Unfurnished Brooklyn

Bad blog, bad blog

Whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they bookmark you?

I haven't been keeping up with the blogs I usually read. And being half-assed about updating my own. Got no reason.

I'm working on posting my Moscow photos to Flickr; when I'm done, I'll link to them.

You know what sucks? Breaking your glasses when you have no insurance and no job. To cheer myself up, I got spiffy red ones. I'll be paying for them for the next 10 years, so I'd better enjoy them.

You know that interview thing going around the blogworld? My friend Mindy done axed me some questions. I'ma gonna answer'em. But first, the rules:

1. Leave me a comment saying “interview me.”
2. I will respond by asking you five questions here. They will be different questions than the ones below.
3. You will update YOUR blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Her questions:

1. Have you ever found a pattern for your ideal sweater? If not, what would it be?

Yep: the v-neck top-down sweater from Knitting Pure and Simple. Love v-necks. Hardly wear'em, but love'em. And come on, top down. One piece. No pesky seams. And I can vary the pattern as I choose.

2. In the grand smackdown for closet space: Stash vs. Shoes - who would win?

Pfft. Stash. No contest. I'm not crazy for shoes- it takes forever to find a pair I like and then I alternate between one or two pairs a season until they fall apart. Then I start moping around shoe stores until I find something passable. I can tell you, without checking, that I have 1 pair of Doc Martens, two pairs of knee-high boots, two pairs of loafers, one pair of dressy sandals, a pair of bootleg Birkenstocks, and some black Mary Janes (my "interview shoes"). That's it. Can I tell you offhand how much yarn I have? Hell no. But I know it fills a small closet, and takes up a lot of space in my living room.

3. Please share the lamest pickup line you've ever actually responded to.

For more than 10 years I worked in nightclubs, trapped in the coatroom. So I've been subjected to a lot of drunken, couldn't-find-someone-on-the-dance-floor-so-I'll-hit-on-the-coatcheck-girl lame-o lines.

Close second: "I made a really cool mix tape. Wanna come up and hear it?" Which is right up there with "would you like to see my etchings?" I think we all know there was no mixed tape. But the winner? "You look lonely." Mind you, at the time I was on the swings in Thompkins Square Park tripping my ass off. If asked to describe what I looked like at that moment, lonely is not the word I'd use. We actually ended up going out for a few months. Or, as I like to say, 'til the drugs wore off.

4. Be honest, now - how many viewings of LOTR are you up to?

I don't know exactly, but a conservative estimate would put it at 7-8 times. Per film. That's at home, not in the theater. Sad, really. Even sadder is that I can quote whole scenes. And do.

5. What would be the title of your autobiography?

I used to think Me, Myself, and Iris. But then that Jim Carrey movie came out.... I could call it Aw, Man! because I say that a lot and it does sum up my life. I would like to record an album of lounge songs and call it "Share My World." I really would.

That was fun.

Because nobody suspects the butterfly...

So far, it stands at Butterflies 2, Cheb 0. At her insistence we again went to the Museum of Natural History (with a very lovely tour guide, I must say) and went into the Butterfly exhibit. Though she said she wouldn't freak out, she did. I'll hand it to her: she tried, and she nearly made it to the end.

There's a great exhibit called Totem to Turquoise. Amazing jewelry and folk art. Absolutely beautiful.

I'm feeling well, pretty much cootie-free. But now I'm all achy. Today Cheb and I played one-on-one soccer in the playground. On the one hand, I'm happy to discover that my old ass still has a little hustle left in it. On the other, I was up against a five year old who has never played soccer before so it wasn't that big a deal. But still. Don't think I didn't dance when I sent that ball whizzing past her head.

Cheb's got skills for a beginner. Now she wants to play. Never thought I'd be a soccer mom, but it just might happen this year.

That Jaeger Cadiz? Discontinued for a reason. Both sleeves are done, and I started on the back. The skein I'm using is seriously misbehaving, and I may be short a skein or two (though I did find another in the closet). I'm going to put it on hold for a few days and see how I feel. In the meantime, I received my Vogue Knitting in the mail and fell for this hoodie. Already I'm up to the armhole on the back. I must have it. I'm using stash yarn (not like I can run out and buy yarn anymore); Cascade Quatro in color 81. I don't think I have enough, which will surely lead to heartbreak but I'm going to knit on anyway.

I think I actually like getting angry at my knitting.

Oh, and I wanna say hi to beanqueen!! I've gotta find your email. And again, congrats. You deserve it!

Cotton comes to Brooklyn

Over the weekend I put away the wool and brought out the lightweight yarn. Cotton, silk, linen, bamboo... yum. I don't yet know what to do with all the All Seasons Cotton (and there's a LOT of it), but I've started in on the Jaeger Cadiz.

I'm making the shrug pullover from Interweave Knits Spring 2002 issue. The color (#078, slate) is weird: depending on the light it looks purple, or gray, or steel blue. Ages ago I made Bob from Knitty in green Cadiz, and it was great- for a while. Then it began to stretch. This time I'm working it at a smaller gauge and using a pattern with seaming and a little texture. I'm hoping that holds it up a bit; I really love the feel of this yarn. It would be a shame if it stretches out no matter what pattern I use.

Short post, no? I'm recovering. A tummy virus is sweeping through Cheb's school. Somehow it passed her by and went straight to me. Lovely.

Viruses, Parasites, and Orthodontia

Oh my!

I've been laying low this week. First, my computer was hit with malware and it has taken up hours days of my time trying to get rid of it. I think I've finally done it. We'll see. To those who create malware: can't you use your powers for good?

The wormwood seems to have done its job; after a week of eating little more than yogurt I'm ready for stronger stuff. Like Cheerios. Actually, I'm pretty much back to normal in that respect. There is one side effect to the wormwood: it also triggers menstruation. So now I'm on my third period in 30 days (flying also brings it on for me). Enough already.

Yesterday I saw my orthodontist. She says I'm 100% improved from when I came in, and 95% of where I should end up. I think her math needs work.

I haven't had a chance to upload the Moscow photos; too busy battling evil malware. Hopefully I'll get around to it this weekend. I'm taking it real slow.

Travailogue Four: I can’t wait to go home, but I don’t want to leave

Two weeks just isn’t enough time for sightseeing and doing the “family thing.” Especially when the cold and the walking and the trying not to bust one’s ass on the sheets of ice buried under the snow wears you down. At first I was ready to see everything the city had to offer; then I became content with what I’d seen already. I was tired.

In one of my wanderings I found myself in front of a big, imposing, official building. There were military police all round it, and a big sign that I just couldn’t interpret. I figured I’d better get my ass out of there. I dashed across the street and looked it up in my guidebook after I’d gone a few blocks. Lubyanka: former KGB headquarters. Yikes.

Every time I went walking around the city I’d see the militsii stopping people and checking IDs. Every time. Usually they stopped males that were sort of olive-skinned. The militsii alternate between looking seriously bored and seriously pissed off. And yes, in those uniforms some of them were sort of cute, but that there’s some rough trade. You don’t wanna mess with that. I’m told they’ll “fine” you for the slightest thing, and detain you for less than that. So I tried to steer clear, and if I couldn’t, I’d try to look like I knew where I was going. Once on the Metro, I was pushing my way onto the escalator like everyone else. I was horrified to realize that I had just nudged a soldier. He didn’t say anything, but I tell you that was the longest escalator ride evah.

Twice Beavis and Cheb accompanied me on sightseeing trips. Both times the temperature dropped to an almost unbearable level, and both times what we’d gone to see was closed. When we went to the Cathedral of Christ the Redeemer, not only did a windy snowstorm kick up but the place was closed. (We went back days later, and I bought namesake icons for Beavis and Cheb). The next day, I was determined to have a picture of Cheb in Red Square. She didn’t want to go. When we finally convinced her, we arrived at the square to find it closed. How the hell do you close Red Square?? But it was the morning after a big snowstorm so I guess they had to clean it. I did get a shot of her trying to open the big iron gates.

Travailogue 3: Who do I have to kill for a salad?

I love Russian food. Sometimes I go to the gastronom in my neighborhood and buy pre-cooked meals by the pound. Cheb loves it too; when her father  was a bouncer in a local nightclub/restaurant, she got to sample all types of food. She can knock back caviar and tongue in aspic and mayo-or-sour-cream-covered anything like a pro. Wouldn’t surprise me if she’d had a shot of vodka by now. So I wasn’t worried about the food in Moscow being strange, or disagreeing with us. I was even looking forward to it.

What I forgot was that: a) it is winter, and vegetables aren’t as plentiful as they are in the US, and b) who eats vegetables, anyway?

Let me say, at the risk of sounding like a mean, unappreciative bitch, that the only times I had any problem with Grandma we were in the kitchen. Either she loaded enough food on my plate to feed 3 of me, or she prepared something I simply could not bear to eat. But I ate it anyway (though there were a few times I slipped the offending food onto Beavis’ plate when Grandma wasn’t looking).

It was rare that Grandma wasn’t looking. There were times when I thought, damn- won’t this woman ever stop hovering?? I just wasn’t used to all the attention; when my mother was alive she didn’t hover as much (but then, she had six children which I guess cut into the amount of time she could hover over each one). Zina was always there, in the tiny kitchen, piling more food on our plates and constantly asking, “Vkusna? Yes? Have more.” Even she joked about herself that she would cook enough for the entire building, but then she’d fret that the food would go to waste.

Travailogue Two: Elektricheskiy Boogaloo

First off, what the hell is up with the weather today? Is NY jealous because I said Russia has a real winter? Okay- I get it. Enough already. (But- I did enjoy slogging through the snow, with Umaturman blasting in my headphones. Kinda felt like I was back in Moscow.)

Anyway… my first trip on the Metro was with Beavis and Cheb. We went to Arbat, an old street lined with souvenir shops and restaurants. We didn’t stay long because it was freakin’ cold. And very windy. I wasn’t interested in buying nesting dolls or fur hats, so I didn’t really look at anything but the beautiful buildings. But you couldn’t pay me to take my hands out of my pockets to take pictures. Cold.

Some of the streets are very wide and you cross them by using an underpass, some of which have small kiosks selling food, gifts, cd’s, etc. I’m glad I learned that early on; it helped to know that when I began walking around by myself. Otherwise I'd have never crossed any of the streets. We came out of the underpass in front of this huge mall on Arbatskaya Street  I heard this weird Euro-disco version of “Harvest for the World” blaring from a casino.

The next day I decided to take the Metro to Red Square. Armed with a map of the routes and some directions from Beavis, I set out alone after the morning rush hour. My Russian isn’t all that great, but I can read Cyrillic pretty well. I had the names of the stations and I was set. The guidebook suggested I get off at Ploschad Revolutsii, but Beavis pointed me toward Okhotnii Ryad, saying it was closer. We’ll see.

But- what to do on the train? At home I’d knit, but I didn’t want to stand out anymore than I imagined I did. Nor did I want to read a book in English. So, I did what I do at home when I don’t want to be bothered: put on my Walkman with the big headphones. That’ll work. I listened to Gbemi’s ‘80s mix, which made me smile. A good thing, since I was a bit nervous: what if I got lost? What if the police ask for my ID?

Travailogue, part one

The first in a series of long-winded posts about my trip. Consider yourselves warned.

Let’s start at the very beginning… at 1:30 on the day I was to leave for Russia I picked up our visas. It was cold as heck (and very windy). I dragged a grumpy Cheb to midtown to pick them up, and then we raced back home to pick up our luggage and cab it to the airport. Our driver was from Moldova- he was surprised that I knew anything about the place. But you know what? If it weren’t for the Peace Fleece I bought, I wouldn’t. Heh.

We arrive at JFK three hours before our flight. I ask a worker where the Aeroflot desk is. He looks confused, but points me toward it. I wait on a short line, though there are no workers behind the desk. There is one JFK employee walking around giving directions. He sees me and walks all the way over to ask if its really Aeroflot I want. Later on, another employee asks me the same thing. Is it really that surprising?

The Aeroflot workers stroll in an hour later and we’re checked in. We breeze through security, and the screeners joke around with Cheb- she knows the routine by now, we’ve been screened so much in the past few weeks. With about an hour to kill, we grab a bite to eat and watch the planes take off. I finally start to realize what I’ve gotten myself into.

The purpose of your visit?

Pretty much this:

It soon became clear that 'visit Grandma' was a distant second on Cheb's list of things to do in Russia. Most of the time Zina and I were left alone in the kitchen drinking tea and complaining about our "kids" while they ran wild through the apartment.

This is where I stayed: a section of Moscow called Marino.

That's the Moskva River on the left, and the foreground is a lake/inlet/pond thingy, frozen over. In the early mornings you see old men ice fishing in the holes they made. In the afternoons, kids slide down the hill onto the ice on sleds and cardboard boxes. Zina's building looks just like the one on the right. In fact, it is a HUGE complex of buildings; kind of like a densely packed Starrett City.

Some days I'd take the Metro (by myself!) to the center of the city; with 2 or three exchanges, it would take 45 minutes to an hour to reach Red Square and the surrounding areas. Cheb calls the Metro the "M train" because of the giant M on top of the entrances.

Jet lag is a real beeyotch. And I swear we traveled back in time: left Moscow at 3pm, arrived at 6pm on a 9.5 hour flight. We've been awake since 4am. I finally thought I'd post a bit, but my brain's not really working all that well. I may also be suffering from caffeine withdrawal: I developed a serious black tea addiction there.

Back on Monday with more pics and a real post.

Oof!

I'm home. I need a day or two to readjust (especially to this absolutely balmy weather).

Hope this will tide you over: