Playing hooky...

All work and no play make Diane something something. Boy has the day off from school and has graciously consented to go to a movie with me (despite there not being any action movies or Will Ferrell comedies in the theaters), so I need to spend my computer time writing assignments, not blogging. So in addition to playing a little hooky from work, I'm playing hooky from the blog, too.

Besides, I haven't seen a movie in 2009 yet, and I'd like to see more than one of the five films nominated for Oscar's Best Picture nominees. Maybe I can get a future blog post out of it.

Confessions of a Knitwit

The first step to overcoming a problem is admitting you have one, right? Well, I'm not so sure I really have a problem. Really, I'm just being productive. Keeping my hands busy. I can stop at any time. [Looks down at photo.]


Sigh. Hi everyone. My name is Diane and I'm addicted to knitting scarves.

Can you really blame me? Yarn is so colorful and shinee. Yarn is soo soft and fuzzee. Yarn is so cheap: I can make a scarf for under $10, and often under $5. And scarves are so easy to make. Unlike the sweater I started two (three? four?) years ago that is only half-finished, scarves require no thought, no row counting, no planning. Just knit knit knit (and occasionally purl purl purl) and before you know it, I have a scarf. (Or sometimes you have the scarf. I often get too much yarn and make an extra or two.)

It started simply: I thought it would be nice to have a maize-and-blue scarf to wear to Michigan football games, especially the really cold ones in November. I bought some feathery yarn—feather/fluff/chunks mean you can use big needles and thus fewer stitches—and voila! Matching M scarves for my mom and me. I picked up a couple of ombre patterns (the changing colors mean you get a multicolored scarf without fussing with changing yarn), and I was off! I'm particularly susceptible to clearance yarn: the scarf on the far left was only $1 a skein, and one skein was enough for a scarf. Well, after a bit of reknitting. I have been known to unravel everything and start over, changing the pattern or size. With my most recent addition, the extremely soft blue scarf fourth from the left, I used almost the entire 100g skein before deciding it was too short and I should start over with fewer stitches. So what if I ripped up all that work—I got to reknit the whole thing!

It's fun! It's cheap! It's pretty! So don't tell me I have a problem. At least not if you want me to knit you a scarf.

The Word Nerd Sez: I is for ...

inauguration

I haven't been able to escape this word for the past week, and certainly not today. It's understandable; a lot of people, myself included, are excited about the new president finally taking office. Then there are the crowds! The speeches! The ball gowns! What's really piqued my interest, though, is the etymology! Hearing the word over and over made me wonder: does it mean anything that inauguration contains the word augur* in it?

After perusing the dictionary for a while, my hunch was confirmed: inauguration is from the Latin inauguratus, meaning to practice or consecrate through augury. For those of you who aren't geeks for Roman mythology and culture like I am, an augur was a diviner, someone who purported to tell the future by reading omens. Sometimes those omens were found the flight of birds, or by looking at patterns made by casting animal entrails on the ground. Some speculate that the word "augur" itself comes from the Latin avis, meaning bird. Most linguists, however, think the evidence indicates the origin is from the Latin aug-, meaning to increase or augment.

I find it fascinating that the word we use to describe the ceremonial induction of the president is related to an ancient pagan ceremony. As I read further on the subject, the augur's role wasn't really to foretell the future, but to indicate whether a decision already made would find favor with the gods. I guess that's not too different from how our democracy works. We decide who should best represent us in the government, and then pray like hell they'll do the right thing. Hopefully our new president, with the help of the Congress and even ordinary people like us, will win Fortune's favor in the coming four years. We sure could use it.

*Not to be confused with the word auger, a tool for boring holes, which derives from the Old English word for spear.

Photo of the Week--1/12/09

Here's the last of my Antarctica photos for a while (I have plenty of cold and snow around me, I don't need any more reminders). This is an iceberg floating in the waters off the Antarctic Peninsula. One of our excursion was a boat tour among the icebergs, where we saw several varieties of seals sunning themselves. We also saw lovely colors and formations in the ice itself, and I love all the blues in this photo.

Clio blogs! Shhhhh...

Never mind what my shrimpy little sister says, I'm the top cat in this household. I'm in charge of everything, actually. My plot for world domination is all going according to plan. Callie is obsessed with FRESH CHICKEN; and I must admit, FRESH CHICKEN is extremely tasty. More important, however, are my ongoing efforts to bend my people to my will. They are undergoing my Pavlovian training without even knowing it; it is quite easy to fool humans, really. Today the Toy Lady is out to lunch, leaving the computer free. Like any megalomaniacal supervillain bent on world domination and on the cusp of success, I must therefore reveal my plans to the world so that they may admire my genius. The Toy Lady will never find out; besides possessing a heavenly beauty, I am also a master of camouflage, as you can see from this photo.

The goal of Pavlovian training is to induce an automatic response from the training subject, and I am confident I have achieved this goal. The instrument of training is the "toy" known as the Cat Dancer, a simple tool with which I control the Toy Lady's behavior. With just one movement and a simple command phrase, I induce the Toy Lady to pick up the toy and twirl it around like a crazy person. The method is simple: I lie on the floor, emphasizing my natural cuteness, and give a series of coded chirps. The Toy Lady picks up the Cat Dancer and I reward her by chasing it.

By now, she is so well trained that it does not matter what time of day I give her the signal; she will respond. Last night, for instance, I brought the "toy" outside her sleeping quarters and gave the signal. (I'll admit, I might have had to meow very loudly a couple times, but she is lazy and it is very difficult to wake her up at 2 am.) Still, several minutes' effort aroused her from her slothful slumber and brought her to me, where she picked up the "toy" and threw it down the stairs. AhHaHaHaHaHAHAHAHA! She is completely under my control, and soon will put into effect further plans to place the world under my dominion. Do not think I am foolish enough to reveal those plans; I've watched enough James Bond films to know I should keep some secrets.

Just in case you do not believe me, I offer proof that I am the one in total control (and that my sister is an idiot). If the Toy Lady should try to warn the world of my upcoming domination, no one will believe her. I am just an innocent kitty cat...

The Quilt Files, Episode 6

A couple years back, after I'd been quilting for a while, I realized I hadn't actually finished any quilts to be used in my own home. I'd finished a wall hanging or two, and given away a few baby quilts and a queen-sized as a wedding gift (subjects for future episodes), but I hadn't actually completed something for one of our bedrooms. Since I was in the middle of quilting a queen-sized project, and piecing a king-sized for my own bed, the choice was obvious: make a quilt for Boy. (Full-sized bed=obvious choice.)

The choice was probably spurred by an upcoming birthday, because birthdays mean discounts at my favorite fabric store, Viking Sewing Center. I borrowed a pattern from my mom, got color preferences from Boy, and headed over to browse their wonderful selection of Batiks. I found enough variations in three color groups that I could play around with the simple large square/skinny post/small square pattern. Through careful arrangement, I turned it into this:


(Oh no, I've revealed Boy's initial on the internetz! He will never forgive me!) This pattern was easy to piece together, and I stitched in the ditch in one of my first attempts at machine quilting. It didn't take long to finish, and I haven't had to buy a blanket for Boy since. I'm hoping he'll want to take it with him to college (if he's outgrown the anything-to-do-with-Mom-is-babyish stage by then), but if not, I'll enjoy the bright colors and pretty patterns.

There's no pleasing some people....

It's January and football season is almost over {sob}, so of course I'm going to talk about baseball. I wouldn't call myself a rabid baseball fan, but I enjoy attending games and I usually keep up with what the Tigers are doing. The year of their last championship, 1984, I attended around a dozen games in person, and still remember watching Jack Morris throw a no-hitter on TV. I'm not obsessed with statistics, but I do like looking at numbers and thinking about historical debates. So I consider myself more than a casual fan, and thus just as qualified as any other internet geek to comment on the recent Hall of Fame induction of Rickey Henderson.

Now, as long as I can remember following baseball, I can remember Rickey Henderson. He began playing in 1979 and soon became known for his base-stealing ability. I liked watching him, not only for his amazing speed, but because he always looked like he was having fun out there. He played until he was 44 (he couldn't have needed the money, with over $40 mil in career salary), and even spent part of the 2001 season in the minors, hoping to come back to the Big Leagues. That year, when he was just a year younger than I am now, he played 123 games for the Padres and stole 25 bases.

If you look at his career statistics, they're amazing: #1 all-time in stolen bases (1,406) and runs scored (2,295). Second all-time in walks (2,190), 21st in hits (3,055); he had some power to go along with his speed, too, for his 297 home runs rank in the top 125 all-time. His 81 leadoff homers are baseball's all-time best, too. He was no slouch in the field, winning a Gold Glove, and won the AL MVP in 1990. He was a 10-time All-Star and, of course, holds the single-season records for stolen bases (130).

So it was no surprise that Henderson made it into the Hall of Fame in his first year of eligibility. He needed 75% of the vote from the Baseball Writers' Association of America, and got 94.8%, or 511 of 539 possible votes. Which made me wonder: what were those other 28 people thinking? Henderson was a bit outspoken (often confusingly so), but there's no taint of scandal surrounding him. If baseball's all-time leader in stolen bases and runs isn't a no-brainer for the Hall of Fame, what is? What else do they need to see?

"I'm sorry, Rickey, but I don't vote on the first date."
"I'm sorry, Rickey, but your teams only went 2-of-3 in the World Series."
"I'm sorry, Rickey, but you didn't prevent the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake."
"I'm sorry, Rickey, but I can't vote for anyone with an unnecessary 'e' in his name."

I guess some folks just can't be satisfied.