tasty · bits

I finished these socks from raw llama fiber that was gifted to me.  I made them for the llama's mama and now want to make a pair for myself.  They are by far the softest things I have ever put on my feet.  Yes, I couldn't resist trying them on before I gifted them.
I washed the gray llama fiber, blended and carded it with a tiny bit of Romney wool that I died purple with kool aid and a smidge of bunny hair.  Spun it up, then plied it, and finally used a basic sock pattern on size 3 needles and knit it up into these.
I have never been so excited about any gift that I have either made or purchased for anyone.  I feel incredibly honored to have had the opportunity to turn such a generous and wonderful gift into something that the donor could wear and enjoy.

I joined the "Tour de Fleece."  I will be spinning fiber for the duration of the "Tour de France."  The only difference is that I won't be riding a bike in France with a "peloton" to keep the pace for me and make my efforts more aerodynamic.  So from July 7-July 29 these pages will be filled with my fiber creations.

I was in Paris the last day of the "Tour de France" on the Champs-Elysees in 2000 when Lance Armstrong won for the 2nd time.

This was a pretty incredible coincidence for a 20 year old American tourist in Paris.  I did not even know that the Tour de France was running when I arrived in Paris; I also did not know that Lance Armstrong would be riding by me on the Champs-Elysees.  I have become a little more aware of large yearly events since then, but it was an incredible surprise that I would not have been as excited about had I known ahead of time. 

Now, I know more about the "Tour de France" and Lance Armstrong and would have probably left Paris if I coincidently scheduled my visit during the Tour.

There will be no Lance Armstrong and no Paris, but I will go dig my fiber stash out of storage in anticipation of the "Tour de Fleece."

I also have a fresh unwashed bag of Llama fiber that my friends in Eastern Maryland give me each year at their annual summer party.

Last year I washed, dyed, carded, and spun some of it up and knitted a pair of socks for the head Llama lady and Mrs. of the farm and party.  I will post a photo soon.  I have just returned from the party and still have not recovered from my luvfest blues enough to unpack and download the photos.  The socks feel so wonderful, I can't wait to knit myself a pair. 

The best part of the visiting the Llamas this year was that there were three little adorable fuzzy baby Llamas that had joined the pack.  The Llama parents, of the human kind, were away fishing outside of New Orleans when they were born.  When they returned it was if the stork, or maybe it was the Emu, had left the Llamas in the field.

I went to "Brand upon the Brain" by Guy Maddin  last night  at the Village East Cinemas on 11th and 2nd to see a silent movie with a live orchestra, live foley, live castrado, and Eli Wallach as the live narrator.  It was incredible!  The movie was not the best that I had seen, but the live foley...  Wow, how do I get a job making noise?  I want to be a live foley artist when I grow up.  Not to mention that that is my favorite movie theater in NYC.  It is an old theater that has been redone into a movie theater and it is beautiful.  I highly recommend seeing this.  It is a 30 dollar ticket, but it is worth every penny.  This movie only runs until May 15th, so go tonight!  It is a once in a life time experience, and I promise it will be a good one.  www.branduponthebrain.com

I attended a party this weekend that was made festive by wonderful people and wonderful food.  Of course it is not a party until someone gets naked (this reminds me of the days in college where the cool people could never get anyone naked and the academics couldn't get me and a few others to keep our clothes on).  Unlike most college students, I did not do a significant amount of drinking in college.  But no one would know the difference because often I was the first one in my birthday suit and the encouragement for others to join in the excitement of the unwrapping. 

While no one got completely naked at this party, the party did make a turn when we started taking photos of our naked parts hidden beneath our clothing and sharing them with the room.  Then we brought the party to the empty Brooklyn subway platforms where people did get naked.

Hopefully we did not truly scare away our hostess' more conservative and errr, work friends.  Regardless, when we started to take photos of our wobbly bits under our clothing, everyone, including the more conservative types, found their way into the living room where all the R action was happening.  The XXX action didn't happen until we reached the comfort of the subway platform were there was an ample amount of graffiti and tagging that happened on various body parts.

But alas, what happens in Brooklyn...

Brooklyn is like another country.  It is quiet, the air smells nice, and there are these green things that people call trees.  Many of these trees were beginning to bloom and in anticipation of the deluge that would be dropped onto NYC, there was complete silence everywhere that we turned, an eerie silence before the storm.  It was the creepy kind of silence that emphasized only our footsteps.  It was like a silly horror film.  With all the debauchery on the train platform I was expecting Freddy or Jason to jump out of the tunnel.  Fortunately the guy with the black hoodie from Kontrol did not reveal himself.  We all made it safely to another bar in the east Village, where tales of the Brooklyn adventure were told and retold.  We finished off the evening watching drunk girls dance on the bar with the stripper pole with their panties in hand and drinking 2 dollar Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Like I said, nothing says party like nudity can.  Hooray for birthdays and all the gifts to unwrap.

Most of my friends and family are at that age when they start having babies.  Some of them are on their second one, gasp.  It keeps me busy knitting little baby things.  Here are some of my favorites:

I went to the Russian baths a few weeks ago.  Many of my friends rave about them and herald the benefits that one receives from being crammed into some hot rooms with too many other people in towels, well worn and shared plastic shower shoes, spitting and shaving.  While walking into the several different steam rooms and saunas does make your body feel better and the steaming certainly helps relieve tense muscles, I am always a little surprised by the habits and activities that transpire in these moist and warm environments, life in a petri dish.  My visit to these baths reminds me of the two other baths I have been that tout similar benefits yet different petri  experiments.

Once I attended a Hot Springs Spa in none other, Hot Springs, Arkansas.  It was certainly a welcomed experience since my high school boyfriend, and another high school couple had been suffering a cold and rainy Spring Break in a tent on a small peninsula surrounded by very cold lakes of the Ozarks.  The Hot Springs meant for the first time in three days we would be warm, still not dry, but warm.  It was terrific, they had about 4 different hot tub like contraptions that radiated cooled water from the natural hot springs in the area; these tubs had to be cooled because the water comes from the ground entirely too hot.  There were cooling pools, which have never really appealed to me; I reign from the deep south where I have had the privilege of enjoying the warm  (bath temperature) and beautiful blue waters of  Gulf of Mexico and Caribbean for over 25 years now.  So, the cold shock treatments that prevent me from breathing, tighten every muscle in my body, and numb my toes and fingers don't appeal to me.  Yea, I don't make the best Yankee since the glorious Atlantic ocean getaways (Cape Cod) seem entirely to cold, rocky, and dirty to me.  Regardless, I was able to enjoy the other elements of this Hot Springs spa.  It too had a little bit of a petri dish feeling; it seemed that we had found the local mountain community hot spring bath spot.  We sampled the hot tubs, dipped our toes in the cool immersion pools, put our butts in those old school vibrating strap in devices that I suppose were intended to break up fat cells so that those who used this tool could show off more smooth and soft skin.  Finally, we tried out the steam room.  It was institution-like, fully tiled so that when you spoke you heard a tinny echo, and it was so steamy that you could not see your hand in front of you.  I remember being giddy with my fellow school mates and giggling out of control.  I couldn't get past the surreal quality of this nostalgic mountain stop.  I commented to my friend about how surreal I felt this place was and one of the locals chimed in to agree, "yes,  this place sure is, it is sooooo real."  That it was, it was certainly real.

The other experience was much more sophisticated and on the other side of the globe at an on-sen in Japan.  I went with a boy-friend's mother on the side of a small mountain in the winter.  On-sens are a family spot in Japan and are often attended  several times a week by the entire family.  The on-sens are mostly segregated, men on one side, women on the other.  When you visit the on-sen you are given fresh slippers and tiny towels.  The first stop is the locker room where you drop your clothes.  The next step is to bathe before you enter these natural hot springs.  When you bathe,  you sit on a small foot stool with your tiny towel over your parts and using a hand held shower head, you wash your body with soap and wet down your hair.  After our bath, the boy-friend's mom demonstrated how I was to wash, wait did I mention I got naked with a boy-friend's 50 something mother, yea she helped me to wash properly before I entered the hot springs.  It was amazing, the hot springs of course, not the naked older mom (although she is an amazing woman).  The hot springs were large shallow pools of which you could sit down on the bottom and lean you neck against the edge.  The fantastic element of this on-sen was that there were two separate pools, one was inside a steamy warmly tiled room, the other was outdoors surrounded by one of the most beautiful views I have witnessed in my life.  There was snow on the ground, buddhas surrounding the pool, and mountains topped by snow in all directions.  Wow.  That was fantastic.  After people bathe in the pools, they tend to lounge on the floor in a common area and drink beer, sake, coffee, and smoke cigarettes.  Japan truly is a land of contradiction.  Go bathe for your health, drink for your health, and enjoy a good smoke?

Well back to NYC East Village Russian Baths...
Here they have 5 co-ed nights and 1 night for women and 1 night for men.  Co-ed night is mostly round Russian looking men (I kept looking out for St. Nick, since I thought I saw his brother) in shorts that are too small for both their bellies and balls, scratching themselves while they observe the 3 women that are prancing around carefully, so as not to slip, in there too small bikinis.  Everyone was sweaty and red in the face, and then the man next to me in the dry sauna, who  wore shaving cream the entire time and had a few leaves stuck to his belly from his oak tree olive oil leaf slapping treatment (I though he might have rolled around in the dirt at Thompkins Square park first) spat a huge loogie at the heat source of the sauna.  Then suddenly I recalled the sign at the door of the special Russian hot rock room, "There is to be no spitting, shaving, and (something else that I can't recall) in this room." 
The night in the saunas was invigorating, even without a shock in the cold immersion pool.  I can't wait to go back and spend a little longer time and perhaps get my fanny slapped by the olive oil oak tree leaves...

My evening was concluded by eating a little Russian food, some caviar, followed by some good Russian Vodka.  Certainly, an evening well spent.