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September 12, 2005

She's He's They're crafty

So this past week Sweet Jeri has been housesitting. Bravely living life by herself (no doubt enjoying the peace and quiet), eating all the candy she desires and tending to a few head of livestock. Missing her company, I caught a late flight out Friday night and joined her for the weekend. Naturally, as life in the country can be a bit mundane (read: no Tivo), I brought out the trusty xbox and a stack of titles to keep me occupied while Jeri fed and watered the farm animals, and did a bit of crafting.

That first evening I drove Jeri to the closest town, and after a hearty dinner, took her to a local craft store so she could stock up on supplies. I don't remember who made the joke about me taking up knitting, but it stuck in my head for the duration of the trip. Why couldn't I do that? Instantly, images of horrible holiday gifts passed in my mind. Garish sweaters with one short sleeve, one too long sleeve' snowmen emblazoned hats, and oy, the socks. I tried to immerse myself in Madden (2005, I know), Rocky and Mafia. I figured the more manly activities I did, the less I would think about the rolls of yarn I saw. It didn't work.

The owners of the ranch we were staying at, were of the crafting sort as well. I knew that somehwere under the piles of fabric, thread and such, that I would find some knitting equipment. Indeed I found some thread and sticks, and set about teaching myself a bit of knitting. The way I looked at it, I could learn, probably fail, and get this....whatever out of my system. That lasted nearly half an hour, until I became extrememly determined to figure the fucking thing out. I cast on. I knit. I tore it all apart. I cast on. I knit a row, I tore it all apart. I cast on, I knit 2 rows, I tore it all apart. (Clearly you can see my progress was, uh...shit). Without realizing it, I had spent nearly 4 hours trying to learn the craft, without much success. In fact, the only thing I had to show for it was extremely sore hands, and that's not really visible is it?

I threw the sticks down, and helped Jeri with the dispursing of slop to the livestock.

And then the ranchers arrive home from their travels. They immediately saw the knitting gear, and were quite animated about the fact that Jeri had taken up knitting. When Jeri announced that no, it was the fat, bald guy who was knitting, their faces went pale, and a look of fear appeared.

"It's quite the rage now for men to knit." They said. "What?" I asked. "Now you're mocking me." I whined. With a gentle pat on the back, they took me aside and gave me a quick, private lesson in knitting. My porky fingers began their flurry. Cast. Knit. Purl. Fuck it up. Cast. Knit. Purl. Fuck it up. So, nothing really changed.

On the plane trip home, I couldn't shake the notion that there was a large group of men that knit. "Fatty, you're just one of those....um....you know, gayish sorts." Jeri soothed. "Just make me socks, and a candy sack and I'll keep your secret for you....just like your failed military career." She said.

So this morning, I spent a few minutes googling the truth about this, and damned if it isn't true:

A guy from Detroit even bears a frightening similarity to me, though his hairline is much better. Joel can do it Clifford though a bit scary can do it. Dave does it. Not to mention a site devoted to men who knit, and even blogs about men knitting.

And so begins my new crafting hobby. Look for your too small/too floppy socks in your mailbox soon!

Contrived by Joshua at September 12, 2005 10:33 AM

Comments

Posted by: doodle at September 12, 2005 10:58 AM

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Posted by: Joshua at September 12, 2005 10:59 AM

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Posted by: doodle at September 12, 2005 12:44 PM

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Posted by: Joshua at September 12, 2005 01:40 PM

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