Yes, more scarves

I get slightly uncomfortable every time I go to knitting group. We pull our sticks and strings out of bags and casually inspect each others projects. Once the conversation starts, I hear, "Oh, is that a scarf?", "Oh, another scarf.", and finally, "Let me guess, a scarf?". It isn't that I can't do other things and lord knows I want to do other things but scarves are comfortable. Scarves, whether garter stitch or intricate cables, are easy, shapeless, brainless fodder for ADD hands. They keep me occupied and I don't have to worry about fit. When I grow tired of them, they become highly desired gifts for friends. I love them. They are perfect for me and I'm trying to accept the idea that I've seemingly embraced one of the lamest knitted garments as my focus, my pride, my trademark.

This afternoon I posted my latest project on Ravelry and found myself questioning my own integrity. You see, the pattern used is called the corrugator and is available for free. I added the link to the original post of the pattern in order to give credit where it is due. I did not call mine the corrugator though and it looks absolutely nothing like the fabric created by the designer. Suddenly I felt dirty. Was I doing the pattern wrong; the designer an injustice? Was giving the pattern a different name a slap in the designer's face? It seems so tedious to pick through the world wide web for information on the etiquette one should follow when in my predicament so if anything comes of it I shall claim ignorance and be done with it.

Tip of the day: If you run short on sugar when making a cake do not substitute Splenda, skip the cake altogether. Furthermore, don't ever buy Splenda.

Production overriding purpose?

As I spent the weekend contemplating, among other things, the purpose of knitting in my life; I was struck by the notion of cheap yarn. It fascinates me that likened to discount-store clothing, cheap yarn is rarely, if ever, an aesthetic success. I know it must boil down to cutting corners for the sake of mass production and universal appeal but it seems as though the purpose of the manufactured item has been lost. I'll explore this thought sometime soon.

Friday morning I wore the big, super-posh, uber-luscious tweedy scarf. Wrapped in the softest merino and superfine alpaca, supremely textured by hand and needle; the epitome of class, sophistication and fine tailoring I was. The scarf belonged to me until about 3 o'clock when possession was hastily transferred to a co-worker/friend who was in desperate need of a luxurious hug. Exceptional are the moments when I can step outside of my own needs and commit friendly gestures for the sake of others. This act wasn't entirely selfless though because I got a little high off of turning someone's bad day around. I can always replace the yarn.

I want to knit a blanket for the foot of my bed.