New York Minknit

My dad was at the hospital yesterday for exploratory surgery  (they’re still not sure what disease is causing his tumors), so I ended up spending a lot of time at San Francisco’s Japantown, wandering the dollar stores and eating udon. (Japantown is a few blocks away from the hospital.) And of course, going to Kinokuniya. New York also has a Kinokuniya (a chain of Japanese bookstores), but for some reason, the San Francisco one has a much better selection of craft books than the New York one. I got there about half an hour before closing, so I only had a chance to paw through about half of the knitting/crochet selection, but I did buy this book, which I had first seen (and coveted) on Little Purl of the Orient’s blog (click through for more photos of the inside):

Last year, I took a class at Knitty City, on the Upper West Side, about how to read Japanese knitting patterns, but there’s a chance the book will end up being more of an inspiration, than line-by-line instructions for me. By the way, I noticed the prices here were significantly lower than the prices at Lacis, so if you’re interested in Japanese crafting books, this is the place to go. 

It’s also cherry blossom festival time at Japantown (and around the country, I assume), so here’s a shot of the shawlette  in front of the cherry trees.

Here’s the shawlette so far–it’s a good traveling project because it’s easy and portable. 

In other news, I saw I Love You, Man, which I kept calling P.S. I Love You, Man, and it was hilarious. I highly recommend it. I think my friend was sort of horrified that I laughed through the whole thing–I think at one point she was laughing at me laughing at the movie, but I genuinely found it funny. Also, I love Rashida Jones. She is the cutest.

This post is going to be short because I’m off to see Duplicity. I’ve been doing a little freelance work and hanging out with my family–but I’m hoping to have more blog posts this week.

Am I the only person who finds status updates on Facebook a bit stressful? Mine are decidedly un-witty. I don’t think I can Twitter, because even writing Facebook status updates makes me anxious. Anyhow, I’m blogging from my parents’ house, because my mom suggested, correctly, that I should refrain from visiting my dad while I have a sore throat, because he’s in and out of surgery and we don’t want him to get infected with a cold. For those of you who know my dad in real life (or are just interested), we’re still not sure what’s wrong with him. They found these large tumors in his pancreas and kidney, but the pathology department can’t get a read on what kind of cancer it is, and in fact, the oncologist thinks it may not be cancer, but a different kind of tumor. So my poor dad is being wheeled in and out of surgery to get more tissue samples, though my mom reports that he is holding up better, and making Seinfeld jokes. EDITED TO ADD: My mom just called from the hospital. The doctors are awaiting final diagnosis from Stanford, where the samples have been sent, but they think it might be lymphoma, which is actually great news, because it is generally treatable, unlike other cancers. So we’re still waiting and hoping.

Here’s the first log cabin patch for my dad’s blanket. I’m following the basic Mason-Dixon Knitting instructions and inspired by the muted colors of the Amish quilts.

I also started Kate Osborn’s silk kerchief, with the exact same colors she used. What can I say? I’m a follower.

My garter yoke sweater (from Knit.1) is almost done–I just need to finish up one sleeve and knit the other one, but it’s sort of a big project and not very portable, so it’s been on hold for a bit. (The auto-photo function on this camera is broken, hence my weird arm shots.)

Here is the loud monkey socks (photographed up close with my mom’s camellias). Normally I like the challenge of lace, but in the past few days, I’ve put these on hold as as well, too.

I agree with Sarah’s comment yesterday about waiting rooms, that they really could be improved. My dad is at California Pacific Medical Center, which I had not heard of, but which all my friends in the Bay Area keep calling CPMC. (One of my friends today clued me in–she pointed out that when I was growing up, it was called Children’s Hospital.) Another friend of mine who is a doctor pointed out cheerfully that residents at CPMC are considered to have landed a cushy gig (along with UCSF and Stanford), because the food and hospital atmosphere is supposed to be nicer, and the patients wealthier and more insured. (As she jokingly said, “Just like your dad, Moneybags.”) So I know, especially compared to some of the larger hospitals that serve indigent populations, this is already one of the nicer facilities in the Bay Area, and I know with shrinking budgets, the money is more urgently needed for doctor salaries and equipment, and I definitely think that is where the money should be spent, and not necessarily on glamming up the waiting rooms.

That said–and the CPMC’s waiting rooms already are quite nice, with tvs and such–I do think they could use a bit better lighting and just generally a more cheerful atmosphere. To acknowledge my secret tv watching obsession, this is actually a plot line on Brothers and Sisters, where Nora Walker (Sally Field) is trying to build some sort of recovery house for cancer patients and their families. But I am sure the main reason why the waiting rooms are depressing is because of the reason why you are in the waiting room, rather than the atmosphere itself.

My dad had to go to the emergency room, and he’s still in the ICU (far from my threats of play-by-play recaps of Gossip Girl, much to his relief, I suppose. Though I noticed the ICU had a waiting area with many copies of The Economist and a copy of The Thorn Birds, which I did briefly contemplate reading, but I was a little too worried to read about the forbidden love of priests.) Knitting actually has been useful, because along with the anxiety, there is a TON of waiting around at the hospital. I finished up Adam’s socks, and am now working on some stockinette/garter stitch projects, which is not too complicated to knit in these situations. (The sock is at the emergency waiting room above, with a copy of Forbes. Dear hospitals: Concerned families would like to read about celebrity gossip, not economic analysis, y’know? Please give us more US Weekly issues, and less Economist.)

I did have a chance to stop by ImagiKnit yesterday to pick up some yarn to knit a blanket for my dad. I am the world’s slowest knitter, but I am hoping I can churn out something relatively rapidly.

So, I’m here in California, and here’s how far I am on Adam’s second sock. Just a few more stripes to go before it’s done! It’s nice to have some knitting while I go around in the car with my parents (I’m licensed to drive, but am such a terrible driver, I really can barely do any driving at all). Heading out to a doctor’s appointment soon–with my knitting, of course. I was thinking of re-reading Infinite Jest, but it’s a little daunting with everything going on. I did read Princess Diaries 10, Forever Princess, by Meg Cabot, (the final installment in Princess Diaries), which I recommend, and A Harlot High and Low, by Balzac, which is also kind of a sequel (to Lost Illusions). Maybe I should read all the Gossip Girl books instead–might be light enough. I’ve been threatening to read them out loud to my dad–don’t know if he can take all the Serena/Dan/Nate/Jenny intrigue!

The colorway name of this yarn is “Secret Garden” and at first I was like yeah, right, if by “secret garden” you mean NEON*, but I went to the Orchid Show at the Bronx Botanical Garden this weekend, and it’s true, many flowers do come in shockingly bright colors. (*Also, the name “secret garden” sounds like a euphemism for some sort of un-ladylike things to talk about, but anyway. I do like the book The Secret Garden, but that book is actually about a GARDEN, and not um, other things.)

Aren’t these orchids wild? I loved their colors.

The show also had a whole wall of these white orchids, which were pretty neat. (Traveling sock pattern, is, of course, Cookie A.’s Monkey, which according to Ravelry, is the most knit sock pattern ever.)

Okay, apparently none of my readers wish to weigh in about the location of the sock. Anyway, I went with Adam (and the sock) to Milwaukee for the weekend for a funeral, and we ended up staying a couple of days afterwards as well. I wasn’t sure what the etiquette was for blogging about a trip that you took for a funeral, but Adam seems to think it’s okay, and since he’s apparently the Emily Post of the online world, here’s some stuff about Milwaukee.

First of all, Adam, who was actually born near Milwaukee, kept calling it “Mill-walk-KAY” or Millwaukée, à la Alice Cooper in Wayne’s World. Last year, I sat next to someone at a dinner party who was told me his favorite city was Milwaukee, and his eyes literally lit up when Adam mentioned that his family’s ancestral seat* was in Milwaukee. Ever since then, I’ve been curious about the town, and it was nice to visit, though unfortunate that it was a visit under sad circumstances.

*This is my jokey phrasing, not Adam’s.

Also, it was pouring. See photo above. I look like a sand person from one of the Star Wars movies. 

Of course, I had knitting. I finished one project that I was working on for a creativity study at NYU (I can’t blog about that until the end of the month), but if you’re interested in participating (participants get a $20 gift certificate to Purl), they’re still taking on knitters. You can read about that here, if you want to join. (They’ve extended the deadline). I also worked on Adam’s sock until I ran out of reinforcing thread, since I had, of course, only brought half a package of it. So, I had to cast on two new projects with unique-to–Milwaukee yarn (more about yarn stores later this week). I had a chance to knit for a while in the airport due to a delay, so by the time I got on the plane, I had part of a sock and half of a cowl. I held them up next to each other and I was like “Look! They’re the David and Goliath of knitting projects!” (One is on size 0 needles and the other on 10.5.)

The sock and I had to go out of town. Where is the sock? (There is no prize, um, except bragging rights that you guessed right.)

Adam’s sock. In the picture above, I used the white balance function, in the one below I did not. Small things. Big differences. Anyway, both of these photos were taken outside my window…it’s like that movie Smoke, but with knitting.

We had a big snowfall here in New York (the top photo was taken last Thursday). It felt like a real winter, but I was also kind of like okaaaaaaaay winter, think it might be time for you to head on out.

In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: the police, who investigate crime, and the district attorneys, who prosecute the offenders. These are their stories. [thunk thunk]<–That’s the Law and Order scene change sound, duh.

And this is my story, of being an extra on Law and Order. To sum it up, it was a lot like jury duty, where I went in thinking it would be super exciting and I would get to change the world (well, maybe not in the case of being an extra, but anyway), and by the end, was totally bored and unable to knit. But still, interesting nonetheless.

First, we were put into a “holding” area in a church, where we sat around for a long time. I read an entire article in this week’s New Yorker about Ian McEwan, which was very uninteresting. Much like Ian McEwan’s books. Anyway, I also knit a stripe and a half on Adam’s sock (above), and listened to the insane conversations of my fellow extras. They must have tried to cast primarily Asians because we were going to be gallery-goers for Chinese Communist propaganda art show (amusingly for me, something I actually know about, and thus, might have potentially attended in real life) and I thought this was a little unusual. I was like “Asians! There are only two acceptable professions for our kind! Lawyers and doctors!” I never realized that there were so many Asian extras. So many disappointed parents. Anyway, moving on, there were also many older extras with thespian dreams (reading material of my fellow extras: scripts, the trade newspaper Backstage, a biography of director Eliza Kazan, etc.), and not to be a dream-crusher, but if you’re in your 40s or 50s, you are probably not going to Make It.

Pause: As I mentioned, normally, I work in magazines, and though sometimes magazine writers can be wacky, they’re generally pretty professional. The extras reminded me of a totally different deluded group: wannabe novelists. My first job in publishing was reading the slush pile, or unsolicited manuscripts, for a publishing house and the amount of totally insane manuscripts written by deluded writers that I read made me realize that there is a whole group of people with unrealized but hopeless dreams. I harbor novel-writing dreams myself, so I get it, but really, if your book involves a clown who lives in cranberry bog, it’s probably not going to be published.

Anyway. Here are my two favorite overheard conversations. The first one was between a 50-something man wearing more eye makeup than Jenny Humphrey and a 40-something woman.

Man: Well, I’ve been working on a play.

Woman: Um hum.

Man: I gave it to Andrew Lloyd Weber, and he wrote me back. Do you want to see the letter?

Woman: (Reading letter) Wow, the ink has faded on your letter. Um, so have you sent your play to other directors to be produced?

Man: Oh sure, I sent it to 10 other directors, but I don’t need to, because Andrew Lloyd Weber is going to do it.

Woman: How do you know?

Man: Because Jesus told me.

Woman: Oh?

Man: Yes, well he’s currently working on a sequel to Phantom of the Opera, but Jesus told me that he’s not going to do that, instead he’s going to score and direct my play instead. [Gives confusing synopsis of his play–something involving monks.] Oh, [here the man leans in close to the woman, who he clearly knows from before] and of course, I’m going to give all of my friends first shot at some of the supporting roles.

Woman: Really?

Man: [mistaking her query for actual excitement] Oh yes, there are going to be a lot of supporting roles–I think one would be great for you. Like maybe being a household maid. You’re Asian, so you would know a lot about the culture.

Woman: You should have your mother try to be in it.

Man: [Faux bashfully] Well, I was really hoping she would try out for the lead, but it’s going to be a musical–Andrew Lloyd Weber, you know. You do know who he is, right? Anyway, of course Andrew will be writing it as a libretto, and I’m not sure my mother has the singing chops to take it on, but I hope so.

[the two talk more about other ridiculous topics before this great gem]

Man: You know who I hate? Bob Wong. [not the actual name. But he said a name of someone I had never heard of.] I mean, he is the worst, he has a big mouth and no talent. It’s one thing if you have a big mouth, but a lot of talent, like me, but no talent, ugh.

Woman: Well, you can say what you want about Bob, but he put himself out there and he’s really well known.

Man: Well, you know how he got ahead?

Woman: By working?

Man: No, Satan.

______________

Second conversation between two 20-somethings, a man and a woman. Anyway, they somehow started talking about books and I overheard the man say:

“You know they teach too much tragedy in school. Like Macbeth. So much tragedy you know? I think they should really teach more positive things. Like I read this great book recently [here, he takes out HIS NOTES on the book to show to the girl], The Power of Positive Thinking? They should teach that instead.”

So anyway, at this point I began to despair a little bit for humanity, but wardrobe came around to approve our clothing. I was disproportionately pleased because the wardrobe head liked my (own) dress a lot, and deemed it “very sophisticated,” whereas other extras were sent back to the wardrobe truck for new clothes. Then, we had to go to the set and film a minute-long scene for hours. Seriously, I have both a new respect and disdain for television, because there are so many people (staff, extras, sound people, etc.) for each minute of television, combined with hours of rehearsals. On one hand I was sort of impressed, on the other, I was like really? Can’t you make this quicker? Do we really need to check the lighting on these people for THREE hours?!? The entire scene was seriously less than a minute.

Due to my “very sophisticated” dress (<–small victories in life, people, this is what gets us through the day) I was chosen to actually walk in front of the camera. So if they don’t cut my scene, you might see my face or more likely, my back, walking in front of two dubious dudes arguing about a money deal, in front of a giant propaganda poster of Mao and some happy communists.  I walked like thirty times in front of these dudes, and at some point, I spilled some grape juice on my beige dress. Sigh, the spastic extra who will never be used again. But wardrobe magically appeared with baby wipes, and fixed the situation, though I still dropped off my dress at the dry cleaners last night. (I do actually like the dress, not just for my weird new past time as an extra.) I also drove my fellow extras crazy, by muttering “thunk thunk” between scenes, which no one seemed to appreciate. Also, all the extras decided to be Method extras. Like the extra who was walking with me actually said to me, “So, what’s our back story? Are we friends? Have we just met? Do we hate each other?” She also told me to walk slower, which I am incapable, as a New Yorker, of doing, but she slowed down (to get more camera time) and got called out by some director about this. (She said, “Oh, I’m lagging a beat?” I was like, lady, just walk faster.)  Another extra refused to talk to us, because she was too busy being “in character.”

At the end of day, when I was summing it up for Adam, I said, “You know, journalism may be a cruel and low-paying mistress, but at least it’s a mistress I know. Whereas being an extra is like working for a cruel and low-paying mistress that I don’t know, and I hung out with insane people.”

I’m reserving the right to do more extra work (especially if Gossip Girl ever needs extras!), but I have to say that in general, I was happy to cross “being an extra” off of my to-do list, and move on.