Wrists? Eyes? WHO NEEDS 'EM?!

So another round of logo designs completed today. I won't lie and say I've been trying really hard the past few weeks, but I sure busted ass today, and staring at the monitor so long hurts. I should probably get an ergonomic seat, too, but some secret part in my brain is worried that this means I have officially given in to sitting behind the computer too much.

Perspective is such a funny fluctuating thing. Not so much facts.

Case in point:

My favorite personal pursuits are going to kill my hands, wrists, and eyes. Don't get me wrong, I value them greatly. But between the art and the yarncraft, the writing and the horrible computer-timed designing, the piano...I am on a one-way road to arthritisville. But look at the perks! Making things! Productivity! Aesthetics!

Who needs healthy joints and eyes? On the other hand, my body hurts. I guess most hobbies rely heavily on our eyes and hands, anyway, so I'm no special case. Is there yoga for eyes?

...Too bad I hate sports so much. I should really get into cock fighting and tap dancing instead.

Adventures in Yarn

I've discovered I enjoy giving away my projects as much as I enjoy making them, especially when it comes to yarncraft. For the most part it's an ongoing list of things to complete, whether by request or by the desire to create something which sooner than later is given away.

And besides, though I love the technicalities and work of knitting and crocheting, for the most part I'm fussy about the size of stitchwork (I prefer fabric with finer thread, a la cotton t-shirts). This is definitely an opinion that's changing, though, because it's nice to be able to make what you need, and I especially enjoy making things with yarn because they're useful.

Luckily I've managed to document a few recent things I've been working on/worked on, so without further ado, I give you...

Ground beef.


Actually, that's my first attempt at dyeing some merino wool yarn with generic kool-aid. It ended up much more subtle in shades of pale purple and pink:


I'm thinking of making it into an amigurumi "giant" squid in the coming days.



Also, a crocheted cookie coin purse. I'm thinking about making a few more with sprinkles and selling them. Acrylic yarn.

I also wish I had better photos of these armwarmers I made on commission, since it's hard to make out the cabling in the photos. Or is it? These were a lot of fun, and really comfy. I almost kept them, and when I was pretty sure I had to give them up, Jon almost kept them:



I would recommend Paton's Shetland Chunky yarn for scarves and hats and gloves because they're soft and warm and thick and knit up fast. And come in various colors. Plus, if you're slightly allergic to wool like I am, the low wool content gives it some warmth without being scratchy.

All that aside, my most recently finished project is a cell phone cozy my mom requested. Including a chain to wear it around her neck, and a loop to keep it shut:



Oink oink.

Art Students and General Idiocy

Yes, I was once an art student. I even, in what I sometimes consider general slogging-through-it, and at other times consider an extraordinary feat for myself, managed to graduate with a degree in art.

And I will not lie on this point. Art students suck. On the whole. I'm pretty sure I wasn't exempt from that category, either.

Actually, most people in college suck. Most people in college just graduated from high school, and through no fault of their own, but the fault of the system and generally "growing up", still maintain a high school attitude. This is because they find college a liberating experience, and consider themselves adult when they enter in.

Truth be told, college is just another, larger institution of learning (obviously). It's merely a bigger high school, with generally no curfews, and no parental supervision. You're given choices, and the consequences of your actions. This leads to frat houses and sororities, but really, who's to blame? Gotta shake out all those tail feathers before you bend over and start pulling weight in the name of paying bills and feeding the government swine. Have to get the crazy out of your system at some point, might as well be before you start suiting up for work. You know. Taste freedom so you can give it up.

Oh, but wait, where was I really going with this? Ah yes. Art students.

What really frustrates me about them to the point of no return is that for the most part, these are the sons and daughters of rich assholes who are told that if they want to inherit the family fortune, they have to major in something. And, y'know. Art. Pshaw. How can that possibly be a difficult major? It's a fucking hobby.

I was surrounded by these assholes. Maybe I'm just bitter and old, and give no leeway to people in a stage of development that I'd also undergone. Or maybe I merely have lost tolerance on people who lack exposure, and need to chill out.

On a lighter note, which prompted this train of thought...

My friend Nate came into town the other day, so Jon and I took him walking about downtown late that night and came across a brightly-lit building with large glass windows. We could see a bunch of kids hanging out in the colorful foyer and smoking outside the door in a group. It was bizarre, considering it was outside the ring of bars in the financial district and the Tenderloin.

Nate looked quizzically at us. "What is this place, a hostel?"

We had no idea. "That's what it looks like to me."

Curiosity prompted Nate to approach the group of smokers. "Hey, is this place a hostel?"

The whole hipster ring fell silent with the interruption. They looked at us, unsure what to make of our appearance. They they looked at each other uneasily, trying to designate by eye contact a speaker. Finally, a girl cleared her throat. "No, uh, actually this is a dorm."

Ah, it all made sense then. "Oh...for the Academy of Art college, right?" Of course.

She nodded a fraction, paused, then added awkwardly with the whole group still watching us as One, "Do you guys need to find a hostel?"

Jon laughed at this point, which gave way to embarrassment on her behalf. "No, but any of you guys have a cigarette?"

Spring is Here

And it is! I can tell when the cherry trees blossom, no matter how chilly it may feel the next day. The plants always know. It has rained a bit in the past two weeks, but this time the grass is actually soaking it up and keeping it; there are clumps of fresh greenery growing. In California, this says a lot, as much of the time it is dry, and the still-undeveloped park by my parents' house is more golden brown than anything the majority of the year. (This is a park full of trees, hills, deer, snakes, and mountain lions.)

Not to mention that we saw a great blue heron amidst the greenery on the path back to the car, just watching us out of the corner of its knowing eye. Unusual, being that we were a few miles inland, but not unlikely. I'm looking forward to thriving wildlife—ticks and mosquitoes excluded—and should probably head to Muir Woods in the near future before the rains really set in.

The Bear is settling in well with the other two, and has taken an interest to my presence. She's still a bit skittish, and though she hasn't tried to bite me again I also haven't given her a chance to, but she'll come right up to the door and sniff at me. And also stopped squeaking whenever I pick her up, so at least I don't have to worry about having to give her up to someone who isn't allergic to rat bites for taming her.

Also came across this music video the the artist Mika, which should be enjoyed by all:

Hallelujah, I'm Normal ™

I went to another doctor yesterday, to see what condition my condition was in. After some drawn out discussion about my visit last month, full of steroids and antibiotics, he assured me that I was a pretty ordinary person.

I can't explain exactly how much this means to me. After years of dealing with minor asthma, allergic reactions that I was mostly in control of, two bouts of pneumonia and several other intermittent respiratory illnesses (bronchitis, respiratory infection), it was nice to know that I wasn't in line for Serious Medical Attention. In fact, I was a pretty standard case of chronic asthma. I mean, being able to ride 115 miles on a bike day trip in between all that nonsense still counts for something, right?

It's reassuring to know that I'm not handicapped by this. That I'm not some sickly creature that's going to kick the bucket too soon, which has been a fear I wasn't ready to admit to in the past few years.

The older I get, the more I'm affected, is all. And I seriously suspect that the illegal denture factory below is giving my lungs plenty to react to, but with some Singulair I've managed to avoid needing a shock of albuterol this day so far.

Talk about relief.

I Wanna Go/I Don't Wanna Go

Sick sick sick...ish. My mother told me the other day how sorry she was that we didn't look into my asthma problem earlier in my childhood, and now I'm holding out on either getting health insurance via a new job, or getting a good estimate of how much it'll cost me and in what increments I'll have to pay in order to get a thorough respiratory-related examination.

Jumping from one doctor to another emergency room to another doctor and so forth, I don't have the most accurate records anymore. Not on paper, and much to memory, and it gets hard to breathe right now.

Of Exploding Cages and Rampaging Bears

The word of the moment is Dynamic. Unpredictable, even. Where you're kept on your toes!

It rained for the past two days, which has followed the fluctuations into spring to a "t". Spring starting in February, of course. Sunshine and walks through the Presidio trees and park to beach. The cherry blossoms have unfurled already, and their redolent sweet scent trails after us as we walk past. And then into rain.

Things have been mildly chaotic. The rat cage upended onto its side the other day, onto the floor. Shavings everywhere on the rug. A complete, irritating mess. We weren't in the apartment at the time, so the only explanation we've come up with is that there was a mild earthquake that shook them. Unless the rats were wrestling heavily, or ran so vigorously on the wheel that they shook the cage over the edge. Unlikely. Either way, a mess that really worked up my allergies—yes, I am allergic to the soaking of rat urine and the like, which makes the inhaler handy, and my delight in the rodents probably ridiculous.

And in conjunction with a relapse in breathing difficulties, of which the origin seems to stem from a different part of the respiratory system, I've been having much more fantastical dreams than usual (I often don't recall any at all the older I get).

In one, I was being chased, along with a friend that I can't place, in a green valley by a enormous grizzly bear. We both had packs on us, and were in such a panic trying to run to the trees in hopes of climbing one, that we didn't have time to slough off the extra weight. We made it as far as the younger trees bordering the forest with the bear close behind us before I woke up. If dreams carry meaning, I can only wonder at the point of this one, as I don't find bears creatures to fear, if not respect. Symbolically they're linked to instinct and initial phases of creation, along with medicine and nurturing. This page indicates that:

People with "Brown Bear Medicine" are considered by many as self sufficient, and would rather stand on their own 2 feet than rely on others. They are often considered "dreamers". Many have developed the skill of visualizing new things, but as a result can get caught up in the "dreaming" making little progress in "waking" reality.

...Maybe I am overwhelmed by the dreaming and need to wake up. I know how often I get too caught up in my ideas instead of actually making something out of it.

In other news, my grandmother has adapted to the finality of hospital life by relenting to dementia. It's relieving if only because it means she's no longer dwelling on discomfort and boredom, busying herself with the things that surround her. At points she'll become absorbed in an object, poking at it. Or an idea; she tried drinking both her fan, a closed carton of milk, and the table itself.

But she'll still sit and converse with us, if only in brief phrases. She recognizes us, and is glad to see us, and frankly that's all I care about. I plan on bringing in some big plastic knitting needles and yarn for her to preoccupy herself in our absence, as she's been hungrily eyeing the armwarmers I've been working on, and has taken to "knitting" objects out of instinct.

It is strange and extremely humbling to witness the stages of mortality, and understand them. I have been around my aunt and my grandfather when they were terminally ill, but as a child the impact wasn't as deep. There's the shame that comes from losing the language, too; Cantonese was my first spoken language, fluent. Though over time in all-American schools (starting preschool, where I still remember crying after my mother in bewilderment as people chatted to me in a foreign language—English), along my own stubborn nature, I can only speak minor phrases now.

There's still hope, since I can understand a good portion of Cantonese still, and often have dreams immersed in the language. I've been working on it a little at a time, and hope to have a real conversation with my grandmother soon.