Unfurnished Brooklyn

So who needs coffee Kit Kats?

When you have this?

Pumpkin. Ice. Cream. Yummy. Limited time, people. Hop to it.

Yesterday was the Halloween Dance at Cheb's school. I'm amazed at how many princesses there were from Cheb's class alone. Cheb was a vampire- okay, more of a vampire princess. A parent got our names mixed up and asked me what "Iris" was dressed as. She looked confused when I answered "a burnt-out parent."

It was a nice party. It was really cute seeing Cheb with her little girlfriends, dancing and playing and hitting me up for candy. I flirted mightily with Hot Papa- oh, did I ever mention Hot Papa? The father of a girl in Cheb's class. No chance of anything happening there, but damn. Papa's hot.

Today we fed the birds on the boardwalk. I don't know what they're called (other than the gulls, there were two other types), but I know this: they're a bunch of jerks. Nearly beat me down for my bag of popcorn, especially this puny one I named "Little Caesar." He wouldn't stop screeching, and he pushed all the other birds out of the way. Then kept hopping dangerously close to me on those little matchstick legs. And would fly up and hover about a foot away from my face, waiting for me to throw the popcorn. Cheb was helping me, but she wisely moved away when 20 more birds came from outta nowhere, looking for food. Sheesh. I thought pigeons were bad....

Have a good weekend. Me? I've off to spend the weekend on No Man's Land Staten Island.

Can I get a witness?

I spent the weekend up (waaaaay up, in the Bronx) at my sister's. I had to return her spare key and she invited me to her church for Friends and Family Day. I don't normally go to church: I'm kind of a Christmas Catholic. I might go once a year, and I sometimes do the Lent thing just to keep my hand in. But the Catholic church and I part ways on a lot of issues- so many that I 'm not quite sure why I still consider myself Catholic.

But anyway. We went to my sister's Baptist church. My sister has gotten very religious in the last few years, and I've been a little worried. I thought it might create a rift between us: what if she tries to save my triflin' ass? But I worried for nothing. She has never said anything about it, other than offer the rare invitation to her church for some special occasion. So it seems I'm the one with the problem.

Before we left, I told Cheb that we would have to be quiet and sit in our seats for a long time. We live between two very different houses of worship, and we've discussed what goes on there, so she wasn't completely in the dark. My sister explained that she might see people crying, but that meant that they were happy. Then we made jokes about people backflipping down the aisles like in The Blues Brothers. I'm glad her sense of humor hasn't changed.

The church was very nice (though, I'm spoiled by the gilded, ornate churches I saw in Bahia and Moscow); the members were really nice, and not creepy at all. Very welcoming. And of course they had me crying not five minutes into the service: their choir is amazing. Cheb sang the chorus along with them. She really got into the music, which is the reason I sometimes let my godmother drag me to her all-dang-day long services at her church. The music. That's what I recall about the first Baptist service I ever went to: there was a drummer, guitarist, bassist, and keyboard player rocking out. I still remember the tune; even the choir shut up and let them do their thing. At my sister's church, one of the ministers (who'd greeted me at the door), was tearing up the bass guitar.

So. The service was nice, and it was relatively short. We sat with a group of my sister's friends, and they slipped us candies and crayons for Cheb (who didn't fidget until the last 15 minutes). When it was over, no one bothered me. They thanked me for coming, said they hoped they'd see me again, and went on to their meetings and greeting their friends. So I came away feeling better about it: I'm not so worried about my sister becoming a "Jesus freak." Just because I'm disillusioned with religion doesn't mean anyone else has to be. Lesson learned.

I already knew that...but. Still.

I have five skeins of a yummy, fantabulous, chocolate brown alpaca/silk blend that's been in my stash for a couple of years. Yes, I often take it out and fondle it, but I always put it back. It's not enough for a sweater, but I haven't found a project worthy of it. I'm thinking Flower Basket Shawl. I wish I knew the yardage; I got it off eBay, and I can't find the labels. I keep thinking NK is the name, but Googleing NK yarn gets me horse racing sites. Anyway... I'm not a shawl type of gal, but I'm thinking that's the way to go.

Rosa

If you'll excuse me...

...I'm going to retire to my couch with some yarn and herbal tea and some motherwort. For the second time in two weeks. Clearly there is something going on.

In other news, WHY WAS I NOT INFORMED OF THIS???

    (click to embiggen)

If I could get off the couch, I'd go searching for some today. Ironically, when I most need it, I can't go get it. Tomorrow, though, it is on.

You can't knit with an IV (Or, The Story That Isn't As Bad As You Think)

I know. I tried and it didn't work. It felt awkward, like I was going to yank it out of my arm or something. And I wasn't working on anything big; just a Broadripple sock in Koigu KPPM on two circs. About the pattern: I like it, but I'm not too crazy about the waviness of the top, though it does stretch out when worn. The pattern works well in... what? What's that? "Screw the sock, what about the IV?" Fine, if you want to talk about that....

Bwown

Bwown. That's another one of those things that only I find funny. One of those you-had-to-be-there stories: drunk lady in coatcheck, lost her ticket, I asked her to describe her coat and all she could say over and over was "bwown." See? You had to be there.

Anyway, bwown. I have all this bwown yarn (note to Regina: one is very scwatchy), and I don't know what to do with it. I bought the yarn 2 years ago, and I guess I was in a bwown phase. This weekend, while everyone else was whooping it up in Rhinebeck, I cast on the bwown Lite-Lopi, hoping to make this masterpiece. But I started a few rows (and after the Silk Garden, it was like knitting with matted hair), and realized that the cable pattern doesn't stand out very well. That's a lot of work, and what's the point if you can't see it?

The next bwown yarn is Rowan Chunky Tweed. I'm making the Urban Aran from Patons, but the gauge isn't working out too well. You can see the cable pattern better than with the Lite-Lopi (the Rowan is a mix of light & dark bwown), but I'm wondering if it will come out like something HR Giger designed. I have some orange Patons Shetland Chunky (acrylic? gasp! clutch the pearls!!) to use, but I love the Rowan and I really want to use it in something.

I'll figure it out. In the meantime... how cute is this?

Raindrops keep fallin' on my head...

I'm going to say this out loud: I kinda like the rain. I love the sound of rain. Love it. It sucks for Cheb, though: no post-school playground. And yes, she is literally bouncing off the walls. But we did some serious puddle-jumping today, so she's starting to see some reason to like the rain.

The downside? Don't want to shlepova in the rain to the laundromat, but I don't want to go down into the scary, damp basement to use the building's washers either. Hmm.

I wanted to post pics of the completed Butterfly, and the quickie hat I made with yarn-swap Kureyon (really wish I could recall whose yarn I took), but I can't. I think my long-suffering camera is finally done in. Bad enough that the shutter button fell off and I have to use a dpn, but Cheb was playing with the memory card, put it in the wrong way, and jammed it well in there. Sigh.

So I'll have to settle for recounting all the embarrassing things I did this week:

• at the Aquarium, I walked face-first into the wall of jellyfish, trying to get a closer look. Mind you, I go there damn near every week. I should know better.
• slopped conditioner on my hair, then wrapped it in plastic, put a stretch cap over it, and then a Koigu cap I made. While picking Cheb up from school, my umbrella snagged the Koigu cap and I walked around with it dangling just above my tacky-stretch-capped head.
• changed the litter box, and walked half a block with a plastic bag of used kitty litter in my hand.
• got caught trying to break into my own mailbox (lost the keys somewhere in my apartment).

Oh, there's more. But a girl has to have some secrets....

This just in: fixed a bowl of homemade garlic/chicken soup, reached into the cabinet to get the pepper, a spice jar flew out and landed right in the bowl, splashing me (and coating my glasses) with soup. Oh, and my hot neighbor was visiting.

Iris needs you

To get started, all Iris needs is an occasional "topic name."

Or a good meme, like this one: Google your name, followed by "needs."

• Iris needs to know from you what's going on, so tell Iris.
• This Iris needs plenty of water throughout the season to continue to looks its best.
• Soft, sweet and soooo affectionate, dear Iris needs a home.
• Iris needs more fund-raising.
• I think Iris needs to be explicitly mentioned in the proposed policy.
• Iris needs your vote, and she needs your financial support, too.
• It is about a girl named Iris who needs, no, must have a bra!
• The CIS publishes a 24 page newsletter four times a year (January-April-July-October) to accommodate the needs of Canadian Iris enthusiasts.
• Iris - you need a plan to succeed.
• Every Blog Needs an Iris Photo. (preferably doing "the Brownsville")
• You need to be within 18 inches of the iris.
• Iris needs to back up a large volume of database data daily.
• Let's take a closer look to find out what Iris needs...
• Iris needs to raise a staggering £5000.  (or 20 bucks. Whatever.)
• Iris needs to embrace technologies.
• Iris needs a specific color adjustment.
• Not every Iris needs to be a fancy flower.
• Iris needs assessment.

And the best of all:

All garden enthusiasts agree: the Bearded Iris needs no supporting visuals to
make a statement.

Escapism: it works for me.

I swear I've cleaned the same room a thousand times in the past week and it never seems to get clean. I've been so focused on that room that the bedroom has gone straight to hell. There is laundry piled to the ceiling, waiting to be washed. Ha. And apparently there is a 3-year limit to anything purchased at Ikea. The stuff I bought when I first moved to this apartment is starting to break down.

Does this get me down? Naw. I'll get it together some day. And besides: I'm used to chaos.

Today, instead of looking at this mess I hit the rainy streets with Cheb and we went to see Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit. Loved it. Lots of jokes that go way over kids' heads. Laughed out loud many times. Especially at the really stupid jokes. (Constable- "I believe it was arson." Townsfolk- "Arson?" Constable- "Yes. Somebody's arson around!" Nyuk nyuk.)

And the bunnies? Cute. And the characters were great. Especially Lady Tottington.

Go see it.

How to eff up a perfectly good recipe

I was making dinner and thought, You know what would go really well with this? Chocolate chip cookies. So I very hastily slapped together the ingredients. And then I realized that I had only two eggs left, and heaven forfend that The Lady Cheburashka does not have her scrambled eggs in the morning. And I didn't feel like running to the store. So.

I substituted cornstarch for the egg. It worked before, why not now? But folks, that wasn't the problem. Here's where I once again prove that I should not be allowed near an oven: I am also out of baking powder*, so I get the bright idea that baking soda will work just as well. And then I forget that I had halved the recipe, and put in twice the amount of baking soda that I intended to. I ended up with grainy, slightly fizzy (shudder) cookies and I'm still trying to get the taste of baking soda out of my mouth. Ack.

Fortunately Cheb fell asleep before the cookies were done. She's feeling especially diva-ish today and I probably would've gotten beaten with a cellphone had she tried one of my horrible cookies.

I'll explain her diva-ish-ness as soon as I get some photos.

*My neighbor, who lost all her belongings in a fire, has borrowed my shopping cart. So shopping is now just for necessities, not the stroll-down-the-aisle-and-buy-stuff-you-don't-need trips that I love so much.