Best Quote I Heard All Day
Poetry has done enough when it charms, but prose must also convince.--H.L. Mencken

I stopped writing poetry when I was about 18. Just around the time I realized that simply being charming was not going to earn me a living. (Although it's helped a lot during job interviews.)

Lately I've been on a Dixie Chicks kick. Their Grammy-winning album, Taking the Long Way, is one that I highly recommend. Wonderful lyrics, outstanding music. And I'm not a country music fan, per se, so this is not your typical "D-I-V-O-R-C-E" kind of album.

The title track, Taking The Long Way Around, has lyrics that truly remind me of my own life. Because I always seem to take the long way.

Open Mike Tuesday
Two suggestions, one from Patsi Purl and the other from Gauss. In deference to Patsi's fine suggestion, I think many of you opined on that topic already. So it's the Gaussian equation this time around. (Sounds like something that was discussed in my senior chemistry class, the one I barely passed.)

What is the fugliest design you've seen this year? Name names.

Next week, though, let's have a more positive topic of discussion. Negativity can be tiresome. That doesn't mean I want the Pollyannas to crawl out of the woodwork, mind you.

Ongoing Lavold
Put the socks down and went back to the Lavold sweater, since I'd rather like to get it done and move on to the next thing. The front is done, so I will do a sleeve, then the back, and finally the other sleeve. That's usually the order I use when knitting a sweater that's in pieces.


I realize the picture sucks but I was too lazy to take it downstairs to the living room, where it might photograph better.

I will say one thing. If you've never knit a Lavold design and use this book, you won't have the foggiest idea how to make the increases a la Lavold. And as I was reading through the directions for the sleeve to check the sleeve increases, this one sentence struck me as absolutely astonishing:

If necessary, work the last few increase rows closer together.

Excuse me? That tells me two things. One, that whoever wrote these directions--Cornelia Hamilton Tuttle, I believe--really doesn't give a shit about some poor soul who has no experience in calculating sleeve increases and won't have the foggiest idea as to how to figure out if this needs to be done. Or that it's possible to get away with not doing the final few increases. Two, that perhaps the sleeve increases weren't calculated against the row gauge. You have to wonder.

I'm shortening the sleeve and using the directions for the next size down, since I hate baggy sleeves. I opted not to do the sleeves as set-in, since my other Lavold sweater has dropped shoulders, which I modified for a better fit. I will do that on this one as well.

Crochet Shit and Assorted Rants
Whenever one of the Wolverinas does something wonderful, I reserve the right to make a big fucking deal out of it.

My friend Kathy Merrick has made the cover of the latest Interweave Crochet. And it's about time, too. Kathy is unarguably the best crochet designer out there. When you see the crap put out by people like Doris Chan (where on earth did she come from?) and most of the others, Kathy's work is sublime.

One thing I will say in agreement with the comments made about last week's Open Mike discussion. Wenlan Chia's designs are absolutely ghastly. I worry that her "sweaters" will make already bulimia-ridden models believe completely that they are indeed fat.

Uh oh. I have a new name to add to the KC Glossary. ChiaPet.Sorry. Can't help it. Bite me. She's fine fodder.

Lefthanded Knitting and Other Tedious Topics
Obviously, I was being much too obtuse for some readers when I said, quote unquote:

Personally, I'd like to see opinions about the excrutiating difficulty endured by lefthanded knitters, whether knitting needles would have been considered weapons of mass destruction on a JetBlue plane resting on a runway for eight hours, or whether combined knitting is a bigger pain in the ass than it's worth.

Did you honestly think I was asking for a discussion of lefthanded knitting? Please. Perhaps my feeble attempts at sarcasm went over some people's heads.

And I think we've seen altogether much too much whining elsewhere about "I'm scarred because I was told I knit wrong." Shit, I've been a southpaw for years, so what? I knit weird and I don't give a flying fuck. Heh. My fingers do little crab-like movements when knitting. Now that's bizarre.

Combination knitting? I thought perhaps that some Modesitt aficionados might have screamed, "Combination knitting saved me from the depths of despair and the knowing, sly looks of other knitters." Ted, dear, of course anyone with half a brain should be past all of this nonsense. But I maintain that if you can't comprehend the construction of the stitch by some intelligent observation while you knit, learning combination knitting isn't going to make you all the better informed.

Time for bed. Staying up this late isn't so rare and handy. I will post this at the stroke of midnight, just so it's actually Tuesday. And then turn into a rutabaga. Or a pumpkin. Pick a veggie.

Best Quote I Heard All Day
I think a poet is anybody who wouldn't call himself a poet. --Bob Dylan

It's National Poetry Month. So in keeping with the spirit of things, I'll be printing some of my favorites.

My first writing efforts as a child were poems. I wish I still had them. However, these years, I find poetry in music lyrics that speak to me. Here's one of my favorites, And She Was, by David Byrne of Talking Heads.


My Talking Heads
Well, that was quite the onslaught of comments. I have no comment, other than to say that some of you are almost, if not more, vitriolic than I am.

One thing I don't do these days is badmouth other bloggers in public. (Well, there's one I have jabbed in the past but that blogger is so boring, it's gotten to the point where I don't bother, since she's now a parody of herself.) That's not to say that I don't have my opinions but you may presume that if I don't mention them, I don't read them.

There is one thing for which I will be forever grateful. The comments that I get are not from asskissing idiots who have nothing better to say than

"I luuuurvvve your blog!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You rock!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Spare me. What may interest you is that a few of the "popular" bloggers have less of the milk of human kindness running through their veins than they'd like you to believe. But since they write their blogs for the great unwashed, that's what they get in return. I'm pleased that my Comments are a forum rather than a mass paean to my wonderfulness.

I started off opinionated from the get-go. You know what you're getting with me. If you don't, you'd better leave in a hot New York minute.

That said, I will entertain Patsi Purl's suggestion about bloggers you don't like. But I'd like other suggestions from the rest of you. It can be controversial. Or not.

Personally, I'd like to see opinions about the excrutiating difficulty endured by lefthanded knitters, whether knitting needles would have been considered weapons of mass destruction on a JetBlue plane resting on a runway for eight hours, or whether combined knitting is a bigger pain in the ass than it's worth.

Sogs
That's how I'm feeling about them lately. It would seem that this week, all the knitting I've been able to manage has been on these ubiquitous sogs.

My endless fascination with socks has to do with several potential personality flaws.

• I love symmetry. It must be the German in me.
  
• I can be anal-retentive when it comes to matching the dye repeats perfectly
• Sometimes I have a short attention span when it comes to knitting and I need to get something finished

Sock-making happens in the spring and the summer, in order to replenish my sock drawer and to make something knitted for my loved ones. Socks are almost always welcome gifts.

Today brightened considerably when a package from Black Bunny Fibers arrived, posthaste.


Yeah, more sock yarn. Nobody dyes like Carol does. Rainbow Bright on the left, Lively on the right. There's nothing I like better than bright colors for socks that I wear.

I was once described by a certain doctor as an effervescent breath of fresh air. Well, maybe sometimes. I think you can tell by the socks I'm wearing if that's the case on the particular day. With my 57th birthday looming, I'm rather seeing through a glass, darkly. However, it will pass and I'll be back to my teenage mentality shortly.

Bright socks help. A lot. So does sex.

Weavin'
Not this week. Too much work and the eyes are too tired after 5. I'm going to try to get my towel warp on the loom tomorrow. Sunday is Easter, so die ganze Familie is coming over for ham, raisin sauce, red potatoes, fresh asparagus and green beans. I enjoy having an excuse to cook.

I'm sure Mammy and I will sit and knit. I have to re-educate her as to Lavold's particular increase methods. She can't figure it out. Jenn and Rin will run their mouths, Norm and brother Rich will chat about movies, Liz will make a 5-minute cameo for dinner and then go back to her room to talk to her friends. The self-named Scrap Curmudgeon will show up with my nephews, I hope, if her in-laws leave at a reasonable hour.

In other words, a typical family get-together. Rare? No. Handy? Absolutely. Because they're the best and I love them to pieces.