You'll Shoot Your Eye Out, Kid.

And the winner of the camera race is ...

(drumroll)

.... a Nikon Coolpix L12 7.1 megapixels with 3x zoom, a 1 gig SD card, a compass in the stock and this thing which tells time!

Woot!

We are all in trouble now. I almost know how to use this thing. At least, I can use it enough to decide that my inaugural yarn snapshot should be purple.

So.

I took pictures of the purple sock-in-progress. This was fairly easy. And then, just to get really fancy and hi-tech and all, I figured out how to upload them to my computer and edit them using the exquisitely simple editing program that came free with the camera.

And that's as far as I can get.

I've tried and tried a thousand times to get the pictures from my hard drive into the actual text of this blog. I've spent forty-eight hours fooling around with this. I've clicked on the little picture icon and followed all the steps, and the best I can get is a window telling me my pictures are being uploaded to blogger.

So where the @#*! are my pictures? Not in the blog. Obviously. For all I know, there are nine thousand snapshots of a purple bearfoot sock cuff popping up all over the blogosphere, but they sure as heck aren't here.

Anybody know what I'm doing wrong?

ps. Someone commented privately that they thought I should find a nicer term than slush pile. But this is what it's called. I didn't invent the name any more than I decided a hammer should be called a hammer. Someday I might wax eloquently (snort!) about how the slush pile contains the hope of both writers and editors, and occasionally delivers a diamond in the rough, but for now let's just say this. My sometimes snarky feelings about slush are tied to its volume and to my own lack of time available for grooming new-but-raw talent. So let's just all untwist our panties, ok? I'm not calling it slush out of meanness.

Don't Be a Hater

It seems that knitlandia can be divided into two camps: VK haters and VK lovers. Well, paint me pink and croon me a ballad, because

Knitterary Hearts Vogue Knitting

The current issue generally lives on the left-hand front corner of my desk, perched atop my slush pile. (For those of you not in publishing, "slush" is what we call an unsolicited manuscript, and "pile" is the cutesy-poo diminutive applied to the avalanche of dead tree shavings forklifted into our offices six days a week. A slush pile ain't a thing of beauty, but a VK on top does gussy it up some.)

What draws me to knitting is exactly what draws me to sewing. I like garment design and construction. No deep zenlike philosophies here. I just like it, and because that's what I like, I also like VK. The patterns are bold and well-executed. I can find rich fodder for knitdreaming in the pages, no matter how many times I've already leafed through the issue. I know, I know, their sizes range from starving third world child all the way up to anorexic supermodel, but I can usually figure out how to upsize them. Or normalsize them. Depending on your perspective.

The designs are usually more interesting than what you find in some of the other knitting mags. Yes, I concede that sometimes "interesting" amounts to "so weird that even the bag lady on Lower Wacker wouldn't dress her pet bicycle tire Fluffy in it, not even if you paid her four Milk Duds and half a cement brick to do it." I usually just treat these strange patterns as comic relief and keep turning the pages.

For my money, this month's candidate for "Not Fit To Be Worn By A Schizo's Pet Rubber Tube" goes to the bizarrely French-knotted baby onesie with the Charo-esque ruffled hems. I usually love this particular designer's designs, but egad! This thing is practically deformed from the thousands and thousands of teenie weenie French knots, and did I mention all the damn French knots? There are so many of them, they look like hedgerows, and personally I don't think it's good to dress a baby in shrubbery. And by the time you got all the embellishments in place, the onesie would weigh more than the baby.

Did any of you read the liner notes for this thing? "Babies make the perfect tiny, beautiful, helpless models," she wrote.

Helpless.

Yup.

Because if any infant could help it, she sure wouldn't wear that thing.

But I digress. I meant to write with great verve and eloquence about all the patterns I love in the current issue. The mesh hoodie beach cover-up that will be perfect for weekends at our lake house. The very interesting twisted cable tee from Vladimir Teriokhin worked in, of all things, Coats & Clark TLC Cotton Plus. The Michael Kors short-sleeved cardigan, or the three-button cardigan with eyelet detailing and small gathers over the bust, or the kimono with the lovely zigzag texture stitch, any of which could see a lot of use in a summer wardrobe. And, above all, the I-Must-Cast-This-On-Right-This-Very-Minute lace babydoll dress from the cover. Love this dress. LOVE it.

Yet despite all this pink heart love and swoony knitdreaminess, what do I do? I lose the stars in my eyes and start ripping on the one pattern that guarantees VK will preserve its reputation for bewildering, unwearable fashions.

But that doesn't make me a VK-hater.

Call Me Sisyphus

In addition to my very busy schedule of coloring my blog and counting to four over and over with a stopwatch in hand, I have been camera shopping.

And camera shopping.

And camera shopping.

I have fondled the aluminum husks of dozens of lightweight beauties small enough to fit into my wallet's coin pouch. I considered actually testing the fit of cameras and coin purses, but realized quickly that this would also test the store's security response team. Curiosity is a poor reason to get arrested, even on an otherwise dull Monday.

I have pushed buttons both foreign and domestic, and never once managed to liquify Altoona. Or if I did, nobody complained about it.

I have asked thousands of apparently very stupid questions of hordes of teenaged salesdorks. They don't like me very much. One of them actually hid behind a counter to avoid me. Heh. Like that worked. I just walked up to that counter and leaned right on over, and took special wicked pleasure in the enormous sigh that escaped the boy.

These salesdorks, they sure have mastered the art of the expressive sigh. Their collective sighs were voluminous enough -- and noxious enough, dudes, skip the onions on the burgers for all our sakes -- to widen the hole in the ozone layer by the size of an eastern seaboard state. God help us all if I ever decide to buy a camcorder. Invest in sunblock, that's all I'm saying.

I've scoured dozens of internet review sites, most of which were useless without a camerageek-to-English dictionary. I mean, what exactly is an aperture, and why would I want one? Will it make my knitting look pretty on the screen?

Interesting side note: There isn't a teenaged boy salesdork in any camera department in the south suburban shoppingopolis who can respond to that question in an intelligent fashion. The best any of us can hope for is, "Knitting?" accompanied by a blank stare. Though one did say, "Knitting?" accompanied by a look that said, "That explains a lot." This was before he hid behind the counter.

I brought two sweaters with me, one white stockinette and one purple cables. I dare you all to photograph knitting in Best Buy. Double dog dare you. Two things will happen. First, many many innocent consumers will back slowly out of your presence. Second, one of the many clerks hiding behind the counter will emerge, white flag in hand, and volunteer to take photos of keys for you.

I don't know why either, but keys are the hot thing. Soon you will have a large collection of pictures of car keys, cabinet keys, keys to the employees' bathroom, against various backgrounds and with various cameras. This is supposed to prove something about something, but all it proved to me is that they didn't want me taking pictures of my knitting.

So where does this leave us?

I've learned that you have to spend $600 dollars for a camera, plus another $550 for a special macro lens, if you want to take a really cool picture of a key.

And I still don't actually own a camera.

But we're getting closer, if only because I will sooner or later lose patience and buy the first camera that jumps into my coin purse.

Speed Knitting

On one of my knitting lists, there was some chat about a recent fiber festival in France. They held a speed knitting competition with two divisions. The winner of the French division, Ariella Lecuyer, clocked in at 213 stitches per minute. Think that's something? She's a turtle compared to the winner of the international division, Maria Nicolo, who knit at an astounding rate of 240 stitches per minute.


Let's savor that.


Two Hundred. Forty. Stitches. Per minute.


That's -- wait for it -- four stitches per second.


Now, just to really complete the picture, go get yourself a stopwatch. Try to say the words "one-two-three-four" out loud in one second. Can you do it?


I can't.


And then try to factor in that each knitting stitch has a series of moves. No matter if you knit righty, lefty, English, Eastern Uncrossed Continental, or with a half-twist-double-pike-reverse-tuck-flip-flop thrown in, you're going to have to accomplish a certain sequence of moves. Insert the needle. Wrap the yarn. Make the new stitch. Release the old stitch.


Counting one-two-three-four hardly captures the grace and complexity of that sequence four times in a second. You'd have to at least bump it up to "a one and a two and a three and a four." Which I still can't say in a second, let alone knit in a second. Heck, I'd do a happy jig to reach half that speed.


And then I'd go yarn shopping. Because even my stash isn't big enough to survive those kinds of knitting speeds.


Sweet Jane

I think I am starting to get the hang of this here blogamajig, and made a few small style changes. Those of you who have been yarn shopping with me will not be at all surprised to see that this includes liberal use of the color purple. (And those of you who've read my first drafts will be equally unsurprised. But that's a whole different kind of purple.)

The quote in the "about me" section is one of my favorite moments in a Jane Austen book. This one is from "Emma." Everyone should read this book. Seriously. Go get a copy and read it right now. I'll wait for you....

.... Great book, isn't it? The careful readers among you will note that my sidebar quote fails to preserve the paragraphing of the original text. That's because I couldn't figure out how to do it, and lost many, many minutes of knitting time in the effort to figure it out. Seriously.

At Maria Nicolo's speed, we're talking like nine sweaters.

This Should Be Illegal

A knitblog with no pictures of knitting? What am I thinking?

Actually, one of the reasons I've resisted getting a knitblog is that I don't own a digital camera. Yes, I intend to get one, probably in the next couple of weeks. So yarn p0rn will be forthcoming eventually for all the skeevy yarn pervs out there in bloglandia. (I am one of you! Bring on the yarn p0rn!)

That said....

I have strongly mixed emotions about buying a digital camera. The technology isn't all that great yet. Picture quality is nowhere near that of film, and by my guesstimation, my fingertip is roughly six times the size of those teenie weenie buttons. Which are usually all jammed together. And dude, I am clumsy, so this is one of those recipes for disaster. "Crap! I meant to take your picture, but instead, I detonated a nuclear warhead in Altoona! Everyone duck!"

Plus, I've never been one to jump on the latest gadget bandwagon. What others take as a routine part of modern life, I take on a case by case basis. And in the world of gadgetry, that usually results in my abstinence.

Don't believe me? Try this one on for size. I do not now own, never have owned, and never intend to own a cell phone. I am so anti-cell phone that I have refused second dates with men who brought their cell phones on first dates. Think about it. If they can't focus on you during a first date, but have to answer the phone to talk to their boys about sports/tits/cars/farts, or to their office about anything at all after hours during a social event, or to their mothers about laundry/haircuts/great-aunt Esther's bunions, then what in the bloody hell is he going to be like two years down the road? You think he's going to pay more attention to you after he gets used to you?

I'll save the rest of the cell phone rant for another day. The point is, I'm one of those people who walks my talk. If I think cell phones suck, nothing on the planet will persuade me to get one. (Yes, I'm a Taurus. How could you tell?)

And my opinion of digital cameras has been mixed. I was planning to wait until the technology is more consistent, and then re-evaluate. We haven't reached that point yet.

Meanwhile, I love reading knitblogs, and most of the knitters who know me seem to think I need to blog. And, you know, I work in the world of writers and publishing. All you have to do is hint that there might be an audience for my writing, and I'm all over it like smog on L.A.

So where does this leave us?

With a temporarily pictureless knitblog, while I try to resolve the dilemma over which camera to buy. Should I buy a higher end one in the hopes that I might get semi-decent picture quality? Or should I buy a cheap one because, you know, it's a digital camera and will therefore suck no matter how many pixels and nuclear detonators it has.

What do you think?

HEADLINE: Yarn Takes Revenge On Faithless Knitter

Chicago (KPI) - Two renegade balls of Filatura di Crosa 501 confessed to crimes of mathematics against a knitter, claiming she deserved it for knitting with other wool.

The crime was committed during a regular meeting of the South Suburban Stitch-n-Bitch in full view of a half dozen shocked knitters.

"It was awful," says Becca, a founding member of the group. "One minute, the cabled vest was knitting up smoothly, and then all of a sudden, seven stitches were missing from each side of the neckline."

The vest in question is the Wall Street Vest from Best of Arans and Celtics. Authorities confirm that the neckline is indeed seven stitches too wide on either side.

"I smelled smoke," claims Bethany, "so I took my eyes off my luscious pink baby blanket in progress. I was sitting right next to Knitterary, so I probably was the first to realize her brain wires had short circuited from the bad math."

Knitterary, the victim, showed signs of severe emotional trauma in addition to the lingering after-effects of the small brain fire. "I don't understand it. I did the math twice and got the same result both times. So how can I be off by fourteen stitches?"

When Knitterary learned that her wool had done it on purpose, she wept and cursed the heavens. "Why? Why would they do this to me? Don't they understand that ripping back hurts us both?"

The wool had no comment, but rolled itself into a ball and whispered, "Hussy, hussy, hussy." Authorities say it will be sentenced to at least a week in knitting jail in the deepest darkest corner of Knitterary's closet.

My first (paltry)(insufficient)(yet entirely too long) knitting post

This will be a blog mostly about knitting, and so, to start things off on the right path, here is what I currently have on the needles. I can't post pictures for reasons which will soon be explained and, please god, corrected.

The Never-Ending Surprise Vest
This is the Wall Street vest from Best of Arans and Celtics. Great book, great pattern. I'm secretly knitting it in Filatura di Crosa 501, a superwash DK, color black. Yes, black, and don't get me started on that little rant. Some day I will wise up and learn to knit in bare or pale colors and then dye it black afterwards.

This vest will eventually be presented with hardly any fanfare (ha!) or relief (double ha!) to my father, an Irish-American with a true and abiding love of vests. All that remains is about 4 inches of the front and the neck and sleeve banding. At my current rate of work, he should have it in time for the next presidential inauguration.

My Carry-Around Socks
Doesn't everyone carry a sock-in-progress every single dang place they go? No? Hunh. Imagine that. My current carry-around is a toe-up in Skacel Trampoline on size 2s using a slightly modified version of Wendy's (THE Wendy's) toe-up pattern. I love this yarn. Miss Six (who is in kindergarten and knows everything) claims it looks like a bowl of jelly beans. That just makes me love it more.

My Other Socks
Bearfoot by Mountain Colors, cuff down on 2s, color grape. I'm using the baby cable pattern from Charlene Schurch's astoundingly fabulous sock book. This is my second pair of Bearfoots, which is a leading contender in the race for Knitterary's Favorite Sock Yarn.

And now, drumroll please....

My New Husband!
My new husband is a cardigan out of Silver Creek Merino sportweight, color Marine, and don't any of you ever buy this yarn because I want it all for myself. Mine! Mine! All mine! It has been dubbed Husband by the very witty MB, whose blog I would link to if I knew anything about linking to blogs. But my technodullwittedness is a post for another day....

My new husband is so soft and warm and cuddly and gorgeous. He's currently about 12 inches of a cardigan back (the Wool Bam Boo Cabled Cardigan from the Classic Elite Luxe leaflet) with really cool shaping at the waist. Cables, too. No wonder I swoon at his touch. Plus I can't keep my hands off him these days, which is why all my other projects will soon need therapy.

Other Projects: Why doesn't Mommy love us anymore?
Therapist: Because she got a new husband. Someday you'll grow up and understand this. In the meantime, get over it.

No Need to Get Excited

Because this is only a test. Given my amazing powers (ha!) of technofunkery, we might score an F minus minus on this test of my blog creation and posting skills.