Gentrification

I have to say, I am loving gentrification a little bit, as today is the first day ever that I am sitting in my comfy armchair here on Madison Street borrowing someone else's Wi-Fi. What's next, Larry's Liquid Love changing to Larry's Luscious Latte? Don't hate me because I love espresso ...

If I have any readers left, I apologize for the lack of posts recently. I blame my broken digicam (hmm, a gift idea?) but for the um, two, of you who might be interested in a knitting update, I finished JK's sweater, so now I can get down to the very serious business of ChrismaHannuKwaanzakuh knitting. It's really gorgeous. It's this pattern in lovely blue Vermont homespun yarn with a natural color stripe. And extremely long arms. And a nonsensical yellow square at the back neck, because it's for JK. Ok, now, use your imagination. Or FedEx me a camera ...

Again

My digital camera, after a prolonged illness, is finally toast, and the repair estimate is $168. So I am not able to share my latest baby knitting accomplishment, for a new child whose relationship to me is far too complicated to explain, but is nevertheless deserving of a cardie. See the link above to knitty and the pix in my March 05 archive, and imagine lovely slate blue yarn from a yard sale in Somerville, Mass. But no hood. No baby is as cool as Aviva Berry, and therefore no baby gets a sweater as cool as hers. We gotta draw the line somewhere, people, I'm sure you understand.

Last Time Hot Cha Went Away...

A floating island was his home. Then the phone rang off the hook and Hot Cha had to ... change his name to Robert Smithson?
My camera was dead at the opening of "Floating Island to Travel around Manhattan Island", so pardon the pilfered Times image. To really apprecitate it, though, it helps to see Smithson's drawing at the Whitney exhibition, and then marvel at how the Whitney, Minetta Brook, Nancy Holt and a team of landscapers that include my neighbor enacted the quirky, silly, cute, and profound floating sculpture concieved by Smithson in the 1970's.
The opening lacked wine or breathing room but still had a carnival atmosphere created by a bunch of jaded New York art people overcoming their skepticism and experiencing true surprise and glee to see something unique and actually, ahem, fun.
I still want a ride on it, though.

Ye Olde Prospective Employers

JK and I spent a long weekend in scenic Western Massachusetts. While our friends' adorable two-month-old baby was by far the highlight of the trip, I will deign to report a few other highlights. In Northampton, I discovered my new favorite museum, "Ye Olde Watering Hole and Beer Can Museum." Featuring a world-class collection of nearly 5,000 (mostly empty) cans, helpful interpretive staff, and an excellent beverage selection at the popcorn-themed museum cafe, YOWaHO-BeCaM is destined to become an extremely popular cultural destination.
Just a short drive* away in North Adams is a slightly less compelling museum nevertheless worth a visit, the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art. There I saw what I might call the best thing I have seen in 2005, stage one of Cai Guo-Qiang's "Inopportune."(See Grace Glueck's spot-on review in the Times here and Artforum's vapid one here.)
I know I am a sucker, and I live in the most paranoid city in America, but I had to sit down against the cool wall and compose myself against whatever Mr. Cai was sending out from the ends of those blinky lights. I was close to tears, and accosted a kindly woman in a shawl to tell her that all I could think of was car bombs, even though the power of the piece was that I was actually thinking of a lot more than car bombs, but I was such a wreck I couldn't put it into words.
Despite having seen numerous pictures of the installation, I was still surprised and deeply relieved/moved/calmed to see that the last car (I think it is the same model as a NYC taxi -is this significant?!) landed undamaged. The following room, however, with its bombed-out fireworks car and a scene of Times Square swiftly reversed any calm I was feeling.
The tigers were super, too, but didn't affect me nearly as much. Perhaps if I had paid more attention during "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon..."
Anyway, if you visit MassMoCA, do save this for last if you can help it. The thing is, it's so good you can't bear to look at anything else afterward. Even Dave Cole's knitting thing (gasp!) looks a little contrived. (And, for the record, they don't have the 20-foot-long knitting needles on display, as advertised; furthermore, they do not grant free admission to AAM members without institutional ID.)


*It is divine to have a car at one's disposal every once in a while, though it pains me to admit it. (And a chauffeur -- thanks JK!)

Friedlander

My old friend DaBella and I met up at MoMA on Sunday with the vague intention of going to the Cezanne-Pissarro show (or was it Matisse-Picasso?). However, the exhibition was so crowded that we ran away screaming and accidentally ended up in the Lee Friedlander retrospective. An excellent turn of events. While our first impression of the show was a nice-but-slightly-creepy security guard telling us that "Nothing in here is as lovely as you two," we got down to the business of being completly blown away by tiny little photos of unimportant things.
Like many others, I knew Mr. Friedlander as "that guy who made the weird reflection pictures in the 60's." After seeing about 10,000 other pictures (the show was rather extensive), I now know him as "that guy who made a whole bunch of really, really cool pictures including those weird reflection pictures from the 60's and 70's, excellent nudes, some pretty but un-cheesy landscapes, and the best goddamn photograph of a fire hydrant ever; also, that guy whose life's work can provide a endless sources of creative and silly storytelling by schoolchildren not to mention 25-year-old arts professionals." Worth a visit, but you'll need a cocktail when you're done. And golly ... now comes the glowing recommendation of Terrace 5 (don't google it or you'll be scared by Dante). After considering the "abstract expressionism" I ordered a "cubism" from our handsome young waiter in an adorable uniform of penguin polo shirt and black pants. The bus girl (in the same sexy uniform) brought me a glass full of concord grape juice ice cubes and poured some delightful mixture of lemony vodka over the top from a shaker. The cubes instantly turned the drink a delightful rosy purple -- although, honestly, the color I associate most with cubism is tan -- and the only thing that could have made it more delightful was if Danny Meyer had invented some kind of grown-up peanut butter sandwich to accompany it. Kicked the old cafe's stodgy old butt even if I do miss the droog design lights.

VENICE

Venice was great. The greatest thing about it was spending time with my nifty Dad, but the second best thing about it was Olafur Eliasson's installation "Your Black Horizon" on the island San Lazzaro in Venice's lagoon. True to Dan Flavin's philosophy that religious-pilgrimage-type trips, or at least working a bit, enhance the viewer's perceptivity and openness to the art (or whatever it is that Dan Flavin's philosophy was), the almost-solitary vaporetto ride from busy San Marco to the wee island (which otherwise is home only to an [abandoned?] Armenian monastery) had me contemplating the horizon, and the marvelous color of light in the lagoon. After this the experience of horizon-inversion (a dark room with a line of light where the horizon should be instead of a horizon line in a bright field) was really neat. Not so easy to describe, so I'll just say it was even better than grappa, and just as consciousness-altering. For slightly more literate info see the Thyssen-Bornemisza Art Contemporary Foundation, who funded the project. Thanks guys!

BROOKLYN

Today while I was riding my bike home from work, passing through MetroTech Plaza, some guy turned to look at me and said, "Hey, get a job." I might have been humming a Beatles tune, but still! I was riding home from work!

Coney Island - JK Shoots a Freak!

So this is M**k C***k guest blogging here. We just returned from a trip to Coney Island, JK and Lizzy rode, while I took the painfully slow F train! Highlights: Art signs, mural, the Cyclone, free beer, and, well, JK shot a freak. Too bad we don't have any pictures of that. But a nice paintball shot to the head, leaving a nice orange splatter across the 'freak's' forehead. Don't worry he was wearing eye protection. The cyclone kicked ass, if you are in the area get your butt on the cyclone, and spend the time waiting to get front row seats. JK and I got front seats on our second ride, and it is freak'n scary. You not only feel like you are opposing gravity, but you also feel that the ride will come crashing down bellow you. The 4G turns stick you against the person next to you, and the ride always does a nice little jolt, making one feel like it wants to come loose of its moorings. Thanks JK on the second ride, I didn't think I could have done it, but was happy I did!

Oh I almost forgot the infamous FREAK SHOW. We entered as Eek the Geek (that is chicken head eating type for all you) was lighting a flaming torch off of his tongue, because he was strapped into an electric chair and was giving off sparks! Then the amazing sword swallower swallowed a 2 foot sword followed by a 4 foot sword. I am not going to remark on the obvious fellatio jokes here, or else everyone will think that I am being a sexist bastard, but I was definitely thinking those thoughts. The fire eater was less than impressive, but had some great tattoos. The Block head put a ice pick, nail, and a SPOON into his naval cavity. Unlike me putting a corkscrew through my septum. The snake charmer who was dancing with the fat and lazy snake. The most impressive part of this was she tried to eat the snake, and it didn't look to fazed, I think they doped up the snake, and the amazing plastic woman (who was also the sword swallower), JK and I paid US$1.00 to see how she fit in the box, and if you want to know you will have to check it out for yourself and paid the US$1.00. It kicked ass! I'm now at Lizzy's place and we are having icecream for dinner.

Don't forget to check out the grammar Police record of Coney Island !

The Nomadic Exhibition Space

JK and I finally went to see "The Nomadic Museum" and its exhibition of Gregory Colbert's photographs called Ashes and Snow. The NM, designed by Shigeru Ban -- one of the horde of celebrity architects prancing recently through the pages of the liberal press -- was beautiful but it wasn't a museum. (After an exhausting year of redefining museums, I have decided that anybody who will let me in for free with my AAM card is a museum; the NM cashier was pleasant and efficient but demanded my six dollars [twelve for real grownups].)

Roberta Smith already wrote, more eloquently than I can, almost everything I thought. In summary, the shipping-crate building is cool but the photgraphs suck. If you are anywhere near a bus shelter or a copy of the New Yorker, you've already seen them. They are almost unbearably sentimental, tinged with a semi-offensive and VERY tired portrayal of "primitive" or "other" people as at one with nature and animals, serving as an inspiration for us harried, modern, sucessful city-dwellers. Or whatever. Cute kids in faraway places hugging elephants.
JK's irritation at the hourlong wait for a 15-minute visit was made only slightly better by the stunning interior and some delightful ice cream we ate while waiting on the line. I guess I'm glad that I went but it did make me kind of depressed. The place was packed, and while I am always happy to see lines for an art exhibition, my populism was strained. Are all these people here only because Rolex bought a lot of ads? Am I so out of touch that I am nauseated by something the "general public" finds deeply touching? Is museum architecture more important that what's inside? Sigh.
Anyway, the cathedral-like space formed by cardboard tubing was amazing (photo blurry due to stealth). And then we had a nice bike ride.

Another brilliant article in the Onion...

Yes, they are fabulously cool; yes, they love to satirize the museum. Maybe I'll write my thesis on the rise in popularity of the museum as on object of humourous social commentary ...
Check it out.

The High Line

JK and I went to the High Line exhibit at MoMA on Friday afternoon. By the time we found the show -- on the third floor, in architecture & design -- it was peak Target Huddled Masses Time; therefore, we had to shimmy past Spanish tourists videoing the closely-guarded boatlike model to read the didactics featuring blah-blah like "Comprising a series of gardens in the form of pits, plains, bridges, mounds, ramps, and flyovers situated along the twenty-two-block expanse, the project aims to create and preserve experiences of slowness, otherworldliness, and distraction." (Everything is a mission statement these days.)
It wasn't until the third panel, just before the MtV-meets-Blair-Witch video, that I had a Eureka moment: The High Line is that thing that goes over Chelsea! You know, the old railroady-looking thing that sometimes has billboards on it, that provides occasional peripheral confusion as you enter the next shiny gallery. The High Line is the thing that goes over Chelsea! All of the pictures and renderings that I had seen showed it from above, renovated and beautiful and detached from its surroundings in that peculiar architectural way, and I -- not always the brightest bulb -- had not connected it to the thing that goes over Chelsea. I was so pissed, and only slightly embarassed. I had to fight through the crowds to go back and read it again, and the summary impression I got is this: The High Line is that thing that goes over Chelsea. Diller, Scofidio, Renfro, Corner, et al*** are going to pave it and put in some new plants that are prettier than the wild plants. I am still not sure why it is such a big deal, or why it was so difficult for me to understand that the High Line is that thing that goes over Chelsea. (I blame my constant experiences of slowness, otherworldliness, and distraction.)
Now:

Later:

***Note: thanks to my tenure at the ICA I (heart) Diller + Scofidio + Renfro. I am more skeptical about Field Operations, mostly because the idea of theoretical landscape architecture confuses li'l ol' me and I am deeply skeptical about James Corner's ability to sucessfully plant a tree. But I guess that's not what landscape architects do. Silly me.

Passing Muster

I was so excited about The Muster, Alison Smith's brilliantly-concieved public art event. I woke up hyperventilating on Saturday morning: an art project taking the form of a Civil War Reenactment! On Governor's Island, a weird land mass in NY Harbor that of course JK will want to go to. The ferry ride was neat, and the island looks really cool. But the "encampment" was simply in a field, we couldn't really explore the island, and far too many of the artists seemed more interested in an opportunity to go camping and drink beer with their friends than being part of a serious art piece. The on-stage part of the event, a "Declaration of Causes," was for the most part tedious and self-indulgent, a high point being seemingly pointless distribution of bubble gum and a low point being a short tirade by a woman who seemed too tired and drunk to actually be angry.
Two of the encampments were exeptional: a nice young man and a nice young lady had a trading post (I traded them a lipstick for a loaf of bread), and a group called "Knitting Nation" was machine-knitting an American Flag and reading civil-war-era writings about women knitting socks for the war effort.

knitting army
Originally uploaded by Corncub.

I think the root of the problem was the format. Each artist seemed fit into a slot (and some seemed like they were there only to fill a slot) rather than really interested in the concept. And it felt somewhat tentative, and really clubby -- like I was on the verge of discovering something interesting but couldn't, or I ws missing something because none of my friends were encamped (note: nice people at the trading post are exceptions). None of the encampments seemed up to Allison Smith's profoundly serious challenge: none of the causes, despite their "worthiness," were really urgent. The right to universal aesthetic suffarage (an encampment with painting, instead of voting, booths) was cute, but where was the war in Iraq?
The war in Iraq, though alluded to by Smith, was absent. And I think it was absent because it is absent from the lives of the artists there, which speaks to the deep geographic and class divides in this country. I wholeheartedly support the right of artists to go camping and smoke and drink with their friends, whether or not I am invited. However, I thought the degree of legitimacy granted to this event -- with the Public Art Fund's support, and the exciting use of the weird land mass -- was not supported by it's content.
If you didn't go, be glad. The printed materials, photographs, web site, and other documentation of the event are actually better than the event was. Another post is in order about documentation and performance, and performing to the documentation instead of the audience. Or maybe a thesis.

I Love America

& I almost have my brain back from the extended loan called grad school, so will resume knitting, museumgoing, and blogging about it VERY soon. But for now just look at these buffalo on a tennis court, ok?

More Fun than Weddings & Celebrations

Seeing how it's Monday, the eerie voyeristic allure of Weddings & Celebrations is fresh in my mind, and yours too I assume. I experienced a subtle variation of this today while googling Fred Sandback, who made art with yarn without knitting it. Sandback's obituary was on the weirdest blog ever, "Blog of Death", a bizarre yet somehow respectful daily obituary list, with comprehensive links. Maybe all you hipster kids know all about this site, but it freaked me out. I can't even write about it any more. Just go there. (Missing the pope, though.) Anyway.

This space intentionally left blank

So for the three of you who actually read my blog, I apologize for the lack of posts lately. There are many reasons for this, and I invite baseless speculation. While you twich nervously on the edge of your seats, please refer to the following adequate subsitutes:
--My cranky hero Tyler Green's Modern Art Notes (I like him because he makes fun of the artforum blog, constantly and without mercy.)
--from the floor, a decent blog about looking at art.
--and then for the crafty urges, there is the DNA Scarf Pattern, which has been fourth on my list for a long time.
Ok? Ok.

Rest in Peace, Mr. Bellow

While I am moved by all the coverage of the Pope's life, I was surprised and saddened to hear today of the dear of another great icon of Modernity, Saul Bellow. Maybe I'm not supposed to like him, because I'm the girl that always points out the inadequacies of dead white male writers, whose illustrious ranks Mr. Bellow now joins. But there is something compelling, something extraordinarily valid, in the old-fashioned belief that art, firmly rooted in humanity, in daily life, makes this confusing mess of a world vaguely bearable. That there is something that good, honest, even painful writing (or art or music or crochet or whatever) does, that all the theory in the world cannot compete with. I buy it, hook-line-n-sinker, in Bellow, in de Kooning, in Arthur Miller, and in the enduring work of other dead white guys.
Here is the quote the NY Times obit ended with:
"I've never seen the world before. Now I was seeing it, and it's a beautiful, marvelous gift. Enchanting reality! And when the end came, I was told by the cleverest people I knew that it would all vanish. I'm not absolutely convinced of that. If you asked me if I believed in life after death, I would say I was an agnostic. There are more things between heaven and earth, Horatio, etc."
So rest in peace, etc.

IT'S LIZZY-LIZ DAY in the NY TIMES!

I can't believe it. For the first time in my life, I might be something resembling cool. I was happy enough about the Museums Special Section, especially since the Holland Cotter article about increasing inclusion of "non-western" art in modern/contemporary art museums is 1/3 of the paper proposal I am writing at the moment. BUT what really made it Lizzy-Liz is cool day is the HUGE editorial about knitting. BOTH in THE SAME DAY!!! OHMIGOD! March 30, Museum and Knitting Day! Heaven!

BANKsY!

M*rk C**rk (who must have too much time on his hands at work) first sent me over to wmmna's "review" of Banksy's prank (see also nytimes link above). Initially I didn't believe it, and it peeved me a little bit, mostly because of my infatuation with the Guerilla Girls, who, if Banksy had talked to them, would have reccommended he wear a Gorilla suit and put up work by underrepresented, and good, artists rather than another self-centered whiny white guy. (Let's be harsh for a second, and apologies to the large portion of my social group made up of whiny white guys, o.k., but if BANKSY wants to get some of his work into an art museum he has a better chance that MOST, not being a woman, person of color, or from the "lower classes" or a "developing country.")
But I must admit the truth: Now I hate Banksy because he caused a rift in my Friday night. Alliecat had some lovely RPCV's visiting her and we were going to go to the Met and then go get yummy cheap (and BYOB) Indian food on 6th Street. So, being the BYOB thriftsters that we are, we had each completely innocently brought a bottle of wine, which we planned to check, pick up after our visit, and be on our merry way. (MA-in-museum-studies note: the coat/bag check is for TEMPORARY STORAGE OF THINGS THAT PEOPLE MIGHT HAVE IN THEIR BAGS THAT SHOULD NOT BE BROGHT INTO THE MUSEUM. This is why we love coat checks. They keep nasty things like bottles of wine AWAY from the art, and people should be encouraged to use them.) So, whatever, a guard who apparently thought Alliecat was a drunk sixteen-year-old and I was a total bitch (one of these things might be somewhat true) gave us a whole bunch of shit and wouldn't let us in, even if we checked our bags. His lame excuse was something about a $500 dry-cleaning bill they had once at coat check. OK, I would accept this at most museums, but the Met should figure a once in a while coat check accident drycleaning bill into it's multimillion operating budget. Cleaning a mink and assuaging one old lady is a helluva lot easier than cleaning a Rembrandt. Whatever, I digress, although at Starbux while we were waiting for our girls Allie and I had a good laugh about the other things in our handbags that were no problem (I compulsively hoard mayo and mustard packets in my pencil case). My point is: I BLAME BANKSY for the paranoia about security at the Met and its affect on sensible and (usually) cooperative museumgoers, and their Friday-evening plans. F**ker.

Compost in the Hood

Having the flu last week put a hamper on all things bloggy and crafty, but the (semi)fantastic weather on Saturday did inspire JK and I to do the first yard work of 2005. We have teeny daffodill wannabees, a freshly strung clothesline, and an exciting new "Kompost Korner."
I guess life desn't suck that much after all. And maybe incognito boy and I can get to the seed catalog just as soon as I'm done with a couple hundred pages of cultural diplomacy ...

Every Hipster Needs a Hoodie!

Even the miniature ones. The BABY HOODIE for T&M's forthcoming tiny human is finished at last:
The pattern is "Daisy" (I skipped the daisies) from Knitty. The yarn is Mission Falls 1824 Wool in Cornflower, which is theoretically machine washable. Vintage shell buttons are from a yard sale in New Hampshire. Here's the back:
Let's hope that T&M have a real baby, instead of a stuffed raccoon, because the sweater is too big for Rocky. This picture is the best one of the yarn's color, though.
As with all pictures on this blog, clicking on the pictures will bring you to flickr, where you can view a larger version.
This hoodie is the most adorable thing I have ever produced. The pattern is great, and provided good practice for a bunch of skills: shaping, knitting a raglan w/o side seams, making knit buttonholes, using kitchener stich. Still can't make seed stich borders to save my life for some reason, and the edges of the hood are curling in a bit where I accidentally made a couple rows of ribbing. But some ironing and/or drool should fix that right up.
Have more babies, people, so I can make another one!!!!

Hyperbolic Crochet

I heard a neat spot on National Public Radio today about Cornell mathematician Daina Taimina, who crochets beautiful models to explain the hyperbolic plane. Simple, regular increases worked in increments from once every stich to every nine stiches result in 3-D sculptures explaining, well, hyperbolic planes. Which I guess are like lettuce, only math. Apparently she prefers synthetic yarn because it provides a more accurate, stiff model. I am kicking myself that I missed their lecture at The Kitchen last month, but here is a picture from it that I found on flickr.

I wonder if Daina likes indian food, and if she knows that she's a human ecologist?

Armor-All

Today JK & I went to the Armory Show with D-dawg and Felicia (I like to give my friends fake-anonymous internet names, sorry). I was having yet another cranky late-winter day, so the top highlight was actually a heart-shaped chocolate cupcake from the Deitch Projects booth. Not surprisingly, my favorite inedible artworks at the fair were all by young hipsters working in craft media. (Since Mr. C**rk's Dad made ceramics & stuff fine art, the signifier "craft media" is up for re-purposing, namely, it is free to mean what it ought to: quilting, knitting, and anything involving a glue gun.)
The other thing I learned is that New York is SO 2003, and everyone cool lives in Berlin. Case in point, the maker of the very pretty "Brain Quilt," Christian Holstead:



It was fun. Better people watching than the ADAA fair, too.

Swatchy Swatch!

this is an exciting new project - the lace cardigan on size 3 needles? I know I am crazy. It's 'lucky' from stich n bitch nation in a beautiful blue-purple Rowan 4-ply cotton ... sort of feels like knitting graduate school. I haven't allowed myself to start it until I finish the baby hoodie for T&M... pix coming soon. wish me luck!

M*rk C**rk is the BEST!!!

Um, because he is the only one who reads my blog, and because he is as obsessed with his stuffed animal as me. Good thing I am keeping him anonymous on this high-traffic site.

Someone stole my thesis project

"Knit 2 Together" is an exhibition organized by Katy Bevan and my new hero Freddie Robbins at the UK Crafts Council. It features artists who work in hand and machine-knitting, mostly from the UK, exploring the creative potential of my current favorite art form. I love it! Guess I will have to come up with another project for my thesis.
On a related note, I found the most lovely art-knitting magazine at Printed Matter the other day, KnitKnit. Apparently published by girls like me, it came with a knitted cover, was chock full of fun, and out of my publications budget at $20 (sigh).

Hilton Kramer is Stupid.

The latest in my series of cranky posts ...
And I worry about sounding like a jerk in public. For gosh's sake, central park is a bit of land with some nice paths, by no means a sacred work of art (Anybody ever heard of Seneca Village?). And it is up for sixteen freaking days. Take a deep breath.

Rocky at the Gates

Since I have been so cranky, I figured I ought to share a reminder that there is good in the world. JK and I visited America's favorite public art project again this weekend, this time with a friend. A Gates volunteer gave Rocky a ride on her tennis-ball-ended fabric fixing pole so he could have a close-up view of the project.

Rocky had a nice time visiting the Gates and was very excited that the color matched his outfit so well. He is very pleased with his complimentary saffron swatch as well, though I have had to thwart a couple of his attempts to sell it on eBay.

Why Academia is f***ed up

Because of the following gross generalizations with no research behind them, and a few others:

Because middle class white americans with high self-esteem talk about how evil middle class white americans are.
Because any asshole agrees that Gandhi should be quoted more than Freud.
Because the concept of the "Other" never helped anybody get along.
Because power dynamics are a bit more complicated than that.
Because if you need to simplify things into ridiculous stereotypes to make your argument then your argument sucks.
Because not all eligible graduate students vote.
Because "problematize" is not in the dictionary.
Because I might actually believe in the American dream, and it makes me hate our goddamn president all the more.
Because East Coast liberal intellectuals ARE Americans, and I know this because I was BORN one.
Because nobody actually wants to talk about how we might actually change anything.
Because I DO talk to my dead grandma.
Because my hormones are messed up presently.

I hate mohair

So I started this cute mohair sweater from knitty about a year ago, got approximately 1/2 way done, and realized that because of my, um, figure it would look terrible on me (the bodice was not ending up in anywhere near a bodice location and it was way too short despite my attempts at pattern alteration.) I threw it in the closet and sulked for a couple of months. Finally, in a moment of intense empowerment, I frogged it. Joy! Until about the third row, Let me tell you, nothing, NOTHING, is worse than unravelling mohair. Except knitting with it again. In a moment of graduate-school-induced insanity, I made the mistake of trying to knit a hat from the frogged wool. After about six rows and six hours of untangling yarn on the subway, I gave up.
But Top likes it.

Handbag Envy.

I really didn't think I was this kind of girl. I thought that bags held stuff, a great vintage find was the epitome of cool, and that if you had a thousand dollars burning a hole in your pocket you should buy groceries and happily send the remainer to the nonprofit of your choice. But all these stylish girls (ok, two) in my program have Coach bags. And there is something about being a poor graduate student with a shoulder injury from lugging all my books around in my (stylish-for-new england, ever-functional, clashes-with-heels) Timbuktu messenger bag that has me on e-bay under the pretense of a school-related look at the sale of Gates memorobilia, hopelessly scrolling to the 29th page of sort-by-price to see something I can afford. Yes, mom, I want a pretty handbag.

I'm a sucker, too ...

For "The Gates." I am not really sure that I 100% like Christo (opps, Christo and Jeanne-Claude now, although what's up with him not giving his wife credit for like 20 years?), and I was quoted in the NY Times saying how much I dislike bright orange, but I can't lie. I (heart) public art, I almost cried when I had to remove my name from the volunteer list because of silly grad school, and whether he likes it or not I am dragging JK out of bed tomorrow morning to see bright orange fabric and art tourists and Japanese TV crews be unleashed on Central Park. It's like the marathon, only better, and longer, and without running. Only problem I see is that C&JP's self-righteous self-financing isn't really going to help less-superstar artists secure dough to do projects. But that's another post - right now I am caught up in the spirit of civic pride inspired by public art. Or something. Gosh, just look at the cute minimum-wage "volunteers."
Read about it all here, where, bless them, the Times has an inordinate number of relentlessly cheery articles about the cooperative volunteer spirit, and public art uniting the city, and nice police men communing with performance artists, and etc, etc, etc. Oh, New York City, heaven, heaven, heaven.

On a mostly unrelated note, a nice man in one of ubiquitous east village pizza joints gave me a free slice last night when I was freezing and famished without even hitting on me. Public art must inspire culinary generosity too!

Museums and Knitting, or confirmation that I really am a nerd.

After a conversation about my dream job with a friend and fellow student, a quick google (and, oh, google, how I heart thee) informed us that the closest thing to a knitting museum is the Ruddington Framework Knitters' Museum, in the East Midlands, UK ... more of a historic site museum exploring the textile industry, but nevertheless features exciting opportunities such as using a 19th century sock knitting machine.
On a relatedly obscure note, The Museum of Modern Art has a pretty huge design collection which includes a number of beautiful, functional, and covet-able household appliances and other consumer goods. It dawned on me on the subway that the ADDI TURBO should obviously be considered for accession.

girl posts cute picture of cat on interweb

Anyone interested? I'm not sure either. But, a test of a first post of my 'blog.

ps - I did make the duvet cover, so maybe this can count as my first crafty post, too.