Things That Make Me Want To Go To New York

1. Godzilla (1998): This was the second monster movie I’d seen. The first was King Kong, the 1930s version, which was also set in New York. Needless to say giant creatures seem to like tearing that city up quite a bit. My favourite scene was where the Chrysler Building came a-tumbling down. A morbid fascination really.








2. Alfred Hitchcock’s North By Northwest: The scene in Grand Central Station especially, but also the visit to the UN building. I guess it also has a lot to do with Carey Grant, the stylish minx. You just have to love a man who sends his suit for pressing right after someone tries to kill him with a crop duster. Class.






3. Dave Chappelle’s Block Party: Dave Chappelle is an American national treasure. I’m not American, nor am I qualified to induct him officially as their national treasure, which does sort of mess up the power of my statement. However, I reiterate; the man is awesome. I saw a conversation between him and Maya Angelou on TV by accident one day, and then saw this film. It is such a fantastic film too; the concept is immense, and it may be a cliché to say, but the people are the most interesting thing in it. I love how he pulls different communities together to claim a piece of the city, even if only for a day or so. I especially love the quirky couple with their self-built ‘Broken Angel’ building. I like to think that people who are a bit offbeat are unique to big cities. That’s not to say that smaller towns don’t have them; I just think that their eccentricities would make them outcasts. I think bigger cities accommodate strangeness. They let people be. Not necessarily in a nice way, maybe in a cruel way too, but they are still allowed to be who they are.



4. How I Met Your Mother: Only really for that one episode where they try to find the perfect burger that Marshall stumbled upon one evening. I love food, and I love cities, and I love the idea of a perfect-burger-treasure-hunt. Especially if the place has a red door!

5. Home Alone 2: You can probably tell that most of this list revolves around buildings and interesting human beans. Home Alone 2: Lost in New York is full of both! Duncan’s Toy Chest (which is apparently actually in Chicago. Hmph.), Central Park, the Plaza Hotel, the pigeon lady who sees the opera for free, the scary cabby, that house under renovation which is the scene of the sticky, oozy, firey, hurty, laughy, ouchy mayhem.... Absolute classic.

6. Green Card: Oh! To have Andie Macdowell’s apartment! And a Frenchman with a hard past and a musician’s heart! Sigh.

7. Ryan Adams’ song ‘New York’. Also Gene Kelly’s song ‘On The Town’: Basically any young man, fit or scruffy, dancer or singer, pasty or tanned, army, navy, airforce or civilian who sings about New York makes me want to go there. I like to believe it combines city-lust with male-lust. The two most important forms of lust after yarn-lust.



8. Catcher in the Rye: Of Course. Obvious. Is there a person alive who didn’t like this book and didn’t want to be Holden Caulfield?

9. The Babysitter’s Club books: Because Stacey, the one from New York was described as the ‘sophisticated’ one. I wanted to be sophisticated. So I wanted to go to New York. Still applies.

10. Breakfast at Tiffany’s: Holly Golightly. Because she was a weary sophisticate. A Woman Without A Past. Rather, she could reinvent herself and live life fast and loose in stunning dresses with a cat and good wine. Not bad for a country girl.

11. Radio Days, Woody Allen: This was such a beautiful film. It was like listening to small anecdotes from your grandparents. The family is such a beautiful example of the messed up-ed-ness of families, but it also shows how at the end of the day family is always there to love you. They may box your ears, but then they’ll give you a big hug and a glass of milk. Goofy grin inducing film. I wanted to hug everyone I saw after watching it.

Yarngasm

Etsy generally makes me dizzy with glee. However, I saw two sellers recently who have made me post-coital drunk and happy. Hello Sweet Basil Fibreworks and Dye For Wool.

SBFW’s colours are so gloriously natural. There is nothing flashy, the wool just looks down-to-earth but still stunningly beautiful. I can imagine a gruff yet trendy farmer being completely at home in an Aran sweater made from this stuff. Or me. I’d also like it. And I’m neither gruff nor adept at animal husbandry.

DFW’s are just beyond words. The colours! Oh the colours! Can I swim in them? This wool is so delectable, I want it to knit ME. This is the new direction towards which everyone who wants to buy me a birthday/Christmas present shall go. Also please note the awesomeness of the naming of the wool colours. Poisoned blueberry tart? Burnt cinnamon roll? Rotten butter? Yes please.

Oh! Oh! Pass the tissues. Total Etsy Yarngasm.

I Am Not Worthy

This post is to give thanks to my mother. Mothers are generically described as being beautiful human beings without whom we couldn't live. Mothers are complex beings, and I don't like to stereotype them. However, I Truly Could Not Live Without My Mother. Not just because she makes sure I can walk out of the house with matching socks and hole-less underwear. Not just because she made chocolate brownies when I came home. Also because she saved the unsavable; my yellow hat!

Stitches are picked up! And she did it to match the pattern! She is a Goddess among knitters! I am truly not worthy.

That Damned Hat is findable on Ravelry, as is my new project (started to mourn the old one, a potentially vicious cycle really) the Rylands Cabled Hat, which looks a real treat in the red. The wool I have is much darker, a very drinkable wine colour. I'm looking forward to seeing how it turns out!

On another note, a while ago I saw My Own Private Idaho for the first time. I have to say, I didn't entirely understand it but it was a madly beautiful and heart breaking ride. This is one of those films that makes me want to see America. Such fantastic scenery, I love the way that Gus Van Sant lingers on it. Also have to love how it lingers on Mr Phoenix and Mr Reeves at times. Can it somehow be possible to see America in the early 1990s? I'll bring my own Docs and flannelette, I promise. Truly, I am not worthy.

Mumbai blasts

It is very saddening that Mumbai has again become the target of an attack. Such senseless violence is beyond my understanding. These blasts occurred at rush hour, when people were just heading home from work. What does injuring or killing a handful of humans do for them? What could it possibly achieve?

I heard the Dadar blast from my apartment, and my PG mate was on Chowpatty when the Opera House blast occurred. She thought it was thunder. I didn't know what it was, but it made me jump. I always got scared when I heard a loud bang in this city. Because of it's history, I always feared the worst. I never thought it would actually happen.

It is horrifying to see how people have become numb to it too. I spoke to a local friend and he said that at least it wasn't as bad as the last time, or the time before that. Comparatively, it wasn't. Another friend from Bombay just sent me this from the BBC news website:

'One striking feature of Dadar is that a lot of shops have remained open. Although some have shut down, many have chosen to go about business as usual and people have been buying groceries. There is no evidence of real panic in Dadar.'

Rumours were flying thick and fast. That it occurred on the same day as Kasab's birthday, the only person captured for the 26/11 attacks (it didn't); that it was the anniversary of the 2007 train blasts (not quite, it is two days after); that there were eight bombs, but only three had gone off so far. I hope there is no more violence in this city.

Luckily, no one I know was in those three areas. For the people who were injured (no deaths have been reported so far), my thoughts go out to them and their families.

I love you, Mumbai. We are thinking of you.

Stormy Weather

Mumbai's monsoons from my window :)

Cherry Poppin', Stitch Droppin'

My beautiful yellow hat! It is beautiful, if I can blow my own trumpet. It is also unravelling fast. No knitting pun intended. I dropped a stitch on my third last row. The problem with this is that I can’t pick up stitches. A fatal flaw in a knitter.

My mother did try and teach me how. I was listening too, I’m sure of it. The problem is that when I drop a stitch, I start to panic. Pickitup, pickitup, pickitup! I get more and more panicky because I can’t think straight enough to pick the damned thing up and as that happens, stitches unravel quicker and quicker, further and further into the work. It is usually quite a Shakespearean tragedy by the end. I become the Lady Macbeth of the craft world, all my machinations (re: fuzzy hats) falling down around my ears.

I am currently in mourning for my yellow hat. I have managed to stop the unravelling and am currently debating about whether to completely undo it and start again or LEARN TO PICK UP STITCHES. Luckily I am staying with an Aunty at the moment who has said she will take a look at it.

Time to revise my list about what I will miss from Mumbai: Aunties who fix (hopefully) bad knitting mistakes.