rachelpink rides the bus

Another Fall

But this one won't skin my knees.

I'm falling into a new job. No joke. It just happened. I gave notice. It's official. Whew.

No Joke

I just fell AGAIN. In front of Peep on Prince St. I slid. Landed on my knees. Good times.

Should I call it a day?

Home Time

Stayed home from work yesterday to let the leg rest. I can't put any pressure on the ol' knees and I'm a little gimpy. Otherwise, no problems.

I knit a lot yestereday. Chuck said if only I could knit while blogging and watching Law and Order, life would be complete. It's true. At what point did I turn so simple and predictable?

I've Fallen And I Can Get Up

Took a spill this morning. I was on the way to an 8 o'clock meeting and I fell down the stairs at my subway station. I went down at least 8 steps and then, KABOOM. Next thing you know I'm down on the ground. A woman saw it all and asked if she could get someone. I said, "No, I'm fine!". Fine. So I turned the corner and started dry heaving from the pain and the shock. Five minutes later the naseau passed and I was well enough to tend to my wounds. I didn't think I was all that bad off--until I wiped my knee with a wet nap. It was soaked in blood. Soaked. Ick. Blech. Etc. I had one more wet nap and then I started using notebook paper which isn't nearly as effective. I asked a passing girl for tissues. She gave me a whole little pack, then returned with band-aids. I thought my skirt was covering the gruesomeness--but it wasn't. I slapped the band-aids over my wounded knee and got on the train. Smart, no? At 42nd St. I felt something trickling down my leg. I didn't think it was coming from me--but it was! Yum. So I bled all the way to Prince St. . And now I'm at work and throbbing. I will leave soon for home and ice myself down and think happy non-throbbing thoughts.

Suss-tastic

As announced in today's Daily Candy, a new yarn store opened up in Soho this weekend. It's Suss Design. This Suss chick designs knit kits. In fact, it's with such a kit that I stubbornly taught myself to knit 2 years ago. She has a store in CA where she sells her own line of yarn along with beautiful knit clothes and accessories. The new store on Lafeyette is gorgeous. There isn't all that much yarn--but there's more than enough to keep a girl busy.  And all of it is gorgeous and thoughtfully selected. There's a nice big table and a comfy couch. My complaint? The other shoppers weren't knitting folks, not really. They were regular Soho shoppers. That can only be good for the store--cause those folks will buy the knits. Then I can swoop in for the yarn. I got supplies for Meggies birthday poncho. And then one we skein of silver metallic yarn for me.

More On The Book Festival

I can't help myself, I have to make a few comments about saturday's National Book Festival.

Who's a sucker for books? Me. Who loves nothing better than a good book festival? Me again.

But the National Book Festival was full of problems. It's true that many authors might have forgone participating for political reasons. But books over politics, people! Laura Bush might be the puppet master--but it's really more about giving the people (democrats, republicans, wiccans, etc) access to books and authors. All kinds of books and authors. So here's a list that Nance and I put together while Tamala Bamala was zipping VIPs around in her kick-ass golf cart:

1. More big authors would draw more folks in--where they'd then have a chance to discover a new author or two.

2. Backlist and paperbacks for sale. That's aimed straight at the BN folks. Don't have the chick who wrote Click, Clack, Moo without offering that book for sale. That's the book she's known for. And why only have the hardcover of the new Tom Wolfe book?  Nance and I were both prepared to buy books--and we're the type of chicks who can get books for free. But after looking at the selections, we passed.

3. Have a special tent for teachers and librarians. Guess what? Lots of teachers and librarians go to things like book festivals. Why not treat them special? Solicit posters, bookmarks, etc. from publishers who have plenty of extras kicking around the office. Let teachers/librarians take a class set. Have a few panels just for them. Something. Anything.

4. Have professional interviewers handle interviews--or skip the practice altogether. We watched John Irving get interviewed by the most distracting of interviewers. I know Ms. Arana puts together a fantastic book review section in the Washington Post, but that does not make one a good interviewer. It was a disappointment. And her loooong intro for Jonathan Safran Foer took too much time away from his presentation. And he was clever and funny--so much so, that I'm going to give another crack at his work.

5. Have someone screen audience questions. So many pretentious pricks live in book festival audiences. And lots of those pricks like to hear themselves talk. A lot. About nothing of import.

6. More unicorns--or, in other words, more magic. For the kids and the grown-ups who don't get to see their favorite authors everyday. Not sure what the fix is, but there has to be one.

Cracking Up At The National Book Festival

From l. to r.: spam eater; ladies night; nance and me and dirt; tammy drives a mean golf cart                                                                                                                                                                                          

Cat in Things

This cat deserves a genius grant.
We found her in the drawer snuggled on top of her adoption papers.

And it never stops. Tonight she snuck inside an empty pizza box on top of the stove.

It's Funny Cause It's True

Chuck has posted a funny funny rant about a trip on the M21 over on his underused blog. It makes me miss the bus so much. The subway is boooooring. I just sit and knit and knit and sit. Nary a nut in sight. Rattle rattle rattle. Knit purl knit purl. Dullsville.

At least when I get out the bus, I have the pleasure of playing my most favoritist game ever:  Dodge-The-Leering-Ethnic-Guys-Who-Like-Their-Woman-With-Meat-On-Their-Bones.

LOST

I don't care what other people say, I LOVED last night's LOST.

I love Hurley. And Locke. And wet-ghost Walt. And Shannon.

For all kinds of LOST insanity, head straight over to the Television Without Pity message boards.