This is almost turning into the knitting blog I'd planned it to be.

Yay, more knitting pictures. Transferring files from the camera, to the laptop, then to the desktop - and then editing them, uploading to photobucket and blogging them - always takes way more time than I expect it to. But here's my latest batch.

First off, from a wedding a few weeks ago, the debut photos of my Ribbon Xback. (I think I have some good photos of the amazing flora at the wedding as well, but I haven't taken the time to check. I'll post them if they've turned out.) Here's the front. I cannot seem to not look stupid in photos, especially when squinting into the sun, so I've cropped my face out. Sorry.

And here's the back. From here on in, you can click the image to see it full-sized.


I've also, finally, finished sewing the frou-frou onto my Cocktail Monkey Bag. I love how it turned out. So did the strange man at Folk Fest yesterday - so much so that he wanted to photograph it. Okay, that's not fair. First, nearly everyone is strange at Folk Fest in that they're unconventional and generally really friendly. Also, I was wearing a nude mesh shirt with a tattoo print under my tank top (from eight feet away, it looks real) and blue/gold pinstripe wrap pants with my bag slung over my arm - I think he was intrugued by the combination. Or maybe he just loved the bag. Who knows?

And a close-up.


I also got those damn Broadripple Socks done. As you can see, they're a bit too small for my big white legs. The ripple effect is nearly gone, and they kinda hurt to wear. After I wash them, I'll have to decide which of my skinny friends to give them to.




And speaking of socks, I've nearly got a pair of my versions of the Go With The Flow Socks from Interweave Knits Summer 2005. I'm using the KnitPicks yarn that I go in my swap with lumen2002. I couldn't be happier with how they're turning out. The photos in the magazine really don't do the pattern justice. Mine don't either, but they're better, though not nearly as pretty.




I also Kool-Aid dyed some of the Wool of the Andes from that same swap. Soon I will have that Skull and Crossbones tote. In green and orange. Yarr! It took forever to get a nice orange colour. I needed to use three packs of Orange and one of Cherry. But I love the end result.


Last but not least, some of the Knitty Coffeeshop folks have been subject to my occasional whinging about the sweater that was so close to being ready for the Half-Blood Prince launch. If only I'd had one more day to work on it. So frustrating. I got everything knitted, despite some mistakes (like knitting the sleeves on kneedles of two different sizes) and got some of the seaming started, but then ran out of time. I'm giving this a bit of a break, since I'm frustrated with it at the moment. I ended up with too many stitches on one sleeve, so I'll have to go and fix that. Plus I skipped the ribbing on the neck - need to do that too. And I did a horrible job sewing in the ends. I knew this would be a re-do, but I was hoping it would at least be tacked together enough to wear. Oh well. It will look great in November when the next movie comes out.






And that's it for now. I've got some more non-knitting photos that will get posted here eventually, and some knitting pics on undeveloped film somewhere in my room. (I put them "somewhere safe" again. Why do I keep doing that?!?) And I never seem to run out of random things to post, so until next time...

A Tall Ship And A Star

I stole an afternoon on Saturday. Not an easy task. It took at least half an hour to convince my boss that, since we couldn't do any work until after five, it was better for all of us if we didn't show up until then. Better for him, because he saves money, and we're already over budget. Better for us because, frankly, we needed a few hours away from work to do something other than sleep - something that would make us feel human again. Eventually, finally, he relented. My partner in crime slept in until early afternoon. I set my alarm, and dragged myself down to the tall ship festival.

I say 'dragged myself' as thought I didn't want to go, but I did. I've been wanting to go for ages. I've been aching to see a tall ship up close for years. (And aching to sail one - so if I disappear to Aberdeen or Nova Scotia one day, you'll all know why.) Still, it's tough, on your first morning off in a week, when you know you'll be working until 5am, to crawl out of bed when the alarm starts blaring. But I knew that I needed this - that my soul needed this - and so I went.

I only had a few hours, and the site was spread out across the bay, so I decided to hit Tall Ship Island - four ships surrounding a couple of barges - and guarantee that I'd see at least a few ships. Besides which, the Lady Washington was docked there, and I have to admit I'm a bit of a fan girl and couldn't resist the chance to see her in person. So I bought my ticket (there are probably a dozen people I could have called to get in free, but I couldn't risk it - you never know when a freebie will fall through), and headed down to the site. Getting in was no problem. Getting out to Tall Ship Island took nearly two hours. The lineups were longer than Disneyland, and apparently the attendance was much lower than hoped for. Seems that's a good thing, since if there had been a larger crowd, I never would have made it out.

Fortunately, everyone in line seemed in fairly good spirits. I bided my time, keeping myself occupied by knitting, listening to the Celtic bands, talking to the people around me, and nibbling on the free chocolate they kept handing out to us, apparently to keep up placid. Finally, eventually, our little harbour cruise ship came to pick us up, and not a moment too soon. Another half hour, and I would have had to walk away.

(Now, before I get a lecture, I understand that there are occupancy limits. Part of my job seems to be fighting with people about that. - "No, you can't have more than 350 people in this room." "Why not?" "Because that's the limit the fire marshal has put on the building." "But there won't be a fire." "A: You don't know that. B: That's irrelevant. C: This is not an option. It's the law and I'm not going to argue about it with you. You can't sell more than 350 tickets." *sigh* - Still, there are better ways to keep a large volume of people moving. Guided tours, for example, would limit the time people spend on the Island while still allowing them to see all the ships.)

On Tall Ship Island, I made my way first to the Lynx - a 122' long, 23' tall, Square Topsail Schooner from California. (I know very little about ships, sad to say, aside from the fact that I find them enchanting. I smell a new research project... But I've decided to include some info from the festival program for those who aren't as embarrassingly uninformed as I am.) She had no lineup, which made her the most appealing for the moment. I spend a few minutes looking around, taking some pictures and buying a postcard, but her crew wasn't very chatty, and I was short on time, so I quickly moved on.

On to the Lady Washington. (She's a 112' long, 89' tall Brig from Aberdeen, Washington. You know her as the Interceptor.) I was going to save her until last, but there was (another) long linup. Well, okay, this one was only twenty minutes - a mere fraction of the time I'd waited earlier - but, again, longer than many of the lineups at Disneyland. Still, she was well worth the wait. For starters, her crew, who was dressed in various degrees of period-esque costume, was more than willing to answer any questions you might think to ask. In fact, they were eager to - sometimes even answering the question in your mind before you'd had a chance to voice it. They are all, clearly, extremely proud of their ship, and with good reason. She is beautiful. Not ostentatious, or overwhelmingly impressive, but... elegant. Classic. Something about her lines, her black rigging, the sheen of her wood, the way her deck has weathered - it excites the imagination. This is where the moving to Aberdeen thing comes in. That's her home port, and she's a training vessel, and it's taking a lot of willpower right now to keep from selling everything I own so that I can go down and volunteer. Maybe in the winter, or maybe next year or... I don't know, but I think this is something I have to do at some point.

Now I was running out of time, and there were two ships left to see - the Zodiac (160' long 26' tall Gaff Schooner from Seattle) and the Pallada (speaking of overwhelmingly impressive, this one's a 356' long 46' tall Full-Rigged Ship from Russia). Again, my decision was determined by lineups, or rather, the lack of a lineup for the Pallada. I only spend five minutes or so on her, but I got some amazing photos. Then I got in yet another lineup to catch a shuttle back to land. Was late to work, in the end, which wasn't the end of the world. Everyone else was late too, and the rehearsal went long, so even showing up at 5:30 I sat around for almost an hour before I could do anything. The shuttle came just in time though. My phone call was "I'm going to be a bit late - we're just docking now," instead of "I'm going to be late. I'm stuck on Tall Ship Island and have not idea when I'm going to be able to get off."

All in all, the most productive afternoon I've had in weeks. It made at least the first part of the day not feel like torture. My only regret? The ships have all sailed away without me.

And now for the pictures. Theyr'e not in chronological order - ten points to the first person who figures out what order they're in. Points can be redeemed for bragging rights. Click on thumbnails to see larger image.

Tall Ship Island as seen from shore.


The Lady Washington's emergency distress beacon.


The Maple Leaf. A ship not in the program, so I have no idea what her specs are.


The Lady Washington's compass. The compass on the Lynx is nicer looking, but the red light dangling in front of it ruins the shot.


The ships' wheel on the Lynx. The inscription says "BE EXCELLENT TO EACH OTHER AND TO YOUR SHIP". Good rule to live by, I think.


One of the masts on the Pallada.


Another mast on the Pallada as seen from the bottom.


The Maple Leaf's bowsprit. (She was the only ship really visible from the linup, so I've got a few pictures of her.)


Approaching Tall Ship Island.


A mast on the Lady Washington.


The deck of the Maple Leaf.


A ladder on the Pallada. This needs to be made a B&W when I have some time to play.


The masts of all frour ships as seen from the deck of the Lynx.


The Lady Washington.


Some of the lines on the Lynx.


Pre-boarding entertainment - slightly scary stilt-walker.


Approaching Tall Ship Island - featuring the Zodiac.


Isn't she cute? This is a replica of a Viking ship, called the Munin. (42' long, 10 ' tall, with a 400 square ft. sail - for those who care.) She's from Vancouver, BC.


Another view of a mast on the Lady Washington.


More Lady Washington. If you can't tell, that's an axe.


Some fancy ropework on the Lynx.


Some of the Lady Washington's crew. They're not too shabby either.


Part of a mast and sail on the Lynx.


Leaving Tall Ship Island. A full view of the Pallada.


And this is Isaac - a pint-sized package of unharnessed energy. He kept us entertained in the lineups with his dancing, storytelling, martial arts, and general enthusiasm about everything.

You Just Might Find What You Need

This has been the tech week from hell. They're all the tech week from hell, which is why tech week is often lovingly referred to as 'hell week'. But this one takes the cake.

The sudden illness of our designer has combined with really crappy management to create a situation where we were a month behind before we even began. Add to that the fact that our boss has a not-so-private drinking problem (he generally begins drinking at noon, and it two sheets to the wind by dinner) and apparently feels that giving information when it's too late to act on it is the way to go. And we're doing two shows simultaneously, which means that tech week is actually twice as long.

My bankbook is happy - 70-hour work weeks add up to a lot of coin - but that's about it. I, quite honestly, have never felt so beaten down in my entire life. And it's not just me. I look around, and notice that all my co-workers bear a startling resemblance to broken soldiers. We have no fight left. It's like we're crawling backwards up a hill in the mud. Apparently we're making some progress, but we've landed on our faces so many times that we can't see it. We make it through the day by venting to eachother and counting down the days to opening night, when all we have to do is maintain. It's horrible. I love my job, I really do, but right now McDonalds is looking mighty appealing.

Last night was more of the same. The company was onstage at noon, so 'Mary' (the other electrician) and I elected to come in late instead of doing a split shift. She slept in, I went to the tall ship festival (more about that when I get my pictures developed), and we both showed up to work feeling almost human. By eleven that night, we were back to status quo. By 2am we we'd had a couple of minor blow-outs. These are, unfortunately, fairly common right now. We don't have fuses anymore, just triggers. The saving grace is that we can both take a cooling-off period and then continue to work together as if nothing has happened. No hard feelings. We're hoping this can last one more week.

During one of these cool-off periods, I wandered downstairs to put some things away. The building is covered with pen and pencil and marker, nail polish and lipstick, and the occasional sticker or poster. Four decades of cast, crew, and orchestra have left their mark on the walls. These marks are slowly being stripped away because of building rot, but the volume of what's left is still impressive. I firmly believe that you could live in the building for a year and not see all of it. This is my sixth summer in a row, and I'm still discovering 'new' things that have been up there since the 80's, or even earlier.

Last night, at three in the morning, I saw a 'new' signature. I can't remember the person's name, and really, it isn't important. What struck me was what was scrawled beneath it; "This is just one theatre." It's exactly what I needed to see last night. Because it's so true. This is not my life - this is just one theatre. This is not my career - this is just one theatre. This is not something that is worth losing my soul over - this is just one theatre.

By 4am, the waters had cooled. Mary and I were buddies again. We raised half a glass of cider (all we could handle at the end of that day) in a toast to one more day overcome. One day less until we opened. And I told her about the writing on the wall. It was exactly what she needed to hear too.