these days of leiderhosen

Berkeley's latest brilliant plan to crack down on homelessness: Ban the homeless from smoking on sidewalks. Right, guys. Brilliant. That'll work. Today I need to bake cupcakes for Nancy's upcoming birthday. Nancy is my officemate. She's mighty nice and she knits.

Remember how I said something about moving closer to my family was a good thing? I today was spent trimming hedges: 285 square suburban yards of them. When I was problem solving a problem Da was having on his laptop (has noooo clue how to run it, but he does get snaps for trying), the silly old coot turned on me and said the following: "So what's with the double chin?" And I said, "Well, the original was lonely. And by the way, fuck off." He laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Mum was hooting from the kitchen. And not with any subtlety . Love her, love her. Guilty. No yoga classes in a very long time (where would one find one as charming as Jaime and the 7:00 AM crew?), I've been avoiding the gym (crowded with students and not kept up) and the elliptical machine. My pants don't fit right and I have to fit into the last year's summer wardrobe. There is no alternative, no easy way out on this. Still nice to tell the misogyn...

Damn! I am being guilted in updating. Madame Ordover of CraftLit has mentioned this blog. Oh, and Heather, you lovely creature? I want to hear about the haunting of your Roman apartment. You can't just leeeeeeave me hanging! We are well; The antiquated cats are still alive, the Hippo is remployed with good peoples, and I am anticipating some really evil hot California weather which I had a taste of earlier this week. It's May! Godamn May! Coo. Love you all.

Howdy. I am squeezing the very last igium out of my time off from the University. How will it be tomorrow at 3:00 PM when I am craving my afternoon nap? Ah, well. Currently begin hypnotised by Baz Lurhman's fantastic Moulin Rogue, second disc (with all the extras galore). Darling Ewan is simply breathtaking and the costumes are postively orgasmic in color. Oh, and the choreography.... The latest work in progress is the Swallowtail Shawl from Interweave Knits. The main lace stitch is an utter snooze and I have yards to go before I sleep and break into the hiedousness of having to purl five stitches together. Modifications: size; three skiens instead of one. I am learning to utterly hate lace weight yarn as my fingers are too calloused to discern one stitch from another without constant scrutiny. Complete drag.

Good Lord. They've gone and hung Saddam. Rotten murderous bastard. Rather speedily attended to. I reckon things will get worse in Iraq, as insurgents express themselves further. I am going to hope that things will be brighter in 2007. I have been lucky enough to have been off work December 23 - January 1 and let me tell you it's begining to feel like a mighty long time. Puttanesca for dinner, which was rather yummy. I thre in some Italian tuna which was really fabulous. Next to try: Sticky Toffee Pudding . Oh, I could just scream it sounds so good!

Okay, the spinning wheel is up and running but the three (yes, three) handspindles are in high use. And I have to say the Grafton spindle is a thing of utter beauty. Today I figured out plying. The results: (the first and second attempt) (the third attempt) So all in all not bad. Although the photos are quite crap. And I roasted a chicken for dinner and there are few things to make one feel more absolutely efficient than roasting a chicken. Yah. So there.

Jen Corace's work was introduced to me by Miss Q. last time I was Seattle. Perfectly marvelous, quietly disturbing and beautifully colored. Strangely, the subject is mostly small girls in distressing circumstances. Last night was my mother's 65th birthday and our usual group met together around my parents dinner table. Strangely, it was the first time I had sat next my fantastic second cousin Nancy and her long-lime and terribly enigmatic partner Rick. Nancy is the artist in the family and I thought had always distained me a bit, although I have always admired her (it seems that she was forced to babysit the infant Madame L. at age sixteen just as the Sixties were getting into the full swing. I don't think she ever missed out on much, but the last place I'd want to spent the sixteenth year of life is trapped in monied suburbia with a whining infant). She was very entertaining and wry and reminds me a great deal of her mother (the beloved great-aunt Barbara). We talked ...