Phantom sock

A bland, mildly amusing, G-rated personal anecdote follows, ideally suited to a vanity blog like this one.

Several weeks ago, I lost a sock somewhere in my tiny apartment. Impossibly. I searched everywhere and couldn't find it. "Everywhere" includes moving all the furniture around to look underneath and behind; sorting through all clean and dirty laundry, unpacking and repacking all shelves. Checking jacket pockets. Rolling up the carpet to look underneath.

No sock was to be found.

No one entered or left the apartment during the period the sock was lost. My initial hypothesis was that the sock-stealing elves, frustrated by my laundromat vigilance, had made a risky foray up to my apartment for their denied booty (James Bond-style, scaling the building with suction cups).

Then tonight I found the second sock while shifting my wet laundry into the dryer. My modified hypothesis is that the sock got staticked and rolled up inside some other laundry. I was happy to be reunited with my prodigal sock, and I consigned it to the dryer secure in the knowledge that this sock would soon be cosy, dry, and reunited with its partner.

This sock is a renegade.

I have now folded, and re-folded, all of the laundry. The Prodigal Sock has not returned. It's not stuck to something. It's not still in the laundromat. It baulked at the prospect of reunion, and has made itself even scarcer than before.

Oh where, oh where could my sock have gone? Oh where, oh where could it be?

Further updates as the situation unfolds. (Hopefully the laundry won't. I've folded it twice now.)


This post's theme word is tmesis, "stuffing a word into the middle of another word." I un-fucking-believably lost the wily sock again.

Winter storm Nemo

This morning I checked the weather, then unpacked my fancy spherical skiing goggles and deployed my full-head fleece layers in the Mom-Patent-Pending "seamless" arrangement. The only thing showing was the tip of my nose.

The streets and sidewalks were unplowed, thick fluffy white snow. Then I trudged --- faster movement not possible given the relative heights of my knees and the snowdrifts --- to work. What joy! What rapture! What shoulder-borne snow collections!

A delighted morning commuter!

If you look closely into my awesome fog-free goggles, you can see a double thumbs-up for the weather! Plus the wide snowy field outside this castle, whither I am bound.


This post's theme word is kyirked stoor, an Orkney term for snow when accompanied by wind which whirls the snowflakes. She skipped merrily through the kyirked stoor to her cold, windowless cinderblock cell. (See more delightful Orkney weather words here, where I"ve sent you before.)

Rooster!

The rooster is a national symbol of Portugal, so it adorns every item in the touristy part of town. I managed to restrain myself from buying this apron. Just barely.



This post's theme word is platyrrhine, "having a broad, flat nose." Yes, that's a very nice bird, but do you have anything more... platyrrhine?

Converting shirts into a rug

I am extremely averse to hoards, and with every move I become more resentful of my own possessions. They take up so much volume! And weight! The 100-things-challenge holds a certain horrifying fascination for me, although of course a properly-appointed kitchen (1) is necessary for life, and (2) contains more than 100 things.

This post documents another attempt to disgorge myself of excess possessions. In this instance, t-shirts.

Everyone, everywhere, including probably hermits, has some free t-shirts obtained by participation in a group activity. I had some in rather vibrant colors.
Reckoning that even t-shirts are useful for something, I used by new cutting mat and rotary cutter to render these shirts into a rather coarse "yarn."
Around the sleeves and neck, my cutting became more uneven and improvised, but I managed to unwind the entire shirt into yarn about an inch wide.

Then I watched about 20 minutes of how-to-crochet videos on YouTube. (Huzzah for the internet, and those who are strangely compelled to explain their skills to webcams!) With only a few adjustments and the biggest crochet hook I could find at Lettuce Knit, I embarked...
I tried a slightly complicated thing, because I enjoy challenges. Note the several strands of mock-yarn coming off my t-shirt-vortex. (I also chose a very forgiving circulish shape.)The completed spiral ingratiates itself to passing feet with its quaint homemade lumpiness and curiously soft spring. The colors work fine together, and I am five t-shirts the poorer and one little rug happier.


This post's theme word is grawlix, "a spiral-shaped graphic or string of typographical symbols used to indicate swearing in comic strips." The grawlix of expired t-shirts on the floor murmurs an ominous warning to those hiding in the rear of the closet.

Time shrinks all sizes

Last week I went shopping for jeans to supplement my ever-dwindling supply. I dislike shopping and trying on clothing. In order to expedite the process I wore a pair of jeans I own and like, that fit, to the Elderly Marine store where I bought them, hoping to find identical (but newer) jeans and purchase them forthwith.

This hope was in vain.

I have (apparently) shrunk two sizes. (Women's sizes go by evens, so I actually went from size x to x-4.) This is wrong. What sort of time-dilation factor is at play here? Probably the same weirdness that causes men's sizes to distort. Companies cater to vanity. I'd rather have consistency, but (as usual) I seem to be an outlier.

I wonder: I am approaching 0, which I thought was the smallest size. What happened to the people who used to wear size zero? Do they now wear negative four? Or do the sizes go 0, 00, 000, 0000, etc., until they run out of space on the tag, in the style of DDDDD bras (since H sounds shamefully big to admit)?

[Update: I notice that the Wikipedia article on "vanity sizing" offers a few explanations and a scientific study of the drift of sizes over time.]

This post's theme word is buskin, " a thick-soled laced boot, reaching to the knee or calf, worn by actors of ancient Greek tragedies"
This post's alternate titles are: "Time shrinks all waists" and "The time-dilation factor (in my pants!)"
This post written like William Gibson.

Patterned greens

Today was beautiful, unseasonably warm, with most of the snow melted away. I took the opportunity to dress in a silly manner.

Self-portrait on the sidewalk.

This post's theme word is lentiginous, "covered with freckles." Compare with litiginous for hilarious misheard remarks. Don't give the lentiginous coffeshop girl a compliment, she's very litiginous.

Hats!

Hats!
... as usual, none of them were big enough to fit over my giant watermelon head.


This post's theme word: froward, "headstrong."

Ozymandias jeans

I tore through the upper leg of my jeans while biking. My thighs are just so vigorous and powerful that no pants can contain them. A crotch-proximal patch attracts awkward attention, so I hereby lay to rest another pair of jeans, slain by the sheer muscle (and surrounding fat) of my legs.

I am Lila, Destroyer of Jeans;
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!

(Apologies to Percy Bysshe Shelley.)

This post's theme word: eschatology, "the part of theology concerned with death, judgement, and the final destiny of the soul and of humankind."