I had my very first knitting class the other night. It was a blast and I learned three important things:
1. Knitting is expensive and addictive.
2. I like to cast on real, real tight. So tight that I can't even knit the first row.
3. We don't learn purling until next week's class (foiled!)
Also, judging by the hipster instructor, I'm probably not cool enough to actually hang out at the yarn store where I took the class. I don't know that I could cultivate the proper "je ne care pas" attitude.
I was going to off on a rant about how hipsters are the natural enemy of the creampuff, but that's not really fair. I have a couple of very cool, funny, animated friends who lean towards hipsterdom and I love them and they put up with my stunning geekitude. But this knitting instructor . . . well, first of all, the only reason I knew she was the instructor was that she was knitting a very beautiful and complicated-look sock when I arrived, while the other women there (one of whom looked like a young Jamie Lee Curtis) were just concentrating on not poking their eyes out with their sticks. Then, when the class actually started, it was kind of like we'd all accosted the instructor on the bus while she was knitting and forced her to show us how.
Now, I don't want to suggest that a person leading a class (or serving coffee at fucking Futures Bakery) doesn't have the right to be so disinterested and low key that they're practically in a coma. But something about that attitude energy really triggers the jolly-yet-angry-fat-girl in me and makes me want to act like a COMPLETE FUCKING DOOFUS.
People, I could not shut my mouth. I guffawed like an idiot every time Jamie Lee Curtis made a joke or, really, a noise of any kind. The cartoon-voiced mouth-breather next to me made a Betty Boop sound when she dropped one of her needles and I literally had to squeeze my legs together to keep from urinating with mirth. As the class went on, I fought the urge to scream and stab the instructor with my pointy sticks - ANYTHING to get a reaction. With Herculean effort, I resisted. I just kept telling myself "If you stab her, she wins." Because I realize that the ultimate goal of any hipster is to remain cool, calm and disinterested while you flap around like an angry chicken. An angry chicken jealous of her incredible knitting skill. And I was not going to be that jealous, angry chicken.
To be fair, the instructor did warm up a little after awhile and the class really was lots of fun. We all joined in laughing at the instructor's barely concealed impatience with the one girl who just was. not. getting. it. And we engaged in a lively discussion about natural fibers, during which I admitted my squeaky yarn was mostly acrylic. I then felt the sting of yarn snobbery when the instructor and Jamie Lee Curtis mocked my yarn, which, I must point out, I bought on sale. Dude, I know it's crappy-ass yarn - I'm unemployed! I'm hardly going to drop a fortune on hand-painted alpaca ear yarn for my (almost) first project. By the way, here my scarf is so far:
For crappy-ass yarn, I think it's kinda pretty. Of course, it just occurred to me an hour ago that I'm actually supposed to have the full scarf knitted by Thursday so that I can learn "casting off" from Professor Bored McStragglyBeatlesHair. Ordinarily, this would not pose a problem, but as you may recall, I'm actually WORKING, AT AN OFFICE starting Monday and won't have time for knitting fun until the evening.
I DO plan, however, to knit all the way through the election results tomorrow night. I want to believe that the shit won't hit the fan - that thousands of Canadians will weigh their three (or four, if you live in Quebec) shitty options and decide that "corrupt" is still preferable to "pure evil". It could happen! But if it doesn't, I may be forced to fall on my knitting needles. Painful, sure - but best to take advantage of socialized medicine while there's still time.
