Digital Alterity

By its very nature, knitting keeps me from getting too attached to the things I create. I find that most of the treasures I create end up being given to other people, and I’ve always been somewhat reckless about trying to fix even the smallest errors no matter how many rows back they are. I have been known to frog pieces that are nearly halfway done because I don’t like the way the thing looks. Such actions usually make Allyson cringe or gasp, but I just can’t abide knitting something if it’s less than ideal.

This morning, I had to face a hard truth. The “pattern” I came up with for Stephen’s Slytherin hat just wasn’t working. The patch I bought is just too big to go on a hat. Before leaving for work today, I calmly took out my scissors, severed the piece from its yarn lifeline, took it off the needles, and then chucked it in the trash. I had worked on this hat for about three or hour hours.

I’ve decided to consign the patch to a Slytherin scarf and just do a plain ribbed hat in green and silver. This is the first key decision in actually getting the hat done. I was never particularly fond of the concept for the first version of the hat, and I like my vision/pattern for the second much better. The second key decision in actually getting the hat done is that I’m doing the second hat exclusively on DPNs. I don’t enjoy working with circulars nearly as much as I enjoy working with double-pointed needles. I find that DPNs help me keep my mind on the actual task of knitting in a way that the comforting lull of circulars never enforces. This project is causing a bad case of knitting constipation to be honest, and it has reinforced my knitting philosophy that I should never do projects that I’m not excited about and I should never use materials/fiber that I’m not in love with. I find that I can’t knit other things lately because I end up feeling guilty about letting the hat sit in the corner. As such I’ve done maybe four or five hours of knitting in the last several months.

This will not stand.

Having renewed my vigor and connection to my inner buddha nature, I set out casting on 81 stitches in the library before work. Before long a middle-aged fellow walked by and did a double-take as he went by. Less than a minute later, he had come around the corner again with a woman in her mid-thirties.

“I think this patron might need your help,” he quipped at her.
“Do you really need my help or is he just teasing?”
“She comes down here at knits everyday on her break.”
“What are you knitting?”
“A Harry Potter Hat for my nephew. Slytherin. I’ve even got a patch and everything.”
“I made one of the scarves. They’re so boring.”
“I would imagine. They’re so long and just stockinette.”
“I know! They want them even longer than you want to make them. They’re so fucking boring. Excuse my language.”
“Don’t worry about it. Really.”
“I also spin to make my own wool. I have some new Icelandic wool upstairs. I brought it with me just so I could smell it today. I’m a little crazy, I guess.”(1)
“We all are, I think. That’s what makes us fun.”

Footnotes

1. I wonder if this is a common thing with knitters, this apparent wool fetish. I hope I’m not prematurely outing Allyson, but I know for a fact that she routinely stops knitting to bury her face into the skein and just sniff the natural fibers. The smell of wool, alpaca, or pretty much anything that came off of a living animal is enough to make Tux stalk balls of non-moving wool on shelves. Upon catching his intended prey, he just grabs the entire skein and starts violently shaking it as if to kill it. I often wonder what he would do if he lived around sheep. I mean, he would inevitably catch on eventually to their skittish nature and inherent fear of pretty much anything. I just have these mental images of my cat leaping onto a ewe and trying to fell her by violently shaking her wooly coat.

After much assurance from Allyson and a fair bit of procrastination on my part, I finally ordered my birthday soccer shirt. In the end, I followed my heart and ordered a Wolverhampton Wanderers FC home shirt with my old number (44) and my last name printed on the back. I’m currently kicking myself for not also throwing a WWFC Union Jack flag on my order for a measly £5. I could have replaced my Tidus wall scroll at work with something equally incomprehensible to my co-workers.

I might also order myself an Arsenal home shirt sometime soon from one of the myriad American distributers that have then on end-of-season clearance, but that will come out of my own spending money. I’m not entirely sure though because I’ve sort of been planning on saving up my spending money to buy and Xbox in order to play the two Knights of the Old Republic games. I guess we’ll see what happens.

I’ve started knitting Stephen’s Slytherin hat, and it’s going pretty well thus far. I’ve nearly completed the green band that I’ll sew the Slytherin patch onto. Then I’ll just need to knit the silver part and do all the finishing required. I think it’s going to look pretty sweet.

I’m knitting out on The Plaza of the Americas before work. Lately, Allyson and I have been taking the car to work and parking illegally with impunity, making us all the more content to ride out our luck for as long as the parking cops don’t punish us. The usual routine these days is for Allyson to drop me off at Criser Hall a little over an hour before I have to actually start working. Lately, I’ve taken that time to sit outdoors and knit.

It’s rather peaceful knitting outside on campus. The flow of students is inherently periodic with peaks between classes and lulls that make you believe you’re the only person outside amongst the warring tribes of well-fed squirrels. The plaza is very much a little island of nature in the middle of concrete. In my imagination, it’s like Central Park in the middle of New York City, a place where I can simultaneously feel as though I’m in the middle of a sea of humanity and away from the concrete and brick monoliths.

I assumed my usual spot—one of the concrete slab benches right in front of the library, positioned so that my back can rest against one of the pillars that holds up the walkway. Today, I have arrived during the middle of a class change, and I find that I’m comfortably pleased to see that my usual spot is still empty. On some days, there are folks eating their inexpensive Krishna-made lunch dangerously close to my usual spot, but to this point, no one has occupied “my” spot. I’m sure that as the weather changes with the muted Florida seasons my favorite spot will change since the only real reason that I prefer this spot is that the sun shines down on it and provides some warmth on the breezy, cool days that we’ve been having lately.

Today I’m working on a new project—a gift for a very special lady who used to be my boss. It seems almost a cliché to be honest, but knitting for me is very much a spiritual practice. I struggle hard to truly infuse Zen practice into my Christian faith, and thus far I’ve found no greater synthesis than when I’m knitting. Today, I felt particularly close to getting it. The combination of selflessly knitting something for someone I care about paired with the simple stitch-counting concentration just felt right and beautiful.

Row 1. Knit…1…1…1…1…1…1…1…1…1…
Row 2. Knit…2…2…2…2…2…2…2…2…2…
Row 3. Knit…3…3…3…3…3…3…3…3…3…
Row 4. Yarn Over wrap…Wrap two and pull through…Wrap two and pull through…
Row 5. Drop stitches…Knit one and drop one…Knit one and drop one…

I know that I don’t need to count to myself. I’m perfectly capable of managing a whole set of complex variables in my head. In fact, that’s what I do for a living—juggling information and remembering the obscure. Nonetheless, I find the counting oddly emptying. I find that the numbers cease to make sense as I knit across the row. They stop being numbers about halfway through and just become a comforting rhythm by which I notice each motion of my fingers, each turn of the yarn, the way that the light hints onto my needles, the way that the squirrels are digging through the trash. At the end of each row, I think about the person I’m giving it to. I think about how she’s retiring and how I think she’ll appreciate the gesture. I check my work because she’s worthy of something carefully constructed and beautiful. I notice my thoughts, and I notice the still silence between thoughts even more.

I’ve made a couple of repeats of my self-made pattern, and I’ve just finished a Row 1 when I hear someone say, “You makin’ a scarf?”

I turn and find two ladies in what I believe to be cleaning staff uniforms. They’re younger than my parents but older than me. I quickly judge that they’re probably somewhere as young/old as either my older sister or my older brother—somewhere in their thirties or perhaps early forties. One lady is black, and the other is white. One wears glasses, and the other doesn’t. I don’t notice much more about their physical appearance. I’ve learned over the years that I rarely do notice such things, and I suspect that it’s probably why I’m a rather poor pencil artist. I gather from their accents and mannerisms that they probably come from similar backgrounds as me, and that puts me a little at ease. I understand how to relate to Southern people. I know that they’ll be comfortable with my politeness and not think me sugary sweet for calling them “Ma’am”.

“Yes, ma’am.”
“I saw you yesterday too. You was workin’ on a scarf then too.”
“Yes, ma’am, I was.”
“It was a big long one—’bout this long. And colorful!”

I chuckle a bit, and offer another “Yes, ma’am,” in reply.

“Did you finish that one from yesterday?”
“Yes, ma’am. Now I’m making this one for a lady in my office who’s retiring. I have about a week to get it done, so I’m going to have to work at it.”
“Who were you making that one yesterday for?”

I only pause for a moment to consider. I was knitting it for myself. Unlike most knitters, I tend to do a fair bit of that. I’m not really particularly attached to the objects. I just sort of make them because I like knitting, and they end up mine by default. The scarf of yesterday was too long to belong to anyone but me really. I made it long and dramatic to serve as a splash of color for whatever I happen to be wearing. Even wrapped around my neck it drapes almost down to my knees. Aren’t knitters supposed to knit for other people? If I were a true knitter, I’d be making it to send to the American troops in Iraq, or I’d be sending a care package to a relative.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll give it to my wife.”
“Will you make me a scarf? How would much would you charge me for a scarf?”

I’m uncomfortable with the notion of payment for something so personal and precious to me. I knit because it focusses my mind. I knit because I love to create. I knit because I love my wife and I want to cultivate common ground between the two of us. I knit because it makes the noisy uncaring world fade out long enough for me listen to the still small voice within myself. I most certainly don’t knit for money, and even the thought of doing so makes me feel like a tawdry whore.

“Oh, I can’t…I could knit you a scarf anyway.”
“Something colorful.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll see you. I’ll be looking for you.”

She and her friend/co-worker/companion left to enjoy their lunch break, and I was left with my thoughts. I thought it odd how I had just agreed to knit something for a complete stranger, but it felt warm and calming. I felt that this is most certainly what both Jesus and Buddha would do in the same situation. I felt honored that they thought me skilled enough to ask me for such a thing. I knew how simple the “colorful” scarf from yesterday had been, and I began thinking about what kind of yarn to make this lady’s scarf out of. Perhaps I could dye some wool with Kool-Aid to provide an interesting and unique colorway. I could either do a simple garter stitch on large needles like the scarf she saw, or I could even do something more interesting like a 3×2 rib.

I had just gotten back into the rhythm of knitting when I heard a familiar voice ask, “What kind of stitch is that?” and see a brown hand moving to touch my nascent scarf.

“It’s a drop stitch pattern,” I reply.
“That one from yesterday…That one was just a chain, right?”
“It was a garter stitch. That’s what happens when you just knit back and forth.”
“This one today is so pretty. How did you learn?”
“Out of a book. My wife knits, and I learned by looking at one of her books.”
“How did you learn from a book?”
“Well, you know, I just kind of looked at the pictures to see what I would do and sort of read the book.”

I’m always sort of amused at the looks I get when people hear that I learned to knit by reading a book. As with most things, that’s a conversational simplification, but learning from reading a book and looking at pictures on the Internet is really the same thing. Most folks have a heck of a time learning something without someone there to guide their hands while I find that I prefer it. Learning something is such a personal process for me that I feel counterproductive having to communicate with someone instead of focussing all of my mental energy on the actual task of learning a new skill.

Upon seeing my new acquaintances giving me amazed and puzzled expressions that sought further explanation for this supposed miracle, I simply added, “I’m a computer programmer,” which they took as all the explanation they needed. I belonged in that quirky, silent world of physicists, magicians, and mathematicians—the realm of books and academic instructions rather than the realm of the everyday and experiential.

“Make it colorful,” my new patron requested as she walked away, and then as an afterthought, she turned and asked me my name. I gave her my first name (or at least the nickname that has always passed as my first name), and she replied with the names of her and her friend, which I promptly forgot in rehashing our conversation and thinking about what yarn, needles, and stitch pattern to use for her scarf. Her name didn’t matter to me. In fact, it almost worked better for me to be knitting something for a stranger. I enjoyed the notion that I would knit something for her just because she asked. I found it funny that I had no pride in the fact that this woman would ask me for one of my scarves. And yet suddenly here was her requested project, next in line to be done after I finish my current scarf. It seemed oddly right to me that I would knit the scarf for her simply because she asked for it.

I pick up my needles and resume my knitting.

So get this. It looks like I’m being published. In something other than Bactroid.net. A real book even. Some of you might be familiar with KnitLit and KnitLit Too. Both are collections of knitting-related stories, books that you can buy in real brick-and-mortar bookstores. Not long after I wrote Problem Skeins, I decided to submit it for the next volume of KnitLit just to see what happened. I didn’t really feel like I stood much of a chance of actually making it into the book. A week or so after I submitted my manuscript, I got the standard publishing reply that my manuscript had been received and that they would consider it for publication but they receive many times more submissions than they have space for and…blah blah blah. That was months ago. I just got back from lunch today and saw a message in my email inbox asking me to sign paperwork granting them non-exclusive rights to publish.

The editors said there’s a roughly two percent chance that the publishers might cut any particular story to save space, but they want to pay me for my story and send me a complimentary copy of the book. Now there’s something to show my parents. See, I’m not wasting my life. I’m an honest-to-God writer.

Bar scene from Shaft? Hardly.

I had a pretty decent weekend though. You see, I farmed berries in two different Pokémon cartridges simultaneously. After managing to catch Feebas in Pokémon Ruby(1), I started planting and watering berries all over the world in both Ruby and Sapphire. Whenever I was trapped in the car or waiting outside of (for example) TJ Max, I was biking around the little virtual world, watering berry plants as I went. I have essentially tripled—nay, quadrupled—my already substantial berry supply.

I also did an amazingly sexy thing over the Thanksgiving break. I bought Neverwinter Nights for the Mac. Upon getting the box home, I promptly installed it and started a dwarven fighter named Garin Meadhammer(2). Yes, the original campaign sort of sucks, but it just feels wonderful to have D20 goodness in my life again. I need to pick up the two expansion packs when I get paid again.

I started a new knitting project as well. Allyson and I visited Knit ‘n’ Knibble for the first time over the long weekend, and I had a wonderful time. I walked out with some red and blue merino wool(3) (by Debbie Bliss, I believe). I’m making a Spiderman scarf of my own design out it. I’m excited because this is the first knitting project since my sock that I’ve actually been excited about. Don’t get me wrong…I’ve got some fabulous yarn in the house right now. It’s just that I haven’t been inspired to do anything with it. It feels wonderful to have something to knit again.

I have a job description meeting and performance review to attend today. To say that I’m feeling defensively aggressive is probably the understatement of the year.

Footnotes

1. If I ever meet the game designer that came up with this Herculean subquest, I’ll punch the living fuck out of him.
2. For those who played D&D with me in meatspace, he’s intended to be the father of my now deceased but well-loved dwarven monk of Ilmater, Dagon Meadhammer. This is a spectacular example of why I’m a sad little person. I actually roleplay in single-player RPGs. Pity me.
3. If you’ve never touched merino wool, you have the wrong idea in your head about it. It’s not at all scratchy. It’s so soft and wonderful that you could make baby clothes out of it. Seriously, visit a yarn store sometime and fondle a skein of it. It will forever change the way you think about wool.

Today, after an epic battle learning the kitchener stitch and then fixing my idiotic first attempt at said grafting technique, I finally finished the first of my baby alpaca socks. It fits my foot perfectly and actually resembles a well-made sock. I’m a little amazed at myself to be frank. Socks just seem so intimidating and magical before you actually make one. I made an attempt to wet block my sock, using lukewarm water with virtually no agitation and laying it flat on a towel to air dry. Hopefully, I haven’t managed to felt my sock. (This is my current paranoid fear.) I won’t be able to start the other sock until the proprietor of Yarnworks gets some more Plymouth Indiecita baby alpaca yarn in with her next order. I’ll post a picture once my sock finishes drying (probably tomorrow).

I absolutely refuse to feel strange anymore for devoting so many of my post-college brain cycles to Pokémon. I’ve had the privilege of watching a group of guys in my office play fantasy football, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the two hobbies aren’t really all that different. Whereas I might have a discussion about whether someone would be willing to trade me an Ekans in exchange for a Sandshrew, I’ve routinely heard these fellows discussing the relative merits/stats of the players they “drafted”.

I finally got to go to the yarn store today, and while I was extremely unlucky in finding another skein of baby alpaca yarn to match the skein that I’ve nearly turned into a sock, Barbara, the proprietor of Yarnworks was nice enough to put that particular color on her next order with promises to call me when it comes in. I bought the yarn for Karen’s birthday present while I was at the store. Karen asked for a nice warm pair of socks to combat the cold winters there in Tottori, so I bought a couple of skeins of Kureyon in what I considered to be an absolutely yummy series of colors. I also bought a pair of Susan Bates size six DPNs to try out since I needed a smaller set of needles for the sock ribbing anyway. My size three bamboo DPNs have a nice semi-permanent bend to them after having knit nearly all of my baby alpaca sock. The metal needles might discourage me from gripping so hard.

I apparently like to knit at a tighter gauge that the ladies at the yarn store. When I asked Barbara what size of DPNs she recommended for the Kureyon, she mentioned a size nine. I’ve heard one of the other ladies at the store recommend a ten for the same yarn. When I knit my first scarf, I used size seven needles with the Kureyon. That’s my intention with Karen’s birthday socks as well. I think that the tighter fabric just looks more professional in some strange way.

Last night, when I got off from work, I was feeling creative. Actually, to be honest, I was feeling creative before I left work too, but I couldn’t really do anything about it while in the midst of checking off jobs and doing Peoplesoft-related nonsense. Nonetheless, upon arriving home, I took a sketch that Allyson had done while doodling and turned it into this illustration:

While not as technically impressive as the Reagan sketch, I still love the cuteness of the material I had to work with.

I ended up buying Pokémon Leaf Green the other day because Best Buy has it and Fire Red on sale for twenty-five bucks—nearly ten dollars off the going price. The game also comes with the new Wireless Adapter which allows for game linking without the need to hook up any wires. To say that I’m enjoying the game immensely is, in fact, one of the largest understatements ever in the history of mankind. I love the original Pokémon Red/Blue in a manner that can only be described as “unholy”, and this game is a re-make of that with extra stuff added! I’ve already started playing Pokémon in the bathtub again. God help us all.

I’m nearly done with the baby alpaca sock. I just have to do the toe decreases and seam up the toe. Time to go buy the yarn I need to make the other sock.

I have successfully turned the heel on my baby alpaca sock. I’m just barely beginning to understand the heel turning process meaning that at this point the technique appears to be a magical transfiguration. As soon as I give my eyes a little rest from staring at tiny DK weight stitches, I’ll be set to pick up stitches and finish up the first sock. Hopefully Yarnworks will be open for business tomorrow morning so I can grab up another skein of alpaca wool.

Socks aren’t nearly as scary as folks make them out to be. Once you get comfortable with circular knitting on DPNs, you’re at an acceptable skill level to start with socks in my opinion. I think I’m a born sock knitter honestly because I’m having an absolute blast. This ranks somewhere up near playing Final Fantasy 7 and listening to The Cure on the fun scale.

More businesses are open today, and Allyson and I saw quite a bit of damage while motoring about Gainesville. The University in particular has a fair bit of cleanup to do in the way of clearing downed trees and repairing/evaluating infrastructure. It makes total sense why they’re closing tomorrow as well. I can’t wait for tomorrow though. I’m betting that most stores will smell the capitalist equivalent of blood in the water and will be ready to snatch up the dollar of folks who have been cooped up. Hell, I’ll give someone a dollar or three for a nice steaming cup of full-bodied coffee and a place where I can knit in peace amongst throngs of money-spending bodies.

Yesterday, in my jubilation at having a hurricane day, I went to Yarnworks. One of the ladies in the store now recognizes me on sight and tries to shepherd me on my knitting journey. She’s a grandmotherly type, and it’s part of the fun of going to the store.

I went to the store because Cookie Monster and I have irreconcilable differences. We’ve currently decided to separate, but we haven’t taken any final steps that can’t be undone yet. I needed some more wonderful yarn, and the ladies at Yarnworks were all too willing to oblige. I ended up with a skein of Plymouth Indiecita Baby Alpaca in a lovely light grey, two skeins of variously blue Regia sock yarn, and a set of size two Crystal Palace double-pointed needles. I’m still not sure how I managed to make it out of the store without this lovely skein of merino that was seriously whispering sweet nothings in my ear.

Immediately upon arriving at home, I cast on for my first sock using the alpaca. I understand that I don’t have enough for a whole sock, but I’m gambling that Yarnworks won’t sell all the skins from this dye lot before I finish the first sock. Such gambles have worked out for me in the past. For those who might Google and care, I’m using a set of size three DPNs and cast on sixty stitches.