Everybody Loves Saturday Night

My favorite slogan of the weekend. Saw it on quite a few t-shirts and signs.

I'm still a little too overwhelmed to write coherently about this weekend. Let me explain...no. There is too much. Let me sum up...

The Chinatown bus leaving NYC at 8:00 a.m. Saturday morning was packed with marchers (Carolyn, is the dim sum place you love on E. Broadway? Because I think we passed it), some of whom were already in their Message Shirts ("I dig pro-choice boys," for example). That was the first time I kinda choked up. I worked on Gigi. At one point, a woman came up to ask if I had a sewing needle because her friend was trying to repair a purse. I didn't (it was in my larger bag stowed away in luggage), but I saw the two of them when we got to D.C. and talked with them while I waited for Rachael and Bethany (!). They were at the march in '92 as well. I found out, unsurprisingly, that there were tons of people there who had been to the '92 march. But Karen and Alice were fantastic people to meet right off the bat--for example, they didn't think it was weird at all that I was tremendously excited about meeting two people I only knew from the Internet, and that we would all be sharing a hotel room.

Then I saw Rachael crossing the street down the block and did something I rarely do: squealed, left all my stuff on the sidewalk, and ran to hug her. Or attack her, as it may have looked. Second time I got choked up. We drove (Bethany's Tach is most accommodating) around, found a place to have lunch (Zebra Lounge--decent sandwiches, so-so Caesar salad, but the black olive tapanade was splendid) and then Zenned it over to our hotel in Georgetown (sample slice of dialogue: "I know it's that way") so Rachael, who had been up for 48 straight hours, could take a nap. I called a friend of a friend (I love knowing people who know people) and we met up for dinner and drinks--Rachael, I believe, chronicled this part of our adventure better than I did, because my pictures don't start until the next day. March Day. I woke up choked up, and stayed that way.

We took the Metro (and now I remember this from '92: how posh and quiet and clean and smooth the D.C. subways are), jammed up with marchers, and I mean barely-breathing-room-am-I-in-Tokyo? jammed, got off at Metro Center and walked to the Mall, passing several stations of organizers and volunteers from various organizations handing out posters, stickers, buttons, all the marching flair you wanted.


on our way!

We were meeting the other Knitters Against Bush at 11, but got there early to hear some of the rally speakers, including


Senator Clinton, who referred to "19th-Century FOX," demonstrating yet again why I love her

My political awakening pretty much coincides with Hillary's arrival on the scene. I may not always agree with what she says and does, and she has on occasion broken my heart, but. We go back, Hillary and I. We're like THIS.

First to meet us were Cheryl and Sarah. Also in this picture are Bethany's former co-worker, Tara, and someone whose name I have unfortunately forgotten. I hate when that happens. Sorry!



And then, Maggi stole up on us from behind. Now, I had had the privilege of meeting Maggi when she came to New York in February, so I got to chronicle Rachael's reaction--but, as luck would have it, I snapped this picture just as they were pulling out of their hug, and it looks like they're going in for a big ol' smoocheroo:



The small child attached to Maggi there is the most adorable, precious, intelligent, wonderful, not-quite-3-year-old in existence. She amazed and delighted all of us.

We were soon joined by Maureen, and a couple of other knitters, a mother and daughter whose names I have also unfortunately forgotten, one of whom was working on a pattern from Vogue. If you happen to be reading this, I'm sorry we didn't have the chance to meet up again but, you know, there were between 600,000 and 1.1 million people there.

Want proof? Here's a shot of the beginning of the march, around 12:15. It started at noon, and by the time we started there were hundreds, if not thousands of people in front of us.



We finally left the rally close to or just after 4:00 p.m. and walked back to the Metro station. Marchers were still pouring in, full force:



Here's my favorite "hold my camera above the crowd and see what happens" shot:



Like I said, I woke up feeling overly emotional, and the march itself had me squeezing back tears on more than one occasion. There were entire families marching, three generations of women together. We saw a poster that said "I promised my mother I'd be back"--the mom had marched in '92, her daughter marched this time. There were women in their 70s who had been through it ALL (and were carrying the angriest slogans of all. Hard-core old-school, and I wanted to hug all of them). There were men holding signs that read "Women Rock." Our part of the march drowned out the loudest anti-choice demonstration along the way (hey, remember the melodramatic Jesus pictures? Iiiiiii don't know how to loooooooooove him). We were giddy, we were righteous, we were marching for reproductive freedom for people all over the world, we were passionate, marching for regime change, marching for future generations, marching so they don't have to.

And then we bought some yarn.


Rachael, Sarah, Caroline, Maggi

The next day we met up with lovely Maeve, wished her Cricket a happy birthday, stored Tach, took the Metro to Union Station (wow) and met Wendy for lunch. Wendy's blog was one of the first (if not the first) blog I encountered in my thrifty cheap way of squeezing the internet for as much knitting information as I could get so as to not have to buy instruction books. She is absolutely delightful in person, and the five of us had a blast at lunch, knitting while waiting for our food (first time I've done that, but when in Rome...). We had a few hours to kill before our bus left, so we hung out at a nearby bar/restaurant, with Maeve generously keeping us company. Go see if she's posted pictures of Pines yet, because WOW.

On the bus back we sat near two women who had also been on the march, both of whom--get this--grew up in Minneapolis. What are the odds? I guess that counts as my "meeting someone I know."

And now Rachael and Bethy are with me in Brooklyn. Scout is thrilled.



P.S. Scout is lying on top of a recent acquisition from Threadbear (I couldn't let one of Matt's Charlotte's Web kits get away, not for the bargain it is), and next to that is a special surprise gift from Joanna--the most gorgeous, perfect shade of lavender that I have ever seen. It's Plassard. Go fig.

Stay tuned for Part Two...

Scout appreciated all the birthday wishes you sent his way.

Well, actually, what he said was, "Who are those people? Woman, get me my tuna!"

That's not true, either. What he really said was something best expressed as "meow."

In other news, I will be ordering up a cable modem next week. Thanks for the advice.

I'm filled with nostalgic feelings today. I leave tomorrow for D.C. for what will be my third pro-choice rally and march. The first took place in November of 1989, when I was a first-year student in college. It was the first real political activity I took part in--and by "real" I mean "something requiring a 14-hour drive." I left Evanston with three people from my dorm (my best friend, with whom I am sadly no longer in touch; a guy from the second floor--how do I still remember that?--who I think was just interested in going to D.C. and not so much the march; and this Einstein-haired crazy New Jersey Jewish guy, who had the car. A station wagon) just after dinner on Friday and we drove all night. I remember stopping at the Ernie Pyle rest area in Indiana, and it wasn't until three months ago that I finally learned who Ernie Pyle was--we just thought the name was funny.* I remember how spooky driving through Pennsylvania at 4 a.m. was, and what it felt like to stay up all night without having to write a paper. We stayed with my friend's friend who was going to Georgetown--I think we slept on the floor of her dorm room. The march was just what you'd expect the first major feminist, political, massive demonstration would be: life-changing.

I remember being covert about my participation with my family--not because they didn't agree with my politics, but because I was still feeling my way around that quasi-independence thing. That sense that no one could stop me but should I mention anything I would be told not to go. Best to just ride that "I can make my own decisions" horse. It's also possible that I told my mom what I was doing but she said it would be best not to mention anything to my grandparents (with whom I lived until I went to college, remember) because they would worry and/or not let up on her for "letting" me go. I do remember coming back to school and calling home and talking to my grandmother and not feeling like lying when she asked how my weekend was. I told her I had gone to D.C. with some friends to join the pro-choice march and you know what her response was? "I'm so proud of you."**

The next march I attended was in 1992, with the knowledge from my Sociology of Gender Roles class under my belt (Nicola Watson? You rocked my world) and registering somewhere around 85% on the Feminist Scale (still had a few kinks to work out). That year one of my close friends went through a pregnancy scare, so for the first time our pro-choice politics were put to the test. I don't think you can really know where you stand on this issue until you know, you know? She was making plans to drop out and find a job and we were making plans to find a house we could all live in to help out, and then she got her period, so, you know, whew. The march was very important to us that year. I went with my friends, who would wind up becoming my roommates the next year. We rented a car (although I don't remember how, since we were all under 25. Extra insurance?) and again drove that 14-hour road, making up new words to "Mustang Sally." The Commitments had come out some time before and was our primary soundtrack for the trip. Again, I have no recollection of where we stayed and, to be honest, very little recollection of this march. It was warm. I was tired. There was a lot of icky stuff going on in my life. You know--typical college junior type stuff.

Monday, as I sat swatching in Knit New York, waiting for Amber, a woman came in with a bunch of stickers advertising this year's march. She asked the coffee-counter woman if she could leave a bunch. As she turned to leave, I asked if I could have some, and we started talking. She was at the march in 1992 as well. The crazy idea that I would run into someone I once knew has been running through my head ever since. Things like that happen frequently to me. The fact that I will be staying once more in Georgetown (though, thankfully, not at Georgetown and especially not on a floor at Georgetown) is a sign, I think. I'm fairly sure that my head will be on permanent swivel come Sunday morning so Rachael, Bethany, Maggi, Maureen--I'm paying attention to you, I swear.

There are a lot of issues that I care about, that play a part in determining how I act, what I write, and how I vote. This is number one. And at this point, it's no longer up for discussion. It is what it is, and it is how it should be.

So, I'm plunking my butt on a bus tomorrow morning and when I get there, Rachael and Bethany will be waiting for me. You can't ask for better than that.

* Ernie Pyle was a journalist who covered WWII from the front lines. And now he has a rest area in Indiana named after him. A dubious honor, if that.
** There's a pin she gave me years ago that I will be wearing on Sunday, so she can be with me. You now know my guiltiest of guilty secrets: I am a hard-core sentimentalist. And now I shall have to kill you all.

Someone turns ten years old today!



And Happy Earth Day! Go...recycle something. And then read up on the latest EPA standards and decide whether the current administration is doing enough to protect and preserve our environment and resources.

That's it. My computer issues have brought me to the breaking point. I can't tell if the trouble is with my computer, my modem in particular, MSN, or something else, but it's time to kick both MSN and dial-up to the curb. Unfortunately, DSL is still apparently not an option, because for some inexplicable reason it's "not available in my area." I should double check that with my phone company. Is it possible that one service provider would have DSL and another wouldn't?

I dislike asking for computer help because I feel like such a stereotype when I do it. I usually know what I'm doing, or at least just enough to get by. I take care of things like defragmenting and stuff on a regular basis. I know my computer is fairly old by computer standards, so maybe the whole system needs an upgrade? Help me. Please. What do I do? What can I do?

Because they carry Brown Sheep Cotton Fleece (I have said and typed that enough times to make me feel like I'm in an Old Navy commercial. Move over, Morgan). They didn't have the exact purple I wanted, but I wasn't willing to wait for the next shipment. "I must start this sweater today. TODAY." There wasn't enough of the shade of purple they did have (which is just as well, as it's far too similar to the color of the Corset Pullover), so after much deliberation, I opted for the Victorian Pink, which is the same color Bonne Marie used for hers. I've been buying a lot of pink yarn lately, and I wanted to use something different, but I just couldn't envision Gigi in blue or burgundy or anything dark. In the pattern, the pink is trimmed with brown yarn, which is a color combination that seems to be all the rage lately. I'm not much for following trends, and I decided that I didn't want that much brown yarn left over, so I bought a skein of black and a skein of a deep darky dusky mauve, figuring that I'll decide which one I want to use when the time comes. Everyone who looked at my color choices liked the mauve with the pink, so I will most likely go with that, and either return the black or use it for hats.

The best part is that I had to return a couple hanks of Cascade 220 and some other flashy expensive yarn, so my total purchase amount yesterday had a deep discount. I also picked up--finally--the latest VK issue and saw our dear Rachael's name in print, and consumed our fabulous Leslie's articles. I loved bragging about that. And the patterns? Not bad, not bad. I wish VK could write patterns that were easier to follow--the cable charts for one sweater, for example, are the messiest things I've ever seen, tiny tiny tiny, with symbols that don't even try to approximate the way the stitches are supposed to look. There's a bustier pattern that I think would be fun to try, but the largest size is a 33". The hell?

The owner of Downtown Yarn sent me over to a place on 9th, called Archangel Antiques, to look for buttons for Tilt. I'm glad she did, because I wound up not making it over to MJ Trimmings at all, and I also discovered that Archangel is a fantastic place for really special buttons. It's expensive, but so is yarn, so I don't really have a problem with that. One of my options was a set of horn buttons that were way out of my range, but Gail--who is incredibly friendly and knew her buttons and the comparative weight of buttons to completed sweaters--was open to bartering, so that was cool. I wound up getting a set of greenish tinted buttons that were definitely more economical. There were only four, so I added a different, but complementary, button for the top closure. I'm going to assemble the whole thing when I get back from DC, because right now it's all about Gigi. Oh, and Gail cut me a deal on those buttons as well, and then showed me a collection of Victorian glass buttons that were just to die for. Archangel Antiques, on 9th between 1st and 2nd. Go.

And then it was off to Knit New York to meet Amber (and swatch for Gigi. Wow, even swatching Cotton Fleece is fun). We had coffee and pastries, but no yarn. I think I might have been more tempted to buy some had there been more cotton options, but for the first time I was rather disappointed by what I saw in the store. Almost everything seems set up for the small project--from the yarn selection to the display (it's just a ball of each out front, with massive storage in back, shoe-store style). I'm just not drawn in to make major purchases. And I'm certainly not in the mood to buy more wool. I figured I'd wait til we got to School Products to shop for the yarn for some of the Vogue projects I'm into, but we never made it there. Instead, we went to the Virgin Megawhatever, where I browsed too long and bought more DVDs than I planned to, but it's all good. I saw something nasty in the woodshed, know what I'm sayin'?

I topped my day o'splurgin' off with sandals. People, it's warm out here. Over the weekend I gave myself the spring inaugural pedicure and then realized I need new sandals. And now I have them.

And now I need to get ready for my day. Back to school. Bleh.

Yes, now you too will be humming that song--actually, just that one line, over and over--for the rest of the day. Sorry. There's a good reason behind it: I just received an email from Knit New York announcing their latest scheme. They've hidden six golden tickets inside random balls of yarn, and whoever finds them wins a $150 shopping spree in the store. It's either brilliant or a desperate attempt to attract business--but if it's the latter, then they really should advertise it more. It's not on their website (at least, not yet), and I only found out about it because I'm on their mailing list. Even if it is an act of desperation, it certainly makes me want to buy yarn until I find a ticket!

Now, if they were really on the ball they would've followed Dahl's story more closely, and offered a tour of, oh I don't know, say the Koigu place, as well as--I mean, let's be real here--a lifetime supply of yarn.

My mind is racing with possibilities. I know we knitters frequently trot out the "kid in a candy store" cliché to describe what it's like in a really great yarn store, but I never before realized the parallels to Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (at this point I'm more familiar with the movie than the novel). Take a minute to really think about this contest. Think about all those people tearing the store apart trying to find the ticket before they purchase the yarn--I guess that won't happen, though, since the yarn in the front of the store is all display yarn, while the purchase-yarn is stored in back. With the Oompa-Loompas. I guess I'll find out the full deal this afternoon, since I'm meeting Amber there today--she's in town for a sooper-fancy hair appointment, so if anyone in the area is available around 3pm or so, we'll be at Knit New York for a little while, and then off to School Products.

How will I manage two yarn stores under my self-imposed yarn restriction? Well...you know, the great thing about self-imposing things is that I have no one to answer to but myself, and if I decide to grant myself a dispensation for something really special, I can. I wasn't out looking deliberately for something tempting--I've been staying away from dangerous websites and contenting myself with the yarn I had. Then I wandered over to Chicknits and fell in love with Gigi. I had to have her. I had to have her that instant. I bought the pattern yesterday and plan on getting the yarn for it today. Then I plan on coming home and starting it, and not stopping until it's done. I love the pink/brown combo Bonne Marie used, but I'm leaning more towards--surprise--a light purple/black combo. Bonus: I'll have enough of the trim color left over to make a matching Bucket O' Chic hat, so I went ahead (finally) and got that pattern as well.

~~~~~

Steph requested a semicolon tutorial. I live for the semicolon--no, really!--and since grammar How-To books seem to be all the rage lately, here's my first entry in that vein.

Art of the Semicolon

The most common use of the semicolon is to connect two independent clauses. In this respect, it's got more to do with style than correctness. Let me back up a bit.

How many of us have turned in papers only to have them turned back with "r-o" or "comma splice" written all over it in red pen? How many know what a run-on sentence or a comma splice is? Guilty secret: I didn't until grad school. All my teachers ever did was insert the necessary punctuation without any explanation, and I just followed their examples on the next paper. The first time I heard the phrase "comma splice" it sounded like some film school term. I don't remember ever learning what parts of speech are, aside from the basic "subject-verb-adjective" stuff. I still don't know exactly what a "dangling participle" is, exactly. So at the risk of being pedantic, didactic, or some other bad "ic," let me define some terms:

An independent clause is a complete sentence with subject/verb agreement and everything--anything from "I'm drooling" to "Gigi, the fabulous new design by Bonne Marie, is made with Brown Sheep Cotton Fleece."

A run-on sentence is two independent clauses smushed together without the proper punctuation. "Gigi is made with Brown Sheep Cotton Fleece I'm looking forward to working with that yarn."

A comma splice is a run-on sentence with a comma as an attempt at proper punctuation--like you know something has to go there, but you're not sure what, so you throw a comma in. In the above example, the comma would come after "Fleece." But that's the wrong punctuation, because both parts of that sentence are independent clauses. There are several ways to fix the run-on--you could put a period after "Fleece" and have two short sentences. You could add a comma and a conjunction after "Fleece": "Gigi is made with Brown Sheep Cotton Fleece, and I'm looking forward to working with that yarn."

The semicolon would connect those two independent clauses like the comma does, but without requiring the conjunction: "Gigi is made with Brown Sheep Cotton Fleece; I'm looking forward to working with that yarn."

Here's where the style issue comes in. I think the sentence with a semicolon sounds icky, but changing it to two sentences sounds choppy. I'd go with the comma and conjunction. All three are correct; it's partly a matter of preference, but also a matter of the relationship between the two clauses. Sometimes I describe the semicolon as somewhere between a period and a comma: if a period is a full, hard stop and a comma is a soft pause, the semicolon is medium-hard (or medium soft). But it's more than that. You use a semicolon when the relationship between the clauses is clear enough without a conjunction. "I couldn't get gauge with my Boyes; when I tried swatching with my Addis, I was right on." (Yes, I know these sentences are crappy to begin with.) You could definitely use a comma and "but" in that sentence, but the "but" is implied and not necessary. (I wish my butt were implied. Thank you! I'll be here all week.)

You always use a semicolon when connecting independent clauses linked with a transitional word or phrase, like "however" or "for example." "I shouldn't be starting a new sweater when I've got so many unfinished sweaters lying around; however, those are mostly 100% wool sweaters, and as the temperature has been skimming 80 degrees lately, I should work on more spring and summer items."

When the transitional phrase appears in the middle of the second independent clause (or at the end), the semicolon goes between the clauses as it would if there weren't a transition at all. "I am closest to finishing Tilt, so I'll buy buttons for that today and get the collar done; the Must-Have, on the other hand, will go on hiatus until next fall."

Finally, semicolons are used between items in a series containing other punctuation. "My yarn stash currently includes some Plassard Cérusé, a cotton-acrylic blend; GGH Velour, a suede-like nylon; a skein of Colinette Giotto, a cotton/rayon/nylon ribbon yarn; and a bunch of 100% linen that I got from School Products a couple of months ago." Note that the semicolon appears before the last item, where you think a comma would go. But no. It's all semicolons.

Are you still here?

Hey, Mindy's got herself some brand-new legwarmers! Check them out, before she puts them away until next winter. My legwarmers? I gave up. Maybe next year.

Finally, the cool librarian exercise that Alison has inspired all the cool kids to do:

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the sentence in your journal with these instructions.

You might not give Emma such a complete education as your powers would seem to promise; but you were receiving a very good education from her, on the very material matrimonial point of submitting your own will, and doing as you were bid; and if Weston had asked me to recommend him a wife, I should certainly have named Miss Taylor.

    Emma / Jane Austen
    Norton Critical Edition

Yes, this passage contradicts everything I just wrote about the semicolon.

Our language is really schizophrenic, isn't it? Colleen's comments got me thinking, but unfortunately I had a crappy internet connection all day yesterday, which rendered it impossible for me to post a follow-up to the Grammar Peeves (vol. 1--oh yes, there will be a vol. 2) until now. Of course, today would be the day I go back to school so I still don't have the time I would like to spend on it. I propose that this be an ongoing (ungoing?) discussion. As our language changes almost daily, there can never be a final word on usage or grammar.

I want to be clear that my list of peeves relates specifically and almost exclusively to the standards for formal academic writing. Spoken English is a different animal, though bearing many similarities to academic English. It's like humans and monkeys--academic writing can dress up or down, but it doesn't fling its feces (at least not in public). Spoken English has academic-like dexterity and then some, and it's decidedly more fun and, in some ways, far more evolved.

To follow Col's example, we've come to either accept or--in the case of strict grammarians, grudgingly tolerate--such expressions as "you played good today" or "I did good on the test." "I think you did well" comes more naturally to me, though I know I've used the former. However, were that expression to appear on a research paper, it would deservedly get corrected.

And now for the big question: "I would merely like to point out that for some, a strict adherence to grammar indicates an elitism and devotion to cultural arcana, creating a class/education-based anxiety resulting in the same kind of intimidation which some people who only listen to pop radio feel toward classical music/opera aficionados. Do you agree?"

I do agree that those who possess a strict adherence to grammar in otherwise casual English indicates some kind of superiority complex or sense of elitist entitlement (though to what, I am not sure), especially when they correct other people's grammar in a kind of lording-it-over way. I'm reminded of the woman who sat for the first hour in that seven-hour grammar seminar I substitute taught, who interrupted me with an "Aha!" when I let the unfortunate "There's millions of ways..." slip out of my mouth. I dislike elitism in others and it chafes when I feel myself accused of same, but I have to admit that it's there, it's certainly there.

At the same time, I also dislike that kind of snobbery that goes the other way--those who walk on the fringes who disdain anything highbrow or otherwise mainstream. Perhaps it results from that feeling of intimidation when, say, opera lovers mock Hot 97 FM. I don't understand why it's necessary to box ourselves in like that. I like Beyonce and Carmen. I liked Beyonce singing Carmen in that Pepsi commercial.

My speech becomes formal when necessary, like in job interviews and when addressing foreign dignitaries. I'm not always formal in the writing classes I teach (as if that weren't already obvious), because it's just not who I am most of the time. I can tell you where to put that apostrophe and how to make sure your verb tenses agree, but I'm going to do it in the way that's most appropriate for me and my audience. I will not correct someone's speech in public, unless I'm kidding around and that person knows it. But if someone told me, "I wish I was in France," no way would I say, "You mean you wish you were in France." I would, however, correct it on a paper. Unless, of course, that person meant to do it. Sometimes it's obvious when rules are broken for a reason. Language is fun to play with. I rewrite sentences over and over and sometimes the best way to convey something is by breaking a rule. There are definitely aspects of grammar and usage that I think are dumb. That's for another list. And don't even get me started on Business English.

And those are my disjointed thoughts at the moment. I loved reading about others' peeves and I look forward to reading your thoughts about this. Let's discuss!

Oh, and to those who willfully used the ones I listed in their comments to be funny, you are quote-unquote "on my list."

I finally finished the back of the Must Have. Pictures to follow when I get back from class.

The following list is in honor of the latest addition to my library, courtesy of the fabulous Ann, who sent me a book no self-respecting Grammar Avenger should be without:



That's Barbara Wallraff's Word Court, a compilation of letters and conversations she's had as both editor of The Atlantic Monthly and Chief Justice of the magazine's "Word Court" column (of which admittedly I had not heard until I received the book. Bad Grammar Avenger!)

And in (dis)honor of the poor souls who submitted papers to the empathizing sweetheart of a teacher before break, unaware that she would soon transform herself into the taunting, sadistic, leather-clad, cape-festooned, FULLY ARMED Grammar Avenger (cue fanfare), gleefully wreaking havoc over that which they slaved over for all of 20 minutes before the last class.

That's right. She's back, and she's mean.

Peeves Vol. I

1. The use of "give over" in place of "give" or worse, a more descriptive and active verb.
   
   

   Example: "The screenwriter gives over her perspective on the way feminism affects heterosexual relationships."

   How in the name of all that is good and spicy did this ever enter into anything remotely considered standard usage?

   
   
2. Introductory sentences like this one: "Man's ingenuity has been steadily growing since the first man made fire to warm himself up."
   
   

   Question: how do you know it was a man who made the first fire?

   
   
3. Firstly
   
   

   I don't care if it's technically correct, it bugs me. Especially when it's not followed by "Secondly." And it never is.

   
   
4. Variations on the following: The reason is because, being that this is the case, the question becomes why (is)
   
   

   Questions don't become. At least, not in that way. And they certainly don't become you.

   
   
5. Variations on the following: I feel, I personally believe, my opinion is
   
   

   I don't care. (tm Tommy Lee Jones in The Fugitive)

   
   
6. Actually writing out "quote unquote" and then putting the next word in quotes.
   
   

   I shit you not.

   
   
7. (British people, look away) "When punctuation doesn't go within quotations marks", like this.
   
   

   The cockroach of punctuation errors. It just. Won't. Die.

   
   
8. Overusing exclamation points!
   
   

   Remember that Seinfeld episode? I would totally break up with someone for egregious overuse of exclamation points.

   
   
   
9. Ending one sentence with a noun or noun clause, and starting the next with the same noun or noun clause, and not for any rhetorical effect.
   
   

   Example:"As a Psychology/Early Education major I could get a job as a counselor. A counselor is someone who works with young children."

   
   
10. Perhaps, as in "Perhaps, this is because there is so much pressure to conform." Likewise, I also despise
    
    
11. "Although" as a transitional word to begin sentences, instead of "However."
    
    

    Example: Although, the lead actors had no chemistry.

    
    
12. The movie was very impactful.
    
    

    'Nuff said.

    
    
    

Oy, I hope I didn't make any mistakes of my own. That would be so embarrassing.

This is why I drink.

This? I'm satisfied with. For now. I do want to push all the links and things over to one side, but for now, this is good. With luck, you all have the fonts that I have, and you can read this. In six months I'll be tired of it again. So much pastel. It's like I fell into a giant vat of Easter hats (Happy Easter). I am kinda in love with my new title banner--a fluke gradient accident.

When I haven't been working the past week, or going to see a Broadway show (I think I'm the last person in NY to see The Producers, and I probably wouldn't have had Mike's parents not gotten the tickets, but I'm really glad I went. Hilarious. Fun. Still humming the songs), I've been putting Tilt together. Ay-yi-yi. So far I have picked up a total of 740 stitches to attach the four yoke pieces, attach them to the body pieces (the stitches of which had been on holders), and one sleeve. So I had this:



to which I added this:



and one of these:



And I got THIS:



Hi Scout!

And look: I even got the back seams straight on the very first try.



Amazing, since my picked up stitches are incredibly sloppy. But you can't tell from there, can you? Ha.

Popping in to say hey. You like the stars? Thanks. Enjoy them while they last: I realized this morning that what I really wanted to do was lighten the place up a bit, both in color and in content. Moving things around didn't work at all, so I reverted back to the old design with a few minor changes. It's just so dark. I want something bright and springtimey. Thanks for hanging in there with me.

Yeah, I need a break. I'm still not satisfied with the blog's appearance (still looks too busy. Must cut down on colors) but I'm also in that mood where I'm not satisfied with anything.

I'll be back in a few days.

I won't ask if you like what I've done with the place. I'm not done yet. The background image I made up is a little too busy, and I'm running out of time today to tweak things, so this is going to stay for a good 24 hours or so. Eh, whatever.

Mike's folks are in town, which serves as an explanation for not posting yesterday. We took a mini-tour of the East Village/Lower East Side/Chinatown yesterday, including an hour-long tour of a LES tenement apartment building. That's something I've meant to do since I've been here, but always put off.

I'm not really in much of a writing mood now. I'm on break, but I've got work, but I'm on break, but I've got work. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I am becoming more and more attracted to the idea of a job I do not take home with me.

I love Passover. It kills me to be away from my family right now, because our seders were always so much fun (though as a youngster, it was torture to sit at the table for so long without any real food). Our Haggadahs are ancient ("But then there arose a new Pharoh, who knew not Joseph") but every time I've been to a seder with modern books, it's felt odd and incomplete.

The reason I love observing Passover is simple and, given my academic orientation, obvious: it's the symbolism. The service is heavy on ritual, and everything means something. The one drawback is that once you get "Dayenu" in your head, it won't leave for the entire eight-day observance period.

Marty Markowitz (Borough President) sent me a Happy Passover letter. How come I didn't get one last year? It's photocopied. And it contains a grievous error of syntax. I've half a mind to correct it and send it back with my salary requirements as Official Brooklyn Proofreader.

I had a fairly relaxing weekend, but I still don't feel totally relaxed. I think it has something to do with Daylight Savings that I can sleep for 9 hours and still feel exhausted (but otherwise OK. This morning is the first in which I haven't felt like I'm talking through my nose). On Saturday I went out to Knit NY to meet up with Carolyn and remained true to my knitting restrictions, purchasing only a stitch pattern book and two skeins (I am allowed two skeins) of Koigu PPPM in a colorway that I had wanted as part of my birthday splurge order, but was out of stock at Threadbear. I also met some wonderful people: Nancy (who was working on an amazing self-designed girls' jumper [or pinafore] out of Koigu PPPM), Stacy, who also broke down regarding Koigu, and Jeanine, whom I'd actually met before, as we both had been at the Union Square Stitch 'n' Bitch around the same time a year ago, but then she had time conflicts and I stopped going. Funny--she walks in and we look at each other and say, "But I know you!" I worked on my Must-Have (again, I can't get over how fantastic it is to be with people who know--when the response to "what are you working on?" is an understood "the Must-Have"), but then reached the armhole-shaping part of the back and realized that I hadn't brought the pattern with me, so I pulled out some scarf yarn and fiddled with it for a while. Oh, and speaking of scarves, I finished the Diadomina scarf on Friday. Here it is, covering up my Brooklyn Cyclones t-shirt:



That's the best I can do right now--my batteries are in need of recharging. So am I, come to think of it. I have tried six times to get the Corset Pullover sleeves right. The last time I managed to get all the way through the lacy bell part, but something happened to my gauge and the sleeves are yoooooooge. I'm tired of fighting with this pattern. I may just drop it altogether and turn to some other cotton adventure. Yes, I am avoiding the three-needle bind offs of Tilt. It's not that I mind doing it, really. I just don't want to face picking up 190 stitches twice and binding them off together and not getting the two back seams to match up at first, because I know that will happen, and I'm going to need a bottle of wine to get me through it.

P.S. My favorite color in this scarf is the bright orange you can see on the bottom left. The ball I started with had just a little bit of it at the very beginning, and I was so excited when I saw more of it in the second ball. Little things.

In other words, I came home last night, had dinner, and fell asleep shortly after 10.

Falling under the category of Needing to Get This Off My Chest (and then maybe my bras will fit? Well, a girl can hope):

So. Every now and then I'll have a student who abruptly stops showing up to class, long after the deadline to drop has passed. Sometimes there's an explanation that the student is gracious enough to pass along, and sometimes that explanation is valid. Like, for example, the student who, earlier this semester, had to be subjected to a series of medical exams to determine whether he had either one disease or another (they were testing for three I think, and he's thankfully clear of all of them). He missed two and a half weeks of class, but had notified the proper authorities (i.e. the health center and the Dean's Office) and all of his professors received an Official Notice of his absence and a polite request to allow him to catch up on missed work. No problem; he was caught up in my class within a week of his return. Good Student.

Then there's the student who has missed more than a month's worth of classes. Since the beginning of February, he's showed up twice--once to turn in a paper, once to get it back. One of those times he informed me that, like an idiot, he'd been emailing his professor from last semester with the "I won't be in class today" messages. The "like an idiot" clause came directly from his mouth, but I didn't contradict him, because if he thought that would somehow excuse those absences, he was gravely mistaken. I suggested that he stop by my office at some point so we could discuss the work that he'd missed. He didn't. Two weeks later he emailed me with a story about some kind of emotional distress that he's been going through that has rendered him unable to attend class or even move from his room. Interestingly enough, this emotional distress seemed to always occur for the 50 minutes that our class met, because when I suggested both that he seek help from Student Services and that he come by so we could talk about the class, he told me that he couldn't make my office hours because he had another class at that time. Hmm.

Far be it from me to belittle anyone's emotional distress. Crap, I've got emotional distress to spare and I have lost count of the number of times I've been rendered incapable of movement because of the volume of work and responsibility heaped upon me. Natural selection, baby--please step over to the right and let others pass you on the left. Being paralyzed with responsibilty doesn't grant you the right to shuck that responsibility off.

He emailed me again earlier this week, promising to have all the work that's due to me when we come back from break. I read the email and uttered some words that I wouldn't have if he'd been in front of me. First of all, he doesn't even know what's due--5 short papers and one formal assignment that serves as the rough draft of their major research paper. Second of all, I'm under no obligation to read through all of that, at one time, when everyone else is where they should be. Third, he's missed enough class to fail it no matter what happens. I told him as much. He insisted on staying in the class. I wrote back and guaranteed an F. Finally, yesterday afternoon, he wrote to say "well, if that's the way it is," but in a way that was clearly intended to make me feel rotten and callous. Which I don't. Perhaps if he'd attended class, he would have learned how to write more effectively.

I'm not sure that's enough to earn me my Ruthless Merit Badge, but I'm still working on it.


Shocked and saddened by Troy's departure from The Apprentice. Actually, given the circumstances, not all that shocked. But still saddened.

Had a dream last night that I moved back to Ohio and rented a house that Jamie Lee Curtis used to own, that still contained most of her possessions. She had good taste, particularly regarding the bedroom decor. The doors were all rotten and falling apart and teenagers kept breaking in, but not to steal stuff, just to walk around. I get that last part, given the recent break-in/nothing taken experience, and I get the moving back to Ohio part, which not only reminds me of The Pretenders but also that I still haven't finished my dissertation.* Not sure how the Jamie Lee Curtis part factors in.

Hellboy.**

Did I mention it's spring break time? I do have grading and a dissertation to get back to, but I'll probably wind up seeing how many Netflix movies I can get through in a week and a half.

It bugs me when I see cute giggly laughter rendered in speech as "he he."

I wish my memory were as good as it used to be. Of course, saying that indicates that I remember when my memory was better, which means I'm still remembering things, so I probably don't have a problem and most likely just need more coffee.

I feel blog-restless in that sort of I-want-to-write-but-only-if-it's-fantastic kind of way. So here's another aspect of my life on which I heap massive and unrealistic expectations and then feel like a failure when I don't measure up. Perhaps in the next week and a half I'll take a break from The Great Netflix Moviethon and make some changes.

I don't even want to mention knitting. See what I did there? There's a formal Latinish term for the kind of rhetorical move I just did there, that naming-thing-by-not-naming-it device. I've been knitting on the subway, on a disco-sparkly sock. This weekend I'll continue to put Tilt together, but it's a mess right now. It's all picking up stitches and three-needle bind offs, neither of which are very high on my "ooh, fun" list. You'll get pictures when I'm damn good and ready.


*'cause, remember, my degree's coming (eventually) from a university in Ohio. This isn't the first time I've dreamt about returning to Ohio. Hey wow, I do have a subconscious! Cool.
** I can anagram my name to make Hell Mice. Two thoughts: it was destiny, then, that brought me to New York; and someone should make a comic about hell mice.