Monday, January 23, 2012

SALE!

That's it. I'm coming clean. I have a problem. Not a serious problem. Not a, "My life will not continue if I keep going on like this" sort or problem. More like a, "Why the hell do I continue to do such a stupid, easily not done thing?" problem.

I love to consume. I love to make purchases. My dears; I just can't lie about it: I love to shop.

I feel as though this needs a bit of context. I'm not a particularly "girly" girl. Sure, I like make-up on some days (when I'm in a show I wear it as part of my job though, so it's nice to not wear it at all sometimes). I wear skirts and dresses. When I can... well, when I feel like putting forth that sort of effort. I like getting all dolled up on my own terms. For the most part though, I love wearing sweats, over-sized long sleeved shirts, messy hair and boots (yes, I am aware that some people would argue that boots and sweats are not a wise combination. Fuck those people, as they are clearly not wise). Not to mention my keen knack for using a little more than necessary profanity and fake-humping inanimate objects like a dude for others unexpected entertainment (you're welcome).

There is however, something amazing to me about making a new purchase. I love the process. I love the moment the thought pops into my head of, "I should stop by that little downtown boutique after rehearsal today. They're having a moving sale." or "I really do need new yoga pants. It's the semi annual sale... now would be a good time..." or even, "I should get all the soup recipes I plan on making this week so I can make a list (which I will inevitable forget on the counter) of everything I have to pick up at the CO-OP. And I'll just browse through they're cute little beauty section while I'm there..." (Yeah, I even get excited about grocery shopping).

I love walking into the store. Each store smells like some sort of new. Some sort of potential. Some sort of, "If I got that it would make me feel like this and people would perceive me as that." Some sort of mystery, some sort of mysterious 'new me' piece hiding on a shelf or on a hanger. Don't get me wrong. I know each store is meticulously planned out to make me want things that will make me feel good. I know about the studies that have proved that making a purchase gives one an endorphin rush. I am pretty aware of marketing tactics and traps, but that doesn't make me NOT want to buy things.

I love touching the merchandise. I'm sure that a lot of store owners are not cool with this (to be fair, this is one to which the grocery store, particularly the produce section, does not apply. Gross.). I'm a tactile person. Texture (it's the knitter in me, I know it), weight, general nominess.

Then there's that exciting moment of ringing up the goods. The little beep each item makes, or the scrawl of pencil on the receipt paper, each thing that will soon, officially be mine, which means I get to care for it and love it in it's own glory. I get to take it home and out of that store where it's just had to sit next to things that are just like it, not getting the attention and love it deserves. And I will love it, show it to people ("You like it? Thanks! I got it yesterday. I love the cut. So comfortable too!") and I will give that item the appreciation it truly deserves.

This is absolutely not to say that I'm a shopaholic, which I really do believe is a serious condition. I have never fore-gone rent or bills (drinks with friends, absolutely, but I usually claim "responsibility") for a new pair of shoes. I have used a credit card in a manner that some may deem irresponsible, but I don't have any sort of debt. And really, when it comes down to it, using a credit card irresponsibly is part of learning how to live like an adult in this country. People hate you if you don't have a credit card, I've tried it. Stores, banks, property managers, and most of all, people who have credit cards.

Also, I do purchase responsibly.  I check tags to make sure it's machine washable. If it's not, I think long and hard about weather or not I'll really want to take the time to get it dry cleaned or hand wash it (if it's a tee shirt, forget it. I'm not dry cleaning a tee shirt. That's out of control silly to me). I will almost never buy anything that's not on sale. I will buy things that are unlike other things in my wardrobe so I'm not boring.

I'm simply telling you, that when I've had a hard day, there's very little that can cheer me up like walking into a store (preferably a yarn or clothing store) and making a purchase (big or small, doesn't matter). I pay that total with glee and thank the sales associate and walk out thinking, "Great purchase! I will get some great use out of this. It will change my life somehow, however menial or grand." Then I go home and set my loot down by the door. My ESMF knows better than to ask about these sorts of things because I inevitably feel guilty about most things that I do or do not do in my life (I wasn't raised Catholic, so I really have no idea where this comes from). Every now and than he'll ask, "That shirt looks awesome on you. Is that new?" and I'll say, "Oh this? I got it a while ago..." Which is true, and I grin a little and look at my new-ish shirt and think, "Yeah. It does look good on me."

Hair pictures soon. Promise. All I have now is crappy phone pictures. Soon.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Blood Sweat and Fears

I am now in full swing of rehearsals for a production of Macbeth (that's by Shakespeare, by the way). Being in this particular production is wonderful for a multitude of reasons, but mostly, right now... Guess who's got two thumbs and isn't collecting unemployment anymore? This chick! That's right friends, I'm making money doing what I love more than anything in the world, and things are starting to look up.

This is a shot from the first year I did a touring Shakespeare show, three years ago. Best. Job. Ever.
 I thought I'd devote a little time to break down exactly what being in rehearsals means. It's only recently become apparent to me exactly how foreign the theater world is to those of you who have real people jobs (meaning that you either have an office/cubicle, you spend a large portion of the day looking at the computer or you work from 9a-5p five (or more, in some cases) days a week). Similarly, how foreign having a real person job would be to me.

Crazy people? Nope. Actors. (Which is not to say we're not also crazy)
This particular production is a condensed version of Macbeth which is focused on making the play accessible for high school audiences (more on that later). The day-in-the-life picture of the rehearsal process looks something like this:
Get up early. Warm up my body. Coffee. Not too much. I'm thankful every day for the espresso machine my sister and brother-in-law gave me for my graduation. It's saved me a lot of money on early tour mornings, and likely a few heart palpitations. Leave for rehearsal around 8:10. We're very lucky, it's about a seven minute walk to the space, and taken briskly is an excellent warm up. Set up. Set up involves putting coffee on in the office (where the admins have real people jobs and work in a theater! Amazing!) Getting out weapons and putting the set together... er... what we have of the set so far. This year it's two ladders, a ten foot tall rolling staircase, and three large flats to hide us when we're not onstage. Then; rehearsing.

These are the weapons we were using. Something about school policies, blah blah blah and now we have to use wooden ones. Still fun, but kids are a little less into the fighting if they don't think it's bad ass.

Right. What does that mean? Our main job as actors (not to mentions the director, set designers, sound designers, costume designers, etc.) is to tell a story. To tell a story that's over four hundred years old in a way that's very clear to understand to you, the audience. As actors, we know our lines and mostly know what they mean (certainly will by the time we open) so the main job of rehearsal is to make things clear. We run scenes, work scenes to figure out how a certain moment can be more clear, or more specific, figure out how to indicate the passage of time from one scene to the next without saying, "Meanwhile, back at the Macduff's house...". Our job is to let you know what's going on so you can sit back and enjoy the story, because that's really what this is all about; the story.

Our sound designer. Doing his part to tell the story with an added bonus of looking awesome.
So. We rehearse for six hours, with two ten minute breaks and one twenty minute break. We work on the timing of our entrances. Dissecting exactly what we're saying, working different moves with umbrellas (lots of umbrellas in this world of Macbeth), tracking where props go, figuring out who will be backstage to hit a sound cue, etc.

We go on like this for three weeks, which never feels like enough time, but we always pull through. This year, however, we missed the first three days because designers were brought in from out of town, our fight choreographer couldn't make it yet, etc.

So. That's pretty much rehearsal life. It goes by pretty quick, and we'll be on the road performing in one week from today, which is an entirely different job and thereby, will have an entirely different blog post.

And I suppose I owe you an explanation for the not-so-positive-sounding-post-title.

Blood: Rehearsal does not come without muscle soreness or bruising. My legs are coated in bruises from different fights (let it be noted that I may be the only one, as I bruise much like a well ripened peach). I did also gash my thumb open on a particularly ornery umbrella.

Sweat: Aside from the menial "work-out" I've been doing in the morning, these condensed shows are marathon acting. If you have anytime backstage, you are not resting, you are doing a quick change, running a sound cue and helping someone else with a quick change. Usually all within fifteen seconds.

Fears: Actors are sensitive. It really is true. We put ourselves into a job that opens us up for criticism and rejection from every angle, even more so when you're performing for a high school audience, which is, as far as I'm concerned, the most critical (both by being one of the most necessary as well as one of the more judgmental) audience on the planet. It's nerve wracking and sometimes devastating, but it is so entirely and absolutely rewarding.

In other news: Last week my hair was down far past my shoulders. What happened this week? Stay tuned for an awesomely hairy post.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

A Post For Hannah


Okay, it's not really just for Hannah, but she was the one to make the request. So following is everything I knit in the year 2011, not necessarily in order, but I'll leave the Christmas gifts for last.

Side note: Please excuse the formatting. I've yet to really figure out how to format photos in an elegant way on this...
 
Fingerless mitts for me, Sweet little hat, stylish driving cap for my Dad's Birthday

Smoking Gloves for the ESMF, Easy Scarf because my neck was cold, Little silk and alpaca bandanna for the same reason.


 Fluffy hat, Stripey scarf, Sweet convertible mittens





 Fancy red hat, Silly braided cable and pom-pom hat, Driving cap for the ESMF



 Felted cat bed, red pom-pom hat and... ANOTHER red hat.

 A LOT MORE HATS! The two on the far left wound up being shop samples, both Louisa Harding designs and yarn. The top center was a blue hat for a friend who was feeling so. Bottom center was a delicious beret I was supposed to teach a class on but no on signed up and the right two are the same patter, the top for me, the bottom for my friend Bronwyn, who reacted exactly how one should to a spontaneous hand-knit gift.

 Owlet sweater for my nephew.



 A little bunny for my friend at work who waited tables until she was eight and a half months in, Hortense, perhaps you remember him from earlier posts, and an ostrich for my nephew's birthday.











My first ever shawl, and my first selfish sweater.


And Christmas:









 From top left: Mittens for my nephew, Scarf for my Dad (which I did finish, I just didn't get photos of), Mitts for my friend Kelly, A sweater for my sister, Slippers for the yarn store owner, Mitts for the ESMF's sister.




Driving cap for my brother in law, a dress for my mother, which came out shockingly well, and a baby surprise jacket for the not-so-surprise baby that arrived on New Years Eve.
The un-photographed: A camera cozy for D's camera, another two Star Crossed Slouchy Berets, one out of Malabrigo Twist in Azul Profundo and another out of Madelinetosh Vintage but in Tart (for my boss at the shop) Two HowlCats both in Madelinetosh Vintage and Tosh Sock (for not-so-chilly anymore boys, one of them THIS DUDE. Also, I still want to take pictures of you guys in those, so know that!). Another Ostrich that has yet to be gifted, also in Malabrigo Twist. Also, a hat for the ESMF's (other) little sister.

Which means!
Hats: 19 hats
Hand Toasters: 6
Toys/Stuffed Animals: 4
Sweaters: 4 (but two baby sweaters)
Dress: 1 (Super awesome)
Neck Accessories: 5
"Other": 2

41 F.O.'s in 2011. I don't have a mileage calculator, but I'm thinking about setting that up.

SO! All in all, a pretty productive year of knitting. Lots of hats. I love hats. I love hats real hard. I'm working on another one right now, actually. Also on the needles is a HUGE post-Christmas selfish knit. It will be a work of awesome when I get it done, and I will gloat heartily, so don't worry about missing out.

If you happen to have any questions about what pattern I use (they are all from patterns) or what yarn I used, or which yarn I preferred for a specific project (I knit the same thing sometimes, it makes me feel like I'm an awesome knitter) feel free to leave a comment and I'll get back to you.

Friday, January 6, 2012

Horrible Drivers. Or: Sometimes Polietness Comes From Sheer Stupidity

Point One:
I live in a sort-of large town. Or I live in a really small city. It has yet made itself clear to me which one it is. Where I live, there is a modest skyline and you can just barely see the foothills leading up into some mountains. If you drive ten miles in the right direction from here, you can feel like you're in the middle of nowhere and be in some pretty serious peace and quite.

Point Two:
I don't own a car (although, my parents got me a super-sweet car share membership this year for Christmas). People somehow think this relates to me being a hippie. I'm not really sure why that is, other than hippies are a subculture and car owners are not. Let it be known that I do shower regularly, I'm not a huge fan of drum circles, and I haven't made hemp jewelry in very many years. The biggest reason I don't own a car is that it hasn't ever been a necessity for me, so why would I get one? That's just an added responsibility. I don't want to have to deal with annual maintenance, insurance, finding a parking spot, parking tickets, whatever you car-owners deal with on a regular basis, I don't want it.

Point Three:
I'm a pretty kick ass driver. I drive for work all over the state for three months out of the year and I'm safe, a great parallel parker, excellent turn signal-user, know who has the right-of-way when, keep a vigilant eye, etc. Yup. Aside from several lead-foot speeding tickets when I first got my license (pretty seriously speeding tickets actually, but I never go more than five mph over the limit now) I'm a very solid, safe driver.

Main point? (I know, seriously, get to it, the prologue has reason, I promise) People in the rural city (I'm convinced this is part of the problem, the city, not-quite-city conundrum, and I will continue to refer to this place as the rural city) cannot drive. Not everyone, obviously, but I would say a solid three quarters of the population are really, just terrible drivers. Riding my bicycle (or my scooter, in the warmer months) puts me in a position to be privy to noticing some really terrible driving habits of the rural citians. So, I've compiled a list of things I like, and things that could have easily led to my death. If you will:

DO: Use your turn signal. Seriously people. I'm not holding my arm out or out and down to look cool, I'm doing it to communicate with you. To let you know, "Hey, look the fuck out, I'm going to turn left here!" Please extend me the same courtesy. AND NO FAKE OUTS! That whole thing where you flip your blinker on and start to drift over, then swerve back because you have no idea where you are? Or when you turn your blinker on when you're halfway through the turn? That shit just isn't fair.

DON'T: Treat bicyclists like they're little old ladies. I understand the need to be nice, trust me, I really do, but don't give me special treatment. If I come to a stop sign while on my bicycle guess what I'm going to do. Go for it, guess. Okay, fine I'll tell you; I'm gunna stop, and wait for the intersection to clear because THAT'S THE LAW AND I DON'T BREAK IT BECAUSE THAT'S NOT SAFE! If you're in your car and you see me waiting at a stop sign and you don't have one why would you stop and wave me through the intersection?! That's insane! I'm sure that stop sign is there for a reason, which is why I stopped in the first place, and if you wave me through I'm going to do one of two things: Shake my head at you in disapproval and wait for the intersection to clear or pretend I don't see you. Either way, I will be muttering some of the foulest insults anyone has ever heard under my breath. (This applies for stop lights too, though the insults will be twice as bad because if you stop at a green light to try to be nice to me, you might as well just kill someone else).

DON'T: Roll through crosswalks at intersections without looking for pedestrians first. I know, this is a touchy one, "Hey! You're not a pedestrian, you're a cyclist!" Well, that's actually true and not true where I live, and a large part of the problem. Here, A cyclist obeys pedestrian laws while on the sidewalk and vehicle laws while in the street, so really, I'm whatever I wanna be. In any case, don't do that shit, it pisses me off.

DO: Be aware of your surroundings. Me, other cars, curbs, lanes, you know, like you were if you were... driving. Just know that you are not the only person on the road, and in fact, there are many other people on this planet aside from you.

DON'T: Wait for me. This one's a little bit of reiteration of the treating me like a little old lady, but slightly different. If I'm on the sidewalk and about to go through a drive way and you in all your four-wheeled glory, like a good driver have your turn signal on and are about to turn into that driveway, don't wait for me to go through it. This one has exceptions, but really what it comes down to is that I just don't trust you. Hurtful, I know, but very true. And really, I have no reason to trust you. I don't know you and I will always be defensive on my bicycle because there are so many terrible drivers on the road and my profession, not to mention my means of transport, relies on the use of my entire body in every way. A stutter step you share with a fellow pedestrian when you're walking in opposite directions down the street (you know, the thing that prompts that stupid "Shall we dance?" joke) is similar, except (despite having any empirical evidence to prove the point) I'm fairly certain that pressed steel and a variety of other metals are a bit harder that my little fleshy boney bits.

Bottom line? You, seated, warm, comfortable, surrounded by your reinforced steel and years of technological advances, equip with radio controls and cell phone blue tooth on your steering wheel are a lot bigger and a lot more durable than myself and my charming 1970's Raleigh with an adorable basket. Don't forget to look for me. And if you see me riding on the sidewalk, please don''t yell out your car window, "Get on the road!" That just proves to me that you would rather yell at pedestrians rather than pay attention to your task at hand; driving. In which case, I'd rather do anything in the world than share the road with you, a clearly distracted and crazy person.

Oh. And if any of you ever do hit me, please don't kill me. If you hurt me, and have insurance, we can talk. I got some bills to pay.