"Then where" - Jacob indicates the pious, profane skeleton - "is it?"
"The soul is a verb." He impales a lit candle on a spike. "Not a noun."
Eelattu brings two beakers of bitter beer and sweet dried figs.
-- From David Mitchell's The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet.
In honor of the forthcoming holiday, the Diva and I made some glittery horns.
I used Sculpy, since that is what the local art store has. This is post-baking pre-glittering:
And finished:
And the pair beneath this caption will probably go on a kid, since I glued the horns too close together to look OK on my big head.
The only downside is that I keep getting glitter everywhere, which the Diva sees as a design feature rather than a flaw.
Also, I used a skein of my Rhinebeck Sanguine Gryphon yarn to make a hat.
The yarn in Traveller in St. Tropez, which will be a great place to be reminded of in the deepest of February when I am wearing this hat. The pattern is here (Rav. link). I have to admit that I love this yarn and the color and the hand. It is, indeed, yummy. Worth spending hours and hours in line for? No. But worth seeking out.
I have enough left to make one adult sized mitten. I might use whatever winds up leftover from the second skein to make a pair. Hrm.
Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective days mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch - either in illustration or word form - and the other would make a companion sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise might make both minds more nimble. Hopefully.
The guy is always on foot and is always wearing some seasonally appropriate Miami Dolphins clothing. In the winter, it's a Dolphins' parka. In the summer, it's a Dolphins' jersey. You get the idea.
He walks like someone who has just ingested a fistful of hallucinogens and must step with great concentration lest he wander off into some technicolor nightmare. His focus is intense, like he is studiously ignoring a talking dog because he knows it is crazy to see a talking dog yet it is still there in the corner of his eye.
His age is hard to guess, given that he has the unlined face of the moderately insane. When you undeniably lose your shit you seem to stop aging. My only theory on that is that your level of daily life stress plummets when you give in to madness -- plus most of the pharmaceuticals the truly bananas take have a knack for cutting way back on the angst that ages you.
I don't think he's dangerous. He just seems to spend most of his day walking around the center city, usually carrying a shopping bag or two. He must have a place to live because he is reasonably kempt. But I've yet to see him enter or leave a residence around here. Still, he must. Oneonta is not the sort of place where one can live outside for long. Not in February, at least.
I saw him the other day when I was driving back from the grocery store. He was chatting with a guy I'd not seen before. They were laughing, which was a shock, given how affectless this guy usually is. It made me wonder if he'd hit a nice downhill section in his mental health marathon. The jury remains out on his long term prognosis.
Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.
* This RadioLab on "Cities" kinda blew my mind a little.
* Kill your sweet tooth, if only for a little while. (hat tip to Trish.)
* The screaming teenaged girls we all once were. Well, all the girls. The boys have their own things to deal with.
* Two from the Times: I want to live here and why veggies need to be deep fried.
* I can't figure out which I enjoy more, the review itself or the idea of the product under review.
* Next time I'm in Rochester, I have to go eat some goods from The Pierogie Guy. (seriously. A pulled pork pierogie? I'm drooling just thinking about it.)
* Slate's doing a celebration in honor of Doonesbury's 40th anniversary. This interview would be a great place to start.
* I don't need anymore yarn or projects. I don't. But, oh, how this new kit makes my acquisition urge flare up something fierce. Must. resist.
* Tomorrow night, Knoxville's WBIR is airing a documentary on Henry Granju's addiction, decline and death. No matter where you are, you can watch it, too. And you should.
Usually on a Monday post I go on about all of the big fun we had this weekend. There are usually pictures. After a good dozen weekends of nonstop frivolity, tho, this past weekend was marked by doing nothing of note. And it was awesome.
The Hub's sister, dad and uncle came through town, prompted by a family funeral. The Pie Goddess, Grill Master and fam came over and we ate mass quantities. I made a Guinness gingerbread cake (and, seriously, yum) to celebrate a brief visit from Doula K. On Sunday, laundry. Then more laundry. Followed by laundry.
You know, life, mostly.
So no pictures.
I have, however, been thinking about the 10K plan. It may become a 5K plan but I'm still on the fence. But some links. The first two are to training sites recommended by a former Strollerderby blogger and physical trainer Jessica:
And two links to news on shoes:
* I might need one of these, because everything is better if you can measure it. Anyone know if the dohickey will work in any shoe or just Nikes?
* From the NYT, on barefoot running and cheap shoes.
Who's still with me? Ready to start your engines yet?
There are no facts. There are just "our" beliefs and "their" beliefs, just as there is "our" media and "theirs" and "our" Civil War history and "theirs." To criticize either Thomas has always been to join in the imagined conspiracy against them.
- From Dahlia Lithwick's excellent Slate story on Ginni Thomas.
Being a column for Edible Finger Lakes: Oh, Moosewood. I just can't quit you.
Also, a picture of the Boy that cracks me up each time I see it:
You can simply feel the joy.
Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective days mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch - either in illustration or word form - and the other would make a companion sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise might make both minds more nimble. Hopefully.
There is one truth that New Year’s Eve and Halloween share: Both bring out the amateurs.
When you are an alien trying to blend in, to escape notice, Halloween isn’t a vacation from the costumes. Because on that day, not only do you have to juggle passing for normal like you would on any given Tuesday, you have to figure out what a normal person would wear on top of the normalness that he or she already wears. It’s two layers of costumes. And it makes any alien’s head - or what passes for a head when glimpsed by a member of the mainstream culture but may not be where he keeps his thinking apparati - hurt.
The only balm is candy. Lots and lots and lots of candy, applied liberally to the spots that ache.
Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.
* Oddly enough, I think I stayed in the very same room that Elizabeth Gilbert did. This just adds to the many things I didn't know about Knoxville.
* I'm glad I'm not the only one who has this response to "California Gurls."
* Not sure why I find this charming.
* I'd like to shrink myself and live in these.
* What I like about these clips of scientists explaining what would happen if you stuck your hand in the Large Hadron Collider is the pause each takes to work through all of the different parameters before speaking. I also like that none of them start with "why on Earth would you do that?"
* I'm making one of these this weekend. Who wants a slice?
* In anticipation of the next Culture novel's release, a primer of the universe.
* "The ducks in the bathroom aren't mine."
* Steve from "Blue's Clues" talks about his date with a Playmate.
* Not only do I take great comfort in hearing about how professional chefs have injured themselves, I also love the layout that the NYT put on this piece.
* Two things that made me snicker: Thing one and thing two.
* An experiement worth watching, if only to see if his wife beats him about the head and shoulders with a meat puck.
* I can't wait to see what comes out of this collaboration between Etsy and Nasa.
* Mike Birbiglia. Sleepwalk with Him.
I seen to have a bit of a Rhinebeck hangover. Or I'm just getting a cold. Or, possibly, both.
The shameless promo first, just to get it out of the way: This month's column in the almost daily is about bedtime.
Now the festival:
I was not in acquisition mode this year. On Saturday, I bought a bar of soap. On Sunday, two measly skeins of yarn*. For me, the festival was more about restoring connections and making new ones.
This would be one connection resorted. College friends Doula Quinn, me and Nicknameless** Trish (plus a relatively new friend Karen who was a pleasure but not around when I snapped this) spent the weekend hanging out. It was just dang lovely. And, no, I have no idea what I was looking at.
I spent most of the event in the author's tent, where I had the best time talking with people about all sorts of stuff. Two women dropped by to tell me that they are starting their own epic projects on January 1. Several readers came just to touch Lana in person. Some were pulled over by Lana and wound up buying the book. "You're a real person," one woman kept telling me, surprised each time. It was charming. Also reassuring.
One of my current students - the one who always knits during my lectures*** - walked past the table, got about ten steps beyond, did a classic double take and came back to find out if I really was her THTR 100 prof despite being out of context. Heh.
New connections were forged. Old connections renewed. And, well, I'm not sure how to describe this connection:
This is Rachael Herron, who is even more gorgeous in person, wearing Mary Tudor. This is the first time we all were together in real life. I wish she lived closer. :(
This is Steven, who I met at Natural Stitches****. He finished his Rhinebeck sweater. Above is the photographic proof.
Finally, just a moment of thanks for whomever thought to layer pulled pork, BBQ sauce, mashed potatoes and cole slaw. It was yummy, if gross and wrong to look at.
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* more on those later, since I Have A Plan.
** I might have dubbed Trish with a nickname at some point but can no longer remember a) if I did or b) what it was. Anyone? Also, both of these women make an appearance in Sweater Quest, for those who are truly obsessive.
*** while I get bent out of shape if students text during class, I have no problem with them knitting.
**** The whole gang was there, I think. As were quite a few yarnheads from Bliss in Nashville. And Katy and Juno and Clara and dozens of others my brain isn't currently recalling.***** Like I said, connections, like a gathering of the distant villages of our scattered tribe.
***** also, Uma Thurman and Jim Jarmusch were there. Not together.