Are you wondering if this is the shameless daily fearmongering component I’m reporting on from yesterday’s TV news?
No. More about that later, fear not….
I’ve decided that Wannietta, as charming and benign as she comes across in person, is Knitting Evil Incarnate. Seriously.
I mean, I’ve met the woman once… I had a coffee with her and I now believe she must have slipped something into it intended to make me hemmorhage money at the yarn store.
First of all, that very day she induced me to buy some Handmaiden Silken. She literally twisted my arm. Really. I have witnesses … although I imagine she’s gotten to them already and they will never tell you the truth about the situation now.
And since then, I’ve now been twice to the LYS. I don’t know if I can blame her for the trip to Knitomatic the other day, to be fair… but she is directly responsible for my buying all of this stuff at Romni yesterday:
Yet another skein of Handmaiden Sea Silk:
and some Kidsilk Night:
Brouhaha on 6 January 2007: To be honest, this is slowgoing work for me – the first time I have worked using mohair only, and probably the last.
Brouhaha on 7 January 2007:
I managed to sketch out a pattern for the Tilting at Windmills blanket which I will start whenever I have finished wrestling with the mohair (I have promised myself this much although am sorely tempted to abandon it)… and here is the cursed mohair. Might as well be trying to knit with cotton candy! [emphasis added]
Um… well… this wouldn’t be the first time I was guilty of Short Memory Syndrome when it comes to knitting, I suppose. Or, to be honest, in general…
And, besides, it looks like a cloud. And, it’s sparkly.
But I still blame Wannietta. She mentioned mohair during our conversation when we met. I’m sure this was intended to create a subliminal message in my brain.
And… the only reason I was in Romni yesterday afternoon was because Wannietta had urged me to buy blocking wires for my lace work. Really. But once there, I went into a trance so deep that I looked at mohair which wasn’t on sale!!!
Oh, speaking of trances, while I’m at it I think that I’ll shift some of the blame for the latest expenditures to Holly. She wrote about a yarn-store induced trance in her blog yesterday. I read this post just before going to Romni. Coincidence? I think not.
And, while we’re on the topic of abdicating responsibility for one’s actions, here is last night’s instalment on
How to Dupe The Canadian Public Dumb and Dumber the evening news.
Specifically, it was reported that the Canadian Forces are recruiting 450 mental health personnel to help soldiers returning from Afghanistan deal with post traumatic stress disorder. Now, I’m certainly not suggesting that the soldier don’t need the help. I’m sure they do. But… again I ask, to what end is this all happening?
On the CTV web entry on this item today, it says:
Psychological problems have become an increasingly important issue for the military in recent years as it has expanded its traditional peacekeeping status into a greater combat role [emphasis added].
Wow. I think this might be the first time I have seen “combat” and “Afghanistan” in the same sentence written by any major news outlet as it relates to what is usually (cynically?) called “the Canadian role”.
But that’s not what was actually spoken on the news item last night. Instead, our soldiers’ work in Afghanistan was referred to as … wait for it…
“defacto wartime activity”.
Hello?!?? “Defacto wartime activity?!?” This is probably the truest example of political (as in politician) correctness that I’ve ever seen. How about… war. Why use three meaningless words when you can use one stark one?
(Please don’t sue me, Mr. Harper. I’m a decent lawyer, but no match for the great wits of your vaunted legal team, Bonhomme and Partners LLP… oh, and nice scarf!!!)
Man, I miss Kids in the Hall!!
Phew. I feel better now. You should try some head crushing sometime. Really.
Happy Friday! Off to work now, and then to
crush some heads sink a few pints at the pub with the Tenant Advocates. It’s been a very, very long week.