Christien Meindertsma - urchin-poufTo my friends and family at Christmas
If you rooly and trooly love me you will buy me a room full of these.
And we'll put the World Vision child on hold until next year.
Affectionately
Clack
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
In my bestest Veruca Salt: I WANT AN URCHIN POUF NOOOOOOW!
Christien Meindertsma - urchin-poufTo my friends and family at Christmas
If you rooly and trooly love me you will buy me a room full of these.
And we'll put the World Vision child on hold until next year.
Affectionately
Clack
Saturday, 1 August 2009
Possum Magic
I'm always so busy banging on about the Lost and Found Market and the Smith Street Beret yada-yada-yada that I've managed to overlook the fact that Bonnie has been plying her hand-knits over on Stall 17 for quite some time.
Or perhaps I chose to overlook Bonnie's skills, and perhaps it was because I was jealous. Afterall, I only knit hats, and Bonnie knits real individuals who not only keep you warm, but also offer companionship. You don't find many people talking to their hats (unless, of course, you're Oliver Sacks, so it's not an activity I like to encourage).
This is 'Diana'. She's a pink and white ring-tail possum looking for a home, and, like any true princess, the crown is her own. And as you can see, Diana is cute beyond cute.
Bonnie names each of her possums, and the blokes come in gender appropriate shades of brown and fawn.
I was particularly fond of one named Raymond with his strong, chocolate-coloured jawline. And I think he liked me. It was lucky for us both that the frisson came to a natural conclusion when Raymond was re-housed. Mr Clack was starting to get suspicious - why was I spending so much time in Bonnie's stall petting Raymond, stroking Raymond, arranging Raymond around my body when my own berets were in complete disarray? :O
But, unlike me with my obsessive catatonic circular knitting, you're unlikely to find Bonnie holed up in some dark room on a couch beneath a (insert collective noun for possums here) with spittle dripping off her chin and crazy nystagmatic eyes. Bonnie's not your OCD kind of gal and takes time to create her individuals, so you need to check Bonnie's stall regularly for these little fellows if you want one all of your own.
Now should you have searched and called but to no avail try looking a little harder. Possums are, afterall, shy nocturnal creatures, and there may just be one tucked up somewhere in Bonnie's stall curled up fast asleep....
Or perhaps I chose to overlook Bonnie's skills, and perhaps it was because I was jealous. Afterall, I only knit hats, and Bonnie knits real individuals who not only keep you warm, but also offer companionship. You don't find many people talking to their hats (unless, of course, you're Oliver Sacks, so it's not an activity I like to encourage).
This is 'Diana'. She's a pink and white ring-tail possum looking for a home, and, like any true princess, the crown is her own. And as you can see, Diana is cute beyond cute.
Bonnie names each of her possums, and the blokes come in gender appropriate shades of brown and fawn.
I was particularly fond of one named Raymond with his strong, chocolate-coloured jawline. And I think he liked me. It was lucky for us both that the frisson came to a natural conclusion when Raymond was re-housed. Mr Clack was starting to get suspicious - why was I spending so much time in Bonnie's stall petting Raymond, stroking Raymond, arranging Raymond around my body when my own berets were in complete disarray? :O
But, unlike me with my obsessive catatonic circular knitting, you're unlikely to find Bonnie holed up in some dark room on a couch beneath a (insert collective noun for possums here) with spittle dripping off her chin and crazy nystagmatic eyes. Bonnie's not your OCD kind of gal and takes time to create her individuals, so you need to check Bonnie's stall regularly for these little fellows if you want one all of your own.
Now should you have searched and called but to no avail try looking a little harder. Possums are, afterall, shy nocturnal creatures, and there may just be one tucked up somewhere in Bonnie's stall curled up fast asleep....
Sunday, 24 May 2009
Pocket Billiards
OK, so there's been a lot of 'oohing' and 'ahhing' within the knitting community over the recent Ray Ban Never Hide advertising campaign that uses a REALLY, REALLY big ball of wool.
Sure it's big (yawn) but it's not any bigger than those Tourism Victoria used three years ago:
Or what The Chaser used taking the piss:
What goes a-round, comes a-round.
Sure it's big (yawn) but it's not any bigger than those Tourism Victoria used three years ago:
Or what The Chaser used taking the piss:
What goes a-round, comes a-round.
Saturday, 23 May 2009
Honey, Honey, how you thrill me
Oh my God I'm so excited - I'm nearly famous!
Cross my heart and hope to die but I think Lisa is wearing a Smith Street Beret! I'd know that baby anywhere: Rowan Pure Wool DK shade 033 Honey.
Check out more of Melbourne's Velo Chic on The Vine.
Cross my heart and hope to die but I think Lisa is wearing a Smith Street Beret! I'd know that baby anywhere: Rowan Pure Wool DK shade 033 Honey.
Check out more of Melbourne's Velo Chic on The Vine.
Sunday, 10 May 2009
Thumbelina
I have a theory about the inheritance of artistic talent/an eye for space and form (I'm a geneticist so I'm allowed to). You either get it, or you don't just the way Mendel worked out the genetics of black and yellow corn kernels back in the days when entertaining yourself with a corn cob seemed like a good idea.
This is my cousin T2's Maryanne Shearer, and these days it's getting hard not to pick up a glossy and find some reference, nay, feature article showcasing her wonderful tea emporium or wonderful house or wonderful family. And that's because Maryanne got the Super 66, Lotto, Willie Wonka Gold Pass gene pool jackpot in our family.
On my paternal side there are those that are smart (the splendid, but distant, branch of dizzyingly OBEed/MBEed opthalmologists, for example); there are the artistes (yo, Maryanne, as well as a cohort of painters); and then are the Spectacularly Unremarkable. It is into this lineage that I (sniff) appear to have been born, a new lineage, which was, in all likelihood, the result of a mutation that arose in the section of my grandfather's gonad (for all this specialness is from his side) that gave rise to my Dad.
Let's look at my Dad - I mean my Dad's great at using (and surprising us with) paint: silver-frosting the jack and tyre lever in my first car (surprise! it comes off on your hands!) or touching up the black and white number plates on my first and second cars (surprise! now it's completely illegible - twice!) The letter-box got quite a lot of abuse (it couldn't run), and we had the brownest oxide-stained fences in all of Epping, making the four of us the brownest oxide-stained kids in all of Epping. As were our clothes. And the cat. But not even the Leader Newspaper Group wants to do a feature on him (I asked).
When my mother saw this photo of Maryanne she said "Oh, you've got her thumb." Feck. Like, what is it this? She's suddenly gone all telescopic-vision Steve-Austin-Six-Million-Dollar-Man on me and can see Maryanne's thumb?
This most recent article featured in a Chadstone Fashion Capital magazine and expounds all of the above as well as some previously unpublished insights into her hair (glossy black), eyes (blue) and wonderful complexion (porcelain).
Well I've got... blue eyes.
Oh, yes, and let's not forget that thumb.
This is my cousin T2's Maryanne Shearer, and these days it's getting hard not to pick up a glossy and find some reference, nay, feature article showcasing her wonderful tea emporium or wonderful house or wonderful family. And that's because Maryanne got the Super 66, Lotto, Willie Wonka Gold Pass gene pool jackpot in our family.
On my paternal side there are those that are smart (the splendid, but distant, branch of dizzyingly OBEed/MBEed opthalmologists, for example); there are the artistes (yo, Maryanne, as well as a cohort of painters); and then are the Spectacularly Unremarkable. It is into this lineage that I (sniff) appear to have been born, a new lineage, which was, in all likelihood, the result of a mutation that arose in the section of my grandfather's gonad (for all this specialness is from his side) that gave rise to my Dad.
Let's look at my Dad - I mean my Dad's great at using (and surprising us with) paint: silver-frosting the jack and tyre lever in my first car (surprise! it comes off on your hands!) or touching up the black and white number plates on my first and second cars (surprise! now it's completely illegible - twice!) The letter-box got quite a lot of abuse (it couldn't run), and we had the brownest oxide-stained fences in all of Epping, making the four of us the brownest oxide-stained kids in all of Epping. As were our clothes. And the cat. But not even the Leader Newspaper Group wants to do a feature on him (I asked).
When my mother saw this photo of Maryanne she said "Oh, you've got her thumb." Feck. Like, what is it this? She's suddenly gone all telescopic-vision Steve-Austin-Six-Million-Dollar-Man on me and can see Maryanne's thumb?
This most recent article featured in a Chadstone Fashion Capital magazine and expounds all of the above as well as some previously unpublished insights into her hair (glossy black), eyes (blue) and wonderful complexion (porcelain).
Well I've got... blue eyes.
Oh, yes, and let's not forget that thumb.
Sunday, 26 April 2009
Saturday, 18 April 2009
Hello. Is that Craftanistas Anonymous?
Lately I've been obsessing about this shot of Jessica Alba in Paris.
Photo source: celebrity-gossip.net
I just love the black ensemble with its single colour accent, and confess to harbouring cliched dreams about riding scooters or bikes through the streets of Paris (once again), with baguette tops peeping from a crumpler full of stinky cheese en route to the Bois de Bologne.
But sadly, these are not the things I am obsessing about. Those of us in serious pursuit of craft (fixation! - enter not mine lexicon!) won't be seduced by the romance and frippery of this Gay Paris! evocation. They won't be calling their travel agent or plucking a well-thumbed dusty tomb of Lonely Planet off the shelf and harking back to a time when their bodies were young and life was easy.
A serious craftanista will instead be shuffling through her shadecards and internet surfing for a backview of Jessica Alba because they want to make that beanie.
There are no images of the back. I've looked. A lot.
Do I have a problem?
I don't mean do I have a problem because I can't find an image of the backview. I mean do I have a problem?
Photo source: celebrity-gossip.netI just love the black ensemble with its single colour accent, and confess to harbouring cliched dreams about riding scooters or bikes through the streets of Paris (once again), with baguette tops peeping from a crumpler full of stinky cheese en route to the Bois de Bologne.
But sadly, these are not the things I am obsessing about. Those of us in serious pursuit of craft (fixation! - enter not mine lexicon!) won't be seduced by the romance and frippery of this Gay Paris! evocation. They won't be calling their travel agent or plucking a well-thumbed dusty tomb of Lonely Planet off the shelf and harking back to a time when their bodies were young and life was easy.
A serious craftanista will instead be shuffling through her shadecards and internet surfing for a backview of Jessica Alba because they want to make that beanie.
There are no images of the back. I've looked. A lot.
Do I have a problem?
I don't mean do I have a problem because I can't find an image of the backview. I mean do I have a problem?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
