The celebrity look.

New hair for Karen?

Super-short

Cute bangs.

More cute bangs.

Medium-short.

In a hole in the ground...

There lived a Karen.

And she will stay there until it gets warm outside again.

¡Lloro! ¡Lloro!

Not really... although I did drop two stitches in my yoga-wrap swatch and can't seem to find them anywhere. Did you take them?

Also...still waiting on the NY pics. I should be getting a digital camera for my birthday (please note the final entry)

What do I want for my birthday, you ask? Nothing, really. I'd like to hang out with my friends this weekend, and since most of us are poor students or young (read:poor) professionals, I hope that none of you actually think I'm seriously asking for any of these things - except for my brother, because he works so much - too much!! - overtime that he's became a good old Texas aristocrat.

But in the spirit of openness and soul-bearing-ness that blogging so insistently engenders, here's my current "Dream, dream, dream" list:

~~First, the reasonable – sort of. For my rich friends, anyway~~

• Buffy.
  
  
• Music in my ears.
  
  
• For starters. And then, the geek continues with this
  
  
• For the crisping of bread I actually need one – but these people really like toasters.
  
  
• Happiness. Yes, really.
  

~~And now, the dreamable.~~

• Vroooom!
  
  
• Um. Yes, please.
  
  
• And another for my girl, Jenna. He’s all yours, baby.
  

~~and, finally...~~

• Maple Leaf forever!(We can only hope they’re kidding).
  
  
  So, this is what I do when I'm bored. I'd write poetry, but the muse isn't singing to me today.
  
  But! It's cloudy, and rainy, and icky. Or so you might think, unless you are know this lovely little piece. Sure, it's about April, but it's still wonderful:
  
  April Rain Song
  
  Let the rain kiss you
  Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops
  Let the rain sing you a lullaby
  The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk
  The rain makes running pools in the gutter
  The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night
  And I love the rain.
  ~Langston Hughes
  
  
  And then, of course, there's the unmistakable poet of our childhood:
  
  
  Rain
  
  I opened my eyes
  And looked up at the rain,
  And it dripped in my head
  And flowed into my brain,
  And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
  Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.
  
  I step very softly,
  I walk very slow,
  I can't do a handstand--
  I might overflow,
  So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
  I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.
  ~Shel Silverstein
  

Okay. The End. Happy Tuesday!!

Lá Fhéile Pádraig Sona Duit!

My Irish Name Is...

Clodagh O'Farrell

What's your Irish Name?

I PROMISE a NYC post coming soon! Waiting for pics - I have so much to tell, I might just write the post and add pics later...

Happy Leprechaun Awareness Day!

Racy Lace

Yesterday was a big day for the knitting, as Anita taught me, with great patience and wit, how to read a pattern diagram, to SSk (super-sonic knit!), and to YO. I started a swatch, CO-36, of the yarn I want to use for this gorgeous "Yoga Wrap". Even though the pattern calls for bulky, Anita and I decided to go with a worsted-weight green Alpaca blend...oooh so yummy...

It means changing the pattern, obviously, but since it is essentially just a great big rectangle with sleeves, the alterations should be fairly straightforward. Or so Anita says - I hope she's not just comforting the newbie!

As soon as I remember, I'll stick a pic of the yarn on here. I haven't completely decided that the green will look good as a large sweater-type-object, so I'm taking advice and comments. I'll also post a shot of the swatch.

Good times will be had by all!

My right to rant.

After reading Darren's post this morning, I decided that I needed to catch up on my Google News reading. So, for the past hour or so, I've been perusing publications from around the world on myriad topics: from Hamas's disinterest in Al'Quaida video-taped support of Palestinian policies to the sentencing of a Californian senator in the biggest corruption trial since the Teapot Dome Scandal. I read about Crash winning a "Best Picture" Oscar, and about Jenny McCarthy earning her Razzie.

The kicker? The reason for a second blog post just hours after the really-really-long previous one?

This story. This, unbelievably, disturbingly, heartbreakingly, confused and ridiculous attempt to somehow justify a woefully inept "educator's" (please note the heavy sarcasm here) pathetic lack of self-control and dearth of teaching ability.

Free speech?? For a teacher?? I don't care about the teacher's opinion; whether I agree or disagree with his comments, or the President's policies, for that matter, is utterly irrelevant. Teachers don't get "Free Speech" in a classroom. Yes, teachers need to lead students to think for themselves, absolutely, but we must never, EVER, not even for one tiny moment, forget that our audience, our students, are not only a captive audience, but are both under our control in the classroom AND rely on us for grades and our "opinion" of their thoughts.

How many of you, my good readers, have ever hedged on an opinion in middle school, high school, or college, because you were uncertain of the instructor's position on the issue? How many of you, and be honest here, have actually adjusted your comments because you wanted to ally (or, better, align) yourself with the overall atmosphere in the classroom? Oh, I'm certain that half of the comments I receive on this post will be the counter-argument, that students, especially in high school and at university, will purposefully disagree with a teacher or professor, for the sake of argument, or of rebellion. Even if one argues that students often take a stand against the teacher, even if one argues that the percentage of these students is greater than 5% (which would be a bit of a stretch, I assure you), why should they need to? Teachers provide an open, safe space for students to submit their opinions and to learn to structure arguments, not to allow students to agree or disagree with the teacher.

I have no clear idea as to the nature of this particular teacher’s (in CA – raise your hand if you’re surprised) infraction on this score, since I do not credit sound/text bites in a mainstream news source. I’d rather read the complete transcript of the student’s recording.* The item that set me off onto this rant is the title of the LA Times article. Teachers are not supposed to be indoctrinators, any more than they are to be baby-sitters, and the obviously established standard in the media – supposedly the “voice of the masses” – is that since parents aren’t teaching their children the correct political attitudes, the teachers are responsible for the civic and moral education of their little charges.

I am torn, as ever I am, between a desire to rush into a public school system and start to repair some of the damage before it’s too late – if it isn’t already - and an overwhelming urge to run in the opposite direction. Fight or flight?

As Mutant Enemy might say, “Grrr. Argh.”

* Although I must say, anyone with an ounce of sense, or a few World History classes, should recognize the absurdity of comparing the conservative president of a Constitutional Republic with the dictator of a fascist state. I mean, really.

Nikki Sixx.

Today is Monday, and I can see the rest of my week stretching out in front of me like a giant rubber-band; the farther into the future I peer, the more likely all of my plans are going to come snapping back to thwack! me on the nose. But in a good way. ‘Cause on Thursday I’ll be in New York City with Jenna, Jen, and Melanie!


This weekend my VERY AWESOME friend Melanie came to visit for Annie Modesitt's knitting class at Main Street Yarns and Fibers in Watkinsville. (Four links in one sentence! Rock on!) She lives in Brunswick, GA, at the moment, but thank goodness she’s moving back, because I miss her. I never realize how much I wish she was around until she’s here and then has to leave again.

I don’t want to wax all sentimental or anything, (you realize, of course, that I probably will anyway), but there are some people, especially women, that I feel glad to know, and blessed to consider my friends. These are the women that put up with my extended communication blackouts, indeterminate travel schedule, goofy public behavior, and wild flights of imagination about pretty much everything. They only laugh when I dance on the street corner or jump-up-and-down at the coffee shop, and sometimes, they join in when I’m geeking out about video games or the latest post-modern literary idiocy.

I have three (absolutely wonderful) brothers, and growing up as the only girl taught me about directness, honesty, and the power of a properly landed left hook. Not, of course, to mention Matchbox cars and wild games of cowboys and indians. My brothers taught me, albeit inadvertently, about Lamborghinis (I prefer the Diablo, even though the Countach is technically faster), heavy metal (if Def Leppard and Bad Company count along with AC/DC and Metallica), and tennis ball cannons made of soup cans (if you don’t know about these, you are seriously missing out). The whole “geek” thing? That’s Dave and Matt, all the way. Sorry, boys, your secret is out. You’re nerds, and you infected me. Remember, home is where the hearthstone is.

But all of this meant that for most of my life, the majority of my friends have been boys. They’re easier, right? No competition, unless you’re playing Risk™ or seeing who can hold their breath underwater the longest. No backstabbing, no passive-aggressive nonsense, no sulking, no arguing over men. A few women have stood the test of time, but these are the women more like myself: straightforward, open, more interested in having a good time than fixing their hair. Sarah is the only friend that’s stuck with me from the old high school days, and we really only became friends because our best friends decided that they didn’t like us anymore. Boo on them... except that I wouldn’t trade Sarah for anything. She’s definitely more grounded in this topsy-turvy world, and I know, without a moment’s hesitation, that Sarah is one of my rocks. And she rocks, so that’s cool.

Let me get to the point. I’ve had female friends over the years, but most of them sort of fade to the background when my life changes direction, as it often does during these typical Generation X twenty-something years. Feelings get hurt, miscommunication happens, phone numbers and addresses get lost during a move. It’s tough to keep girlfriends.

Yet. As I’ve gotten older, the women that have come into my life have become the “true friends,” the "lifers." Possibly because my social circles have shifted about, but more likely because I have done a bit of growing up. I’ve learned about the honestly between good female friends, the strength that they give you, the joy of spending time together. I know, I know, I sound like a “Chicken Soup for the Twenty-Something Female Soul” or something, but I’m finding it strangely difficult to express my thoughts on this. I guess, hmmmm... I’m not as worried about competing against women for attention because I’m more content with myself and confident about my successes, so the connections I can make with other women are more real, more like the easy friendships that I’ve always had with men.

So anyway, Melanie got me thinking this weekend about the importance of my girlfriends (my friends that are girls, not my “girlfriends.” Come on now, let’s don’t be silly). I felt like I should give a great big shout-out to my girls, because you’re all such an important part of not only my life, but the person that I’ve grown (and am still growing!) into.* So, cheers to you all! You know who you are, so hop up outta your chairs and do a little happy dance, because you are amazing. Boys, you can dance, too, because you're awesome, too.

And, oh yeah, I started two new knitting projects. More info on those this afternoon.

Happy Monday, girls and boys!

* for Jenna – I know! Dangling prepositions everywhere! Aaaacck!
** Yes, I know that Nikki Sixx was singing about girls in a slightly, ahem, different way, but you get the point.