I dragged along one of those expensive sparkly Vanna White skeins of yarn with me to Colorado last week, thinking that I wouldn’t have much time to crochet but that I might as well take it along just in case.
I was finished with a crown in two days.
It’s shiny and pretty, and fits my daughter (I haven’t put the trim on the edge yet so I have to keep yelling at her to put it back down), but after I was done I didn’t have anything left to do.
The first night we were there, my mother in law had all of her family in the house, and the only thing to do with all of us in the same space is to sit us down in front of the television and watch a movie. I can’t remember what we watched, but as we sat, I had my project, my mother in law was knitting a dress for my daughter, one of my sisters in law was working on knitting a scarf, and the other was making sure her new puppy didn’t jump on anyone important or make a mess. At one point I looked at her and said, “Did you want us to get you some yarn? I’m sure we could find some for you.” She declined and we all laughed.
You can’t exactly chase a puppy around and concentrate on a pattern at the same time.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Warmth > Gift Cards
Right now, on our bed, my husband and I have: sheets, a jean quilt, a thick six pound afghan that I made, a comforter that his parents gave us, and to top it all off, the down comforter that we got as a wedding present.
My daughter runs around with fluffy blankets, using them as capes, laying them flat on the ground like she’s going to have a picnic, wrapping her stuffed animals in them, or just generally rolling around the floor with them.
In our living room, there’s a blue fuzzy king size blanket draped over the back of the chair that sits in front of my husband’s desk. There’s another fuzzy blanket (green) tossed on the couch where I usually sit, and sometimes a blanket left by my daughter on the other end of the couch, when she finishes her day by cuddling with me.
We have enough blankets.
But if you’re looking for a gift to get us, walk right past that big display of gift cards. They don’t keep you warm. A fuzzy, fluffy, warm blanket will always be appreciated by my family.
Even if we already have plenty.
My daughter runs around with fluffy blankets, using them as capes, laying them flat on the ground like she’s going to have a picnic, wrapping her stuffed animals in them, or just generally rolling around the floor with them.
In our living room, there’s a blue fuzzy king size blanket draped over the back of the chair that sits in front of my husband’s desk. There’s another fuzzy blanket (green) tossed on the couch where I usually sit, and sometimes a blanket left by my daughter on the other end of the couch, when she finishes her day by cuddling with me.
We have enough blankets.
But if you’re looking for a gift to get us, walk right past that big display of gift cards. They don’t keep you warm. A fuzzy, fluffy, warm blanket will always be appreciated by my family.
Even if we already have plenty.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
The Sterling Silver Lining
Long road trips with small children are hard. You have to stop frequently to get to a potty, make sure they get enough time to run around when you take a lunch break and have enough things to entertain them on the road, otherwise you’ll have several hours of screaming.
Even if you have a perfectly happy child, there are always things that will vex you on the way, like when you are trying to have a quick snack before getting back on the road after gassing up and your two year old grabs the latch to the car door and gets both her hand and the apple slice she was enjoying covered in grease.
Make sure, when you’re chucking the apple slice into the grass, that the $18 ring that you bought at Kohl’s in 2005 doesn’t fly off your finger into the wild unknown to be consumed, along with a greasy apple, by some prowling creature.
But if it does, don’t worry. Just go into the Arby’s, change the baby’s diaper so that she goes to sleep instead of screaming for the next two hours, and when you come back out, maybe check on the other side of that van parked next to you where a truck was parked when you went inside, and you might find it.
After that, the trip will be no problem. You’ll be so relieved that you almost lost but then found the ring you’ve had since before you got married that you won’t even mind that your two year old is whining that she wants to go back to Grandmama’s house or that your nine month old yells for the last hour of the trip.
Though traveling with small children can be difficult and stressful, there’s always a silver lining. Even if you accidentally made it yourself.
Even if you have a perfectly happy child, there are always things that will vex you on the way, like when you are trying to have a quick snack before getting back on the road after gassing up and your two year old grabs the latch to the car door and gets both her hand and the apple slice she was enjoying covered in grease.
Make sure, when you’re chucking the apple slice into the grass, that the $18 ring that you bought at Kohl’s in 2005 doesn’t fly off your finger into the wild unknown to be consumed, along with a greasy apple, by some prowling creature.
But if it does, don’t worry. Just go into the Arby’s, change the baby’s diaper so that she goes to sleep instead of screaming for the next two hours, and when you come back out, maybe check on the other side of that van parked next to you where a truck was parked when you went inside, and you might find it.
After that, the trip will be no problem. You’ll be so relieved that you almost lost but then found the ring you’ve had since before you got married that you won’t even mind that your two year old is whining that she wants to go back to Grandmama’s house or that your nine month old yells for the last hour of the trip.
Though traveling with small children can be difficult and stressful, there’s always a silver lining. Even if you accidentally made it yourself.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
You Should Feel Bad
The other day I bought a zester. For those of you who don’t know what a zester is, don’t be intimidated by the name. A zester comes from the same family as a cheese grater.
But instead of the nice large holes used to shred cheese, a zester has tiny holes to grate the outside of a citrus fruit. The shredded outside layer of a citrus fruit is called “zest” instead of “the shredded outside layer of a citrus fruit.” Zest is used in recipes that need a bit more zing, or “zest,” if you will.
I needed both the zest and the juice from a lemon for my recipe, but first I needed to get the zester out of the packaging. It was encased in what I have heard called “a dungeon of plastic.” You know, that kind that’s two thick pieces of plastic sealed together so tightly that you have to stab it repeatedly to get at whatever’s inside.
I didn’t break my scissors (mostly because I used my knife), and I didn’t think it was a big deal until after I washed my zester and began to use it, because as I was using it, something terrible happened.I got lemon juice on my hands.
Which was when I realized that I’d cut myself on the sharp packaging.
So whoever it was that decided to design packaging this way should be ashamed. Your product is bad and you should feel bad. You should have realized that it was a bad idea when you were creating it, though I guess it’s not your fault that companies have continued to use it despite the fact that everyone hates it.
As long as they don’t mind opening the package.
Monday, November 26, 2012
Time Travel
Vacations are nice. Even vacations that are in a different time zone. There are perks and drawbacks of leaving the time that you’re used to, and while they’re usually not that bad, some can be very stressful.
We went to Colorado for Thanksgiving, and the best part about being an hour earlier is that you can sleep in and still get up at your normal time. So if my kids let me sleep for an extra half hour, I’d still have quite a bit of day left at 7:30. It’s less fun in the morning when traveling east. If you plan to get up at 6:30, don’t forget that your body will think it’s 5:30 and wonder why you’re forcing it up so early.
I didn’t mind my kids staying up a bit later when we’d come from Colorado to visit my parents in Nebraska. 9:30 was really only 8:30, so we’d only slipped bedtime by about half an hour. Last week when I stayed up late watching every single Disney princess movie that my sister-in-law owns (which is all of them), retiring around 11:30 meant that I’d be super tired if I didn’t get some extra sleep in the morning.
When we drive to Colorado, we live through one hour twice, but when we drive back, we lose an hour completely. If someone asked me what I was doing at 12:30 on Saturday, I wouldn’t be able to answer: 12:30 didn’t exist for me.
An hour change isn’t such a big deal. We adjusted pretty well, put the kids to bed at 7:30 instead, and enjoyed our extra hour in the morning. A fifteen hour difference is a bit more stressful.
My husband’s best friend could not seem to wrap his head around the Friday that he lived through, because it was 38 hours long. He explained it to me, but I had a hard time following it, because it was a certain time when his plane took off from the Philippines, an “hour” later when it landed in Korea, and then when he finally got to San Francisco, it was “earlier” than when he’d first started his journey. His Friday wasn’t over yet when he fell asleep for the first half of the James Bond movie we went to see together, or afterward when I was trying to explain to him that the reason for his long day had to do with crossing the International Date Line. (Mostly the conversation went like this: “But I don’t understand why my day was so long!” he would say, to which I would reply, “Because you crossed the International Date Line, so it was Friday again!” After which I would receive a puzzled look, and, “But I don’t understand!”)
Vacations are nice, but traveling can be stressful. Especially when you’re traveling in time.
We went to Colorado for Thanksgiving, and the best part about being an hour earlier is that you can sleep in and still get up at your normal time. So if my kids let me sleep for an extra half hour, I’d still have quite a bit of day left at 7:30. It’s less fun in the morning when traveling east. If you plan to get up at 6:30, don’t forget that your body will think it’s 5:30 and wonder why you’re forcing it up so early.
I didn’t mind my kids staying up a bit later when we’d come from Colorado to visit my parents in Nebraska. 9:30 was really only 8:30, so we’d only slipped bedtime by about half an hour. Last week when I stayed up late watching every single Disney princess movie that my sister-in-law owns (which is all of them), retiring around 11:30 meant that I’d be super tired if I didn’t get some extra sleep in the morning.
When we drive to Colorado, we live through one hour twice, but when we drive back, we lose an hour completely. If someone asked me what I was doing at 12:30 on Saturday, I wouldn’t be able to answer: 12:30 didn’t exist for me.
An hour change isn’t such a big deal. We adjusted pretty well, put the kids to bed at 7:30 instead, and enjoyed our extra hour in the morning. A fifteen hour difference is a bit more stressful.
My husband’s best friend could not seem to wrap his head around the Friday that he lived through, because it was 38 hours long. He explained it to me, but I had a hard time following it, because it was a certain time when his plane took off from the Philippines, an “hour” later when it landed in Korea, and then when he finally got to San Francisco, it was “earlier” than when he’d first started his journey. His Friday wasn’t over yet when he fell asleep for the first half of the James Bond movie we went to see together, or afterward when I was trying to explain to him that the reason for his long day had to do with crossing the International Date Line. (Mostly the conversation went like this: “But I don’t understand why my day was so long!” he would say, to which I would reply, “Because you crossed the International Date Line, so it was Friday again!” After which I would receive a puzzled look, and, “But I don’t understand!”)
Vacations are nice, but traveling can be stressful. Especially when you’re traveling in time.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Time to Crochet! Week 5
This week I tried to make sense of a pattern. The finished product will be a little crown; it’s just a basic headband with pointy bits sticking out of the top at intervals. I like to have something nice and easy to crochet while I’m relaxing, something complicated enough to make me think about it a bit but not so confusing that I couldn’t tell exactly where I am in the pattern if I happen to turn my attention to something else for a while.
This was not one of those patterns.
By about the fifth time I had taken it apart enough to know exactly where I was in order to start again, my laptop, which was displaying the pattern for me while running on its battery as it sat on the table in front of me, chose to power down. I growled a bit and decided I’d go get the power cord in a minute, but didn’t put the yarn down. In fact, I kept going, only to discover that all of the taking apart and putting back together and taking apart again had only helped me to memorize the pattern.
Once I had memorized it, I had no problem paying attention to other things as I crocheted. All I needed was something to remind me if I was working on row 10 or row 14. To finish, I just need to lasso my child to stand in place for long enough to see if it’ll fit on her head.
It will be my crowning achievement.
This was not one of those patterns.
By about the fifth time I had taken it apart enough to know exactly where I was in order to start again, my laptop, which was displaying the pattern for me while running on its battery as it sat on the table in front of me, chose to power down. I growled a bit and decided I’d go get the power cord in a minute, but didn’t put the yarn down. In fact, I kept going, only to discover that all of the taking apart and putting back together and taking apart again had only helped me to memorize the pattern.
Once I had memorized it, I had no problem paying attention to other things as I crocheted. All I needed was something to remind me if I was working on row 10 or row 14. To finish, I just need to lasso my child to stand in place for long enough to see if it’ll fit on her head.
It will be my crowning achievement.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Fun with Football
Sometimes when I’m watching professional football, with its high salaries, its never ending commentary, and its own particular brand of drama, I have to sit back and wonder if everyone has forgotten something rather fundamental about it.
It’s a game.
It’s something people do for fun, both the players on the field and those watching. But if you were to say something like “hey, calm down, it’s just a game,” to certain rabid persons, you’d likely be lynched in the street. Merchandising, advertising, and analyzing every move made by every person connected to the game has become an obsession.
The amount of blogs, websites, shows, and television stations dedicated simply to the NFL is pretty astounding. I don’t see the phenomenon slowing down anytime soon. But at least we realize that it’s happening, and when the whole thing gets too boring, we can always make fun of ourselves.
Or at least try to spice things up.
It’s a game.
It’s something people do for fun, both the players on the field and those watching. But if you were to say something like “hey, calm down, it’s just a game,” to certain rabid persons, you’d likely be lynched in the street. Merchandising, advertising, and analyzing every move made by every person connected to the game has become an obsession.
Or at least try to spice things up.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Ice, Ice, Baby
It began with my high school boyfriend. We would eat at the restaurant where he worked, and while we would often choose the same beverage to enjoy, he preferred his without ice. His reasoning was very simple: the drink is already cold when it comes out of the fountain, so why would he want the last third of it to be disgusting and watery when the ice started to melt?
One of the best things about working at a fast food restaurant is that you learn what they don’t want you to know: that the soda is worth WAY less than patrons pay for it. $1.85? They probably paid that for the entire stack of cups under the counter. This also answers the question of why gas stations and that Mom & Pop place down the street only charge seventy nine cents for a large soda. Gas stations are already making enough money off of other things that they don’t mind if you only pay a bit more than the 64 ounce soda you’re buying is worth, and nobody bothered to whisper to Mom or Pop the secret restaurant Secret of Bilking Your Customers Out of Their Money Without Them Noticing or Otherwise Minding Too Much.
The other best thing about working at a fast food restaurant is that they don’t mind if you drink their soda whenever you like, without paying for it. The place I worked kept little paper cones next to the machine in the drive thru, so that employees could have a quick sip of something if they got parched, and no one would offend any customers by doing so. A paper cone that only holds six ounces of liquid doesn’t need to have any of its already limited room taken up by something as superfluous as ice. But I can’t remember how many times I stood, gaping, as a co-worker strolled up, scooped some ice into a cone, and enjoyed a sip or two of their desired beverage, tossing cone and barely used ice into the trash as they ignored my protestations that the soda was already cold and they didn’t have that much of it anyway, so what was the point of the ice in the first place?!
I can’t drink a blended margarita (or daiquiri, or any other blended drink, really). First of all, it’s blasphemy. Margaritas are meant to be on the rocks with salt. (I also have some strong opinions about adding different fruit flavors, and don’t even get me started about sugar). Second of all, it’s too cold to drink immediately. If you sip into it right away, you’re stuck clutching your forehead, trying to wait out the brain freeze. Finally, if you like to enjoy your margarita slowly instead of knocking it back and ordering another three rounds by shouting across the room at the waiter, a blended margarita is not for you. Because if you sit around chatting, waiting for it to be tolerably drinkable, you’ll probably miss that perfect moment when it’s not going to freeze your face off but isn’t a disgusting concoction in a glass (on sale Wednesdays for $6.50!) If you don’t pay attention, the window when it’s right at the edge of that uncanny, watery valley will pass, and it will leak its quickly melting ice juice into your drink, ruining it at a faster rate than, say, a traditional margarita with a large chunk of ice (with salt on the rim).
My fellow diners usually scoff at me when I order my soda without ice. It doesn’t stop them from continuing to give me strange looks when I try to explain that the ice displaces the soda in their drinks, so not only are they having to drink something gross after the ice has melted (or having to leave a third of their now disgusting drink on the table when we leave), but they are also getting less drink than I am.
One of my first theories for the ice craze in this country is that in Europe, there isn’t a lot of ice used in drinks; during the Revolutionary War, Americans decided that they didn’t want to be like the British so much that they changed their table manners (which hand do you hold your fork in when you eat that piece of steak you just cut? It could mean the difference between Patriot and Loyalist). Is our overwhelming need for ice just an overwhelming need to not be the same as our former colonial oppressors? Nah. We’re just Americans. We just want what we want at the temperature that we want it.
Well, I have news for you, America. Your ice is melting into your drink. By the time you get to the bottom of it, you will cringe at the watery taste of your wasted beverage. Make fun of me if you want, but I’ll be here, leisurely sipping my margarita without getting brain freeze and enjoying all of my soda without having to throw it out. You don’t have to give me credit if you decide to emulate me. Just enjoy your extra, non-watery soda.
It was already cold, anyway.
One of the best things about working at a fast food restaurant is that you learn what they don’t want you to know: that the soda is worth WAY less than patrons pay for it. $1.85? They probably paid that for the entire stack of cups under the counter. This also answers the question of why gas stations and that Mom & Pop place down the street only charge seventy nine cents for a large soda. Gas stations are already making enough money off of other things that they don’t mind if you only pay a bit more than the 64 ounce soda you’re buying is worth, and nobody bothered to whisper to Mom or Pop the secret restaurant Secret of Bilking Your Customers Out of Their Money Without Them Noticing or Otherwise Minding Too Much.
The other best thing about working at a fast food restaurant is that they don’t mind if you drink their soda whenever you like, without paying for it. The place I worked kept little paper cones next to the machine in the drive thru, so that employees could have a quick sip of something if they got parched, and no one would offend any customers by doing so. A paper cone that only holds six ounces of liquid doesn’t need to have any of its already limited room taken up by something as superfluous as ice. But I can’t remember how many times I stood, gaping, as a co-worker strolled up, scooped some ice into a cone, and enjoyed a sip or two of their desired beverage, tossing cone and barely used ice into the trash as they ignored my protestations that the soda was already cold and they didn’t have that much of it anyway, so what was the point of the ice in the first place?!
I can’t drink a blended margarita (or daiquiri, or any other blended drink, really). First of all, it’s blasphemy. Margaritas are meant to be on the rocks with salt. (I also have some strong opinions about adding different fruit flavors, and don’t even get me started about sugar). Second of all, it’s too cold to drink immediately. If you sip into it right away, you’re stuck clutching your forehead, trying to wait out the brain freeze. Finally, if you like to enjoy your margarita slowly instead of knocking it back and ordering another three rounds by shouting across the room at the waiter, a blended margarita is not for you. Because if you sit around chatting, waiting for it to be tolerably drinkable, you’ll probably miss that perfect moment when it’s not going to freeze your face off but isn’t a disgusting concoction in a glass (on sale Wednesdays for $6.50!) If you don’t pay attention, the window when it’s right at the edge of that uncanny, watery valley will pass, and it will leak its quickly melting ice juice into your drink, ruining it at a faster rate than, say, a traditional margarita with a large chunk of ice (with salt on the rim).
My fellow diners usually scoff at me when I order my soda without ice. It doesn’t stop them from continuing to give me strange looks when I try to explain that the ice displaces the soda in their drinks, so not only are they having to drink something gross after the ice has melted (or having to leave a third of their now disgusting drink on the table when we leave), but they are also getting less drink than I am.
One of my first theories for the ice craze in this country is that in Europe, there isn’t a lot of ice used in drinks; during the Revolutionary War, Americans decided that they didn’t want to be like the British so much that they changed their table manners (which hand do you hold your fork in when you eat that piece of steak you just cut? It could mean the difference between Patriot and Loyalist). Is our overwhelming need for ice just an overwhelming need to not be the same as our former colonial oppressors? Nah. We’re just Americans. We just want what we want at the temperature that we want it.
Well, I have news for you, America. Your ice is melting into your drink. By the time you get to the bottom of it, you will cringe at the watery taste of your wasted beverage. Make fun of me if you want, but I’ll be here, leisurely sipping my margarita without getting brain freeze and enjoying all of my soda without having to throw it out. You don’t have to give me credit if you decide to emulate me. Just enjoy your extra, non-watery soda.
It was already cold, anyway.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Oppa Thing
I’m not into the latest thing. I don’t watch Family Guy or make my own (debatably) hilarious memes, but I will watch a video on youtube occasionally. That is, if I know it isn’t already everyone’s all time favorite thing.
Please do not get me wrong. I am not determined to hate everything that everyone else likes. I am amused by amusing things, saddened by sad things, and frightened by frightening things. It doesn’t matter if other people like it, or if they hate it. I will admit to liking something if I enjoy it, regardless of how many (or how few) people like it.
But I will resist popular things for as long as possible. Trying to convince me to watch/read/look at something by saying, “EVERYONE likes it!” is not the best way. I grudgingly consented to watching the music video that everyone on the internet has been insane about for the last couple of weeks: Gangnam Style. And I’m still not sure that that’s the name of the song.
Despite the fact that my brother was sitting nearby saying, “This is my favorite part!!!” about once every forty five seconds, I was able to view it. I’m not sure what I expected, exactly. After seeing it, I can understand why people like it, but not really why everyone is so crazy for it. The only reaction I had while I was watching it really sums up the way I feel about it: “Wow, this video looks like it was really expensive to make.”
It’s pretty refreshing, actually, after so many years of American music being wildly popular internationally, that something made outside the United States (and a song that’s not even in English) is what everyone’s going crazy for. People love it even though they can’t understand the song. And that’s a huge switch from the usual lazy American reaction, “I have to read subtitles to understand what’s going on? That’s not worth my time, and it probably sucks anyway.”
The dancing has caught on ridiculously. And the song is a bit catchy. After all, I only watched it once, and I can get the English lyrics stuck in my head just by thinking about it. “Heeey... sexy lady!”
I think the best thing about Gangnam Style (which, I have discovered since writing the above, is the name of the song) is the spectacle. A dozen or so different settings, lots of dancers in interesting outfits, explosions... what more could you ask for in an internet video sensation? Horses? You got it! Random guy in an elevator? He’s there! Dance off in an empty parking garage? All your internet music video wishes have come true!
So enjoy your wildly popular video, internet. It won’t go away. It’s a thing now.
Please do not get me wrong. I am not determined to hate everything that everyone else likes. I am amused by amusing things, saddened by sad things, and frightened by frightening things. It doesn’t matter if other people like it, or if they hate it. I will admit to liking something if I enjoy it, regardless of how many (or how few) people like it.
But I will resist popular things for as long as possible. Trying to convince me to watch/read/look at something by saying, “EVERYONE likes it!” is not the best way. I grudgingly consented to watching the music video that everyone on the internet has been insane about for the last couple of weeks: Gangnam Style. And I’m still not sure that that’s the name of the song.
Despite the fact that my brother was sitting nearby saying, “This is my favorite part!!!” about once every forty five seconds, I was able to view it. I’m not sure what I expected, exactly. After seeing it, I can understand why people like it, but not really why everyone is so crazy for it. The only reaction I had while I was watching it really sums up the way I feel about it: “Wow, this video looks like it was really expensive to make.”
It’s pretty refreshing, actually, after so many years of American music being wildly popular internationally, that something made outside the United States (and a song that’s not even in English) is what everyone’s going crazy for. People love it even though they can’t understand the song. And that’s a huge switch from the usual lazy American reaction, “I have to read subtitles to understand what’s going on? That’s not worth my time, and it probably sucks anyway.”
The dancing has caught on ridiculously. And the song is a bit catchy. After all, I only watched it once, and I can get the English lyrics stuck in my head just by thinking about it. “Heeey... sexy lady!”
I think the best thing about Gangnam Style (which, I have discovered since writing the above, is the name of the song) is the spectacle. A dozen or so different settings, lots of dancers in interesting outfits, explosions... what more could you ask for in an internet video sensation? Horses? You got it! Random guy in an elevator? He’s there! Dance off in an empty parking garage? All your internet music video wishes have come true!
So enjoy your wildly popular video, internet. It won’t go away. It’s a thing now.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Between
Dusk is a lovely time of day to take a walk outside. There’s still enough light to see your companions and the terrain, yet it makes lovely shadows behind them. You get to watch the sun disappear behind the horizon and count the minutes before the light disappears.
Inside, dusk is tricky. It’s too dark to make dinner without turning on the lights, but too early to shut the blinds. Why waste illumination from a perfectly good space explosion just to be able to see whether the water is boiling yet? Sometimes it’s a bit hard to determine the optimal time for discarding use of the sun: not too light, but not too dark, the precise moment varying day to day with the style of weather that influences the light.
If you’re not sure precisely when to close the curtains and turn on the lamp, just wait. In time, the side of the rock that we live on will spin away from our nearest and best source of heat and light, and we’ll have to resort to using our own inventions to see through the dark.
The time between day and night doesn’t last long, so enjoy it (outside) while you can.
Inside, dusk is tricky. It’s too dark to make dinner without turning on the lights, but too early to shut the blinds. Why waste illumination from a perfectly good space explosion just to be able to see whether the water is boiling yet? Sometimes it’s a bit hard to determine the optimal time for discarding use of the sun: not too light, but not too dark, the precise moment varying day to day with the style of weather that influences the light.
If you’re not sure precisely when to close the curtains and turn on the lamp, just wait. In time, the side of the rock that we live on will spin away from our nearest and best source of heat and light, and we’ll have to resort to using our own inventions to see through the dark.
The time between day and night doesn’t last long, so enjoy it (outside) while you can.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Time to Crochet! A Week Off
I’ve written before about how my favorite patterns are those that work up together in one piece and that I tend to lose my motivation once the bulk of the project is finished and not want to fasten on ears, tentacles, spikes, or noses. This time, though, I didn’t even feel like starting on the extra things. I’ve got a perfectly good tiger hat just sitting there waiting to be tigered, patiently waiting for ears, at least, to make it extremely cute.
But I didn’t feel like it.
Instead, this week I was busy going to the dentist several times, being An American with Feelings Before, During, and After an Election, and trying to figure out how to use up six pounds of chicken so that it wouldn’t go bad in the refrigerator and we wouldn’t get sick of eating it four nights in a row.
Some time off from the pile of projects in my Ravelry queue was probably a good thing. It gave me some time to think about what I want to take on next (NOT A HAT), and that when I do start making something new, I’ll go ahead and make the smaller less fun things first so that when I finish the main part of the project I won’t have any reason to dither around not completely finishing it because, “oh, I haven’t made that part yet and I don’t really feel like doing it right now so...”
I’ll probably snuggle up with a skein of yarn sometime this weekend, but first I have to see about doing laundry and feeding my children some lunch and doing the dishes and then some more laundry and thinking about what I’m going to make for dinner now that we’ve eaten all of the chicken.
But I didn’t feel like it.
Instead, this week I was busy going to the dentist several times, being An American with Feelings Before, During, and After an Election, and trying to figure out how to use up six pounds of chicken so that it wouldn’t go bad in the refrigerator and we wouldn’t get sick of eating it four nights in a row.
Some time off from the pile of projects in my Ravelry queue was probably a good thing. It gave me some time to think about what I want to take on next (NOT A HAT), and that when I do start making something new, I’ll go ahead and make the smaller less fun things first so that when I finish the main part of the project I won’t have any reason to dither around not completely finishing it because, “oh, I haven’t made that part yet and I don’t really feel like doing it right now so...”
I’ll probably snuggle up with a skein of yarn sometime this weekend, but first I have to see about doing laundry and feeding my children some lunch and doing the dishes and then some more laundry and thinking about what I’m going to make for dinner now that we’ve eaten all of the chicken.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Review: Dinosaur Comics
This happens to me all the time. Only my great ideas also simmer while I’m waking up. If I don’t hold onto them, they are lost forever.
Dinosaur Comics is a silly little comic about science, language, and all varieties of human interaction. It is updated five whole days a week and the genius behind it is a citizen of Toronto, Ontario, Ryan North.
His comics are witty, informative, and amusing. The main characters are obviously T-Rex, and his friends Dromiceiomius and Utahraptor, but occasionally they are visited by God, the Devil (who only ever wants to talk about his obsession: video gaming), and other characters (such as The Bard himself, Shakespeare). Comics take place in the past, the future, the present, and in those varying times in alternate realities.
The most amazing thing about the comic is not that North manages a punchline (sometimes two, with the alt text) every time, no matter whether his characters were discussing a serious subject or engaging in some wacky antics complete with hijinks, or that he has been making them for almost a decade, or even that he is one of a few artists who is able to make comic creation his day job (by selling merchandise such as the three books full of his comics).
No, the most amazing thing about Dinosaur Comics is that the same image is used every single time. The first panel is most of T-Rex, by himself. The second is a closeup of his face, though he manages to get his hands in there, too. The third features Dromiceiomius watching T-Rex stomp on a log cabin, while a getaway car for its inhabitants waits nearby. In the fourth panel, we never get to find out whether T-Rex stomps on an innocent bystander, because Utahraptor shows up to distract T-Rex, and in the fifth panel the woman is gone. Stomped on? Escaped by the skin of her teeth? We never find out. The final panel is empty but for T-Rex, standing awkwardly on his own.
North has never changed anything about the art, but always manages to find a way to make the same image interesting and funny. Five days a week. And when guest artists fill in (as sometimes happens in the webcomic world), if they don’t simply insert their own words, they draw their own pictures, and usually make sure to keep things in the spirit of Dinosaur Comics.
There are some people who would hear about Dinosaur Comics and say, “The same picture every day? Sounds boring.” The first thing I would say to those people is, “You’re wrong, it’s awesome.” The second thing I would say is, “But hey, if you don’t want to read something awesome, that’s okay with me, but you’re missing out." The third thing I would say is, "More for me.”
Dinosaur Comics is a silly little comic about science, language, and all varieties of human interaction. It is updated five whole days a week and the genius behind it is a citizen of Toronto, Ontario, Ryan North.
His comics are witty, informative, and amusing. The main characters are obviously T-Rex, and his friends Dromiceiomius and Utahraptor, but occasionally they are visited by God, the Devil (who only ever wants to talk about his obsession: video gaming), and other characters (such as The Bard himself, Shakespeare). Comics take place in the past, the future, the present, and in those varying times in alternate realities.
The most amazing thing about the comic is not that North manages a punchline (sometimes two, with the alt text) every time, no matter whether his characters were discussing a serious subject or engaging in some wacky antics complete with hijinks, or that he has been making them for almost a decade, or even that he is one of a few artists who is able to make comic creation his day job (by selling merchandise such as the three books full of his comics).
No, the most amazing thing about Dinosaur Comics is that the same image is used every single time. The first panel is most of T-Rex, by himself. The second is a closeup of his face, though he manages to get his hands in there, too. The third features Dromiceiomius watching T-Rex stomp on a log cabin, while a getaway car for its inhabitants waits nearby. In the fourth panel, we never get to find out whether T-Rex stomps on an innocent bystander, because Utahraptor shows up to distract T-Rex, and in the fifth panel the woman is gone. Stomped on? Escaped by the skin of her teeth? We never find out. The final panel is empty but for T-Rex, standing awkwardly on his own.
North has never changed anything about the art, but always manages to find a way to make the same image interesting and funny. Five days a week. And when guest artists fill in (as sometimes happens in the webcomic world), if they don’t simply insert their own words, they draw their own pictures, and usually make sure to keep things in the spirit of Dinosaur Comics.
There are some people who would hear about Dinosaur Comics and say, “The same picture every day? Sounds boring.” The first thing I would say to those people is, “You’re wrong, it’s awesome.” The second thing I would say is, “But hey, if you don’t want to read something awesome, that’s okay with me, but you’re missing out." The third thing I would say is, "More for me.”
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Breakfast Exchange
My daughter approached me this morning to repeat our daily conversation.
“Can I have some yogurt?” she asked. I laid out my terms. “I require a kiss.” It was given. She decided to sweeten the pot: “Can I have a snuggle?” She was snuggled accordingly.
Since the direct food request hadn’t immediately worked, she began a different way. “Can I have some milk?” “We don’t have any milk.” She was unabashed. “Can I have some... water?” “Certainly.”
Encouraged, she decided to attempt her goal. “Can I have some breakfast?!” “You may.” Victorious, she skipped into the dining room and crawled into her seat as I got everything ready for her.
As she happily smeared as much blueberry yogurt onto her face as seemed to go into her mouth, I smiled. She got her breakfast, and in return, I got a kiss, a snuggle, and the pleasure of knowing that I’m raising my child to ask for things politely, in addition to getting to be able to watch her being adorable.
I think it’s a pretty good exchange.
“Can I have some yogurt?” she asked. I laid out my terms. “I require a kiss.” It was given. She decided to sweeten the pot: “Can I have a snuggle?” She was snuggled accordingly.
Since the direct food request hadn’t immediately worked, she began a different way. “Can I have some milk?” “We don’t have any milk.” She was unabashed. “Can I have some... water?” “Certainly.”
Encouraged, she decided to attempt her goal. “Can I have some breakfast?!” “You may.” Victorious, she skipped into the dining room and crawled into her seat as I got everything ready for her.
As she happily smeared as much blueberry yogurt onto her face as seemed to go into her mouth, I smiled. She got her breakfast, and in return, I got a kiss, a snuggle, and the pleasure of knowing that I’m raising my child to ask for things politely, in addition to getting to be able to watch her being adorable.
I think it’s a pretty good exchange.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Vote America 2012
Happy End of Political Ads Day, America!
When I’m not making a loud annoying noise through political commercials (no matter whose they are), I put them on mute (or turn them off) and think about Ancient Athens.
Athens is where we get the “democratic” part of our democratic republic. (The voting part is democracy. The fact that we appoint our own citizens instead of having a hereditary monarch is the republic part.) They didn’t have the same kind of checks and balances that we do, so in criminal trials both the defense and prosecution could trot out any old thing to try to influence the jury, which was sometimes a ridiculously large amount of people, in their favor. “His wife is crippled, his children are on the brink of starvation...” they tried anything that would get them more voters. It didn’t matter how they went about it, or even if what they were presenting to the voters was true, the only thing they cared about was the end result: whether or not they won.
In America today we are obsessed with equality. Everyone is equal, so everyone gets a vote. This is how it should be. But the best way to ensure that a country has good leaders is to make sure that its voters are informed. And sadly, not every voter in America is informed. We vote along party lines, or because someone else tells us how to vote, or because we like the look of the candidate.
The fact that an election has to include the endless parade of advertisements about how one politician is better than another, or about how terrible and cruel a politician’s opponent is makes me sad. It makes me feel like we’re waiting in the gallery to pass judgement on an Athenian criminal: “don’t send him to prison, he’s got to work to feed his family!”
Today, exercise your right as an American citizen and vote. But don’t listen to the ads, whether they’re mudslinging the opposition or painting their candidate in a flattering light, they only tell you what they think you want to hear.
Be informed. And vote for America.
When I’m not making a loud annoying noise through political commercials (no matter whose they are), I put them on mute (or turn them off) and think about Ancient Athens.
Athens is where we get the “democratic” part of our democratic republic. (The voting part is democracy. The fact that we appoint our own citizens instead of having a hereditary monarch is the republic part.) They didn’t have the same kind of checks and balances that we do, so in criminal trials both the defense and prosecution could trot out any old thing to try to influence the jury, which was sometimes a ridiculously large amount of people, in their favor. “His wife is crippled, his children are on the brink of starvation...” they tried anything that would get them more voters. It didn’t matter how they went about it, or even if what they were presenting to the voters was true, the only thing they cared about was the end result: whether or not they won.
In America today we are obsessed with equality. Everyone is equal, so everyone gets a vote. This is how it should be. But the best way to ensure that a country has good leaders is to make sure that its voters are informed. And sadly, not every voter in America is informed. We vote along party lines, or because someone else tells us how to vote, or because we like the look of the candidate.
The fact that an election has to include the endless parade of advertisements about how one politician is better than another, or about how terrible and cruel a politician’s opponent is makes me sad. It makes me feel like we’re waiting in the gallery to pass judgement on an Athenian criminal: “don’t send him to prison, he’s got to work to feed his family!”
Today, exercise your right as an American citizen and vote. But don’t listen to the ads, whether they’re mudslinging the opposition or painting their candidate in a flattering light, they only tell you what they think you want to hear.
Be informed. And vote for America.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Daylight Confusings
Yesterday morning my daughters got up extra early. They usually get up for good around 7 or 7:30, but yesterday it felt more like 6. My husband ushered them out of the room I was trying to sleep in so that they could be cute for their grandparents. I didn’t mind. The earlier they’re up, the better naps they take, and if they’re going to be jumping around, better around someone who is excited that they’re awake so early.
I rolled out of bed and checked my phone for the time. 8:37. “Huh,” I thought, “I must not have been able to sleep for as long as I wanted, no wonder I have a headache.”
We hung out, went out for breakfast, chatted, then went back to the house for all of those ‘getting ready to leave’ tasks. By the time my in-laws were giving hugs and kisses and “we’ll see you in a couple weeks”es, I was thinking, in the back of my head, about what to feed my daughter for lunch.
“What do you want to do?” my husband asked me as we headed back into the house after we finished waving his parents away. We both knew that the final installment of Assassin’s Creed had been waiting for me on our PS3 for several days, and that it was bound to be the answer to his question. Instead I made a face. “Well, what time is kickoff?” I asked, as my daughters, in their Broncos cheerleader outfits, ran off to play. “I’ll probably only be able to play for like half an hour.” “No, it’s only 10:30,” he responded. A glance at the clock on the microwave backed up his story, so I happily grabbed a controller and sat down to play.
Later that evening, my eight month old began to fuss her “feed me, I’m just a baby” fuss. After finding that it was only 4:30, I gave her a look that asked why she was hungry already. Then I shrugged and heated up some mashed peas, figuring that she’d had a super early breakfast, and a weird lunchtime, so she might as well eat dinner early.
I paused in my video gaming after I’d put the girls to bed to poke at the clock on the oven. “What’s wrong with this thing?” I called to my husband. “I already reset the clock on the microwave,” he called back. I looked from one clock to the other. “What?” I continued, my raised eyebrow evident in my tone. “For Daylight Savings?” he hinted.
No wonder I was yawning my head off at 10:30.
Savings? More like “confusings.”
I rolled out of bed and checked my phone for the time. 8:37. “Huh,” I thought, “I must not have been able to sleep for as long as I wanted, no wonder I have a headache.”
We hung out, went out for breakfast, chatted, then went back to the house for all of those ‘getting ready to leave’ tasks. By the time my in-laws were giving hugs and kisses and “we’ll see you in a couple weeks”es, I was thinking, in the back of my head, about what to feed my daughter for lunch.
“What do you want to do?” my husband asked me as we headed back into the house after we finished waving his parents away. We both knew that the final installment of Assassin’s Creed had been waiting for me on our PS3 for several days, and that it was bound to be the answer to his question. Instead I made a face. “Well, what time is kickoff?” I asked, as my daughters, in their Broncos cheerleader outfits, ran off to play. “I’ll probably only be able to play for like half an hour.” “No, it’s only 10:30,” he responded. A glance at the clock on the microwave backed up his story, so I happily grabbed a controller and sat down to play.
Later that evening, my eight month old began to fuss her “feed me, I’m just a baby” fuss. After finding that it was only 4:30, I gave her a look that asked why she was hungry already. Then I shrugged and heated up some mashed peas, figuring that she’d had a super early breakfast, and a weird lunchtime, so she might as well eat dinner early.
I paused in my video gaming after I’d put the girls to bed to poke at the clock on the oven. “What’s wrong with this thing?” I called to my husband. “I already reset the clock on the microwave,” he called back. I looked from one clock to the other. “What?” I continued, my raised eyebrow evident in my tone. “For Daylight Savings?” he hinted.
No wonder I was yawning my head off at 10:30.
Savings? More like “confusings.”
Friday, November 2, 2012
Time to Crochet! Week 4
This weekend I got back to my roots and taught my cousins how to make hemp necklaces. One of them was doing a project on wampum (and had procrastinated until the day before it was due) and thought that something with hemp would make a good visual aid. We worked feverishly for about an hour, stopping to add beads, or to make sure everything was correct (mostly, “Triciaaa... I messed up, how do I fix it?”). When we were finished, I told them, “Don’t you dare start making these for your friends, I’ve got a million at home.”
Yesterday evening, I dug out some embroidery floss and made a new jangly thing for my phone. I’ve had a little charm on a cord fastened to my phone for as long as I’ve had my phone (probably when I had my previous phone, even), and earlier this weekend, the cord broke for the final time. I’ve been able to fix it before, but not this time. I was very sad, and I had considered finding some embroidery floss to make a hemp necklace style cord to hold the charm on, but hadn’t gotten around to it. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to remember exactly how, after so many years of not using the skills, but after sitting down to teach my cousins, I was able to show them how to do it like I’d never stopped. So now, my phone has a charm dangling from it again, with the added bonus of my having made it myself.
But back to crocheting.
The party hats were a hit at my family’s annual October birthday party this year. And by “hit,” I mean,
“people occasionally noticed they were sitting there, and laughed at them.” I wasn’t expecting anyone to actually wear them, but the fact that we put them on one another’s heads and giggled at each other a couple of times was enough for me.
I started on a tiger hat, and my daughter, as she always does, asked me what I was making. I asked her what she thought it was, and even though I was only about four rows into it, she declared that it was a “tiger hat! tiger hat!” Orange and black stripes are pretty recognizable, I guess. The orange is pretty bright, though, if I’d asked anyone else what they thought it was, they’d probably come up with some answer having to do with Halloween. If I were going to recommend this pattern to anyone else, I’d start by telling them to choose a different shade of orange than Red Heart Pumpkin.
I’m planning on a pumpkin hat, though, so it’ll be perfect for that.
Yesterday evening, I dug out some embroidery floss and made a new jangly thing for my phone. I’ve had a little charm on a cord fastened to my phone for as long as I’ve had my phone (probably when I had my previous phone, even), and earlier this weekend, the cord broke for the final time. I’ve been able to fix it before, but not this time. I was very sad, and I had considered finding some embroidery floss to make a hemp necklace style cord to hold the charm on, but hadn’t gotten around to it. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to remember exactly how, after so many years of not using the skills, but after sitting down to teach my cousins, I was able to show them how to do it like I’d never stopped. So now, my phone has a charm dangling from it again, with the added bonus of my having made it myself.
But back to crocheting.
The party hats were a hit at my family’s annual October birthday party this year. And by “hit,” I mean,
“people occasionally noticed they were sitting there, and laughed at them.” I wasn’t expecting anyone to actually wear them, but the fact that we put them on one another’s heads and giggled at each other a couple of times was enough for me.
I started on a tiger hat, and my daughter, as she always does, asked me what I was making. I asked her what she thought it was, and even though I was only about four rows into it, she declared that it was a “tiger hat! tiger hat!” Orange and black stripes are pretty recognizable, I guess. The orange is pretty bright, though, if I’d asked anyone else what they thought it was, they’d probably come up with some answer having to do with Halloween. If I were going to recommend this pattern to anyone else, I’d start by telling them to choose a different shade of orange than Red Heart Pumpkin.
I’m planning on a pumpkin hat, though, so it’ll be perfect for that.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Celebrate Small Triumphs
If you were to walk through my kitchen after a meal, you may witness something strange: me, slapping the lid on a container of leftovers and saying, “yes!”
There are times, after closing the door of the dishwasher and turning it on, that I can be seen dancing around in the kitchen.
And if you will let me, I will tell you all about every facet of the interaction between myself and a sales person as I triumphantly purchased an item for far below its original price.
I get excited about things that no one else cares about sometimes. I don’t mind. I’ll give myself a high five when I select a perfectly sized container to hold the food we didn’t eat at dinner. I'll have a private dance party when I squeeze every dirty dish into the dishwasher so that it fits and my sink is empty again. And when sharing a money-saving story with my husband, all I ask is that he respond with something like, “wow, good job, honey,” however disingenuous it sounds.
But if he wants to swing his socks around over his head like his favorite football team just scored a touchdown to win the game in overtime, hey, I’ll take that too.
There are times, after closing the door of the dishwasher and turning it on, that I can be seen dancing around in the kitchen.
And if you will let me, I will tell you all about every facet of the interaction between myself and a sales person as I triumphantly purchased an item for far below its original price.
I get excited about things that no one else cares about sometimes. I don’t mind. I’ll give myself a high five when I select a perfectly sized container to hold the food we didn’t eat at dinner. I'll have a private dance party when I squeeze every dirty dish into the dishwasher so that it fits and my sink is empty again. And when sharing a money-saving story with my husband, all I ask is that he respond with something like, “wow, good job, honey,” however disingenuous it sounds.
But if he wants to swing his socks around over his head like his favorite football team just scored a touchdown to win the game in overtime, hey, I’ll take that too.
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