Ritalin, perhaps?

So this morning I dreamed of the Jailhouse Rock production number from the eponymous movie (which I have long maintained, though with no firm factual basis, was the first music video).  Often these odd dreams are what a very clever commenter referred to as NPR dreams (this was upon the occasion that I dreamt my Thanksgiving turkey went to war) but today I had the buzzy alarm not the radio, so the imagery and soundtrack came from less obvious locations.

And while I yield to no one in my admiration for charm and beauty of the young Elvis, I fail to see what Jailhouse Rock has to do with knitting.  And yet it did.  A black and white scarf.  That I am assuming was colorwork, because it needed to be steeked at the end of the number.  Not unlike the climax of "Under the Sea", but with scissors.

It is possible I may be coming down with something. 

Sore throat.  Chill.  Sore neck for the past few days.  But I refuse to acknowledge it until I've written a check, mailed it and done the payroll. 

And now it is later and I have mailed the check and gone over the wall at the post office and been late for a forgotten meeting because I went to order eyeglasses on the way back (well sorta on the way back) and done half the payroll and had that meeting after all, very usefully and efficiently and also, ahem, created a database to keep track of my most recent obsession which I will show you if I am ever home during daylight again, and now I am eating lunch, courtesy of the fine people at Amy's.

I have been obsessed with this recipe this week:  Adzuki Bean Croquettes.  From Nourish Me.  Which I would encourage you to read for the beautiful food, beautiful pictures and beautiful words.  She's tremendous.  Braised fennel, people.  With wine glazed lentils.  My obsession with her cooking bears out one friend's belief that I am 18 months away from vegetarianism and closing fast.  On the other hand, I had a creole style pork tenderloin (in a converted church, in fact) last week that was delicious.  And murdered a pastrami Reuben on Sunday.  So perhaps not.

I hardly need glasses, but when I do need them, I need them most definitely.  A strange by product of either advancing decriptitude or LASIK (both?) is that my vision - which, five years post operatively, is about 20/30 on one side and about 20/50 on the other - can go exceptionally fuzzy on days when I am exceptionally tired.  Particularly around my period - hormones can effect ocular pressure, did you know?  - and particularly when I am dehydrated.  In Arizona, I can hardly read a street sign between the sun and the parched condition I am reduced to.  To which I am reduced.  You know.

So I need glasses whilst driving in unfamiliar places, in New York, when I have PMS and when I am so tired I probably should not be operating a motor vehicle anyway.  And also, sometimes for the computer, which is a different pair of glasses.   On average, maybe once a week.  Its stupid.    But not having them?  Also not working out so good.  And now that I have peripheral vision and stuff, I don't find them at all burdensome.  In fact, they are sorta cute when I'm not helpless without them.  Perspective is a marvelous thing.

Anyway, I think these are the ones.  This brand seems to make a frame width that fits my giant head, and they are light, and cute and flattering and I think I can live with them for 5 years of occasional use. 

Also?  I knit this week.  It was thrilling until I tried to groom the cat and she sunk her talon into the tip on my index finder, effectively limiting my enthusiasm for repeatedly shoving a wooden stick into the resulting hole.  But still.  I have - brace yourself - completed the long languishing right front of this sweater and begun the  left front.  I have learned a new button hole method.  And most shockingly of all, I have matched the gauge of the back, begun three years previously. 

Also, you have to go here and watch this guy.  I found him via Feministing twice: on the subject of the music business and the moral high ground and on MLK.  He was brilliant and I wanted to tell you and then I forgot.  Twice.  And then Flea at One Good Thing (a long time favorite read) mentioned him.  (Except it was on her other blog.  Oops.)  And I went over again and found this.  So dudes, settle in. 

And I smell like pirate.  Sort of.  Not really.  But kinda.  In a good way.

Thus concludes this edition of non-sequitorious blogging here at EnchantingJuno.

Comments

[Paul]

Good Morning and Happy Birthday! Mel sent me, and I'm so glad he did - GREAT blog!

Enjoy your day! Paul

[JoVE]

I see Carole beat me to it. Happy birthday. (Mel sent me.) Hope you have a great day.

[Carole]

I hear it's your birthday. Happy Birthday! Have some cake, won't you?

[=Tamar]

The earliest music video I know of was made in the 1930s. All the early cartoons were music videos, really, but "Minnie the Moocher" showed the band at the beginning, playing the song, then went to the cartoon imagery that repeated the song and the band-leader/singer's moves.

Was Jailhouse Rock before or after the Monkees were on tv? They had a music video on every episode.

I love the red on that sweater!

[lizbon]

"non-sequitorious" - Oh baby, I love you. And not only do I want to know what a pirate smells like, I am wondering if you got that way from tangling with one. Or perhaps you are considering a change of career. Nice specs, too. Okay, okay, this whole freaking comment is somewhat non-sequitorious...

[marilyn]

thanks for those great links!

[Marin]

So I'm going along, merrily clicking on links (and big thanks for Nourish Me), when I hit "smell like a pirate" and now I'm obsessed with what exactly that means. And how I can achieve it. And how I'm going to explain to other people why/that I smell like a pirate.

Ritalin, indeed. In a good way.

[Jocelyn]

Ok, I've got to ask. What does a pirate smell like? Rum? (This is not a bad thing.) I'm sorry to hear about the holey finger, but I am very impressed that you've managed to forge ahead in spite of such hardships. :) I hope the cold goes away entirely without really manifesting itself. (BTW, I got LASIK, too, about three years ago, and still love love love it, but am wondering when I'll have to get the reading glasses that I was told my aging eyes would someday need; it's much less stressful to think about that now than it was when that would have meant bifocals!)