archives

So I was reading some of Wendy Bernard's Knit and Tonic blog archives, and I came across this post. I read the whole post with pleasure, and proceeded to read all of the comments after.

(Oh, yeah, I haven't mentioned yet that I'm one of those people that has to read the post plus all the comments, just as I'm the person who gets the DVD with all the extras and watches all the outtakes and deleted tracks, and not only listens to but actively enjoys the director's commentary.... We'll talk about listening to both the French and English audio tracks on the Wasabi DVD some other time, when I'm discussing Jean Reno, perhaps.)

Anyway, about the post:
First thing, I start hearing this music in my head, this peppy instrumental led by a trumpet that somehow reminds me of The Dating Game. Of course it's Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, silly. How many times did I wiggle around in the living room to that music? To this day it gives me that warm feeling that you get when you reminisce of happier childhood moments.

Next thing, Wendy talks about her bad-girl friend Raylene and how they pulled their hair over their foreheads, and I think of how I always wanted to do my hair like the two hench-maidens of the Mice, the distaff branch of the Ratz, Harvey Lembeck's 'sickle gang in the Frankie and Annette beach movies. I especially liked Alberta's hairdo, which was a cross between biker-tough and the 18th Century Georgian hairdo Natasha Richardson gave Rosemary Harris in Blow Dry. And Raylene and the Mice remind me of my babysitter Ann Timm, who stole jewelry from my mother and had long conversations about shoplifting with her girlfriend while she was babysitting me (oblivious to the fact that I heard, understood, and registered everything she said). And her the daughter of a cop, too. Tsk, tsk.

Now, Wendy shows us a photo of her daughter's Barbie wearing a chic Koigu suit, lovingly knit by doting mama. (Remind me to insert a photo of the low-rent outfits the action figures in this house are wearing, to point out the drastic difference in style and material.) Très, très haute couture. Barbie in Koigu? I've never even dressed myself in Koigu! It's like my grandmother's cats eating off of Wedgwood saucers.

Then I'm reading the comments section with all these references to my childhood (thanks Elizabeth D. for starting the memory slideshow of all those images in my head!), and (thanks to Mary Lou for the olfactory jump-start) I can smell the smell of Cray-Pas and Dippity-do, and remember the texture of the green goop in the glass jar (firmer than the pink goop). And my mom, my very own Mom, had a genuine Sassoon haircut! I remember a photo of the two of us standing on the flagstone steps of her parents' house with the pansies growing on either side, and Mom in her sleeveless dress and her Sassoon haircut with that one big curl under her left ear. She looked so fantastic in that photo.

This is all about memory: a memory of sounds, of smells, of textures, of places and people long gone, of a photo that I can still see even though I don't have the physical object anymore. While accessing Wendy's archives, I accessed my own. Thank you.

knitting against depression

I just found this tag on yarnpirate's blog, and I had to add it to mine. The knitting community as a whole is so supportive, it stands to reason that there's a place for knitters who suffer from depression to support each other. Have I mentioned lately that I love knitters?

the punk sweater

So my roommate John, who up until the present been oblivious of my knitting, has decided it would be nice for me to make him a sweater. AARGH! I mean, really, AARGH!

This sweater, in point of fact, or one almost exactly like it:

Please note that this is the only photo that I could find (he was supposed to look for a picture also, a specific image of Johnny Rotten singing holding the microphone in one hand and pointing with the other, but of course he never got around to it). Please also note that I'm neither a designer or a knitting expert of any kind, so it's not pie to intuit how this thing is built. The one thing I'm pretty sure of is that the body is done in garter stitch. I'm also pretty confident that the sleeves are bound off a little tightly to give that pulled-in look at the wrists. So is that a dropped sleeve, a raglan sleeve, or a batwing-type affair where the whole front is knitted like a capital T? I can't tell whether the horizontal stiches on the shoulders continue all the way down to the wrist or not. And how is that neckband achieved? It almost looks as if the giant stitches are sewn onto something else (especially if you look at the shouldery bit partially obscured by his chin).

He's very particular that the stitches are to be inordinately large; when I was showing him the knitting needles at my LYS and asking him to choose between the 17s, 19s, or even perhaps the 35s, he immediately pulled the lone 50 (actually a broomstick lace pin) off the wall and exclaimed happily, "This one!"

If anyone in the blogosphere has any idea where I might find a pattern, clear photos, or any ideas on how I might construction this sweater, I'd be eternally grateful.

Another "brush" with fame

Tonight my mother and I went to see Sunday in the Park with George, and as we were standing on line to have our tickets taken, a man and woman pushed past us so they could get to the ticket-taker first. My mom had a bad toothache (meaning she had less than usual tolerance for discomfort or disturbance [meaning the pain I would have caused if I'd gone on a tirade]), so I didn't go into righteous indignation mode and demand an "excuse me" from the offending, bad-mannered, selfish people. But really: Who did they think they were anyway? Why should they not have to wait in line like everybody else?

As I was thinking these thoughts, I was staring at the back of the woman's head (willing her to turn around and ask forgiveness for having cut the line and slightly shoving my person to do it),
and her mane of reddish-brown curls looked incredibly familiar. Then I heard her voice, which I also recognized. Then I caught sight of her face. Oh. Mom and I looked at each other, and looked at her, and I realized I couldn't confront her as if she were any ordinary broad.
Because she was, in fact, Bernadette Peters.

And the man she pushed past me with? Stephen Sondheim, his very own self. Wow.

Here's the thing. I don't like it when people cut in front of me whether in a queue or on a highway, and I think every human being should be respectful of everyone else and not think him- or herself any better or deserving of better treatment than anyone else, but on the other hand I find it really hard to hold it against Ms. Peters and Mr. Sondheim for wanting to get into the theater and from there into the VIP Lounge as quickly as possible. After all, it's his show (and even if he hadn't written it he's one of the gods of Broadway) and she was its original female lead (and even if she hadn't been in it she's one of the goddesses of Broadway), and under the circumstances you can easily imagine them being besieged. Any wonder they may have been just the teensiest bit hurried? And of course, in getting my attention by pushing past me (I may never have noticed them if they'd stayed behind us, after all), they provided me with a marvelous anecdote.

Oh yes, the reason I titled this entry another "brush" with fame: Once when I was a little kid, I got off a bus and walked smack into Barbra Streisand--bang!--right into her stomach, providentially well-protected by a fur coat (I swear I bounced off) as she walked up the street with Elliot Gould and their son. Luckily my mother and aunt each grabbed an arm and hauled me off before I could do any more damage (by trying to apologize?).
There was also the time David Bowie stepped on Andrew Benepe's foot, but as it wasn't my foot, I won't mention it. :grin:

I'm now on Ravelry!

I got my invitation to join Ravelry, yippee! (I'm 4eyedfreak there as well, to connect with this blog.) I'm so excited. All I've done so far is input the few needles and hooks that I have here, and look at some of the Central Park Hoodies that other people have done. I'll add the names and links to some of the posts that have spoken to me. There's one in particular that makes me smile every time I look at her Flickr photos. Her name is Trish, her blog name is randomthreads, and she is absolutely adorable (her sweater is pretty fantastic, too!).

Now I'll have to start actually blogging about knitting....

More Summer dancing

I knew (or I hoped) that they'd find a way to show Summer Glau dancing on Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, and they did. Hooray! They showed her in a ballet class. I must say I still really love the "folk" dance she did on Firefly.