Which is pretty much my summer knitting project. Well. Projects. Well. Socks and my (blue-bearded) battle bonnet. Well. Socks and my (blue-bearded) battle bonnet and a sweater and something TBD made from that bargain yarn I picked up that's called Irish Coffee and looks neither Irish nor coffee like but is really kinda funky and by funky I mean pretty anyway.
Commas are for people with small lung capacities.
Anyway, been making socks most afternoons and watching Netflix streaming and I have to ask: What the hell happened on Season four of Angel? Were the writers possessed by the spirit of crap? I'm glad I stopped watching at season 2 originally. I have happy memories, which are now so much hash. Which is sorta how I am feeling with True Blood so far, too--not that I have totally happy memories of any of its seasons, but there are moments, most of which involve Alexander Skarsgård. And despite his frequency in this season so far, I am not loving it. I am the anti-love.
Makes me want to rewatch all the Dr. Whos as a palate cleanser. Which, since of my projects, only my (blue-bearded) battle bonnet is done--well, some of the socks are. But not all of them. WHICH, as I was saying--means I have a lot of time left to kill while I'm stabbing strings with sticks and I do love me the Doctor. (9th. 10th. Not sold completely on the 11th yet, but Amy makes up for him.)
And! I have an æbleskiver pan, and not one, not two, but three sources for recipes, and I'm not afraid to use it. Them. Pronouns are for the unimaginative.
Next time, maybe, I will tell you about why Finland is the best place to be a teacher and the US is Of The Suck Like Season Four Angel in that regard. Or maybe I'll be too busy with socks.
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