martinimade

"'I'm an excellent typist, and I practice as much as I'm able,' she said. 'I've studied the Agency's most important cases, and I'm not averse to working extra hours. My greatest fault is my susceptibility to unpredictable bouts of deep sleep. The irony of my condition, in light of the Agency's foremost motto, is not lost on me. But the work I've done to make up for my weakness has strengthened my resolve beyond normal expectations. I apologize in advance for the snoring.'"

-- The Manual of Detection, Jedediah Berry. Which I wanted to like a lot more than I did, frankly.

(Also, should you be the sort who listens to podcasts, you might just recognize someone in this How to Do Everything 'cast....)

Sweater Quest: Chapter 10. The end of the (podcasted) yarn.*

I've been picking up random shifts at my local independent bookstore, The Green Toad. Because it's fun. 

There's a bestseller section at the front of the store. I've figured out what it takes to make your book sell well. 

All it takes is a dog snout. I will keep this in mind for my next book: Honey, The Dog Ate My Yarn.

* Any input about the podcast is appreciated. 

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective lives 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 to the 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 makes both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

This card. Dolphin of Doom? This is very bad card. Bad. Swami say nothing good about this card. Dolphin tell Swami the debt ceiling rains down in shower of plaster. U.S. downgraded to junk bond status. Congressman Boner gets into fist fight with black man on live tv. Swami go back to native Turkmenistan, where criminals honest.

You? You pay Swami in gold. 

No gold? 

Then you be Swami’s monkey boy who dance for tourists. 

Hey. 

Wait. 

That’s not Dolphin. Just jelly stain. Boysenberry.

Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.

* IMO, the answer is "yes."

* I blame Mnookin for my new obsession.

* I am in complete agreement about s'mores.

* Brian Griffin on the Knoxville TVUUC shooting two years on. (Warning: this might break your heart.)

* Worst vacation ever. And, ew.

* Scott and I have a hypothesis that our GPS is trying to lead us out into the woods to kill us. This is another data point.

* John Oliver on making sausage.

* It is not preventable today.

* This is the sort of chart that makes me want to punch someone in the neck.

* I'm developing a bit of a crush on Byliner.com. ( And with it, this: Camping in Fairyland.)

* Um. Okay. 

* Every single discussion about sexism on the internet. What's sad is how accurate it is.

* Is it wrong that my first response on reading this is that I could really go for a fried pie?

First, the shameless promotion: Dink is my shepherd.

Second, on Friday, the Boy turned six. On Saturday, we celebrated at one of the public pools, which you can rent out for parties for cheap.

The party seemed to go well. Everyone - kids, adults - was wiped out by the end. I take that as a sign that Fun Was Had. It didn't help, mind, that it was about 9000 degrees with 900 percent humidity.*

It's hard to believe that he's six already. Five was a rough year. Here's to six being a breeze.**

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* Give or take.

** For reasonable definitions of "breeze," of course.

"The sociologist Max Weber, in his 1919 essay “Politics as a Vocation,” drew a distinction between “the ethic of responsibility” and “the ethic of ultimate ends”—between those who act from a sense of practical consequence and those who act from higher conviction, regardless of consequences. These ethics are tragically opposed, but the true calling of politics requires a union of the two. On its own, the ethic of responsibility can become a devotion to technically correct procedure, while the ethic of ultimate ends can become fanaticism. Weber’s terms perfectly capture the toxic dynamic between the President, who takes responsibility as an end in itself, and the Republicans in Congress, who are destructively consumed with their own dogma. Neither side can be said to possess what Weber calls a “leader’s personality.” Responsibility without conviction is weak, but it is sane. Conviction without responsibility, in the current incarnation of the Republican Party, is raving mad."

-- George Packer's piece on the debt-ceiling debates is cogent and heartbreaking. Read it.

First, the contest, because who doesn't love a contest, especially one that involves yarn? More info on my Lion Brand store gig and the aforementioned contest is here. Please come on down. I'll be bringing the Sweater...

Second, my plan for today was to show you this super cool shawlette I finished, just in time for the weather to soar into the upper 90s. I pinned it out last night. And when I went to unpin it this morning, well, 

Fucking hole the first.

Fucking hole the second.

The responsible fucking party. (Note disdain.)

Cat Barney has been pretty good about molesting damp handknits, so good that I was lulled into a clear false sense of security. It took every last bit of my will power to not skin him and turn him into a shawlette* so that I could replace the one he had maimed.

Once the rage ebbed to a manageable level, I broke out the left-over yarn - I have almost an entire skein left-over and am not sure what else to do with it - and worked my best repairs. Hole number 2 is almost invisible:

Hole number one, however:

Well. Perhaps a button? Maybe like one of these? Or not. Look at how pretty it is, tho. And just imagine what would have been.

Grrrr.

I also made some pillows last week. 

But they are far less interesting.

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*  I would never do this. There's not enough of him to make a shawlette. I'm thinking he'd be better as a hat. 

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective lives 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 to the 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 makes both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

Flirting in Spanish sounds almost exactly like flirting in English. 

The two in the seats crammed next to me in row 30 of this flight keep it up for three hours, heads bent at charming angles and soft laughs. 

Passport pictures are compared. She’s embarrassed by hers and keeps her fingers over her picture. She’s German, which explains why I can puzzle out about half of what she’s saying, since she speaks slowly enough for my brain to dredge up the Spanish I took at UT. 

His speech is like music, like a stream over rocks. I get maybe one word in 30. 

They talk of hermanos, abuelos. No esposas or esposos. No novios or novias. 

I close my eyes. I block them out with a concert on my iPod. Perhaps I sleep.

When I look again, just before we land, they are holding hands. Praying, perhaps. Or something else. 

Then, touchdown.

Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.

* Marion Winik explains it all to you.

* On running.

* The muggles finally acknowledge the existence of Ravelry.

* For the true fans.

* What your favorite author says about you.

* Go read this. Then do what he says, if you are able.

* We do this every year. 

* Happy Birthday, Neptune!

* This is how you should write about science.

* Aimee Pelletier (of Darn. Knit. Anyway) is knitting 12 sweaters in 12 months. I am in awe.

* I would have this exact same response to meeting royalty.

* Is it wrong that I saw this, then did a little happy dance in my desk chair? (anyone want to go halfsises on the yarn?)

* Speaking of yarn, picking your drug of choice. (HT Trish)

* Just, um, wow.

* Speaking of, just, um, wow. Take a look at this study about birth defects and coal mines. 

* I didn't just bring back memories from Texas. I also picked up a new t-shirt:

I loves it.

* Before I left, I had a wee epiphany about the Greenway afghan I crocheted. When I first saw it's picture in a pattern book, I was smitten - but had no idea why. I'm not normally a fan of crochet. Not am I a fan of mostly acrylic yarns. And, yet, I had to have it. When my Dad was in town over the July 4 holiday, the dominos fell when he took the blanket, folded it and draped it over the footstool.

My grandmother used to have a blanket in the exact same stitch pattern that she kept draped over the footstool of her favorite chair. The colors were different, yes, but the rest is the same. How did I not see that before? I used to sit so that I was leaning against that blanket/furniture combo when I visited. Those are great memories. Clearly my subconscious was up to something, as it so frequently is.

I wonder where that afghan has wound up. Must ask around.