PurlJew

Phooey.

I missed the deadline for SP5. I really, really wanted to get into it, after having seen so many great SP4 givers and getters. I guess it's a good thing, since I can tell you that shipping stuff from Israel costs a bloody fortune. (Is it embarassing if I tell you that the real reason is that I wanted to answer a SP5 questionnaire? I mean, it's the closest I'm ever going to come to being interviewed on Oprah!)

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!

4 DPNs and One Giant Bag of Peanut M&Ms

There are a few things in this world I can resist. Hummers, non-ironic blue eyeshadow, pretty much any item on the Republican agenda, telemarketers make up the front of the line.

But there are a few things I can't, and peanut M&Ms are one of them. I don't care how uncouth it looks for a grown woman to scarf them down like a slavering lunatic on a two-day furlough. I don't care if it's silly that I even have a specific way to eat them (bite in half, extract peanut, eat peanut, eat each half seperately. Very scientific). And I can't seem to make myself care that eating them totally negates the Pilates tape I forced myself to do this morning, or that I'll feel really bad and sick to my stomach in about an hour. I. Can't. Resist.

I'm all alone in the office, the secretary having left to go to the bank, and everyone else having left to either fuck around or go to Israel (two of my co-workers left to staff a birthright trip. I am green, absolutely green with envy. Even though I've been lucky enough to do three, I could staff every single one for the rest of my life and not get bored. It is the most amazing experience ever.) and so the general level of discipline here is...well, what is this discipline of what you speak? I for one am just excited that MeMoiJa has almost the exact same pair of shoes as I do! Mine are from Israel, but I've seen them in NYC before. I recommend them highly, and they come in all sorts of candy colors. No black for me!

But the socks are...the socks are fiddly. Four DPNs are fiddly. I can't get my fingers to feel comfortable holding everything and my knitting, which is already pretty slow, is slower yet. Any advice, or should I just start looking for a copy of Socks Soar on Two Circular Needles? I have this vision of me sitting in Talmud (ha! as if! my Hebrew is nowhere good enough. OK, make that Chumash (Old Testament) instead) placidly but speedily zipping through a pair of socks for my boyfriend (the imaginary one; I'm calling him Noam to honor a massive crush I had on a real-life Noam once) to wear when he does his miluim/ reserves...and right now, my sock-knitting output means that if Imaginary Noam were lucky, he'd be wearing one sock with a crappy heel turn by the time he's 50.

Go on. Tell me something you can't resist.

222 Is The New Black

Um, dudes? (And hey Rachel! What's up?!?)

222 people have looked at this thing. 12 people today (and I only count as one hit today, instead of my usual check-typepad stats-compulsively-to-see-if-I-am-loved thing). 67 people this week. And, miracle of miracles, Lauren picked up my meme. (And btw, good taste on the boy name Asher! It does mean happy, and it's also related to the word "Ashrei", and can be found the psalm "happy are those who dwell in Thy house, they shall sing your praises forever". I love that name! Also, there's a midrash (an extra-canonical addendum to Talmudic or Biblical stories, like exegisis) that says that naming your child is 1/60th of prophecy, so you have to give them a name that either makes a wish for their future life, like 'happy' or 'strong', etc., or tries to predict something good for them. Which is why made-up names like Madison don't really work for me, unless you want your future child to be a retail capital of New York City.) which makes me feel all Sally Field screaming, "You like me, you really like me!"

Ahem. Sorry for the horn-tooting epidemic. Carry on.

Anyway, due to having no computer access at work thanks to a complete computer shut-down on Monday, and also due to me accidentally leaving my camera at my parents, where it's nesting comfortably close to their superior technology, you get no pictures today of the cuteness that is the Broadripple sock pattern. It meets all my needs: easy but fun pattern, textural interest from the scalloping and the yarn-overs, and it impresses the hell out of other people when they see me handling all those DPs. The only thing I don't like is the yarn I chose, at least now right now (sometimes variegated yarn can improve with time, don't you agree?), especially at the top, where it looks very dark and chunky and doesn't do the sprighliness of the pattern any good. I'll give it another few rounds before it vanishes to the UFO pile.

I am also happy to report that there was no buying of any crack yarn the other day at knitpicks. Phew. My bank account, she is much happier now.

Have a great day,

Your friend,

PJ

OK, Wait. I Need Your Opnion

Don't go away just yet! Tell me what to order, or at least fake-order (you know, when you go shopping, pick stuff up, try it on, but manage to walk out of the store empty-handed. Fake shopping. That's where it's at, yo.)

Andean Silk from Knitpicks: None of the variegated yarns really appeal to me, but I really like Lettuce. I don't know if I Clapotis-like it, though.

Elegance, in Barn Red. Again, I am not so concerned with this thing you mortals call gauge. I scoff at gauge. Ah ha, gauge.

Sock Yarn Something Something in Geranium or Star-Gazer Lily. Now these would be gaw-jus.

Opinions? Tell me, tell me, tell me!

C'est Fini. Really

I present you:

Clapotis, she is done.

After a long and arduous weekend, I finished her late last night, blocked it in a solution of Garnier Fructis conditioner and Philosophy Cinnamon Buns shower gel, and now, it's one of the nicest things I've ever knit.

Clapotis, blowing lazily in the late afternoon breeze. Silk Garden, I do love you. I love finding nibbles and nubbles of unexpected colors and textures in your variegated midst.

Clapotis hanging out Friday, right before Shabbat:

Posing delicately on the hood of my car, she shows you a mere 2/3 or less of her finished length. (Which is enormously long, by the way. I did not need to add 5 repeats in the straight row section at all. Fortunately, I like really long scarves, so I'm not bitter.)

Some more posing for you:

Sorry about the sideways-ness. I have no idea how to rotate. And also, I don't hate you, and I didn't just eat something that made me slightly queasy, I'm just trying to take a picture of myself.

This one actually is terrible. Isn't my cowlick hideous? I just wanted to give you an idea of how nice the colors and texture look. (I love this scarf. I love it so much I might knit another. No stitch markers this time, though, as I now believe them to be fiddly and silly.

Stanley is impressed:

But Frankie isn't:

I have to say, I feel cleansed. Clapotis has been hanging over my head for months; I've envied everyone who seemingly finished theirs in two hours--and now I have one of my very own!

Basic Specs:

Pattern: Umm, Clapotis, probably the most famous online pattern ever. You know where to find it, right?

Yarn: Noro Silk Garden, shade 86, 9 skeins (but honestly, I made mine too long, and 6 or 7 would probably have been fine).

Needles: Addi Turbo circs, sz. 8. Didn't get gauge, don't care.

Rating: 10/10 for the finished product, 6/10 for the actual knitting. Such a boring knit. But I'm so in love with the FO, I'll probably make another (not with SG, though; that was a bitch to get all the stitches to drop. Something much slippier. And something red. Hmmm. Perhaps a trip to knitpicks is in order...)

And the next project already cast on: Broadripple socks, in a Regia sock yarn in shades of blue, purple and green. I am working on the 4-needle method for the first time, even though it's fiddly as all get-out right now.

And a final shot for you, of the peonies my mother grows all around her house--my very favorite flower, and my future wedding bouquet (not the whole bush, of course. That's just silly.)

(Still pretty even though it's unfortunately sideways. I am such a dork.)

Bummed and Numbed.

Week Two of Mondays that Must Be Spent Getting a Filling, Having Inherited Teeth From Hell finds our heroine sitting numb in front of a computer, having spent the morning a) getting the aforementioned filling; b) getting lectured by her boss that despite the fact that it's her last week, she must make up the time spent getting a filling and highlights (regardless of the fact that said boss and previously mentioned co-workers spent all of Friday afternoon at a baseball game, the bastards) before she leaves. Now she is c) doing the assistant director's job for him, since he can't write a grant to go to the bathroom. (And PJ, she is a very good grantwriter, if she does have to say so herself.)

And I'm still bummed as hell from the demoralizing public eviscerationevaluation on Thursday, and I still feel like an idiot for deluding myself into thinking that this was a job I could be proud of, instead of a tortuous test of will that I had to suffer through. Whoops. And yes, I'm still too blonde.

But for the good news: Clapotis is this close to being done. After a marathon knit over the weekend, she now only has 6 or 7 markers left, which (I think, my knitting math is famously terrible) means only 3 more repeats of the decrease section, and then comes the final row section, and then comes the Weaving In of Ends party (why oh why didn't I spit-splice from the beginning?) and then the Great Blocking Fest and then, and then, gentle readers, then I can finally wear the misbegotten thing. Everything else is officially on hold until that great day. Expect hosannas and rejoicing from this corner of the world.

(And send wine and chocolate if you can. I have a feeling I'm going to need it.)

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.

It's Still Not Finished!

I'm beginning to think that no one ever finished Clapotis, that all the blogs that displayed lovely FOs were just a mirage, shimmering brilliantly in my febrile imagination. I'm beginning to think that everyone who said it was easy, fast, a perfect knit, etc., were totally cracked out by the freaking endless stockinette stitch or else just didn't want to admit that the damn thing gets b-o-r-i-n-g not just sometimes, but a whole damn lot of the time.

Forgive the bitterness. It's just that last night, after a horrid terrible atrocious mind-numbingly bad day (read: an 'evaluation' that involved every member of staff ripping apart this past year, calling all my programs 'stale' and 'trite' and 'unsuccessful', and thankfully I blanked out at some point, but luckily I don't think I missed anything positive, and brother, if I weren't ready to get the h-e double hockeysticks out of Dodge before that, I sure am now. Oh, also, there were massive thunderstorms all day, too. And I didn't have any wine or chocolate except some leftover Pesach chocolate that had mysteriously turned white.) I wanted something nice to happen, so I determined that I would Finish Clapotis. It would be Done. I would be able to wear it and all could marvel at the fascinating construction (I do think Kate Gilbert designed one hell of an interesting pattern, I'm just sick of knitting it) and remember that I am an Awesome Knitter Worthy of Praise.

Four hours later (with no chocolate, but there was a 2 hour CSI on, so it wasn't all bad): I am still on the straight row section. Granted, I am now done with the called-for amount of straight rows, but there is no freakin' way that this scarf is going to be long enough with those measly little 12 repeats. I'm on the 15th repeat (I'm going for a pashmina-length version) and think that we might have to head to 20 before it really gets to be what I'm looking for.

Question: if you made Clapotis out of Silk Garden (which I love and am a huge fan of) how much did it grow in the blocking process? I'm on the 6th skein, and I can see how it could grow another few inches. Am I being too short-sighted and adding too many straight rows? Am I going to end up with an 80-foot Dr. Who Clapotis? Because that would really make it just as unwearable as a too-short stole version. (And also, how long did it take you? Because I feel like every other knitter in the world made it in about 2 days, and it's taken me weeks of on-and-off work, and that's making me feel a wee bit dumb.)

At least I'm going to be much blonder in about an hour. I love getting highlights. I have aged into a very dark but not lovely brunette (it's got no depth, it's just dark, and because I am first cousin to Casper, I look like Death's great-aunt Prudence, all tired and mopey) and rely on a lot of chunky blonde highlights to make my hair reflect my sparkly personality. (No, it's not sparkly right now, but a few appletinis tonight can rectify that PDF.) And plus, Jaime gives me a scalp massage with this great peppermint conditioner when she washes my hair. Yum.

I Don't Need Cotton-Ease, I Don't Need Cotton-Ease

I don't, right? I don't need to get my hands on this cotton of cottons, this majestic fabric, this England (whoops, sorry. I watched Kenneth Branagh's Henry V (aka Henry the Hottie V; I am such a sucker for Ken, and add the "gates of mercy" speech and PurlJew, she is one overheated dork). And even though Hancock Fabrics has all the colors, I should resist, right?

Right? Except that if you could see my bank account, you'd be like, "um, yo, perhaps you should focus on getting back up into the black instead of obsessing over fabric, you dumbass." You'd be shocked and maybe even a little disappointed with PurlJew's total lack of anything even remotely approaching sound financial management over the past two months. I blame it on panic: if I have enough yarn/ clothes/ books/ shoes, then transitioning to life in Israel won't be as hard, because I'll have everything I could need. An attitude which is going to make me the most broke and yet most fashionable yeshiva student ever, and even though I joke to make you smile, I'm a little sick to my stomach. Although I've always been a spendthrift, it achieved obsessive-compulsive level status these past few months, and now that the storm is over, looking back on the results makes me a wee bit queasy:

--yarn that I haven't even taken out of the box yet

--clothes with tags still on them

--not one, not two, but four pairs of Chinese slippers (which are very cute but still...)

--nail polish (not that odd, but I never ever wear it, so buying three bottles at once can be considered an slightly weird investment)

--a Coach bag bought off Ebay for $75 (and okay, I love it, but talk about something I did not need)

And on and on--no single big purchase, but so many small ones that my bank account looks like the financial version of St. Sebastian, bleeding from a thousand arrows.

Maybe the only good thing about all this is that I'm finally so humiliated it might never happen again.

In knitting news: added a few new lovely blogs to the links list. Check them out--one of them (hi, Elizabeth!) had the good sense to leave me a comment, and now I am renaming my cats after her. (Both Frankie and Violet get renamed on a frequent basis, although they never deign to reply. Frankie has been Fergus, Fatboy, Fatty Fatty Monkey, etc., while Violet...well, Violet is an odd cat, the cat equivalent of a Unabomber. So she stays Violet, and every once in a while she'll dash out from under the couch and demand to be petted before scurrying back to plot the downfall of Western society.)

Note to Secret Service agents reading my blog: she is a cat. I am joking.)