This is a special post, coming to you from my circa 2002 PC laptop. You see, my Mac is in the shop. I was working on my Xmas list last night when it froze up and subsequently refused to boot. After attempting several secret Apple shortcut/key combos suggested by my excellent, sympathetic stepmother, I took it to the local genius bar. The problem is either the hard drive or the cable connecting the hard drive to the logic board. I took this news surprisingly well. They may or may not be able to do data recovery for me, so I may be looking to replace a lot of music that I bought from Itunes and never got around to backing up. So, dear reader, I want you to back up all your important files so that this doesn't happen to you. Let me be the object lesson for you. Keep your fingers crossed for me, too!
What else has happened lately? hmmm.... I went to the doctor twice in one week, which made me feel like such an adult. I hadn't been in a couple of years and needed to take care of all of those mundane, general maintenance things. The horrible GP that I saw last time has since left the practice, and I got reassigned to a much cooler doctor. No lecture about quitting smoking, but instead an open dialogue about a willingness to help when I'm ready to quit. A willingness to work with me, rather than dictating a list of things that I HAVE to do. Because, let's face it, I'm probably not going to do them if a lecture is involved. Oh, and the new doctor knits. Highly excellent!
I hennaed my hair, which was quite the disaster. The Pyrex bowl that I was using as a ghetto bain marie exploded, sending broken glass and water everywhere. Fortunately, the smaller bowl wasn't upset, and the henna didn't spew all over the kitchen. Isn't Pyrex supposed to be practically indestructible? The explosion really shook me, since I had just left the kitchen when the bowl shattered. Had I not drifted back into the living room to watch ER, I could have been impaled by giant chunks of glass. Yikes. Oh, and the henna seems to have seriously clogged my bathroom sink. So, I had to clean up broken glass (including opening the stovetop), scrub two sinks, pour boiling water down the drains, and scrub the bathtub. Wish I could post a pic of what the henna did to my bath puff, but my camera and PC don't talk to each other. It's a dramatic, army olive color. While the henna was on my hair, I had a moment of panic that I would accidentally dye my hair green, like Anne of Green Gables does when trying to dye her hair black. Usually red dyes appear purple in solution. The end result in my hair is fine. It's not green. It's not a definite color, since hennaed hair appears so very different in different types of light. One of my coworkers thinks it looks blonder. My mom says it looks brown (under those damn ugly energy saver compact fluorescent bulbs). It looks red under incandescents, and kind of red gold in natural light. In any case, it's not so washed out looking as it was before the henna and it has a nice shine. I guess that could be the new shampoo and conditioner combo, Reincarnate and Veganese, both by Lush. Reincarnate contains red henna, which should help maintain the color.
Still knitting up a storm. I'm down to three hats and a scarf on the to-knit list. Maybe a pair of fingerless gloves, too, I haven't decided yet. I'm having a hard time psyching myself up for all of those hats. They're not difficult or anything, just not exciting. I long to knit something for myself! This is the time of year that cries out for lots of cozy sweaters. Oh, and I appreciate my own work, which is not always the case with my giftees. I'll try not to knit bitterly.

It's been a tumultuous week. I don't really want to go into any of the details, but I feel shat on. All my friends have been great, but I could still use all the positive energy that you can send my way.

I've adopted/coined a new word: dickish. Use it in a sentence today!

I'd love to post pics of my current knitting projects, but the fear that people might recognize their presents prevents it. I flatter myself in thinking that anyone reads Reciprocity Failure, I know. Actually, a google search for my "real name" + theatre pulled up a link to this site. I digress. Perhaps I will put together a gallery of arty, abstract photographs of my knitting. Only a genius would know that the carefully photoshopped to look like it was shot on a 4x5 plate pic of chunky moss stitch is a cushion. I've said too much.

Today was not the best day for travel. Well, there weren't any broken electric cables (that was last week), but I walked all over the loop to use one of my bank's ATMs and get a CTA day pass. I refuse to call it a fun pass. Public transportation isn't my idea of a good time. All this to go to a passementerie shop. Trim sounds so much more elegant in French. The store is much like the trim shops in London and Paris, full of many beautiful, expensive things. Several of which I purchased. I went there to buy a yard of ribbon to trim a hat (xmas present) and ended up buying four yards of various lovely, imported ribbons and an enameled button for a planned sweater. It's unclear when I will get to make that sweater (see previous post), but I couldn't pass up a perfect color match. That's nearly impossible in greens.

My coworkers must think that I am a grande dame in training. I'm always off to the theatre, the ballet, the opera. Picture also vampish red lipstick, a fur coat, and cigarette case. Maybe it's more dame than dame! I went to my first opera in the Lyric season, Iphigenie en Tauride. It was incredible. The set and all of the costumes were black, all shades of black. the staging was very modern, stark but effective. I was especially touched when Iphigenie erased her name from the rear wall while singing an aria about having lost everything. My mother was less impressed than I. It's funny, considering that she introduced me to opera, that I am more into it now. Well, maybe not more of a fan, but more interested in the less traditional stagings. It could be generational, or because I am such a theatre person. Opera has much more interesting, exciting design than theatre these days. Opera does it on a grand scale, with a grand budget to match.

Last night, I went to see the Kirov dance Swan Lake. For free. It was sensational. The Kirov has such a perfect corps de ballet, such incredible principles, and wonderful technique. Their costumes were lovely, especially the long sheer skirts in the ball and court scenes. It was all loveliness, really, especially after that glass of champagne during the first intermission.

Oh, the Kirov, the Joffrey, the Lyric, the Goodman! It brings to mind the time that I went to see American Ballet Theatre dance Gisele a couple of years ago. There I was, all sweaty from a day of pounding the pavement in Manhattan, in jeans and chiffon, surrounded by women in gowns, dripping in jewels. Hell, I wanted to applaud when they flew out the chandeliers before the show. Oh, how nice it would be to go to the symphony and the ballet and the opera, to marry some generous older gentleman and only take cabs everywhere, I thought. Well, I can do all of those things for myself. I need to be that person who went to Paris alone in my everyday life. I need to find a reason to stay instead of reasons to go. All of those middle of the night thoughts.

I am undertaking an ambitious amount of knitting for Xmas this year. How is that different from the past five years? Well, this year, there are a couple of sweaters in the mix. Yes, sweaters. No, I am not crazy. I finished one of them last night, along with two scarves that had been languishing on the needles. I took a fifteen minute break then started another scarf. I have two months to make two sweaters, three hats, four scarves, and a cushion. I knit on the train, I knit in front of the television, I knit all the time. If I could, I would knit at work.
Fortunately, there is a sale on at Loopy, my lunch hour LYS. It's a brisk walk from the office or a short cab ride. Of course, I did not buy anything that was on sale. I went there on Wednesday to pick up some yarn for the cushion, but underestimated the size of the pillow form. So, I had to go back and get more yarn yesterday. I ended up buying an entire mill pack of the yarn in question, a green wool yarn that looks remarkably like a cotton yarn that I love. Except it's wool, so it's a stable fiber. So, I'm going to remake the disastrous cotton cardigan in wool. Matching cushion and sweater. Wearing the sweater around the cushion would be a bit awkward, so I'll have to plan accordingly. Besides, I can't knit anything for myself until after Xmas.

A couple of unrelated stories about karma:
I am quickly becoming a Lush addict. Their store is dangerously close to my office. On Thursday, I was killing time before I had to clock in and stopped buy to see if they had Elizabeth's favorite (sadly discontinued) shampoo bar. They had a big stack of them. They also had a demo of the bubble bar going, using the Karma bar. It was intoxicating. So much so that I bought a jar of Karma Cream even though I still have a half a jar of CO Bigelow Lemon Cream! The Karma Cream is fabulous, rich, and fragrant. Elizabeth was thrilled when I called her about the shampoo bars.
This little errand qualified me for a free glitter bar, for use on the hair. I'm really glad that I tried it out in the privacy of my own home rather than in the bathroom at work before going out. I stupidly rubbed it directly on my head, dumping an amount of glitter on my scalp that would make David Bowie weep. A shower and a bath later, I still have glitter in my hair.

I was having a shitty day at work, feeling a little sorry for myself, when I got an unexpected phone call. A couple of weeks ago, I sold tickets to a former dancer who hadn't been to the ballet in the decade since his retirement. We had a fabulous conversation and he expressed an interest in meeting me, which is always a little awkward. Unfortunately, our paths didn't cross at the ballet, but he called to thank me. He loved his seat, loved the ballet, and had so much gratitude. That type of feedback is rare in my work. His phone call really turned my day around.

Yesterday, I was driving home from the train station, listening to some Frank Sinatra on the stereo when a woman began frantically honking at me. Fortunately, I restrained from any rude gestures. She alerted me of my flat tire, which I had somehow not noticed when approaching the car in the parking lot. This was on a busy street, so I decided to limp the two blocks to the next gas station to address the problem there. As soon as the woman pulled away, a man pulled up next to me and started honking. He seemed so upset by my blase reaction to the news. Who could expect two good samaritans in a row? I pulled into the gas station and saw no obvious holes, nails, etc. in the tire, so decided to reinflate it. The tire held air overnight, so the cause of the flat remains a mystery.

The Round Up

What have I been up to lately? Besides working six days a week?
Well, in no particular order, I have seen the following things:
* The Pillowman, at Steppenwolf. Highly disturbing, excellent work. The short stories within the play are amazing. A very Steppenwolf show.
* The Queen, a new film by Stephen Frears, starring Helen Mirren. Superb acting and directing, matched with sharp, sharp writing. I went to a special screening at the Chicago International Film Festival, which prompted me to re-order my Netflix list.
* The Handyman, a French romantic comedy. I didn't set out to see this film. I bought a ticket to The Page Turner, but the print was held up in customs. Instead, the powers that be at CIFF decided to substitute The Handyman. They're both from France, but of remarkably different theme and tone. A charming film with a terrible, arbitrary ending.
* Cinderella, by Sir Frederick Ashton, danced by the Joffrey Ballet. Twice. Beautiful, fabulous stuff. The first time around, I saw the all-star, dream cast. Second time, younger dancers in the principle roles. It was interesting to compare artistic choices and abilities. I sat in the front of the orchestra section the first time and back in the dress circle the second time, which was useful for future reference in seating. I love my season seats (in the orchestra section); I saw a lot of detail and texture that wasn't clear from further back. The dress circle, however, is much better for watching patterns in the corps, which were a bit muddy at times. I'm not entirely sure if that was the dancing or the choreography. Still, a wonderful time had by all.
* Vigils, at the Goodman. I saw the first preview tonight. It's a funny show, but it's hard to judge a show so early in the run. I'm sure that it will be tighter by the time opening rolls around.
What else is going on, you ask. Well, I still haven't finished that raglan sweater, though it is definitely sweater weather in Chicago now. Perhaps tomorrow... I dropped a small fortune at the Lush store this week, in a Crimbo present spree. Oh, and I'm stalking my shipment of yarn from the lovely folks at Webs via UPS tracking. That site is addictive. So, I've got lots of knitting and pampered skin planned. I've also got tickets for King Lear next week at the Goodman.

Canada, Oh

My trip to Canada was brilliant. Not without its low moments, but generally fabulous. Included in this post are a few photographs I took in Montreal.
Unfortunately, there was only one day of good light for the Holga. Still, one is better than none, and that day included a trip to one of the Catholic cathedrals. I haven't processed that yet, but expect good things.
Elizabeth and I hadn't seen each other since summer stock last year, so I was really looking forward to seeing her again. As far as I am concerned, she can travel with me any time that she wants.
Montreal is considered by many Americans to be very European, and by Europeans to be terribly American. Well, I don't know about that. It's a very chic city, where everyone wears artfully tied scarves. Elizabeth and I both bought several scarves. Many of the buildings have strange second floor entrances and beautiful wrought ironwork similar to that of the Vieux Carre in New Orleans. If you paid attention in history class, you may recall that many Acadians fled to Louisiana during the colonial period. It's always interesting to see the signs of things like that.
Many people in Montreal also speak English. If you have an anglo accent or any kind of linguistic stumble, they will switch languages. This frustrated me greatly. I wanted to speak French, but found English to be quite the crutch in Montreal. I wanted to flex my linguistic muscle, as I had to when I was in France. Elizabeth does not speak French, and asked the meaning of various signs. The signs invariably included words that I don't know (it's the same language as much as we speak the same language as the English). The one that really drove me nuts was l'erable. It was everywhere, and I'd never seen it before. Well, that would be a very Canadian word, I thought once I realized its meaning. L'erable means maple. They're just falling over maple this, that, and the other in Canada. After seeing the first vibrant red leaves in Mount Royal park, though, I can understand why it is so iconic.
There were two things that made the whole trip worthwhile: the Chinese Lantern Festival at Les Jardins Botaniques and a Pink Martini concert at the Place des Arts. Elizabeth advised going up to the gardens before the weather changed, so we saw the lanterns on the last day of summer. We couldn't have planned it better. The gardens are high above the city, next to the Olympic Stadium, with a breathtaking view. We had just enough time to stroll through the gardens before dusk. The lanterns really popped as the light left the sky. I'd expected generic, round lanterns, but the gardens had all sorts of shapes and sizes, hand-painted, made to look like ducks, swans, long boats, and many other surprising figures. Naturally, the only photo I was able to take is of the most boring lantern there, in one of the Chinese pavilions.
Pink Martini was amazing. The Place des Arts is similar to Lincoln Center, but all inside, linked to the Metro station of the same name. It seemed a very well laid-out complex. They even had custom paint jobs on the lighting instruments to make them blend into the beige acoustical treatments. The audience was lively, large, and mostly French-speaking. The band spoke French, with charming mistakes, between songs. I hadn't noticed before then how adorable the pianist in Pink Martini is. He got quite the reception! I'd just seen Pink Martini at the Barbican in March, but this was a very different experience. The crowd in Montreal was more engaged. They clapped sooner and more accurately. They also gave two standing ovations. I can't wait until their next album comes out.
Generally, Montreal is pretty cool. They ask if you want to have separate checks straight away in restaurants, so you don't have to ask. The make-up ladies at The Bay on Ste. Catherine rock. One of them told Elizabeth that she looked as though she'd just come in from playing outside while trying on blush. Everything must be labeled in French, making our trip to the Lush store especially novel. My canister of dusting powder has no English translation, but it does have a creepy pic of some guy named Graeme who works there. There are a lot of cool vintage stores and used book/record stores. We stayed in the Plateau, quite near Mt. Royal, so we had many to choose from nearby. Our cabbie even pointed out a place to score drugs and gave an explanation of the local drug laws on the way to our auberge!
I don't know if I will return to Montreal, but it seems like a great place. I think that I might like to explore other parts of Canada, like the Atlantic Coast and maybe out west. I'd love to be able to pick up Canadian magazines like Maclean's at the local B&N. Their writing is so sharp and fearless in a manner that has largely disappeared in the mainstream press here. And Canadian humor and advertising is so fab. The weird beavers for Bell, the funny posters for the birth control ring on the wall in the ladies' room... maybe they seem cool because we don't see them all the time. Or maybe all those additional years in the Commonwealth really paid off for our neighbors to the north.

Okay, I have a lot to catch up on. Since my last post, I've done a few exciting things, like start a new job (in addition to the "old" job), leave the country, give away a hand-knit sweater, and attend an amazing concert.
The little things first:
*I lost the laser etched shell buttons that I bought for my RYC raglan sweater, so I had to go back up to the Mag Mile to buy more. This time, I took the bus instead of wearing myself out walking. Wearing the sweater sans buttons just wouldn't work and was silly in an unfortunate, 1980s fashion.
*I have very little free time. I know, I used to say that when I was only working one gig, but I work six days a week now. This has cut into my knitting a bit. However, I like the new job, which is remarkably similar to the old job, but in a better working atmosphere. Oh, and I get loads of comps and discounts!
*I gave away the cotton cardigan, with which I had a love/hate relationship. I loved the pattern, but hated the sagging under the arms. Not flattering. Also, the button band did something funny when it was buttoned. I planned to give it to Elizabeth, who is a few inches taller than I am. Perhaps the underarm seam would hit her in the right place, I thought. Well, it turns out that the sweater fits my mother. Fits her like it was made for her. Perhaps that will cut down on hints to make a sweater for her (usually along the lines of "her daughter made her a sweater". Knitting guilt trips aren't pretty). I'm glad that it worked out well for someone, because the whole thing left me in an Eeyore mood. Still, I'd like to make one for myself, since I loved the yarn and style. This time, I'll make sure that it will fit me!
*Have you heard about Lush? They're a really cool handmade cosmetics company. Elizabeth piqued my interest by bringing along Lush Times to read on the train, soon followed by a trip to their store on Ste. Catherine in Montreal. Cool products, great attitude. Highly recommended.
*I am a red lipstick convert. Does this mean that I am a trend slave? I dunno. I used to think it too vampish and extreme with my pale skin, but was won over by the fact that red lipstick doesn't need much else. It's classic. It doesn't need five layers of MAC eyeshadow artfully blended together, just some mascara and maybe 1950s film star eyeliner. So I bought some at The Bay and looove it.
*The emergency last minute gift scarf was finished on the way to Toronto. I even wove in all the ends on the train. Of course, now the emergency has evaporated. Still, it's good to have an item for the old (empty) gift drawer.
*Willie Nelson busted with un grand sac de marijuana. Also, the pope is Catholic.
*I also really love scarves right now. Not necessarily knitted ones, but also stripey, cotton voile ones that can be wrapped or tied dozens of different ways. Oh, and I've got a vintage plaid one that I tie jauntily in the style of a first class stewardess.
*For some incomprehensible reason, The New Yorker wants to charge me $5 more to renew my subscription than the blown in cards offer for new subscribers. How exactly is that fair? I know $5 isn't a lot of money, but it does rankle me. At the same time, I am unlikely to give up The New Yorker.
*I've really fallen behind on listening to the episodes of my favorite podcast, Cast-On. It's about knitting, naturally. I love the podcast, the author is really entertaining; I don't know what has caused me to lag behind. I used to listen to it eagerly on the train to work on Saturday mornings. Lately, it's been too noisy on the train, what with the forced air (heat or AC, you never know which it will be) and endless cell phone conversations and boisterous children. I sound like such a curmudgeon! Yes, I use my cell phone in public. Maybe now that the trains have a family car the other issue will be less frequent. We'll see.
*The bigger stuff I'll save for another post. Sorry.