PurlJew

Too Hot. Waaaayyyy Too Hot.

My grandparents are in the next room, arguing over the correct pronunciation of the name "Menachem"; my granddmother, cursed with the inability to accurately pronounce anyone's name (should she have the chance to one day meet Gandhi, I'm sure she'd instantly nickname him "Mattie" and refer to "that nice Mr. Gaddi in the funny underpants") is like to make anyone really named Menachem wince in agony. It is so hot here in the heartland that I'm constantly sweating--not oozy gym sweat, but that horrible constant moistness (and there's a word to make anyone wince, right?) There was a fierce thunderstorm earlier that made the power go out right in the middle of Guiding Light, and lasted just long enough to make everything hotter and muggier and nastier than it already was.

Not that I should complain. Apparently everyone in the southern half of the US is being blasted wth Tropical Storm Arlene (who names these storms, anyways? Someone with a fetish for diner waitresses?) and since that half of the country is obviously cursed, I'll try to be content with my unbearable humidity.

The packing? It's going well, although Robin has told me to stock up on yarn. I'm already bringing a duffle bag just for that, so maybe I'll chuck in a few skeins of Noro for a boobwarmer or something like that. I figured, cotton and sock yarn for the summer, and then my parents can bring wool when they come for a visit. If I manage to knit 6 complete pairs of socks by Sukkot, it will be a miracle and you should notify the Pope about the first Jewish saint. Right now I have three single socks (well, 2 1/2, since you can't really count the first sock I ever made, which is absolutely repulsive and not worthy of daylight) which seems like a lot. It's just that what's fun and challenging on sock 1 is dull and repetitive on sock 2. And dull and repetitive aren't invited to my party.

Family is here. Shabbat is starting. Good Shabbos to all!

Your friend,

PurlJew

WTF? Moments

Your friend PurlJew? She is seriously rattled today. Well, to be perfectly honest, she's been rattled all weekend and developed the lovely new hobby of listening nonstop to what Anne Lamott calls KFKD, that nasty little voice in the mind that tells you that packing up your life and moving halfway across the world in approximately 20 days is fucking insane and you are insane to even think so.

I mean, I'm moving. To. Israel. I am leaving behind a job that, even if I didn't love it all the time, still meant something to me, two fat and shed-prone cats that spend the night curled up beside me, a vast stash of yarn (and only some of it falls under the 'what the hell was I thinking' category)--not to mention the banal yet comforting certainty of knowing where everything in my life was. So, maybe it wasn't an exciting life, or even a very fulfilling life some of the time, but I'm close to my family, there's a Target almost within walking distance, some really good restaraunts, and everyone at Borders knows me. What the hell am I thinking, packing everything into three bags and nannying for four kids and...

Well, you can see what I mean about KFKD. Those are just the current hits. I haven't even gotten to the rest of the Top 20 Countdown, like, "You'll End Up a Gibbering Mess, Clutching a Half-Finished Sock and Crying in The Corner of a Cafe Someplace," (that's by Tammy Whine-nette, by the way).

I keep trying to focus on the positive things, and the reasons why I'm leaving behind a comfortable yet-way-too-sedate life, a life that, were I in a nursing home in Des Moines, I might find reasonably exciting: because you don't get that many chances to change your life. Because, 6 years ago, I had the chance to do this very same thing, and I turned it down, and took my life on a different path entirely, and now I can't stop thinking: what if this isn't the life I'm meant to have? What if the only way to get the life I want is to take this giant, life-changing, fear-filled leap of faith?

Wouldn't you do it, if those were your reasons?

In knitting news:

Finished the first sock. You could see it if I had remembered to charge my camera over the weekend, but take my word for it: it is an actual sock. It has a lovely heel, some excellent, non-lumpy short rows, a toe that I used a three-needle BO on (which looks fine, by the way, and is so much easier--why aren't you supposed to do that for toes?) and it fits and looks nice. I don't like the yarn colors any more than I did in the beginning, but someone somewhere will like royal blue and purple stripes.

Notice I said sock. I am in denial about the fact that you actually have to knit two to make a pair.

I also finished the front of Klaralund while watching Shaun of the Dead (great movie, I now want Simon Pegg terribly, and you should rent it next weekend). The only issue? I cannot find the damn pattern book in the wreck of my apartment (how can it look worse when I'm throwing away bags of trash and carting the rest to Goodwill every day? it looks like a crack-den) and therefore cannot finish the rest of the damn sweater. I have a terrible suspicion I left it in NYC over Spring Break, since that was the last time I worked on it. If anyone out there has a copy of the Cornelia Tuttle Hamilton book with Klaralund in it that they don't want anymore, I'd be more than happy to swap or pay you for it. I've got two balls of Regia sock yarn in shades of blue, purple and green, and three balls of Rowan ASC in a lovely sky blue, and more--just let me know.

PS: It turns out that KFKD goes away if you eat lots of peanut M&Ms. Ah, yet another excuse...

When Bored, I...

Oh, dude. I am bored. Bored like a third-grader in that last half-hour of the school day when you just know that the world is conspiring to keep you indoors even though it is so clearly morally unjust, and you are just going to tear off all the rubber around the sole of your Keds in silent but significant protest. And also, you aren't going to listen to the teacher. Because you're bored.

Why didn't I remember that this was Memorial Day weekend until yesterday? I coulda made plans, I coulda done something with friends I haven't seen in weeks and weeks because I compulsively dedicated all my time and energy to a job that turned out to be not that worth it after all. Everyone is gone. I am the only one in the office (and where have you heard that lament before? Oh, wait, right here, yesterday, because I am a total freier/ sucker and can't stand up for myself) and there's a big rainstorm headed our way again and the silver sandals I just splurged on (look below!)

turned out to be too big, which I only found out as I was walking across the street and literally slipped out of righ as a giant mother SUV was attempting to run the 4-way stop. I'm going to try to persuade the hipsters (and can you even be a hipster if you are a Hoosier? Discuss.) who run the joint to let me exchange it for a size 8, since I only wore it outside for literally 2 minutes.

I am on a metallic shoe binge this summer. I have a pair of sequined silver thongs (Tar-zhay, how I love thee), a pair of gold ballet flats that are the coolest and best things ever ever ever and I wish I'd bought multiple pairs because I love them that much, a pair of gold thongs I found at TJ Maxx and which are surprisingly comfortable, and I'm wanting these so badly it hurts. Apparently you can't get these anywhere following a few mentions in Vogue and Lucky, which of course makes me yearn for them even more.

I brought Sucky to work today to get some progress done on the sleeves. After farting around with those freaking DPNs all night (although, trust me, it was better than Bourne Supremacy, which I inexplicably rented last night. Whoa, did that suck balls.) the circs and the cotton feel so nice. I just wish someone could wave a wand and make me a speed-freak knitter, instead of 4-Inches a Night PurlJew (which incidentally makes me sound like a character from Deadwood, don't you think? Like Trixie would be tellin' Swearingen that 4-Inches a Night PurlJew couldn't come near her nor the rest of the whores without being fucking drunk as hell first, or something like that.)

And hey! It's only 12:30! I'll bet there'll be a lot of posts today! How lucky are you people!

Beauty Parlors, The Clap and Rude Boys

Well, PurlJew is...blonder. Blonder in a way that looks as if a manic hairdresser ran after me with foils and too much bleach and Jackson Pollock-ed the bleach on my poor head. But hey, blonder is...

Well, I'll reserve final judgement. I haven't had my hair colored in about 5 or 6 months. (I welcome roots. I embrace rootiness. I feel it just adds to the funkiness that is 4 or 5 colors of hair harmoniously co-existing on my head) so maybe I'm just not used to it.

I have to say, it was such a fun 1 1/2 hour in the beauty parlor. I go to a nice little salon, very fancy-schmancy for this neck of the woods, and Jaime, my lady, calls me honey and we talk about fashion and they bring you herbal tea. Today, every chair was full, and there were a couple of kids running around like someone poured hot sauce in their pants, trying to determine exactly how hot and sticky eyebrow wax is (conclusion: very hot and very sticky), and I was knitting away under the dryer (everyone loves Clapotis; I just wish someone else would knit the rest for me!) and hell, I wasn't in the office, so everything was better. And then I got back to work and all the boys had gone to a baseball game (and no, I wasn't invited, of course. Not that I love baseball, but it would have been polite. We place a high standard on polite around here) and that means that I am signing off early and getting home for Shabbat.

This weekend's challenge: finishing Clapotis. Bli neder (without vows), it'll be done Sunday, maybe even by Deadwood, for a final picture. Nothing else is getting knitted till that damn thing is done. I will finish! I will!

I mean it. No sock pattern, no matter how cute or perfect for my mom's socks, is getting cast on till I am triumphantly wearing Clapotis.

5 Things I've Learned About Myself

1. I may say I'm going to bring work home, but I don't really mean it. I am theoretically roughing out a letter of proposal for Unnamed But Really Wealthy Foundation, and am scheduled to have a meeting about it at 4:30pm tomorrow. But folks, hellow? That's tomorrow, and G-d has blessed me with the speedy fast typing fingers. So really, bringing work home (7 days before your leave date) means fracking around in front of the computer discovering new blogs.

2. I am really envious. I really want to be her, and who can blame me? She has Gucci shoes, an enviable body, and all the money to spend on yarn she wants. Plus she's really funny and lives somewhere permanently sunny. (I bet it's L.A. I bet she's a stylist or something like that and works with all the movie stars and lives in a ridiculously chic-but-not-fussy cottage somewhere too cool for me to dream of visiting.)

3. I hate knitting scarves. I love Ruffles, I think it's a cool pattern, I love the short rows, I want to wear the damn scarf--but I hate knitting scarves. Endless amounts of work, and then you look down and you've literally got three more feet to go. Scarves suck.

4. You should really think about wearing dresses over pants. I've never ever found a more comfortable uniform.

5. Team Zissou and the Life Aquatic? O, the over-ratedness. It is like to killing me. The dialogue? Stilted? Owen Wilson? Not naked nearly enough to make it worth it. Cate Blanchett? Well, she'd be amazing in a Cheetos commercial, so no points added there.

Oh, and 6: I'm bored. (See #1).

Tuesday. Really, Nothing More Exciting to Say

One co-worker is being a grumpy brat (hey, do not blame me if you decide to work 60 hours a week and go back to school for your master's at the same time. We all told you it was a bad idea. The C- is not our fault) and the other is forcing me to listen to a maddeningly dull conference call and therefore my door is shut in protest and therefore it is now a file-littered sauna in this wreck of an office. I'm theoretically cleaning out my computer files in preparation for the big day, but let's be honest: I'm half-assedly doing that so I can feel less guilty when I spend an hour checking all my blogs.

I also have the numbers of half-a-dozen hairstylists in Jerusalem, thanks to a post on janglo. Those friendly olim on the list gave me more names than I have in my cell phone and I can now rest a little more assured that I won't have to deal with hack jobs for the rest of my life. PurlJew, she is picky and vain about her appearance--which is ironic, considering that Israelis...well, Israelis aren't, usually.  (Although Tel Aviv is quite cool, let's be honest.) I highly recommend signing up for janglo through yahoogroups.com if you're planning on moving to Israel; you can find everything from translation work to baby clothes to Pesach apartment rentals to deep crystal cleansing and chanting classes. Really. (Although, fair warning, even if you sign up for the digest version, you will get about 6 emails from janglo a day. Janglo and I are now in a deeply committed relationship. I fully expect a proposal in the next few weeks...(and wouldn't that be a cute story if someone did fall in love and get married over janglo? wonder if it's ever happened?)

Knitting? Well, my knitpicks yarn came in for Mariah. That was the intention, however--nice, beautiful deep crimson wool, highly challenging but seemingly worthwhile cable pattern that would take me a good long time to knit--but now, working with wool is the last thing I want to do, and I can double-damn-guarantee you it's really going to be the last thing on my mind in Israel in August. So all that wool is being unceremoniously tossed into the "please ship to me in winter" box I'm leaving with my parents, and we'll see if I even remember what the hell is in it when I finally get it.

(And now of course knitpicks has fairly delicious looking cottons just as I put myself on a yarn diet. A for-real yarn diet. A 'my stash is both ridiculous and embarassing' diet. And of course, the ever-popular "soon-to-be-unemployed-and-broke" diet.)

Hope all is well--

PJ

Someone's Got a Case of the Mondays!

Hmmm....guess which knitblogger still has not recieved her tickets for Israel yet? If you guessed PurlJew, give yourself some leftover Pesahdiggah chocolate. (Or better yet, give it to me.) Dubi at Isram had better be there today. I really don't want to know what flights to Israel are currently running at. Update: All is well! Dubi has given me a lovely one-way ticket to Israel, and I am booked booked booked on a flight to ha-aretz ha-tovah!

Knitting...well, not much difference since yesterday. Sucky is coming along, with about five inches more to brag about. I'm getting used to the small needles, and actually, when I switched back to I Do for some easier knitting, it felt like I was knitting with tree limbs. And they were only 8's! Ha ha ha. O, the knitting jokes. They are so endless and so funny, no?

So, anyways, yeah, case of the Mondays. Plus a case of PMS. Plus I'm the only one in the office, so you can guess how much discipline I'm going to have today (if you guessed none, unless you count working industriously on my Sucky, you are so right and should continue to eat chocolate.) Sigh. At least there's a real bagel with real cream cheese and a real vanilla latte in my future. And here's a teaser shot of my hometown. Anyone care to guess what and where it is?

Anyone? Anyone?

Have a good day, y'all.

Your friend,

PurlJew

The Trouble with Matzah...

...is eight straight days of constipation. Yes, the c-word. It's also eight days of being automatically stuffed as the farfel or whatever hits your tender tummy, and then starving like a mofo two hours later. It's flavorless muffins and faux-macaroni and cheese, and all for that nice self-righteous feeling of knowing that you're actually keeping the fast really well.

Not that I'm starving. Working at a Jewish non-profit ensures two meals a day, even if they are centered around the bread of affliction. I have mastered an apple kugel that is Perfect Beyond Belief. Why?

1. You hardly have to do anything beyond cutting up apples and soaking matzah and chucking it in the oven.
2. It's amazingly good. Really. In an alternate universe, you might actually choose to eat it when it's not Pesach.
3. Everyone loves it and will think you are a much better cook than you really are.

See? The Perfect Recipe. I'll bribe you: leave a comment and you'll get the recipe.

In non-bitching-about-Pesach news, I'm narrowing down my list of projects to take to Israel with me. The idiots on El Al have limited me to 2 bags (if you knew me, you would know that would barely be enough for a ten-day trip, let alone an entire freaking year. Hello? Shoes? Yarn? Books? That's one bag right there!) so my projects have to be either small (hence, socks and Ruffles from Scarf Style), complicated enough to hold my interest (hence, socks, the Lucky Clover cardigan making its merry way around the blogs, and maybe Mariah and very definitely I Do, 'cause a turquoise lace shrug is H-O-T for Shabbat) and not require assloads of seaming or finishing, because I hate it and suck at it.

Actually, both LC and Mariah would be stretching my skills to the utmost, since I've really only ever done basic construction and cabling. But then again, why be bored in the Holy Land? Plus, I'm planning to knit kippot for all the boys I work with not that they deserve it as a going-away present, so add a few hours for that over the next few weeks in addition to freaking out as I pack my life away and move across the ocean not that I am panicking about everything else going on in my life.

Of course, that also means I have to really attack the pile of UFOs that are about to overwhelm me. Right now, that's Clapotis (put down back in March in a fit of pique over its seemingly endless nature, and plus I dropped some stitches that I wasn't supposed to and lost a stitch marker and couldn't face fixing it); a top down cardigan from Cosmicplutoknits!; a sock that is so heinously ugly I'd be embarrassed to wear it but want to finish it so I can at least figure out Kitchener stitch); and Klaralund (I'm 1/2way done with the back and love the yarn and don't even mind the stockinette parts, but for some reason I put it down over Spring Break and moved on). I love starting projects, but inevitably get bored and move on about 3/4 of the way through, leaving me with lots of yarn, lots of needles, and lots of stuff to frog.

In more exciting news, Ruffles is coming along nicely. I adore the yarn I'm using, which kind of sucks because it's recylced from a hideously ugly novelty sweater from Goodwill. It's a rich brown with multicolored lame carried along, and it's really gorgeous. I'd love to make a lacy shrug with it, but don't think I'll have enough for both the scarf and another project. And, I also figured out that I have the best reason to knit nothing but lovely shrugs for a while, since I'm moving to Israel--now work with me here--and it's hot, so:

• sweaters are out unless it's December in Jerusalem,
• and wouldn't it be great to have things that could make your tank top instantly tzniut,
• and work well when they decide to use the AC finally and make everything freezing cold even though it's 90 degrees outside
• and are just generally cool and fun to knit?

Therefore, the shrug. My new friend. I will no longer hide my head in shame about not knitting real sweaters. I am a proud shrug-lover.

Pictures to come, as soon as I remember to charge my camera and spend the weekend uploading everything. Well, Sunday, at least.

Good Shabbos and Chag Sameach to all--

PurlJew

In Which It's Tuesday Morning and Not Much Else

Knitting: got a few compliments on Tempting yesterday, most of them from co-workers amazed that "it actually looks really nice". Thanks for the vote of confidence, people. Make one co-worker an oddly shaped hat just once, and no one believes you can knit anything.

Did nothing else yesterday though--I brought my knitting to a panel discussion, assuming that I'd be able to sit in the back while the keynote speaker droned on, and at least able to add some inches to Klaralund's front, but had to sit on the dais instead. It was so deadly dull--horrible thought, since it was on donations to the tsunami relief effort, but oh lord, did that professor talk on and on and on--that I kept myself awake by mentally knitting a cabled sweater.

Once I made my excuses and left, I thought I'd head home, catch the rest of the SG-1 re-runs on SciFi, and knit all night, but ended up helping label invitations to a special event till 12:30, at which point I drove home in a daze and fell right asleep. The cats (surprise, surprise, a knitter with cats. The disbelief on all your faces!) were unhappy and refused to cuddle with me last night.

All of this to say that Klara lingers in my bag, the Silk Garden pleading with me to knit it up. Its cousin, Clapotis, is also fading slowly away on my couch; I was afraid I'd have to frog the whole damn thing (and I'm on the 8th repeat of the straight row section! a shanda!) and couldn't bear to work on it any more--but wise words from the people at the Knitty Coffeeshop are as balm to my frazzled nerves, so I may perservere. I want to wear that thing too badly to stop altogether.

And that's Tuesday morning and not much else. I'm trying to decide if I'm insane because I'm not more stressed out, or not stressed out because I'm not insane. Nonprofit work--it'll burn your brains out if you let it, folks.

(Lord, that sucked. Keep reading. I'm adding pictures--soon! really!) and will be back with a razor-sharp wit at some point in the near future. It's just that I'm tired and a little down today.)