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Friday, November 06, 2009

booga 2: electric boogaloo

Anyone else remember this movie from the 80s? It was absolutely terrible. You can tell this by just a quick plot synopsis: local teens breakdance to save the community center from a local developer who wants to build a mall. Further evidence of its crappiness is that I misremembered the teens as breakdancing to save the mall. Wow...

Anyhoo, here's Booga 2. Please forgive the less-than-stellar photograph, but it's pitch black by 5 PM here these days.

Pattern: Booga Bag, by Julie Anderson
Yarn: Noro Kureyon (#164?), 3 skeins
Needles: Clover US 10.5 16" circs and DPNs

Notes:
Next time I'd use Chris's great idea and braid 3 i-cords together to make sturdier handles. I didn't have any extra Kureyon, though, so no dice this time. This would make a very cute and handy project bag to take to knitting night. I'm still not entirely sure about felted bags, but there are a couple more patterns that are intriguing:

- Felted Tote with Kureyon Scraps, by Janet D. Russell (AKA Twisted Knitter)
- Ashling Tote, by Heidi Hirtle (Lilibeth's Garden) ~ rav
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Mia, being the ever-awesome and thoughtful person that she is, sent me the nicest parcel. This super-soft merino, in the perfect shade of dark plum, is destined to be a Damson shawlette.
Handspun yarn + a book about Charlotte Bronte + a very cute cable-knit mug = a heavenly combination! Thanks so much, Mia.
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Speaking of the Brontes...
One of my favorite moments in Cold Comfort Farm comes when Stephen Fry, in the role of Bloomsbury-type intellectual (and doubtless D. H. Lawrence enthusiast) Mr. Mybug, poses the question to Flora Poste, "Do you believe that women have souls?" He later contends that Branwell Bronte wrote Wuthering Heights. ;-) Both the book and film are fantastic.

My little bookworm, curled up with The Mountains of California:
I think she was inspired by the all the bits about John Muir in the first episode of Ken Burns' National Parks PBS miniseries. Apparently Muir used to bend over and look through his knees to contemplate the "upness" of mountains:
Come to the woods, for here is rest. There is no repose like that of the green deep woods. Here grow the wallflower and the violet. The squirrel will come and sit upon your knee, the logcock will wake you in the morning. Sleep in forgetfulness of all ill. Of all the upness accessible to mortals, there is no upness comparable to the mountains.
P.S. John Muir is a fellow UW Badger. :-)

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