tinkguy

Where?

2010-10-06T18:36:00.000-04:00

I went this-a-way:
tinkguy.posterous.com

The Plot Needs Thickener

2010-08-24T21:13:00.005-04:00

So, how's this for a plot.
This guy wakes up, taps the alarm clock before it rings off the third snooze. No word of the day text on his phone yet. He pulls his pants on, fumbles for his glasses, and shuffles into the kitchen. His dog can hardly sit still for the leash to be snapped on. The man grabs a roll of doggie bags and a dim flashlight, and heads outside. Overcast. No stars this morning. A sprinkler drones against a lamppost down the street.

Ok. That's all I could come up with this morning. It's pretty much every weekday morning for me. Except for seeing that UFO. That's not every weekday.

What's that smell?

2010-08-22T23:13:00.003-04:00

I accidentally stumbled upon my blog today. I haven't looked at it in so long. Like Chinese take-out at the back of the fridge. It's a bit ripe

It's getting close to autumn, the time of year when I rethink not writing that novel I'll never write again. I've not written about three books. Not-blogging must be a great way to keep not-writing. Even if I don't end up with not-a-book, I can get to know my iPad's auto spell features.

But what to write? I don't have a plot. So, back to whining.

An Islamic center, 10 stories with a mosque, is going to be built near Ground Zero in New York City. If they build that mosque in NYC, they'll be seeping their metric values into our communities, our schools. Islamic countries use the metric system. It's downright unAmerican. Soon, you'll go to the store, and all they'll sell is liters and milligrams. How the heck will I be able to determine what a serving size is? How cold is it when Hell freezes over, in Celsius?

I'm confused how this NYC mosque became an issue. The Freedom of Religion and all. Or, is it only freedom of YOUR religion? Sure, violent extremist Muslims brought down the towers. But, I'm doubting their families are members of the new Islamic center. I read it's a more moderate type of Islam. Not like the type of Christianity that literally crucifies a Wyoming kid for being gay, nor bombing the Olympics because they promote abortion--or however the Christian Identity idiot explained the antimultinationalist voices in his head--nor claiming earthquakes are their god's retribution for the country's "evil" behavior, nor stockpile weapons in their sheds for their god's militia, because the end times are upon us again.

Politicians this past week were all over this nonissue, like spitting brimstone at it would create more jobs. Shoot! Lindsay Lohan is more an issue. She's moving to NYC. She'll be looking for work, like a huge percentage of Americans. Maybe she can get one of those green energy jobs I hear are supposed to be coming 'round. Get some retraining about the weather stripping and insulation blowing industry. That's what her new movie, Inferno, is about. Efficient heating with stripping and blowing. That's what I've heard, anyway. If Lohan can get another job, there is hope for the rest of America!
Anyway, I better get some sleep if I hope to work up a plot to wrap my whining around.

Frangible

2010-01-24T20:47:00.003-05:00

Frangible. It's a real word. I had no idea. I just thought it was a spelling of "fragile" used to mimic incoherency.

I found my blog post to be frangible. I dropped it, and is split up into a few dozen pieces. Here are some:

***

I could see the cop inside. I was standing next to her car while in line to get in. The cop was counting people to be sure the fire marshal's occupancy limit was not exceeded. It looked friggin' crazy in there. A high energy place.

The woman at the door was checking people. Folks would walk up, and say a name. The woman would check her list, and say, "Okay, you're in." Or, not. Like to me, out in the cold next to the cop's car. I've never really been part of the "in-crowd."

"How many in your party?" the door woman asked me.

"Two," I told her. "But we don't need a table."

She whispered something into the mic at her breast. "Nope. Can't let you in until a table frees up." Shoot. Why not just go home and play video games instead. Pick up a frozen pizza...

I thought of slipping the door woman a couple Lincolns. I mean, after all, this was just Chuck E. Cheese on Saturday afternoon, not a NYC Club with Alica Keys trying out new material.

Outside so long made my kid's ears so cold. He nestled into my neck. Fine. We'll wait for a chance to win cheap plastic crap.

***

The books and magazine articles stress writing in a journal every day. And, a cheap journal, one I didn't have to worry about the cost of the page I was spoiling with drivel.

I picked up a journal a week ago. Still, I can't think of any cheap drivel to put into it. I may as well just sneeze into it. It was cheaper than tissue.

Shoot, I can barely think of a Facebook status every day. What the heck am I going to write in a journal.

The journal's got a pocket, though... That's cool, right? I can't think of a thing to put in the pocket, neither.

***

My boy said, "What's that song playing on the playground speakers?"

"I have no idea."

"It sounds like something from Sesame Street," he mused, "Sounds like it from this angle."

***

I lost my glasses again. I feel stupid. You'd think, seeing being so important to me, I'd remember where I put my eyes.

***

Where's the web site that feeds ideas to bloggers who have nothing to write about, but still have a nagging desire to just keep bull-sh*tting to hear themselves grumble?

I found a book of writer's prompts, but it's all fiction prompts. Nothing like, "What are your five favorite karoke songs and why?" Or, "When was the last time you laughed at someone else's pain?" Or, "Why do you wear the underwear you do?" Or, "Have you ever connected on a different, subtle plane with an animal at the zoo? Like it was talking to you?"

Sh*t. What the hell am I going to blog about?

***

Happy birthday! You know who you are.

***

I can't keep Facebook's "Live Feed" and "News Feed" straight in my head. I don't know why this bothers me.

***

I can feel nostalgia creep into me like Vaporub's pungent sting on the surface, seeping through my pores to suffocate today's reality in a soft, pessimistic gloom that is hard to shake. Then, my family smiles, and I remember I never lived in the 30s.

***

I don't like potato chips much any more. But, I still eat them.

***

Why doesn't Sasha Cohen have her own reality show yet? Or, maybe a video game? Damn. Still can't get a hold of her on Twitter. It's like she wants privacy, or something. Why crave privacy, when she could have thousands of pompous, obsequious armchair figure skaters telling her how she should do a triple Salchow in 114 characters or less? Or, tell her how we, too, felt her pain as she under-rotated and fell on her ass, but soared with her on her spirals. Geez. Privacy. So overrated. Um, not like I'll be friending you on Facebook anytime soon...

***

Yeah, well, like I said. Frangible.

Up and down and side side side

2010-01-11T22:34:00.004-05:00

So, two of the three parking spaces in front of my dentist's steps are handicapped spaces.

My dentist office has TVs in the ceiling. The hygienist asked if I wanted the headphones and the remote. I declined. I'd rather not have the TV there at all. First, I don't want my dental hygienist to worry if the super-bright spotlight she shines into my mouth is blocking my view of the TV. Get all the light you need to do your job. Second, I keep imagining the TV falling onto my face.

My hygienist is very nice. I don't envy her job AT ALL, scraping goo off strangers' teeth. It'd be nice to try and cheer her up a little. Someone needs to invent a Dental Patient Translator. How many times has your hygienist asked a question, but all you can say is, "Huurgh, huh-urhgh," with her fingers poking around in your mouth?

Instead of "hurgle-gawk-sthpit," it'd be great to say, "Why do dentists have the highest suicide rate? Because they're always looking down in the mouth."

Or, instead of "gaaah-rhh hherh gak," she'd hear, "Did you notice I wrote 'Wash Me' on my front teeth?"

Or "nawnghr ahgk SH*T!": "Say, do you Facebook? I have a son, single, who's your--OW! THAT FRIGGIN' HURT!"

Or, "hmmmmmmmmmmmmm er, um, awgk," translates as "Is that your breast on my forehead? I'm not sure I should be comfortable with that. Does my insurance cover that?"

All I'm saying is, a Dental Patient Translator would improve patient/hygienist relations a lot more than having a TV waiting above to crush their skulls.

Minor Home Improvements

2010-01-07T21:45:00.004-05:00

Here are five things I'd like to have in my house, but I don't have a place to put them:

#1: Tina Fey. Oh, it'd be great to have Tina Fey in my house. I could walk into her office, and say, "I'm feeling peckish today. Could you please update my Facebook status for me? Something wisecutefunny." That'd be so cool. And, if she spilled some wasabi on her shirt, she could borrow something from my new walk-in closet where I'd keep--

#2 The entire fashion archive of Christian Lacroix: This man can mix patterns and colors in so many bizarre ways and make it look freaky-awesome! Then, I'd invite all my friends to come over and try on the clothes. And, for the friends who couldn't care less, we could saunter to the back of my house where I'd have--

#3 An Irish Pub: Complete with Guinness on tap, and live Irish Music four nights a week. On the nights without the live music, I'd wander off into my backyard where I'd keep--

#4: Ireland. What's not to love? Pubs, music, rolling bogs, friendly people, horse racing, celtic history, a snazzy stone to kiss for luck. And, Ireland probably comes with a nice hot tub, too, from which I would watch--

#5 DVDs of all of Gong Li's movies. Really, my movie binder is running out of slots.

I Need More Buttons To Push

2010-01-05T23:15:00.005-05:00

There are five buttons I wished I had installed on my car's dash.

#1: The Block All Cell Phone Reception in a 1/2-mile Radius Button. That'd get the idiot in front of me to shut up and drive. And, don't tell me we don't already have this technology. The government won't tell you about it. They got it from the UFO that crashed into Area 51. (The aliens had been flying while texting.)

#2: The Alien Detector. Then, I know to which cars to follow so I can pull the alien driver over and ask for some of that secret technology.

#3: The Cut the Tailgater's Gas Button. You know the car you see speeding up behind you at 80+ mph, then hangs on your bumper? This button sends a signal to the jerk's car's computer to automatically slow it to 40mph. Oh, yeah. This technology exists, too. Ask the aliens that work at OnStar.

#4: The Pardon Me, I'm Late For Work Button. This would send a radio signal to the car ahead of you who is driving 10mph under the limit. Their car radio would then tell the driver, "Please move to the right lane so the car behind you may pass." This technology exists, too. Aliens tried selling this to the police and paramedics a couple years back.

#5: The Sandwich Button: 'Cause, sometimes while driving, I could really use a fresh veggie sandwich, with a little dressing, maybe some provolone... Drive-thrus just don't cut it. They never have good food, and they take too long. Shoot, I was in a Dairy Queen drive-thru for 45 minutes. And, not for a nice sandwich.

You Gonna Read All of That Now?!

2009-12-30T20:54:00.005-05:00

I took my boy to the comic book store. We had to drive through downtown to get there. I didn't know Jacksonville had a hair-burning factory. Smelled horrible. OR, the smell COULD be the Baptist Factory. We've got the third largest Baptist factory in the south! It takes up 11 square blocks, churning out Baptists left and right. Heck! THAT would solve our trade deficit. Yo, China! Send us cheap, plastic, lead-painted toys, and we'll send you a big shipment of Baptists! Oh, wait. We've been sending them missionaries already. China keeps sending them back. We'll have to look into our Baptist quality control department.

ANYWAY-- we drove through downtown to get to the comic book store. I was behind a car with a flapping car flag. It was in Gator colors: Orange and Blue. The flag read, "Jesus." (I think Jesus did some post-grad work at University of Florida. He discovered how to turn water into Gatorade.)

ANYWAY-- We finally made it to the comic book store. I warned the boy about turning the pages of the comic books very carefully, so we wouldn't stress out the comic guy behind the register.

We walked in, and headed for a Spider-man comic. The boy picked one up, and turned the pages with only two fingers, like I taught him. I stood over him like an in-law with nothing to do. "Very good, boy. Doin' good. You like that one?"

Some lady asked Comic Guy if they bought any back issues of a certain title. He told her to try Chamblin Bookmine in the haughtiest tone he could muster while watching us.

The boy picked another Spider-man comic, and rested it on the shelf so he could focus on his page-turning method. Comic Guy pretended to put some comics away next to us. "Um," he said, "Could you tell him NOT to leave the comics on the shelf like that while he turns the pages? They can get caught on the shelf above."

I had my boy hand me the comic. "Oh, sorry," I told my son, "Comics are meant for people without hands."

While my boy was reading Sonic, I said loud enough, "Say, don't breathe on it. The comic will lose 20% of its value."

I gave it a rest when Comic Guy got a phone call. "No. The owner isn't in. What is this about? I don't care if it's personal. He's never in."

My boy handed me an X-Men book with Storm on the cover-- my fave! "Did you lick this one? Or, did you expect me to lick it first?"

Well, we DID pay for some comics with our sullen, crumpled bills. Comics for a KID, of all things!

When we got home, we told my wife about the trip. She picked up the phone and called the comic book store.

My wife asked the phone, "Is the owner there?"

...

"No, I'd like to speak to the owner. When will he be in?"

...

"I would NOT like to leave him a message. Will he be in tonight?"

...

"It's about poor customer service," she told the phone. Today."

Well. The owner is never in, I guess.

But, I promised the boy I would blog this:

The comic guy at the comic book store wasn't very nice. He isn't very nice in The Simpsons comic book, either. But, we didn't get to step all over that title. Yet.

Brother, Can You Spare A , um, Like, Some Money, Dude?

2009-11-22T21:52:00.016-05:00

I've been walking the dog some more.

Last night, just after the evening twilight, I walk the dog up to a corner, and two skateboarders scrape by.

"Excuse me, sir?" the black-haired one yelled at me from across the street.

"Yeah?"

"Can I have a dollar?"

This kid is a product of our poor public school system. Our state's kids are growing up without a clue how to properly beg. No panache. No wheedling. Not even a grovel to tug some guilt-and a couple bucks-out of me. They panhandle just like the state. Essentially: Here's a new skateboarder tax: Give me a dollar.

I'm glad there are some private schools to teach some more fortunate kids this valuable skill. Valuable especially in this economy! I mean, how many times have you been at the gas station, without your debit card, no cash, and you just need a couple bucks for gas to make it home? In fact, some kids learn to beg before they can walk! Some even learn to beg instead of walking!

So, for all you folks who've been through Florida Public Schools, and need an appreciation for the sport of scrounge, here are some lines that just may get the job done for you.

*-*-*

I'm from The Immaculate Perception. Around the corner. We see you drive by Sunday mornings. I'd like to explain to you why you need to give me a tenth of what's in your wallet, or burn for all eternity.

I'm collecting donations to buy supplies for my charity car wash to raise money for uniforms for my school's band to wear while they sell cookie dough to fund their trip to Washington, D.C. to play a benefit concert to help starving kids in South America sell popcorn to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina.

My dog needs an operation I can't afford, and it's her birthday today. Could you spare a couple bucks so I could get her something special for her last meal?

Give me a dollar, or I'll have a wardrobe malfunction.

I ran into Samuel L. Jackson, and he said you're not as cheap as everyone says you are.

I know this guy in this apartment building that can turn your ten dollars into fifty. He's really shy, so give me your ten, and I'll be right back.

Mommy! Mommy! --What? You're not my real mommy? Y'know, this deep, personal pain you've caused me could be smoothed over with just a few bucks.

I'm passing the hat here! C'mon, don't cheap out! I had to pawn my ventriloquist's dummy just to buy the hat!

Help! Help! My two-year-old baby wandered out of the house last night, and made it clear across town! I need to send her cab fare.

My job moved to India. Can you spare some dough so I can go chase after it?

Say, stop feeding Africa! I'm hungry and standing right in front of you.

I just gave my last fiver to a hungry skateboarder. Could you spare some change so I can make it home?

*-*-*

There's plenty more, you can bet. I'll be looking for you and your hook. I don't have any cash to give you, you understand. I'm a little light in the wallet this payday. Business has still not stimulated in my neck of the woods, and blogging about idiots don't pay squat, so, um, if you could shoot me a little something-something, you'd make my day. I take Paypal.

Not the first time around the block

2009-11-10T20:49:00.004-05:00

What have I been doing instead of blogging? Walking my dog.

A musty dawn broke on our second time around the block. We stopped a full suburban yard away from a white German shepherd nosing the grass. The owner of the grass pulled his extra-wide Buick out of his garage, missed the dog, and pulled into a different driveway in the cul-de-sac. He must have expected the German shepherd to close the garage door.

Chloe tugged me around the block some more, and the neighbor in the Buick pulled up. "Have you seen a white German shepherd?"

"Yes. He was standing in your yard."

"Really? I think he was headed this way. He's my neighbor's dog, and when he gets out, he just takes off. He just doesn't listen. Just a dumb dog."

The Buick pulled up to the German shepherd at the next corner. The driver didn't get out of the car. The dog sat and watched the car back up a little, turn a little, move forward, turn a little, back up a little, etc. until the Buick had made a U-turn. The dog walked away toward another smell.

"See," the driver said, "the dog is stupid."

What was he telling the dog? Get in the car, and drive? Anyone who watches the Dog Whisperer knows German shepherds can't drive. It is the Welsh Cabbies which are bred for their superior chauffeuring traits. Although, they're hard to train to use their turn signals.

Who's That Twit?

2009-08-23T12:38:00.006-04:00

So, I do the Facebook (FB) thing. Played a little FB backgammon, some Bejeweled Blitz, and Farm Town. I've learned I'd make an excellent Clone Trooper, and I'm more of a Rachel from Friends. I've told cyberspace my favorite supermodel is Trish Goff, and I love Marvel Comics' Storm. And, I can hardly get enough of the Dog Whisperer show. But, really, I just like to see what my FB friends are up to.

Then, there is Twitter. I've Twittered off and on. I found a celebrity I really like to follow. I loved Samantha Who? and her appearance in this video during the writers' strike was hilarious! I found Christina Applegate's Twitter ID through FB or her web site. It turns out, she loves the NYT crossword puzzle, and slow music, and Lee National Denim Day. It's just kinda nifty to follow her for awhile.

I've also followed Alicia Keys, and seen her new shoe purchases.

I've read about how Kelly Ripa is really tired, but on the plane home.

Then, I became addicted to finding celebrities. I'm following 19 Twits now, most of them celebrities. Alyssa Milano is on her honeymoon, and reposts news stories and tweets about favorite causes. Rose McGowan loves her dogs, and found a Dustbuster isn't the best way to clean up exploded overcooked eggs.
John Cleese is selling t-shirts, and Paula Abdul went to bed early. Kristen Bell did NOT fall asleep cooking eggs, but DID fall asleep in a car wash recliner.

Just a few people follow me on Twitter. I'm no Carrie Ann Inaba, but every now and then, I find my Twitter Followers number jumps to 6. It's usually some aspiring porn actress needing attention. You can usually tell because their Twitter name has vulgar words in it. Or, all her posts are about her tawdry movie links. Or, she doesn't have a tweet at all.

Last night, another complete stranger started following me. It was someone I've never heard of. Amandabeeson9 is her id. I've tried very hard to find a dirty word in her name. She has normal posts about taking her mom and sister to lunch. Her GlamourShot pic looks a little like Jamie Presley, but not overtly alluring.

So, now I'm following this COMPLETE stranger. I don't know why this should feel weird to me. I mean, all these celebrities I'm following are strangers to me. So far, all I've learned about Amandabeeson9 is she has a mom, and by googling her tweet "Upscale Waffle: Aloe," I've discovered she probably lives with her roommate in New York City. But, at the first sign of "buy my new sexy DVD," I am soooo blocking her.

Long Lost

2009-08-07T21:21:00.002-04:00

Sit on it

2009-07-31T19:08:00.016-04:00

If this is just too long for one sitting:

Day 2
Adjustment
Comfort Zone

A few weeks ago, I got this ache just to the right of my lower spine, and it only happened while sitting. Bad for a knitter. Standing is fine. Walking is fine. Getting up off the floor after cleaning up dog mess, not so fine.

My wife had a different back ache, and suggested we try a chiropractor. I've never been.

I don't know why she chose the one she did-- maybe they had a late opening. It used to be a hair and nail salon, but there wasn't a trace of acetone in the air when I walked in.

I filled out documents, chose not to put a lien on my house (really!?!), pointed out on the computer where it hurt, with a 4 on the Pain-in-the-Sphincter scale.

I sat in the little x-ray room (facials used to be in this room, I think), and looked at the anatomy charts. I love anatomical charts, and drawings. I read Gray's Anatomy, but only got through the the first section: the spine! before stopping to look at all the pictures. By reading the chiropractic charts, I figured out one of my lower lumbar vertebrae might be pinching my sciatic nerve.

Dr. P entered, and had me sit and lift each leg while his hand was on my back. My left leg caused a normal back movement, but the right leg lift caused none whatsoever. He said, "One of your lower vertebra may be pinching your sciatic nerve."

I emptied my pockets, and got a front and side x-ray of my pelvis. Then, after laying face-down while electrodes thumped my lower back under a hot pad, and laying face-up on a bread kneading machine, I was asked to come back for the x-ray results.

*** DAY 2 ***

The next day, Dr. P wasn't in, so Dr. D saw me in the ex-foot massage room. He decided to introduce me to the magic of chiropractic.

Dr D asked, "What is the most important part of the body?"

"The heart," I said.

"The brain. Everyone knows that."

"Well, without the heart pumping oxygen to the brain, it would starve and die."

"Yes, but without the brain, the heart wouldn't know to beat."

"Ah, but cells of the heart can actually beat by themselves! I saw it on Discovery, I think. But, this is a cyclical tangent. Let's just suppose the brain is most important," I said.

Dr. D went on. "Well, the brain is connected to nerves spreading out everywhere in your body. So, when an organ has a problem, it sends a signal to the brain it's in trouble, and your innate intelligence sets about to heal it."

"Through a different system, like the lymph nodes?"

"Well, suppose we take an organ?"

"Like the heart?"

"A different one."

"The lung?"

"Sure," he said, "If the lung gets sick, it sends a signal to the brain, through the spinal cord, and the brain sends help. But, if the lung keeps sending the sick signal too much, this causes a vertebra to twist, and pinch off the nerve, and cause greater illness!"

I thought about my back pain, and where it was located-- near my most favoritest, and funnest male organ. Maybe it was having too much fun and it wasn't getting the brain's message to knock it off.

"So, if I breathe in an irritant, it disturbs a lung-nerve. The nerve twists a back bone out of joint?"

"Yep. I can show you where all smokers have an arch in their back."

"A nerve is not a muscle, right? So, you're saying an electrical or chemical impulse traveling down a healthy nerve makes the nerve bulge out of shape, and knock a backbone out of joint? A bone that is held in place like a puzzle piece by many different muscles attached to it."

"Um, no. Not like that," Dr. D said.

"What causes the nerve to twist the vertebrae," I asked.

"Um, I should know that. I know that it does, but I haven't had to explain it for awhile."

"I get that way explaining additive and subtractive color, and color gamuts."

Dr. D showed me my x-rays. "See, here's your back from the back side. See how the pelvis is shifted at an angle? This hip joint is higher than the other, and could indicate a misalignment."

"Or, it could mean I had most my weight on my left leg," I suggested, falling back on my study of artistic anatomy.

Dr. D figured that could very well be, and said I should have stood with even weight distribution. Then, he showed me the side-view x-ray. "See, this bottom end curve of your spine is too shallow. Now that you're older, there are no arteries going into this part of the spine any more. The back, like a spring, flexes when you walk, expelling waste. But, your spine doesn't curve enough down here."

"Expelling waste, how?" Never mind what kind of waste, nor to where.

"By... by... It's called... When something floats through to fill an empty space, kind of."

"Osmosis?"

"That's it." Dr. D stopped. "At work, do you sit leaning forward? Don't, because your brain stem can slip gradually into your C1."

"The axis, right?"

"Hey, that's right! And, this will shorten your life." After an inspiring story of an anonymous spinal adjustment relieving some diabetic symptoms, he said, "Anyway, we'll need to adjust your spine over quite a few visits, so your back can operate properly. Let's get started."

*** Adjustment ***

So, he led me out of the ex-foot massage room, into a room that had never been used by the salon, I reckon. It was designed for torture. The walls were gray and had a bare cement floor so the blood and tears could be hosed off. Sanitary is a very high priority in any medical field. There was a small green half-bench. It looked like a weight bench for an eight-year-old. There was a hole in the main horizontal pad through which I could scream through. Well, at least I didn't have to get undressed.

I laid on my belly. Dr. D pushed on my lumbar a good three times, then went to my upper back.

ker-RACK!

I snapped up off that bench. "YeOW, man!"

"That was gas escap--"

"That was hurt!"

"It hurt?" Dr. D asked?

"You didn't break it, but it hurt. I guess I'm just not used to this whole chiropractic thing."

He sent me on to the electrodes and kneading machines.

That night, I talked to a lady who had a different chiropractor. He was a chiropractor to the stars-- sports stars. He made her do exercises. Now, that made sense. stretch the muscles. Make them more flexible and stronger. Hmm. I bet with a good muscle relaxant...

So, I Googled, and I Wikied, and learned a load of chiropractic tidbits. It turns out, I'm not the only one who questions whether seemingly unrelated diseases can shift vertebrae. I searched the web, sitting straight up, mind you. At Wikipedia, B J Palmer said about the same thing as Dr. D said about lung disease. B J Palmer, son of the guy who invented Chiropractic in c. 1890, and the guy who gave Ronald Reagan his first broadcasting job, said he could show the same vertebra out of place in small pox patients, realign the spine, and then: no more small pox. Like the whole germ-thing causing illness is a sham. And, though many physicians believe the body has an ability to help heal itself, using the phrase, "innate intelligence" is a uniquely, and now quirky, chiropractic term.

*** Comfort Zone ***

I eventually went to my family MD. She said, yes, yoga would be good for my back, and she prescribed a muscle relaxant. She also discovered a little pebble-hardness at my pain site. I had forgot to mention it to anyone before. No idea what it is. And, she says my pain has more to do with my sacrum area, than with the vertebrae above it.

I'll get to my yoga soon. Really. I've a new goal. I want to do a seated spinal twist. I think it is the most beautiful of all yoga positions. Maybe I should draw it first. That's safer.

Downside, I can't have my Guinness since I'm taking muscle relaxants. I wonder how much Guinness I have to drink to have the same effect?

Well, thanks for reading. If you made it through this post in one sitting, I'm betting your sacrum is pretty sore by now, too.

Nightstand Strata

2009-06-06T14:54:00.006-04:00

I could not find my newest pair of glasses. They were not on my side of the dresser, nor in my catch-all dresser drawer. They were not in my bag. They were not on my face, either. Though, I have found them there before.

So, I needed to excavate my nightstand to see if they slipped in there some how.

I do this every now and then.

On my nightstand:
Phone, lamp, clock-radio, a box of Kleenex, a Tinker Bell mug of water on a coaster.

My aunt Carol's address.

Receipts for: a Lily Allen CD, a coffee, two for art supplies, and one for a surgical procedure.

A dime, a little bit of rubbery plastic.

A Tinker Bell pin, a stuffed fairy named Snow, two pairs of hand-knit socks--one pair has never been worn.

Two pens, my blue-framed glasses (not the ones I was looking for), my half-rimmed glasses (the ones I WAS looking for!)

Scraps of yarn, a Tinker Bell bucket of yarn including three skeins of Politically Incorrect yarn.

A framed wallet-sized picture of my goddaughter from about 5 years ago.

Then, the stack of books:
There's Nothing Funny About Design, by David Barringer
League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Century 1910
Complete Dracula, issue 1
Grimm Fairy Tales, issues 36-8 (unread)
Strangers in Paradise comics, Vol 1 Is. 3; Vol 3, Is. 2, 3, 51-3, 61, 76.

Two birthday cards.

Marvel Adventures: Spider-man #27 (my boy's)
Echo, # 1-12, plus a second copy of #2. (All mine.)
Astonishing X-Men #29

Interweave Knits Summer 2009
Tao, The Watercourse Way, Alan Watts
Parabola, sp 2009
Pad of translucent vellum
Naked, by David Sedaris (Not as amusing as I had thought)
Small book of grid paper
How to Draw Celtic Knotwork
Celtic Knotwork Designs
Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Is. 2009
Interweave Knits Sp 2009

Prey Elsewhere

2009-05-31T22:16:00.006-04:00

"[A vampire] may not enter anywhere on the first, unless there be some one of the household who bid him to come."
--Dracula, Bram Stoker

So, there's this knock on my door yesterday morning. I tore myself from the latest Facebook app, and with a kid at my elbow, and a puppy at his feet, I opened the door.

Two gray ladies, one two steps behind the other, looked at the puppy, then the boy in his jammie shorts, then my head poked around the door.

"Hello," the first septuagenarian said, "I wondered if we might share a piece of scripture with you today."

"No. Thank you." I brushed my boy back, and closed the door.

As my door shut in her face, she said, "I noticed your sign--" She was pointing to the homey "Peace To All Who Enter" tile hanging in the window. Yeah, well, the old demon hadn't gotten even a toe across my threshold. No peace for her.

"Who was that," my boy asked.

"Just someone selling something we didn't need."

Yeah, I used to tell the godsellers I worshiped a goat, or their god didn't exist as much as mine. But, that takes too much time, and I would have to pretend to care. Now days, I have a kid to protect from their holier-than-thou grasp.

I'm tired of playing their psyche-sucking game. They knock on your door. All they need you to do is answer. Cause, if you greet them amiably, they take encouragement from you they are doing their imaginary master's bidding, then bug your neighbors. Maybe even use your name. But, if you say they are wasting their time, they may steel themselves to stand in your yard and chant a few words to their imaginary master about you, then may even come back for a second helping next month. Woe is you if they bite you. You'll become one of their pack, enter their den of lies, of guilt and ignorance, with pious backbiting. Woe, woe, woe.

So, to all avid proselytizing succubi: Behold, you stand at the door and knock. At my No Soliciting sign.

Before Tink: The Best Super Hero in the World

2009-04-12T12:59:00.009-04:00

I needed forget Jacksonville is sometimes just like Hazzard County, GA complete with Boss Hogg and Roscoe P. Coltrane.

I'm glad we still have comic book stores for that. My boy, M, saw my two boxes of old comics, and decided he wanted a couple boxes of comics, too. I thought he should start with one-- to add to his Sonic comic. His mom gave him $5 dollars, and off we went.

It'd been awhile since I've been in a comics store. M would pick up a book, and start to GENTLY flip through it, like I showed him. I hadn't seen the T+, and the A on the covers before! It's probably been on there a couple years. It could be a way to keep the comics industry from being totally stamped out by other people trying to protect my son's soul. BUT, I used it to find a story arc that M could sit through without becoming bored, or ask a gazillion questions I can't answer. ("Daddy, where do super heroes go when they die? If there is a zombie swamp monster under my bed, do you have a super power to get it back into the swamp? Or, at least into the neighbor's backyard? Why not?")

ANYWAY, M's new favorite character is Wolverine. Weapon X is T+ (Teens and over). But, he did find X-Men First Class, rated A for Anyone. He likes all the X-men. He knows their names and powers, thanks to an old video game he found, and a couple cartoons he saw. He managed to sit through 1/2 the first movie, too. I'm sure all his friends swap X-Men stories and make up new ones. I wonder if Socrates and Plato did the same thing regarding the gods and goddesses on Mount Olympus?

My favorite super hero of all time is Storm. (See pic by Aaron Lopresti which I found here.) She's the BEST X-Man. The greatest super hero EVER. She even beat Scott Summers-- WITHOUT her weather-controlling super powers. I had collected a lot of Storm stuff. I still have an empty can of Dr. Pepper with her picture on it. I wonder if my boy will become just as nuts for the X-Men.

M proudly paid the $5 for the comic, and "Dad! I got some cents back!" He took my money, and paid for my comic, too. He's getting so big. I picked up the current issue of Echo, by Terry Moore, who wrote/drew Strangers in Paradise. I opened up Echo, and the love of his art gripped me again. It was like looking at an old friend again. Now I need to get all the other issues of Echo. Dang. Back into the comic obsession...

It did made me smile to take my boy on a comic book trip, though. Dad and boy time.

Say, they just started drawing Pride and Prejudice, for all those Jane Austin fans out there.

Tink on Ice

2009-04-12T00:46:00.004-04:00

So, we went to Disney on Ice. Other than Mickey, Minnie, Goofy and Donald, it was okay.

Some random thoughts about the Disney on Ice Show:

When Ariel gets her legs, it got a lot less hotter under the water.

During the Lion King, I still couldn't tell the difference between The Circle of Life and the Food Chain.

The litte girl behind me had no idea what a hyena was, and asked her mom a dozen questions about them, but at the intermission, she pointed at the skating rink and told her mom that was a Zamboni.

During the Pixar's Cars skidding this and that way on the ice, all I could think of was driving in Minnesota winters. I wanted to throw down some sand for them.

Then the Pixie Hollow fairies came out after the intermission. My wife had the good camera, but I thought, what the heck, try the cell phone camera. But every time I try to get a shot of Tinker Bell, she was all white light.

FINALLY, after a dozen photos of Tink and her atomic aura, and at the end of the show, I get a shot.

So, the show wraps up with melding the Pixie Hollow music with the M-I-C-K-E-Y theme... Just to drum it into your head that Mickey is always watching, and owns everything you just saw.

Nothing to blog

2009-04-11T19:59:00.004-04:00

So, Somali pirates hijack the Maersk Alabama in the Indian Ocean. The crew stabs a pirate and the pirates leave in a lifeboat with the Maersk captain. The U.S. Navy shows up, and the pirates radio a German ship, the Hansa Stavanger that was under pirate control since this Saturday. But, the Navy wouldn't let them through.

The Hansa Stavanger had a crew of 24 sailors. 12 of them are from Tuvalu.

Tuvalu is the fourth smallest country in the world. They make money by leasing their domain name .tv (it's like the United Kindoms .uk, or Canada's .ca) to folks like NBC4.tv, or china.tv. I mean, a country without mineral resources, nor rivers, groundwater. Or, food.

Speaking of food, the Maersk Alabama that was hijacked: It finally made it to it's destination: Mombasa, Kenya with food aid.

Oh, and the captain? He's from Vermont. They just legalized gay marriage.

Ok. Nothing to blog today.

When Is It Too Much Information?

2009-04-09T21:37:00.002-04:00

When I type a capital P, I hold the shift key down with my right pinkie finger, then strike the P with the middle finger of the same hand.

Now, did I really need to blog that?

Pieces from my week

2009-04-08T21:40:00.005-04:00

Nothing feels quite like finishing a snazzy pair of socks! And, nothing feels quite like realizing I Kirchner stitched the second sock shut two rows too early. Sigh. Nothing feels like unraveling a toe, and joining in new yarn to get the toe right.

***

My boy introduced me to a new little girl in his class (he's 5.5). He said they were in love, and it was real. Well, I guess I won't have to explain eHarmony to him.

***

I tried Twitter. I found myself almost caring if Kelly Ripa made her flight back to the U.S. Apparently, she needs sleep just as much as I do.

***

The room freshener makes my office smell like a Smurf bordello.

***

My boy would not keep his hands out of the ice bin at the movie theater concession stand. So, I used some of Cesar Millan's Dog Whispering tricks on him. They really work! Now my boy knows I'm the alpha dog. He's thinks his mom should get me a better leash.

Unfaded Memories

2009-04-05T02:21:00.019-04:00

I remember the first time I saw The Thin Man. I had just got my job back that morning. To celebrate, I spent the afternoon pitching pennies. I won enough to buy a ticket to the theater near my brother-in-law's house where I rented a room. I sprawled out in the middle of a row, even winked at a girl a row behind me. First, the news reel about John Dillinger still being at large, the drought and dust storms, and Hitler's rise. A Betty Boop cartoon, and FINALLY the film. I laughed all the year's troubles away. Heck, we all did. I left the theater convinced all I needed was a snappy wit and a small dog to meet me a swell dame like Myrna Loy.

Well, okay. That's not exactly how it went. I love old movies: Bogart film noir, Fred Astaire musicals, or screwball Cary Grant comedies. My mind makes up a little fake me-history to go along with what I'm watching. I don't know why my brain does it, either. I'd understand it if they were memories of my OWN life, but "memories" of my grandparents' era? Is it to enjoy the movie even more, as if I could be in the original time at a theater when it was first released. Or, is it just a game to cull as much sickly-sweet nostalgia as I can from the movie?

When I hear old Benny Goodman tunes, I'll get sucked back to the days before going to war, the smokey dance hall with the tables shoved close together, yellow bulbs with tin shades hanging from the ceiling to light us, swirling-drunk dances, wringing one more happy memory to warm me through the winters Over There.

It's other people's schmaltz, but I loll in it all the same.

Mowrrrff?

2009-03-22T16:42:00.004-04:00

I speak Cat. Don't believe me? Say this to your cat, "Mrrrah meh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh." Cracks 'em up every time.

As a kid, our family had up to 7 house cats at a time. I knew all their personalities and senses of humor. We always had cats. And, oddly, I always had a cold.

Turns out, I'm allergic to cats. And dogs. And trees, and things that bloom. I took the allergist's prick test. I'm allergic to pricks, too. When my allergies hit, my eyes water, nose runs, and asthma kicks in. Many times I've run from a friend's house as if it were on fire so I can get some "fresh" air.

Anyway, my family is getting a puppy. She is a rat terrier my kid has named Chloe. I don't think he named her for the Paris fashion house. Nor for Chloe Sevigny. He got it from a dog movie I refuse to see. I wanted to name it Guinness, but I was told that wasn't a girl's name.

As I was saying, I'm allergic to dogs. We went out to meet Chloe's daddy in a parking lot, midway between Chloe's home and our house. I pet the dog, then wiped my face to test my allergy to his breed. I thought of wiping the dog all over my face, but that seemed rude. Maybe I should have greeted the dog in dog-language: sniff it's butt.

My allergies didn't kick off. True, a parking lot is well ventilated, but I thought I did pretty well! And, now my boy gets his dog. Chloe will show up sometime in May. My family has promised to bathe it weekly, and deal with any excretion mishaps to lessen the chance of asthma attacks.

But, I'm most afraid of the language barrier. I've tried to speak French, Spanish, Japanese, Chinese, American Sign Language, Tagalog-- shoot, I can barely understand Pig Latin. With foreign languages, I'm tongue-tied. Soon, I'll be living with something that only speaks Dog. Chloe will show up, and I'll just stand there like the cat's got my tongue. I'm sure there are certain growls, yips, snorts, and wags I should know. Does anyone have some colloquial dog expressions you can share? Do I greet Chloe with some hip hand gesture, and say, "Yo, dawg, who let you out?"

Geez. I hope she likes me.

Got My Knit On

2009-03-17T22:44:00.008-04:00

Ooooooooh. It has been a long time since I've been excited by yarn. I had just cast off a pair of undulating rib socks that took two, maybe three months to finish. I just wanted them done. I almost bound off the second sock way too early and called it a Soda Can Cozie.

Then a few weeks ago, (been too busy to blog) I saw the yarn pictured here. The one on the far left is Last Call, and the nearest colorway is I Shaved My Legs For This. They are Politically Incorrect yarns from Sugarbee Studios. They are now waiting for me in my bucket o' yarn on my nightstand.

And, I'm FINALLY onto the Deaton sock pattern from PicnicKnits. I've been wanting to start this sock since September of last year.

AND, I had just spent a few hours with other knitters! Some knitters I knew, some I didn't, and some I hadn't seen in what seemed like forever. And, they were all engaging, and delightful and they all glowed with knitting essence-- or, maybe the room was well lit.

Anyway, I've been energized. I feel like a heathen with renewed faith in the Needles and Fiber.

Oh. If you're planning an engagement party, and need to hire a quartet, I know just the folks for you. They're spinners. Watching these folks spin wool can make even a room full of bellicose warmongers stop their foulmouthed diatribes and drift into a meditative swoon of elevated homespun consciousness. ... ... ...

Whoa. I slipped off myself just thinking of them. I wonder if they need a groupie.

Wisenheimer, Offend Thyself

2009-03-10T23:26:00.007-04:00

So, I snapped out a crappy pun which played upon the obvious religious heresy of the stranger in the story being told. However, the pun was received as a hint toward sexual deviancy.

My head emptied. My mouth hung open, flapping gently on one hinge. There was a dry, gurgle in my throat. I could hear blood rushing past my ears to flush my face. My blinking was slow, and deliberate. Fog swirled around empty skull. Lightning was sure to strike me any second. As the topic was expounded a little, my gut twisted, and I began to sweat under my too-too jaunty cap. The pun's connection to sex was SO obvious! How come I didn't catch it before I said anything!?!

People will always say they have a sense of humor, and listen to a variety of music, and are not easily offended. People think a lot of themselves. Me, too. It has been awhile since I've been offended. I mean, I listen to Lily Allen: See! Sense of humor, musical variety, and not offended all in one!

It has been a long time since I remember being offended. But, in this case, had I REALLY been offended? What is being offended? What happens? I mean, I got over it. I don't think anybody in the room was out to get me, or any such nonsense. Everyone was very nice. I just felt very uncomfortable.

So, I got to thinking (I really ought to stick to knitting, though). Maybe feeling comfortable all the time is a bad thing. And, that's a wild thing for a meat sack of neuroses like me to be thinking. What is soooooo bad about being uncomfortable? Maybe I could pay very close attention to the uncomfort, and try to pin down just what it IS. Kind of an inner adventure. Or, just plain get over it and move on. Why dwell? If I get too uncomfortable, I can always grab a Guinness, my knitting, and an old movie.

And, to anyone who was in that room for my REALLY bad pun: Yeah, I thought it was a stupid pun, too.

Laugh and Let Laugh

2009-02-26T23:43:00.010-05:00

So, I said, "Sure, I've seen The Holy Land theme park. I've gotta warn you. You WILL get wet on the Jonah in the Whale Ride."

Then, someone said, "Are you joking? I can't tell when you're joking."

Yeah. I get that a lot. Especially when I'm not very funny.

So, in case you're wondering, at left is my face after I just told the computer what I had for lunch. Note the half-closed eyes staring off into space, a little nervous, with a self-deprecating air. I could use a trim about the goatee.

Now, at right is my face just after telling the computer a joke. Notice the snarky smirk, the twinkle in the eye, the cocky tilt to the head. Oh, yeah. I'm joking all right. You should be falling off your laptop, because the joke I told the computer was so funny.

Here's the deal. I've been thinking. (In case you're wondering, when I think, I look very angry, but I'm NOT angry!) Why would someone bother asking me if THEY think my joke is funny? Do I have to carry a laugh track around with me? (Everyone, say it with me: "Is that a laugh track in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?") Why not let yourself decide whether to laugh or not? Don't laugh if the joke is stupid. Laugh if the joke is funny. OH! And, laugh in the middle of a sentence-- for no reason. That is loads of fun. Gets people real nervous real quick.

Anyway, if you're still not sure when to laugh or not, let me revise my little joke. It's like a pop quiz:

Hey, great crowd here tonight. Great to be here.

Anyone been to the Holy Land theme park? I freaked out on the Tower of Babel. They make you walk 16 flights of stairs, and when you're pushed off, you scream in 12 different languages. And all the concession stands have all-you-can-eat loaves and fishes. They're practically giving the stuff away. Oh, and my little boy likes the petting zoo, He rides those Four Ponies of the Apocalypse like there was no tomorrow.

Hey, thanks for being here. Remember to tip your bartender and waitstaff. Good night.

Soooo, how'd you do? Did you manage to roll your eyes in mock disgust a couple times? That's all I'm asking for. A genuine response from the core of your being. Is that so hard?

Please blink and drive.

2009-02-01T12:49:00.003-05:00

On my way to work, I was sitting in the left turn lane (in a car) waiting for the light to change (again). I was listening to some song, grooving to it a little, and I noticed some off-beat percussion. It sounded like sticks clacking together, but they were way off beat. I tried tapping out the rhythm on my steering wheel. I couldn't imagine an audio engineer letting that beat through.

It, er, turns out, the odd beat was my turn signal. So, when I turned my music up louder so I didn't have to hear the turn signal, a small beacon of light blinked on in my head. The reason people don't use their turn signals is because they don't want the clicking sound to ruin their music!

PEOPLE! Turn up your car radios! Turn 'em up LOUD! Then feel free to use your turn signals!

It's probably why all the cool, hip young'uns drive with music that make ears bleed two blocks away! Because they want to use their signals, and be the safe, conscientious drivers we know they are!

In fact, I now understand why the guy I'm following drives with his blinker on ALL the time! He's listening to a great groove, and can't hear that his turn signal is still on! Now, I don't mind at all!

SO, rock on, America! Blast those tunes! As long as you use your blinkin' turn signals!

The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

2008-12-29T17:45:00.003-05:00

My artist friend, Kathy, was over the other day and told me to update my blog, or else she would have to stop reading the same paragraph over and over again.

My favorite thing to do is to knit and watch old movies. TCM was celebrating Humphrey Bogart's birthday (Don't we all?) on Dec. 25, and I got to Tivo The Maltese Falcon. FANTASTIC movie, although I don't know if I'd let the kids watch it. I think it's rated PG-13 just for all the smoking.

Anyhoo-- Near the beginning of the film, Spade (Bogart) returns to his room at about four in the morning after visiting the crime scene. I can't remember exactly what he did just then--pour himself a drink, I think. I do remember what he DIDN'T do:

He didn't check his email. Spade didn't update his Facebook status, "Sam is having a rough night." He didn't blog about the clues at the murder scene. He didn't delete his partner's photo off the Spade and Archer web site. He didn't search the bay area Craig's List for a bird statue. He didn't flip on CNN for the day's headlines. He didn't even play a game on his cell phone.

I couldn't get over how quiet his apartment was. Simple. Some pictures of horses. Tidy. Nearest thing to an urban Walden Pond you'd be able to get now days. What would you do if you lived in Sam Spade's apartment? Go nuts from all the clear-headed, uninterrupted thinking? Get lonely, and see what type of, um, phone "service" was available in 40s San Francisco? Get a cat?

Late in the movie, all the main characters are in Spade's apartment overnight (slumber party!). When the final scene begins, Gutman is holding some sort of bulky thing in his lap. (Not a PC!) Watch for it. It might give you some ideas.

Happy to be back blogging, though. Needed a little break. Thanks for the kick in the butt, Kathy.

Let's All Have A Pajama Party! With Pie!

2008-11-27T08:23:00.011-05:00

Last weekend, I stepped out of my comfort zone. I was dared to do it. So, the kids could have pie.

I went out to the Winn Dixie one night to get the kids pie, in my jammie-pants. KC and my wife said people do this ALL the time. It isn't like going to a snazzy restaurant in just your underwear, and accidentally running into Christina Aguilera on break from shooting a music video. Er, Christina would probably be wearing just her underwear, too, in that case.

Anyway, I went to the store about 30 minutes before closing wearing a hoodie and my Guinness pajama pants. I walked all over the store looking for a pecan pie, but ended up with just the pumpkin. And, y'know what I saw? There was a guy, about 20 years old, wearing his pajama pants. They were plaid. Not my style, but hey! I was hip! That never happens! I was wearing pajama pants in public! I even added a little strut to my parading around the Winn Dixie.

The next morning, it was about 50 deg. F (10 deg C). We were headed to the beach to clam (another story), but stopped off at the Dunkin Donuts. It was much too cold to be wearing anything as light and comfy as jammie pants. Oh, sure, there was the young woman wearing capris and a halter top. And the two little girls wearing matching tutus. One was bare foot.

Three young ladies (Two barefoot! In a restaraunt! --well, a donut shop) strolled in wearing pajama pants! They must have been around 20 yrs old, looking young, and much too hip for me to be talking to.

*** Here's a tip for all those married men out there. Do NOT point out to your wife how attractive the pretty, young lady's Tinker Bell jammie pants are. How they are light green, with Tinker Bells in various poses, and "Tinker Bell" written on them in fuschia with hearts. And, how well worn they look. Your wife will tell you she knows what you're REALLY looking at, and finish your damn coffee. ***

Anyhoo--

I got to thinking. (WAIT! Stick with me! I wasn't thinking that hard!) What if my wearing pajama pants in public is NOT hip (or cool, or sick, or damaged, or whatever the kids are saying), but just an old fart dressing too young? A cisvestite (That's a word, right? I saw it in a book.).

So, I won't be doing the pajama pants in public again. Unless someone out there needs a pie some night. That's right. Mild-mannered Tinkguy is really Pieman! Delivering pies to all good citizens, wearing his pajamas! Who wants pie?

Where Do Thoughts Come From??

2008-11-16T12:28:00.007-05:00

It's not the cartoon angel and devil on my shoulder. It's not my mind sifting through a cosmic stream of consciousness. It's not the way you look tonight. (Unless... heh, heh, what'r yer wearing?)

The mind is a tool. (I've been told I'm a tool, but I digress. My mind is like that.)

A tool. That's it. It is not the seat of a soul, nor the unruly monkey trying to guide me to an early grave. It's like a snazzy calculator. And, it's programmable! Sure, thoughts are the product of mind. How the thought comes to me, and disappears is the mystery. Like a wave.

Say I'm looking at a kitten, or a flower, or the way you look tonight, and I notice I have this thought, "Gosh, it/you are easy on my eyes." The kitten, flower, nor you put that thought in my head. Nor the next one that follows: "That kitten/flower/you would look great in my living room." And, guaranteed there are more thoughts that follow. How I'd get it/you there, what to feed it/you. Cats are good, flowers are best, all else is bad.--

I thought these thoughts were correct, just because I thought them! THAT'S crazy! And, maybe they will loop over and over. In a rut. Some thoughts that many, many people have, like: "I'm shy," "I suck at business," or "You look really great tonight." (Well, that last one IS right. You do look awesome tonight. Is that a new shirt?)

It's my senses taking in info, putting them in my mind-tool which makes snap-judgments of raw data at 1/16th of a second, THEN playing them, or replaying them. What if I could just think and stop the auto snap-judging!?! Take thoughts as only raw data? Like a bubble blown by a child floating through my mind.

I like it best when my mind is OFF! Crazy, I know. But, when I drew, all I did was draw. My brain wasn't chattering away about housework, politics, or the way you look tonight. (Seriously. You should be in movies, or selling me something.) I knew a musician who said the same thing happened when he played. The thoughts stopped. It's happened when I beat on my little drum player. (I don't care that I suck at drums. But, that's not my point.) And, every now and then, when the house is quiet, and I've got the pattern down-- knitting. Sometimes, doing the dishes. Scrubbing the floor. Walking for awhile by myself. And, just sitting.

It's not the thoughts that are good or bad. They are just thoughts. And, I'm just sick of having them all the time. I gotta go knit.

I reckon I've bored you enough. So, what do you think?

Mnemosyne's Kiss

2008-11-15T11:57:00.010-05:00

My wife, boy and I were rushing through the public access to Neptune Beach last night. The Space Shuttle Endeavor was going to be launched. At 7:50 in the evening, the beach was dimly lit by a moon, a smidge on the waning side, but slathered in layers of cloud. Sea foam flopped along the sand, over our feet. Looking south, into the strong wind, was a dense sea spray fog. I left my hoodie in the car. I was a little chilly. Dangnabbit wind. Small groups of folks huddled around their mobile phones, connected to the NASA site. T minus 5 minutes.

I had brought my binoculars. I don't use them much any more. Star gazing, sometimes. Tonight, it was more cloudy than starry. Nothing really to point the binoculars at. There was a small, greenwhite pin-light near the ocean's horizon, about 5 degrees north of east. Through the binoculars I can see subtle shades of black of the fishing ship's shape.

There was a tanker. It was underway without lights. Creeping blacked-out city on waves. Safe passage through the Gulf. Socolddamnwind. Balls to 8 watch again. So tired. No stars. Socolddamnwind. Glow. Off starboard now. Water ablaze. Tanker. Thrashing souls. Screams in my head. So, so damn #$%&ing cold. Damn wind.

"Daddy, can I see?" my boy says, tugging at my pants. T minus 2 minutes and counting.

"Huh? Um, there's nothing to see out there. But, sure." I put the binocular strap over his head. "Y'know, your dad used to do this for a living."

A hoodie would have been nice.

O! Say, can you see O's?

2008-11-10T22:15:00.008-05:00

Obama. That's the answer.

The Fed. Gov't should license Obama! Take Obama's name, his head, his logo, and put it on EVERYTHING! Official Obama merchandise!

Wake up to a bowl of Obama-O's! Fortified with vitamins, minerals and hope! Don't think you can eat a whole bowl? Yes you can! And, each box has a free Obama bobblehead inside!

Obama T-shirts, tote-bags, towels. Obama coffee mugs, coin sets, and collector plates. Obama sun screens for cars. Obama teething rings for babies. Obama temporary tattoos for the tweens!

Obama's family sauerkraut recipe. Obama soap-on-a-rope. Obama pajamas!

And, not only does the Fed take the profits and put it toward the national debt, but all this stuff could be American made!

Save the US Auto Industry! Just put Obama's face on the hood of all the models that won't sell!

Obama (TM) is just the thing to get the American economy moving again! Heck-by-golly-gee-willikers! I'm betting all these goods will sell fast over seas! His international appeal is phenomenal! He might even be bigger than John Lennon! Imagine there is no more trade deficit!

Man, I've got to get a message off to Senator Bill Nelson. This could pay for two crappy wars, a bail-out of a corrupt banking system, and two skeins of sock yarn for every man, woman and child in the world! Maybe even some U.S. healthcare thrown in!

sigh

2008-11-08T18:07:00.001-05:00

Some days I wonder what Pam would do.

America: Time for a REAL change

2008-11-07T21:50:00.005-05:00

So, when we were in New York City, my wife and boy and I were sitting on a bench. We were on a subway platform waiting for the next train.

Then, my wife and boy slipped off the bench, and they just disappeared into the crowd. I couldn't do anything to stop them! When I looked to my other side, I realized I was sitting next to (*gasp*) a lesbian! I had heard rumors back then gays and lesbians could destroy families like that. I had no idea it would happen so abruptly. Fortunately, I was able to shoo away the vile lesbian with the pocket New Testament I keep handy for just such emergencies.

OH, COME ON!!

Florida passed Amendment 2: The Marriage Protection Amendment that states a marriage is between one man and one woman. California passed Proposition 8 saying the same thing.

Love is love is love. "It's the only thing there's just too little of." So, stop trying to stop it. Love is like spring, a hurricane, or, um, a god(dess). Why all the hate, Califlornida? And twenty-some-odd other miserable states.

Someone told me that homosexuals won't get into heaven. Well, who died and made you king/queen of heaven? It's not for YOU to judge, if I recall. Maybe some gays and lesbians (and me) don't want to go to your heaven anyhow. The music probably sucks. I hear Peng-lai is quite nice. And, we're not in heaven, folks, but in the land of the free.

Handy work

2008-11-05T22:51:00.005-05:00

Ah, a special time of year! When the air turns crisp, and the heating ducts are burning off the dust. Time to huddle under a hand-knit afghan (remind me to make one of those) around the TV and watch all the toy commercials. Kids tugging at their parent's sleeve, saying "I want that!"

I like the toy commercials for another reason. I like watching the hands that make the super hero action figures fly. The hands that make Barbie dance. I like the doll commercials best, because the hands make Barbie's head cock just a little to make Barbie look like she's listening, or twist slightly to show off her glittery salon quality tresses. What tiny, subtle movements are barely added to the shot to make the doll seem alive.

And, sometimes these hands don't belong to the kids you think are playing with the toys. Sometimes you can barely see them.

I imagine the hands walking into an audition, and the director telling the hands to give their best walk, and the hand saying they can play younger. May be the producer asks if the hands are comfortable with full bare-knuckle shots.

My Pen Knife

2008-11-05T00:00:00.007-05:00

So, have you ever misplaced something? I mean, you JUST had it. You swear up and down you just set it down for a second, and now you can't find it! You look for this something in the same place at least seven times. Then, when you turn around, THERE IT IS! It's in the place you thought you left it! It must have been sitting there all along.

Well, have you thought this: Maybe you didn't misplace it! Maybe the "lost" thing was NOT sitting where you thought it was all along. Maybe it was borrowed. Borrowed by the fay.

Oh, go ahead. Laugh it up. Leave your comments below that I'm nuts.

But, it happens ALL the time to me. The item the fairies have been borrowing quite a bit lately is my pen knife. I keep it in my left front pants pocket-- when it's not being borrowed. It is usually returned to my pants pocket a day or so later. Just this past Saturday I found it in my knitting bag after about four days missing. The knitter sitting next to me wondered why I was giggling, but I didn't tell her.

And, now my pen knife's gone missing again. And, I don't mind. I just smile, and know the pixies are about. Some night, though, I'll be lucky enough to spot them borrowing. You let me know if you catch one, won't you?

I Knit and I Vote

2008-11-02T13:01:00.002-05:00

Being a knitter, I am totally confused on which candidate to vote for.

Obama's logo reminds me of a ball of yarn:

And, McCain's logo looks like two knitting needles and a stitch marker!

Which is more important to my knitting? Yarn or needles? AAAUGH! Politics is so polarized, so brain-numbingly complicated. I can't imagine what voting in America would be like if we had more than two political parties.

Wait. What's that? Nader? Keyes? You mean there are THREE socialist candidates (Gloria LaRiva, Brian Moore, and Roger Colero)? Ted Weill from the Reform Party? Shoot, I remember the Reform Party from way back. And, there are scores more!?!

You mean I can vote for Joe the Candidate?

Why hasn't the media told me about these folks? (Though, I DID see Nader debate a parrot.) But, seriously, I don't know where they stand on the issues knitters hold near-and-dear to their hearts. Where do they stand on left-leaning increases? Artificial fibers? Can we get our country off its addiction to foreign-spun yarns? Circular or DPNs? Is there a League of Knitting Voters I could ask for a pamphlet?

I am going to the voting booth wearing a blindfold. This is not going to be pretty.

Tink Flak

2008-10-29T22:24:00.008-04:00

So I meet this cop, W. My boy and goddaughter are talking to the lady he's with, so he's free to look me up and down. He had me pegged pretty well, apparently.

"Soooo. Pink and purple, eh?" W. says to me. He nods at me, and gives a little smirk.

"Excuse me?" I ask.

"Your lanyards. They're pink and purple." Smirk.

"Sure. Pink. Purple. They're for all the Tink pins." And later, after 10 hours around my neck, they will be HEAVY.

"Hmm-mm." He smirked even more. Didn't his mom tell him his face could freeze that way? "Are you holding them pins for someone?"

"Nope. These are all mine. I've got more back in the hotel."

"Hmm-mm." Still smirking.

"She's my favorite character." But, being a Disney cop, he already knew that. It's the first thing they train you to do at Disney Police Academy: to discover a person's favorite Disney character just by reading their body language, eye movements, and t-shirts.

"Hmm-mm." he said smirkishly.

"I finally got to meet her after all these years! A couple hours ago."

"Hmm-mm." he said smirkably.

Maybe I should have changed the subject to my sock knitting. THAT would have wiped the smirk off his face.

Bonus Fairies

2008-10-29T22:13:00.005-04:00

Here I am standing next to some more fairies. Rosetta in pink, and Iridessa in yellow. Can you tell, when these pictures were taken, I hadn't gotten to meet Tink yet? I mean, Iridessa was so incredibly delightful and de-lovely, and talked up a storm, and Rosetta was charming and graceful, but I'm all about Tink.

Have I mention I am totally bonkers for Tinker Bell? Kinda hard to pick that up about me.

TINK TINK TINK TINK

2008-10-29T00:24:00.006-04:00

First time in Disney history, Tink was doing a meet and greet!

It wasn't advertised. You wouldn't have been able to see it on the Disney World daily schedule when you got to the park. No signs pointing the way. Just a simple "Disney Characters" sign outside. My wife had gotten an email mentioning very little about it.

We ended up being about the 7th family in line, waited quite a bit, BUT IT WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT.

Disney shrunk all of us down and we went into Pixie Hollow. Here I am FINALLY standing next to my very favorite Disney character of all time!

Tink made me feel as young as this little guy next to his favorite fairy, Rosetta:

Later in the day, after word got out, we heard it was about a 4-hour wait to see Tink and her friends.

Say, did you happen to see all the "Lost Things," as the fairies call them, around my neck. Everyone of them is a Tink pin. I was the envy of more than one teen-aged girl. Oh, and I was NOT the only dad out there who liked Tink the best! I met another standing in line for ice cream.

And, yes, we watched the new Tinker Bell movie tonight! I'm still trying to work out the movie's theme. If you've seen it, maybe you can help me. Is it 1) Stick with what you're good at, don't bother trying anything new, or 2) Pulling an all-nighter will make-up for months of work down the tubes. Maybe I should watch it again.

Kid talk 2

2008-10-20T21:32:00.004-04:00

"Daddy, why is that woman wearing a Band-aid on her face?"

"I have no idea."

"Maybe she just wants to look more cooler."

***

A six-year-old girl playing Pictionary with her Minnesotan family (friends of us, down here in Florida) had to draw the word "knitting." She drew me.

Yarn Harlot

2008-10-19T22:05:00.011-04:00

She was hilarious. She was poignant. Piquant? Hmmm. I need thesaurus.com. Heck, I need to do some sit-ups (see above).

Anyway, I didn't have anything on my needles to knit for the shindig (seemed a knitting-sin not to), so I grabbed some Cascade 220 Superwash, and some straight number 3s. After I ripped-out the few rows I did at lunch, I started again on my cables. I made a flipping mess, but I learned:

1) I should have drew my very own cable pattern out using pattern symbols on paper first,
2) it sucked when I forced myself to make a cable where 1/2 my brain said it should be, and
3) I had more fun just playing with my impromptu knit/purl pattern.

Which is when I finally got over with my little satori and set my needles down.

Stephanie Pearl-McPhee is a fantastic public speaker, in addition to being an author and knitter. She had me laughing so hard, I almost had an asthma attack. Informative, enlightening, and empowering. (So what if my wife doesn't quite understand why I keep knitting socks?)

And, I didn't know Toronto worshiped skunks! Geez, all the homeowners (i.e., Mr. & Mrs. Pearl-McPhee) have to go through to get rid of a skunk in Toronto! It makes you wonder if Toronto has a skunk temple like the famous rat temple in India. Y'know there'll come a day when Toronto will have to kill the skunks, or the humans will have to flee the city like some sci-fi B movie.

Anyway, buy her book. Read it. Laugh. And, knit something!

TMI

2008-10-18T19:31:00.005-04:00

Okay. I saw the Yarn Harlot, but before I try to find my camera to download the pic, (I got to my room that night, dropped my bags, and just about passed out, before I realized I had to do a load of laundry at 12:30 am.) and post about it, I need to clear up something:

1. I'm a social misfit.

I got to spend some time with some really cool people. And, I met a very nice young lady, S. S mentioned she had this fear (I'm not going to mention it.) But, I think I reacted like I thought she was insane. AH! No, no, no! In fact, I wanted to compare seemingly irrational fears. So, S, if you're out there, this post is for you.

2. Every headache I get surely means I'm about to have a cerebral aneurysm.

Then, if I manage to get the headache to go away with acupressure, caffeine, or pills, I remember:

3. I know I'll die by getting hit by a bus.

So, I look both ways, usually twice, before crossing the street. I hate to jaywalk or cross against the lights.

4. I'm a major goopaphobe.

Coined by my wife, as a goopaphobe I don't like sticky fingers, my boy to wipe his nose on my arm, or guacamole on my elbow. I used to get a peeved face. I just stop what I'm doing and reach for the paper towels. Now, that doesn't mean I don't like my wife's guacamole, or my boy's nose. I'll weed the garden, or unplug a drain, but I'll de-goop as soon as I can.

5. I don't like to eat in front of strangers.

Geez. All sorts of neurosis there. I have trouble eating at buffets, 'cause I feel like all the humans (including me) are at the feed station of some barn, and all the eating and grunting noises are magnified in my head, seeing all the people hunched over, shoveling all-they-can-eat deep-fried everything into their maws, fattening up for the county fair...

...and, that's how I feel when I eat in front of strangers. I mean, which one is the nacho fork? Do I chug my Guinness too fast? What if a string of cheese gets caught in my goatee and no one tells me? What if I absent-mindedly wipe my goopy hands on my pants? My neighbor's skirt? Did I just talk with my mouth full? Laugh with my mouth full? I my mouth ever NOT full? I feel like a pig when eating in front of strangers. Which, of course, leads back to:

1. I'm a social misfit.

I don't know the polite topics, I cannot talk about football, and I feel dorky when I mention the weather we're having. I can't segue between topics without feeling I ran over a speed bump. If I say anything, I'm sure I offended someone. I feel like I'm leering when I smile, and when I look people in the eye, I feel like I see pieces of their souls, so I try hard not to stare, so I lower my eyes, which can be a problem if you're a guy talking to a lady, then I worry I look gawky and desperate -- for absolutely no reason-- and maybe I should just stay home and knit. I don't know how to say good-bye. And, when this all floods my brain...

6. I chant.

I chant, "I love my wife I love my wife I love my wife," under my breath. Now, true, I DO love my wife. That's not why I chant it. The reason I chant it is because I feel like I've done something incredibly dumb, and crude. I know no matter how stupid the incident, yet, incredibly, my wife still loves me. And, that's why I chant it.

So, S, see? I don't think you're crazy at all. Just crazy enough.

HEY! Hockey's on. Gotta motor.

Nothing doing!

2008-10-15T23:36:00.003-04:00

Shoot! I'm going to meet the Yarn Harlot tomorrow, and I don't have anything on my needles right now! I better get going on my gauge swatch!

AAAAAUGH!!

Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust

2008-10-15T00:32:00.006-04:00

I've heard candidates for President say they wish they had a magic wand that could fix all the nation's ills.

Why not vote for a candidate that DOES have a magic wand?

VOTE TINK 2008!

Even Tink's campaign slogan captures the hearts and souls of both sides of the aisle:

Faith (Conservative Right-wing tells us is needed), Trust (Liberal Left-wing tells us is needed), and Pixie Dust (what we are telling ourselves is needed).

Yep! Lost your house through foreclosure? Got laid-off? Can't get a student loan? Family torn apart by a stagnate, unpopular war? Well, there's really nothing to it! All you need is a little faith, and trust. And... Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. A little pinch of Pixie Dust!

Get out there and vote! Make it count! It's time for a real change! Send a message to Washington! Vote Tink!

A Nose for Art

2008-10-12T21:45:00.008-04:00

My wife had to work from home today, so I needed to take my boy out and give her some peace.

My friend K.C. and her daughter took us downtown to the Jacksonville Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA). And, I had a freaking blast!

There were these ultra realistic resin cast sculptures of humans by Marc Sijan. Very cool. The guy knows how to paint skin tone. Though, I don't recall any but caucasian sculptures in this installation. Seriously, some pretty awesome work. The detail in the ballerina's toes with calluses. The slightly sun burnt skin of the overweight bald man in swim trunks (Standing Man). I loved the one called Hands on Shoulder (though the figure had one hand on her foot. Must be a zen thing. Or, a misprinted tag.) It was almost a classical or yoga pose, and I was trying to figure which muscle groups were flexed, and which were relaxed, and if the sculpture really reflected that. It was a pensive pose, yet so relaxed and inviting. I mean you have to really look closely to find any thing off about the sculptures.
KC took the kids, and let me wander through. I had finished studying the full figure of the big guy in swim trunks, when a family passed me toward him. I stood at the balerina and listened to the family mock his appearance, and the dad pulled out a slim, red camera. He took two steps back, and snapped the big guy's photo. At the count of two, a security guard swooped out from no where, and marched straight to the dad saying, "I thought I told you to stop taking pictures!" Whoa! He had to delete the pix, or get his camera confiscated.

I went up to the fifth floor to meet KC and the kids. They were making sculptures out of aluminum wire and Model Magic. Her kid made hearts, mine made two alien heads, and a loop-de-loop. I made a few different noses. I like noses.

Then we had lunch at the library next door, went to the library where I didn't find the book that I was looking for, but found two others. My boy got a kids book on Neil Armstrong.

Fabulous time. I want to get some Crayola Model Magic and spend next weekend making noses.

Next Saturday is Art in the Parks! Downtown. I hope I've got nothing else planned.

You are what you read?

2008-10-09T19:10:00.003-04:00

Well, I've let my subscriptions to Vogue, Elle, and Bazaar lapse. BUT: When is my next issue of Interweave Knits going to show up in my mailbox?

My wife's first issue of Playboy should be arriving soon, too.

Hmm. There seems to be a crossed wire somewhere.

***

Magazines sitting on my toilet tank right now:

Self, 10/08
Glamour, 10/08
Vogue Knitting, Fall 2007
Disney Files, Fall 2008
and a DK book: Watch Me Grow: Panda

Void, where uninhibited

2008-10-08T22:45:00.005-04:00

So, there's this meditation on the body, and focusing on not only breathing, but the blood, and such, and then watching the rise and fall of thoughts, and-- oh, screw it.

Look at the cute skull I drew! It'd make a terrific temporary tattoo for my boy.

Best work all day.

Droodle me this.

2008-10-05T13:48:00.021-04:00

I've always liked optical illusions.

I've liked this one with the visible gray dots that aren't really there. I stared at these for hours as a kid.

Here's a whole page of them.

But the best optical illusions were the ones I could tell were screwing with my brain, not just the various weaknesses of the human eye.

Droodles. They've been around a very long time. I've since lost my copies of the little books. I used to carry them to school, study them during lunch, make up my own answers. I'll be getting the new copies very soon and showing them to my kid.

My favorite ones were the ones with multiple answers. My favorite (Watch your brain, now.) :

I think the official caption is:

An Olive Sticking Out Its Pimento.
Or, A Tennis Racket Needing to be Restrung.
Oh, and A Hairbrush for a Bald Man.

And, then turn it this way:

An Egg with a Mohawk.

And, turn it this way:

A Nickel Jumps the Third Rail.
or, A Beheaded Cotton Swab

Hmmm. This is turning a little dark. Maybe I can make a little adjustment:

Jiffy the High Diving Horse's View of the Swimming Pool.
Or, A French Fry Hula-hooping.

Anyway, time for the point.

I love the trick the Droodles play on my brain. It all happens in my brain!

How well do you know the people you meet? Isn't there just the finest of fine lines between what is an aquaintance, and what is a friend? How much time? How many hugs? Is "A stranger just a friend you haven't met"? Where is the line YOU draw between friend and enemy? Does it switch back from enemy to friend? How much of it is in your head?

What if, just, what if you could look at people like they were a Droodle? Let go of who they are in your head, and watch it change in your head moment by moment.

Get back to me on this, will you?

Just keep buying!

2008-10-02T22:50:00.008-04:00

So, America is broker than broke. Most American's are up to their Versace sunglasses in debt. There is apparently no liquidity to be found anywhere in the markets. (Does that include the Off and On Liquor Market down the street? They've been getting some business this past two weeks.)

What is a good little consumer to do?

Shop away your troubles!

How about hitting a mall, getting some new clothes, new hair, a tan, bleached teeth, new contacts, then hitting a dance club, down a few brewskis, build another chair, design a shirt, then hit a coffee shop and chat up some neo-luddite philosophy with some folks dressed as merpeople before working on your nose job, all FREE-- then click off your computer, and go to bed feeling like you partied like you were 21 again-- only there was something missing. Like, an honest heartbeat.

That's SecondLife.com. It's fun! It feels real enough! and instead of buyer's remorse, I get the "I'll never get that 8-hours of my life back" feeling. Of course, to solve THAT wasted feeling, just log back on to Second Life, and surf a big virtual wave on Weather Island. Heck, there's even a knit club there-- which leads me to:

To all my knitter friends out there, I look very much forward to seeing y'all every week, and making something tangible.

Click. I know you want to.

2008-09-16T20:40:00.011-04:00

Dang, my brain gets cluttered. I've got all these bookmarks in my browser from all my past lives. And, it's like all the loose ends in my brain. It's a Click Fest! I just pick an neuron in my head, and start surfing my gray matter!

Spot the mens wear.

2008-09-08T22:26:00.003-04:00

This is a shot of my inspiration board. I love knitting, and fashion. I've always found womens wear to be MUCH more diverse, creative, fun, and inspiring than mens wear.

Until Sunday. I found a piece of mens wear that REALLY made me want to stop knitting socks and start putting together a sweater design. Can you spot it between all the fairies?

Wish upon a star, and whatever else strikes you.

2008-09-08T21:50:00.002-04:00

When I was a kid, I would get a wish if my Tootsie Roll Pop wrapper had a boy with a bow and arrow shooting a star.

What did you wish on?

Bored?

2008-09-07T13:10:00.002-04:00

Take a piece of Stride gum. Chew well.

Sip some Diet Cherry Coke, or diet Dr. Pepper.

Then, all I taste is carbonated water. Nothing else.

Look Who Spins!

2008-09-03T00:13:00.002-04:00

Yep, I just got back from Disney World, and I finally found Mallie's Psychic Outfitters and Fiber Arts Supply!

She had some of the most gorgeous fibers made from unexpected sources! Cattail, Frog Gut, and even some imported gold-spun lace weight, hand spun by Roger Schnitzelheim. No, that wasn't it. Russel Stiltonsong. Rummy Schlitzkein? How come I can't remember his name?

Anyway, I just HAD to pick up a few skeins of her latest shimmering blend. It's simply magical. Hand spun, of course, from the silk of spiders by the light of the full moon. Using her secret patented dying process, Mallie's made a fiber only the keenest eye of one highly skilled in the fiber arts can even see! Fantastic!

Check out this sock weight Nadazilchnil:

Definitely enough yarn here to make me a pair of flippin' knee-high cable socks if I want. Of course, I'd be looking aweful silly in Nadazilchnil knee-high socks, but you get my drift. 1600 yards! And light as a feather! Definitely the yarn to use for hot Florida summers!

Here I swatched a little bit of the Deaton pattern. Dangnabbit, I tell you, the pictures do NOT do it justice! The way this Nadazilchnil knits up to a fine drape-- it's almost evil!

I just want to leap into it and take a nap! A really loooooong nap.

I blew my whole yarn budget on Mallie's Nadazilchnil, but it was worth it!

Rumpoles Tilzkint?

Perfectionist

2008-08-27T23:57:00.005-04:00

Then I felt like I flew through a windshield. Metaphorically speaking.

Here's the schtick. I got to thinking. (Yeah, I hate it, too.) Thinking and driving. I thought about people I've met this past eight/nine months or so, and I got to thinking about extremes, and it just smashed into me-- like my mind just flew through a windshield:

I have met many perfect people. Now, I'm not saying they all have a nice butt, and great chest, and a cute smile (not everyone can be Mike Rowe). I'm not even paying much attention to that, and that's no where near where I'm headed.

The people I know are perfect just the way they are! I wouldn't even dream of changing a thing even if I could! I'm surrounded by perfect people! They have their funny quirks, and buttons to be pushed, and every single one of them has a great laugh. They eat different stuff, and sleep differently, and all have different accents, and it's all too beautiful! They even make different mistakes, and handle them in different ways, just perfectly! Just the flipping way they should be handled by each individual! It's not like they should be called mistakes at all, but little tangents, or diversions, or artistic expression. Some even frustrate the crap out of me! They do it with such a perfect je ne sais quoi!

Except, I'm not quite sure these people realize they're perfect. So, if you have ever met me, realize that you are perfect.

There. That should do it.

That whole "Nobody's perfect" saying? Hogwash. EVERYBODY'S PERFECT!

Now, here's what blew my mind even more! (And, while trying to drive!) What happens when two perfect people don't seem to connect? When there's friction? You'd think perfect people would get along. Perhaps, it's like they are magnets, both showing each other their asses! therefore repelling each other! Hmmm. Butting heads? Maybe they don't realize they're perfect? Maybe they think only themself perfect, but not the other person? Hmmm. Luckily I need to sleep, or I'd be thinking for eight more pages.

Geez! Thinking confuses me. I've got to trade-in this cracked brain for something a little more slick. In fact, I just got some sort of spam about enlarging my something or 'nother. Let me see if I can find that email... Maybe I can make a swap.

And, yes, I already have the perfect wife.

Could, would, what, when, where--go ask your mother.

2008-08-27T22:13:00.004-04:00

Here it comes. My son will start the Ask all the questions Daddy can't answer without a Wikipedia. And ask about 3 dozen of them at a time.

"Daddy. What do sand dollars eat?"

"Um, I dunno. Loose change?"

Why doesn't he ask me something I know, like Emily Gilmore's code to her panic room.

Did you know a jiffy is 1/100th of a second? Keep that little nugget tucked away in case you meet my boy.

On the Road with Tropical Storm Fay

2008-08-23T02:19:00.007-04:00

Me, a day or so ago--

So, this is what it looks like at about 9 am heading north on 9A in ~25 - 35 mph winds with 55 mph gusts. The road gleams gray as the dusky sky. Can't hardly tell them apart. There's not much traffic. Everyone is home watching 24hr weather or Sponge Bob-- if they have power. Rain blasts into the windshield. Wind howls forever like it's got no one to love. The car slides left from a gust. I tug at the wheel to keep my car in some sort of lane. How close are those tail lights ahead, smeared with rain?

And, then the perfect song to drive through a tropical storm by comes on my iPod. "Your Ass," by Hydraulic Woman. You'd think any song would do when driving through severe tropical weather, but, nope. It was definitely NOT a Wham!, "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" kind of storm. No snow, no "Sleigh Ride." If I had been doing some more hydroplaning, then maybe some Beach Boys.

But, really, "Your Ass" really made the whole moment. Made me glad I'm driving through a tropical storm, and enjoying the gray, the whining wind, and swissshquish of my wipers, easing up on the gas at my exit, glad I didn't have to take a bridge, and just being alive. It sort of woke me up to the whole perfect moment. And, I smiled at Fay.

Oh, this is a pic of what I get for dinking with the iPod when I should be driving.

Naw. Just kidding. I made it home safe. Hope y'all are safe and dry, too.

Give me an essay! I wanna know!

2008-08-19T23:50:00.003-04:00

Have you ever woke up, and just for an instant, had no idea who you were?

Not so much after some all-night drinking binge, but if it happened that way, so be it. "Whatever gets you through the night. It's alright." J. Lennon

And, when realizing you don't know who you are, you start to feel the pieces sliding into place in your self-being-consciousness-- like your vertebrae adjusting one-by-one as you slooooowly stand upright from touching your toes (or, in my case, aiming my fingers at my toes). Name-click. Occupation-click. Do I own pants?-click

Have you ever sat very quietly and dumped your identity? Then, realize you're closer to who you are than when you were keeping track of who you are?

I want to know. I know this makes sense to someone out there.

Masters of Illusion --WARNING: BIG WHINE

2008-08-17T23:24:00.006-04:00

I wanted to be a magician when I grew up-- for about three weeks. Master of Illusion, doing card tricks, and making the coin disappear in the plastic box with the false bottom. (Oops! I gave the secret away! See! I'd make a lousy magician.)

I loved watching the magic shows on TV. Like the magician who could turn his lovely assistant into a tiger, then back again. I tried that on my sister. I kept saying the magic words over and over again, but she never got the hang of turning into a tiger. She never disappeared, neither.

Then, I got into advertising. Talk about illusion! Everybody is worried about their product and the image it portrays! What color label most appeals to their target audience of females 17-35. Having to choose the right font for a church to make it seem hip, but not too hip to exclude families.

It's like the kids in high school who need to wear the right jeans, comb their hair the right way, not wear certain colors. Is there ANYTHING a kid won't buy with the word Holister on it? Shoot, way back in my middle school days, you needed to have the right brand of a thick tube of candy-flavored lip gloss hanging around your neck by a cord, and the huge handle of a plastic comb hanging out your back pocket. Or, frankly, you were not cool.

We caught on, though. It's all an illusion.

Like a movie. There's some magic makers there. I swear I want to get a time-share on the planet Naboo. And, how long before you went back in the water after seeing Jaws? Ever shudder taking a shower the morning after seeing Psycho?

One of my favorite directors is Zhang Yimou. He directed Raise the Red Lantern and To Live, both with my favorite actress Gong Li. I could feel the torture of the Cultural Revolution in To Live, and I really want someone to tap my feet with little hammers, like in Raise the Red Lantern.

He also directed the absolutely magical 2008 Beijing Olympic Opening Ceremonies. 2008 drummers perfectly synchronized. Master calligraphers. Dancers. Singers. Joggers all over a globe. Fireworks. Some bizarre movable type board, that moved up and down in letter forms, and water-like drips, and-- there were people underneath each separate character-piece. There was thousands of years of Chinese culture displayed for the world. The Olympic opening ceremonies were the chance for the Chinese to put their best smiling face forward, and say, "Welcome to our home, world!" And, they chose a fantastic film maker to put together their image.

And, for some folks, the illusion was ruined because one little girl sang so beautifully, and another little girl mouthed the words.

Really? You want to pick on that? Miss I-Really-DO-Look-Like-My-Facebook-Photo-All-The-Time? Or, are you really a Mr? You can't find any other itsy-bitsy Chinese elephants in the room to pick on, but a prepubescent lip syncher? That really blew it all for you, Mr. I-Buy-Only-Family-Oriented-Under-Arm-Deordorants? That whole bit where the children dressed as the 56 minorities in China soft-shoeing the Chinese flag up to the soldiers who take it from them wasn't disturbing? I'll bet the 2008 drummers all synched up was looking a bit intimidating to Taiwan-- er, I mean, Chinese Taipei, or to the not-so-autonomous region of Tibet.

Really? Lip synching? The whole illusion is blown, and China sucks because the actual singer didn't look the image someone wanted to portray? Did you watch the rest of the ceremony? (Say, did you know Zhang Yimou was banned from China? And, now he is a welcome celebrity?) The show was AWESOME! It almost made me forget about the city-wide pre-Olympic political dissident round-up.

---

So, I woke up this morning to a wrestling match with my boy. (He's getting better. Nearly had one of my arms pinned down.) When I got around to saying good morning to my honey, she was working on her computer. "Blogging?" I asked.

"No," she said. "I'm making you a MySpace page."

I smiled a very big smile. I've got a groupie! who makes a MySpace page for me, like a politician, or an actress, or a tattoo artist. Wait-- You didn't think those MySpace pages were the REAL politician/actress/tattoo artists, did you?

Oh, btw. Way back when, remember the Taco Bell chihuahua? That wasn't the dog's real voice.

Illusions...

Actually, my wife made me the MySpace page so I could access and read HER MySpace blog.

"We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be."

--Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night

Pick up stitches, pick up people

2008-08-04T23:09:00.003-04:00

So, I was crocheting at the zoo this weekend. My family and friends were petting stingrays. Sure enough, a woman began chatting with me. A friendly women from Charleston. She beads. Loves Italian food. Her husband took their kid in to see the stingrays. The woman was afraid of them.

Then, a little bit later, another woman had to ask what I was crocheting. It is a gauge swatch. I'd only been crocheting it for about 9 collective hours. I just started crocheting, and I just can't seem to keep the same number of stitches going after a row. Her mother is English, and forgot how to knit so couldn't teach her. So sad. I recommended a book.

FYI: I can crochet and walk as fast as two women corralling five young'uns through the zoo.

ANYHOO-- If you've ever knit in public, you know people just start coming up to you and chatting with you. Maybe it's the comfort of the yarn, or the creative process just out there in the open-- I dunno, but here's the thing.

Women have asked me how to find a man. Not very often, but they've asked. I don't know why they want one. They smell funny.

But, since I've been knitting, a stereotypically female activity, I've met some really nice people! Many of them women! Just sitting down, in public, and knitting! And, I didn't really want to meet anyone, but I'm glad I did! Knitters are awesome people!

So, women who want to meet men: Here's what you ought to try. Pick up a hobby that is stereotypically male! Say, hunting! There you go! Just stand outside the Range of the Jaguar exhibit at the zoo with a rifle, and I'll bet you'll be meeting guys in no time!

My latest celeb fantasy

2008-08-03T23:40:00.003-04:00

So we all went to the beach!

My very favorite thing to do on the beach is to hunt seashells. I found this one (above) today within 90 seconds of dropping the cooler on the sand. I see all the shells, bits of color and light, dancing glints. And it's all so beautiful, and it's like seeing a crowd of people, how each one is beautiful and different, and -- sheeesh, what the heck did I put in this Diet Dr. Pepper?

I don't think seashell hunting could get much better.

And, then I go and start thinking again. Dangnabbit.

Which celebrity would I like to go seashell hunting with? I've seen people blog celebrities they'd like to have a dinner party with, slumber party, and (duh) do "it" with, but I'm lame.

So, I'm going to have to go with Lorelei Gilmore. Ok, sure, she's fictional, but it is my fantasy, right? Why Lorelei? She's quick witted, and I'd love to just chit-chat while hunting seashells...

---boogedy-boogedy-boogedy---

"So, you're Eric?"

"Yep. Call me Tinkguy. No one else does. Have any trouble finding the beach?"

"Not really. Just turned east and kept driving until I found it."

"Nice outfit."

"I thought you might recognize these daisy-dukes from episode two."

"Capris were in the laundry? The DragonflyInn.org shirt- Very chic."

"Thanks. It's Paul Anka's. He wears all my old stuff and then I steal it back. Shall we hunt seashells?"

"Oh, yeah, sure." I hand Lorelei her bucket.

"So, how do you hunt seashells? Do we need to put up a shell blind? Is there a shell call I need to learn? Here, Shelley, Shelley, Shelley? Here Percy Bysshe Shelley!"

"That sounded funnier in your head, right?"

"Say, here's a shell! Got one! Well, that's it. I had a swell time. We should do this again."

"Maybe in the next 10 seconds?"

"Ooo! I found another! Wow, I'm really good at this!"

"A natural."

"Bamm! In your face! I've bagged a half-dozen keepers, and you're just standing there like the beach's door greeter."

"Maybe we could walk a little ways?"

"Walk and hunt? At the same time? Do you think I'm ready?"

"Hmm. You might accidentally step on my foot."

"Not very Cheney-esque."

"I could accidentally throw a jellyfish at your face."

"Say, there's an orange flag over that lifeguard."

"It means the terror threat level is high."

"So, one of these plovers could be terrorist?"

"Just the ones on the Do Not Fly List. And that crab over there is looking shifty. I don't know him." I point to it as it ducks into a hole.

"Species profiling. It had to happen. Next, you'll be telling me I shouldn't be caught dead in the water with a shark."

---boogedy-boogedy-boogedy---

So, what's your lamest celeb fantasy?

Hmmm. Celebrity I'd most like to knit socks for...

Childhood Immersion-- BIG WHINE

2008-08-03T12:43:00.004-04:00

I don't even know how many times I've tried to learn a language. Chinese, German, French, Japanese, Spanish, ASL, Italian-- I've got no aptitude for it. I learn how to say, "Where is father?" and "He's been in the bathroom for hours," in five languages, then lose what I learn because I don't use it.

Maybe, just like that TV show, Man Vs. Wild, I could parachute into, say, Shanghai, and HAVE to use it to get around! Like, total life-or-death cultural immersion! I'd definitely have to learn more than just Ni hao! 什么是这炒饭成份？

Then, I got to thinking...

Kids. They are totally life-or-death culturally immersed in Earth.

Then, I kept thinking...

Do kids get angry? Do they get frustrated? How do they express it? Are they even "ALLOWED" to express it? Are they allowed to even experience anger and frustration, even with their parent/guardian?

And, still I kept thinking... (Dangerous pasttime, I know. (Disney fans?))

What if a kid is told, when angry, "No hitting."
And, "No screaming."
And, "Don't take that tone."
And, "You are NOT to use that word."

Thinking, thinking...

Ok, what is a kid to do? Is the five-year-old to simply tell his/her daddy, "Excusez-moi, mon père. Your not-so subtle suggestion I consume the buttered brussel sprouts placed in front of me frustrates me beyond wits end. I've found brussel sprouts spur my gag reflex, making them very unappealing, and hard to swallow. I would rather be politely excused from eating this serving and retire to my chamber for the rest of the evening."

Really?

#$%@ that a-hole driver just @#$%ing cut me the h$#% off! What a #$^%ing &@#%er! And she's %#^%ing talking on her #%^@ing cell phone.

There are extremes, of course.

When could a child begin to control their emotions? To the point of bottling them up to calmly express in words his or her frustration with the current situation? Why not simply say, "Crap!" Then, perhaps ask for assistance if desired?

Or, should they bottle up the anger until the day, months or years from now, when they can lock themselves in their room and tear the books from their shelves, and rend their bed linens...

Hit? Or say, "Crap, moron, idiot, stupid, damn?" I'm not saying kids should have free reign of the available vocabulary. BUT, should a parent blame the environment, the culture for warping the child? And, then attempt to wall-in the child from the "outside" world? (Or, is it just a world the parents find hard to swallow?)

Does anyone out there know how Siddhartha Gautama spent his princely childhood walled in his father's palace? The kid's got to get out there some day, and will s/he be prepared? Or, stunned?

Would it not be kind and understanding for the adult to NOT jump on the child with, "DON'T SAY THAT!" and instead probe the child's current situation BEYOND the words, and help the kid understand the nature of frustration and anger?

How old does a parent have to be to do that? What if the parent doesn't understand the nature of frustration and anger!?!

My wife, while a driver nearly hit her in a left turn, said, "@#$@!"

My boy said, "Can I say that?"

I really don't like to think that much. It's tiring. Where the heck did I drop my sock knitting...

Any thoughts? Be honest, now. It's just thinking.

this guy and work music

2008-08-01T22:18:00.004-04:00

I saw a guy adjust his wildly flapping t-shirt with both hands, as he stood up on his motorcycle while speeding away at 65 mph on 9A this morning in rush hour traffic. He snapped a hand-signal lane change, looking in the direction he pointed. I might have been watching an Usher video. Then, he rocked low, side-to-side to change lanes. He must really like the rides at Disney World. At least he was wearing a helmet.

***

Just like everyone you ask will say they have a good sense of humor, everyone will tell you they listen to a variety of music.

I don't.

I've listened to Mariah Carey's Daydream at work for four hours straight today. Then, Christina Aguilera's Stripped for four hours. I've listened to The Corrs' Dreams in the car for over six months. Nothing but that CD.

I've got this iPod playlist I play when I need to work, and just can't get moving. It's got 54 songs in it now. From Girl From Ipanema to Prince's Sexy M.F. I add a couple new ones now and then. This playlist can make me breeze through a load of dishes, or two hours of house cleaning. (I watch old movies when folding laundry.)

Now, there IS some music I can't work to. It's not that I don't LIKE the music. I just can't listen to it AND work.

Like classical music. When classical music is on, I find that I've stopped working, and I'm just gazing off into nothing, listening.

Or, country music. When country music is on, I find I've stopped working, and I'm just crying and wishing I was drunk.

Anyway, at work yesterday, I found I can't work to Ray Charles. I LOVE Ray Charles since I don't know when. But, it was a sad moment when I popped the CD out of my work computer, and told Ray I won't be listening to him any more at work.

Sniff-sniff.

So, greater Earth-area, what music gets you working? Does it matter what the work is? Do you listen to Sinatra for yard work, The Kinks when dusting, and Patsy Cline when cleaning up from last night's lingerie party?

Where I did NOT knit this weekend

2008-07-13T23:28:00.004-04:00

I had a great time at a ball game! It was a minor league game between the Jacksonville Suns and the Mississippi Braves. The boy had a great time, too. He sang the team jingle today.

My friend, Kathy and her daughter got my family tickets and we all sat just off of third base. It's a seat where you HAVE to watch the game, or you could get beaned by a foul ball! Great weather that night, 80 deg F with a light breeze.

And, we stayed for all nine innings, PLUS the double header 7 inning game! And, Ellen got me peanuts, and Kathy gave me her Cracker Jack, and the boy found a Star Wars pinball machine behind the concessions store. What a great night!

Jimmy Buffet night is coming up! I doubt he'll be singing or pitching. Maybe there will be free margarita's?

Sharp upward jab to the diaphram

2008-07-10T21:06:00.000-04:00

"Thank you for saving my life, Daddy."

Well, it kinda goes without saying, but it's nice to hear it every once in awhile.

I had been looking forward to playing Guitar Hero (Aerosmith version) all day, and I had just got the game turned on, and my nearly-five-year-old was in his little chair, watching the beginning logos flash on.

Just as I start the practice, he sticks out his tongue and asks, "Daddy, is this Life Saver small enough?"

I bent down to look. I couldn't see the thing. Apparently it was green.

So, I started the practice again, and just as I was about to start the first note, the boy stands up, walks toward me, then past me toward his mother.

Sigh. He wasn't breathing. I took off my special Aerosmith guitar, and set it on the couch, and wrapped my arms around him from behind. I hit him with the Heimlich maneuver twice. I was a little low, but I could hear him at least wheezing. I know the story behind the hole in Life Savers candy.

He made it to his mom, and sat and coughed at her until he vomited all over her a couple times.

To make a long story not so long, I got four stars on Love in an Elevator on medium! Way cool.

So, today, I was talking to two mom's at the daycare. They are super moms, and their kids are darn adorable, too. One was telling the other about my boy's choking incident. It turns out, they both said they doubt they'd be able to remember the Heimlich maneuver.

I watched a lot of TV when I was a kid. Every TV series had an episode where someone was choking. I mean, if it wasn't Kris saving Bosley on Charlie's Angels, then it was some kid saving grandpa on CHiPs. Gopher saving Charo on the Love Boat, right before the episode where Charo saves David Boyle on Fantasy Island (fresh from being saved by Kris on Charlie's Angels). I think Shaggy dislodged a Scooby Snack from Scooby-do, smacking the Sloshing Swamp Ghost in the head, knocking it out cold. Hooray for meddling kids who know the Heimlich maneuver.

I think there was some sort of public service campaign. Lots of shows showed it. Then, TV tried it out with CPR. Wasn't there a Designing Women CPR episode after Dixie Carter has a heart attack seeing how they secretly painted her office all black.

Anyway, what's the big public service schtick now? I don't get to watch as many shows now adays. I should ask some kids. I think today is, Recycle.

So, kids, if I'm choking, go throw that water bottle in the recycling bin.

Mosaic

2008-06-25T23:18:00.000-04:00

Thanks to PicnicKnits.com for the suggestion on how to waste some time on Flickr. However, I couldn't get the app to work for me at the end. Dangnabbit. I guess I just didn't want to sign up for more crud on-line.

The rules:

a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd’s mosaic maker.

The questions:

1. What is your first name? Eric
2. What is your favorite food? Black Eyed Peas
3. What high school did you go to? Ramsey
4. What is your favorite color? Green
5. Who is your celebrity crush? Gong Li
6. Favorite drink? Guinness
7. Dream vacation? Ireland
8. Favorite dessert? Cherry Pie
9. What you want to be when you grow up? me
10. What do you love most in life? Liberty
11. One Word to describe you: Perplexed
12. Your flickr name. Wu K'ung

Yoga

2008-06-16T22:47:00.000-04:00

Ah, to have FitTV's Yoga on, listening to the serene woman's voice call out the asanas, as I breath in gently, and out, while knitting a sock.

Very relaxing TV to knit by.

kid talk

2008-06-08T00:04:00.000-04:00

As my four-year-old boy lifts my hat and pats my bald pate, he says, "So, Dad, when are you going to get more hair?"

Knitters on a Plane

2008-06-07T23:10:00.000-04:00

Say! I knit on the plane ride to and from Minneapolis! I was knitting a sock on dpns, and the flight hostess (I forget the pc term), said, "Good for you!" She likes dpns better than circular, too!

Okay, so can you tell it was my first time on a plane? But, I finally joined the Mile High Knitting Club.

Meeting knitters

2008-06-07T22:49:00.000-04:00

So, standing in front of the knitting books at a two-story Borders in St. Paul, MN, I hear a fellow shopper asking a non-knitting Borders employee, "I'm looking for the book called The Yarn Harlot."

Turns out, I was standing right in front of her books. I picked up the latest (Things I Learned From Knitting (Whether I Wanted To or Not)), and when they made their way to me I held it up and said, "Here's her latest. It's her funniest one so far."

The Borders lady took the book from me and told her customer, "Here's her latest. It's her funniest one so far, evidently."

So, the customer the customer was new to knitting, and asked me if I knit. Her husband asked if people ask me, "Where's the yarn?" Um, no. He was the first to ask me that. And, my knitting was in the car.

Maybe my male knittingness freaked out the newbie knitter, so I wandered off to the graphic novels. She left soon after. Without the book (sorry, Ms. Pearl-McPhee, wherever you are).

Marriage Tip #423

2008-06-07T22:41:00.001-04:00

If your wife calls herself a bitch, do NOT say, "That's one of the many reasons I love you."

The Things I Miss

2008-06-07T09:52:00.000-04:00

The day after I left Minneapolis/St. Paul, the Guthrie Theater started a new production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. It's my favorite play of all time. True, The Guthrie Theater productions aren't some Broadway show. Nope. They are BETTER!

Sigh.

Let's see what my local Jim-Bob Community Dance Troop and Oyster Bar is putting on this weekend...

Ooooo. Daniel and Daniella in the Lions Den. Just bippy. They might have Guinness on tap, though.

Minnesota Yarn

2008-06-06T22:12:00.001-04:00

So, after visiting my sister's stash, she mentions she lives within walking distance of a yarn store! So, off we went. We didn't walk, though.

Since my LYS back home is Knit Witz, I had to snap this pic.

Knit Wits is very well organized, and has a touch of SoHo in its overall feel. The sample sweaters were inspiring, and the owner was very helpful-- but NOT as totally awesome as my LYS owner and employees. And, I did buy a skein of a little something. Maybe I'll get around to knitting up something from it.

Mickey's Diner

2008-06-06T21:30:00.000-04:00

I've been away to St. Paul to watch my son graduate from high school. But, when I get the chance, I head to Mickey's Diner. I had a four-egg cheese omelet and a chocolate milk shake. I recommend the buckwheat pancakes when you get the chance.

I mean, going to Mickey's brings back a lot of memories. I used to live a little over a block from there. And it is always open. The nicest people, and great diner food.

Neighborhood has changed a bit, though.

Why Tinkguy?

2008-05-29T00:01:00.000-04:00

My knitting sucks. I mean, I'm getting better, but there are mistakes in just about everything I knit. Yarn-overs where there shouldn't be any, odd decreases, a make-one out of the blue-- but I've become pretty good at covering my tracks, unless it's lace. Shoot, on my last sock gusset, I picked up two extra stitches on one side, and seven extra on the other side!

I can ladder down and back up pretty quick, and I frog now with just a shrug, after I have smoothly weaved in a lifeline. I shifted over a nearly completed gusset 4 stitches. It was a lot more after I had to ladder down all the decreases! Not too smooth, but I did it.

I make mistakes. That's what makes my knitting charming, right?

And, I've become very, very good at tinking. I can tink back a row at just under purl speed!

Thus, I've become a Tinkguy.

And, I'll bet you thought my moniker had to do with a particular, popular pixie.

Growing the stash

2008-05-26T20:19:00.000-04:00

Up until very recently, my nightstand would have a huge pile of books, magazines, and a sketchbook or two.

Then, I made a New Years Resolution to focus on my knitting.

Now, look at my knitstand, er, nightstand:

A bucket o' yarn. My dpn's, and, Ellen has just informed me, the World's Ugliest Bedside Lamp. (She's looking for a place to put one of her displaced lamps.)

All the books, magazines, sketchbooks that were on there a couple months ago are in the bottom drawer.

And, now lookie here:

My favorite bookcase is getting nooks filled up with yarn. I'll need to find new places for my favorite books. I mean, they are there in case I wake up with heartburn at 3:00 am, and need a little light reading (Jataka Tales anyone?) to entertain me until I can lay down again. Now, I'll be reaching for yarn.

Maybe I can switch the books out with the rest of my stash in the other room.

Does anyone else just want to crawl into their stash and roll around?

Um, I mean, not that I do, no, not me. I was, um, just kidding. Yeah. A joke. Tee-hee-hee.

Knitting Outside

2008-05-25T16:17:00.000-04:00

I sit under a tree each afternoon and knit, waiting for my wife, Ellen, to pick me up from work.

On Tuesday, I found a little green spider on my left forearm. I thought about Arachne, the Greek weaving goddess, and then about the four spider sisters in Journey to the West, evil, scary tricksters--

By the time my brain was done musing, the little spider had moved to my right thigh.

Flick!

Wednesday, I sat under the tree, knitting my sock. About five minutes into it, I realized I had a green spider on the back of my right hand. I started thinking, perhaps the spider was watching my continental technique, and how I purl pretty darn quickly-- not a world contender, by any means-- but maybe it was interested, much like when one knits in public, strangers walk up to watch. Maybe it wanted to give ME some pointers--

Flick!

Thursday, I went to sit at my usual spot under the tree, and walked through a mass of spider web. Sticky lacework.

I'm sorry. Were you expecting a point to this?

And, again

2008-05-24T20:21:00.000-04:00

Yeah, well, I've done this blogging thing once before. I've no idea where my last blog is. I'll save you some trouble, if you're at all interested. I basically posted 1 post to my first blog saying, "I don't really have time for this."

And, I still don't.

But, I enjoy reading other people's blogs so much, I feel like I'm peeking in on their lives-- it's kinda like they are showing me theirs, without me showing them mine.

Oh, that made a lot of sense.