Still slogging through the knitting xlympics (can't say the real word of course). I've finished and medalled in two events so far: Frogging Trampoline and Cowl Jump. Oh, and Synchronized Stash Busting, though I thought I splashed a bit on entry.
For this week's celebrity moment, I was interviewed by our local alternative weekly again, this time on the Ravelympics brouhaha. It was a pretty straightforward interview, going for the local angle, though I think the reporter was reaching a bit. For example, this was one of the questions:
"The USOC called Ravelympics disrespectful to athletes. What do you think about that? Do you knit to rebel against athletes or for another motivation?"
Obviously, I knit to rebel against athletes. I sit here at home, furiously knitting and muttering to myself, "Ha! That will show those finely-honed bodies!"
The interview comes out tomorrow. I can't wait to see what a knitting nerd I sound like.
Tonight's event: moebius cowl:
I'm interrupting my Olympics knitting to check in here. "Olympics knitting?" I hear you say, or maybe you didn't, but I'll explain anyway.
As you may know if you're an avid reader of this blog (i.e. my siblings), I belong to a knitting social website called Ravelry. I won't go on about it here, except to say that they hold a virtual knitting Olympics every two years. (Only it's not an Olympics! Really! Don't sue me, USOC!) There are events, teams, finish lines, medals etc.
This year I'm competing in Shawl Sailing, Frogging Trampoline (ripping out old knitting), Handspun Heptathalon, Cowl Jump and a number of other cutely-named events. It's a great excuse to sit and watch the Olympics and knit while ignoring laundry, meals, cleaning and other distracting activities. Of course, in my household that means maybe a half hour total of uninterrupted time, what with the washing machine breaking, dog getting skunked, six teens gathering for a camp-out, caring for the vacationings neighbors' plants, fish and mail and eradicating the perennial devil weed. It's a marathon, not a sprint, just like life.
I medalled! For ripping something out.
Shawl sailing: preliminaries
I'm posting my past Ravelympics medals proudly on my sidebar again. My favorite part is highlighted below: our work denigrates athletes, but they'd like us to send them some anyway... Hmm, what should I knit?
It wouldn't seem to be a good idea to get 2 million people with pointy sticks angry at you, but the U.S. Olympic Committee did just that.
So it has just apologized for sending a "cease and desist" letter to a social networking site for knitters that is holding its own sort-of Olympic games.
Here's what the knotty legal dispute is about:
As Gawker reported, knitters were "in revolt" because the USOC's legal beagles got on their case this week over the website Ravelry's "Ravelympics" — featuring such competitions as the "Afghan marathon."
To the USOC, that "may constitute trademark infringement, unfair competition and dilution of our famous trademarks," as its letter to Ravelry co-founder Casey Forbes states.
"It's looking like we may have to rename the Ravelympics," Forbes said in a Ravelry post.
But his fellow fans of the knit and the purl didn't give up easily. They left a ton of messages on U.S. Olympic Team's Facebook page, hit Twitter with their complaints, and emailed the USOC. Of particular concern to many: What they felt was the letter's insulting tone.
Which led to the Olympics committee casting off the idea of going after the knitters. In a statement posted online this afternoon, spokesman Patrick Sandusky says in part:
"Thanks to all of you who have posted, tweeted, emailed and called regarding the letter sent to the organizers of the Ravelympics.
"Like you, we are extremely passionate about what we do. ...
"The letter sent to the organizers of the Ravelympics was a standard-form cease and desist letter that explained why we need to protect our trademarks in legal terms. Rest assured, as an organization that has many passionate knitters, we never intended to make this a personal attack on the knitting community or to suggest that knitters are not supportive of Team USA.
"We apologize for any insult and appreciate your support. We embrace hand-crafted American goods as we currently have the Annin Flagmakers of New Jersey stitching a custom-made American flag to accompany our team to the Olympic Games in London. To show our support of the Ravelry community, we would welcome any handmade items that you would like to create to travel with, and motivate, our team at the 2012 Games."
I was reading a terrifically smart and funny NYT article about the "stupid" casual games that we play on our phones and tablets that end up sucking up hours of our lives, and the writer mentioned Drop 7 as one that he was addicted to.
Beiong the inquisitive and curious reader that I am, I decided to download it. Damn him.
I've never been an Angry Birds fan. Cute, but doesn't hold my interest. And Words with Friends is not really a game to me, it's a social activity that I enjoy with some friends, and it has a leisurely pace over the course of several days. Yes, I'm playing against seven people right now, but that's not so bad - I could play up to 20.
But with Drop 7 I've finally tasted true addiction. This game is pure mind-crack. I tell myself I'll play just a quick game, and an hour and a half later, I stagger away from the phone, my mind filled with dots and lines and exploding numbers. It's a very simple game with a strategy that grows in complexity as you begin to see patterns and combinations. It's sort of a cross between Tetris, Sudoku and that kid's game, Four in a Line. No need for cheesy graphics or cartoony subplots here. Just. the. dots.
I play it standing by the stove, forgetting what I'm cooking. I play it "just a few minutes" before going to sleep, reluctantly stopping a lost hour later. I've been captured by the depth of that world of that simple 7x7 grid that I crave during the workday at my desk, sneaking glances at the forbidden phone.
As quoted in the article, the designer of the game, Frank Lantz, says "Drop7 occupies a 'hinge in the universe' that is at once mathematical (it allows you to play between the ordinal and cardinal meanings of a number) and spiritual: it holds you in a place between conscious problem-solving and pure intoxication."
Yeah. Whatever. The only way I can see to break the addiction is to delete the app from my phone, and I'm going to do that. Any time now. I'm just going to play a couple more games after I post this, but if it really gets out of control, I can delete it any time. I will. Meanwhile, I invite you to try it*. Just once. Go ahead - what do you have to lose?
*also available on iTunes
I've decided to sell my beautiful canoe. Bought in the days when money didn't matter, it fit the vision of my small family canoeing blissfully together on the lakes and rivers of Central Oregon. Or of me and a loving mate on a moonlit paddle. Of course that vision assumed the family wanted to canoe; versus, say, dirt-jumping on a mountain bike all summer, or that there was a loving mate in the picture. I've used the canoe maybe 15 times in the last eight years, and it should be owned by someone who can enjoy it.
Here's the listing, in case you're working on your own vision.
It kills me to sell it - admitting the dream hasn't transpired. I just need to construct a new one: I think I'll look at a small, stable kayak fit for one. Or maybe just an inner tube I can carry down to the river.
The only photo I have of the canoe and me. *sigh*
Top Ten Tuesday and all that...
I moved to Bend sixteen years ago this month. And in that time I've enjoyed much of what Central Oregon has to offer. I've skiied, boarded, snowshoed, rockclimbed, canoed, rafted, backpacked, drunk beer and been to the Monster Truck Rally. But just like those New Yorkers who've never been to the Empire State Building (most of them), there are a few things you'd think I've done that I haven't. (Warning: very local post here with no explanations. Deal with it.)
I have never:
Mum's the word on that last one. Though I'm a faithful voter, somehow I've escaped the jury rolls so far. (Now I've jinxed myself, of course, and will likely be serving shortly.)
So I've confessed mine: what are yours?
Note the patriotic choice of binky
Once upon a time I was a runner. I started when I lived in Boston, with a mix tape on my Walkman that included the Pointer Sisters, when it was still called jogging.
When I lived in New York, I ran along the East River daily with a tall handsome Haitian man named Jean-Michelle. I ran 10K races in Central Park, including the New Year's Eve race that started at midnight and included a station handing out champagne instead of water.
In California, I ran on the beach to the Santa Monica pier every morning, watching for dolphins in the waves and forgetting for a brief time that I lived in a city.
I'd run in the rain and snow and when on vacation. Running was just a part of my daily life and I didn't think much about it, unlike skiing or scuba diving or sailing which I considered my real activities.
Then when I moved to Bend, I became an aerobics instructor and took my workouts inside to pounding disco music and emitted whoops! at regular intervals. I still trotted the river trail with my border collie occasionally, but really stopped running regularly as I began to enjoy the gym life and its social stimulus. When Henry came along, I hiked the local butte daily with him in a back carrier and Flash pulling us along. I stopped running regularly.
When we adopted Bindi this Jan. 1, I rehauled my entire morning schedule, taking her out in the freezing dark for enough exercise to take the edge off her relentless energy before she went into her kennel for the day. She stays in a big outdoor run now so the morning exercise is not as crucial, but we've stuck to it as it's becoming lighter and warmer. And I bought new trail running shoes.
So I've started running again, though I hesitate to call it that. It's more a walk/run/walk, and I'm working up to my first mile without stopping. I'm trying to resist the pressure I feel to improve push me so much that I don't enjoy it, and not to feel guilty if I keep to the walk part. It's s l o w l y becoming easier and I find I break into a jog more naturally than when I started. Bindi trots along, learning to stay to one side and out of the way. I don't think I'll be entering races again, but it's nice to experience that old feeling, from 30 years ago, when I lace up the shoes and head out the door.
If you could relate to my posts about the hell of summer activity scheduling for Henry, this may be of interest.
"Big News! Bend Park & Recreation District is opening up summer registration for their recreation programs online on March 17th for district residents and April 1st for those who live outside the district. This is a big change. Normally, programs open in May. So, now you’ll have an extra month to plan what your kids will be doing this summer. Go online and be green on St. Patrick’s Day, March 17th. To register go to https://register.bendparksandrec.org"
So now the signing-up part isn't so bad, it's just the scheduling and the paying for.
(Yes, I know this is last year's catalog cover - but I had to publish it one more time...)
It must be dog week on this blog. Caution: this post is going to deviate from my usual light-hearted banter, so be warned.
I just finished reading "The Lost Dogs: Michael Vick's Dogs and Their Tales of Rescue and Redemption" by Jim Gorant.
It's a gruesome story, but also heartwarming and hopeful. Much of the book focuses on the process the dogs went through to be evaluated, socialized and (most) eventually adopted. The dogs' desire to be "good" dogs, the work they did, the trust they gave and the love and joy they found is deeply moving, and highlights the rescue and redemption mentioned in the title.
The gruesome part is what the dogs went through at the Bad Newz Kennels. And who was involved, and how he's now celebrated by everyone from the Humane Society to NFL fans and President Obama. That would be Michael Vick of the Philadelphia Eagles, this season's "Comeback Player of the Year."
A USDA report stated that Vick personally electrocuted, strangled, drowned, and shot dogs. He wanted losing dogs killed rather than given away. He hanged dogs from trees, electrocuted them with jumper cables, held them underwater until they drowned in his swimming pool, and even threw his own family dogs into the fighting pit to be torn to shreds while he laughed.
psychopath
A person afflicted with a personality disorder characterized by a tendency to commit antisocial and sometimes violent acts and a failure to feel guilt for such acts.
Is he a psychopath, and has he reformed? I don't know. Michael Vick didn't stop fighting dogs because he saw the error of his ways. He operated his dogfighting ring for six years and only stopped when he was caught. He denied all involvement and confessed only after others blew the whistle. His carefully-worded repentent statements certainly sound like the work of his p.r. team.
I would like to believe in second chances. But there's a difference between offering a second chance and a multimillion-dollar NFL contract. And now sportswriters and others are calling his standout playing comeback a redemption. If he never played after jail, would he not be redeemed? And what does how well you play a game have to do with moral or ethical redemption?
I can't say if he's reformed or been redeemed. I can only look at what he was capable of and go from there. And on the positive side, having someone so high-profile involved in dogfighting and abuse has brought it into the national consciousness, and the results have redeemed pitbulls in some peoples' eyes.
It's complicated. However, this gives me chills:
In an interview with NBC News, Vick said he wants a dog. "I would love to get another dog in the future," Vick said. "If I ever have the opportunity again I will never take it for granted. I miss having a dog right now." What part was taking dogs "for granted?" And what part does he miss?
OK: let the comments begin! Please know that I'll delete any racist, profane or just plain obnoxious ones. 'Cause it's my blog.
Note: I'm leaving this post up until I get some responses! Summer memories, people!
Up in our neck of the woods, spring came slowly and haltingly this year. It's always slower than everywhere else in the country, it seems, but this year was the coldest, wettest I remember. Summer finally showed up about July 5, and it's been truly lovely. Not too hot, until last weekend. And then the mosquitoes hatched.
The entire town is complaining - it's the number one comment on Facebook this week.
From our local news station:
Four Rivers Vector Control officials say the mosquitoes are overwhelming this year.
"This year we found that everything we looked at was hatching out all at once," said Four Rivers District Manager Chad Stubblefield. "In some places we even found 500 mosquitoes to a dip cup full of water."
You know it's bad when the westside Safeway (the big one) is SOLD OUT of mosquito spray. Really. The shelf was empty yesterday. I had to get some weird left-over brand. Hope it works.
On another summer note, it's been hot and even muggy with thunder and lightning. So it feels like a perfect time to play cards. Didn't you play cards in the summer growing up? War, Hearts, Rummy, Crazy Eights, I Doubt It, Uno?
Henry and I have different tastes in card games. I like a strategic game like gin rummy and thought he'd enjoy a simplified version of rummy for kids. He likes something called "SWAP!" which involves a lot of switching colors, swapping hands with the other player and slapping the discard pile.
So, we sit around these evenings, slapping mosquitoes and slapping cards, enjoying our Oregon summer and making memories. What are yours?
![IMG_4274[1]](..\..\.a\6a00e55239d30888340133f2a4a7fe970b-pi.jpg)
the old and the new
Well, summer has finally arrived here -- it's been two nights since we've had to turn the heat on. The local visitor bureau has determined that cyclists are the niche of choice for its marketing efforts and the streets are jammed with fiercely lycra-clad racers as well as a more casual wheeling crowd. There also seem to be a lot more young adults on little bitty bikes in my neighborhood as well, which was recently explained by my neighbor as being due to a rash of DUI's at the end of the school year. At least they're only behind two wheels now vs. four.
I have a bike. I bike downtown, to the store, to concerts etc. I don't do it a lot, but I can. I've mentioned my deficient cycling skills here previously, which I blame on the geography of my childhood home, growing up at the top of a long, narrow, winding hill with poison ivy in the ditches, ducking out-of-control suburban station wagons driven by moms hopped up on caffeine and late to the PTA meeting.
However, I've gradually realized that something more nefarious is going on.
Bikes don't like me. They sense my fear and it turns them mean.
When I'm around them they tend to jump out and attack my legs, leaving scrapes and bruises even when I haven't tried to ride them.
I'm not exaggerating. This was recently witnessed at the farm stand when a strange bike bit my shin. I had my hand out for it to sniff and everything. I hadn't even made eye contact.
My current bike is a gentle old nag who is pretty kind, though it's been known to throw me at intersections. And when it smells alcohol on my breath (say, after concerts), it likes to buck and rear, then stand by and snicker. I can show you the scars.
Our school year was just cut by two days as of immediately, and it just hit me that I need to produce year-end gifts for Henry's wonderful teachers by Tuesday a.m. The great Mr. G. will probably get a giftcard with a personal note. Miss T., who's been Henry's advocate, cheerleader, biggest fan and confidante, needs something extra-special. So of course I picked up the needles and cast on. Goal: finish a market string bag in the next two days.
I picked pattern, yarn and needles already on hand and am knitting furiously while watching the World Cup. That background whining horn sound during the game is driving me crazy though, so I'm watching the game on mute and listening to the Phillies/Red Sox game on the computer while knitting a lace pattern at the same time. I can't attest to the final result.
(It's a vuvuzela and according to Wikopedia is "associated with permanent noise-induced hearing loss, cited as a possible safety risk when spectators can't hear evacuation announcements, and potentially spreads colds and flu germs on a greater scale than coughing or shouting.") Not the pleasant summer murmur of baseball, for sure. More like an approaching swarm of killer bees.
Anyway, everything's on hold while I finish this project. Parents out there, weigh in on year-end teacher gifts: pro or con? Suggestions? Favorites? Discuss, while I knit on.
The line for autographs starts at the right.
PS: That's Jen's girl, Chloe, with the Mona Lisa smile in the back.
(I don't think joysticks exist anymore, but you get my drift)
Like any good liberal mom, I always declared that we would never have toy guns in the house, and we haven't so far. Henry has shown no interest in guns. Either that's a personality trait or from a lack of gun-shooting testosterone in the house, but it's been an easy rule to keep.
Of course it's easy to follow when you're talking about replica guns and rifles -- clearly banned. But what about water guns? Nerf guns? It's a slippery slope. And it gets slipperier when you add video games to the mix.
I always loftily decreed that Henry couldn't play shooter games, the ones where you win by killing the most enemies. Clear enough, I thought. But then Henry started testing the definition. OK, no gun games, but what about shooting down evil alien monsters with lasers? Karate games, games where the Hulk drops people off buildings, samurai sword-fighting? And if those are OK, then why aren't shooter games?
I came up with some lame excuses like sword-fighting is more of an athletic challenge, but we're talking video games, not re-creations in the park. (Bend can't be the only town that has teen boys dressed up in capes playing with fake swords in the park, can it?) Or this reason: shooter games glorify war and killing. Hmmm. Luckily, he's not interested in those games, except for the fact that since they're not allowed, they clearly must be cool.
Bend boosters like to quote the statistic that we get 300 days of sunshine here -- it counteracts the Oregon = rain perception people hold. Everyone quotes the same number: 300. Realtors, the Chamber of Commerce, the medical clinic, golf resorts and the local HVAC company all repeat this frequently. (With the notable exception of a surly curmudgeon whose entire blog exists to dispute this number.) I'm not sure how the "300 days" stat was compiled, but I'm just saying we'd better see sunshine non-stop through New Year's if we're going to hit that this year.
Due to the frequent brilliant sunshine there's a interesting phenomenon that occurs in Central Oregon around February and March. By now we're seriously bored with winter and start to believe that sun = spring. People shed the down and fleece and run around in shorts and t-shirts. Myself, I stop wearing jackets to work and start leaving the doors open, until I realize I'm freezing. 35 degrees is 35 degrees whether it's December or May.
(There's a subset of guys who wear shorts year-round here. They tend to be of three kinds: snowboarders, 30-something dads who pretend they're snowboarders, and the UPS guy. The shorts are the long cargo-type, so at least we're spared large flashes of goosebumpy flesh.)
The kids immediately wear tank tops (gals) or take their shirts off (dudes) and hang around the park downtown. By the way, I seem to have turned into the kind of mom who says: "Those children must be freezing!" How did that happen?
Then it turns gray and cold and rainy again and we remember it's only February.
I'm happy to report that I'm in a far better place than I was this time last year, when I wrote this depressing post. Wow. Good thing I didn't have my biathlon rifle back then.
Where the cool kids hang out. And the geese. On a much nicer day than today.
Just when I was bemoaning my fall from scuba diver to knitter, here comes a true athlete. Biathlete AND knitter, Magdalena Neuner. She even has her own pattern and yarn line.
Here's her blog banner:
Hmm. Maybe I need to get a rifle.
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