So, I may have mentioned once or twice that I have three beautiful, clever, and talented children. And I may have mentioned that one of them is a puppeteer/filmaker, or possibly a filmaker/puppeteer-it's hard to keep these hyphens straight. That would be Number One Son, Brendan.
Anyway, one weekend not long ago, Brendan got the idea to make a short film for entry into the Virgin Radio Fake Film Festival and he gathered together a few of his friends and shot this:
Requiem for A Dream in 60 Seconds (With Puppets)
This is Darren Aronofsky's disturbing story of drug addiction and it's impact on four interconnected people, compacted into a 60-second highlight clip, featuring puppets instead of the original cast of Jared Leto, Marlon Wayans, Jennifer Conelly, and Ellen Burstyn. Even if you haven't seen the original film, you can pretty much follow its story in this short video. If you have seen the original, this is almost more disturbing. And/or hilarious.
Brendan's film has made it into the top 24 and is eligible for the grand prize of $10,000 and the People's Choice prize of $1,000. It would be awesome if you could take a moment and go to Virgin Radio's website and scroll down to the bottom of the page to submit your vote for Requiem for a Dream. And, while you're there, take a minute or two (or twenty-three) to watch some of the other films entered, too.
But vote for this one, okay?
'cuz a puppet could use a hand every now and then.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Thursday, February 09, 2012
Kraken 2.0
Right after I adjusted to the fact that a Kraken lurks in my shoulder and shared that nugget of information with the world here on the blog, I was notified of a pending Kraken upgrade.
You see, the symptoms that sent me to the doctor in the first place seemed to be getting worse instead of better. Pain was increasing, mobility decreasing. So doctor sent me up the Kraken expert ladder. Turns out this was a mixed blessing.
Doctor 1 had "under-diagnosed" my Kraken. I would seem that instead of the common Kraken tendinitis, I am being visited by the Great Arctic Kraken, also known as Frozen Shoulderus. Not only that, but he has brought along his little friend Kraken arthritis.
I did not take this as good news, as Arctic Krakens are notoriously stubborn, requiring 2-3 years of diligent effort to tame on average. No one can explain why Artic Krakens choose to move into a specific territory, though several speculate the they are attracted by repetitive movements in the region. Others go so far as to suggest that they may be attracted to stress, or women in menopause (Who? Me?). Everyone agrees, however, that they mean business.
So off I go to the mighty Kraken tamer (commonly referred to as "the physiotherapist"), who takes one look at me and says "Oh dear". Not terribly reassuring, I'll tell you. Then he set about torturing the Kraken, or rather, me. It was not fun, and I have been assured that I will be having this not fun twice a week for a year or so. Not cool.
I was sent home with a couple of ridiculously simple little exercises. On paper. I am diligently practicing these exercises and I am absolutely gobsmacked by how much these idiotically simple little movements hurt all of a sudden.
All of that optimism that I was so adamant I possessed just a few short weeks ago flew out the window. Being told that you will not raise your arm or sleep without pain for two years will do that to a gal. I will confess to a day of wallowing in the Sea of Oh Poor Me. Those waters are warm and deep.
Yet, this morning, that same slightly manic determination that figured out how to knit and spin with one hand in a cast from elbow to finger tip has surfaced again. All things considered, this is a survivable catastrophe. It will not be pleasant, and there will, no doubt be setbacks. But I have support from my lovely family. I also have two doctors and a physiotherapist working with me, and when she gets back from holidays, my RMT will get in on the Kraken taming. I have a smorgasboard of Kraken-calming nostrums, ranging from herbal to narcotic. In fact, the local medical community is treating this more diligently than they did the broken wrist.
Last week, my boss told me that his wife has a mantra: "The Universe is in complete and perfect balance". Then he laughed and said that she only uses it when things are going terribly wrong.
The Universe is in complete and perfect balance.
And we will survive.
You see, the symptoms that sent me to the doctor in the first place seemed to be getting worse instead of better. Pain was increasing, mobility decreasing. So doctor sent me up the Kraken expert ladder. Turns out this was a mixed blessing.
Doctor 1 had "under-diagnosed" my Kraken. I would seem that instead of the common Kraken tendinitis, I am being visited by the Great Arctic Kraken, also known as Frozen Shoulderus. Not only that, but he has brought along his little friend Kraken arthritis.
I did not take this as good news, as Arctic Krakens are notoriously stubborn, requiring 2-3 years of diligent effort to tame on average. No one can explain why Artic Krakens choose to move into a specific territory, though several speculate the they are attracted by repetitive movements in the region. Others go so far as to suggest that they may be attracted to stress, or women in menopause (Who? Me?). Everyone agrees, however, that they mean business.
So off I go to the mighty Kraken tamer (commonly referred to as "the physiotherapist"), who takes one look at me and says "Oh dear". Not terribly reassuring, I'll tell you. Then he set about torturing the Kraken, or rather, me. It was not fun, and I have been assured that I will be having this not fun twice a week for a year or so. Not cool.
I was sent home with a couple of ridiculously simple little exercises. On paper. I am diligently practicing these exercises and I am absolutely gobsmacked by how much these idiotically simple little movements hurt all of a sudden.
All of that optimism that I was so adamant I possessed just a few short weeks ago flew out the window. Being told that you will not raise your arm or sleep without pain for two years will do that to a gal. I will confess to a day of wallowing in the Sea of Oh Poor Me. Those waters are warm and deep.
Yet, this morning, that same slightly manic determination that figured out how to knit and spin with one hand in a cast from elbow to finger tip has surfaced again. All things considered, this is a survivable catastrophe. It will not be pleasant, and there will, no doubt be setbacks. But I have support from my lovely family. I also have two doctors and a physiotherapist working with me, and when she gets back from holidays, my RMT will get in on the Kraken taming. I have a smorgasboard of Kraken-calming nostrums, ranging from herbal to narcotic. In fact, the local medical community is treating this more diligently than they did the broken wrist.
Last week, my boss told me that his wife has a mantra: "The Universe is in complete and perfect balance". Then he laughed and said that she only uses it when things are going terribly wrong.
The Universe is in complete and perfect balance.
And we will survive.
Monday, February 06, 2012
In Which We Meet a Kraken
Just as we are gearing up for the busy, busy spring-into-summer teaching whirl, we encounter...
..the Kraken.
The Kraken lurks in quiet, deep places, but occasionally surfaces to snare the unwary. It is known to devour entire ships whole, and impair spinning progress on an epic scale. It especially detests the long draw.
Krakens have a nasty habit of travelling about their territory and ...well...pooping. They leave piles of nastiness throughout their range, little foul pockets of inflammation that can only be worked out with great care. The problem with Kraken poop is that once you clean it up in one spot, the beastie deposits some in another.
The worst thing about the Kraken, though, is that it is nocturnal. It will lie dormant during the day, lulling its victim into complacency, then strike as the victim is drifting into sleep. These attacks are often sudden, and intense, leaving the victim laying awake for hours, waiting for pain-killers to kick in.
This Kraken has been lurking in these waters for some time, but with increased activity in the region, it has been awakened and is angry. Steps must be taken to tame the Kraken, or defeat it.
After consulting with experts in the field, I have discovered that this Kraken is actually of the genus Shoulder Impingementus, family Rotator Cuff Tendinitisae. These particular Krakens are, apparently, fond of people who use their arms in overhead arcing motions, or in front-to-to back swinging motions. People like tennis players, weavers, and long-draw spinners. (Thank goodness I don't play tennis!) Or people who keep their shoulder in one position for extended periods of time, like computer workers, or worsted spinners.
So the Battle of the Kraken begins. The Kraken has been x-rayed and identified, and is awaiting an MRI to survey any damage it may have done to its territory (besides the pooping). Meanwhile, we are poisoning it into submission with anti-inflammatory medication and knocking it out with pain-killers for short periods so its victim can sleep. Now begins the training of the Kraken, with exercises that I suspect will hurt me far more than they will hurt the Kraken. This same approach has tamed the giant lizard that lived under my kneecap for 6 years, so I am optimistic that I can befriend and tame the Kraken as well...
Awwww...see? It's just a little guy.
I'm gonna kick its butt!
The Kraken lurks in quiet, deep places, but occasionally surfaces to snare the unwary. It is known to devour entire ships whole, and impair spinning progress on an epic scale. It especially detests the long draw.
Krakens have a nasty habit of travelling about their territory and ...well...pooping. They leave piles of nastiness throughout their range, little foul pockets of inflammation that can only be worked out with great care. The problem with Kraken poop is that once you clean it up in one spot, the beastie deposits some in another.
The worst thing about the Kraken, though, is that it is nocturnal. It will lie dormant during the day, lulling its victim into complacency, then strike as the victim is drifting into sleep. These attacks are often sudden, and intense, leaving the victim laying awake for hours, waiting for pain-killers to kick in.
This Kraken has been lurking in these waters for some time, but with increased activity in the region, it has been awakened and is angry. Steps must be taken to tame the Kraken, or defeat it.
After consulting with experts in the field, I have discovered that this Kraken is actually of the genus Shoulder Impingementus, family Rotator Cuff Tendinitisae. These particular Krakens are, apparently, fond of people who use their arms in overhead arcing motions, or in front-to-to back swinging motions. People like tennis players, weavers, and long-draw spinners. (Thank goodness I don't play tennis!) Or people who keep their shoulder in one position for extended periods of time, like computer workers, or worsted spinners.
So the Battle of the Kraken begins. The Kraken has been x-rayed and identified, and is awaiting an MRI to survey any damage it may have done to its territory (besides the pooping). Meanwhile, we are poisoning it into submission with anti-inflammatory medication and knocking it out with pain-killers for short periods so its victim can sleep. Now begins the training of the Kraken, with exercises that I suspect will hurt me far more than they will hurt the Kraken. This same approach has tamed the giant lizard that lived under my kneecap for 6 years, so I am optimistic that I can befriend and tame the Kraken as well...
I'm gonna kick its butt!
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
January Blues
No, this is not a post about post-festive-season depression. It's a post about being in a colour rut. (Though a rut is a depression of a sort...)
You see, I've been doing a studio tidy this past week. I really haven't touched things since getting home from the Tucson/Sedalia trip, aside from shoving piles back and forth to make a tiny space to work in. I hadn't even unpacked some of the things I had purchased on that trip! But now that things have slowed down, I was beginning to find the climbing over boxes and shoving of piles annoying, so it was time to tidy.
The job is not quite done--there are still all the circular needles to sort and put away, and a pile of UFOs to frog and store, and one more bin of odd balls that have no home--but the studio is a viable work space again. But now, as I sit in my comfy spinning chair, I look around and can't help but notice an alarming trend.
I've got the blues.
The blues are waiting to be spun...
...in a variety of painted tops and rovings.
The blues are spun and awaiting knitting...
...in the form of 780 yards of Merino/yak/silk 3-ply, about 1600 ypp/20 wpi.
The blues are freshly dyed...
...in the form of the Paco-vicuna I posted last week, dyed rather spontaneously with a random (and, therefore, unrepeatable-d'oh!) mix of Ciba cobalt and Telana turquoise dyes.
More blues await knitting...
...in the form of handpainted yarns lined up for commission pieces.
The blues are even lurking in other yarns...
...like this 110 yards of bulky corespun made from a batt named "Calistoga" blended by Sayra at Atomic Blue. Sure, it's mostly greens, but that blue is there. Mocking me.
The blues are even evident in the UFO pile...
So, am I in a rut? Or am I, like Picasso, just going through a Blue Period?
In any event, it's January, and I have the blues. Lots and lots of blues!
You see, I've been doing a studio tidy this past week. I really haven't touched things since getting home from the Tucson/Sedalia trip, aside from shoving piles back and forth to make a tiny space to work in. I hadn't even unpacked some of the things I had purchased on that trip! But now that things have slowed down, I was beginning to find the climbing over boxes and shoving of piles annoying, so it was time to tidy.
The job is not quite done--there are still all the circular needles to sort and put away, and a pile of UFOs to frog and store, and one more bin of odd balls that have no home--but the studio is a viable work space again. But now, as I sit in my comfy spinning chair, I look around and can't help but notice an alarming trend.
I've got the blues.
The blues are waiting to be spun...
...in a variety of painted tops and rovings.
The blues are spun and awaiting knitting...
...in the form of 780 yards of Merino/yak/silk 3-ply, about 1600 ypp/20 wpi.
The blues are freshly dyed...
...in the form of the Paco-vicuna I posted last week, dyed rather spontaneously with a random (and, therefore, unrepeatable-d'oh!) mix of Ciba cobalt and Telana turquoise dyes.
More blues await knitting...
...in the form of handpainted yarns lined up for commission pieces.
The blues are even lurking in other yarns...
...like this 110 yards of bulky corespun made from a batt named "Calistoga" blended by Sayra at Atomic Blue. Sure, it's mostly greens, but that blue is there. Mocking me.
The blues are even evident in the UFO pile...
So, am I in a rut? Or am I, like Picasso, just going through a Blue Period?
In any event, it's January, and I have the blues. Lots and lots of blues!
Friday, January 13, 2012
Optimism. Or Not.
I'm sitting here this morning feeling all mellow and relaxed and really not caring that I have Important Real Life Things to do. Things like going to the store to buy soy sauce and baking powder. Things like getting my glasses repaired. Things like folding those two loads of towels on the couch.
Instead, I'm sitting here, knitting away on a sweater for Steve and pondering. Pondering what to do with this...
...340 yards of Paco-Vicuna (28 g), about an 18s/52 wpi. It is going to be something lacy, of course. Possibly an Emily Shawl (Rav link). But the real question is to dye or not to dye. The natural colour is a lovely, rich, warm beige that I hate to cover up, but beige and I decided to part ways a few years back when my hair turned white. Blue would be better, but the natural is so pretty. So I knit and stare and ponder.
And very now and then I get up and check on this...
...Big Pile o' Mo. Because checking it every five minutes will make it dry faster. I spent part of yesterday washing marvellous kid mohair locks in natural colours with the vision of a fabulous monochromatic tail-spun yarn that will become the most glorious scarf in the history of the Universe. But mohair dries in January at about the same rate molasses flows in January. So I check and I ponder the marvellous yarn yet to come.
All this knitting and checking and pondering has led my mind down a few stray paths, too. Which brings me to the topic of today's sermon. Optimism, or the lack thereof.
I am an optimistic person. Not like Pollyana optimistic, where everything is wonderful all the time. I do have a little to much skepticism for that, and 50 years of living in the Real World had taught me a lesson or two on tempering optimism with caution. But I'm essentially a glass-half-full kind of person. (See the above hopeful delusion that mohair will dry quickly in January.)
This does not mean that I don't notice the bad things. Or that I don't complain. I do both. Lots. But I get over it, or find a way to turn it around. I make a joke and move on and embrace the joy in life.
But lately, it has struck me that I am in a minority. (I may not actually be, but it just seems that everybody is so full of gloom and doom.) My Facebook and Twitter is full of complaint and misery. Some seem to delight in reposting news stories of death and mayhem and tragedy of operatic proportions. Others are sharing the suffering of their New Years resolution diets or the dark days of January (for which I actually do feel some sympathy). A few are trying to pick political fights-Albertan and American (Neither contest is looking like it's going to be pretty, even to us optimists). There are even a couple who have made disparaging comments on the positive posts of others. (It may be getting close to time for a Friend Purge...)
Even the Real World seems to be in a bad mood. On two separate occasions this past week, strangers in check-out lines started conversations with me. Normally, this would delight me, but these conversations were just openings for them to vent their spleens to a stranger. (And, as a side note, to the man who believes that photoradar is just a cash grab by the Municipality because they nailed you 3 times on the same stretch of road: STOP SPEEDING and the Municipality will stop grabbing your cash. Just sayin'.) Cashiers and servers grumble about the winter weather, which, in my opinion, has been exceptionally mild this year. Well, okay, they reply, then say "but just wait, we're gonna get nailed."
You know, when you dwell on the negative, pretty soon it's all you see. I'm pretty sure that there are a lot of people out there who are missing some pretty awesome adventures because all they can see are the roadblocks. There is a silver lining to every cloud, but there seem to be a lot of people noticing the cloud to every silver lining these days.
So is it just the January Blues? Or is everybody depressed because the Mayans are going to end the world this year. (Or because the Family Radio Network failed to do so last year?) Or is this because there is too much bisphenol-A in our drinking water? Or do this many people just see the glass as half empty?
Well, you know what the optimist in me says to that?
"Glass half-full. Glass half-empty. Who cares? We've still got wine either way!"
Instead, I'm sitting here, knitting away on a sweater for Steve and pondering. Pondering what to do with this...
...340 yards of Paco-Vicuna (28 g), about an 18s/52 wpi. It is going to be something lacy, of course. Possibly an Emily Shawl (Rav link). But the real question is to dye or not to dye. The natural colour is a lovely, rich, warm beige that I hate to cover up, but beige and I decided to part ways a few years back when my hair turned white. Blue would be better, but the natural is so pretty. So I knit and stare and ponder.
And very now and then I get up and check on this...
...Big Pile o' Mo. Because checking it every five minutes will make it dry faster. I spent part of yesterday washing marvellous kid mohair locks in natural colours with the vision of a fabulous monochromatic tail-spun yarn that will become the most glorious scarf in the history of the Universe. But mohair dries in January at about the same rate molasses flows in January. So I check and I ponder the marvellous yarn yet to come.
All this knitting and checking and pondering has led my mind down a few stray paths, too. Which brings me to the topic of today's sermon. Optimism, or the lack thereof.
I am an optimistic person. Not like Pollyana optimistic, where everything is wonderful all the time. I do have a little to much skepticism for that, and 50 years of living in the Real World had taught me a lesson or two on tempering optimism with caution. But I'm essentially a glass-half-full kind of person. (See the above hopeful delusion that mohair will dry quickly in January.)
This does not mean that I don't notice the bad things. Or that I don't complain. I do both. Lots. But I get over it, or find a way to turn it around. I make a joke and move on and embrace the joy in life.
But lately, it has struck me that I am in a minority. (I may not actually be, but it just seems that everybody is so full of gloom and doom.) My Facebook and Twitter is full of complaint and misery. Some seem to delight in reposting news stories of death and mayhem and tragedy of operatic proportions. Others are sharing the suffering of their New Years resolution diets or the dark days of January (for which I actually do feel some sympathy). A few are trying to pick political fights-Albertan and American (Neither contest is looking like it's going to be pretty, even to us optimists). There are even a couple who have made disparaging comments on the positive posts of others. (It may be getting close to time for a Friend Purge...)
Even the Real World seems to be in a bad mood. On two separate occasions this past week, strangers in check-out lines started conversations with me. Normally, this would delight me, but these conversations were just openings for them to vent their spleens to a stranger. (And, as a side note, to the man who believes that photoradar is just a cash grab by the Municipality because they nailed you 3 times on the same stretch of road: STOP SPEEDING and the Municipality will stop grabbing your cash. Just sayin'.) Cashiers and servers grumble about the winter weather, which, in my opinion, has been exceptionally mild this year. Well, okay, they reply, then say "but just wait, we're gonna get nailed."
You know, when you dwell on the negative, pretty soon it's all you see. I'm pretty sure that there are a lot of people out there who are missing some pretty awesome adventures because all they can see are the roadblocks. There is a silver lining to every cloud, but there seem to be a lot of people noticing the cloud to every silver lining these days.
So is it just the January Blues? Or is everybody depressed because the Mayans are going to end the world this year. (Or because the Family Radio Network failed to do so last year?) Or is this because there is too much bisphenol-A in our drinking water? Or do this many people just see the glass as half empty?
Well, you know what the optimist in me says to that?
"Glass half-full. Glass half-empty. Who cares? We've still got wine either way!"
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Hibernation
There has been a whole lot of this going on around here lately...
Yes, we are in the deep, dark days of winter. The holidays are over. The feasting is finished. Twinkling decorations are stowed for another 11 months. It's January, and nothing is going on.
Oh, stuff is happening. Just not that hectic running about that seems to go on during the rest of the year. No travel. No teaching. Not even a lot of emails rolling into the inbox. In fact, it was beginning to feel downright dull around here. Just a whole bunch of spinning and knitting and reading, with the occasional tasty meal thrown in for variety. Fighting a lingering sniffle. Really, nothing much to speak of. I was beginning to get bored.
So, this morning, I decided to start getting things organised for the coming year. I knew I had a few upcoming workshops that would need supplies, so I started sifting through contracts and emails. I came up with 13 different classes, in 7 different venues in the next 6 months. Four, count 'em, four Master Spinner classes alone! And this doesn't count August-November, where I have at least a class a month booked already.
The list-making, the budgeting, the travel-arranging has begun. Along with my work on curriculum review, article writing, and my annual foray into set design. Suddenly, time spent spinning seems very precious, and reading is a luxury. The last couple of weeks have not been a boring waste of time, but a precious island of calm before the next wave of chaos. Now those empty squares on the calendar are a respite, a couple of days to rest and recharge. Because I have been reminded that when I flip the calendar page over to February, there are no empty squares. Until mid-August.
So, like a bear, I will continue to stay curled up in my little den, living off the fat stores built up by the excess of the last few weeks, resting and recharging. And when the spring comes (apparently on February 15th!), I will be ready to charge out and face the world.
But for now, I'm gonna curl up and take a nap.
Yes, we are in the deep, dark days of winter. The holidays are over. The feasting is finished. Twinkling decorations are stowed for another 11 months. It's January, and nothing is going on.
Oh, stuff is happening. Just not that hectic running about that seems to go on during the rest of the year. No travel. No teaching. Not even a lot of emails rolling into the inbox. In fact, it was beginning to feel downright dull around here. Just a whole bunch of spinning and knitting and reading, with the occasional tasty meal thrown in for variety. Fighting a lingering sniffle. Really, nothing much to speak of. I was beginning to get bored.
So, this morning, I decided to start getting things organised for the coming year. I knew I had a few upcoming workshops that would need supplies, so I started sifting through contracts and emails. I came up with 13 different classes, in 7 different venues in the next 6 months. Four, count 'em, four Master Spinner classes alone! And this doesn't count August-November, where I have at least a class a month booked already.
The list-making, the budgeting, the travel-arranging has begun. Along with my work on curriculum review, article writing, and my annual foray into set design. Suddenly, time spent spinning seems very precious, and reading is a luxury. The last couple of weeks have not been a boring waste of time, but a precious island of calm before the next wave of chaos. Now those empty squares on the calendar are a respite, a couple of days to rest and recharge. Because I have been reminded that when I flip the calendar page over to February, there are no empty squares. Until mid-August.
So, like a bear, I will continue to stay curled up in my little den, living off the fat stores built up by the excess of the last few weeks, resting and recharging. And when the spring comes (apparently on February 15th!), I will be ready to charge out and face the world.
But for now, I'm gonna curl up and take a nap.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Merry Christmas!
I'm ready for Christmas. Or, at least, the stuff is all done.
In the last two weeks, my quiet little Christmas has exploded into a full-bown gathering of the clan, complete with big family dinners and convoluted travel arrangements from all points of the compass. I have baked and knitted and shopped and wrapped and DONE ALL THE THINGS. All that remains is to await the arrivals of our travellers.
The world around me is shutting down for the holidays. The usual morning traffic jam outside my living room window is absent. There are short lines in all of the local stores. My inbox is devoid of actual emails.
So, now, I am going to shut down for a few days, too. I am going to eat rich food, and drink good wine, and cuddle up with the ones I love most...
In the last two weeks, my quiet little Christmas has exploded into a full-bown gathering of the clan, complete with big family dinners and convoluted travel arrangements from all points of the compass. I have baked and knitted and shopped and wrapped and DONE ALL THE THINGS. All that remains is to await the arrivals of our travellers.
The world around me is shutting down for the holidays. The usual morning traffic jam outside my living room window is absent. There are short lines in all of the local stores. My inbox is devoid of actual emails.
So, now, I am going to shut down for a few days, too. I am going to eat rich food, and drink good wine, and cuddle up with the ones I love most...
...while thinking of good friends, old and new, and, of course, knit and spin.
So, whoever you are and however you celebrate, I hope that you find time to do the things that bring you joy during this quiet time when the world actually slows down for a few days. I wish you peace and joy on these dark winter days.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
(PS: For those of you who follow my Twitter feed along the side bar, I apologise in advance for any off-colour or obtuse tweets. These things happen when Boyds gather.)
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