It has been a bad week for knitting. I lost one of the needles out of the striped sock planned as a gift for Lewis. Woefully far from completion, so I gave him theatre tickets for his birthday instead.
Since I was short a needle, I had to sit idly during one of the runs. I dashed up to Arcadia during the break, where I bought the makings of a Karabella cabled hat. Except I forgot to buy a cable needle. A dpn made a good substitute, but I quickly realized that an increasing cable pattern is too complex to knit in the dark.
I started the second sleeve on my cardigan. Shortly thereafter, I realized that the second sleeve was smaller than the first. A careful measurement of the sleeves revealed that the completed sleeve was knit at 3 3/4 stitches to the inch, and the second at 4. Hot damn. The finished sleeve was quickly frogged. I decided that my current projects, with the exception of the super simple sock, will not travel.
Work is good. I like my co-workers, which is a plus. We get a lot of ambient noise in the theatre, like sirens during an intimate scene, or the low rumble of a large car stereo. There aren't many sound cues during the show, so I have a lot of time for quiet pursuits. I found a book of celebrity scandals in the green room at the mainstage and had to appropriate it for the studio space. It's sort of a condensed tabloid, and as addictive as crack.
There's a fascinating issue of the New Yorker this week, on the topic of filmmaking. One of the articles is a profile of B-movie actress Jaime Pressly. I wonder if it will help or hurt her career, given some of the comments that she makes about several of her contemporaries. The photograph isn't exactly flattering, either.
I really enjoyed the short article (part of a series) about sound design for the cinema. It focussed solely on foley recording for an upcoming seafarer epic, pretty amazing stuff. I'm a big sucker for that sort of behind the scenes information, probably because I spend so much time in similar pursuits. I hope that the New Yorker will publish a similar issue on theatre in the future, though they already devote great amounts of ink to live entertainment.
In other news, I've started another blog, for more erudite work. So, now I'll have two to neglect instead of one. The new project is a collaboration with a college classmate. She also has a crazy schedule, but I hope that, between the two of us, we can keep our e-zine rolling.
I didn't go to my last three screenings after I was hit with another round of head cold. I think that I got it from a toothbrush that I keep at the studio, which I'd last used while sick. The sneezing was relentless, so I couldn't go to the screening of Tamala 2010 , which really interested me. But after I sneezed so hard that I felt an odd rip in the back of my throat, it seemed that going home to sleep was a better option. Luckily, it was not a vocal chord injury.
Inspired by the arrival of my paycheck, I bought the new knitting book by Debbie Stoller. You may know her as the founder/editor of BUST magazine and a NY Stitch n Bitch regular. It's well written, with several projects I'd like to tackle. The peppermint striped sweater is on the top of that list, though I should finish some of my UFOs first.
I finally got my hands on a copy of Time In, the most elusive album in Dave Brubeck's Time series. I've pursued it for ages, since I decided not to order it online. Somehow, that feels like cheating when in pursuit of a rarity. I happened across it at Borders, of all places.


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