martinimade

And so finally I finished the darn thing. I'll be the first to admit that I had doubts, both about my ability to get r done and about the sheer amount of pattern busyness involved here. But I am glad that I forged ahead, trusted my instincts and all of that rot because I am quite pleased about how it turned out.

Eventually, this will hold one of the many knitting projects. Right now, tho, I'm going to hang it on the yarn closet's door where I can admire it.

The Specs: The pattern was from Butterick. No mods. The fabric, which I love, is an Amy Butler Charm Fat Quarter bundle in Chocolate Mint (maybe?) from the Fat Quarter Shop. (And, just as an aside, I don't think I can stop myself from getting the Belle Earth and Sky Bundle even though I haven't the slightest idea what I'd do with it.)

Learning-wise: I cut the lining a little too small so there's a weird little pucker at one seam and I managed to reverse one of the straps. I can live with all of this.

Now on to finding a shirt pattern...

Forgive me if this is less coherent than usual. I'm half listening to Andy Roddick's French Open match. He's down a set and I'm a touch distracted.

In honor of all of my fiber friends who went to the Fest at Cummington, which I didn't managed to get to this year either, a little bit of local fur-bearing animals.

On Saturday, we packed up and headed out to HaSu Alpacas sheering day. We got there just as they were starting the males, who are really vocal about their dislike of the whole idea of the thing.

Perhaps it's because they look too goofy afterwards to pick up chicks.

These two chicks had a decent time, however. (The one on the right is mine. The one on the left belong to the Pie Goddess.)

And took a break from picking every last buttercup in the field so that they could pose awkwardly.

As a souvenir, the HaSu folk handed out little baggies of fluff. I'm trying to refrain from petting it during every waking moment. Sooooo sooooooft.

Now to go bite my nails and pray my Andy can pull this one out.

Latest Parenting Imperfect from the local almost-daily: Help is not so helpful.

And, now, to the yard.

"Drop that peach! I hate to see fruit eaten in anger."

-- Quack the Duck in Peep's Moon Mission, which is quite possibly my favorite Peep episode ever, which is saying a lot because I really enjoy the heck out of Peep.

The promo part is this: a loud ka-thud of a big envelope hitting my porch this morning distracted me from my coffee. In said envelope were two copies of the finished book. It's like a hardback with a cover and an ISBN and stuff. I was going to take a picture but can't find any batteries that still have a charge. Suffice to say, there is a certain amount of glee. I also really want to throw up. So it goes.

True English Nerd You scored 78 erudition!

Not only do you know your subjects from your objects and your definite from your indefinite articles, but you've got quite a handle on the literature and the history of the language as well. Huzzah, and well done! The English snobs of Boston salute you.

(stolen from Greg van Eekhout)

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Today was supposed to be my day of fun. No, really. I decided to treat myself to a pedicure, which I felt I'd earned after the past six weeks of almost continual busyness (which bordered on chaos held at bay by only the thinest veneer of organization). Just as the pedicurist applied the first coat of polish, my phone rang. The boy had puked. And as goes the boy, so goes my day of fun.

He's fine now. There has been no subsequent puke. *knocking wood* My toenails, however, are all smeary.

*sigh*

In the good news dept., I just turned in the last of my grades. So there is that, at least.

Another reason why Ayun Halliday is perhaps one of the coolest people I know. The NYT wedding pages wrote all about her and Greg Kotis (Urinetown) gettin' hitched. Now, of course, I'm going to have to get my bottom to the City to see Kotis' new play Pig Farm and get a copy of Ayun's new book Dirty Sugar Cookies, even though the cover makes my eyes all twitchy.

Martini ponders her maternal fitness with a panicked despair nimbly rendered with dry humor and candid self-appraisal. Her misery, so jarringly at odds with the "bundle of joy" in her arms, throws open a window on her own mother's severe depression, helping Martini to make peace with her family and its legacies. Unflinching honesty, mordant wit and verbal flair (she comes apart "like a wet tissue" after giving birth) save this memoir from soggy self-pity. In its humor and empathy, it's a nonjudgmental resource for the thousands of mothers battling the "baby blues."

--- Publisher's Weekly on Hillbilly Gothic. We are beside ourselves with glee.

Not sure what my old Grail was, but I'm fairly certain I had one. No matter. My new all consuming goal is to find out who writes Barney's Blog over at the CBS site. It is by equal turns vomit inducing and hysterically amusing, much like Barney himself. My guess is that it is one of the show's writers, simply because the tone is pitch-perfect, but I've been oh-so-wrong in the past.

Sometimes, other writers must fill in because the voice will change every now and again. The writer I'm looking for is the main one. I don't want to do anything evil to him (and I'm thinking it is a him), of course, but merely want to say that it has been a job well done.

The entry that set me on this quest was the one for May 16, during which Barney laments his dead waterbed. The name of the bed was a nice touch.

And, yes, my life is this sad.