I convince myself of things very easily. One of those things happens to be the inclination to spend money.
Thankfully I have no credit cards or vast amounts of cash to blow on things, but every once and awhile I'll convince myself to walk out of a store with something I don't really love, just because I can.
Por ejemplo...I've been looking for black boots for awhile now, but since I'm cheap I've been looking for under $30, if possible. And seeing as how there's lots of sales on now I was hoping I'd find something that fit my price range and that I loved the look of.
Walking into the Shoe Store With The Clingy Sales Associates (which shall remain unnamed), I didn't expect much. But I DID find a pair of black boots that I didn't hate the look of, in the box.
Obviously I decided to try them on. And they didn't really look all that bad. But I asked myself a tough question...are they worth it? Do I really LOVE the way they look on me? Do I think I could find something for cheaper somewhere else that is a better bargain and will suit me better? And honestly, does this all this angst over boots really matter in the long run?
The gutsiest thing I did today was look in the mirror with those $40 black boots on, decide they just weren't worth the money (or the angst), and put them back on the shelf. I then proceeded to flounce out of the store (yes, founce) with a very satisfied and happy feeling. The Clingy Sales Associates didn't know what hit 'em...
There's a part of me--a shallow and very selfish part--that still yearns for those boots, but I think what I yearn for is the control of handing a store clerk a debit card. Something about that is fulfilling in a very empty but potent way. The boots weren't really that good-looking and were kind of cheap-feeling. But it's so easy to get caught up in what you think you really need, isn't it?
It may not seem too gutsy, but it's been a long time since I've turned my back on a purchase like that.
Happiness is not a pair of boots, nor anything you can hold. If only I lived my life more aware of that simple fact.
-The GLS
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Frogging & Not Frogging
In knitting and crochet there is a term, frogging, which essentially means to start a project, get a little ways into it, decide it doesn't look good/doesn't look like the pattern/is too difficult/all of the above, and then completely take it apart to use the yarn for something else, or possibly restart the same project again.
Yesterday, I started another knitting project, got almost finished with it, and decided I hated it. So I took the whole thing apart. My parents--who had watched the process, as I was knitting while watching a movie with them--were horrified.
I restarted the project again today, expecting that I would get it perfectly this time. After all, I had learned from my mistakes, right? There would be no problem, now.
60-stitch cast-on and three rows later, I messed up on my ribbing. Not horribly, but enough to offend my need for perfection.
And I had a choice to make. To frog, or not to frog? To start again and get it PERFECTLY, or to leave it be and keep going?
Have you ever noticed that we live in a world where people like to frog their lives? You get a little ways in--or a lot--and you say, "Eh, this isn't going like I planned." And you change directions, sometimes to the extreme, in the hopes of getting it perfectly the next time.
My last post, I think, was an attempt to frog my life. When something gets hard, or complicated, or boring, I start looking at airfares for another Ireland trip or even somewhere I've never been. (Reykjavik, anyone?) I start dreaming about moving out, moving my life across the sea, doing anything else but what I'm doing.
But the one thing we don't realize when we think like this is that once we've unraveled the work we've done, and decide to start over, we're still using the same yarn and the same needles and the same brain and the same fingers. The same imperfections in the materials. So why do we expect perfection THIS time around? We can uproot and restart our lives as many times as we want, but we'll never be happy unless we choose to be. Imperfections and all.
I decided not to restart the project another time, mostly because I wasn't interested in doing another 60-stich cast-on with yarn that had already been frogged one too many times and was becoming thin and stretched. I kept knitting, despite the mistakes on the ribbing annoying my delicate sensitivities about such things. I made a few other mistakes, too, on my way up. But it's done, now. And for its imperfections, I think I like it all the more. It took working WITH the imperfections, working them IN to the work, improvising a bit in places. And learning to live with the ones that I couldn't make look perfectly right. Seeing them as part of the work's personality, I guess.
If only I could learn to do that with my life. Learn to work with the imperfections, blend them in with what I've done. Maybe I'll get there. Perhaps the first step is just knowing that I need to fix it.
And to stop frogging stuff all the time.
In my opinion, the world needs a few more hobbits and a few less of the restless and frogging-types. I'm happy to oblige.
-The GLS
Yesterday, I started another knitting project, got almost finished with it, and decided I hated it. So I took the whole thing apart. My parents--who had watched the process, as I was knitting while watching a movie with them--were horrified.
I restarted the project again today, expecting that I would get it perfectly this time. After all, I had learned from my mistakes, right? There would be no problem, now.
60-stitch cast-on and three rows later, I messed up on my ribbing. Not horribly, but enough to offend my need for perfection.
And I had a choice to make. To frog, or not to frog? To start again and get it PERFECTLY, or to leave it be and keep going?
Have you ever noticed that we live in a world where people like to frog their lives? You get a little ways in--or a lot--and you say, "Eh, this isn't going like I planned." And you change directions, sometimes to the extreme, in the hopes of getting it perfectly the next time.
My last post, I think, was an attempt to frog my life. When something gets hard, or complicated, or boring, I start looking at airfares for another Ireland trip or even somewhere I've never been. (Reykjavik, anyone?) I start dreaming about moving out, moving my life across the sea, doing anything else but what I'm doing.
But the one thing we don't realize when we think like this is that once we've unraveled the work we've done, and decide to start over, we're still using the same yarn and the same needles and the same brain and the same fingers. The same imperfections in the materials. So why do we expect perfection THIS time around? We can uproot and restart our lives as many times as we want, but we'll never be happy unless we choose to be. Imperfections and all.
I decided not to restart the project another time, mostly because I wasn't interested in doing another 60-stich cast-on with yarn that had already been frogged one too many times and was becoming thin and stretched. I kept knitting, despite the mistakes on the ribbing annoying my delicate sensitivities about such things. I made a few other mistakes, too, on my way up. But it's done, now. And for its imperfections, I think I like it all the more. It took working WITH the imperfections, working them IN to the work, improvising a bit in places. And learning to live with the ones that I couldn't make look perfectly right. Seeing them as part of the work's personality, I guess.
If only I could learn to do that with my life. Learn to work with the imperfections, blend them in with what I've done. Maybe I'll get there. Perhaps the first step is just knowing that I need to fix it.
And to stop frogging stuff all the time.
In my opinion, the world needs a few more hobbits and a few less of the restless and frogging-types. I'm happy to oblige.
-The GLS
Friday, February 5, 2010
Eyelets & Musings
(Warning: This post may get a little prickly-personal, and I apologize. Sometimes it's easier to see your thoughts when they're in front of you, not inside of you.)
The gutsiest thing I did today was decide not to run away from life as I currently know it.
I was sorely tempted to change my name and move to another state, today, or even another country. And it's not because life is awful here in Seattle, but because life is good. Is that backwards? I think it might be, but I don't care.
Admittedly, I have a good life. Loving family, education, exclusive use of a car, a job I enjoy, hobbies that I love, friends I can invest time into. But more and more often I find myself wondering...is it possible to change the course of what you expect for yourself? Sure, it makes perfect sense for me to finish my Associates degree, get a career, meet a nice Seattle man who likes my hobbity ways and settle down, have kids, etc. I know life is never that simple, but in my mind's eye that's the path in front of me.
And...I'm not sure I want that.
I've thought about so many scenarios for my life it's not even funny, and not until today--walking the gathering dark in the little town where I've lived for seven years--did I actually start entertaining them as serious ideas. After all, I believe that my life belongs ultimately to God, but that He has given me paths to choose and choose them I do. The only wrong choice is not to give Him all glory as I travel the pathways.
So here I am, with a list before me, ready to plunge into the next stage and perhaps take an even gutsier leap than I thought. Will it happen tomorrow? Probably not. Money is more of an issue than it ought to be, and such is life. Besides, it would be nice to have my Associates in hand as a culmination of years of education. But will I still be sitting here in this little house in this small town a year from now? I don't know, but somehow I don't think so. I hope not.
Does this make for a very satisfying blog post? No, most likely not. But it needed to be said.
Here's hoping for more gutsiness on a grander scale in the future...not just new alcoholic beverages, writing techniques, or restaurants, but something ultimately more satisfying.
Until then, I need to figure out how to knit these stupid eyelets so they don't poof.
Peace.
-The GLS
The gutsiest thing I did today was decide not to run away from life as I currently know it.
I was sorely tempted to change my name and move to another state, today, or even another country. And it's not because life is awful here in Seattle, but because life is good. Is that backwards? I think it might be, but I don't care.
Admittedly, I have a good life. Loving family, education, exclusive use of a car, a job I enjoy, hobbies that I love, friends I can invest time into. But more and more often I find myself wondering...is it possible to change the course of what you expect for yourself? Sure, it makes perfect sense for me to finish my Associates degree, get a career, meet a nice Seattle man who likes my hobbity ways and settle down, have kids, etc. I know life is never that simple, but in my mind's eye that's the path in front of me.
And...I'm not sure I want that.
I've thought about so many scenarios for my life it's not even funny, and not until today--walking the gathering dark in the little town where I've lived for seven years--did I actually start entertaining them as serious ideas. After all, I believe that my life belongs ultimately to God, but that He has given me paths to choose and choose them I do. The only wrong choice is not to give Him all glory as I travel the pathways.
So here I am, with a list before me, ready to plunge into the next stage and perhaps take an even gutsier leap than I thought. Will it happen tomorrow? Probably not. Money is more of an issue than it ought to be, and such is life. Besides, it would be nice to have my Associates in hand as a culmination of years of education. But will I still be sitting here in this little house in this small town a year from now? I don't know, but somehow I don't think so. I hope not.
Does this make for a very satisfying blog post? No, most likely not. But it needed to be said.
Here's hoping for more gutsiness on a grander scale in the future...not just new alcoholic beverages, writing techniques, or restaurants, but something ultimately more satisfying.
Until then, I need to figure out how to knit these stupid eyelets so they don't poof.
Peace.
-The GLS
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Blood & Whimsy
I'm usually not very gutsy about my prose writing. I tend to follow a pretty rigid formula:
-have a fairly detailed idea of the beginning
-have only the faintest idea of the middle
-know the ending like you know your own face
-make it as angsty as possible
Okay, so that last one is usually an accident. I have a hard time making my characters anything but overly dramatic about everything, no matter how hard I try. Oh, sure, at the beginning they can be fair to decently cheerful, but by the end they make Edward Cullen look like Bobo the Clown.
I also write fantasy, but not like you know. No swords and sorcery for me, no sir. I've heard my genre described as "Contemporary Fantasy"...which I think is kind of a general way of saying it, and not very descriptive.
Sitting down to write my FebNoWriMo Novel, an idea that has been percolating in my mind for a few years now, I drew a complete blank. I needed my two main characters to meet in a bar. They haven't seen each other in twenty years, and the last time they met one of them allegedly died. So this meeting in the bar was supposed to be unexpected...surprising...explosive...
And angsty, apparently. Because no matter how many times I started the stupid thing, they kept angsting in the first few sentences. My viewpoint character wouldn't stop waxing poetic, and not in a good way, and the other character kept acting all righteously angry about something that I couldn't quite decipher.
This was a problem.
So I started taking apart everything in the scene. What was I doing wrong? Why could I find nothing funny at all about this meeting? What was my problem?
It wasn't until I was noodling around the NaNoWriMo website that I found an adoptable opening line that went as follows: "The man in the corner booth was crying into his tomato soup."
Bingo.
Suddenly it all clicked into place. They're not meeting in a bar, but in a diner! Who cares if it's incongruous to the world I've built? It's my world, and I can make it work. My viewpoint character is no angsty poet; he's a socially maladjusted misfit who can't stop thinking about the other man's lack of hygiene. And that other character--the man crying into his tomato soup--is crying partly for his situation, but also because his flask is empty. (Get ye flask! You can't get ye flask...)
Isn't it amazing how a little change of scenery can do you a world of good? No, seriously.
Thus, I'm changing the name of my genre. From now on, I write "New Whimsy". Sounds legit, doesn't it? The moment I find the barest hint of angst, I shall replace it with a wash of whimsy and turn everything on its head. Fantastico.
Incidentally, there is a new song on my "makes me cry it's so beautiful" list. The band is called The Middle East, and the song is "Blood". Gorgeous, haunting, and if you're not singing along with the vocal hook at the end you have no heart. Look up the lyrics, too. A winner all around.
Word count: 2,495...I'm behind! Better go write.
-The GLS
-have a fairly detailed idea of the beginning
-have only the faintest idea of the middle
-know the ending like you know your own face
-make it as angsty as possible
Okay, so that last one is usually an accident. I have a hard time making my characters anything but overly dramatic about everything, no matter how hard I try. Oh, sure, at the beginning they can be fair to decently cheerful, but by the end they make Edward Cullen look like Bobo the Clown.
I also write fantasy, but not like you know. No swords and sorcery for me, no sir. I've heard my genre described as "Contemporary Fantasy"...which I think is kind of a general way of saying it, and not very descriptive.
Sitting down to write my FebNoWriMo Novel, an idea that has been percolating in my mind for a few years now, I drew a complete blank. I needed my two main characters to meet in a bar. They haven't seen each other in twenty years, and the last time they met one of them allegedly died. So this meeting in the bar was supposed to be unexpected...surprising...explosive...
And angsty, apparently. Because no matter how many times I started the stupid thing, they kept angsting in the first few sentences. My viewpoint character wouldn't stop waxing poetic, and not in a good way, and the other character kept acting all righteously angry about something that I couldn't quite decipher.
This was a problem.
So I started taking apart everything in the scene. What was I doing wrong? Why could I find nothing funny at all about this meeting? What was my problem?
It wasn't until I was noodling around the NaNoWriMo website that I found an adoptable opening line that went as follows: "The man in the corner booth was crying into his tomato soup."
Bingo.
Suddenly it all clicked into place. They're not meeting in a bar, but in a diner! Who cares if it's incongruous to the world I've built? It's my world, and I can make it work. My viewpoint character is no angsty poet; he's a socially maladjusted misfit who can't stop thinking about the other man's lack of hygiene. And that other character--the man crying into his tomato soup--is crying partly for his situation, but also because his flask is empty. (Get ye flask! You can't get ye flask...)
Isn't it amazing how a little change of scenery can do you a world of good? No, seriously.
Thus, I'm changing the name of my genre. From now on, I write "New Whimsy". Sounds legit, doesn't it? The moment I find the barest hint of angst, I shall replace it with a wash of whimsy and turn everything on its head. Fantastico.
Incidentally, there is a new song on my "makes me cry it's so beautiful" list. The band is called The Middle East, and the song is "Blood". Gorgeous, haunting, and if you're not singing along with the vocal hook at the end you have no heart. Look up the lyrics, too. A winner all around.
Word count: 2,495...I'm behind! Better go write.
-The GLS
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Slam & Enchant
Well, today was another, "Hmm...what sort of gutsiness will I get up to today?" sort of day, without knowing the answer until poetry class.
(No, I didn't decide to ask That One Kid his impressions on the meaning of life. I hope I can get around to that eventually, though...)
Today we had a few presentations given by peers on certain poets that they like. One gal did a presentation on a slam poet.
For those who just went, "Huh?" when I said slam poet, click here.
Now, here's the thing. I don't hate slam poetry, but my impressions of it up until today were slightly less than favorable, and here's why. Up until today most of my impressions of slam poetry were that many of the poems included a LOT of what I'll call "aggressive whining". This tends to be the same way I feel about rap, but even in rap there are exceptions to that, and there are certain rap songs I find really interesting.
But slam poets are different. I always felt they spoke with the exact same intonations as one another, complained about the same things as one another, and had the John Mayer-esque idea of "waiting on the world to change" which I think is the laziest thing I ever heard.
There was one exception to this rule, and that was the work of Eric Darby. I was introduced to Mr. Darby through a camp friend who performed one of his poems at a talent show. But I thought Eric Darby had to be a fluke, because I still can't watch or listen to "Scratch and Dent Dreams" without crying with the joy of inspiration, and that couldn't be REAL slam poetry, right?
Well, today, I decided to face the beast head-on, and I started clicking around on YouTube watching slam poets I had never heard of to see if I could at least come close to understanding this phenomenon and find out if it was as pointless as I thought.
Slam poetry: 1, GLS: 0.
Friends? Whether or not I feel the messages of these poems are aimed at me, there is a lot more to slam poetry than whining, complaining, or protesting. As human beings, it is our privilege to listen to the voices of other human beings calling out, and these poems touch me to my core, some more than others. I hope, even if you aren't a poetry fan, that you can feel the emotional pull and spiritual call behind the words.
Here's what I suggest. I don't care if poetry isn't your thing, it's worth watching anything once, right? Go watch "Scratch and Dent Dreams" and then just start clicking around on YouTube. I suggest a lot of the "Def Poetry" stuff, hosted by Mos Def.
Once again, the GLS was proven effectively mistaken. I should make eating crow a full-time profession...
Also watched a new film, tonight, called "Enchanted April". TOTAL girl movie, but well worth it and beautifully acted! Highly recommended for a girl's night in.
-The GLS
(No, I didn't decide to ask That One Kid his impressions on the meaning of life. I hope I can get around to that eventually, though...)
Today we had a few presentations given by peers on certain poets that they like. One gal did a presentation on a slam poet.
For those who just went, "Huh?" when I said slam poet, click here.
Now, here's the thing. I don't hate slam poetry, but my impressions of it up until today were slightly less than favorable, and here's why. Up until today most of my impressions of slam poetry were that many of the poems included a LOT of what I'll call "aggressive whining". This tends to be the same way I feel about rap, but even in rap there are exceptions to that, and there are certain rap songs I find really interesting.
But slam poets are different. I always felt they spoke with the exact same intonations as one another, complained about the same things as one another, and had the John Mayer-esque idea of "waiting on the world to change" which I think is the laziest thing I ever heard.
There was one exception to this rule, and that was the work of Eric Darby. I was introduced to Mr. Darby through a camp friend who performed one of his poems at a talent show. But I thought Eric Darby had to be a fluke, because I still can't watch or listen to "Scratch and Dent Dreams" without crying with the joy of inspiration, and that couldn't be REAL slam poetry, right?
Well, today, I decided to face the beast head-on, and I started clicking around on YouTube watching slam poets I had never heard of to see if I could at least come close to understanding this phenomenon and find out if it was as pointless as I thought.
Slam poetry: 1, GLS: 0.
Friends? Whether or not I feel the messages of these poems are aimed at me, there is a lot more to slam poetry than whining, complaining, or protesting. As human beings, it is our privilege to listen to the voices of other human beings calling out, and these poems touch me to my core, some more than others. I hope, even if you aren't a poetry fan, that you can feel the emotional pull and spiritual call behind the words.
Here's what I suggest. I don't care if poetry isn't your thing, it's worth watching anything once, right? Go watch "Scratch and Dent Dreams" and then just start clicking around on YouTube. I suggest a lot of the "Def Poetry" stuff, hosted by Mos Def.
Once again, the GLS was proven effectively mistaken. I should make eating crow a full-time profession...
Also watched a new film, tonight, called "Enchanted April". TOTAL girl movie, but well worth it and beautifully acted! Highly recommended for a girl's night in.
-The GLS
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Cunning & Celebratory Gumbo
(I just noticed that "Celebratory Gumbo" sounds like either a band name or an album title that you'd hear on KEXP. Get on that, indie musicians.)
The secret is out! My Top Secret Knitting Project has been delivered to its proper recipient, which means I can blog about it! (Though, technically, this gutsiness happened yesterday, but let's not split hairs.)
Brother Bear (whom you may remember from a few posts back) had his birthday this past weekend, and I decided that for his gift I would knit him something....but what to knit?
A cursory pass around the Internet quickly revealed the answer to me.
As Brother Bear is an ardent Firefly/Serenity fan, I realized that my only recourse was to knit him up a Jayne Cobb hat, post-haste. For those who don't know what the Jayne Cobb hat is, there are some fine pictures, an explanation, and the pattern I used at the link above. I find myself fortunate that there's a person in this world obsessed enough to take such diligent notes.
There was only one foreseeable problem with this plan: I had never made a hat, knitted in the round, done a Twisted German cast-on, or made a pom-pom before. Ever.
Sounds like a job for the Gutsy Little Knitter!
Eight hours later, here's the result:
Vivid, eh? Haha! My very first hat. And this yarn made me really happy. I don't usually work with primary colors, much. And perhaps Ma Cobb might have found the hues a bit much, but I don't have the same access to faded and antique-looking yarns that she undoubtedly has, probably owning her own sheep and all.
Pretty cunning, eh?
Shiny, captain!
In other news, my gutsy studying paid off! That was probably the best mid term I ever had, and I celebrated by eating chicken gumbo (what else, right?).
Also, FebNoWriMo has begun, and I'm up to 1,040 words, currently. Hmm...I'm gonna have to do better than that if I want to reach 50,000 by the end of the month. Let's hope I can get a few more before I turn in for the night.
I've had "Hero of Canton" stuck in my head ever since making that darn hat. "The hero of Canton, the man they call Jaaaayne!"
-The GLS.
The secret is out! My Top Secret Knitting Project has been delivered to its proper recipient, which means I can blog about it! (Though, technically, this gutsiness happened yesterday, but let's not split hairs.)
Brother Bear (whom you may remember from a few posts back) had his birthday this past weekend, and I decided that for his gift I would knit him something....but what to knit?
A cursory pass around the Internet quickly revealed the answer to me.
As Brother Bear is an ardent Firefly/Serenity fan, I realized that my only recourse was to knit him up a Jayne Cobb hat, post-haste. For those who don't know what the Jayne Cobb hat is, there are some fine pictures, an explanation, and the pattern I used at the link above. I find myself fortunate that there's a person in this world obsessed enough to take such diligent notes.
There was only one foreseeable problem with this plan: I had never made a hat, knitted in the round, done a Twisted German cast-on, or made a pom-pom before. Ever.
Sounds like a job for the Gutsy Little Knitter!
Eight hours later, here's the result:
Vivid, eh? Haha! My very first hat. And this yarn made me really happy. I don't usually work with primary colors, much. And perhaps Ma Cobb might have found the hues a bit much, but I don't have the same access to faded and antique-looking yarns that she undoubtedly has, probably owning her own sheep and all.
Pretty cunning, eh?
Shiny, captain!
In other news, my gutsy studying paid off! That was probably the best mid term I ever had, and I celebrated by eating chicken gumbo (what else, right?).
Also, FebNoWriMo has begun, and I'm up to 1,040 words, currently. Hmm...I'm gonna have to do better than that if I want to reach 50,000 by the end of the month. Let's hope I can get a few more before I turn in for the night.
I've had "Hero of Canton" stuck in my head ever since making that darn hat. "The hero of Canton, the man they call Jaaaayne!"
-The GLS.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Gutsy & Smart
Sadly, this is not a long post.
In fact, it's a very short post.
Because I'm doing something very gutsy and new...for me. Ready for this?
I'm studying.
Not just studying, either. I'm studying for a test. A mid-term exam. What's so gutsy about that, you ask? The fact that I never study. Ever. I'm a take-the-grades-as-they-come sort of girl, and usually I do alright without cracking a book. I'm also...just the teensiest bit...lazy about such things.
However, this time I thought I'd be responsible--and gutsy--and actually look over my notes from my Mass Media class and read over the chapters before I go in there and make a fool of myself when I don't know the answers. This teacher is tougher than I thought she'd be...
Obviously, since I'm in the act of gutsiness right now, I can't talk. So I'm going to leave this post at this and turn my computer off. Wish me luck!
-The GLS.
In fact, it's a very short post.
Because I'm doing something very gutsy and new...for me. Ready for this?
I'm studying.
Not just studying, either. I'm studying for a test. A mid-term exam. What's so gutsy about that, you ask? The fact that I never study. Ever. I'm a take-the-grades-as-they-come sort of girl, and usually I do alright without cracking a book. I'm also...just the teensiest bit...lazy about such things.
However, this time I thought I'd be responsible--and gutsy--and actually look over my notes from my Mass Media class and read over the chapters before I go in there and make a fool of myself when I don't know the answers. This teacher is tougher than I thought she'd be...
Obviously, since I'm in the act of gutsiness right now, I can't talk. So I'm going to leave this post at this and turn my computer off. Wish me luck!
-The GLS.
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