FUN FOR THE SLEEP DEPRIVED - A STITCHES JOURNAL (10/15/96)

I left my apartment 3 hours late on Thursday, bleary and a tad at loose ends. Javi was accounted for, but I had never left her alone, and my last wondercat, Winnie The Cat Who Thought She Was A Dog was so rabidly co-dependant that she got sick if I left her alone overnight.

For the life of me, I didn't have a damned idea what to expect. Yarn Fiesta? Yarn inspired food? Yarn Soirées? Re-naming all the drinks at the bar to Yarn names? (I'll have a Skein-chaser with a Z-twist of lemon, please...) I had no idea of what I was expected to do, but I figured I'd just play it by ear and make myself useful.

The strategy paid off. One must learn to be extremely flexible at a convention, and one should have total equanimity. I smiled a whole lot. I also knew people were expecting a lot of me. I wanted to live up to their confidence (and confidences). The bus ride out from the train station to Valley Forge reminded me that there were in fact seasons. Rolling green hills with incipient browns - Fall right before its ignition into flame.

After wandering into the convention center from the wrong entrance (hmm. . . HIV transmission through cell walls? Wrong convention!) I finally made it to Stitches. I was going to have dinner with Lily Chin and her band of merrymakers but I got shanghaied by Alexis. So I'm having dinner with a bunch of knitting big-wigwams. Thank heavens my father married out of the faith, because Jewish table manners are "Eat it before it gets cold." I've learned to not look quite so Neanderthal when it counts. Knitting big-wigwams are actually rather nice people, and they listen to you if you listen to them. Anna Zilboorg seems fascinating, I wish we had more time to talk.

Show and Share came next. I did my best imitation of a performing seal. The most fun I had was dropping sweaters randomly on the floor, trying to find the next one to show. I also found out that my Step-Mom had felted Dad's Entrelac Sweater. Given that it was Brown's Sheep Top of the Lamb, which is a single with a low twist, that doesn't take much. It's toasty warm now, and felting is quite vogue, anyway. Alexis kept ominously announcing that I was hosting Country Dancing next. I have never done a country dance in my life. I can barely social dance. I can barely move without several hours of cleaning rehearsals. I knew, given the circumstances, that I could fake it, but I just kept wondering why. . .

I'm convinced that Alexis has a direct hotline to Adrenaline Central. I've never met a man with that much energy. Of course, when you're moving eighteen times as fast as everyone around you, showing something becomes a bit of a process. My Dad (affectionately known as the Tasmanian Devil) has a similar problem. When he attempted to teach me to drive, we were in an empty parking lot. "Forward...back, no STOP! Clutch...pedal...OOOH!" In the empty lot, I saw his hands white knuckled holding the door latch, unconsciously ready to bail out at a moment's notice. I stopped the car and announced that I would happily pay for professional driving lessons.

Alexis has roped Elizabeth Slayton (Joyknits), Betsy and I into our very own ballroom, with our very own punch bowl. Sadly, it was non-alcoholic. Actually, English Country Dancing is a lot of fun (see Emma) when you're not knocking into the person next to you. Alexis is busy trying to figure out how to make four people serve as 16.

"OK. You guys are couple number two. But when you're done, instead of going here, just run around over here and we're going to pretend that you're also couple number one. Then you do what they just did. And you two just sit out. You're not dancing with anyone."

If only.

"OK. So the couple who was couple number two becomes couple number one and they walk back to back...so who was couple number two? Me and Joy or was it Leigh and Betsy? Leigh, be Betsy for a moment and I'll be Joy and we'll show them what their steps are...You walk outside like this and then you become couple number one..."

"Alexis?"

"Yes?"

"Am I couple number one, or number two? Am I Betsy or Joy? Am I you? Am I actually myself? WHO AM I?????"

The teacher's meeting lets out and Sally Melville, Joan Schrouder, Lily Chin et al. are lured into the room by the false promises of punch. Lily immediately goes to the tape machine and puts in the Macarena. At this point, since I'm not sure whether I am Alexis or Betsy or Sally Melville or myself, I thoroughly screw it up and end up twitching on the floor, laughing. My ride into Philadelphia came about now, and I left them there. I think Lily and Jules were couple number one. . .

I stayed in Philadelphia with my friend and her dog, Piglet the Wonder Chihuahua With Only A Single Brain Cell. My friend showed me her most recent odd purchase, the Wedding Dress. Does she have a fiancé? No. Does she have any plans to marry in the near future? No. But as she explains, it was exactly the wedding dress she would buy if she were getting married and it was dirt cheap. I think it would look great, suspended by wires from the guest room ceiling, lit and motorized. Maybe a music box inside. If only we could get it to shoot out ninja spikes at random intervals.....

I'm working the kniTalk booth on Friday and Saturday. David and Ben, his son, are thoroughly relieved that the setup they have to demonstrate on is working. Of course, the web server is down. There is some unwritten law in the universe that has just been confirmed. As with everything else, you smile and fake it. I finally get to meet Margaret Radcliffe (She's to blame for me....) and Manny Olds (entirely blameless.)

Margaret and I exchange gifts. I've brought her a t-shirt she asked for and she tells me to close my eyes and hold out my hand. A tiny blue sock. It's so cute, in Wildfoote with two little gold beads embroidered at the top, like bells, right? And a little blue furry ruff like...like...like...pubes. It's a teeny blue appendage. It's entirely appropriate. I'm suspicious that appendage is entirely responsible for my very minor celebrity, or that along with a propensity toward obscenity which Lily is doing her best to encourage. She's an Evil Little Girl.. Still, the attention is weird, I'm not the best knitter there by a long shot, and I still don't get what makes a male knitter so different, since I can't knit with my dick. Maybe if it were hard....

I went round the market a few times with Margaret, then with Manny. Since Margaret is a spinner and Manny is a yarn junkie, it was interesting to see the market from different vantage points.

My observations:

There needs to be better patterns for plus sizes, especially more with some tailoring. Too many shapeless blobs of yarn being offered.

There was gobs and gobs of beautiful hand dyed and novelty yarns. There needs to be better pattern support for it, which makes better use of it. I saw a lot of loose gauge patterns which will take $200 worth of yarn and make it into a shapeless blob within two washings. I know that it takes more yarn to knit with a firmer gauge, but the sweater will last. I'd also like to investigate effective combinations of basic and novelty yarns to create interesting fabrics, or accents.

The most interesting stuff I saw - Qiviut (the holy grail of fibers) I bought an ounce for the Fabulous Dorcas. She gets to de-hair and spin it. It feels better than Javi's belly. I was fascinated by spinning. I asked Margaret and Grace about it, and I may try using a drop spindle at some point. Like tatting, though, that way lies madness. In the bizarre yarn bin, I saw yarn that looked like dehydrated ramen mix, complete with dried carrots and peas. I bought for myself four boxes of the blue angora that Webs had at $10/box.

I was so brain dead by the lister's dinner that I hid in a corner and ate. I regretted that. It felt a little like the dinner was 90 people who happened to be eating at the same time, rather than a gathering of a cyber community. A modest proposal: Can we have a short presentation at the dinner next year, some speeches (my suggestion: Knit Lister awards - suggested topics: Most likely to be off-topic. Most creative use of obscenity (I win!). Best technical tips. Most gripping saga. Always has something nice to say about everyone. Most likely to talk about the same thing again and again....I volunteer to help organize it.) It would help it to feel like a gathering rather than an eating session.

The talk throughout Stitches ranged from neuropathology to early Christian monastic traditions to really dirty jokes. I love knitting, and love talking about knitting, but I love most what we talk about when we knit. I learned that I don't like someone simply because they knit (although, as Mary Wood noted, it certainly helps).

Most of the non-knitting experiences of the weekend seemed to be dining experiences. Pennsylvania is the land of the All You Can Eat Buffet. Luckily for my waistline, this is a considerable rarity in New York City. I spent a lot of time reminding myself that I did not need to try everything, that the pasta salad probably tasted similar to pasta salad I had eaten before, and would be alive to eat again. I am not sure what it is about buffets that makes one eat like the condemned. The best buffet experience I had was at the Philadelphia Museum of Art with my friend for Sunday Brunch (Piglet did not attend) Northern Italian grilled vegetables and salads. And in best buffet tradition, All You Can Eat.

Alexis had invited me to the publisher's table for the banquet. Wow, I was amazed, but I quietly gave up my seat because Nancy Bush didn't have one. I was sitting there among designers and manufacturers humming that song from Sesame Street, "One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong"...and it was me. So I snuck into Lily's band of merrymakers and un-shanghaied myself.

I wolfed down my entree (I eat like the condemned, sigh. . .) and went to model for the fashion show. I was flattered Nancy had asked me, but I kept thinking, "With this nose??? I'm...too sexy for my nose, too sexy for my nose...so sexy it shows...." Runway modeling for the women was a frenzied tangles of sweaters and brassieres flying about as they hurriedly changed outfits. For the guys, it was hurry up and wait. In a really heavy Lopi sweater. In a really warm room. And I kept wondering if I was going to trip on the catwalk. But I managed not to.....

It was a wild weekend, and it went by in a blur. I got a lot of knitting done - Pat's Jacket is off the needles, I need to do the trim. Dad's Icelandic Sweater is attached at the yoke, and I just designed the yoke pattern (remind me to put a label in it that says "HAND WASH ONLY!") I've removed the bottom ribbing, and I'm going to re-knit it downwards. I couldn't stand the curl. I've slipped a small size circular through the stitches, snipped one stitch and undid a row.

I got about a foot of Dorcas' shawl done, but there's a mistake in the Dayflower section (where else?) about eight rows back. I may be faced with ripping. When I came home, I started holiday mittens for my brother (I'm making them to match a Margaret Bruzelius sweater I made for him in '90). Grace (KnitCat) and Mary (Dr. Sock) made me really curious about socks as well. It seems like a great way to swatch patterns.

I got home to find Javi none the worse for wear (Mozart, our Border Collie next door, was visiting her) What a wild weekend. Did I take a single class? Did I have time?

LAW