This week I started to get my first few “ahems” and gentle pokes about the blog—even suggestions about topics in case I was being held back by blog block—so I have rousted myself up to see what I have to post. Not much, but what I do have has to do with knitting, so I’ve got that going for me.
I bought this yarn—the same skein I strapped into the airplane seat on a lark during my non-trip to Las Vegas—about a year ago because of the insanely bright colors (which are much more intense than this photo shows). I have learned that, when you live in Seattle, it never hurts to have putridly bright yarn to fall back on in the winter. In the same vein, avoid gray yarn at all costs unless, while using it, you're prepared to surround yourself with an entire army of Ott Lights for cheer.
I knew the color was bright and I knew the yarn was self-striping, but assumed the self-striping would be low-key to balance the color. I never expected this result, what I’ve ended up calling the Drunken Southwestern Clown Sock:
While the second sock languished on the needles—as it still does, to be honest, but progress is being made—I learned a very important life-lesson that I would like to share if for no other reason than to make sock knitters who are dating or or married jealous. Single sock knitters who live alone never have to worry about Second Sock Syndrome* because we can do this, and no one will care. In fact, this is what's on my feet as we speak.
* For non-knitters, Second Sock Syndrome (SSS) refers to a scientifically studied phenomenon wherein a first sock is knitted and completed with great relish by the knitter…and the second sock just neeeeever quite seems to see the light of day.