Unraveling

Cool

Yes, the weather has cooled. Not the zeal of the protesters. Just the weather. I don't have that prickly heat feeling any more. Thank Goodness.

We spent the afternoon at the Metropolitan Museum. Here's our armchair review - Childe Hassam: American Impressionist, overrated painter and the exhibition is way too big. Not that there weren't paintings we enjoyed. We did. It just took SO LONG to get through the exhibition. It could have been half as big and twice as effective. Andy Goldsworthy on the Roof , nice but not well suited to the location. Dangerous Liaisons: Fashion and Furniture in the 18th Century, interesting, fun & NAUGHTY. The snuff boxes alone are worth a visit. August Sander: People of the Twentieth Century, BRILLIANT. Such an interesting photographic exhibition. After a (much needed) break at the American Wing Cafe, we also looked at the permanent collection of American Paintings. Fascinating collection.

We ate dinner at Gobo, a vegetarian restaurant on Avenue of the Americas at 8th Street. Delicious. Courteous service. And they provide a wheat-free menu on request! Wow. Did I like that? You better believe it. Later, we went to see Outfoxed This documentary is very well put together. More easy to follow than Bush's Brain (which, you may remember, we saw last night), and even more disturbing. The problem I see with these movies is that, in general, they're preaching to the converted. Who else is going to see them? They do get us fired up, though, and it makes us want to take some kind of action.

So tomorrow the action we're going to take is to Walk the Line, a single-file UNEMPLOYMENT line of 5,000 people, stretching from Wall Street to 31st Street along Broadway, holding pink slips. A silent protest. From 8:13 a.m. to 8:31 a.m. We'll be hoping for a peaceful protest. Then a couple of more knitting shops and then, well, time to go home. I'll sure miss Timothy. Pray for peace tomorrow.

Stash Feeding

Yesterday, we hung around Timothy's apartment all morning and half of the afternoon. But we finally got it together to head into Manhattan. OK folks. There's only so much protesting a gal can do without feeding one's habit. Yarn, that is. Hi, I'm Celia and I'm a yarnaholic. And what better place to indulge than School Products? It's smaller than I imagined, but full of interesting yarn, like the cashmere blend (on cones) below.

A kid in a candy store? You bet!

It looks like they have every color of Lambs Pride Bulky IN STOCK.

Then, the FIND OF THE DAY:

Hand-painted cashmere/nylon blend. Great for beautiful, SOFT sox. MUST HAVE.

I also found lovely 100% cashmere for the Gauntlet Gloves in the Fall 2004 IK. And enough superwash wool for a Secret Projet. Then I looked longingly at the cashmere blend. Is droolingly a word? I just couldn't justify it, you know. The holiday season is looming. There will be many important knitting projects to finish. But the stuff washes up SO SOFT. About that time, Timothy caught the yarn virus. "If I bought the yarn, would you knit me a sweater???" SURE! Hooray. I didn't have to pay for the yarn, but I get to work with it. M-m-m-m-m-m-m, cashmere.

Our yarn thirst sated, we headed out into midtown Manhattan. It's an armed camp, with police on every kind of vehicle, protecting Republicans and protesters from each other. Holy crap!

But, really, we've been having a great time together, Timothy and I. We get along well and go with the flow. And it's great to have him all to myself. When he visits home, our siblings and parents demand time and the opportunity to bicycle year round is just too tempting. We had a great dinner at Puleo's on 45th (m-m-m-m-m-m-m Osso Bucco!) and headed down to Cinema Village on 12th Street to see Bush's Brain. The brain in question is Karl Rove, the only brain Bush really has. Sinister. Be afraid, be very afraid.

But enough! New York is awesome. Having a great time! Wish you were here! Seriously. TTFN!

This is what democracy looks like

Chanting, "No more Bush, NO MORE BUSH, NO MORE BUSH...!" and singing, "No war, stop the war," to the tune of the Star Spangled Banner (very effective and moving) we marched. At least 500,000 of us. Stretching from 14th Street and 7th Avenue to 34th and 7th AND BACK AGAIN. Don't let anyone tell you we were less than 500,000. I mean honestly, we were three blocks from the front of the march, at 20th Street, when it started. It took us 3 hours to make the loop to Union Square and then we went to have a meal and rest our feet at Souen (a great macrobiotic restaurant on 13th Street near University Place). By the time we got back, TWO HOURS LATER, the 1000 coffins at the end of the march were just arriving. Massive, peaceful, colorful, exciting, long, STEAMY, and brilliant. Tell me what democracy looks like. This is what democracy looks like.

It's the morning after. My feet hurt. Timothy and I are sitting on different sides of the desk, listening to Unfiltered on Air America Radio and doing our computer business. We have WAYYYY more photos than I can post here today. It may take a few days to go through them, but post them I will - in an album attached to the blog. We want to get back into the City. I'm infected with the protest bug, but I also want to run a few (knitting) errands.

We started out yesterday with a group: Timothy, of course; his friends Sushi Bob and Naomi, who brought along Gail, Larry, Noah, Steve, and Patou; Tim's friend Ron; ,and my old friend Jeremy, who brought along his neighbors Eddie and Liz. Jeremy grew up in Berkeley - we went to high school together - but now he lives here in Queens. Everyone seemed like old friends, even those I'd just met. All the people at the march seemed that way. Old friends. 500,000 of them.

Gail, Bob & Naomi headed toward the staging area:

At 20th and 7th we waited, with thousands of others for the march to start

and waited...

in the hot sun...

Timothy:

Jeremy and Ron:

At about 12:10 p.m. we got started. A whoop swept through the crowd, something that happened frequently for the duration of the march. It's amazing to feel the whoop wave on its way, have it wash over you (as you're making as much noise as possible) and then move on down the street. The march moved very slowly as the side streets, filled with thousands of people, fed in. We'd already lost Steve and Patou in the staging area. Soon as we got started, we lost Bob and Naomi. We found out later they were in a deli when the march started. By the time they got out, we were long gone. I kept checking around to see Jeremy, who's 6' 7" and easily head and shoulders above most of the crowd. But eventually we lost him, Eddie, and Liz, too. We were a bright, smiling, happy crowd, thrilled to look in both directions and see nothing but other protesters.

As we neared Madison Square Garden, though, the crowd grew more and more antagonistic, venting its frustrations at the Bush administration. I'd brought a bunch of red carnations and peeled off by myself to lay my bouquet in front of the Garden. Bad idea. All around me people were yelling, "SHAME! SHAME! SHAME!" "NO MORE BUSH!" "BOO! BOO!" "REPUBLICANS GO HOME!" The noise was overwhelming. Beyond the barriers, stoic police officers with crossed arms were glaring at the protesters. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. I didn't dare try to leave anything, even a bouquet of flowers, anywhere nearby. It seemed like any perceived threat would be dealt with swifty and, after all, I'd promised Owen I wouldn't get arrested. As I made my way back across 7th Avenue to rejoin my group, I couldn't see anything or anyone familiar. Damn. I'd lost my people! In that uncongenial, overwhelming throng. I turned around to scan the crowd and suddenly people were smiling. "I LOVE your t-shirt!" "Knitters Against Bush?" "That's PRICELESS!" "I'm a knitter!" "Where'd you get that?" "My daughter would love one!" Friends, 500,000 of them, even when they're venting.

Thank goodness for cell phones. That vibrate. I'd never have heard the ring above the din. It was Ron. "We're just turning the corner onto 34th Street." Two blocks ahead. Just try moving fast in a crowd of frustrated, venting, liberals. Really, just try it at least once. We could use you.

Turning the corner onto 34th Street, the march returned to its previous carnival atmosphere. What a relief. I hooked back up with Timothy and Ron, and a couple of blocks later we found Gail, Larry and Noah, who we finished the march with. Too bad I live in California. I could really be friends with these folks. Hugs and kisses to you all.

My favorite group at the march? Code Pink. They issued this Pink Slip to Dubya:

That's all for now. There's plenty more to say, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. Until then, Peace!

March

This is a quick march post, with more promised tomorrow - after we have a chance to edit our 268 photos. If you hear reports of 100,000 and violence, DON'T BELIEVE IT. We calculated up to 500,000 PEACEFUL participants. We saw no violence and no bad behavior. Really. It was awesome. Believe it. We're exhausted. More tomorrow.

Peace.

Steamy

Yes, it was a steamy day here in New York. Seriously, that's what they said on the weather report. My goodness it was hot. Nevertheless, about 20,000 of us marched across the Brooklyn Bridge for women's lives.
High on anti-Bush rhetoric, the crowd waited patientily in 90 degree heat and 75% humidity to clamber up on to the bridge and make our discontent visible.

Peace shoes in the waiting crowd:

Patient, hopeful people:

Beauties:

Great T-shirts:

The police were everpresent:

But, really the best thing was how many interesting, gorgeous people were there:

And the bridge itself, lent an air of importance to the march

After we crossed the bridge. we gathered across from City Hall. Some people had interesting costumes:

By the end of the march, I was hot and tired. My feet hurt. I felt prickly all over. Time for a change of pace. What better than cooling off by hopping in the subway (they're all air conditioned). And where should I go???? Hmmm. Let's see. Another air-conditioned space??? Ah, yes. I cooled of by spending two hours in Bloomies, shopping the end-of-season sale. Delicious.

Finally, brown bag in tow, I headed up to Central Park to view an exhibit called "Eyes Wide Open". It's a very effective depiction of the lives lost in the current war in Iraq. Nine hundred and seventy-two pairs of combat boots are arranged in a circle, as are hundreds of pairs of civilian shoes, to show the numbers of American military and Iraqi civilian dead. Simple, moving, devastating.

Here's my best story of the day, without photos. As I finally reached the Brooklyn Bridge, after waiting an hour and a half, I looked over into the automobile traffic that was headed into Manhattan. I locked gazes with a man who was driving and he said, "Thank you." I flashed him the peace sign and he flashed it back. "Thank you," what a nice thing to say. Made all that waiting feel TOTALLY worth it.

Tomorrow, we head into Manhattan for the BIG MARCH. Pray for peace.

Whose Country?

Our country! Or so say "hundreds" (as reported on the news - I say thousands) of Critical Mass protesters. The Critical Mass protest capped what was otherwise a typical visit (for me) day in New York. Here's the short, photoblog version:

We got up late (I slept 10 hours!) and headed into Manhattan about 1 p.m. Our first meal of the day was spinach enchiladas at Paquitos near Union Square. Then we made a pilgrimage to Knit New York:

It's a lovely little respite from the urban chaos of New York.

There's a coffee bar:

And lots...

...and lots

...of pretty yarn and samples:

I didn't buy anything, although I was sorely tempted.

We moved, or hiked (across town), on to Viv Pickle to shop for a handbag. Rather than wait until October 11 for a custom-made bag, I opted for a ready-made version, which I will have to show you later.

Then we wandered through the Village. There's lots of anti-Bush material EVERYWHERE in the village.

And exhortations to vote:

even in chocolate:

We went by The Bagel, a haunt of mine in the olden days. It was CLOSED:

We watched children romping in the fountain at Washington Square:

And tiny dogs having their outing in Tompkins Square Park:

Then we headed off to meet Timothy's friend, Carol, and my friend, Jeremy, for dinner at The Sanctuary, a vegetarian restaurant on First Avenue near Houston. Yum!

But here's the most exciting part of the day: PROTEST

Hundreds and hundreds (if not thousands) of Critical Mass protesters stopping traffic on First and Second Avenues. The news last night said 200 were arrested.

This is what I came here to witness.

Which reminds me, it must be time to leave for the March for Women's Lives across the Brooklyn Bridge.
I'm off!!

After Snow

Snow? In New York? In August? YES!
But I'm getting ahead of myself, so I'll start at the beginning. We took the N train into Manhattan and got off at Union Square. When we emerged from the station, this is what we saw:

Holy Crap! It's still a couple of days before the convention begins and already the cops are chomping at the bit. Those little white loops attached to their belts? Plastic handcuffs. I wonder if they have an arrest quota? Don't worry, I am a peaceful protester, but judging from this display of force, you never know what will happen.

But back to the meat of this post. Snow. In Manhattan. In August. We had a lovely meal at an Italian restaurant on Park Avenue South. Great service & delicious food & a window seat on the New York streetscape. I felt I'd really arrived in The City. After dinner, we headed for the theater, which was just two blocks away. Good planning, Timothy.

The lobby was full of Russian ex-pats, here to support one of their own. Everywhere you turned you heard Russian spoken. The show was, how can I say this, AWESOME. And very familiar. Existential Clowning. Like Waiting for Godot, but without words, and with amazing technical effects. Timothy says, "It's like they're having conversations with your visceral self." And they involve the audience in the spectacle - by coming out into the audience, by throwing huge balls ito the audience, and then blasting us with a snowstorm of astonishing magnitude. Everyone's hands came up involuntarily as the horizontal assault blew past and then stayed up - as if to feel the atmosphere. The last twenty minutes were the snowstorm: huge beach balls bouncing around the audience, confetti snow coming from every direction (including audience members throwing it back on stage), sheer spectacle. This kind of theater appeals to that vulnerable center of all of us. Did Timothy and I like it? YES.

This is the type of work I used to do as a clown fully realized. After the show ended the clowns came out and sat on the edge of the stage, wordlessly interacting with the audience.

Others approached Slava, to get his autograph on their program. I handed him mine, which was full of "snow" I wanted to take home with me. He opened it curiously, shrugged, picked up a pinch of snow from the floor, added to my collection, and signed the program. I shook his hand.

It took us a while to leave. We were drinking in the spectacle. Could have stayed until the theater was entirely empty. When we did exit the theater, the cops were still in forcer at Union Square. Also a contingent of skate boarders ("skaters" in West Coast parlance).

We entered the subway, trailing snow...

and headed back to Timothy's apartment, where we both fell into exhausted sleep. After all, we'd been through a snowstorm. In Manhattan. In August. And it wasn't just all a dream.

We have evidence:

Here is New York

Yes, I'm here. In New York. Made it, knitting all the way (Denim silk MondoCable). May I say how much I love to travel on JetBlue? On time, pleasant service, TV at every seat. Easy & comfortable.
Timothy's (my brother) listening to Air America radio and I'm on his iBook, writing to you. It's hot up here in this 4th floor walkup, cooler outside. We're in Long Island City, just across the East River from Manhattan. Randi Rhodes, whose show is on Air America right now, is admonishing anyone who comes here to protest who intends to use violence. "Don't come to my city and do anything that isn't completely peaceful!" Good for her. No one wants anarchy, injury, or damage to businesses. She wants us to show how many of us are not happy with this administration. We know that the media will make the most of any instance of violence. We will be peaceful, calm protesters.
But tonight, we'll go to Slava's Snowshow. Have dinner in a nice restaurant, take in the Manhattan streetscape. It's my idea of a good time.

How do I disappoint myself?

Let me count the ways:
1) I am still >< this close to finishing the lovely Orange Marmalade Elizabeth. I had hoped to finish it by today, because tonite's knitting nite at Jill's. But, unfortunately, I discovered the left front was ten rows longer than right front. How did that happen? Pamela helped me figure out how to correct it, but, alas, I've been too wrapped up in my inner angst to actually pick up the garment and finish it. I tried last night, but I fell asleep doing the math for the button holes (Let's see 3+ 12, no, 18, carry the 2, minus 3, z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-Z). I've got too much to do at work today to play hooky and finish it. Damn!

2) I'm not-so-close to finishing the denim silk Mondo Cable Tank. The back is finished. The front is not even cast on. Will I wear it in New York? Not likely. But maybe I'll get some work done on it tonite? Maybe. And it could be my in-flight knitting.

Hey, not so bad. I only disappoint myself twice this morning. And 'fessing up makes me feel better. Not that I'm entirely sinless besides these two unfinished projects, mind you. I won't even tell you how many unfinished WIPs are stashed in this little knitting room. But those are the projects I'd planned to finish by now.

I did finish the Bucket o' Peace, and that's what really counts. Peace.

Bucket o' Peace

On Thursday, I'm flying to New York. Four purposes to the trip:

1) Protest the Republican National Convention

2) See my brother, Timothy

3) See theater

4) Shop

This is what I'll be wearing, along with my Knitters Against Bush t-shirt, at the protest march on Sunday, Aug. 29

It's my Bucket o' Peace. Knitted largely in the wee hours, while I was fretting over the boy/man's departure. And it's my entry in Fluffa's Summer Bucket-Along. It's knitted from Kitchen Cotton, which I would NOT recommend using, from Bonne Marie's Bottoms Up Bucket Hat pattern. It is my first attempt at intarsia and carrying the color along. Not great, but not bad either. And just what I want to project while protesting: nice knitter-lady with her Bucket o' Peace hat. It's an image I hope counters the "rabid anarchist" image that's being perpetuated by the media. Not that I think they'll give us "normal" folks any air time, though. But by just being there, projecting the PEACE message and lending my being to the protest, well I hope it helps to brodcast that message across the nation. Let's face it, kids. I'll always be a peacenik chick from Berkeley, even as I turn ito an old broad.

I'll be, as I said earlier, shopping (for yarn, among other things) in NYC - so if anyone out there has a must-go place, now's the time to let me know. So far, I have School Products, Knit NY, and Habu (for yarn) on my list, plus Viv Pickle (for a new bag). I've got tickets to see Mrs. Farnsworth and Slava's Snowshow and am hoping to also see Caroline Or Change and maybe Dracula, the Musical. Plus, Timothy knows all the fabulous natural food restaurants and I will take in the Andy Goldsworthy exhibit at the Met. Any other suggestions?