Popwatch

I am a sucker for pop music. I can't really help it; it's probably genetic. I also really enjoy rap music. With lyrics like this how can I resist? "Gurlz call me Jolly Rancher Cuz I stay so hard You can suck me for a long time. Oh my god!" from D4L's Laffy Taffy. However, songs like this don't pretend to be anything they are not. It's a dumb song about women's asses. However, there have been some pop crimes occurring lately and I have to put my 2 cents in.

November was the month for teen pop stars to release angry-at-Daddy music. We have the stunningly vulnerable "Confessions of a Broken Heart" from that mistress of deep lyrical expression, Lindsey Lohan. Take the chorus where the full range of her heartbreak and vocabulary are laid out for the listener: "Daughter to father. Daughter to father. I am broken, but I am hoping. Daughter to father. Daughter to father. I am crying, a part of me's dying." I can't type anymore. It just hurts so much. The best part of the song is: "Daughter to father. I don't know you but I still want to. Daughter to father. Daughter to father. Tell me the truth. Did you ever love me?" Oh my god. If he says yes, will you give up your singing career? You will? Cause I just talked to him, and he really wants to get to know you, and he says he loves you very much. Yeah he really does. Now, go find him and eat something for heaven's sake.

The other mad-at-daddy song is from Kelly Clarkson, who I generally like. This may be a mad at Mommy or a mad at parents song, but the video is not clear. I think it's mad-at-Daddy cause he leaves, but you know, these pop stars can be tough nuts to crack. Anyway, I don't have much to snark about at that song except this line: "Because of you, I never stray too far from the sidewalk. Because of you, I learned to play on the safe side, so I don't get hurt." Now, I don't really think she has anything to complain about with these two lessons. Especially on the west side of Houston, never straying from the sidewalk is just a wise life lesson. West Houston is a place where pedestrians are treated with contempt. "What the hell is wrong with you that you have to walk on my road?" So she should really stop complaining. Teaching her that lesson was just good parenting.

Now on to the repeat offender, Gwen Stefani. This woman... where do I start? Really. She's just too old to be doing this shit to our pre-teens. First there was "Holla Back" which was an inexcusable exercise in bad pop music (produced by the Neptunes no less). Then there was the Debbie Gibson, Tiffany, Cindy Lauper inspired "I Know We're Cool." And now, now, we have this horrible, I mean really terrible, awful song "Luxurious". In a song with 319 words, about 3/4 of them are part of generic cliches. A sample:

"Working so hard every night and day, and now we get the pay back. Trying so hard; saving up the paper. Now we get to lay back.

"Champagne kisses hold me in your lap of luxury. I only want to fly first class desires, you're my limousine. So elegant the way we ride, our passion it just multiplies. There's platinum lightning in the sky. Look, I'm livin' like a queen.

"This kind of love is getting expensive. We know how to live baby. We're luxurious like Egyptian cotton. We're so rich in love we're rollin' in cashmere. Got it in fifth gear baby. Diamond in the rough is lookin so sparkly."

I can't even write my nasty comments because there are so many of them that they get all jumbled up in my head. See what this woman does is get these horrible songs with just terrible lyrics and has someone produce them really well. That way, the beat sounds good and catchy and one can be easily fooled into thinking the song is something it is not: good.

And I will close with "My Humps" by the Blackeyed Peas. For your information, humps are butt cheeks in this song. Sometimes they say "my hump" which just refers to the buttocks area. There are also "lady lumps" and "my lump" which are breasts and general breast area, respectively. For those of you unfortunate enough not to have heard this song, click on over to this page and watch the video if you dare. I can appreciate that is likely an attempt at humor. And maybe I'm just not funny or I just don't get it but whatever. Here's a sample of the lyrics:

"They say I'm really sexy. The boys they wanna sex me. They always standin next to me. Always dancin next to me. Tryna feel my hump hump. Lookin at my lump lump. You can look but you can't touch it.

"If you touch it I'ma start some drama. You don't want no drama. No no drama. No no no no drama. So don't Pull on my hand, boy. You ain't my man, boy. I'm just tryna dance, boy. And move my hump.

"My hump my hump my hump my hump my hump my hump. My hump my hump my hump my hump. My lovely lady lumps. My lovely lady lumps my lovely lady lumps. In the back and in the front."

I did not make that shit up.

Radio Silence

Sorry for not posting. I get so excited that people are reading my blog but then fuck around for a week without posting. I actually composed a post Saturday, but it was so boring. Blah blah blah nothing's finished blah blah blah thumbs feel better blah blah blah I love fall. Whatever, boring.

I've been feeling icky the past two days. Vomiting Sunday night led to icky yesterday. And then today, I just feel snarky. I'm going home for the holidays and I always get a bit nervous about that. Why do I get nervous? Who the hell knows. I'm so snarky that I was borderline rude to one of my consultants here at the office when I am normally polite and accommodating.

Anyway, I was going to knit my ex-boyfriend a hat on the flight home but decided against it. Instead, I am being totally selfish and knitting myself a bag out of my left over Manos Del Uruguay. Why am I knitting my ex-boyfriend a hat? Cause I am a sucker. Cause he's a nice guy.

I watched The Contender for about the 30th time this weekend. It's an excellent movie with Joan Allen, Jeff Bridges and Gary Oldman. Joan Allen is nominated by President Jeff Bridges to be Vice President and a disgusting Clinton-esque battle about sex ensues. In the middle, Joan Allen's character gives a wonderful, honest summary of her beliefs. In the end, the President addresses a joint session of Congress and gives an amazing speech about leadership, sacrifice and principles. Both those speeches made me cry this weekend because I can't imagine any of our leaders going out so strongly for their principles and standing up for them despite potential repercussions. When the White House uses its power (and its website) to openly attack members of Congress who disagree with it. When much the majority's Congressional leadership is either under investigation or indicted. When companies write the laws governing their industry and push them through using their army of lobbyists.

I'm reading Joseph Ellis' Founding Brothers right now. This book and others like it have made me realize that a toxic political climate is nothing new in this country. You know why John Adams wasn't elected for a second term? Toxic political climate. You know what happened when a couple of abolitionists put forth a bill in the House to ban slavery in 1790? Toxic political climate. But I just feel like we are on the wrong side of history right now.

Anyway, I try to stay away from politics on this blog, but it's something I really care about. And today's snarkiness has made me willing to take a bit of a risk.

I'm going to visit my parents tonight. I probably won't post anything until I get back on Sunday.

Not to make a liar out of myself

To avoid breaking my picture promise for the second day in a row, I will now upload photos.

Here's a cake to apologize. White cake with chocolate butter cream. Looking a little lopsided. Now, to the magic lace. We have exhibit A: blob of holey fabric.

And here's exhibit B: pretty lace. Well, sort of pretty. I messed up the pattern several times, but it's going to be almost correct in the real Kiri. However, I'm concerned that my silly left-handedness will cause my fern leaves to be upside down. We shall see....

I've recently rediscovered my love of cooking. I used to cook all the time and hadn't really done so since... well, since I became very depressed and was more interested in consuming massive quantities of food than consuming good food. I've not been really depressed for about 1.5 years; however, it's taken until now for me to get back into cooking. Here's a photo of yummy vegetables just for fun.

Update: I have meant to blog about this, but I keep forgetting. I have developed an unhealthy obsession with Death Cab for Cutie. That's a band for those of you that don't keep up with indie groups featured on the OC (which I hope is most of you). I don't keep up with them either. Death Cab (as it's known to those of us with unhealthy obsessions and those of us too lazy to say four words multiple times) was recommended to my by BN.com's "People Who Bought This CD also liked" suggestions. I was buying the Shins, a group that I am not obsessed with; in fact, I am actually not sure if I even like them (except for the two songs from Garden State that I probably like for Zach Braff more than the songs themselves... i don't know). I don't like the Shins despite the fact that they toured with the White Stripes, one of my favorite bands. Of course, that said, as one, now infamous Sonic Youth show in Chicago has made me realize you shouldn't judge a band by the headlining act (the two bands opening for Sonic Youth were so bad, I thought Anu was going to kill me for making her go... the first band was so bad that no one was applauding them at all). Anyway, back to Death Cab. I normally ignore those BN.com recommendations, but I have a thing for names I think are cool (Eagles of Death Metal are a prime example. And the song Talkin' Bout The Smiling Deathporn Immortality Blues from Hit to Death in the Future Head by Flaming Lips. I mean, how can you not like a song with the word Deathporn in the title?) I have two of Death Cab's cds. On Monday, I listened to the two cds the entire 8 hours of my work day. Today will probably be like that as well. I bought another disc of theirs yesterday so at least if I am to go insane from whiney indie music sung by brokenhearted men, it will be from more than 21 songs.

Seriously, what's with this

Ok, I've adjusted to the weather in Houston. I think that anything below 70 is chilly. I think that 80 is a comfortable temperature. I can appreciate a nice, cool 85 degree day in the middle of summer. But, I just can't take this any more. I mean, 80 is a comfortable temperature in September, even in October. But look, it was 86 degrees Sunday. We tied the 1945 record high. But 86 can even be pleasant provided you have the correct humidity. But Sunday, it was 93% humidity. IN NOVEMBER. So now I decree that Houston must get cool on Wednesday like the forecasters are promising, or I will get really mad. And the weather does not want to see me really mad.

I have pictures that I'm going to post. I've just not posted them yet. I got a bit distracted by Pride and Prejudice this weekend. I saw the movie Saturday and then in a move inspired by my best friend's tendency to obsess about films, I bought the BBC mini-series and watched that yesterday. Oh yes, 7 hours of Jane Austen in one weekend. I was quite looking forward to my decadent Sunday night of Desperate Housewives and Grey's Anatomy. Nothing like modern American pop to drag you out of the 19th century English countryside. Grey's Anatomy is the best show ever, and if you aren't watching it, I believe that your life is lacking an essential component and that you will soon become very ill without this essential component and you might even die. So start watching. Drool over hot men, laugh at funny, strong women and cry at magnificent story lines.

I've come up with a new TV rating system for knitters. Shows that are really stupid are hard lace project shows (like All My Children, which I faithfully watch every day). Shows that are sorta stupid are 10 row repeat shows (like Prison Break). Shows that are good are easy pattern repeat shows (like Desperate Housewives). Shows that are excellent (like Lost and Grey's Anatomy) are if you knit anything, make sure it has a lot of stokinette shows.

Good news about thumbs: I knitted for about two or three hours on both Saturday and Sunday with minimal pain. The pain is only there when I'm using them (whereas they were hurting all the time). I am very happy.

I will post photos tomorrow.

Painful decisions

Again, in this title, I demonstrate my flair for (melo)drama.

I cast on all 375 stitches for Ene from Scarf Style. I bravely started knitting, finishing two rows in one hour. I picked it up the next morning and came to work late knitting a third row. In the middle of the third row, realized the shawl had a problem. I noticed that the left "half" had many, many more stitches than the right "half." This was due to inability to count. I'm a bad counter with worsted weight yarn, but with two strands of lace weight, I'm hopeless. And this is not an error I could fix. Yesterday, during lunch, I took the whole thing off the needles. I know myself well enough to understand that, had I waited until after work, I would have tried to even out the mess for two to three hours, making it an even bigger mess, then coming to the conclusion that my first conclusion was right, it's hopeless and that I'd wasted 4 hours on something I had to toss anyway.

This shawl is so pretty. And Brynne (with her cool new URL) has a button on her blog that takes you to all sorts of beautiful Ene's surrounded by French text that probably says, "My scarf is so beautiful, I am so beautiful, I am so glad that I can count and took the time to cast on 375 stitches." But I just can't face casting on that many stitches again. I just can't. But it's so pretty. I can't decide.

I started Polly's Kiri last night as an alternative, knit the first chart and decided that, despite my loads of experience questioning patterns and finding out the author was right, decided to cast off the swatch and block it to see if my little blob of lace weight turned into an actual something. Of course, the pattern was right.

So my decision is between 1) casting on 375 stitches, braving five charts, and possibly messing it all up again or 2) starting Kiri again, knowing that I can finish it.

Am I really asking this? Sometimes I'm silly. Here's what I will do. I use the Knitpicks Alpaca cloud yarn for the Kiri. Learn how to work with laceweight yarn. After mastering charts, and not having to tick back stitches everytime I forget that a yarn over does not imply a knit stitch afterward (especially when the pattern, quite clearly, indicates k2tog). After that, I will start Ene anew with some other yarn. I don't know why I'm worried about where this Alpaca will go, it's not like I can't buy more. Or buy different yarn. Silly me.

Now you may all go back to your lives comforted by the fact that I have decided which shawl to knit.

a watched pot

I have made a decision to no longer complain about my thumbs. They hurt, it sucks, no more whining. You know you are getting boring when you bore yourself.

I didn't knit much this weekend because of those appendages about which we will not speak. I don't have any photos because work in progress photos of scarves can get quite boring. "Look, it's the same thing only more of it! Wow." "Oh, and now look, the same thing only now it's really long... but still not done." I finished casting on all 375 stitches for the Ene shawl from Scarf Style. I also made a decision about my mom's socks. I am going to leave the first one and cast on the second using the two circular needle method Amanda so impressed me with this weekend. If I am sufficiently impressed by the ease of this method, I will scrap the other half sock and begin again. But that was it, I did a lot of Sudoku this weekend (while watching my precious Hokies get flattened by Miami).

Now to the title. You know the saying, "A watched pot never boils"? Of course you do. Well, I have to tell you that while a watched pot may never boil, believe it or not, a whisked pot takes even longer. I made my mother's Christmas Mushroom soup last night. There is nothing particularly Christmas-y about the soup except that my mom makes it every Christmas Eve. The recipe goes like this: saute a large number of scallions in an obscene amount of butter, add flour (to create a very yucky looking roux), add chicken stock, whisk until boiling or until you either die of boredom, fall asleep or your arm muscles lock up, if you survive the whisking (or if you go to the living room to watch Extreme Makeover Home Edition for a few minutes while the shit comes to a boil) simmer for 10 minutes, etc...

This whisking seemed to take even longer because I was horrified by the chicken stock. I've been a vegetarian for 12 years. Now, I know many will scream that cooking mushroom soup with chicken stock eliminates me from the club, but really, I'm only a member because eating meat makes me feel very sad for the animals. I don't claim any moral superiority or anything like that. In fact, I'm sort of over it and would start eating meat today if I didn't feel like crying every time I did (I even feel bad when eating fish and crabs). Chicken stock doesn't make me feel like crying. Especially when its got a bunch of scallions and mushrooms pureed in it and tastes really great.

I normally buy Swanson chicken stock like any normal consumer. But, I've been on a Whole Foods kick, and suprisingly enough, they don't sell anything as common as Swanson. After picking up and rejecting several chicken stocks on the basis of price, organic-ness or free range-ness, I settle on the 365-brand organic chicken stock. Back at my home as I am sauteing the green onions, I read the chicken stock box (big mistake when you spend most of the time making your soup denying the inclusion of any actual chicken parts in the chicken stock). On the label, there is the 365-brand chicken stock mission statement, "Chicken stock should taste like chicken not salt." Oh god. I can hear them clucking.

Undeterred, I pour the stock in and start whisking. I can do this. I made the decision two years ago that chicken stock was an acceptable base for my soups. It's no problem. I whisk for a few minutes and then I see the image of a chicken staring up at me from the soup. They keep clucking. "Oh my god, it's just stock, Kristen, calm down." Cluck Cluck. It smells like chicken. Keep whisking. Just. Keep. Whisking. I see a chicken walk past the kitchen with a protest sign. Oh, it's only the cat with a cat nip toy. Look away, keep whisking. By this point, I have completely ignored the "bring to boil over medium heat" instructions and have the burner as high as it will go in order to get away from the lost chicken souls as quickly as possible. Five minutes have passed. I start to wonder if I have any kindling in the apartment. Seven minutes. It will never boil. Cluck cluck. Ten minutes. I have to sit down. I have to cleanse my soul with Extreme Makeover. I listen to the most. annoying. host. ever. shout into his megaphone until I start wishing I was still visualizing chicken heads in my soup. I return to the kitchen where alas, the chicken stock has begun boiling and the nightmare is over. The rest of the soup is easy, simmer for 10 min, add mushrooms for 1, strain, puree vegetables, serve with sour cream Yum.

The soup was very good. The chicken taste was well masked by the scallions, mushrooms and white pepper. However, I realized as I poured salt into my bowl of soup that I want my chicken stock to taste like salt not chicken.

da thumbs

It hit me last night that there is really something wrong with my thumbs/wrists. I've always treated the chiropractor as more of a pain reliever than a problem fixer. I have been seeing chiropractors for quite some time, since 2001, but I've never believed that they are really "healing" anything like they claim, it just feels like I'm better aligned. I keep going cause I feel much better after an adjustment. Anyway, I go there and the doctor does his little clicky, cracky thing on my thumbs and I'm happy (though a little disappointed that my back/neck didn't get in on the cracky/clicky action). Then I go to the back to meet with the physical therapist for some additional treatment. Now, this physical therapist and I, despite knowing each other for only 1 month, have a dodgy history. We had a huge argument in which I got quite upset when she told me that my wrists weren't in fact messed up and that it was my thumbs and that I was never going to knit again. Things haven't been the same since.

So again, I view the chiropractor as more of a feel good pain reliever. Anyway, I go to the back of the office, and they tell me that they are going to do 'ultrasound' on my thumbs. I throw in the obligatory joke about seeing the baby, and no one laughs (it's not "that kind" of ultrasound). So she throws all this jelly stuff on my wrist and starts rubbing it with the ultrasound machine thing. And it feels like a warm wrist/upper arm massage. No, it feels like a lovely, warm wrist/upper arm massage.

Then she hits it. She hits a spot on my right hand around where my wrist and hand connect. And oh my god, pain. We move on to the left wrist where the pain comes much more quickly and is much more intense. Like so bad that I was pulling away from her, grimacing and saying ouch. It was a dull ache magnified to the power of 100. Ouch. This pain made me realize that my wrists/thumbs are really messed up. And that I really need to take care of them for them to get better. And that I probably shouldn't have cast on a shawl last night.

As I was waiting for the doctor, I kept pacing around the adjustment room. I was feeling a high degree of tension from the busy week at work. I kept pacing and pacing and started thinking why don't I pace when I am stressed like this at home? Oh, I know why... cause I knit.

There was a slight glimmer of sunshine in my day today (there's that drama again). When I went to Starbucks for my morning latte (now going through a chai phase), I saw that the holiday lattes are available. Mmmmm. Eggnog lattes and gingerbread lattes. Thank you, Santa!!!

reader discretion is advised

this had a lot more swear words pre-editing...

The following post contains profanity...

i got the new braces for my thumbs and they suck.

when i was little and i couldn't sleep, my mom would always tell me just to lie (lay whatever) in bed with my eyes closed. not working.

i've always told myself that if i am tired enough, i will fall asleep.

i'm tired enough. i even took tylenol pm to augment the tiredness. not working.

when i can't sleep, i know it's going to be a long night when the left foot starts tapping. it's been tapping at a rapid pace.

when i can't sleep i attempt to trick myself by staring at the ceiling with my eyes open and the light on until my eyes close and i don't reopen them. they aren't closing.

it is hard to sleep with your thumbs stuck in place by the most awkward braces ever.

it is our thumbs that separate us from, you know, creatures without thumbs. and these braces make me a creature without thumbs. i can't fucking take it.

oh, you say, calm down, just sleep without it. but if i don't sleep without them, i'll never wear them. despite my physical therapist's insistence that i don't need my thumbs to type, i fucking do. so i can't wear them at work unless i want to get fired for not working. i can't wear them while i am knitting because thumbs are important to that, too. so i'm supposed to wear them for 8 hours while i sleep. but i won't sleep.

ok, the psycho is going back to bed without the braces. i have to get up and iron a suit to wear to a client meeting that i thought it would be a good idea for me to go to. of course, when i made this commitment, i didn't know that i would become a thumbless wonder the night before .

side note: i had no idea how to spell awkward until seriously right now when i looked it up. i can solve partial differential equations, but i don't know how to spell awkward.

Post-Felting

The before and after comparison...

It shrunk a lot more than I expected. It's turned out to be more than a purse than a satchel. It was strange how quickly it felted, in about 12 minutes. But the pattern looks really nice, and I love the way the Knitpicks Wool of the Andes felted.

And my brother's hat. I did one very similar to this for my other brother. I just reversed the green and burgundy for this hat.

Ok, I have to take a shower and get to work. I just wanted to show that, I finished two whole projects. All that's left for Christmas: Daddy's Interlocking Balloons and Mom's Wrist Hurters (aka socks).