Sunday, April 10, 2005

One down, one to go.

Yesterday I finished a draft of my introduction and got it out to my dissertation reading group, so this morning, after the dog park, I decided to reward myself by settling in with The Philadelphia Story* and my sock. I frogged the heel, reknit it with wrapped short rows, and then just kept knitting until I could knit no more. Here's the result:

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Please excuse the corpse-like whiteness of my skin.

While I'm generally happy with the way the foot of the sock fits, I'm a little sad about their length: they are really, really short. Personally, I am of the mind that if a sock is going to have a leg at all, and not just be a footie, the leg should be as long as the foot for proportionality's sake. Clearly, these are not that long:

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If I had Photoshop I would draw a little eye and mouth and blowhole on the toe, and it would look like a charming blue whale. I don't though, so I will just have to be vaguely discontent with the leg length. I suppose if I really cared I could order a third skein of the Merino Style from KnitPicks and divide it between the two socks, but meh. That seems hard. I also think that, while I will be very glad of the warm bulkiness of these socks in a Michigan winter, they might be a little much under shoes. If I'm just messing around in them as house socks, I don't really care how tall they are.

For those of you keeping track, I am still plugging away at the Happy Dance Scarf as well. Here's proof:

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See how long it's gotten? See?

*Don't get me started on this movie. Every time I watch it I waver: do the charm and adorableness of Jimmy Stewart and the wacky sister make up for that fact that we're supposed to be excited when Katharine Hepburn forgives her philandering father (after he tells her that his affair is her fault, because she's a bitch) and reunites with her alcoholic, abusive husband? This time, my answer is a solid no: This movie is an anti-feminist nightmare (which, yes, I know that the point was to render Katherine Hepburn's acidity more palatable to the American film-going public, and that just makes it worse), and that cannot be ok, no matter how many times Jimmy Stewart says "hello, you." (But oh, that "hello, you.")


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