Well this is all very crafty. But here is my July contribution to Loobylu’s Month of Softies. The theme is “A World of Sock Monkeys”, referring of course to the soft toy you make from a pair of socks. I have bent the rules somewhat and taken the term very literally. Behold!
OK, so it’s not really a monkey; it’s a baboon. And it’s not really made of socks; it’s wearing socks. But come on! A baboon wearing socks! That’s surely what it’s all about.
The baboon is made of light blue felt, with felt appliqued nose detail. The eyes are beads; the nostrils are embroidered. The socks are made from red and white striped flannel.
Oh yeah, like you didn’t know that was coming! Damn, filling those little bum cheeks with stuffing was difficult. However, I am nothing if not attentive to detail.
Again I emerge from the quietness! Actually I have been in the Hunter Valley, which is the wine region of NSW and damn was it nice. Sometimes work is very good to me. So that was heaps of fun and much better than being in the office. (I don’t think I needed to spell that out.)
But! The ninjas! I have tracked them down to their secret hideaway. On the fridge. They were planning a secret mission and it’s lucky I caught them in time.
To make them, I cut their body shapes out of black felt (and can I say I would FAIL every life drawing class ever given; according to me, knees bend any which way and there are up to four joints in any given arm). Then I cut their faces out of peach felt; then attached their faces to their bodies by sewing on their eyes, which are little black beads. See? Easy. I like them. However I don’t think I’ll be creating a ninja army anytime soon. I may not feel safe in my bed.
This little guy was supposed to be shimmying down a rope (made of brown ribbon, excitingly enough). But to me it looks like he’s wielding a weapon twice his size. I find this satisfyingly ninja-like behaviour.
Mr. T finally hooked up the DVD recorder thing we are ‘borrowing’ from a friend (who has bought a better, more expensive one that works with Foxtel or something). Man this thing is cool. I will never have to watch TV again. I am recording crap like a crazy fool. Did you know there were TWO Jackie Chan movies in a row on Sunday night? Two! In a row! I would like to tell you that I recorded these movies, but I didn’t. Because I am not a complete idiot. I am, however, somewhat of an idiot, because I did watch The Tuxedo. (I’m really starting to dislike Jennifer Love Hewitt. What does she DO, exactly?)
My old dog (he’s 7 and a half; that’s old for his breed, believe me) is not coping well with this winter. He no longer stands up immediately; he shuffles around like he’s on a Lazy Susan until he’s facing the direction he wants to go, and THEN he stands up. Actually, I have a grudging admiration for this. If I had four legs, and some of them didn’t work the way I wanted, I might do this too. Also, he cries a lot. Those little broken whines. This is very sad, and you immediately go to comfort the dog, until you realise he is crying at any one of the following:
- the squeaker noise from his new squeaky pork chop
- electronic game sounds from the computer (particularly Bobble Bobble) (shut up)
- the smoke alarm
- dream phantoms in his sleep (accompanied by liberal leg flailing)
- my singing.
My mum and I both got Mr. T the same birthday card. It’s a scratch and sniff one. I should probably stop here.
Oh yeah, ninjas. Maybe tomorrow. They’re out saving the fridge from dishonour.
I’m back to my habit of ‘titles as words currently around me’, and there’s a Richard Scarry book right there. Genius, that man.
Anyway, it was great talking to you, I have to go now. I have to be up at about 4am tomorrow to catch a plane to Sydney and go to a conference. Well, a module of a conference, since I don’t want to go to the whole thing. I also don’t want to network there. Wah. I am a bad networker. Also my business cards have my mobile phone number incorrectly printed (dumbasses) so this makes me an even worse networker. “Here, have my card. Oh wait, but don’t ring me.” Anyway, after that I have the afternoon in Sydney, then I will be back in Melbourne at about 7.30pm. And so I will get home at the same time as Mr. T, when I will say, “Surprise! It is your birthday and the house is cold and dark and there is no dinner and I have baked no birthday cake and I am very, very tired. But look! I made you ninja magnets. “
(Photos of ninja magnets will follow. As long as they don’t kill me in my sleep or anything.)
I was touched by His Noodly Appendage.
I have gone off the titles from newspapers. At least for tonight. Today’s title was bought to you by the Title-o-Matic.
And lastly, I was emailed this twice today and saw it again on a links blog. Who am I to argue …
Heh. I like the way his little eye swings round and round.
… Hey, where am I going? And what’s with this handbasket?
I have all these ideas lately of things I want to do. This is because I am very busy at work, and the busier I am the more things I try to fit in. When I’ve got spare time, it takes me all day to do one thing (like “get newspaper from the front lawn” or “brush hair” or “eat”). When I’ve got to be out of the house by 7.30am and end up scarfing cheese for lunch at 2.30pm, because I’ve been flat out all day, this is when I’ll get the most things done. As well as the early (by my standards) start, I have taken the cat to the vet (that’s the last of his vaccinations, not that he’s at all grateful) and dropped him back at the house; headed straight out again to the supermarket; paid some bills online, including a couple of eBay things; dashed off a few emails which have been haunting me with their unansweredness; thought of a brilliant present for my mum’s birthday (it was in May, shut up); and got petrol. Actually I mean diesel (the mighty Landrover is a diesel); I mistakenly say petrol every time, and EVERY time Mr. T looks up in alarm in case I have finally become the supreme blonde overlord and actually put petrol into a diesel car. But hey, at least I filled it up. With something. Duh. Math is hard! Let’s bake some cookies for the boys!
* (Title courtesy of the Indian takeaway menu on the coffee table. What, you think I could make this stuff up?)
I have decided that titles should be whatever I read around me at the time. Currently you have received the sports headline from the back page of the Sunday paper. Let me add it is the Crappy Lifestyle Light Reading Newspaper with Bonus Rage-Inspiring Columnist, not our normal Large Broadsheet Fact-Checked Newspaper. Our normal newspaper has a crappy, crappy TV guide and so I do not buy it on Sunday. Pander to my needs! Or I will ruthlessly cull you from my reading schedule!
In other Sunday news, I went to the gym. Yes, this is a vast departure from my usual slothful Sunday schedule. However Mr. T has taken up one of those “Get 4 weeks free then forget to cancel and end up paying through the nose!” gym memberships, so I dutifully went along (since, you know, I am already hooked and paying through the nose). There are lots of new weights machines, so in the spirit of experimentation I played on a few. This morning? My arms. Limp and noodly. I am pitiful. Seldom have I so fervently wished I had an automatic car. Changing gears was a finely balanced act of agony, accompanied by a hollow groan which sounded like a distant container ship listing in Port Phillip Bay. At first I feared the noise was emanating from my very joints; however it was coming from my lungs, a slightly more favourable option. Mr. T, of course, finds this all vastly amusing.
[poke] “Are you sore here?” [poke]
“No! Ha! You suck!”
“How about here?” [poke]
“No! I am fit and [poke] athletic! I could run a half-marathon right [poke] now- OW- OW- ow- ow! Damn you!”
We have a surfeit of lemons here at the moment (God, I have never heard someone use the word ‘surfeit’ in conversation, I must blame my overly wide-ranging reading habits). Yes, lemons. I have two lemon trees, one in the front garden and one in the back. Occasionally the dogs attempt to eat the fallen lemons (several have been delicately ‘zested’) but they give up and go back to eating the avocadoes. So I’ve been looking around on the net for lemon recipes to use up this damn fruit. Do you know what a lot of people make with lemons? Pie. Or, as I am congenitally bound to pronounce it, PAIH! (This is my Cartman-off-South-Park impersonation. Oh, have you never heard my impersonations? They’re really good. Or … not.)
So this has lead to me scrolling through epicurious.com, muttering to myself, “Lemon Meringue PAIH! Creamy lemon PAIH! Lemon chiffon PAIH! Ah’m thankful for stuffing an’ PAIH! Lemon icebox PAIH! Screw you guys, I’m going home.”
I pre-ordered the new Harry Potter last night. I quite like HP, but I am not mad over the series like many seem to be. However I do want to read the new one, and pre-ordering seem like the thing to do if I want to avoid all the Hogwarts hoo-hah. Anyway, I have all the others, and I can’t interrupt a series. (The only series I have half of, and stopped reading and buying around Book 4, was Robert Jordan’s A Wheel of Time series. I bought the first one in a holiday reading drought, and kept buying them out of habit and a misplaced sense of duty before I realised: I DON’T EVEN ENJOY READING THEM. I hated all the people except for two, and would skip every chapter that didn’t involve them. I think that series is currently up to Book 9 or so, and is showing no sign of coming to any sort of a conclusion. )
I am writing with one eye on the television, with my Messenger signed in, hoping to hear from a very good friend in Sheffield. She used to live in London and often goes back to see her friends. I hope she is not there now. I am sure she is far away from there, but there are many people who are not. I know there will be passport photos looking at me from the front page of the newspapers tomorrow. There is nothing I can do tonight. I am restless and will go now, to walk my dog down quiet dark streets.
Edit: Email from London – she was studying in the Natural History Museum at the time, and she and hers are safe.
I can see this title in the “Stonnington Leader” open beside me, but I can’t quite read the article text. Ah, community newspapers. I remember reading somewhere that Stonnington Council makes over $14 million a year from parking fines. I personally have paid only $50 of this exorbitant total in four years of living here — I parked in what was a legitimate parking space, but alas it turned into a
pumpkin clearway at 4.30pm and lo, my car remained and did not become a beautiful glass carriage. Probably that’s a good thing. A bugger for stone chips, the glass carriage. |