Humility

Humility, thy name is webquiz.

Beowulf- thumbs DOWN!

This was a horrible, horrible movie. I hated it, every minute. The pseudo animation was distracting and inconsistent. Sometimes it would be good, sometimes it would be bad and look cartoon-y or choppy. The characters had no facial expressions, just eyebrows that would jump around their faces.

Worst, however, by far, was the "point" of the movie. I have no idea how the writers/directors managed to keep the same basic plot points, but completely reverse every motive, reason, and theme.

The original story was a Norse oral tradition, written down by a Christian monk. It's a hero myth. It's supposed to illustrate the values of the society, demonstrate how a "good" person should behave- kings, women, countrymen and heroes. In this movie, however, nothing of the sort is established. He didn't have confidence and faith in God/gods, he was a braggart who often failed in his claims. His men didn't leave him when they lost faith in him, but instead were slaughtered while he slept. He wasn't a humble man, simply stating truths which happened to be valorous deeds- he was a liar, and failed to resist temptation. Hrothgar's queen wasn't a noble, generous and gentle woman- she was a cowardly harridan, refusing her lord's bed- both of them. Hrothgar himself wasn't a a good and kind king, but a "shamed," cowardly drunken lecher. I would have been willing to allow the director of this modern version to imply that values have changed, and that THIS Beowulf demonstrates "modern" values, and is a hero we would look up to today. But he's not.

On nearly every single point, this movie made Beowulf out to be a loser, a sham, a con artist, instead of the shining and glorious hero he was. The society's values were not demonstrated at all. A golden drinking horn became a treasured object, instead of the swords and weaponry of the poem. Oddly, the weapons DID fail Beowulf, as they did in the poem, but this lack was not made up by his faith in God and his supremely noble character- instead, he just plain failed. Even his "bare hands" fight didn't come out right- it was never revealed that the reason Beowulf could overcome Grendel in this manner was because of the enchanted bracelet, which prevented steel from harming the monster. In fact, in the movie, Beowulf did not rip out Grendel's arm with the sheer strength of his grip, but had to get leverage on it with a chain, a door, and the help of one of his men!

I fail to understand the point of this movie. What is the director trying to tell me? It's not that morals have changed all that much and that a "modern" Beowulf would behave differently- he doesn't live up to modern ideals, either. It is supposed to be a commentary on modern society? That we value gold, not heroic deeds, in contrast to what we claim to value? I'd buy that if it ever actually got clarified, but it didn't, and such condemnations are normally satires, which this was not. I thought maybe it was trying to be told from the monsters' point of view, but that's not quite it either. All it does is paint Beowulf as a flawed, tragic figure- no hero at all. And I simply fail to see why that is significant or important to audiences. As an excuse to blow stuff up and have pretty special effects? Sure, if the effects were actually all that great looking. They weren't. All I could figure out was it was a nice way to make Angelina Jolie look naked. Whoopdie freakin do.

There's nothing wrong with the original, epic poem. It's a classic for a reason. That story is WORTH getting out to entertain, enrich, and enlighten, worth showing people how our ancestors viewed the ultimate meaning of life. The poem has endured for nearly 12 centuries. It horrifies me to think that millions of people will associate this Beowulf with the heroic Geat of the Viking era.

Life list-updated and imporved

My mother recently called to ask me for my Christmas list. Trying to tell myself I'm not a greedy little kid for making out a list, particularly since it was requested, I thought about what I might like. In the end, I did my best but also admitted that I really do like whatever they pick out for me, since my family tends to have much better taste than I do.

It sort of became a philosophical question, the more I thought about it. What DO I want? Not just for Christmas, but for my life? And then, what did I want to accomplish?

After sending off the email which basically listed my clothing sizes, favorite stores, colors, and scents, I pulled out my old "Things to do before I die" list, to see how I'm doing and what's changed. I think it's time to update it, going to put down the checked off stuff first:

XX Learn to knit (Did this! And found I really, really love it)
XX Sit front row center at a concert (Did this, by accident! Trans-Siberian Orchestra)
X Own home (Sort of did this. Had a condo, sold it.)
XX Go back to school (Did this! Bachelor's degree)
X Fall in love (Obviously, I should have added "forever" as a descriptor. Still, beggars can't be choosers, and I'm glad I had the experience.)
X Publish a book (Again, I should have been more specific. Will add "novel" and "in paperback" in a different entry.
Get lasic for eyes
Achieve high school weight
Learn to play the fiddle
Places to visit:
XX Las Vegas
Australia
Smithsonian
Grand Canyon
Paris
London
Find waterfall with a cave under it
Publish a paperback (or Hardback) novel
Go scuba diving
Get "Master" certification in crochet and knitting from Crochet and Knitting Guilds.
Broker World Peace
Own yarn shop (frankly, I think world peace is more likely)

In trying to compile, amend, and update this list, it's become pretty clear that I've been pretty lucky. I've been able to do pretty much everything I'd like to do, and the rest of it really isn't that far out of reach. Maybe I'll never win the lottery or anything, and I don't think anyone could do everything they want to do, but I've done a lot of things I never thought I'd do, stuff I didn't even know I wanted to do. I've learned how to make soap and candles, and brew my own mead, wine, and alcohol. I'm learning how to bellydance, and I've earned an Award of Arms in the SCA. I get to go camping several times a year. I have wonderful friends. My family is fantastic, loving and supportive.

I'd like to think this epiphany means I'll be a happy, content person, grateful for my many blessings, and I shall now live happily ever after.

Ya, right.

Ravelry!!

Hooooooly cow. Wow. Zomg!!11

It's... it's beautiful. There are no words.

http://www.ravelry.com/

Me:

http://www.ravelry.com/people/Keiyla

Is this not the cooolest?

Black "Baby Buttcheek" blues

So I bought some yarn. Some really, really great yarn. I would call it delicious, yummy, and yea, even scrumptuous, but it has been presented to me that one cannot eat yarn, and therefore one cannot use taste-sensory adjectives.

So let me tell you about this yarn. The brand is Regia. It's German, so hat's off right there. It's superwash merino. Yes, that's right. Wash it, dry it, iron it, dry clean it; it scoffs at your attempts to shrink or felt it. It is, in fact, "male-proof." It contains Polyamid, a synthetic, to provide durability. And... not only is it 55% merino virgin wool, not only does it have 25% Polyamid, but also... *drum roll, Maestro* 20% silk. Oh yes, silk. Soft as sin silk.

It's the mostest perfectest yarn EVER. Washable, durable, AND soft as warm butter. It even comes in black. Can you imagine?

Somehow, and don't ask me how, because I'm still not quite sure how I managed to corner myself, I agreed to use this amazing yarn to make a friend a pair of socks. Ok, twist my arm. Truth is, of course, I'm going to enjoy knitting it up as much as I am going to enjoy giving it away, and all the better if it goes to a good home. So, since I know who it goes to, I should be all set, since I know his foot size. Right?

Wrong.

I've decided on making it a "plain" sock, 2 inch ribbed cuff. The problem comes when trying to guess the needles and number of cast on stiches. The 72 st ribbed sock was too loose. The 72 st stockinette should be fine. The 64 stockinette is too tight. Now, prepare yourself. They all have the same guage. Yep. The blue, 64 st ones have a guage of 8 st/inch, on size 2's. The black ones are 8st/inch, on size 1's. Wait, because it gets worse. The kicker? They're the exact same circumference. Yep. Somehow, even though the stitches are exactly the same size, the one that's 64 st is exactly as wide as the 72 st one. If anything, the blue one might be two stiches or so wider.

Ya, I know. It's a mathematical impossibility, and I suspect Lord Murphy is having a good chuckle at my expense.

Still, when I try the blue one on, it's slightly too tight. No, I don't know how or why.

So I sit here, trying to figure out what size needles and how many stitches to use. Obviously, my guage isn't going to mean squat. I'm tempted to split the difference: do 68 stitches on size 1.5's. Then I start thinking, what if that's too small? I like a tight, sturdy fabric, so I really do think the size 2's might be too big. But what if 72 stitches is too many for 1.5's and the sock is too big? Or what if I use 1's and it's too tight of a fabric, and the softness of this gorgeous yarn is knitted into coarseness, through no fault of its own?

I feel a little woozy. I'm going to go lie down.

I miss you, Drew

Drewid McGilvra, nee Andrew Leroy Kellogg, died Monday, June 25th, 2007. I've wanted to write about it, but it's been so hard to know the words. Many of those who do not know him may feel sympathy for me, but think that, since they did not know him, his loss of life means little to them personally.

Anyone reading this would be mistaken to think so. Drew influenced me, my life and ideas and opinions, to such a degree that anyone who knows me has also felt a little bit of Drew.

The tendency to speak in general terms of one who has passed is not appropriate for Drew. I could say, for example, that "he was one of those rare individuals who truly exhibited generosity and compassion," but, while true, it does not come close to the truth, nor the flavor of his reality.

Most people would like to believe themselves unique in the world, cherished and special. Few could come close to exactly how unique Drew was. He was an oddity among the odd; freaky among the freaks. I do not say this disparagingly- he would have been delighted by it! I can see him now, cackling at me with his huge grin, head cocked sidewise, eyes looking somehow UP at me though he towered over me by a good half a foot. He wears his chauffeur's cap, the same one he wore every time he drove his hearse, the same one which survived the demolition of his beloved vehicle, and which even now rests on Ross' dash as a tribute.

The best way I can think of to have you as readers come to know the Drew I knew, is to relate some vignettes of our past. To begin: "Having coffee" is a verb, a hobby, a habit, a pasttime, and was our main source of entertainment. I was at IHOP with Copper, and I clearly remember seeing Drew round the corner. He was not the newcomer- I was. We were both non-smokers and a non-coffee drinkers, which may seem normal, but was quite unusual in our little circle. Instead, he drank Dr. Pepper, liberally seasoned with 7 packets of sugar. I drank Diet Coke. I cannot now remember which came first- Rocky Horror Picture Show or Drew, but the two are inexplicably twined together for me. I acted at the Magic Lantern as Janet in Spokane's "Rocky Horror Picture Show." Oh yes, I could pull it off back then, if barely. *grin* I remember Drew most often as Riff Raff, but he played Brad, too. After the show, we'd all go out for coffee and BS for hours. Some of my fondest memories were spent thus, dressed in a bustier, fish net stockings, and face paint, laughing and talking and flirting until dawn.

I worked with Drew at Dick's for nearly four years. He didn't get me the job, per se- he insisted I'd never be hired if it were known I was his friend- but he encouraged me to apply. I can't say any fast food job has ever been pleasant, but it was fast paced, steady, and it did supply a sure income. I liked many of my co-workers. I still don't know whether Drew genuinely liked the job or not, but he took enormous pride in his abilities there. The man could peel and slice spuds into fries faster than anyone I had seen. It looked dangerous to me in fact, which might have no little bearing on how proud he was to do it. Whomp, whomp whompwhompwhomp... in a spud went, and he was pulling the lever almost before his hand came away. He never once nicked himself- for all it LOOKED dangerous, he was very careful- just fast and proud of it. He could do anything, anywhere in that place. He never slacked off that I could see, but every moment did everything as efficiently as he could. "Lazy" was not in his vocabulary.

He taught me how to make a "Graveyard," his signature Dick's shake. You take a quart-sized drink container, and put a little squirt of every flavor in it. Chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, raspberry, orange, root beer, hot fudge... everything. Mix it all up and you have a thick, brown mess. Not many people knew about they graveyard, but those that did were regular consumers of the shake, and always tipped us well, heh.

Halloweens were, of course, Drew's favorite holiday. He was Wiccan (my first experience with such), and Samhain was a religious holiday for him. At work, he always dressed up in what seemed to be a sincere attempt to make onlookers lose their lunch. Spiders, fake flesh dripping blood and ichor, looking ready to drop off his skin- if it was gross, it was on his costume. Poor Linda, Dick's co-owner, had to try to persuade Drew it wasn't a positive experience for customers who wanted to eat. He was indignant and pissed off, but he did eventually remove at least the most offensive of the tissues.

It was on a Halloween that Drew lost his hearse. The loss of it was a hard, hard blow, and we all knew it, though he endured it stoically, forcing himself to laugh. All of us coffee-drinkers had experienced Drew's hearse. We'd spend weekends "cruising" in the back of it, and it was a well-known fixture on the streets of Spokane. We'd go to movies at the drive in, and I think the Drive-in people hated us, because he could really pack a crowd in back there! We'd scatter, or lay on the roof, and it was a social occasion more than it was movie watching- I don't recall a single movie seen there. But one Halloween, he was driving it and flipped it end over end. Not a roll, from side to side, but back over front. A hearse! Miraculously, Drew was fine, though the car was completely totaled. He was safe, strapped into the driver's side by his seat belt, even though the seat itself went through the windshield, out from under him. It was found down an embankment- if that seat had contained Drew, there's no way he'd have survived the fall.

Eventually, I moved into an apartment in Drew's building. He was one floor above mine. To see it, one would be hard pressed to prove modern furniture existed. His bed was a coffin, and every other fixture seemed to consist of milk crates fastened together with duct tape. Drew loved duct tape, and taped up everything with it, including Christmas presents, every single year. Fake spider webs and black cloths were draped everywhere. He was as voracious a reader as I, though, and had entire milk crate bookcases filled with science fiction and fantasy. He also had a pet tarantula, "George." The first of that name passed on while Drew was on vacation- he had asked me to feed it, but I have a fear of arachnids. Instead, Drew dropped a week's worth of crickets in George's cage for him to munch on when he felt like. The best laid plans, however... the crickets staged a revolution, and by the time Drew returned, all that was left in the cage were a few hairy legs and some very smug crickets.

I wish everyone could share with me, what a generous, wonderful spirit he had. Nothing could keep him down. Even at his most miserable, when we KNEW his smiles and laughs were forced, still he pressed on and did his best, every day, to be a good friend, confidant, and employee. He bought coffee and food for the street kids (and some adults who should have known better) who were hungry. He'd give rides to anybody, when he had his car- a valuable commodity. Most of us had to take the bus or walk.

I wish I could download my memories of Drew for all to see. There are years worth of anecdotes to tell. Walking the Bloomsday Parade in high heels. Dirk's World. House. Sanctuary. People's Park. Bruce's Place, Java Junkies, Frankie Doodle's, Denny's. He loved rain, thunder, lightning, and snow, dark days and darker nights, and detested daytime, sunshine, and spring. So many memories, and so many ways he influenced all of our lives.

Drew found his soul mate in Jasmine. We were all so pleased and happy for him. You never saw a more ecstatic man. The smiles began to be genuine, and his laughs lost their forced bark, becoming more natural. He changed his name, taking hers, instead of the more traditional way around, and none of us were surprised. His loss as a friend is devastating- I can't imagine what Jasmine must be going through, but I hope she knows how many of us love her, for herself and for giving Drew the light he gave us.

Drew's existence, his friendship, turned on a lot of lights in my head; his friendship was one of several which inspired me and opened my mind to acceptance. I began to accept myself, first of all, and I learned to accept others. I had led a sheltered, narrow life- never once had I knowingly encountered any of the things I had been taught were "bad," and I had shunned them when I saw them. In Spokane, amongst friends who accepted me unconditionally, I blossomed, learned, and grew under the gentle tutelage that was more example than lesson. One of the most important things I've learned in my life is that nobody, nobody, can truly understand another- but if you accept someone for who they choose to be, your own life will be enriched beyond measure. No one has enough experience to judge another, for none can possibly understand the motivations, experiences, or reasons of another. Experiences, lessons, and plain old fashioned fun come in a wide variety of styles and flavors- and you may miss the most important ones if you don't open your eyes or mind, and accept what others can share with you.

My visit back to Spokane for the memorial was cleansing and healing. It was a sort of renewal, too. I saw so many friends, and discovered my love for them has not diminished a hair in the years I've been away. I took strength from them, and hope they did from me. As horrible an occasion as it was for a visit, it was good, too. My friends' unconditional acceptance of me and joy at seeing me reminded me of lessons I had forgotten- I AM worthy of friendship, and of love. There is nothing wrong with me. I am who I am, and any who cannot accept me are the ones flawed, not I. I could see Drew looking at me as I realized it, and I know that even in death, he watches out for us and takes care of us. We are not alone.

Thank you Drew, for the privilege of knowing you. I miss you.

Walk with the God and Goddess in the summerlands. Blessed be.

Cool Ties

What have I been up to? It feels like, "not much!" I'm sick at the moment with a hefty cold and sinus infection, so I've been going sort of crazy the past few days with so little activity. I can't wait until I'm better and can get back to dancing! Until then, I figured I'd update this with a snapshot of some cool ties (See "The Ships Project" link to the left for details and patterns).

These cool ties are in various stages of development. The black ones with tiny white stars to the front are finished, and the very front two have been hydrated. That's how they look when they're soaked in water. The next few are "sleeves," waiting to be ironed and filled with watersorb crystals. The next few are cut out, waiting to be sewn into tubes. Past those are more yards of fabric, waiting to get cut out.

The one thing none of the patterns tell me is how full they're supposed to be! "Overfull" is when the gel is seeping out the fabric, I get that. But there are a lot of phases of full before you get that far! I tried a few different ways, and I found that I personally don't care for the round, sausage-like fullness. It seems to me that such roundness doesn't provide as much surface contact with the skin, and thus would not be making the skin as cool. So I tried some half as full, using only a half a teaspoon of watersorb (the patterns all call for 1-3, so this is why I'm thinking I'm wrong) and it gave me a nice, plump, cool tie; not flat, but not a sausage, either.

I ended up compromising. I made all those black ones with little stars full, using one teaspoon, and all the rest with only half a teaspoon. I also made some cool ties twice as thick, for neckerchiefs, and those I DID fill with one teaspoon.

All of the ones I've made so far, including the ones in the picture, have been sent to sailors over in the Persian Gulf. Apparently temperatures on deck are well over 100 degrees, so I'm hoping these will help a little bit, and show them how much they are appreciated. God bless our troops!