Amber Alert: Don’t Say I Haven’t Been Warned
August 12, 2005
You know, I get alarming Comments every once in a while–a reminder that my penis isn’t large enough, or a note from supernaughty girls who want to meet me (which is so friendly of them, really), or the suggestion that I ought to be playing more online poker. But sometimes, a Comment goes beyond the usual anxieties. Look at this missive from Amber:
I didn’t even bother to vote in your dang blogpoll about the fiddlehead embroidery. Though I will in a minnit. Maybe.
The Important Message is that You’re Not Going To Weave in those ends. You Will Sew Them. With A Machine. If you still wanna be all perfect with your hand-done mattress kitchener invisible blah blah blah, you can, but first you will run a very tiny machine stitch along the edges of those pieces with their perfect and multitudinous stripes, and then you will trim all of those perfectly secured ends right off and pretend they were never even looking at you.
Do this for your sanity and do it for my sanity, and for the sake of all knitters. For if you actually weave in those ends, every time forever after when I am ready to take the easy way, the shortcut, I will think of you, and I will guilt myself into doing it the hard way, repeating to myself that “Well, if Ann could weave in 256,482 ends on a tiny lil ol’ kid’s sweater, well, jeez, I’d better just do it the long way.”
I beg you. Sew And Cut.
Chilling. Absolutely chilling. At this point I’d just as soon leave the ends dangling and call it a design feature, but we all know the truth: those Tennessee State Fair judges are going to want to see the tortured weaving in. They want that. They want things to be slightly miserable. They want the butter sculpture to be twelve feet tall. They like it when 600 potatoes have been rejected to find the lone, perfect spud. A mess of ends? It’s right up their alley.
Just remember: This is all my own damn fault. I worked myself into a corner by designing this cursed little sweater and not thinking ahead enough to knit the body in once piece, so I have nobody to blame but myself. The wages of bad planning is excessive end-weaving, so end-weave I must.
The Redemptive Power of Blocking
On a lighter note, it’s all coming together, sort of. I never will get over the fantastic transformative, life-changing effect comes when you block wool. I know, I know, I don’t need to pin all this stuff down. But it’s my little wierd discipline, and in the case of this sweater I wanted to make sure the pieces are all the right size.
Kay. Look at the knitting. Stop admiring the Rowenta, you iron junky.
PS Hey everybody, thanks so much for all the yarn shop advice for the trip to LA. I count 78 yarn shops in the area, right?
PSS And I hasten to point out that the superlative Rowenta you see featured in the photograph came to me as proof positive that Kay actually exists. She’s the one who gave me such a mighty, Germanic battleship of an iron.