My New York City roommate, Colleen, had the most charming expression for those days when work required her to awake at an appallingly early hour. "I have to be up at the crack of ass!", she would mumble in digust.

She was not, and I suspect is still not, a morning person. I happen to enjoy the early morning, but only on my terms. Rising early for work, as you can imagine, is not what I'd consider to be "on my terms". Is it irrational for me to feel a bit irked that even though I'm a temp, I'm asked to arrive to work at 7:00am when I'm normally in at 8:00am? What the hell ever happened to Nine to Five?

As if the early hour weren't enough to throw me off, last night, was unable to locate my Fall issues of Vogue Knitting and Interweave Knits. I was so frantic and frenzied, I searched the apartment as if I'd misplaced a winning lottery ticket.

The most painful discovery of the night came as I was folding laundry. It seems that I inadvertantly did a bit of batik dying on my One Skein Wonder. I'd soaked it with a floral skirt that I'd thought to be old enough -- and mis-washed enough -- to be rendered color-safe. Maybe the dye spots will sort of blend into the variegation of the yarn. Yeah, and maybe I'll make it through the day without mainlining extra-strength coffee.

It's Monday morning, and I'm enjoying a filling breakfast of humble pie. You see, I sassed off last week saying that I would finish the Baby Kimono during the weekend in Rhode Island. Too bad my mouth is faster than my fingers.

I seriously underestimate just how slow of a knitter I am. Not only am I slow, but I am absolutely compelled to watch myself fashion nearly every stitch. It's certainly not fascinating viewing, but I cannot look away for longer than a just a few stitches. Movies and driving at night are just lost knitting time.

I wish someone had warned me about beach knitting and what a challenge it can be, regardless of fiber choice. That sea air that makes my hair so plump and sexy? It does the same with yarn, but the results are not quite as appealing. Excuses. Excuses.

There's something you should know about Geminis, we are the original multi-taskers. After suffering such a long bout of knitting ennui, you would think that I'd start slow. Ease back into it all with just the Baby Kimono as my project. One thing -- start to finish -- without stopping. Without detours. Without sight-seeing. Hell no! I was waylayed big time.

I know my first pass through the Autumn 2005 issue of Vogue Knitting was tepid. Just remember, it was hot, humid, and I had a screeching migraine. Since then, I have admitted a strong attraction to a number of the patterns therein. Some I would never entertain the idea of knitting, but I completely adore the concept.

But, I ramble. I happen to be drawn to vests. While I realize that they are sort of silly in terms of function, I am more focused on form and fashion here. There's a vintage-inspired vest that I will -- without question -- be knitting before the end of the year. But there's that little ribby Fair Isle number that caught my eye as well. Note well: I have never been a fan of Fair Isle sweaters, but this was just the right amount, in just the right pattern that I was intoxicated with the thought of stretching my knitting wings to dabble in a bit of the double-handed action.

So smitten was I that I flipped around the priority knits on my To Knit List (sorry Hopeful), and moved the Ribby Fair Isle (RFI)to second place -- just behind the Baby Kimono. Even though I've already bought the yarn for RFI, I promise not to cast on until I make suitable progress on finish Baby Kimono.

I had the idea to do sort of a reverse negative of the original pattern. The main color of the body will be sand, while the olive will be the main color of the Faire Isle section, with plum as the accent. Or should I use olive as the main color and sand as the grounding color in the Fair Isle section? Thoughts? Opinions?

No matter the final color selction for RFI, you are my witnesses. You will keep me honest. Only Baby Kimono comes along for the weekend!

I'm not the sort of woman who likes to change bags, be it handbags, dufflebags, whatever. No matter how thorough I think I've been in the transfer stage, some key item fails to make the move from one bag to the other. Which is what happened last night when I arrived to Knitting Night at Yarn Central. The catch? I didn't change bags recently, nor do I remember unloading anything from my bag. This could be related to the mysterious markings on my upper arm, but I'll sort that out later.

At any rate, between the mysterious unloading of the bag and my thwarted efforts to find the perfect yarn for Hopeful, I arrived to Knitting Night without any of the patterns on my To Knit List. Again, I found myself bereft of project, but at least this time I was willing and determined to get my fingers on some needles.

Magically, I pulled the Summer 2005 issue of Interweave Knits out of my bag -- which I don't remember putting in there at all. I decided it was an omen. It was time to devote myself to creating a baby knit. It was time to knit the Baby Kimono for my cousin and his wife. Having lived through one sweaty summer in New Orleans myself, there was no way I was going to give them a baby gift knitted in Rowan Wool Cotton, unless I meant it as a cruel joke. I quickly setttled on the Ornaghi Filati Echo Flash, which I'd been eyeing since last summer. Given the lack of babies in my world at the time, I saw no use for the yarn, but I longed for a reason to knit with it.

We're heading to Rhode Island for a quick weekend respite, and my goal is to have the kimono finished by the time we pull into our driveway Sunday night. Start your engines!

*amimono=knitting

I've just returned from another three-hour-plus knittng night at Yarn Central. As if three hours of laughing and chatting with my friends (no longer just my "knitting friends") weren't enough to brighten any day, Theresa gifted me with an oh-so-in-demand pink Chibi.

Good night, sweet dears!

Every morning for the past two months, I have driven past a mobile hot dog stand. Actually, it's one of those large mobile homes, outfitted with chairs and umbrellas for the hot dog vendor to create a cozy cafe feeling for those wolfing down their dogs.

Now, this appealed to me on a few levels. My one of my first five roommates (yes, five of us jammed into a small one-bedroom apartment) in Manhattan had been an Oscar Meyer Weinermobile driver. I had applied for the position, but apparently, my not having a driving license was an issue.

Moreover, it's just a funny, quirky image -- a large mobile home/HotDogMobile parked in someone's front lawn with a red For Sale sign posted in the window. Though it's been crossing my mind, it wasn't until today that I brought my camera for the singular purpose of getting a photo, but the damn thing was gone! In my mind's eye, I now realize that I've not seen it at all this week on my drive to The Most Boring Temp Job Ever.

I'm saddened. Did someone else realize the potential of being an Entrepreneurial Wiener Seller? Is there another person in the area who was denied the chance to drive the Weinermobile?

That is all beside the point, because it is I who has a rich history with the venerated Hot Dog. Here's a little know fact: one of my college work-study jobs was vending hot dogs to students and staff in the hot summer sun. A vegetarian goth at the time, nothing could have been more of an existential hell -- or a delightful irony -- baking my pale, milky flesh in the summer sun and serving ground pig to hung-over frat boys. The cherry on the top? My boss was the lead cook; a flamboyant man named Hot Dog.

Honestly, if that Hot Dog Van wasn't my destiny, I don't know what was. How could someone so cruelly take that from me?

EDITED TO ADD: Today's Grill Special at the hospital cafeteria is...Two Cheese Dogs with Fries!

My most recent addiction in television land is Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations on the Travel Channel. The loved/hated chef travels through Paris, Iceland, Vietnam, and Malayasia (oh, alright...I left out the episode about New Jersey) armed with humour and a hungry belly.

Every Tuesday morning, post-show, I awake with hungry for some exotic fare. This morning, I wanted congee. Basically, it's rice porridge, but I'm faily certain that this craving will go unfed. I don't know of anyplace local that specializes in Chinese breakfast foods. But maybe I can feed my curry jones?

Lately, I've been feeling a twinge of longing for my former job. Mired in my current temporary job boredom, I can only remember the glorious moments of employment past. Once upon a time, I took annual business trips to Europe and Asia. Unlike my boss, I wasn't overly interested in clothes shopping; I was interested in exploring and eating. I still speak lovinglingly of the breakfast buffet in my hotel in Singapore. Pure heaven! The buffet featured typical breakfast foods from around the world, allowing me to sail past the bacon and eggs, and dive into the congee and grilled salmon! Alas, today, I made do with a multi-grain English muffin and three egg whites.

I fear that I'm the only knitter who has yet to cast on for the Hopeful Knitalong, but I'm confident that tonight's yarn run will be productive. Maybe Curry Shrimp will be the reward for finding the right yarn...

Here it is. The first day back in the temporary office job after a gruelling week of tradeshow work and standing on my feet for eight hours. I wore heels the first day --huge mistake! -- but even my cute little flats were like the cruel shoes by the end of the week.

In spite of the foot pain, I'd rather be on my feet than on my ass in this stiffling hospital atomsphere. One of the earmarks of my working life has been that I've needed to feel a certain sense of freedom in my jobs. Without out that "freedom", I could feel my brain and soul dying slowly. At that point, I'd typically hand in my notice and take a long road trip. At present, I feel like a caged animal; barely able to breathe.

Yesterday's yarn run was a bust. Even Teri, who rarely leaves a yarn shop without even a small purchase, walked out empty-handed. I was on the hunt for yarn for Hopeful, but nothing spoke to me. Actually, the Rowan Cashsoft sung to me, but there's no way that I'm knitting a summer project in cashmere/wool blend. No thank you!

So, I'm on the prowl for "the right" yarn, but if I can't find that, I'd like to get inspired by a pattern that will make use of something in my meager stash.

Typical! I get back my knitting groove, and the yarn starts toying with me.

I'm completely out of sorts today; I don't feel like myself at all. I'm extremely irritated. Irritated that I came home to what I thought was an empty apartment to find Joe's mother "keeping Snickers company". What I didn't find was any sort of note or message with a contact number or return information for Joe and the boys in Rhode Island. I also failed find the message to see if I'd made it home safely.

I would think that Joe that has been body-snatched but for this strange marking on my upper left arm. Very The 4400. It wasn't there when I went to sleep, and there are no other marks on my body. I did have the most restful sleep in weeks, so could I have been altered by aliens? Whatever my new power, I hope it's for the best, and I hope they made me a faster knitter in the process.

As for knitting news, I did manage to wind that hank of Kochoran in spite of Yarn Connection's lack of yarn winder. A former co-worker, whose mother was a knitter, was too happy to relive moments of his childhood and help me with the hand-winding process. The Gioia pattern is quite easy, but I managed to bungle it a few times, and I had to rip back to the beginning each time. A forgotten yarn over here, a forgotten decrease there, and naturally, my stitch count was off. If anything, I've learned the value of a ruler to mark my place in a pattern.

In an effort to feel a bit more like "me", I'm heading over to Yarn Central for a visit with Marjanna and Theresa. There's a sale on, and I'm hoping to find yarn that appeals to the real me...and the alien me.

Spending an extra night in NYC allowed me the opportunity to do a bit of running about and shopping today.

In a city of millions, I was somewhat surprised to spot two former co-workers on the street today. I didn't speak to either of them, as both of them were already engaged in mobile phone calls.

A friend gifted me her copy of the sold-out Autumn 2004 Interweave Knits -- the one with the Flower Basket Shawl pattern. All of that lacework seemed a bit too complicated for the homeward, rush-hour Metro-North train ride, so I popped over to Yarn Connection for a skein of Noro Kochoran, Gioia in waiting. With the perfect train knitting project secured, I handed the hank to the clerk and asked if she could wind it for me. Imagine the look on my face when I was informed that they had no winder. Impossible!

I think I need to make a point of visiting New York City when work and extreme temperatures are not involved.

Given the timing of the International Gift Fair, I'm here in either sweaty crotch weather (mid-August) or lung freezing weather (late January). This last round of hot weather was a killer. As my friend, Alyssa likes to say, "It's not the heat...It's the humanity."

There are far too many people, cars, and tall buildings on this island to allow for a tolerable summer. It's been hot and humid in the Hudson Valley as well, but nothing compares to the hideousness of walking a few blocks and having all traces of shower, deodorant, and powder removed. I forgot how utterly unbearable wainting in the subway is. Granted, my vehicle is a proverbial oven after a full day in the parking lot, but I'm not subjected to the personal hygeine habits of another in the privacy of my car.

My week of whirlwind fun and shopping in Manhattan was all in my mind. Neither the weather, nor my work schedule allowed from much beyond enjoying my Mini iPod on the commute to/from the Jacob Javits Convention Center. Nearly every other city I can think of opts to build the convention center in heart of town, so why has the most exciting city in the world opted for a convention center at anything but the center of the city? The Javits is at the ass-end of the the island. No wonder we lost out on The Olympics.

The great thing about tradeshows is the people you meet. This round, I met Steve. He used to live in Pennsylvania, but now he lives in Fiji. He's a master woodworker/sculptor, a tattoo artist, and now and again, he sells a few motorcycles on the side. This sort of lifestyle is something to ponder as my return to office temp work approaches.

So, tomorrow, I head home with an empty knitting bag. I do, however, have one sweet token from my tradeshow days in Manhattan. A Moleskine 2006 Daily Pocket Planner, for which I paid wholesale! It just bespeaks the deep-rooted nerdiness of me.

Yesterday, I shot my mouth off about having a "New York City Knitting Project" all ready to go. You know what? I had a pattern in mind, and that's all she wrote. I stopped by Yarn Central for a sampling of yarn sub options (no Rowan Wool Cotton to be had), but I walked empty-handed.

Since landing the Most Boring Ever Temp Gig, I've filled my days with blogging, reading blogs, emailing, and the occassional knitting on the sly. Not so fast! This morning, another temporary arrived on the scene, Pamela, who is filling in for me while I am playing and working in NYC. As you can imagine, her presence, as well as my need to train her as to how to look busy for eight hours the requirements of the assignment, severly cut into my daily computer time. Thankfully, Pamela was granted a mere 1/2-day to learn this job -- which really speaks to the complexity of it -- leaving me the afternoon free to reach out and touch the World Wide Web.

Which is where I found this little number.

A mental review of my stash reveals that I own no suitable for this pattern. Honestly! I am not a knitter with a huge stash. I pretty much buy strange yarns because they are on sale, or I make a yarn purchase for a particular pattern.

At any rate, here's the timeline: My workday finishes at 4:30pm. Yarn Central closes at 6:00pm. I leave for NYC at 7:00pm. Anybody else see a mad dash to the yarn store in my immediate future? Lest you think that I am a complete flake, I am still jazzed about knitting Hopeful, but that is just too much yarn to procure and carry around Manhattan for a week. But this pattern...this little ribbed ditty is just perfect! I must have it! I must knit it now!

After all, what will I wear over my Glampyre Tubular Camisole? I need to add straps of some sort to called the project "finished", and I'm toying with some skinny ribbon. Knitted in Adrianne Vittadini Diana -- a completely delightful yarn! -- the project moved pretty quickly, even for a test knit. A definate winner!

When I first moved to Manhattan, I heard tale of a strange species of New Yorkers. I was told of people who lived within 1-2 hours commute of Manhattan who rarely, if ever, ventured into the city. They hated it. They feared it. It was entirely beyond my scope of understanding, afterall, I had abandoned a reasonable rent in Pennsylvania to sandwich myself into a one-bedroom railroad apartment off of St. Mark's Place with four other roommates. Also worked with a number of people who survived insane commutes from Poughkeepsie, the Poconos, and even Delaware to work in Manhattan.

Naive child that I was, I thought they endured the commute because Manhattan was so amazing. What I've learned was those people weren't riding 4-5 hours round trip for the excitement of the city, but rather for the paycheck. It's a little disheartening to come to the realization that $11.00 per hour is top dollar 70 miles north of Manhattan.

I tried that commute for a few months, and I failed miserably. At first, I enjoyed the knitting and reading time, but eventually, no amount of sleep or train napping could pull me out of my zombie state. I would rather live a simple life than a perpetually tired, cranky, bitchy one where my family walked in fear of disturbing the snarling lioness. I know there are men and women out there who can balance it; I couldn't.

But every now and again, a chance to work (and crash on a friend's couch) in Manhattan presents itself, and I jump on it without question. So, in 36 short hours, I'll be back in the concrete jungle, enduring the humidity, the crowds, and the Eau du Summer (garbage, urine, sweat, and general city stink) -- and loving nearly every minute of it. As much as I love Manhattan (and the boroughs), I'm sad to say that I notice all of the not-so-nice things about city living. The pathetically dirty streets, the roar of the subway, the pushy crowds, and the constant noise (car alarms, fire sirens, security alarms, police sirens) all conspired to make me a little irritable and a little homesick for the soothing boredom of country life.

Of course, I am armed with a New York City Knitting Project, selected after hours of pouring over internet patterns, knitting magazines, and pattern books. In the end, I decided on Jenna Adorno's Hopeful. I am extremely drawn to Jenna's body concious stylings, and feel-good component aside, I'll have a finished garment that I'm sure to wear. Even more exciting? I won't have to buy a special bra to wear the blasted thing.

I was utterly bereft of blog fodder until I popped by Cooknknit Karen's blog for a visit earlier today.

FIVE THINGS I MISS FROM CHILDHOOD
Summer vacation: I'm not teacher material, so I'm still trying to figure out how I can work less and get more time off.

Two weeks with Aunt Babe: Every summer, I spent two week's at the home of my mother's older sister. Aunt Babe read like a fiend, wore turquoise, and drank beer to cool off. My mother perused boring women's magazine, only wore jewelry to weddings or funerals, and would never had an after-dinner drink. I didn't appreciate it at the time, but Aunt Babe is/was a knitter.

Back-to-School Shopping: Oh how I miss the annual gratis wardrobe update every September.

Robinson Pool Spending every sunny day poolside with friends, slathering myself in a mixture of baby oil and iodine to deepen my tan. Egads! What an anti-aging no-no! My parents didn't insist that I find a summer job, some my biggest worries were my tan and if Keith Rodkey liked me.

Reading List: I would make a reading list -- and actually get through it! -- for the summer. Now it seems that I barely have the time to flip through the few magazine subscriptions that arrived in my mailbox.

In the past, I've referred to my circle of friends as Trail Mix: fruits and nuts. And I say that with great delight and love. Honestly, who wouldn't want a mixed bag of friends? It makes all aspects of life more interesting.

But even within a group of fruits and nuts, there are roles that everyone plays. So, when my balanced friend Alyssa announces that she's feeling a certain Lumay-like distress about her job, I'm thinking the worst is about to happen -- like it is the seventh sign or something. Come to think of it, Alyssa bears a resemblance to Demi Moore...

I've always felt that I'm the one in our group who never reached her potential. It's not as if I've stripped, tricked, or did drugs. No. Not at all. It's that I've quit jobs because it was misrepresented in the interview. Because I wanted to travel across the United States, or run off to Italy. Because I was bored. Even if my friends have felt all of this and more, they've sucked it up and stuck it out.

Maybe it's the humidity, but there's serious discontent in the air. A few of my very stable friends are talking about major career changes. In one of our recent rapid-fire email bouts, one offered this:

I think we are both at similar places with regards to our potential vs. our jobs. It's the fate of the over-intelligent, anti-authoritarian, post-punk, neo-feminist types like us.

It's one part tongue-in-cheek, but there's a kernel of truth in it. I'm of average intelligence, but I've got a curious mind. In my experiences in Corporate America, a curious mind was a liability, not an asset. Just sit in your cubicle and drone away.

Knitting News
I'm nearly finished with the Glampyre Camisole Tube test pattern, but upon closer inspection, I see that I've mucked up the short row shaping. For the sake of apttern correction and commentary, I don't need to correct it, but for the sake of wearing something of which I can be proud, I must re-knit the wonky sections. The thought of ripping back that work and re-doing it is almost a relief. I'm afraid to finish because I just don't know what to knit next!

Time Apart

In high school and at university, I knew couples who decided, after a number of years together, that it was time to take a break. They needed time apart. They needed to find out if they were meant to be together by dating other people.

Personally, I've never understood the notion of time apart or time off. Generally, if you have doubts about the relationship, serious doubts, you're having them for a reason.

But what do I know? Because after taking some time apart from my relationship with knitting, I've found the inspiration to pick up needles again.

Frankly, I knew all along that I'd come back to my beloved knitting; I was just being fickle. It's summer, and you know how you think you'd like to spend more time with your friends or go out with that cute guy at the beach? There was no question that I'd be back to the needles and yarn before long. But I did worry for a bit there. What would bring me back from the dark side of wildly abandoning and frogging projects? When would the romance be rekindled?

So, what did it? There's a new pattern in the works at Glampyre Knits , and it's just the sweet treat I needed on the needles.



Now, all I want to do is knit, and time apart (in this case known as work) is seriously pissing me off.