Dear Joss

Dear Joss;

I would like to start this letter by saying, I am a fan. Buffy is a favorite of mine, Angel was a great spin-off, Firefly and Serenity were awesome, and Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog was inspired. When I heard the murmurs about "Dollhouse", I was excited at the prospect of a show that embodied the dry wit, creativity, and sympathetic characters that are your trademarks.

However, there are a few issues I would like to address with you about "Dollhouse". Before I do, I would like to applaud your commitment to recycling: I love that the Wolfram and Hart set is being repurposed for this show. That having been said, the first and most important point that I want to make is that you need to hire me, because clearly, there is nobody on your writing staff who could tell the difference between "exuberant" and "exorbitant". I do, and this makes me uniquely qualified, it would seem. Let me explain.

When one is discussing very high prices, while one can be exuberant while spending an exorbitant amount of money, an "exuberant price" just doesn't make sense. The OED is totally in agreement with me on this. To tell you that these sort of oversights are remarkably uncharacteristic of your work feels unnecessary. Clearly, this needed to be said.

Second, I understand that sex sells. However, the dance sequence in pilot where the lovely Ms. Dushku's crotch and butt hang out from the bottom of her dress is both tacky and perpetuates the corollary "Less clothing = More sexy", where the whole "Less is more" idiom really means "Less flesh = more sexy". (It's ok; idioms can be tricky to interpret!)

I know that Ms. Dushku has a lovely body, but the gratuitous nudity is a bit heavy-handed. (Especially that Dollhouse-themed Hulu commercial, where her breasts are bouncing so enthusiastically that they eclipse the content of her dialog. I actually heard myself squealing a "SERIOUSLY?!" that would put the Grey's Anatomy girls to shame.)

Third, and most important: you need to hire me- or ANYONE who isn't a sycophant for that matter - to tell you that this has been done, and better. "Dollhouse" is a cross between "Dark Angel" and "Alias" but with severe brain damage. I may have also described this program as a "steaming turd".

I'll be waiting for your call, and look forward to working with you in the future.

Best regards,

Jasmin

One small person, one giant ballot for mankind!

This morning, Mom and I got up early and went to our local polling place. Once we got checked in, I was handed a RIDICULOUSLY large ballot. Like, one of those giant birthday cards.

Proof:

The sock is 6" long. I would have gotten a better shot of the ballot, but they were watching my pink-haired self pretty closely, and I think they would have yelled at me for standing on a chair. (Some people have no sense of adventure. Really!)

I don't want to be redundant. But, here we go: It's important to vote.

My parents are immigrants in this country. They're both naturalized citizens, and they vote.

I read someone's blog this morning, and I was infuriated because she said that she didn't really believe in the person she voted for, but essentially, he was the lesser of two evils. That is crap. It's the same defeatist garbage that keeps people home on election day, and bitching during the eventual aftermath.

I voted for Obama. Whether or not you agree with my politics, I voted for him because he wants to change things, and I find that refreshing. I voted for him because he's brilliant. I voted for him because when he speaks, he makes me feel proud to be American. (A hyphenated-American, but an American nonetheless.)

I voted for him because I truly believe that if you go into something intending to make a change, then change is inevitable. This is how I've lived my life, and I've done pretty well living with that personal philosophy.

Stand behind your candidate. Tell me why you're voting for the person you're voting for. You have the freedom to disagree with me, and I stand up for your right to disagree. The only thing I demand is that you be proud: the person we elect is going to be our representative to the world.

Love in the time of politics

I don't talk about politics on the blog, generally. But.

This is a church and state issue. If same-sex marriages offend you, don't marry someone who is the same sex as you. Simple solution.

Also, it's legislation like Prop 8 that would have made it illegal for me and Andrew to get married. (Anti-miscegenation laws, anyone?) Love is love.

Let's keep the government out of our relationships where we can. Seriously.

I am a naughty girl

Well, more a naughty blogger. Partly because I've had writer's block that is the equivalent of the Writer's Block-Wall-of-China, and partly because I've been reading bad books.

"Bad books?" You may be asking yourself, "How can a book be bad?" Then, the philosophy of an ex-boyfriend's brother comes in, "You'll learn something, even from the worst book. Where's the bad."

Laurell K. Hamilton. That's where the bad is. Her books used to be really good. (Keep it in context, people. She writes paranormal fiction. Not high literature.) Anita Blake was a character I could connect with- a petite, curly, ethnic, ass-kicking, wise-cracking necromancer/vampire executioner. While I may be some of those things, the rest I found inspiring. Especially as a 14 year-old girl, when I started reading her stuff.

Anita had a set of black-and-white values that she constantly struggled with, but she managed to work out that gray areas exist, too, and still manage to be a decent person. Until.

Narcissus in Chains. Anita becomes (in her own words) SlutGirl. A person does not go from being a "sex is for love and marriage" to a "sex with strangers is fun" person overnight. While I do not like the socio political nature of any word that judges a woman based on promiscuity (which is also a gender-based loaded word of dooooooom), I call a spade a spade, and a ho a ho.

The books went from being about fighting amorphous evil and raising the dead to ... paranomal porn. This is disappointing at BEST.

I can't even call it paranormal erotica, because it lacks the intimacy that characterizes erotica. It's just straight-up, written porn. (This is why I couldn't get into the Merry Gentry series that she wrote. Evidently, it has bled over into the Anita Blake universe.)

Worse than the written-porn-lack-of-plot-ness of it, I just feel like she's pandering to masses of desperate fans. Because, let's face it: you're in at least one of the camps that believes she should be sleeping with Jean-Claude, Richard, Asher, Jason, Nathaniel, or any of the other characters that Ms. Hamilton has developed throughout the series.

(In case you're wondering, I'm in the Richard camp. What's not to love about a werewolf who attends musical theater? I'm also a big fan of his naive ideals about democracy in a pack environment. Just not the long hair. I like my men clean-cut. Seriously, what is with LKH and long-haired men? Sounds like a Samson complex, of sorts.)

So, after all this ranting about how terrible the books have gotten, you ask, "Why are you still reading them?"

I'm still reading them because I keep hoping, deep in my heart, that someone will slap some sense into Anita and she'll go back to kicking ass and taking names. LKH and I have an abusive relationship. She'll write a bad book, and I'll finish reading it and feel devastated (and possibly, a little violated), and then I'll see the next book out, and say, "Well, it'll be better next time." It's a vicious cycle.

Oh, and the spoilers for the next book have PROMISED that Anita is going to get her act together. So I have to get caught up.

(I'm four books behind.) I think, one of the worst changes, was the shift from a detective-story looking cover to the current covers. Which have LOADS of nudity.

It's one thing to read dreck. It's a whole other thing to advertise that you're reading dreck. A girl has got to have standards, you know?

I am BACK!

I'll be honest. This insomnia thing had really thrown me off my game. So, off to Dr. B I went, and the conversation went something like this:

Dr. B: I'm going to suggest something. You're not going to like it.

Me: Ok, what? (<- Desperate for a solution)

Dr. B: Exercise.

Me: Oh, I did that in high school.

Evidently, working out is not like an innoculation, where you do it, with some boosters, and you're good until the end of your natural life. (Or a stronger strain. But I digress.) But, Dr. B is a professional, and as his suggestions have proven more than helpful historically, I listened.

I came home, and did a half hour of yoga. Then, I slept for seven hours. I woke up, feeling much more human, and continued my day as normal. Except for the soreness. The one thing that I vividly remember from my yoga sessions with Katie is the insane stiffness and soreness.

Despite the soreness, I felt better. Stronger.

Tonight, I went to the Saratoga Drama Group's production of Man of La Mancha. Walter, the lead, is one of the most commanding baritones that I have had the good fortune to see perform. Attending live performances gives me a high that you can't even imagine. I was practically vibrating afterwards.

When I got home, it was Yoga Time. I outdid last night's agonizing 30 minutes by an extra five, working on the yoga until the soreness stopped. It was like a rubber band snapping. One minute, I was stretching out the sore hamstrings and hoping for a swift, yoga-induced death, and the next,
it felt GOOD.

I stretched harder. I held poses longer. I breathed deeper. I felt ALIVE. And then I almost threw up. (I didn't.)

After I did my cool-down, I had some water, and was being reflective. When did I become this lazy lump of a person? Sitting all the time. Not moving. Indolent. It's disgusting. I used to be so physically active! I did all sorts of physical activities, and I worked out at the gym. Now, just walking the stairs?

I realized, that I could be developing the dreaded office butt. Office butt! Unacceptable.

I told Mike - the work husband - that we will be working out. Every day. No more leisurely, cheese-filled lunches. Lunch at my desk, an hour at the gym.

Look out world. I have returned with a VENGEANCE.

Trust and blogging

I love to read knitting blogs, but in the last year I’ve had some trust issues. I feel like some of the more popular bloggers may not be giving “fair and balanced” reviews and promotion of products.

Sometimes it’s not disclosed whether they have paid for what they’re using or reviewing, and in some cases, the reviews of products that they’re given are biased towards the positive BECAUSE they were not paid for.

I have been given some things, and I have paid for some things. From here forward, I will be doing fair and balanced reviews and disclosing what was paid for and what was a gift. I’ve done reviews before, which are all fair and balanced, but the disclosures will be made crystal clear.

These shoes are made for… something

I love shoes. More specifically, I love off-the-wall shoes, and fetish shoes. The off-the-wall shoes fill the anti-authoritarian side of me- why else would a person own poison green sneakers?

(Side note: We were watching something on TV and the character asked, “Do you wear these hiking boots for hiking?” I turned to Andrew and said, “I have lots of sneakers that I wear for sneaking.”)

These are my newest pair of shoes, due to arrive any day now:

[Photo courtesy of Shoes.com]

The crazy fetish shoes have more meaning to me. I sustained a serious knee injury in 1999, and I was told that I wouldn’t be able to wear heels, or walk stairs without serious pain. As a minor, my options were to not wear heels, not walk stairs, and the doctor suggested knee surgery- which might (or might not) have left me unable to walk. I chose to go without the surgery, obviously.

That was the case until 2004, when I began physical therapy (which I pursued after being told by a different doctor that I might not be permanently injured).

I went from having pain after walking one flight of stairs to being pain-free, and able to scale four flights of stairs several times a day in eleven weeks. I worked the injured knee to the point where it was actually stronger than my other knee for a few months.

This meant I could begin wearing heels again. I bought a few pairs of incredibly fun heels (which I wear occasionally), which aren’t the most comfortable shoes, but man, do they get things done.

There is the contingent of people who believe that high-heeled shoes are the modern, Western version of foot binding, intended to keep women hobbling along and subservient. I disagree.

While high fashion may tell us that we should wear high-heeled shoes all the time, I’ve found that wearing high-heeled shoes once in a while is much more effective. It’s the same as wearing slacks most of the time, and a skirt occasionally. I can be seen as feminine without being all Stepford-y all the time.

The social dynamics involved are stunning- I can be carrying the same armload of stuff in slacks, and doors aren’t held for me. In a skirt and heels, I find that I’m not opening doors for myself. This was the case at my previous job, too.

Opening doors has gone from being a courtesy to a political act. When Sam was younger, I remember women cooing over how cute it was that chivalry came in the form of a six-year-old boy. Women were shocked that grown men wouldn’t open doors, but this little boy would. (Go Mom!)

When I was in college, I witnessed the following:

Woman: [Approaches the door]

Man: [Opens door, gestures that she should go first]

Woman: I don’t need you to open doors for me! I am PERFECTLY CAPABLE of doing it myself.

Man: [Stands, slack jawed] I’m sorry.

Now, while I’m happy to wave my feminist flag, what the hell?! I would have yelled right back at her if I had been in the guy’s shoes. When did good manners become oppressive? Since when did performing an act of common courtesy require an APOLOGY? California has become downright upside-down. Topsy-turvy. Higgledy-piggledy.

So, you could say that by wearing crazy fetish-shoes (or heels in general), I’m subverting the dominant paradigm. Bringing back chivalry.

And wearing some wicked fierce pumps.

Husbands and knitting

[Note: This is a Very Opinionated Post. You have been warned.]

I listed to a lot of Podcasts. Recently, I’ve been catching up on some older ones. This morning, while I was listening to knitTherapy, one of the K’s was talking about going on vacation, and her husband PROHIBITING knitting on their vacation.

The whole issue of husbands prohibiting knitting gets me completely incensed- what does working on a sock or a shawl on vacation take away from the husband? Nothing. It’s a control issue. We are all equal contributors in our relationships- whether or not you are the breadwinner is irrelevant.

When Andrew and I started dating, I made it clear that knitting was an established part of my identity. Knitting means yarn. Not knitting makes me cranky. When we got married, Andrew was aware that my stash was my trousseau. Lucky him, right? Of course right.

That’s exactly right. Knitting is art, and I would no sooner expect a knitter to quit knitting than an opera singer to stop singing, or a painter to stop painting. It’s stupid, and moreso, it’s disrespectful. Not only that, but it violates the “Love, honor, and cherish/obey” vow that many of us took when we got married. It also violates the “For better or for worse” bit.

I can say with a fair measure of certainty that the anti-knitting husbands all have hobbies and interests. Women, generally speaking, either absorb or accept their partner’s hobbies and interests. In the seven years I worked at the LYS, I heard husband after husband bitch and moan about all the “knitting crap” that their wives spent money on.

That’s really what it comes down to: money. If it’s free (like washing dishes, or doing laundry, or vacuuming), the spouses tend to be all for it. Like women often do, these women devalue themselves by referring to the communal money as their husband’s money. These are the same husbands who “babysit” when they spend time with their own children. The whole mess is infuriating.

Here’s my solution:

Scenario A:

Non-knitting spouse: Don’t bring your knitting.

Knitter: You’re right. My off-time is much better spent strangling the life out of you. [Sweet smile.]

Scenario B:

Non-knitting spouse: Don’t bring your knitting.

Knitter: It’s my vacation, too, darling. My knitting doesn’t take anything away from you. [Sweet smile.]

Scenario C:

Non-knitting spouse: Don’t bring your knitting.

Knitter: [Melodramatic, complete with hand against forehead] Without knitting, I am like a fish out of water, a woman with no air, a car with no gas. I simply * cannot be * without my knitting.

The land in which customer service is king

I'll be honest with you- if I'm treated poorly in a store, I won't go back. Having learned the valuable lesson about financial independence at the ripe old age of six, I have always believed in the power of the consumer. [This lesson was courtesy of Auntie Wolf, which I'll likely post soon.] Good customer service always warrants praise; bad customer service warrants the dreaded word-of-mouth anecdotal kiss-of-death.

I shop at stores where I am treated well, and I buy products that are of the quality that their pricing dictates. I won't post pictures of yarn from companies that do not stand behind their products. If I have noticed a problem with their yarn, and they have not dealt with it to my satisfaction (knots, deceptive labeling, etc), they won't get any promotion here. I'm not so petty as to rip down posts where I had previously mentioned them, but I also won't give information that will help support what I consider to be bad business practices. I hold myself to certain standards of integrity, and as a reader, you are entitled to the fruits of my experience.

So, here is how I go about dealing with a product problem:

Step 1: Notice the problem.

Step 2: Call the LYS that I bought it at. If I ordered it directly from the company, call them. Politely address the issue.

I'm going to emphasize the politeness. Nobody likes dealing with a raging knitter. Take deep breaths, and remember that these are generally nice people who like knitting, knitters, and what they're doing. The nasty people are the exceptions, not the rule.

Try to laugh about the mishap, while still gently impressing the importance of the problem.

Step 2a: Call the company directly, if possible. Repeat schpiel from the LYS discussion, let them know that you've talked to the LYS.

Step 3: Work out a solution.

Step 4: Knit happily ever after.

So, for your reading (and shopping) pleasure, here is my most recent customer service experience with Claudia's Handpaints.

Phase 1: The Issue

The yarn: Claudia's Fingering weight merino- Ink, dyelot 004.

The project: Andrew socks, men's size 12. [For those playing the home game, that's 7" of cuff and 12" of foot.] One pair of many in the "Black Sock Project".

Ink socks, Take 1:

I cast on, and plowed through the first 6" of cuff. Knot. Okay, knots aren't cool, but one, I can deal with. Knit another 1/2". Four knots in less than ten yards. Uncool.

Go to Purlescence, show the Purl Girls. I fork over the cuff (7" at this point), and they happily hand over a new ball, and apologize for the inconvenience. Awesome.

Ink socks, Take 2:

Cast on. Plow through cuff, heel, instep. Go see Dan in Real Life. In the theater, knit 8" of foot. Knot. Sigh, consider the [7 + 8] 15 inches of sock knitted, plus the lost 7 inches [Home Game: 22" of men’s sock knitted so far], and decide to continue. Hit 7 total knots before the end of the foot, most of them, in the toe. Sigh, and complain at Andrew.

Phase 2: The Solution

Call Purlescence, show them the frequency of the knots (marked with stitch markers), laugh at the horror. E-mail Claudia.

At this point, I'm a little miffed. I weigh how much yarn I have left on the ball (5g), and talk to Andrew about using something different for the toes, because I'm not comfortable with so many knots being in the toe box of his shoes. What's the one thing I like less than knitting black socks? Darning black socks that Andrew has grown attached to.

I got a lovely phone call from one of Claudia's elves (whose name slips my mind at this moment), where we talked about what had happened, and how to resolve it. At the end of the call, everyone was happy, and I had a preview of what Purlescence is getting in the mail next week. (Bwa ha!) I also have the distinct pleasure of knowing that Claudia (& Co) really do care about putting forward quality products

Now, so do you.

Excel is for Knitters

I had a dilemma about completing my Pearls of Wisdom shawl in time for the wedding I intend to wear it to- mostly how I could (a) conceptualize it's growth, (b) whether I could actually finish it in time and (c) whether I could finish it in time without wrecking my hands.

I remember reading someone's blog (Grumperina, possibly), where the knitter used Excel to measure (a) total rows, (b) rows completed and (c) rows to be completed. She also had averaged out the total rows over the number of days before the garment needed to be completed, so she had a per diem quota.

Historically, I have been very intimidated by Excel. So, when I found out that I could take Excel classes, I was THRILLED. I was told Excel is hard the same way many young women are told math and the sciences are hard.

[NOTE: Feminist-y rant follows. If you're not interested in the rant, skip down to the next bold section.]

When I realized how incredibly easy Excel can be, I was furious. Every opportunity where Excel was necessary, I was told by a male co-worker that Excel is hard, and he would lighten my load by just doing the spreadsheet for me, saving me * hours * of work.

This made me feel like Excel was a secret language, with all the odd symbols for the formulas and whatnot. I'm a fairly smart person, but I was of the opinion that I just must not be smart enough to do Excel, since it would be so time-consuming to teach me.

After the class, and I realized how simple so many of the tasks are, I was FURIOUS. If I had gotten four hours of this specific Excel training, I could have outdone everyone at my last job. I was just being brushed off because Excel and Math are for boys, and everything else is for girls. It'll shrivel your ovaries, render you barren and possibly result in a "rest cure" for your hysteria, you understand.

[END FEMINIST-Y RANT]

Phew. Glad that's over. Anyway, so I had an idea, based on the spreadsheet/graph I remembered seeing, and now I had the skills to make it work. The hardest part was determining the necessary data.

That took a little thinking about how I wanted it to appear, which took a little time.

End result:

World Conquest- One Egg At A Time

I got a message on MySpace hitting me up for some Middle Eastern eggs. That's right. Ovum.

Completely ignoring the fact that donating eggs is an INCREDIBLY uncomfortable process- you earn every penny of that $6k with your suffering. They pump you full of hormones and at the end; you have to give yourself injections. This young woman claimed to have done it SIX TIMES.

I'm fairly certain that given a life-or-death option of either giving myself injections or dying, I would do it. But for fun? Forget it.

There is also the Genetic Material Issue. I have no qualms with donating stem cells to save a loved one, but just having my ovum out there? To be fertilized by a complete stranger? I'm a little uncomfortable with that, especially with people getting curious about their biological parents.

How awful would it be to meet your egg donor, only to find out that she did it for the money? Is there legal recourse the child could take to demand that you support it? Send it to college? Buy it a pony?

Then there is this side of it:

I'm not using my eggs. I will, eventually, but currently, they're in storage (if I understand my specific form of family planning correctly). I don't really need all of them, since we're only planning on having two. Why not help an infertile couple have a child that they obviously want fairly desperately.

Let's face it, deep down, we're all narcissists and most people want their OWN baby and taking a genetic material donation is one step away from forsaking your own lineage completely, genetically speaking.

When it comes to family, I truly believe that the people who raise your and love you are your parents, not the biological matter donors (whether through conventional means of donation or otherwise). Making a baby doesn't make you a parent, raising it does.

Then, my inner megalomaniac piped up and pointed out that there could be dozens of little Jasmins running around the world; more specifically, California.

Couldn't you just see it? Yarn shops pillaged, a global shortage of imported chocolates, and all that hair. Could the world handle that much hair?

The world may never know.

Image & Vision

I love watching Beauty & the Geek. I think it's a great show (and an even better concept for those of us with nerd fetishes), but this season there is one guy (Mario) who makes me want to cry every time he opens his mouth.

Mario is on the heavyset side and is shorter than his Amazonian counterpart. He listens to his partner, and won the challenge where he listened to the nude model while he was drawing her. Instead of just ogling her goodies, he was the Nice Guy and paid some attention to what she was saying.

The most recent challenge was the "make over" part of the show. This is easy when all of the people are about the same size, and for the most part the guys are pretty much the same size range. Except for Mario.

It completely defeats the purpose of reinforcing that they are worthwhile, attractive and great people if you stick someone in a store where nothing fits them. All of the other guys had more options, and Mario ended up looking (and dressing) like John Belushi. (Or Jim. I don't remember which one Andrew said, but they're brothers, and I feel safe in saying "Eh, close enough.")

I've been lucky enough not to have real weight problems. Yes, I was underweight for a very long time, until I met Andrew. When I met Andrew I gained 40 pounds over the first three months of our relationship. (That is only about 10 pounds heavier than I am now.)

I liked how I looked (except for the crazy stretch marks from gaining weight so quickly- which are gone now), but it felt incredibly bad not being able to wear my regular clothes. I had to (essentially) buy a whole new wardrobe, which was fun- but not what I wanted to do.

I can say with a fair amount of certainty that everyone has had that "Oh, shit" moment where they realize that they can't zip or button their jeans. It just doesn't feel good, no matter how happy you are with the weight gain. (For me, the worst part of this was realizing that I only had sweats that would cover my butt until I bought some new jeans.)

I've never had body image issues (I know what I look like, and I like what I look like), but I try to be sensitive to other's body image issues, because I know that being confident is really the key to being an attractive person. (Good looks help, too, but confidence tricks people into not noticing.) How can you be confident if you walk into a store and there is nothing that fits you? This is a problem that the producers should have thought about and planned better.

Oh yeah, better planning. Can I say how pissed I am that it became Blondes vs Brunettes? Nevermind the fact that the brunettes were playing the "game" the way it is intended- getting to know their partners better, and that idiot Nadia told Andrea (one of the brunettes) that she was cooler because she wasn't "inside playing chess like a geek".

Hello?! That's the point of the game! To learn and grow! I have to say that I don't feel like any of the blondes are making the same kind of effort to get to know their partners as in past seasons. I think part of this is because of the sleeping arrangement (separate beds this season, shared beds in previous seasons). The guys are trying to learn and grow, but in the mansion they face EXACTLY the same problem with women that they have in the outside world.

I think Nadia's crack should have gotten her ejected from the game, but hey, I'm not Ashton Kutcher. I really fell like there needs to be some sort of correction/direction on the part of the appropriate people to get the female players back on track.

The other action that I took issue with was the assault on Scooter by the Anna Nicole looking girl and Ceci. (For anybody who hasn't seen it, the two women cornered him and tried to pressure him into engaging in non-consensual sexual activity. He politely tried to resist their advances, claiming that the camera in the room made him uncomfortable. One of the girls went to cover the camera, unsuccessfully, and fell on the floor. The noise brought other people into the room, which is when Scooter basically ran away, shaking.)

My issue is that the girls thought that this was funny, and it was portrayed as funny rather than assault. If you were to switch the genders of the people involved, there would be a lawsuit. However, because the assault was on a man, it isn't taken seriously and the girls weren't reprimanded.

Pfft.

Yarn Diets and the Demise of the LYS

I was reading WendyKnits earlier, and her resolution to knit from her stash (similar to my yarn diet) apparently caused quite a hubbub on the blog of a LYS (local to whom, I'm not certain).

This LYS owner claimed that if everyone knit from their stashes that Wendy would be responsible for the demise of yarn shops far and wide. The phrase "blood on your [Wendy's] hands" was included.

This is ridiculous. I haven't read anything so self-serving in ages. This sounds like the LYSs that complain about internet yarn shops stealing all of their business. Internet shopping is often a supplement to the LYS, rather than an alternative.

-UNLESS-

The LYS sucks. There we go, I've said it. I have 9 LYS within a 20 minute radius around my house (meaning, if you were to take a compass, put the pointy part on my house, and swoop around with the pencil-y part, there are NINE LYSs within that circle).

I've gone into a LYS where the service was beyond bad- it was overtly rude. One of these LYSs is notorious of having rude employees. I buy the things they sell from online vendors.

Last January I was in a different LYS where I watched the owner be exceedingly rude to a developmentally disabled woman in front of a store full of customers. The DD woman was a customer, and so was her mother- who was standing right there next to her daughter. I don't shop there anymore, again- I buy online.

Rudeness is one of my main reasons for not shopping at the LYSs. Another is the huge difference in price markups between LYSs. This isn't as noticeable when you have one or two LYSs, but when the same yarn is 30% more expensive at a shop 20 minutes away, the consumer is bound to figure it out.

Yeah, yeah, I know the "markup includes our expertise" argument. I actually used to work at an LYS where we helped people, and we had the lowest markup in the area. When it comes to where I shop, I don't need their help, so why should I be expected to pay for a service I'm never going to use?

I have personally never asked for knitting help in a store- the most I ask is "Where can I find XX?" Sorry, the internet shops cut that "expense".

I digress from my main point- Yarn Diets and the Destruction of the LYS. It's not going to happen. Even if you're firm and stick to your resolve, we all crack. My yarn diet lasted about 120 days, but I bought spinning fiber in the meantime.

Wendy's diet doesn't include sock yarn, where mine was a totally kibosh on all yarn purchases. Andrew could probably show you in Quicken how much I spend on JUST sock yarn every year. It's staggering.

My yarn diet stemmed from a love of what I have in my stash. When Andrew and I went through the my whole stash and re-packaged it over the summer, I realized how much yarn I have that I love. I also realized, in my shopping excursions, how I pretty much have everything I want.

Here is the frightening thing: I haven't seen a whole lot of "new" or "different" yarns that appeal to me. That's why I'm insane in the membrane about spinning. It's new, different, and yet- similar enough to appeal to my tastes. (I am insanely in love with Trekking- the subtle variegated ones, and my spinning is similar to that right now.)

So, LYS owners, listen up! If you want more foot traffic, to move more products, and to defeat these evil Yarn Diets, you have to stock NEW and INTERESTING things! Offer classes in techniques that move yarn, or fiber, or whatever. Ask your customers what THEY would like to see, and carry a little initially to see if there's interest.

The one thing that will always defeat a Yarn Diet is temptation. If there is no temptation, the Yarn Diet will be successful.

Thwarting the Tivo

For some shows that get recorded on my Tivo, I miss the last 30- 60 seconds. This is usually next week's preview, which sucks, but I figured that it was just an oversight, not blaming the Tivo OR the network. On the radio this morning it was announced that this "timing issue" is intentional on behalf of the network.

Why? Commercials, of course! I mean, it's not as if we're not hit with a barrage of advertisements while watching the program- product placement as well as those little banner ads that are constantly appearing at the bottom of the screen. Besides Sarah Jessica telling us that we should wear Jimmy Choo's, and House placing his iPod and Bose SoundDock prominently in his office, we must need the regular commercials as well.

Now, I know it is unlikely that network executives lurk on my blog, but here is what Tivo does for me:

I have a job. A full time (plus overtime, more often than not) job that pays my bills- including the cable bill. If it were not for the aforementioned job, I couldn't watch television at all. Sometimes, this pesky job means that I miss my favorite programs either because (a) I am working or (b) I am getting ready for bed and can't watch TV while doing so.

Tivo allows me to still follow shows that I enjoy without having to schedule my life around it. After all, let's face it: I don't really care about TV that much. I like TV, and Tivo makes it so that I can watch what I please, but if it all sucks, there are other options.

In Tivo's defense, Tivo has suggested shows in the "Tivo Suggestions" section that have been real winners. Among them are House and Grey's Anatomy. Two shows that I never would have watched had the Tivo not recognized my programming preferences and recorded it for me to sample. Tivo also makes it possible for the conventionally employed contingent of the Robot Chicken audience to watch the show at a more reasonable hour than 3:00 AM.

I understand the importance of commercials; without them, how would studio executives get painfully wealthy? After all, that summer home in Maui is a real necessity, like food and air. How could we, in good conscience, deprive them of that? [I honestly think it's okay to make money, and I even like the idea of someday having more money myself, but for the sake of the discussion, go with it.]

What I don't understand is why television gets more and more expensive. When the newspapers started placing ads more prominently, the prices dropped because they get most of their revenue from ads. Why isn't this the case with television, where every scene in the show is full of ads? Just a question.

I think the network executives are missing a major point with this Tivo rivalry: Tivo encourages people to watch MORE TV. More programming, more commercials, more everything- which they may not have been inclined to do if they had to schedule their TV time against social and professional obligations.

After all, if I like a show enough, or I want to give it a try, I can always get it from Netflix- without ANY commercials. Tivo appears to be the lesser of two evils in this case, but hey, I wouldn't give up my luxury items without a fight either if I was a network executive.

Love & Marriage

I normally don't post about politics, religion or celebrities, so enjoy if you like that type of thing.

Weddings bring out the worst in families. People who can't just get over their crap take it out on the couple at hand, and the "happy" couple tests the relationship in planning the wedding.

I was listening to the radio this morning, and it turns out that there have been issues with the Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes wedding. For the record, I couldn't care less about any of their crap, but here is the issue I'm seeing.

KH's family is "devoutly Catholic". There are issues whether they're going to have a Catholic or Scientologist wedding. KH's family won't show if it's a Scientologist ceremony. So, they're devout enough to demand fish on Fridays, but she's not Catholic enough not to have a baby before the wedding? Hrm. [This completely blows past the whole "abstinence" thing that is/was expected of Catholic women.]

On a more personal note, there was some freaking out about whether Andrew and I were going to have a Muslim/Catholic/non-denominational wedding. He's more [Roman] Catholic than I've ever been [Shiite] Muslim. He was an alter boy and everything.

My extended family had a whole herd of cows over this, even though none of them were invited. My grandfather said that until we had a Muslim ceremony, we wouldn't be married in the eyes of God, and that we were living in Sin.

We had an amazingly non-denominational wedding (I don't think God was even mentioned), and were married by my friend Tim, the bartender- who is also an ordained minister.

The Boyfriend Sweater Curse

I'll say it plainly: I think it's crap. Stupider than an urban legend. Stupider than the word "stupider", also.

I say this with conviction because I am living proof that it doesn't happen. I've made sweaters for two of my boyfriends (in the past, of course) who certainly did not dump me. Obviously, some dumping happened but there was in no way any correlation to the date the sweater was completed and the dumping date. Both sweaters were given six months to a year into the relationship. Any dumping took place a year and a half later (except for the one I married, obviously).

As further proof, I present Exhibit B, Grace. Again, a sweater was knitted, much time lapsed, and dumping occurred- but again, completed unrelated to the giving of the sweater.

Perhaps the issue is not in the knitting and giving of the sweater, rather, that these knitters suffer from Premature Sweater Syndrome. If in the early development stages of a relationship a knitter develops PSS, the other party feels that they, in accepting the sweater, have given implicit consent to a long-term, serious relationship.

I think that these men/women are correct in this assumption. Would I knit for a one-night stand? The chances are slim. However, if I'm giving 100+ hours of my life (in the form of a giant garment on itty-bitty needles, as has been the case), this should be interpreted as, "I really like you and I feel secure in our existing relationship enough to give you a thing of great beauty." [Or, in the case of Zak's sweater, miles of solid reverse-stockinette.]

You could equate PSS to proposing on a first or second date. [NOTE: If you proposed to someone on a first/second date and it has worked out, good for you. I, however, would find it odd/creepy.] Nothing will scare away a partner like the threat of a longer termed commitment than they anticipated.

When the Body is Ill

The Karen posted about breasts, and loving your breasts in light of breast cancer awareness month. She admits to linking breasts with femininity. To a certain extent, I agree. I also agree with her statement about loving your breasts because you don't know when you might lose them to cancer.

All women are at risk for breast cancer. The risk is significantly higher in Silicon Valley. (Sidenote: I had a psych professor at De Anza who was convinced that carrying your cell phone in your purse causes breast cancer and carrying it on your hip causes testicular cancer.) I heard a statistic that one in four women in Silicon Valley will get breast cancer. I don't know why, but I have a feeling that the data was skewed by the one jillion people who live here.

As far as my own personal experience, breast cancer runs in my family. When the doctor found the lump last August, my first thought was not "I'm going to lose my breast." It was, "I am going to die."

What I think is the most horrifying part of breast cancer is not the loss of the breasts, rather the positioning of the cancer. At the breast, it is right next to your heart and your lungs. Sick breasts are sad, and the horror of how close the illness is to vital organs is terrifying.

When the illness is so close to the core of your body, I have conceptualized it as destroying you from the center out. When I hear that someone's cancer has metastasized, I envision the cancer spreading like deeply embedded, barbed roots throughout the body. Roots that can't be pulled out.

Granted, in the case of my own lump scare, I have a penchant for melodrama. It's a little more understandable when you have a family history to back up the perceived melodrama/panic/paranoia. I was instructed to give up caffeine for a month, then come back and get re-checked. It turned out to be nothing.

It hits closer to home when you realize that you may not live to do all of the things you had hoped. Fortunately for me, I was okay. In light of my okay-ness, I say this:

I love my breasts. I think they look pretty nice, and they certainly help me get good service around the valley. You can ogle Karen's goodies (and you should, 'cause they rock), 'cause if I go braless and you can see my nipples through my shirt, you can be certain that I will be uncomfortable. That's my personal hangup, though, so don't take it as a judgment call.

It's just me not wanting to be eclipsed by my breasts.

Just Say No

Maybe it's just me. Maybe it's the fact that I'll be 24 years old on Thanksgiving.

What possesses women to wear stage makeup as REGULAR makeup?!

Don't get me wrong; if wearing makeup makes you feel good- go for it. But you shouldn't be wearing greasepaint with your street clothes, is all I'm saying.**

I understand that when you know you're going to be photographed/are hoping to be photographed, that you should wear makeup that is super-flattering. But come on; under NORMAL lighting stage makeup looks like stage makeup. You can tell it's stage makeup from ten feet away. Not subtle, not natural.

Please, join my campaign to stop middle-aged women from applying makeup with a paint roller. Tell them to Just Say No.

**This statement is void if you're a drag queen trying to cover your stubble. Those girls at Sephora just don't sell anything strong enough to cover it.

***This message brought to you by the Campaign For Good Taste.

Don’t Hate on the Dixie Chicks

The Dixie Chicks have said some controversial things. Who hasn't? But some people got all bent out of shape over their opinion on the War on Terrorism. Most people who disagree with their opinion think that the Chicks should stick to singing and stay out of politics.

Now, I understand that since they are in the public eye, they have given up their right to the same privacies that regular people enjoy as private individuals. I didn't realize that being a singer meant giving up the rest of one's constitutional rights as well.

Part of being a good American (according to the Constitution, people!) is to speak out against the government if it is not working for the people. It's written in there! You're a bad citizen if you sit back while your rights are siphoned away. Should they not be allowed to vote because their opinion isn't popular with some?

I think it's very important that people in the public eye speak out for what they believe in, whether or not I agree with any of their opinions, they have the right to voice them. People in the public eye have access to the media that activists DREAM of.

So don't hate; the Chicks are just doing their civic duty. Shame on you for being anti-American and censoring the right to free speech that the Forefathers fought and died for.

Rampant Cultural Imperialism- and Some Particularly Delectable Man-Candy

So, last night I watched Criminal Minds- my new favorite show (as of about 2 weeks ago, when I started watching/Tivoing it), and the rampant cultural imperialism that was embedded within the context of the episode was staggering.

"Machismo" (the name of the episode) takes place in Mexico, where there is a serial killer targeting elderly women. Now, besides the blatant mono-linguistic attitude that pervades the BAU [Behavioral Analysis Unit] team (excluding Elle's character)- where the only a grasp of basic high-school Spanish is found in one member of the team- Dr. Reid, who does a literal translation for the idiom "doghouse" [as in, "In the doghouse"] as "la casa del perro".

Since I only have a couple of years of high school Spanish and some minimal conversational skills (which I realized when I was having an actual conversations with people from Spain in the Tehran airport), I just about died laughing. First, because idioms rarely translate effectively (hence the need for multi-lingual environments, to better express oneself), second, because it was exactly the right thing for his character to say.

Now, Dr. Reid rocks my socks off in EVERY way. [The actor, Matthew Gray Gubler, is pretty awesome, too.] You could say that the character is an exact definition of what my nerd fetish is about. Now, having said that, there are some problems with how these characters are written. Dr. Reid has 3 Ph.D.s, according to the background given on the show. How can you have that much education and not understand that idioms don't translate? Or have more than a Sesame Street grasp of Spanish? Maybe it's because I've grown up in California. Who knows?

In any case, each character has a specialty; but nobody does linguistics? Language and word choice/semantics are how people express themselves and can make a major difference in how things are interpreted. This has been further impressed upon me in the three episodes that I've watched; one specific thing that an "unsub" ("Unknown Subject of An Investigation", defined by Wikipedia) says often breaks the case. Not like the writers will ever read this, but in my opinion, adding a linguistics expert would be a great choice. Especially if she's 5' 1 ½", brunette with wildly curly hair, and is, well, me! (Hope springs eternal, I'm not holding my breath, but I think there should be more short people on television, and I could/should be one!) Or at least let me help write dialog. (Dialog is really difficult to write, but I have extensive experience speaking. I talk ALL THE TIME! I am so very qualified for this job!)

I've wandered off of my original issue with the episode- Cultural Imperialism. The writers seemed to not take notice of the fact that machismo and modesty go hand-in-hand, culturally. In a religious community, where virginity and purity are the measure of a woman's "goodness", women are discouraged from speaking out against rape, and discussing sexuality of any kind- consensual or not, would be very awkward. In this episode, the rape victims all came forward and appeared to be at complete ease describing their attacks to the mostly male BAU.

Stop for a minute and think about this; in America, women who are raped have a difficult time reporting and describing their attacks to the police officers who are supposed to be helping them. American culture is much more accepting of promiscuity, and part of the cultural method of dealing with the psychological damage caused by rape is to talk about it with a trained professional. In the US, the victim is also not considered somewhat responsible for her attack, which isn't necessarily the case in heavily patriarchal cultures. Women who were raised not to talk about sex would not be comfortable talking about it with another woman, never mind a man whom they have just met. Additionally, none of the BAU men speak Spanish! How would they effectively be understanding what is going on??!! Suspension of disbelief, yaadaa yaadaa. This isn't "Charmed" where you can make stuff up as you go, people!

The episode also portrayed the Mexican police as stupid and ineffective. I haven't had any personal experience with the Mexican police, but I found it more than a little improbable that a precinct that couldn't afford a crime lab (more than a fingerprinting kit from the '80s) could afford to have a BAU. Yes, profiling is important, but it's not exact or as easy to determine as DNA or fingerprints. It's like icing on the cake; that's why it appears that America has one BAU to the majillion crime labs across the country (take for example, the three different incarnations of CSI). When the DNA is wrong, you know you have the wrong suspect. When a profile is wrong, they stop and think more. Which doesn't solve cases quickly, except in the rapid-fire profiling on Criminal Minds.

Don't get me wrong, I get all flustered when they geek out, but the lack of cultural research and consideration was a bit bothersome. At the beginning of the episode, the main police officer tells Gideon that his lack of cultural knowledge made his profiling ineffective anywhere but the U.S.A. Then what happens? Everything falls together perfectly, the crime is solved and the BAU ride off into the sunset.

I truly do enjoy the show, I just feel like they should stick to domestic psychos. In their favor, with the package bomber episode, they didn't immediately jump on the "we hate towel-heads" bandwagon. Which is awesome.

And Matthew Gray Gubler is a stone cold FOX!