no? No? No. It wasn't very much fun at all. So now that we're done not having fun, let's begin the real fun with Plato and Socrates and social justice.

he doesn't even wear socks

Considering this is the first time I have actually seen my redesign on an actual computer screen, I just now discovered how terribly uncomfortable it is. I'm sorry. Not fixing it. At least for a while. I did change the picture, though. I didn't realize how crappy that "washed up" looked against those trees. But I really did like the font. So I'll probably change it again when I get home. You're right. I'm never satisfied.

This is what, the third week of school? I'm already quite tired of it. I'm already habitually getting up later and later. And that first burst of academic ambition is waning rather rapidly. I'd rather stare at a brick wall (or some other exercise in futility) than actually do what I need to do for class.

:-/ And the semester finally just reared its true, ugly head. The crazy lady just came into the library. Why can't she just go to Applied Science? I think she's following me. Okay, now I'm the crazy one.

That's not an impossibility, either. Last night I had a rather humorous dream in which I was a drug dealer. Okay, so even in the dream, it wasn't something I was used to. I just happened to have a small stash that I needed to get rid of. I haven't a clue how it came to be mine. I finally decided who I was going to sell it to, but I was mortally afraid I would get caught, so I dumped it into his socks. Yeah, I don't know. The funny thing is that I'm pretty sure what I was selling to him was itty bitty wild onion bulbs. Maybe that's why he ripped me off. He paid me with a $120 bill, and he and his friend took off with my cell phone and the contents of my wallet. So what's the moral of the story, kids? Don't try to sell baby onions to Justin and Ryan. By the way, I miss those boys.

Alright, alright. I'm going to focus on homework now. I need to do something different. 'Cause I'm pretty sure I just saw Steve Zissou and the three-legged dog walk by the library.