the jkc project

Hello?

Hey guys - I couldn't help but notice there are still a bunch of people subscribed here.  You might not have noticed, because for awhile I'd go weeks without posting, but the party has moved to:

www.yarnish.com/blog

and I actually post there.  Like almost every day.  So come on over and check it out, and don't forget to update your bloglines!

Jumping off the Cliff

In a good way.

This year has been one long struggle to shift my life to fit the way I want to live.  I've changed jobs, I got married, and now I'm switching careers.

Last week I quit accounting for good, and have tumbled headfirst into the world of freelance writing.  I've picked up a job as a contributing writer for a local newspaper (Look ma!  I'm a reporter!), and am working on a few other projects as well.

I don't know how my training as a CPA has prepared me for any of this, but I'm running in headfirst, and I'm not looking back.

That pretty much sums up how I feel.

A new name, a new life, why not a new home for the blog?  It's time to update your bloglines and sidebars for www.yarnish.com/blog (sorry, I know it's a huge pain in the ass, but this move is for good.)

Come on over and check out my new digs!

Don't Shoot Her!

I had the best 7th grade teacher.

His name was (is) Mr. Thompson, and he was one of those teachers that absolutely loved his job.  Everyone knew it, even the stupid, too-cool-for-school 13 year-olds he taught, because you could just tell.  His domain was the vague subject of Language Arts - the public school equivalent of the subject called English at the Catholic school from which I had transferred.

But he made it more than English, and more than even Language Arts.  Mr. Thompson made his class project-based, in the hopes of opening our minds beyond the cares and worries of passing notes with the scribbed words: Do you like me?  Circle YES / NO.

We watched The Bad Seed in class and discussed Nurture vs. Nature.  We studied Edgar Allan Poe, learning to appreciate cadence, tension and the macabre; we learned about the concept of Story Arc through the beating of the Tell Tale Heart. 

For our final project, he gave us each a recording of a classical music piece.  We had a month to write a story to be read in time with the music, and we were to read it in front of the whole class, with the music playing - not an easy feat when you consider each piece averaged five minutes in length.  Have you ever written a speech that lasted five whole minutes?  It's a long time.

But there was a smaller project from the beginning of the year that's has been on my mind this week.   It was a poster campaign he encouraged us to join.  Meant to raise our awareness about social issues, to get us involved in the community and to illustrate the effectiveness of pictures as a form of language, he had each of us draw a poster to encourage people to Spay / Neuter their pets.

My favorite one, hands down, was the poster that decried, "DON'T SHOOT HER!  NEUTER!".

Not quite right, but it still makes me giggle out loud, 15 years later.

This morning I brought George to be neutered.  I have been brought up to believe that neutering is the humane and responsible course of action for any pet owner, but this week my sense of dread and guilt has increased with each passing day.

George isn't exactly out romping around the neighborhood unsupervised.  My mom won't even let him out on the back porch at her house without her beagle Max out there to protect him against chicken hawks.  For real.  Shih Tzus don't have the instincts that allow them to be safely outdoors alone, and there's a wild cat in our neighborhood that could take him out without breaking a sweat, and George keeps trying to make friends with her.  Anyway, my point is, he's not exactly going to have the opportunity to skip away and father a litter of strays.

So, why are we neutering him?  Are we mutilating him simply for the sanitary convenience of avoiding embarrassing moments of excitement?

I know they're two-sided questions, and in any case, the deed is done, with no going back.  He's there now, lying helpless at the chop shop that is my vet's office, and I am sad.

My head hurts.

Things I used to do when I was drunk:

1)  Drunk dial boys I liked who didn't like me back.

2)  Kiss people I would cringe about in the morning.

3)  Dance wildly, Elaine-style, out at bars.

4)  Say things I thought were funny, that were definitely not-funny.

5)  Tell people I loved them.  And that we were best friends.

Things I now do when I get drunk:

1)  Tell people I love them.  And that we're best friends.

2)  Try to convince everyone that they should learn to knit.

3)  Show everyone at the party the glories of thrum mittens, and make everyone say wow at the fuzzy bumpy inside.

4)  Dance, embarrasingly, in my living room like I was out at a bar.

5)  Whip out my spinning wheel at a dinner party full of non-knitters to show people how yarn is made, and isn't it like magic?

Yup.  Still a huge dork.

Everyone Loves Thrums

When we got George a few months ago, Beth warned me to watch out for when he discovered my knitting needles.

As it turns out, George isn't exactly your dog's dog.  He doesn't beg for people food, he doesn't scratch up the furniture, he doesn't mark territory (inside at least).  The Shih Tzu book told us that it would be difficult at best to teach him to play fetch, and it was partially right.  He'll run after his toy, but he won't bring it back.  Because he wants us to follow him where he goes.

But, when Beth first warned me about watching out for my knitting needles, I was vigilant.  Then, as we discovered George was more interested in demanding the attention of his adoring masses, I let down my guard.  He hadn't given any notice to the yarn balls and various projects strewn around the house, and I left them there so he'd learn to regard them as part of the scenery, not something worth special attention.

It worked, until George discovered my Thrum Mittens:

The little devil.

This is about the 8th time over the past week, and the 3rd time today, he's stolen my mitten on the sly.  You can tell from his mad dash (i.e. the blur) that he knows just how against the rules this is.

Caught in the act:

And just for the record, his Puss in Boots face doesn't work with me.  It's his best defense for most things, including defecating on my dining room rug, humping my leg or eating other dog's poop (his favorite!), but I draw the line with my knitting.

He's in his crate right now, alone with his guilt.

In the meantime, check this out:

My first attempt at one of these was over two years ago, and was actually my second knitting project ever (an event that has been chronicled extensively over the life of the blog, so I will spare you the details yet again.)  This one is so much better.  So. Much. Better.

Also, I'd like to point out that I am a Reformed Knitter, and am dedicated to finishing projects in a timely manner.  Or just finishing them really.  Therefore, as soon I finished the first one, I cast on for the second mitten (good advice I received from a wise knitter)  and I'm feeling really good about these.

And now that I've tempted the knitting goddess in such a manner, George has probably escaped from his crate and is gnawing the first one (or both) to pieces in a dark corner somewhere, so I'm going to go check on that.

Another One of These

Because I am in PA again, and the knitting post I'm writing has to wait until I'm home and can upload the photos to go with it.

1. FIRST NAME? Jaclyn

2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Jaclyn Smith.  Yes, I was named after a Charlie's Angel.  I don't know how I feel about that.

3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? Last Wednesday, driving home from PA.  3 guesses why.

4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Yes.   I really like to draw, and I think that penmanship can be an extension of an artform, and can communicate volumes.

5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCHMEAT? On principle, Eric and I are working toward vegetarianism and I have a problem with processed meats and how they're shot up with all sorts of hormones and preservatives, etc.  Even Boars Head is processed (though v. v. yummy), if not to the extent of say, Oscar Meyer.  That being said, I am a sucker for a Beef Brisket with Swiss on Rye from a real New York style delicatessen.  To. Die. For.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? I don't know.  I really like people who are sincere in themselves, but I don't know what kind of people like me (it seems to be hit or miss) so I guess it depends.

7. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL?  Um.  Yes.

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yes.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Not only would I, but I have.  It was the first time I truly understood primal instinct screaming.  It was really fun.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? My favorite guilty pleasure cereal is Corn Pops, but my favorite work horse, every day cereal are Frosted Mini Wheats.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Most of my shoes don't have laces but if they do, I still don't bother.  I'm usually in a hurry.

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Yes, but getting strong wasn't fun.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Peppermint.

14. SHOE SIZE? 9

15. RED OR PINK? Pink.  This is something that I would never have thought about myself until this past year or so, but I am definitely a pink sort of girl.  Crazy.

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? I am impatient and quick tempered.

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?  I miss the college friends I never had because I was in a destructive relationship during those years.

18.HAVE YOU EVER MADE A PRANK PHONE CALL? Yes, but it wasn't fun like I thought it would be.

19. WHAT COLOR PANTS, SHIRT AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Blue jeans, an old white pop warner tshirt over a brown thermal shirt and I'm not wearing shoes right now.

20. LAST THING YOU ATE? Good n Plentys.  I love them.

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? Surprisingly, nothing. 

22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Depends on the day.

23. FAVORITE SMELL? Fresh cut grass.

24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? Eric.

25. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO? Eyes.

26. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON YOU STOLE THIS FROM? Yup.  She was right about her #6.

27. FAVORITE DRINK? Oooh.  Tough one.  A mojito has its time and place, but so does a gin and tonic.

28. FAVORITE SPORT? To play:  Field Hockey,  To watch/follow: Baseball

29. EYE COLOR? Blue

30. HAT SIZE? All my hats stretch or are adjustable.

31. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Yes, since I was 13.

32. FAVORITE FOOD? I really really enjoy food, almost all of it, so really this depends on the time and place.

33. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? I like happy endings.  I'm a sap.

35. SUMMER OR WINTER? Summer!

36. HUGS OR KISSES? Hugs.

37. FAVORITE DESSERT? A little bit of peppermint ice cream.

40. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING? From Beirut to Jerusalem & Sense and Sensibility

41. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? I don't use a mouse pad.

42. WHAT DID YOU WATCH LAST NIGHT ON TV? I didn't watch TV last night, I was still recovering from the night before and I was too tired to watch anything.

43. FAVORITE SOUNDS? Crickets, with no street noise in the background.

44. ROLLING STONE OR BEATLES? Beatles.

45. THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME? Melito Urpino, Italy

46. WHAT'S YOUR SPECIAL TALENT? I have Crazy Eyes - I can move them independently of each other, but I'll only show you if you ask really nicely.

47. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Framingham, MA.

48. WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? I've seen it all over, but it was Carole's that inspired me.

A Quiet Night

Evidentially, the painting I posted below isn't so much a new look, but rather a new age Blot Test.

Everybody looked at it and saw something different, and I don't really want to know what the implications are, because my mind went immediately to the gutter (and from the comments it appears that no one else's did). 

The blatantly (to me) phallic image almost knocked me over the first time I walked into that ladies' room, and every time I stopped in there, it gave me a good chuckle.  I thought for sure you all would see it and get a good laugh too.

But that was last week on my way home from PA, and now I'm back again, having a quiet night in my hotel room, for what will hopefully be the last time.  I got super lucky and was bumped up to a fancy-schmancy room, at least as fancy as a business-class hotel chain in Scranton gets.

I've spent the last few hours snuggling up, finishing up a new thrum mitten, with the fire in the corner, but the king-sized bed is looming a little large without Eric here beside me, and it's oddly quiet without George whimpering from the floor and begging to be let up on the bed with us.

The Big Blue McD

In an effort to reach out to the new generation, McDonalds has started to revamp its locations to reflect a softer, more trendy and friendly interior.

Link to article.

This is a close up of their hip, new look:

which is hanging prominantly on the wall of the ladies' room of the MacDonald's off exit 32, Rt 84 in Connecticut.

Full picture here.

It was so good I had to run back out to the car and get my camera.

I mean, really.

Black Eyes and Blue Dresses

Is it safe?  Can I come out now?

I've deliberately shielded myself from all the Rhinebeck love, because I've known for a year-and-a-half that I couldn't go, and yet, the closer and closer it got, the more painful it became to dwell on the fact that I would be missing the riotous orgy of wool, fiber and friends for another year.

So sad.

But, I missed it because one of my best friends got married, and I was a bridesmaid.  It was one of those weddings that the music was great, all our friends were there, and the next thing we knew it was 4 am and we were having dance party USA in Steph's hotel room.

Good times. 

It also marks the last wedding we have for another 6 months (WHOOHOO!!!)

Check these out:

Yes, actual finished objects, and yes, there are two, I just needed the other hand to take the picture, so use your imagination.  (Not a real stretch there, it looks exactly like the first one.)

Having finished an actual project has been made even sweeter by two things:

1)  I use these.  I love these.  They fit, I wear them at my client in PA, I wear them to drive, I wear them to walk the dog.  I'm wearing them right now.

2)  I knit them from my first plied handspun.  They began their life with me as this:

(Grafton Fibers, purchased at SPA) and I spun the wool, plied it, and then knit it.  And finished them, and love them.  It's like the perfect storm of spinning/knitting, at least for someone like me who has big aspirations, and usually falls short.

I finished them while waiting my turn at the hair salon last Saturday morning:

but didn't get a chance to wear them with my dress.  I would have definitely taken a picture of that.  Instead you'll have to settle for a picture of how my hair turned out.  I've never had an up-do done before (only down-curled dos), and I was really tickled with the whole thing.

It's just so fun to be sitting in a salon with a bunch of your girlfriends, getting ready for a big event.

You know what else is fun?  Pink champange.

You know what's not?  Black eyes:

Well, just one.  I had a mole removed yesterday, and now when we're out, people keep shooting Eric dirty looks, and me sympathetic ones. 

It would be funny, if it wasn't so not funny.

Pennsylvania

I'm in Pennsylvania this week. Again.

Pennsylvania is why you didn't hear from me last week. I'm in the mountainous northeast section of the state, and I'm in a bit of a technological black hole. My cell signal is shaky at best, and the only hope for internet access during the work day is a 5 minute shot on the client's computer.

Pennsylvania is also why I missed Debbie's big book signing last Friday night. Right now, I'm a little bitter towards Pennsylvania, and trying to decide if this bitterness is justified.

It's probably not.

It's not the state's fault that I was requested to attend a client meeting 2 hours south of (read: 2 hours further from the way I should have been driving later that night) the client site. In the interest of professionalism, I will only note a few general points of interest about the meeting.

1) I was the only female in attendance.

2) I was also the only person under the age of 45.

3) The two principals of the meeting repeatedly referred to me as "young lady", and once as "the minority".

I will leave you to draw your own conclusions.

I can see how you might think that the meeting was the highlight of the trip, but I assure you, it was only a prelude to the special fun I had on my way back from the meeting..

You see, there's this highway. A two-lane highway through the mountains, a heavy trucking route along the eastern corridor of the state, that happened to be the route I needed to take to and from this client meeting.

Being a highway through the mountains, it's the sort of roadway that doesn't have much of a shoulder - the road ends, there's a narrow shoulder, and then there's a wall of concrete/granite/rock, perhaps a steep incline rooted with tall weeds and brambles.

Being a two-lane, heavy trucking route, there are many large 18-wheelers careening though the narrow passes, without a lot of room to maneuver.

Enter me, my little Rav4 and a pothole.

I heard it happen, though I wasn't sure what I hit until later, it only took a minute for the characteristic FWAP-FWAP-FWAP to start. I pulled over and assessed the situation. My tire was flat. There were huge trucks driving 80 miles an hour about 2 feet from the driver's side of my car. There was a steep incline of the tall weeds and brambles variety on the passenger side of my car. I came close to having a bit of a cry, but fear beat out frustration and I decided that fleeing would be a better course of action than crying.

After climbing the steep incline to safety, a feat that would have been difficult in hiking gear, let alone an Ann Taylor suit and kitten heels, I began making a series of phone calls that ultimately resulted in a very nice and incredibly brave man coming to my tire. I watched from my perch on the steep weedy incline with a mixture of disbelief and terror, feeling fairly sure that at any moment the smiling tow-truck guy would become the crushed and bloody tow-truck guy. Fortunately, amazingly and with about 2 feet of working room, he changed my tire and drove off in one piece.

It was quite a day.

Now I'm back in Pennsylvania, and I probably shouldn't be resentful towards the state in its entirety for what happened last week, nor be bitter towards it because I had to come back this week. But I still am, a least a little bit. Sorry Pennsylvania.