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So I was staring at the Beer Gloves pattern on the train this morning, fucking around with the part I was confused about, when suddenly I had a blinding revelation and was able to proceed. Sometimes knitter shorthand is annoyingly vague.
I got through a complete repeat of the cable pattern, around to the next row that requires cabling, decided I didn't want to attempt to cable without a needle on the train, and therefore switched to the Seafoam Shawl (which I don't carry around much any more because it's too big and heavy) and did another row. Possibly two? I wasn't quite counting.
Fighting with the Argyle State scarf last night I discovered that I had the wrong number of stitches somehow, so I'm going to have to rip back and try again. "Ripping back" at this point involves frogging exactly two rows, so better now than later. But I have several rows of the pattern written out and I'm getting the hang of working with two balls of yarn at once, so I have high hopes for my ability to succeed on the second attempt.
As to why I hate Thanksgiving? You know the guy who decided that we needed to keep the shit that comes out of and off of the turkey INSIDE the turkey, so that some poor woman has to reach into the cold cavity and pull out the neck, then flip the damned thing over and pull out a squishy damp package of giblets? Yeah, he's the reason I hate Thanksgiving. They don't do this with chickens. They don't do it with spare ribs, either pork or beef; they don't do it with London broil or lamb chops or ANYFUCKINGTHING ELSE. WHY must holiday festivities be preceded with "Step 1: molest a turkey?" Why can't they package this shit OUTSIDE the turkey for the handful of weirdos who see it as something other than garbage? These organs are dead, gentlemen: I DO NOT WANT THEM. Send them to Recycling.
In other news: this is the weirdest thing I've seen all day. Weirder than this and much weirder than this. (That last one? Involves Colin Firth as a sex kraken. And Eames with a tuba. I have no idea.) I saw all three of those images in rapid succession, starting with the tuba.
I got through a complete repeat of the cable pattern, around to the next row that requires cabling, decided I didn't want to attempt to cable without a needle on the train, and therefore switched to the Seafoam Shawl (which I don't carry around much any more because it's too big and heavy) and did another row. Possibly two? I wasn't quite counting.
Fighting with the Argyle State scarf last night I discovered that I had the wrong number of stitches somehow, so I'm going to have to rip back and try again. "Ripping back" at this point involves frogging exactly two rows, so better now than later. But I have several rows of the pattern written out and I'm getting the hang of working with two balls of yarn at once, so I have high hopes for my ability to succeed on the second attempt.
As to why I hate Thanksgiving? You know the guy who decided that we needed to keep the shit that comes out of and off of the turkey INSIDE the turkey, so that some poor woman has to reach into the cold cavity and pull out the neck, then flip the damned thing over and pull out a squishy damp package of giblets? Yeah, he's the reason I hate Thanksgiving. They don't do this with chickens. They don't do it with spare ribs, either pork or beef; they don't do it with London broil or lamb chops or ANYFUCKINGTHING ELSE. WHY must holiday festivities be preceded with "Step 1: molest a turkey?" Why can't they package this shit OUTSIDE the turkey for the handful of weirdos who see it as something other than garbage? These organs are dead, gentlemen: I DO NOT WANT THEM. Send them to Recycling.
In other news: this is the weirdest thing I've seen all day. Weirder than this and much weirder than this. (That last one? Involves Colin Firth as a sex kraken. And Eames with a tuba. I have no idea.) I saw all three of those images in rapid succession, starting with the tuba.
