'N case anyone missed it

(in Bloglines/gReader, etc.), the cook-knit-kvetch-cat-book blog is over here now.

C'mere

As Blogger waited and waited and waited this morning, I spontaneously moved over to Wordpress. It's been in my head for a while. So I jumped. Please bear with as I fix the sidebars, etc.

Come on over.

"Song"

by Frank Bidart

You know that it is there, lair

where the bear ceases

for a time even to exist.



Crawl in. You have at last killed

enough and eaten enough to be fat

enough to cease for a time to exist.



Crawl in. It takes talent to live at night, and scorning

others you had that talent, but now you sniff

the season when you must cease to exist.



Crawl in. Whatever for good or ill

grows within you needs

you for a time to cease to exist.



It is not raining inside

tonight. You know that it is there. Crawl in.

Inside your head any phonebooth can be a confessional

The blog form almost demands that the blogger share some autobiography. I don't want to go on about personal things, because who knows who could be reading and c'mon, enough about me. However, I still get the confessional urge and (rationalizing) some of you Knitty readers haven't met me at all. So I decided to grab a way-dorky meme off Turtlegirl's blog for that optimum mix of autobiography and subterfuge. I cut a few questions. Feel free to post along in the comments!

There Is Lots of "Me" in "Meme"

1. FIRST NAME? Danielle
2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? After my parents' hunch they were having a boy proved entirely wrong, they had to scramble for a girl's name. Thought up mine right away but rejected it because my dad had a high-school girlfriend named Danielle. Three days later, they gave in.
3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? Last night. Dork. Got some frustration on the burners.
4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? I carefully shaped it as a kid. I even learned graphology for the sixth-grade science fair. Now I can't really see my handwriting. It's like seeing a photo of yourself: "Yup. That's me."
5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCHMEAT? I truly and honestly despise all lunch meat. The way it gets slimy in the fridge... ugh.
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? I think I would find me highly entertaining. (I should keep that perspective on myself.)
7. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL? Y.
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Y.
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? No. Hang-gliding, maybe. And I'd ride on the back of a motorcycle if I could, like two guys in Frank Bruni's Italy article, vroom from Austria to Piedmont for lunch.
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Homemade muesli, adapted from Didi Emmons' first? second? cookbook.
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? When I wear shoes with laces, yes.
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? I think I'm stubborn.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? A range of chocolate options. Also, green tea.
14. SHOE SIZE? 7-1/2.
15. RED OR PINK? Red.
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? I'd like to drive myself a little less crazy.
17. WHOM DO YOU MISS THE MOST? Strangely enough, I seem to have let go of all the people I used to miss. I still think about many of them all the time, but I don't miss them. (?: "The past isn't over. It isn't even past." - Faulkner.)
19. WHAT COLOR PANTS, SHIRT, AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Dark blue jeans, black sweater, red Okkervil River shirt, black Merrills shoes. Welcome to late fall.
20. LAST THING YOU ATE? Leftover pasta.
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? Hooray for Earth, in my head.
22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Burnt umber.
23. FAVORITE SMELL? Cookies. And wood fires. C'mon. There's no other answer.
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? "Hello, you have reached the home of...."
25. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO? What instrument he plays. Kidding! There isn't one particular thing. See the guy, ears perk.
27. FAVORITE DRINK? Non-alc: coffee. Alc: dark ale, vodka gimlets.
28. FAVORITE SPORT? Baseball.
29. EYE COLOR? Hazel? Brown?
30. HAT SIZE? No clue.
31. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Oh yes. Can't see my own shoulder clearly without correction. Hideous glasses. Must replace them one of these days.
32. FAVORITE FOOD? Easier: Least. I'm sorry to say that I still feel tentative eating fish, and I usually avoid it.
33. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Happy endings. (Barf, I know.)
35. SUMMER OR WINTER? Spring and fall.
36. HUGS OR KISSES? Hugs are more dependable.
37. FAVORITE DESSERT? You mean like desert-island? Brownies.
40. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING? Steve Almond, My Life in Heavy Metal (finally); Boswell's Life of Johnson; Elizabeth Zimmermann, Knitting Without Tears; Charles Baxter, First Light; Frank Bidart, Star Dust.
42. WHAT DID YOU WATCH LAST NIGHT ON TV? Few innings of the World Series, ten minutes of Sex & the City, twenty minutes of Letterman. Lately I've been watching too much TV.
43. FAVORITE SOUNDS? Never thought about this. To go all free-association on youse: The crackling of food in the oven, the kettle whistling, my car shifting into fourth, the wind in the trees, Eva going inexplicably and inconsolably meow meow meow meow meow. And of course Okkervil River.
44. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? I'm sorely tempted to be all ex-music-critic snotty and say "Velvet Underground," but: Beatles. Not a huge fan of either, but the Liverpudlians were more original and influential.
45. THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME? Rome or the Isle of Skye. (No clue about distance.)
46. WHAT'S YOUR SPECIAL TALENT? Making connections.
47. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? New Rochelle, NY

Over & out.

Accountability: It works

Friday night I had no need to cook: I was heading to NY the following morning and still had soup and sausage leftovers. But I itched for my cast-iron frying pan. Besides, it's kinda chilly here in Stubborn New England Apartment Land. So off to the kitchen I went.

That's all par for the course. What's new is that I couldn't cook up plain old whole-wheat spaghetti with mushrooms, garlic, olives, and parmesan. Oh no. No farm share vegetables! No creativity! To assuage your demands, dear readers (okay. I'm projecting. Let me project) I (fanfare) grated in some daikon radish. King me.

(Not the world's most attractive picture. Pretty boring dish, honestly, even with the extra heat. Note the participation of my favorite beer, Otter Creek Copper Ale.)



Q: Why has it taken me 29-1/2 years to realize that horseradish is... yup? It didn't hit me until this morning. "Daikon radishes taste more fiery than standard radishes," thunk I. "They're almost as spicy as horseradi-- oh. Wait."

Prettier:



The brussels sprouts are definitely ready for their close-up. Mmmm, brussels sprouts. To think You Can't Do That on Television could be so wrong.

Have you seen fresh-from-the-farm brussels sprouts? They grow on a stalk. I'll take a picture of the one left in my fridge. Last year I dressed up as the Brussels Sprout Fairy for Halloween and carried a stalk as my magic veggie wand*. You can imagine the amazement, particularly from drunk people.

* Yes, I cooked it afterwards.

Sat. a.m. I hied me off to NY, where the family (poor Dad) traipsed up to the famous Rhinebeck sheep and wool festival. Strangely, we'd never gone before. First, the sheep:



I'm reminded of the Swedish Chef chocolate mousse segment. "Ist vern de hern der chocolat... and now, de moose!" (Oh look, the chocolate video's on YouTube. Ten minutes later....)



Hi, mister sheep getting groomed for the show. Staunchly, I stuck to my resolution and bought not a damn thing. Kate and Mom aided me in this resolve by buying yarn so I could enjoy the experience vicariously. (Note: I ran into Bryghtrose and Stariel but didn't attend any of the blogger or Knittyboard meetups.) Kate's haul:



We didn't follow the fair maps and I neglected to find out which barns were the "good" barns. We got ferociously, inexplicably, three times lost on the way there. We had fun.

Knowing that the Yarn Harlot would be in attendance, I kept a sharp eye out for the wedding shawl. Lo and behold, while we cooed over Pyrenees puppies (!), I glimpsed the Harlot herself, with a tall blonde woman I assume was Juno.

I poked my mom (surreptitiously). We engaged in a heated whisper-debate re: whether or not to say hi. I said don't bother her; she's off-duty. Mom marched up and introduced herself. She said her daughter was a big fan. She beckoned me over from the puppy pen. I may or may not have shaken La Harlotte's hand (you will note the prose paralysis). Yes, she has a surprisingly deep and raspy voice. She seemed not exactly interested in joining our conversation. I certainly don't blame her. And I couldn't very well say to Juno "Hi, I occasionally comment on your blog," could I?

Anyway, a star sighting. I'm still psyched. I just hope she doesn't hate us.

The other standout event: K. and her sister charged up to a woman to ask where she got her bag of white fluff. I marvelled at their apparent ability to differentiate, oh, who knows, merino from Corriedale.

Me: What makes that particular fluff different from all the other fluff we've seen around here today?

K: It's maple cotton candy.

--

After cooking Friday, I finished part one of the Ambiguous @#$%ing Pink Thing (can you capitalize a symboled-out swear?). Now, I know I kvetch. But how long is that thing? From tip to tail? Compare to an object of known size, e.g., an unread copy of the New Yorker.



Twenty-two inches. See?

I immediately cast on for part two. As before, the first stage took but a jiffy. Grr. No sense. No sense at all.

As promised, Sunday (new moon) I tossed APTpt2 cavalierly aside and cast on (three/four times) for the Cloak of Mystery. I've really raced along on this-- eleven pattern repeats out of a possible 37 (hard to say, since I'm using different yarn). Clearly already an item of substance. Tonight, for you, I breached its photo virginity (and I'm not gonna extend this metaphor any farther).



Back of the pattern. Yup. Gonna be a boring few weeks in knitblogland. I'll do my best to finish the CoM ASAP so I can entertain y'all with sidelong shots of my first stab at Fair Isle.

p.s. Someone's already written a knitting mystery, right? If not, I call dibs.

Though I scored but 680? on my English Achievements exam and about the same on the SAT verbal, worse than my math score (how embarrassing)

(Thanks, Patience! Ms. SSH, I expect to see your results on this pronto.)

True English Nerd
You scored 84 erudition!
Not only do you know your subjects from your objects and your definite from your indefinite articles, but you've got quite a handle on the literature and the history of the language as well. Huzzah, and well done! The English snobs of Boston* salute you.

How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 99% on erudition

Test link.

* I salute myself?

Oh yeah. You.

After all this blog fussing, I forgot all about it for several days. It's due to my massive career existential crisis. Also a lot of socializing (hooray for my brilliant friend Ryan's band). Which means I'm too lazy to post photos, and I did all my cooking Monday. I think. I don't really remember this week.

- Barely touched the novel, but did haul out a personal essay I shelved months and months ago.

- Emailed thirty people regarding the career existential crisis. Arr.

- Knit the endlessly-long-but-still-not-long-enough APT Part 1. Hmph. I'm blowing through that two-week completion deadline like a disco baby does coke. As soon as I finish part 1 and cast on for part 2, I'm starting a new front-burner project. My patience runs short.

- Glorious food: Stayed home Monday and made lentil/kale soup with the broth from parboiling the au(tumn) gratin vegetables. That evening, laid waste to some of my endless bell peppers --> sausage and peppers. A little too sweet with my farm share's red onions, but you can't go far wrong with sausage and peppers. And Tuesday (I think) I baked blondies in my second-best pan, just because.

Since then, leftovers. I won't even mention the magnitude of this past farm share pickup, because on top of the typical eggs, cheese, yogurt, chocolate chips, yeast, and thrown-together salad dressing, my fridge currently holds:

- red onions
- bell peppers
- hot peppers
- lettuce
- delicata squash (3)
- parsley
- dill
- a few potatoes
- one doubled sweet potato
- a half bushel apples
- spinach
- radicchio
- two 20" brussels sprouts stalks
- half a cabbage
- half a large celeriac
- rutabagas (3)
- kale

That might be it? Most keeps well. Fortunate, because: Rhinebeck.

October in New England really is all that

Loaf of whole-wheat bread dough rising on the stove, about 350 new miles on the car*, favorite band concert ticket in my back pocket, sock yarn on the kitchen table, a counter groaning under apples, and a fridge full of vegetables.**

A prototypical New England autumn weekend. A two-diner weekend, at that.

* With a new bumper sticker, which instead of "Together We Can" really should read "Another Beat-Up Honda for Deval."

** DJ Dave, paraphrased: "For only one person, that's a pretty full fridge."

(To quench envy in New England expats, it's 64 degrees in my apartment. Up from 60. I refuse to turn on the heat. It's baking season.)

Due to timing, the Au(tumn) Gratin went to Kate instead of potluckers. (Post-potluck query: Restart Game Night with homemade "Apples to Apples"? You write the nouns: e.g., Bauhaus, rapscallion, cat o' nine tails, John Casablancas Modeling School.)

So. Starting backwards with photos from today's biscuits-'n'-gravy/apple fest in Derry, NH.



A little late in the season. (Cue Son Volt, "Windfall.")



If you pick quickly, you'll be done too soon. How to slow down? Hey!



Apple bocce! On nature's bocce lane. (Okay. Cultivator's lane.) Action shots:



"Hmmm... I think this is the pollini. Wait. Maybe it's that other apple."



We must've played for forty minutes.



Unfortunately, time did not improve my skill. Proving his projectile skills beyond arty mini-golf, and in an uncontested decision, Dave was ruled #1.



Home again, pie crust obsession enabled:



I swear those apples expanded after we left the orchard. My just-over-one-third of a bushel now fills up a half-bushel bag. I was seized with the desire to make pumpkin pie.

-- End of the food, cooking, apple bocce (I'll pause for a moment while you absorb the brilliance of that innovation), and boy butt-shot content. Everyone who thinks that knitting is lame can click away to some other website now, such as the incredibly nadiresque nerd board.

So. Saturday: Knittyboard gathering in Northampton and (briefly) Grafton. (Normally I can navigate a car.) I seem to have run out of entertaining description. Oh dear. Anyway, Webs lived up to its press. As did my companions. What a friendly and fun group of gals [waves].

(Deb/Yarner lived beyond her press, especially when she dumped chili over the uneaten end of her chocolate cake as a preventative measure.)

Bryghtrose/Cathy found yarn the same color as her hair.



My host Bethany (theherocomplex) stole about three hours from her writing and day-job responsibilities. I don't know how she does it, or how she functions with so little sleep and no caffeine. (Alert: Northampton Coffee.)



Knowing Webs's reputation, I entered with a plan. Oh yes. I scribbled down project notes and bought only:

- A pattern for an upcoming project so cloaked in mystery that I can't share details or photograph even a corner to show you. Mystery Cloak will be, for you, a boring project. When I start it. Which date recedes ever farther, like Mario Batali's hairline, as I plod on with the APT, whose first half measures 14" from the part-one-turns. I've almost used up my first ball of Cascade Fixation.

- Yarn for an upcoming project I can-- sit down-- chatter about with impunity.



These skeins of Cleckheaton (never heard of it) (plus dishes) to make anti-war Knucks for my activist cousin. Brown base with cream numbers. (After all this time, finally, I will learn Fair Isle.)

I can't remember where I read about this idea. You knit the number of people killed in Iraq into each mitt. The second mitt's number is higher than the first. Knuckle slogan: EXIT IRAQ.

- As I've noted before, I don't spend enough time knitting to feed a stash. However, sales...



Sales are another story. $2.50/skein! Gedifra Fashion Trend Sportivo. (What's that you ask? Yes, that is the same color mix as the Fleece Artist yarn. Yes, I noticed. Coordinated. That's what we'll call it. Coordinated.)

Time to heat the oven, write a late-into-work email to my boss, and turn in. Happy October to you all. There's over two weeks left.