A Very Long Scarf

It's been a while since my last post. A lot has happened since: Barack Obama is our first African American president (yay)... but we're now in a recession riddled with lay-offs (boo)... the scandalous Atlantic Yards Project fiasco is has reached an end due to a bad economy (yay)... but as Forest City Ratner (the developer) lays off workmen FCR has left Prospect Heights in ruin (boo)... bush is forced to finally admits that we've been in a recession since last December (duh).

I had a flush of work after an odd drought, but at least I had time to re-plaster the water damage in my kitchen (yay). I haven't been writing much, though. I blame this on Epstein Bar (boo). Four blood tests and a $700 bill later, I found out that I have the late-80s chronic fatigue syndrome — I wonder if this classifies as a "retro virus". So now I'm catching up with knitting and Christmas presents (oi vey). This should prove to be an interesting new year 2009.



I finished this 9-foot long scarf for my friend Robert Malek Cole. He's a tall guy (6'3") so this should look like a normal scarf on him. Rob is a director/producer here in New York — and every director/producer needs a Truman Capote-length scarf. I asked my friend Bleu to sit for a prosperity photo before I pass this to Rob.

It looks Hobbit-ish on a smaller person, but Bleu makes it work. She wrapped it a few times around her neck and over her head to make a hood. Women know how to wear scarves. I like his portrait I took of Bleu sitting in Freddy's front window, the winter lighting reminds me of a Vermeer painting ("Black Girl with a Pearl Earring?").







I call this simple scarf "Malek". It's made from five skeins of bulky Berroco Cuzco using the Mistake Rib pattern. The result, a very deep, spongy rib. This alpaca/wool scarf weighs a bit but not as much as if it were 100% wool. 550 yards yeilds 9 feet on #8spn. This long scarf uses about half the yarn it would take to make a large man's sweater. I finished it off with four braids. I hate tassels.



Malek

Size: #8 spn

Yarn: 550 yds. bulky or worsted weight

Cast on 49 sts.
R1: k3, pm, k1, p1; k2, p2 until last 4; pm, k4.
R2: K4, sm k1, p2; k2 , p2 until last 6; k3, sm, K3.
R3: k3, sm, k1, p1; k2, p2 until lst 4; sm, k4.
Repeat R2 and R3 until you have completed a full row and have about 3 feet of yarn left. Bind off.

A Halfling Headcase

My bout with vertigo is finally over, I think, but you can't tell from these pictures I took. In my effort to create Tolkein inspired knits, I've designed three types of hooded scarves for the races of Elves, Men, and Halflings. They're a bit complicated, so I figured I needed to develop some beginner-level projects. This is my Halfling Hooded Scarf, it's simple and requireds some sewing. James was kind enough to lend a helping head.



The main piece of this Hobbit hoodie is a regular rectangular scarf knit in mistake rib , which is a 2 X 2 rib off-set by one stitch. I'm trying other reversable patterns, but I think mistake-rib has a humble appeal that's more fitting of a Hobbit. I originally intended this to be a child's scarf — no buttons nor ties. This would be good for children ages 6 and up.



The hood is formed by sewing a panel at the center back. I used a simple four-strand cable with a slightly different shade of yellow ochre (not "Yellow Oger") just for resolving pattern issues. But this would make a nice two-color scarf. I'm not a big fan of cablework on garments. Most cabled garments are over-designed in my opinion.





The hood can be worn up but it folds neatly on the back when it's worn down. Doesn't this look brooding and mysterious?

Arepas — Good Stuff from Caracas

This has nothing to do with knitting but... arepas are soft Venezuelan corn cakes which are lightly grilled and stuffed with different savory fillings. They’re different from the Mexican huarche, which is topped instead of filled, and similar to the Equadorian pupusa which is stuffed first and then grilled.

Last Wednesday I art directed and styled a food shoot for photographer Doug Todd. We shot arepas for a restaurant, Caracas, on East 7th street in Manhattan. Mark, Doug, and I got there around 8:00 a.m. just as the prep chefs started their day. Ilsa, the chef, arrived soon after, then the owners Gato and Maribel.

La Sureña: Grilled chicken, chorizo, and avocado slices served with chimichurri, a classic Veneuelan sauce.

De Pollo: Grilled chicken breast, caramelized onion, and cheddar cheese.

La Del Gato: Guayanés cheese, fried sweet plantains, and avocado slices. Gato hightly recommends this one.

La Pelua: Seasoned shredded beef with cheddar cheese.

De Pabellon: Shredded beef, black beans, sweet plantains, and aged cheese.

Reina Pepiada: Chilled chunky chicken and avocado salad, perfect for summer.

It was a long day — creating small sets, hovering over food, overseeing all details. Making food look good for the camera is a small magic act, but it helps when everything tastes so good. Some shots were difficult because the corn cakes and the assembly are very delicate. Everything was absolutely delicious, especially the ceviche. My favorite arepa was La Pelua — seasoned shredded beef with cheddar cheese. Ilsa patiently made everything for the shoot as we needed it, including the tostones.

Spinning

The nurse checked my blood pressure and weight and told me the doctor would be in soon. Some time had passed, I grew tired of staring at the framed etchings of cotton tail and grey squirrel. I got up from the table and read some of the "commonly mistaken medication" chart on the door. "Celebrex (arthitis relief)" "Celexa (anti-depressant)", the mix-up could prove comically tragic for geriatrics and manics alike.

The doctor asked me to sit down on the table. The crunch of perma-wrinkled protective paper sounded like fire. "Your blood pressure is fine — 126/170, no throat infection. How long have to you had vertigo?" I told her since Saturday, it had been 5 days since. I told her I was better but I still have sporadic episodes of "spinning." She did more tests. "Have you ever had this before?" I said twice. I laid back on the table. With both hands she gently turned my head to the right. Whoa! the whole room spun again as if I were on a roller coaster. It took me a while to get my bearings straight. "OK, now the other way." I think I yelled holy crap. Then she sat me up and tapped on my forehead amd temples. It felt my senior years flashed before of me as my brain hit the back of my skull. I could hear the fluid in my head make a dull reverberating thud.

She examined my ears and throat again, said they were clean, and told me that I had a problem with my labyrinth from my cold. "At this point, you just have to ride it out for a few more days. Walk slowly, don't drink any alcohol, drink lots of fluids and immune boosters, rest... and no coffee, it dries out your ears." No coffee? That's where I draw the line. Hmf. She gave me two presciptions and told me to come back if the vertigo persists. "Any questions?" "Who came up with this BMI chart. I haven't weighed 158 pounds since I was 12." She laughed "Not us."

Stephanie waited for me in the lobby. I'm glad she was there for me. You never really appreciate someone's support as much as when you're sick. I really don't like going to the doctor's office — for God's sake there's sick people in there. We've been back together for a few months now, but announcing it is slow. One Sunday morning last month when I was over at Steph's, I got up early and said I'd get some bagels for breakfast. Surprised, I ran into Eleanor and Marc on Montague. They're never around on Sunday. They asked what I was doing in the Heights so early. Instead of explaining that Stpeh and I were back together I just said "I'm a little hung-over, where is your bagel shop?" It seemd a bit complicated for morning conversation. Of course that led a string of phone messages that went "Are you OK, call me back?"

Pharmaphoebia? I have a fear of meds, or rather, a healthy respect for the side effects. Other than the sporadic spinning, momentary confusion and fatigue, I'm actually fine. Steph treated me to breakfast and went with me to pick up my meds.

After The Fall

Fall 2008 officially started this past Monday. Oddly it coincided with the fall of Lehman Brothers and Washington Mutual. "Wamu" declared $billion debt in delinquent and defaulted mortgages. This comes after the summer when mortgage giants Fanny May and Freddy Mac went belly-up. One has to ask, "What's next?" The talk of a "depression" hit Wall Street as CEO's jumped with multi-million dollar parachutes and newly-fired employees lined the streets in a daze, boxes in hand, as they were escorted from their buildings. But no one wants to officially admit we have been in a recession for quite some time now. The feds met all through the weekend to find a Federal bail-out solution, all courtesy of the American tax payer. I imagined the Four Riders of the Apocalypse riding down Flatbush asking "Which way to the bridge?"

I turned off the morning news and went out to get my day started over coffee. As a I stood in the line listening to the buzz of worry and discontent, a familiar voice called out "Hey stranger, aren't you gonna say hello!" It was Robin, she had just come back to Brooklyn after teaching for two years in Micronesia, my home turf. She's been trying to adjust back to New York, people, pace, food... etc. Although island life sounds ideal it has it's short comings. As Robin reflected, life on Majuro isn't what she originally thought. Of the five native fruiting trees native to Majuro, two are Breadfruit and Pandanas, staples that are high in starch. Most of the local food is fried since potable water isn't always reliable.

Spam™ and ramen are usual fare for lunch and dinner. Most fresh American goods are very expensive. For that matter, the cost of anything that's air-freighted is dear — a crate of strawberries $9. Other American imports are obecity and diabetes, modern problems on an ancient island. Of the three islands that comprise the Majuro Atoll the total land area is 3.75 miles square (9.7 km²). It's hard to believe most people don't walk everywhere. On the other hand the catch of the day is always fresh and life is simple on the Marshall Islands. Coconuts and papaya are free for picking. The lagoon is always clean and warm. Robin enjoyed her time away, she loved the people, was fond of the rainy season, learned to play the uku-lele and saw glorious sunsets. Is that so bad? It must be odd to leave a quiet pastoral life to come back the sound of Wall Street crashing.

"Living in the middle of a large ocean makes you feel very small." she said. I agreed — it puts a perspective onto the scale of your humanity, especially when you are the only black woman on Majuro. Robin always calls me "brother." I like that. She stills laughs about the time the Jamaican woman from Little Miss Muffin asked if I was a "Black Chinaman." I told Robin to re-join us this winter for knitting. I still have all the yarn that she gave me before she left (and more) and whole sets of needles.

Knit PH at the BMA: August 23, 2008

Marci told us that on her way back from the restroom the guard commented that our knitting circle was knitting in a circle — around a tree. It did look as though we were coaching a tree on the finer points of yarn craft. Lisa, Hibba, and Tracey arrived shortly. The sculpture garden at the Brooklyn Museum is one of my favorite places to knit. It's so quiet and there's always a cool breeze. One would never guess that Eastern Parkway was on the other side of the building.



Marci's winter jacket is in progress, she's almost done.  She completed this beautiful Swiss Cheese scarf crocheted with Noro Silk Garden. The texture reminds me of seaweed or drift wood. She's almost finished with her crochet shawl collar wrap jacket. Eliza and her husband spent some time up in Maine while their floors were being re-sanded. This gave her time to catch up on her dyeing. I love the color of her super-wash roving, she used the local goldenrod. I'm amazed this north eastern weed associated with allergies can yeild a soft sweet-butter color. This will eventually be spun into yarn.



Lisa was almost done with her tank top. I think this is a Nora Gaughan pattern. She used Berroco "Seduce". Lisa ripped out the collar a few times to get the right turn on the edge — body #7, collar and edges #5. She took a break from hosting the August "Knit in the Park". I suppose we can meet outdoors until the season grows too cold and dark. Lisa and I are the smokers in the group. Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's all bad. Smoke. Knit. Purl. Smoke. Blah blah blah.



But Tomo has quit smoking for over two weeks now. I think it's great that she has. On a more colorful note, Tomo is now teaching a seminar at ETSY Labs this Sepetmber here in Brooklyn: Dyeing with Kool-aid. Her dye work is simply gorgeous, with a masterful skill that caustic childhood beverage yeilds a range of beautiful bold colors. So far turn out has been good. People are dyeing to know.



Tomo, Hibba, Lisa and Eliza are test knitting Mannik Monkey and Pax L. Possum for me. Lisa already caught some errors among the typos. I'm working on a "Last Supper" diorama with monkeys for when I launch the Yarn Monkey store. I thought about doing the "14 Stations of the Cross" (the 15th station is for Easter only), but chances are I'd probably get firebombed by some Christian fundamentalist weaver. Maybe "Washington Crossing the Delaware" is more agnostic... and fire-proof.



Across the courtyard, a crew was busy constructing a large platform for the Panarama, the first evening of the West Indian Parade. The parade marks our summer coming to an end. August has been the cooler month of summer, which is highly unusual. The drone of cicadas has almost ceased, completing their 3-week life cycle and the sun is setting a bit earlier. I'm glad Eliza and Lisa took Knit PH outdoors this summer. During the winter, we'll all look back on warm days, a cool breeze and good conversation.

The Right Stuff?

The Mannik Monkey & Pax L. Possum pattern is available through PayPal and Ravelry. To Purchase click below.


Over the weekend I made two more stuffed knit toys as a variation on the Douche Bag doll pattern. This plush, pink creature is named Pax L. Possum, the anti-anxiety marsupial. Anti-anxiety medication is now a common thread in our American fiber, for adults and children alike. We certainly do live in anxious times — personally, politically, economically, globally. But I have no idea what it's like being on meds, I assume it's like having a great weight lifted from one's body for some people.



I actually have an illogical fear of becoming dependant on or addicted to... something.... which I guess makes this a non-specific phobia. Yet I've never been addicted to anything of note — hard drugs, pharmaceuticals, pot, booze, internet porn, gambling, TV... if only I'd ever get addicted to regular exercise. But I might need those extra 20 pounds if another war breaks out and the economy collapses. I owe this all to being a jaded art college student from the 80s.

Doesn't heroin sound so 80s? But as reported on the news it's a growing suburban epidemic. The closest thing I have to an addiction is a cigarette habit and penchant for buying more yarn just because it's on sale. Other phobias I have are a stark fear of electricity, being late, drowning, the sight of my own blood... these are all fairly "garden variety." I blame all these on Catholic school and nuns.



This green fuzzy guy is named Mannik Monkey, a perilous primate with a prehensile tail that you just can't shake. Meds and mania are steady companions. One friend describes his treatment as going "flat" but being able to think properly. So, Manic Monkey doesn't really go away, he just becomes reasonably annoying.



In the opinion of our pharmaceutical industry, addiction and phobia stem from imperfections in one's mind. They recommend a regime of chemical adjustments to the brain that may yield temporary relief from chronic symptoms. Who is looking for perfection? What is so wrong with being the spazzy-geeky kid? They make fine musicians and brilliant scientists. My father, may he rest peacefully, always said if he could wish anything for us kids, it would be that we would be just normal, healthy, and happy. In our modern age that might be asking too much.

Over the course of years, these chemical adjustments always need more adjustment. This might explain why a reasonable person might one day yell out something odd at a random barista, like "I just want half hot water and half coffee! Is that so hard? What is f******g wrong with you people!" We've all been in that coffee line. Brain chemistry is a weird, young science. I don't know if we should be playing with our gray matter so much, especially when it concerns children. Treatments start as young as the age of 9.

Douche-baggery

“Define douche bag?” a friend asked me over a beer. I pointed to the table of loud amateur drunks sitting behind us. They seemed to have confused a bar with their parents’ living room. Maybe that's why they think 50¢ is a decent tip...

So what is a douche bag? In medical terms, a douche bag is a sack used to administer a stream of water into one’s body for hygienic purposes. As a derogatory term it reached popularity in the early 1970’s, but in the HBO miniseries “Deadwood,” bad guy Al Swearengen places its origin at around the 1890’s. Peter Griffin from the cartoon “Family Guy” describes a douche as a person with an unkempt appearance, body odor and an unwarranted sense of accomplishment... (Kevin Federline/Magic Mirror espisode).

Douche bags have grown to include a wider cast of characters and meaning. On the outside one might observe a subclass of hipster with a flat-affect grin, over-priced American Apparel ensembles, ironic secondhand T-shirts, antique glasses that lend an appearance of “smarts,” a socially dysphoric demeanor... but douche-baggery goes beyond appearance, it has become a lifestyle. To better describe those that I've encountered here in New York, I made these demonstrative dolls that are similar to the ones used in family court.

Ph D(ouche)
If Prospect Heights, Park Slope and Fort Greene were a Venn Diagram, a small intersecting area would be labeled "Over-burdened Sense of Accomplishment." Meet the Ph D(ouche) — highly educated yet overly medicated, they no idea how big a douche they are. Often frustrated with those who only hold a BA, they are prone to inaproppriate outbursts. I don't blame these smarties for what they've become. I blame their parents for sticking them on SSRI meds since before the age of puberty. One solution for some parents is to keep their medicated darlings schooled well into adulthood hoping that they learn to play better with others by graduation day... and possibly get a job in publishing. Privilege comes at a price — an average of 36 to 40K a year. But pound for pound, a Doctorate in Poetry is much cheaper than simply locking these darlings up in a Gifted & Talented care facility.

Gurl Interrupted
The word douche bag describes the male component of this urban subculture, the female component is a douche baggette. A common subset of douche baggette is the Gold Digger, a man-hunting coke-head companion who never quite completed a Phd., dropped out of law college after the first year, dabbled in real estate, spent a lot of time in therapy, went back for the Phd then missed the extension deadline again... it all makes great party conversation. It’s so hard to leave the nest when it provides a meal program and the strong possibility of marrying upwards.

A true social chameleon, the gold digger can blend among Southamptonites and common barflies alike — sporting flip-flops, swigging Caiparinas, grabbing at prospective mates like a tree frog reaching for a passing branch. Outside of a shower room or a tropical island, the flip-flop is a beach accessory that makes no sense in an urban setting. In actuality it's a store-bought symbol of humility for the gold digger. Look out guys! It's a trap! The truth is no one really wants to see those dirty dogs at the office or in a restaurant, especially when arriving 45 minutes to an hour late due to foot pain from walking over concrete pavement.

Boy-rexic
Then there’s that skinny smelly kid with the BVDs hanging out of the top of his 70 dollar jeans. 6'4", 85 lbs, his iPod weights more than he does, he lives on candy and Redbull. We’ve all seen the Boy-rexic intern as he arrives an hour and half late for work. Seriously, we all assume he’s wearing underwear, so he need not prove it to strangers. And what’s up with the super-toxic body odor? One has to work very hard to smell that bad, but none of these guys seem to be steadily employed or eager to work. Has good hygiene gone out of style?

The Fixies
As an avid cyclist, my friend Bill has often said that anyone in New York with a $2,000 fixed-gear bike who refuses to wear a helmet is an absolute douche bag. “Fixies,” a cycling subculture, have become the loath of people who actually use their bikes as transportation. The notion of wearing a cycling helmet and using breaks is too conformist for their taste, and it messes up their faux-hawks. But if one can afford that bike, they can certainly afford a legal team and the hospital bill.

Fixies have become two-wheeled harbingers of death for New York pedestrians and other cyclists. As they ride over sidewalks, they yell obscenities at people with baby carriages, slow-walkers, and tourists. So why do Fixies proclaim so much hate for the peds and New York tourists? Fact: no Fixie is actually from New York — yet they think a crap attitude makes them more of a New Yorker. Like migrating Lycra clads birds en route to some place else, they descend upon the city only to text the others and feed, then go back from whence they came.

The Mice Will Play

I have a little mouse problem. Last night two small grey mice ran out in the middle of my rug and wrestled with each other. Before I could decide if I should hurl "The Ground Beneath Her Feet" (Salman Rushdie) or "The Blind Assassin" (Margaret Atwood) at them, they were gone. These books should not be taken lightly, they should be thrown with great force. A few years back I killed a mouse by accident. I had it cornered and was going to trap it with a bowl. Not a real plan, I just happened to be holding a plastic bowl at the time. But then I kicked over a stack of Childcraft Encyclopedia (stoop sale treasure) resulting in rodent blunt trauma from "Stories and Fables." A little knowledge is dangerous, but a pile of books on the floor can be fatal.

Cat's Entertainment
I thought of borrowing my friend Eleanor's cat, Bhindi. I cat-sat him a few months back, he did a great job chewing the buttons off my shirts and he almost destroyed my printer. So I made him a plush blue bug to get his attention away from my printer. It's probably not the best use for baby alpaca.



At first the fetch 'n' throw routine got his attention away from the printer, but he soon abandoned the blue bug and slinked away. Hours later he came back with something else in his mouth — a plastic frog that I kept on my bathroom sink. He wouldn't give it back so I held him down and pried it from his mouth. He really wanted it, he kept biting my leg. Soon "frog on a string" was born — hours of feline excitement.



I can't believe he prefered a plastic frog over a blue plush toy with orange bug eyes and legs. If he could talk he would've said "Mother of God, Look! Forget that damn bug! It's a frog! And it's tied to string!" I thought again about the cat loan, he might be too picky to be a good mouser only bringing back the more entertaining mice.



Anyhow, I went to a few drug stores bewteen meetings. Duane Reade only carries the old wooden "snappers" and poison. One hardware store had this device that captures live mice so you can release them back into the wild (Prospect Park? Queens?). Are glue traps really that unethical? I had a six-toed cat named Benny years back — lovable but not so bright. He even drooled if he got too excited. One day he dragged something back in, batting it around the kitchen floor. It was mouse in a glue trap. It made the worst long shriek I'd ever heard, but not as loud as the growl that Benny made when I took it away from him. I drowned the mouse in the bathroom as Benny hissed and growling at me from the other side of the door. I then disposed of it properly. What a lazy cat.

The Bike Police, They're Coming to Arrest Me

Here's a reason to wear a cycling helmet. On July 25th a Critcal Mass cyclist was assaulted in Times Square, but instead was charged with assualting a police officer. If you look at the video the truth is evident: the cyclist swerves away from the cop, but the cop lunges at the cyclist. On our local message boards the discussion has been "Rogue Cop or Systematic Abuse of Power." I in fact know good cops and detectives, but there are also very bad cops. If the NYPD can defend this officer's claim of being assaulated by a crazed cyclist (again), this is in fact systematic. This harkens back to a New York Metropolitan Police run by the notorious William "Boss" Tweed. So far the officer has been re-assigned to modified desk duty, probably assaulting a crazed copy machine for aggressive paper jamming.

Our criminal court system works as such: if this case is not dropped, the cyclist will probably be in court for two and half years, spending lots of money on a defense lawyer, and then be forced into taking a misdemeanor assualt plea while signing papers stating that he or she can not sue NYC in Civil Court. In the eyes of a DA this cyclist deserves to get something. This practice has become as predictable as weather. "Innocent until proven guilty" is a meaningless catch-phrase in the United States. In other words if you have no monitery means, you can sit in prison for years until you're proven innocent. Just ask Martin Tankleff. "Guilty as entered" upon arrest is the harsh reality.

RNC August, 2004
"Walk this way." That's what many people outisde of the RNC protest area were told by the police. They were mis-lead into a restricted area bewteen police gates, coralled, cuffed, and arrested for unlawful assembly. Entrapment? Not according to billionaire Mayor Bloomberg. The NYPD was simply doing its job — if so, who's giving them directions? No one wants to take reponsibility for false arrests. According to a friend, their sweep included a lost 14-year-old French girl who was separated from her tour group, a woman walking her dog, news reporters, anyone with a camera, and a Chinese food-delivery boy — all declared a danger to our city. Some spent 48 to 72 hours being shuffled from dirty warehouses to "The Tombs" cuffed to each other. I have a legal client that is still represent '04 RNC people who were unlawfully arrested — to this day.

Unlawful Assembly at the Gate of Heavenly Peace
A friend's sister married a man she met during the riot in Tiananmen Square, in Beijing China. Ironically Tiananmen means "Gate of Heavenly Peace." Both of them (Phd student teachers) escaped with their lives and the cash they had in their pockets. They said the Chinese government recruited people from the country who were instructed to use brutal force or kill the city deviants. If one searches YouTube for "RNC 2004", the New York City RNC arrests reside in the cue along side with third-world police violence. The scarey thing is that the violence looks roughly the same. It makes one wonder where we are now. Can you imagine what they'd do to us on World Wide Knit In Public Day?

Mercury: A Cycling Tale

Tadashi A. from Oregon is one of my Ravelry.com friends. He finished making my cycling cap this weekend and is getting started on another one. You so rock! Just check out his skilled work (below). Tadashi is an avid biker, as many Oregonians are. I'm glad to know that my cycling cap isn't just decorative. But be advised, please, please, please, always wear a helmet. I've seen too many bad bike accidents here in New York, most of them involved opened car doors in the bike lane.

Josh advised me on smoking: "Get a bike!" — I've got some vertigo issues and by nature I'm as graceful as an albatross on land. In Brooklyn, me + bike = certain death under a car. Until the NicoDerm patch comes out with "For Senstive Skin with Aloe" I'm smoking ultra-light cigarettes. My straegy is to shame myself into quitting. What kind of moron pays $8.50 for ultra lights? SHAME!

I've actually owned a few bikes in my life time, but I have particularly bad bike Karma. In college I got hit head on by car on my way to work. A car ran a light and threw me over its hood. The driver asked "Mohawk dude, are you OK?" In shock I checked myself and said "I think so." Then he said "Bitchin'" and sped off. I was bruised but fine, but my blue Fuji 5-speed was totaled.

Another time, my college aparment was robbed. It took a day to realize that it wasn't my piggish roommate borrowing my stuff. Our place was in fact ransacked and burgled. Missing: my silver bike, my camera, vinyl, hair gel(??)... but worst of all, the theif had time to make a sandwhich and use the bathroom.

Once on my paper route, I was attacked by a pack of wild boonie dogs. I had to crash my bike and jump a fence. My Huffy's frame was completely bent. "Boonie dogs?" you might be asking. That was Guam in the '70s, they kept the rat snake population down — and overweight 6th-grade paperboys for that matter. I'll tell you, I didn't keep that job for much longer.

Where was I going with all this... anyhow, bikes are cool by me. I like the colors that Tadashi chose, they look very "Timberland". Two color combinations have a clean classic appeal. Three colors need some thinking. Four might look like a clown car, use your best judgement people. I recommend cotton yarns for summer. Tadashi used Cascade Superwash 220, a 100% wool machine-washable wool — that's a plus for an avid biker. Just don't toss it into the dryer, unless you want to shrink it down for a medium-size dog or a child.

This 8-page Mercury Cycling Cap pattern comes in men's M, L, and XL. It's now available for sale via Ravelry.com and PayPal. $10.00 USD.

The Future Is Now

The spectre of Christmas future is haunting us. I sat in a two-hour client meeting with a group of designers on Friday. We are all consulants for Christmas 2009. I presented current packaging, font, color trends, marketing; Suzanne — patterns, fabric trends; Roseanne and Maria — hosting/home-entertaining trends; Jan and Marc — last years production v. sales. I can't disclose the client, breach of interest, non-circumvent situation, et cetera. This topic is not unique, it's what every retailer is trying to resolve by the end of August.

As a group we gave each other valuable insight for Christmas 2009. "Cocooning" (circa 1989) is back, but it's now called "home entertaining". Our American life-styles are greatly influenced by the currrent state of the economy, the Iraq War, patriotism, fuel costs, job lay-offs, and declining realstate values and home sales. In this meeting we hung up our NYC know-how to observe a Heartland America that is addicted to plastic, online and off.

The Social Climate
Wealthy and average folks alike are spending more practically and less luxuriously. Most have just purchased real estate and new cars. Catalogs (online and off) compete heavily with the brick and mortar shops since they usually don't get taxed and shipping is free. Consider that gasoline is now at an average of $4.00/gallon, online shopping lets the store come to you. Maybe part of the solution is to create a mobile store task force and really let the store come to you — a retail RV armada? The more practical things that surround living and maintaining a lifestyle have come to the surface. Is this so bad? We do live in a wasteful society, and our disposable incomes are less disposable.

Trends
"Green Living" or the semblance of being green is even more popular. But in terms of development it means wearing something green, making products the color of green tea, and using the recyle symbol on the back of a carton. I guess that's no differrent from McDonalds offering Mc-salads. Most people would rather buy something "green-ish", since it's too hard (and expensive) to go fully green.

"Home Spun" — not just a concept for hand-dyed yarns. Heartland America wants something hand-made and personalized, but in the end they'd rather buy it half-assemble. The solution is kits and gift sets: cake decoration, scrapbooks, place setings, frames that one can personalize.

"Americana-Nostalgia" particularly current movies and late 70's to early 80's television. As a country that looks fondly on the good times, our recent history portray simpler times and super heros. A pop-culty salad bar made from the Dr. Sues, the Peanuts Christmas Special, Happy Days, Starwars, Batman (any era), Spiderman, Angels, Santa, Disco, Glitter/Glam Rock, so on. It's prevelant from the fashion runway down to us.

We played a little gestlat marketing game. One person would name a Holiday and someone had to yell a movie or TV show off the top of their head. Something like this:
Halloween = "The Adams Family", "Batman", "The Great Pumkin"
Christmas = "The Grinch", "Rudolph", "Frosty the Snowman"

"Color Schemes/Patterns", it's safe to say that the European jewel tones are completely out. Colors are somber, textures are flatter, patterns are cleaner. Stripes and dots are big at the trade shows, same as with clean simple typography and graphics. I honestly believe that most new desingers don't know what clean really means. It's not just a look, it's a design approach and ergonomic philosophy of placing the essentials as opposed to the subtracting the obvious. "Faded Glory" is back — traditional patriotic red, white and blue will be at our tables far beyond the 4th of July and Memorial Day.

I'm not certain where any of this goes but we have to plan on Christams '09 in August '08. It reminds me of a chapter from "The Handmaid's Tale" where no one can remember their own history, so they reconstruct a generic era by assembling a party where the women wear costumes that include nuns, Playboy bunnies, cheer leaders and 1920's flappers.

Knit PH at Freddy's: July 20, '08

A nice small crowd at Freddy's, that meant more AC for us. Eearlier that day Tomo e-mailed me about bringing the yardage counter. It never occured to me that it doesn't convert to meters. She's been in yardage recovery mode — buying stoop sale sweaters and frogging them for yarn. Eliza brought some of her home-spun Kool Aid-dyed yarn, just enough to make a neck warmer. It still had that blackberry and wool smell. Last week Eliza needed a five-foot long branch for the play she and her husband, Christopher, are producing ("Couldn't Say"). I got her in touch with a former co-worker, Barb, at the BBG. It's for a highway scene. We welcomed new member Hibba to our group.



Archie popped by. I told him to drop in if he needed any help with the Mercury cycling cap that I designed. I'm doing some focus testing on Ravelry. I liked his choice of colors, bright yellow and blue in Mirasol "Ti' ki", a very soft Pima cotton. I explained the pattern theory, caught some typos, then turned around and spilled beer on his yarn and print-out. What a mess. I blame the heat. Archie thought about using wool for the cycling cap. He felt that wool might wick moisture better than cotton. I said "I've never seen a wool towel." Mercury would make a nice fall hat in a DK wool, maybe Lang "Silk Dream".



Elle and Victoria showed up. Elle's daughter is looking at colleges, Oberlin seems to be a good candidate. I hadn't seen Victoria in while, she was working on a charcoal grey winter sweater. She also brought her stash down to swift and wind. I worked on some di shapes for a baseball cap, written for intermediate knitters. I'm also getting the braided scarf pattern ready to release on Ravelry. Before the night was up Eliza got up and spilled water on Hibba's work. And what did we learn from the beer spilling episode?

You can't beat AC, beer, and knitting.

Tropical Heatwave

We've had three straight days with evening temps at 90°! Brooklyn is boiling. When I got back to my aparment and opened the door, it felt as if I were checking for bread in an oven. This past Saturday, Matt and Adrianne had their annual summer party. It was a lot more subdued than last years party — with the hotdog eating contest, eww.



I kept hoping it would rain, at least that would've broken the humidity. Everyone pitched in with food — Matt put some burgers and dogs on the grill, I brought a cold tuna casserole, Dan made his Korean shortribs, and Ellen made potato salad. The coolers were generously stocked with beer, but the though of drinking made me a bit queezy. I pointed out to Chris that I designed the label on his beer, "Hop Devil" from Victory. I'm sure he still doesn't believe me. I had grapefruit juice most of the evening. I actually stuck an ice-cold can of beer down the back of my shirt until it went warm.



Every now and then a breeze blew past me. I retreated to the comfort of an airconditioned room with Pat and Paul, but soon enough other people caught on.



These ladies braved the heat in cool cotton dresses. It always helps to smile.



And of course, the kitchen was a hub of activity, no matter how hot and crowded it got. Someone asked how Guam's weather was different from a New York heatwave. Although I don't go back home often, I remember that evening always cooled down considerably. I also think eating a lot of spicey foods help cool the body down.



Jared F. (Brooklyn Tweed) e-mailed me back, we're supposed to get together about knit stuff. He's still out in Oregon, mild 70° weather, clear skies and all. I like his work, I complimented him on the red sweater on his blog — very ingenious. He has many fans among Knit PH, including me.