And No One Was Injured

Last night was a fun night for me. I managed to not stay in my room all night, as is my usual Saturday night activity. Instead I went to my friend Erik's apartment and we did nice wholesome things like throwing desk parts out of windows, watching South Park, eating marshmallows and coconut cake, and making candles. Does it sound much more interesting than sitting home alone knitting socks all night? I think so.

Candle making is a rather lengthy process. This was the lesson we learned last night at Erik's. He wanted to try his hand at making candles and I wanted to not be bored, so sometime around 10:00 PM, we began. (On a bit of a side note, do not begin your candle making adventure late at night. Trust me, it's better to start early) First, we melted the wax in a makeshift double boiler, using a large thermometer to make sure we had the proper temperature. The instructions were quite clear that we shouldn't let the wax exceed a temperature of more than 225 degrees Fahrenheit, lest we risk flames or explosions. And who would want to cause one's own apartment to explode? No one, that's who.

Next, we performed the first pouring of the wax. The wax is poured into the whatever mold is being used and the wicks are then set in. The random game of pick-up sticks at the right is really just to keep the wicks from falling entirely into the wax. Balancing the wicks and the sticks in a manner that would stay in place was by far the biggest pain in the ass of the whole process. After the candles set, it was smooth sailing for the subsequent pourings as far as the wicks were concerned.

After the wax set for about half an hour, we reheated the wax for the second pouring. This was similar to the first pouring, except less wax was used and those pesky wicks were already in place, making it so much easier than the first time around. As the wax cooled (this time for two hours), a deep well formed in the middle of the candles. This is the best shot of the wells I could get. Somehow, I failed to take a picture of the finished product...just imagine the well filled in and the wick sticking out like it's supposed to and you'll have a good idea of how the finished candle looks.

And here is Sir Erik displaying an object that was once granulated wax and was transformed into a thing of usefulness. He looks kind of mystical there, holding a ball of fire. I got several shots of him looking as if he's conjuring the element, but this one was the first and my favorite of the bunch. His casual demeanor belies the excitement he'd previously expressed about transforming raw materials into something that can be used. He was thrilled at the concept. I told him I felt the same way the first time I made a pair of mittens.

Buffy-fest

I learned today that I can knit approximately 50 rounds on a sock whilst watching a Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon of my own making (it's good to have every season on DVD). I started with the last few decrease rounds of the heel gusset and ended with the fortieth round on the foot, which is only a few rounds away from the beginning of the toe decreases. The photo shows where I was when I started knitting today. It's the back of the sock, so it's a little tough to see that it's in the mid-stages of heel gusset construction. Soon, very soon, I shall have a new pair of socks to keep my squat little peasant feet warm. I can't wait.

Note: The yarn used is Wildfoote Luxury Sock Yarn by Brown Sheep in the "colorway" Brilliant Bouquet. It's not easy to tell (even on the larger version of the picture), but it's a 4-ply yarn and each ply is a different color: red, green, blue and purple. It's this stranded coloration that makes me somewhat hesitant to call it a colorway, as that word implies some sort of variegation created in the dyeing process, not the spinning process. Whatever it should be called, the picture belies the fact that it gives a fantastic color effect with very subtle color pooling of the strands, similar to, but a bit different than the typical variegated yarn.

Slacker

Yes, I'm a total slacker. I never blogged last night. I was way too tired to even think, let alone write. Oh well...I'm sure the internet did fine without me.

I'm rather annoyed right now. I've been reading a book (which will remain nameless) for nearly a month now. Normally, it does not take me this long to read a book unless it's uninteresting, exceedingly long or I have no time to read other than a minute or two here and there. This book is fairly short, fairly interesting and I've had enough time that I should've finished it by now. The problem I'm having with this book is twofold: First, I really want to start reading the book my friend gave me for Christmas; second, while the book is interesting, it strays far off its proposed topic. It's a non-fiction book concerning Eastern philosophy. I'm intrigued by Eastern philosophical ideas (namely Taoism) and thought it would be a good book to get my feet wet, as it were. However, instead of focusing on Taoism, the author uses the book as a soapbox from which he spews forth his own socio-ecological-political philosophies and beliefs. I don't mind reading that type of material, but for the love of all that is holy the man needed to NOT write it under the ruse of Taoist ideas. In the beginning of the book, the principles mentioned and examples used did mesh rather well. Yet less than a third of the way through, the author started going so far off-topic with whatever aspect of the human race that was pissing him off at the moment that it made little to no sense when he finally did circle back to the subject of the chapter. I mean really, if I'd wanted to hear about how the government sucks or how we're raping the natural world, etc., I'd talk to some of my neo-hippie friends or go to Ithaca or something. I really wanted to read a book that would help introduce me to Taoism, not a 257-page rant about how much the Republican administration of the eighties and early nineties sucked....TELL ME SOMETHING I DON'T KNOW!!! I guess I'm going to have to find something else to slake my learning thirst.

The Day After...

I'm so glad it's all over for this year. All the Christmas bullshit can wait for 365 more days (yes, it's 365 because 2008 is a leap year) before I'm forced to worry about it again. I'm so excited about the prospect of no more holiday stress. The day went well and I had a good time, but it's nice that it's finally over with. I did get the one thing I asked for, which was digital camera so I can post pictures here and elsewhere online...those pictures will be coming soon once I learn how to use the stupid thing. I'm getting there, it's just difficult for me to use technology. I prefer my cameras to use FILM not MEMORY CARDS. However, it is more efficient to post photos online with a digital rather than a standard camera, so I finally relented and joined the 21st century. Other than that one thing I asked for, all my other gifts were quite lovely. I received a very pretty sweater, a bath set and bag, socks, pajamas, a manicure set and several other things that I know I will enjoy immensely. My main joy of Christmas, though, is when my family likes the gifts I've given them. Everyone liked their gifts this year and I couldn't be more happy with that. My brother LOVED his Johnny Cash T-shirt and my mom thought the giraffe picture I got her was beautiful. My dad is sure to enjoy his Hickory Farms box of tasty goodness and my grandmother was tickled with her hand-knit dishcloths and the berry candle I gave her. All stupid, rampant holiday greed and gluttony aside, I did have a nice Christmas.

Finally

It's 11:40 PM and I've finally finished the knitting I set out to do for Christmas. All that's left is some end-weaving and I'm completely done with the gifts. I've decided that it can wait until tomorrow. As it's late and I must get to bed, I'll cut this extremely short and leave you with one question: If holiday fruitcakes are so reviled, why do manufacturers keep producing them? I mean, does anybody eat really eat them? Ok, it was more than one question, but I'd still like answers. Until (possibly) Wednesday, that's all for now.

And So It Begins...

Noise, noise, noise. All I hear is early Christmas noise. My sister and her family are in town this weekend from Carlisle, PA for their holiday time with us. I don't know who is louder, the adults or the two toddlers. It's ok, though, as I love seeing my little nephews. Anthony (4) and Noah (2) are very cool little dudes. They were very excited to open presents, not caring whose presents they were opening. The MagnaDoodle was a big hit, as were the various "Cars" toys. Now, though, they have forsaken those lovely new toys to watch their father play with the huge remote control Hummer my brother gave him. I won't get into what I got from them, as it's not interesting to anyone but myself. All in all, it's a hectic and kind of nice time right now. And this is yet another wee short blog for my one lonely reader. Sorry, dude.

Tori

"Gas lights glowing in the streets, twilight held us in her palm as we walked along." ~from Gold Dust by Tori Amos.

"A soul-quake happened here in a glass world. Particle by particle she slowly changes." ~from Concertina by Tori Amos

I daresay, these are two of my favorite lyrics by Tori Amos. There are many great ones to choose from, but the two above strike me as particularly special. The woman is a lyrical painter.

Dumb

As our most greedy and gluttonous of holidays creeps ever closer, only one thing seems to be running through my mind: I picked a really dumb time to quit smoking. The stress of Christmas is increasing as the day nears. All I want is a nice, tasty Camel Light. Ah, sweet nicotine, how I've missed you this past month since I left you for pinker lungs. I really should've written down the day I quit, so I can have a monthly anniversary. I think it was November 20. I miss the stress-relief smoking provided. However, I don't miss the stinky breath, the stinky hair, the random burns because I'm clumsy, or the general shitty feeling I had when I was smoking. I don't miss getting smoke up my nostrils or in my eye when lighting up, nor do I miss having the smell stay on my hands long after I put the cigarette out. What I don't miss clearly outweighs what I do miss, so I know it's been a good thing. But sometimes all I really want to do is have a smoke.

Anyhoodle, back to Christmas bullshit. I can't wait til it's all over and I can relax. I daresay, it's driving me completely mad. I must read go read other blogs that are much more amusing than this one. Of course, it won't make this post any longer than the meager few sentence it is, but it will distract me from my Yuletide issues. Goddamn, I hate Christmas.

Saddened (A Wee Short Blog)

I was driving home from work, listening to songs from Tori Amos' Scarlet's Walk. "Strange" came on shortly before I turned onto my road and I was listening and singing along as I always do. The lyrics made me think about one of my exes and how unimportant I was to him. It made me sad...I cried a little. He made such an effort to "catch" me and it still hurts that he made no effort to keep me. I felt like I was just playing the part of his girlfriend instead of actually being his girlfriend. Oh well, that's over now. It'll all be ok...it has to be. :)

More Eventful Than Yesterday

This morning was interesting. I got up at the normal time, did my normal morning activities, went out to my car and there it was--a nearly flat tire. Eep! Luckily, my uncle was over at the garage he and my dad share (and in which an air compressor resides). So, I very slowly drove over the snow- and ice-covered driveway to the garage and asked my dear uncle to save me. He laughingly obliged, slightly over-filling my tire so that I could make it to work. I thanked him profusely and was on my merry way.

Things were going great until after I had turned onto Clemens Center Parkway. For those not familiar with the parkway, it is a four-lane roadway that cuts through Elmira. One can get almost anywhere in the greater Elmira area via the parkway. My destination from the parkway was, as it is every day, the highway. I had turned onto the parkway and was going along in the right hand lane and was nearing the traffic light on Cedar Street. Suddenly, this woman in a silver-ish Nissan starts veering from the left hand lane into my lane. The bitch didn't even bother to look and see if anyone was in the lane before she changed lanes and nearly side-swiped my car. Had my reflexes not been so quick, I'd probably be in the hospital right now because the back end of her car would've hit directly on my driver side door. So I beeped my horn, flipped her off and mouthed the words "learn how to fucking drive, bitch," which she saw because she kept looking in her rear view to see my reaction. Then, after witnessing my reaction to her piss-poor driving, she had the nerve to give me dirty looks. She acted like I was the person driving like an ass and she seemed more annoyed with me than I was with her. I mean really, do you think it's appropriate for a person to get more annoyed with someone else's reaction when you've just nearly totalled their car because you were too busy not paying attention to notice a whole entire vehicle in the other lane than the person who was nearly hurt in the first place? I don't think so. Well, I got past her after the light and again went on my merry way until I realized that the bitch was following me. Oh great, now I had to deal with an idiot road-rager on the way to work. Happily, when I arrived at my destination (the highway), she managed to (safely) get into the left hand lane and went ahead of me. Well, she was keeping pace with one of the more irritatingly slow vehicles in my lane as if to stick it to me by being a lane-clogger. Whatever, she was ahead of me and I didn't have to worry about her rear-ending me or trying to run me off the road. I got to work a few minutes late (due to flat tires and lane-cloggers), but I was happy to be in one piece.

Work was work. It was about the same as yesterday, only time seemed to move more slowly today. I called my very awesome dad shortly after I got there to inform him of the issue with my tire. He told me to drop it off at his workplace and swap vehicles, or call him if my tire was flat again. Finally, 5:00 rolled around and I was able to clock out and go home. Yeah, I wasn't quite as able as I thought because the tire was FLAT AGAIN!!!!! Goddamn! I called Dad again and about 40 minutes later, I was rescued for the second time today. Dad brought a portable air compressor thing and filled my tire enough so he could take the car back with him and fix my tire. I took his big truck and finally got home an hour and a half after I clocked out of work. I'm not complaining about being home so late from work, though. My dad's going to be later than normal because of my stupid tire. And because he's the best, coolest dad in the entire universe. I'm really lucky to have such a handy father who loves me so much.

That was my day.

BO-RING!!!

My life lacks excitement right now. My days consist of work, internet, knitting and sleep. Wow!!!! I'm a barrel of laughs for the entire family!!!

While the general blandness of my life is perfectly fine for me, it makes for very, very little blog fodder. I don't write about work and even if I did write about work, there's nothing fun or interesting going on there. The only interest there comes from me wondering who my secret Santa is and really, that can only take a girl just so far. I can't even write about what I'm knitting as even my knitting is boring. It's all garter stitch washcloths and socks (though I really can't fault the socks...socks are ALWAYS fun). For the sake of cheap Christmas gifts, I'm making my grandmothers both some washcloths out of cotton I already had. Not even the yarn is exciting! I had to put the plain sock aside to make the aforementioned cotton nonsense, so I can't even break the monotony with a heel turn or a toe decrease. GRRR!!! All my exciting knitting is taking a back seat to the knitter's version of a lobotomy.

Still, I'm writing a little something. This is mostly because I really need to write on something that isn't on MySpace. I also decided that I really need to write more here because it's a waste of space otherwise (and no one else should be able to take my MinxyLand name due to me deleting all the shit I've written here). Also, I figure that if The Professor can blog to keep himself on track with his dissertation, I can certainly blog for the hell of it. Using his reasoning for blogging to keep the proverbial fire under his ass (haha, I almost quoted him perfectly on that), knowing that someone is reading this does indeed help with keeping posts going. They may not be much, but I'm thinking that the more I write, the better I'll be at coming up with topics. The topics themselves may not be interesting or at all relevant, but I say fuck it. I have one reader and I don't think he'll mind if my blogs suck.

Snow Day

Tufts of lovely white snow cover the porch, the lawn, the hill across the road. The bare trees now are half-covered in a layer of frozen goodness. This is why I love winter--the utter beauty in leafless trees and dead lawns being concealed by wonderful snow. It's as if nature is telling us to look at something new and brilliant while the plants rest for the season.

I love snow and cold weather. Most people think me insane when I say that I love those two things. Snow they usually understand, because it's pretty. It's the cold that makes people wonder about me. So I tell them that I suppose I'd almost be required to at least like cold weather as there can't be snow without cold. Otherwise it'd just be rain and while I like most forms of precipitation, there's something special about snow. It's fluffy, fun and fantastic. But, alliteration aside, snow is a link to a happy time in my life: Christmas vacation and snow days.

Winter days off from school were always a favorite of mine. My sister and I (and my brother when he was old enough) would suit up in our snow gear and play for hours outside. Lop-sided snowmen, snowball fights and even a doomed-to-failure igloo were among our many chilly exploits. The coldness never bothered me. Truth be told, I enjoyed the crisp feeling of below-freezing air in my nose and lungs. I could've stayed outside forever back then, but Mom wouldn't let us. She seemed to think that food was a good thing for growing children, so she made us come inside for lunch or dinner. (That was my other favorite part of snow days, going into the warm house after playing in the cold snow. Both activities were equally exhilarating to me.) So we'd go inside, hanging up our snow pants and coats, laying our snow-crusted mittens and hats next to the wood stove to dry in the warmth. Mom would have sandwiches or soup waiting for us. These are the things I think of when it's cold and snowy. Winter has always made me happy.

Excitement!

Saturday mornings are for knitting. Every week, I go to my local yarn shop, Malley's in the Yarn, and knit with the owner, Stephanie, and anyone else who happens to stop by. I love the yarn shop. I understand that the concept of loving a place that sells only yarn and yarn-related paraphernalia may be a bit lost on those who do not knit, crochet or take part in some other type of fiber art involving yarn. However, to step into a yarn shop is to step into the most wonderful place in the world. There are so many different types of yarn, from wool to angora, one-ply to boucle, natural fibers to synthetics all in more colors than anyone even dreamed existed. A well-organized yarn shop is a fiber rainbow and feast for the eyes.

Last week, Stephanie told me that she had ordered some new yarns, but she wasn't expecting them until early January. I'd asked because she'd mentioned previously that she was going to order some sock yarn that was all acrylic, which intrigued me because I am a sock knitter who knows people with wool allergies. To my surprise, I stepped into the store and saw the tell-tale bags of yarn that indicated a new shipment had arrived. Stephanie said, "Go check out the new yarn," and of course, I couldn't resist. All of it was wonderful, but I was most excited to see a bag of the acrylic sock yarn (Berroco "Comfort Sock" yarn) over by the sock yarn shelves. It was so soft, it didn't even feel synthetic. And it was my favorite shade of dark gray. I forgot to ask what the price was on the acrylic yarn, but Stephanie also pointed out a wool/nylon sock yarn from the same company (Berroco "Sox" yarn) in fabulous colors and the price was outstanding. It's by far the best bargain for sock yarn in the store. Hence my excitement. I'm such a nerd; I get excited about yarn.

The Death of Christmas

This is not my favorite time of year. I hate Christmas with the fire of a thousand suns. Yeah, I know that seems a bit extreme, but I stand by my statement. I originally was going to vent about how Christmas has been so bastardized by greed and gluttony, but I've changed my mind. Instead, I'm going to write about when Christmas lost its magic for me.

When I was a little girl, I loved Barbie dolls. Every year, all I wanted for my birthday, Christmas and Easter was a new Barbie doll. I received so many over the years of my childhood, I could populate a Barbie commune with them. When I was 7, I remember going to school one day (after being out for a couple of days with a nasty black eye) and opening my exceedingly messy desk to find a birthday/get well present from one of my classmates, Sarah. It was a lovely Barbie in a pretty summer dress with blue shoes to match. I was thrilled. I proudly carried that doll home and showed my mom what Sarah had given me in school. I believe that was the beginning of people regularly giving me Barbie dolls as gifts for birthdays and Christmas. I'd say that most often, they were Christmas gifts, but let's face it, that was twenty years ago and my memory is a little fuzzy.

Flash forward from when I was 7 to when I was 11 or 12. This was the ultimate year of the Barbie. Between all the relatives who gave me gifts, I managed to accumulate four brand-spankin' new dolls for Christmas. I'd never had that many new Barbies at one time, I didn't know which one to play with first. Ah, such excitement from molded plastic and tiny articles of polyester clothing! I was, and still am, so easy to please. I thought for sure the number of dolls I would continue to receive would only increase as I got older. I never once thought the splendid feeling of opening new Barbie dolls would soon come to an end.

The very next Christmas, after thinking for an entire year that the previous holiday's bounty was an indication that more and more Barbies would come, I only received one Barbie. I was heartbroken. Surely I should have gotten at least the same amount as the year before, so why didn't I? I was older, and the older you get, the more you get, right? Wrong. It was the last Barbie I received as a gift, ever. Apparently it was decided (without consulting me, of course) that I was getting too old for little girls' playthings. I didn't think I was getting too old, so why did everybody else? I still played with my Barbies, combing their hair and dressing them in the many outfits I had amassed over the years. I loved every strand on their blonde heads, every bendy leg and stiff arm. So why was I too old to get them?

I never understood why. It was then that Christmas lost all its charms for me. I didn't think it then, but looking back I suppose I thought on some level that if I was too old for my cherished dolls, I must have been too old for a child's holiday. Christmas is for toys and I was too old for toys. Sure, I'd get somewhat excited about some of the other things I'd get, like books or a new toy-like gadget. But no one understood why I didn't get as excited as my sister did about getting clothes for Christmas. It's because I didn't want any stupid clothes; I wanted my Barbies, damn it!!!

So there it is, the reason I hate Christmas so much. Perhaps it's selfish, but put yourself in the mind of a tween-age girl whose only passion at the time was a formed plastic doll. I'd been told that I was no longer allowed to enjoy my passion because I was too old for it and needed to grow up. A harsh message that broke my little heart. I've yet to recover.