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By Kate, 12 July 2010 12:08 pm

Just over three years ago (yikes!) when we moved into our flat, one of the first things we did was demolish the awful, dirty, useless, old, mouse-eaten kitchen and install a shiny new IKEA kitchen, designed specifically for the space and how we intended to use it. It was a dream realised: a kitchen I designed for the way I cook. Sure it could be bigger and include things like built in microwaves and rotating corner cabinets and a real butcher block island and… well, you know. But our kitchen is small and what we have suits it, and me, perfectly for now.

One of the features of an IKEA kitchen is the schwank soft-close cabinet doors and drawers. All very impressive and surprisingly easy to install. Except of course, all great things fall at one hurdle. Our cabinet doors were on and closing softly and our drawers were assembled and ready to be soft-close-ified when we realised the drawers were missing the piece that holds the soft-close damper on. After much rustling around, I decided this was not my own oversight, but some packer’s in Sweden, and resolved to sort it out next time we took a trip to purchase a few more pieces of sturdy Scandinavian design. And meatballs.

So the doors went on, normal, bangy-type close, and we went about the business of using our new kitchen. We don’t have a car and IKEA is on the outskirts of town, so it’s not a place we go to often, and we always forget to either bring or buy something when we do go. And of course, we forgot our kitchen receipt the next time we went. So the lovely people at customer service had a look around to see if they could find us some spare parts, but alas, they would have to be ordered and could not be ordered without the numbers on our original receipt. So again, we had to leave it to next time.

Next time was sometime after the new year, and we did remember our receipt, but it turns out the catalogue numbers had changed in the meantime, so our drawers were still the same as what they were selling as far as we could tell, but they needed to see the actual closing mechanism now. Once again defeated, we resolved to bring in one of the drawers the next time.

But of course, I knew at that moment that our drawers would never be soft-close. Sure, we could empty a drawer, dislodge it from the cabinet and lug it out to IKEA with us, but we won’t. I know we won’t. We’ll forget or we’ll remember but find it far too ridiculous or know that we don’t have the arm strength and polite bus space to carry it back along with whatever else we’re going for.

I was reminded of all this yesterday because we were tidying up the DIY closet and I had the pleasure of sorting through all our extra IKEA bits and finding a better place to put them. And I came across the unused drawer dampers and briefly had delusions of digging out our kitchen receipt, yanking out a drawer, and getting right on down to the IKEA so I could have my soft-close drawers three years later. Then I came to my senses and properly admitted defeat. It will be a quirk of the house, like that missing corner tile on the kitchen island in that Dave’s World show. (Am I the only one who remembers that tile?)

This came at a somewhat appropriate time. I just read this article about the anti-bucket list in Jezebel last week about how there are just things you’ll never do, even if you want to, and it’s freeing to admit that these things will most likely not happen. That on top of the article about the New Decornographers — bloggers with unreachable, perfectly DIY lifestyles that most of us will never have, but who make us feel inadequate as we look at too many of their style blogs and Etsy shops for our own good — sealed the deal: defeat, in this case, is probably the healthy option. I’ve been trying lately to quit being so hard on myself when I don’t get the million and nine things done over the weekend that I’ve put on my to-do list, or when I don’t reach the, frankly ridiculous, self-imposed deadline on a sewing project or a print I’m working on in the shop. It’s hard for me because I pretty much feel like I always have to be doing something or finishing something or getting ahead in some other way, but it’s unrealistic, and clearly I’m not the only person in the world who has to tell herself this.

So, people, this blog will be updated when the fancy strikes. I will list prints on Etsy when I damn well get around to it. I will not impose a deadline on the construction of the jacket I want to make myself. And I will not apologise for my inability to lead a magazine-perfect maker lifestyle. In the meantime, I will also not beat myself up for drinking more beer while I plot my next crafty move. Nor should you. And I will not wince when the kitchen drawer slams as I’m putting my bottle opener away.

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By Kate, 21 April 2010 12:14 pm

The past week has been slightly difficult for me. Not because I’ve been stuck somewhere, but because of the possibility that I wouldn’t be able to go on my vacation. And I guess I shouldn’t really say ‘difficult’ because I’m not sitting in an airport waiting to see how long it’ll take to get a flight home. Those people have the right to claim difficult as well as various other things, probably involving a lot of cursing. But it’s been a battle of the voice of reason in my head and the voice that really just wants to see her friends after not being able to at Christmas because of another force of nature: snow.

Objectively, I sort of think this whole situation is a good one. Yes, it’s disruptive and annoying, and yes it’s going to take a while to clean up. But it’s forced people to look at the fact that shit they cannot control will happen, and they have to figure out a way to deal with it without just flipping out and acting like an entitled-to-everything 8-year-old spoiled brat who gets whatever she wants all the time.

It’s nature. It’s kind of the boss. When it says ‘jump’, you have no choice. And if we were a smart race, we’d look at this situation and say, perhaps we should have backup plans for things we don’t really expect to ever happen, and while I know a volcano has nothing to do with climate change, perhaps we should really start thinking about some of the effects which that, as an uncontrollable force of nature, might have and what we’ll have to do about it. Even if you for some reason don’t believe the climate is changing (I won’t go there in this post), it’s still worth a change in the way we handle things.

But my selfish inner voice is saying ‘GODDAMMIT! I realise I’m being unreasonable, but PLEASE, MS. VOLCANO, ERUPT IN A MORE DIFFERENT DIRECTION FOR ME. KTHNXBAI.’

I want to go to Dan and Kathleen’s wedding, and I want to go to the dive bar in Philly with Sara and Donnie and Liam and Bobby for pierogies and PBR, and I want to see my family and their beach house and Randle the dog, and I want to go to Dogfish Head with Lindsay and Dan, and I WANT MY MOTHERFUCKING VACATION.

I’m generally able to quell this voice of insanity, because I know it’s no use. Volcano will do what Volcano feels like, and humanity be damned. And really, more power to it. Volcanoes are freaking awesome, in the fullest sense of the word. Who am I to try to change the course of life, you know? Human frustrations are not top of the list for the cosmos in general.

In any case, they’ve lifted the flight ban now. Quite abruptly, but they’ve done it. I feel like we’re still not out of the water though, because of the immense backlog and the possibility that the volcano will decide to spew a whole lot more. Still, I’m now cautiously optimistic about my flights next week.

What irks me is that the first thing to happen is that the British media jumps on the government and the CAA and tries to blame them for the backups. It’s unbelievable! You get pissed when the government doesn’t do their job, then you get pissed when they DO do their job. What exactly do you want? It’s not anyone’s fault that this happened, it’s a VOLCANO. There’s nothing you or anyone can do about it, regardless of their rank or relative importance, so stop trying to find some kind of scapegoat. I think the government is doing quite an admirable job really.

And the CAA. You cannot get pissed at the CAA. It’s not like they were thinking ‘Hey, let’s inconvenience as many people as humanly possible just to see what happens!’ No. They were thinking, ‘Hey, we aren’t sure what the effect of this stuff will be on all these jet engines, so lets take them out of the air til we’re sure we won’t have people falling out of the sky willy-nilly!’ Sounds smart to me. I may have been upset if I couldn’t go on my trip, but I’d much rather be on the ground than plummeting to earth because all the engines on my plane failed after an airline decided that profit was more important than passenger safety. That’s why you NEED a CAA. Airlines can’t look at this situation objectively when so much money is involved, which is fair enough really, but people have to step back and let the safety people do their jobs.

I’m petrified of flying to begin with, so I’m more than happy to wait until the people who know their shit on the subject say they feel comfortable with going back up there. Risking your life for a trip to the beach just isn’t cool.

What people should really be complaining about is travel insurance that refuses to pay out, especially if they’re stuck abroad for another week because they can’t get on a flight home and have no money to pay for extra accommodation. Yes, a volcano is an act of god, but if you can’t count on your insurance to cover the unexpected, what exactly is the point in having it?

And they should also be complaining about other travel companies taking this as an opportunity to charge out the ass for rental cars, train tickets, ferries, and whathaveyou rather than trying to genuinely help people out. People are always quick to blame for the cause of something, but it’s really the effects of the situation that show the good and bad in people and companies.

In any case, Eyjafjallajokull, you just keep doing your thing. Humans will sort themselves out eventually. And if you decide I shouldn’t be going to the US, well then, I guess I’ll just have to go with the staycation option and try not to sulk too much til you change your mind.

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By Kate, 27 January 2010 7:00 pm

I tend to remember strange and interesting little things about people and situations in my life. Things that probably have little to no significance to anyone else. They’re just bits of history that pop up now and then to remind me that I’ve known such variety of occurrences and acquaintances.

I haven’t seen David Smith since high school, but I went to school with him from the time I moved to Maryland in 4th grade until we graduated from Frederick High. We were never close friends or anything, but he was in a bunch of my classes over the years, and he was always someone I thought of as a good guy. My clearest memory of him is from one of those awful Middle School dances that pretty much everyone went to in order to stand around and feel monumentally awkward for a few hours, even if a dance wasn’t really your thing (it definitely wasn’t mine).

David was the first person to ask me to dance. Ever. I declined because I was a wimp and I didn’t even know how to dance anyway. Though from what I’ve been reading, maybe he could have taught me a thing or two if I’d accepted the offer. In any case, he just brushed it off and went to ask someone else. I think it was just a matter of having fun for him, so it probably seems insignificant. But middle school is a time when a lot of kids could be and often were quite cruel about anything and everything. This particular dance was fairly soon after I was accosted in the girls’ bathroom and asked ‘God, what’s wrong with your face?!’ in ultimate disgust (by someone else I also remember quite clearly, and for that statement alone), referring to my erupting teenage complexion.

A statement like that wouldn’t bother me much now, but naturally it really got to me then. So being asked to dance when I thought I was the epitome of an ugly middle school mess was amazing. I think he probably boosted my self esteem by 110% without even realising it. And that pretty much defines what I remember about David. He was a nice kid. Nice to everyone, and genuinely so. There are plenty of other snippets from elementary school and high school that I remember, but that’s the one the pops into my head unprompted every now and then and makes me smile.

I didn’t even know David was in the Marines until yesterday when I heard about his injuries. Shows how good I am at keeping up with things. But according to the outpouring of love and memories on Facebook, he loved being a Marine. And while I really don’t agree with the war, I will always back the soldiers who fight it, because they have more bravery in an eyelash than I do in my entire body. So I’m glad to hear he was doing what he loved, because that makes all the difference in life. And because he was such a happy person, I’m pretty sure that everyone who remembers him does so in a positive light.

Obscure old memories and stories show you how a person really is, so it’s too bad that they don’t often come to the surface until they’re tributes. I may not have seen the guy in years, but reading everyones’s memories on his Facebook wall paints a great picture of a full, happy life.

People live on through stories. So keep telling them.

Frederick remembers beloved student, athlete, Marine

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By Kate, 15 January 2010 6:06 pm

Ok, I’ve been away for a while, but I’m coming back with a rant. Hopefully it will kick this blog off again.

I’ve just unfriended someone on facebook for the first time in ages. It’s not someone I know very well, so it’s no great loss. But why, you may ask, have I done this? Because this person was constantly updating their facebook status via text WHILE DRIVING on a long distance trip. And I don’t feel like I should waste my energy getting angry about this sort of thing every time I want to know what my actual friends are doing.

The kind of stress and fatigue caused by long distance driving takes enough of a toll on concentration, but texting while driving because you’re ‘bored’? No. You’re an adult. If a long distance car trip is too boring for you, you shouldn’t be doing it. Listen to some music, have a conversation with yourself, take a lot of rest stops, but don’t use your phone. Not for texting OR talking. It’s irresponsible, unsafe, and moronic.I can’t think of a single situation where sending or reading a text while operating a vehicle is necessary. If I ever discover such a situation, I’ll be sure to tell you, but until then, pull the hell over. If you don’t feel like pulling over, it’s not that important. And your facebook status? NEVER that important. In fact, not really important at all.

You may think it’s none of anyone else’s business that you text while you drive. You may feel like I have no right to tell you what to do. And I say if you get into an accident because of what you’re doing, you deserve the consequences. It’s a choice you made. But the person you crash into while you’re attending to your facebook status does not deserve it, and that’s why you need to stop. The people in your life who care about you also don’t deserve it, so you’re being selfish as well. And all to send some bullshit no one cares about.

I can’t believe it’s not illegal yet, but if you’re caught texting while driving, your license should be revoked. If you think this is harsh, take it up with someone who’s been hurt or killed because they got into an accident with someone who was sending or reading a text.

If you think I’m an asshole for thinking this, go ahead. I’d rather be an asshole for trying to prevent disaster by pointing out that you’re being unsafe than be an asshole for killing someone because I was too bored to pay attention to the road.

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By Kate, 6 September 2009 8:27 pm

For the past few weeks, Scott and I have been catching up on the 5th season of House. We saw the second episode way back when we were in Australia, and we haven’t seen any more, because it’s on Sky 1 now instead of Channel 5, and we’re too cheap to pay for TV. In any case, if you haven’t seen the full season, stop reading, because I’m about to talk about a pretty damn big spoiler.

Last night, right before we turned on episode 20 (Simple Explanation), I was talking about how Kutner was my favorite character (for various reasons, one of which was his reference to Harry Potter a few episodes previous, confirming his status as a lovable, clever dork. Just my type. I’m not going to lie, I had a little crush on him.) I think the coincedence of timing is probably half the reason I was so affected by what I saw next.

No other character in the show saw the suicide coming, and how could they? The absolute last thing I expected to be watching was Kutner in a pool of his own blood 5 minutes after I was singing his praises. And it REALLY shook me. I’ve been thinking about it ever since. (I’ve had a lot of time to. All I did today was paint the windows.) I even had some weird dreams about it.

I’ve been trying to figure out why it’s affected me much more than I’d ever expect the death of a fictional character to. I mean, yes, I cry when I read pretty much every Harry Potter book from 4 on. Every time. But that’s about an 8 year personal connection to an epic story that I read during a great period of change in my life. I really like House. It’s a great show. Probably my favorite. But I never thought I’d freak out about it like this. And for a character I’ve only known for about a year that hasn’t been nearly as big a part of my life as Harry Potter has.

Maybe it’s the unexpectedness of it. Maybe I’m freaked out that someone I know could easily be suffering without anyone’s knowledge and I don’t want to think they would be capable of such a thing without any prior indication. Maybe it’s that Kutner reminds me of someone I used to know. Maybe it’s just because I liked the guy.

There hasn’t been a lot of death in my life. My grandfather died, but it wasn’t completely unexpected. I miss him, and I wonder what it would be like if he was still around. I wish he could have seen me graduate from college. But he had been having problems for a long time, so it was sad, but it wasn’t really a shock. My dog died last year, and I’m still upset about that, but he was also old for a dog and had the problems that come along with that, so I had been dreading that phone call from my parents silently, in the back of my mind, for a long time. More than anything, I was upset that I wasn’t around to say goodbye.

I’ve been lucky to go over 25 years without any sudden, unexpected loss in my life, and maybe that’s why I’m so shaken. I haven’t been completely unprepared for something like this, and I think last night I got a taste of what it would be like if I was. And it’s scary.

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By Kate, 14 August 2009 12:27 pm

Let me just start by saying I know full well that I’m preaching to the choir here, and the people who would most likely benefit from reading this never will. I suppose I have to accept this, because it’s not going to change (I mean, HAVE YOU SEEN these people?), but I’m going to talk about this anyway, because MY GOD.

First of all, it’s nice that Americans who know absolutely nothing about how the NHS works are saying they’d be dead if they lived in England right now, because clearly the NHS is just so evil that it’s impossible to actually LIVE in a place where it exists. And they know this from… watching the news? And this knowledge is enough for them to know that an NHS type system would cause the US to implode.

I don’t profess to know everything about the NHS, and I certainly don’t profess to know everything about the American system. I also don’t know everything about politics. What I do know is that while the NHS is not perfect, it’s a damn sight better than anything going on in America. And I don’t just pretend to know, I do know, because I’ve experienced both.

In the US, I had a great doctor. However, seeing that doctor was a hassle. I would wait anywhere from 30minutes to an hour and a half past my actual appointment time to see the actual doctor. I would have to order my prescriptions online if I wanted the best deal, because that’s how my insurance company did things. And medicine was still expensive anyway. I had to pay more to see the gyno, and more again for birth control. I spent a particularly dreadful two and a half hours on the phone with my insurance company one day when I was a freshman in college because I needed to find out what I had to do in order to get an xray on my sprained ankle at the hospital because that hospital was not in the town where my permanent address was. I managed to get an EGD done on my upper digestive tract right before my dad’s insurance ran out on me. The procedure cleared me of any problems, but the same insurance company denied me when I reapplied independently. As did a bunch of others. I ended up with crappy worldwide insurance with a  deductible of about $10,000 and a pre-approval policy, which basically all means it was absolutely useless. And this was at age 22. If I was being rejected then, god knows how I’d get insurance at 30, 40, or 50.

Now. In the UK, I registered with a General Practitioner, and I can go see him or anyone in the practice he works in at any time. I never wait longer than 15 minutes past my appointment time. I can make an appointment to speak over the phone if it’s more convenient. I can talk to nurses on the phone 24 hours a day, 7 days a week on NHS 24 if I have a problem out of hours. And I can even get an out of hours care appointment at a local hospital if I have a problem on a Friday night that’s not an emergency but is not something I want to wait til Monday to resolve. I pay £4 for any prescription I need. Except birth control. That’s all free. I can go to confidential sexual and women’s health clinics for advice and care from a gynecologist whenever I want. That’s free too. I can, if unfortunately necessary, go to the emergency room without even thinking about how much it’s all going to cost, because there are no bills. They just do what they need to do.

What does this give me? Massive peace of mind. I have a few minor niggling health issues that are under control because I can go to the doctor, talk about them, and treat them without worrying if I can afford it. If I lived in the US, this would be a problem. Not only because of money, but because of the stress associated with the cost and annoyance.

I also have the option of private insurance for hospital cover, which I do have. So contrary to what some might believe, you are not simply limited to the NHS. You can pay for more.  It’s not entirely necessary, but for £20 a month, I can guarantee that if something awful like cancer should arise, I don’t have to worry about NHS wait times (which again, are not perfect, but do exist). My insurance is with BUPA, and when I call them, they answer all my questions, they explain anything I’m unsure of, and there’s no ridiculous bullshit. they do exclude pre-existing conditions, but I don’t really have to worry about that, because it’s all covered by the NHS.

I pay a lot of tax, just like everyone, but this gives me access to these services. It also gives the unemployed, homeless, and everyone else access to these services. Anyone can go to the doctor. There is nothing standing between anyone in this country and a healthcare appointment except for stubbornness. And that’s just a personal problem.

All these Americans who don’t understand why government healthcare is a good idea? I can only imagine that they’re rich and must really enjoy being dicked around on the phone for hours by their insurance companies. Oh and they probably don’t have any pre-existing conditions. At all.

Also, the only logical conclusion I can make about you if you don’t believe everyone should be entitled to healthcare is that you’re kind of an asshole. How can you live with yourself as a human being? I can sort of understand your position if you don’t want to pay towards the pot that feeds the benefit/welfare system — I don’t agree with you, but I can see your point. But not contributing to the greater health of humanity and, as a result being ok with the fact that some people ultimately die because they don’t even get basic care? You’re entitled to your opinion as an American, but so am I. Asshole.

If opponents of government healthcare want to debate the point, they’re more than welcome. But can they not do it like civilised human beings and make points that are actually based in truth? These people are whining like two-year-olds, and frankly, it’s embarrassing.

The state of American healthcare is a very big part of the reason I can’t see myself ever living there again. These crazies I’m seeing on TV, who have now dragged the UK into the debate, are making me want to stay away even more. Sorry Mom, Dad, family, and friends, I love the US, and I love you, but the place doesn’t look too appealing just now. I’ll take my evil NHS over the lunatics and their protests any day.

*Disclaimer: I don’t actually have any problem with Socialists. I do not think they are filthy. I also do not think pigs are filthy. In fact, pigs are quite smart, clean, and wonderful, and I would like one as a pet.

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By Kate, 18 July 2009 7:06 pm

Last week, I discovered that my favorite bar is closing. Or rather, reopening under new ownership. Or something like that. Either way, the Andy’s I know and love will be no more after tonight, and it’s much too far away for me to stop by for a last night in a place I’ve missed since I left Chestertown.

Andy’s was where I had my first legal American drink. (And second. And eighth…) It quickly became my favorite place to go with friends for dinner or drinks or both. Andy’s had the best burgers in C-town and some killer specials every single night. It’s where I discovered that a stout float could actually work, and taste awesome. It’s where I learned that a good bartender is worth their weight in gold (and rum). It’s where I tried my first Dark and Stormy and had some of the best Mojitos a girl could ask for. Plus they had Dogfish Head on tap. Really, what more could you want?

Andy’s is where I celebrated my thesis production with so many friends and family (and champagne!). It’s where I celebrated a lot of things actually, and self-medicated for probably just as many. It’s where I went for dinner when I found ants in my peanut butter and couldn’t face any of the other food in my cabinet. It’s where my friend Melissa had her first date with her husband. It’s where I went to say goodbye to friends before moving across the pond. It’s where I’ve looked forward to going back when I finally get back to Chestertown this winter. But now, that’s not going to happen.

Behind the bar at Andy's.

I’ll miss the drinks and the food and the free popcorn. I’ll miss the comfy, squashy chairs and the big fireplace in winter. I’ll miss squeezing as many people as possible around a table and talking about nothing til closing time. I’ll miss taking other people to Andy’s for their own first legal drinks. I’ll miss walking in and feeling home.

I hold every bar I walk into up to Andy’s example. And I still will.

I know Andy’s last night will be a huge party, I only wish I could be there to rock it out in style with all the other people who come to say goodbye. C-town is losing part of what makes it such a great place to be. I’ll be having a Dark and Stormy in Andy’s honor.

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By Kate, 12 July 2009 11:43 am

At the request of a few people, I’m going to post directions for making a tshirt blanket, prefaced by the disclaimer that I actually make these quite sloppily without doing things like ironing seams and making exact measurements. I have about 4 of them now, and I usually want to get them done quickly, because they’re more for lounging around or picnicking than they are for decoration. In other words, this can be as fuss-free of a project as you want it to be as long as the desired result for you is just something to snuggle up on the couch with.

First of all, gather up all the shirts you were about to give to goodwill and grab a pair of fabric scissors. In general, it’s best to use only shirts that are regular cotton or cotton/poly. Stretchy stuff will throw off the design and make the sewing bit more fiddly.

Find the smallest shirt in your pile and cut off the bottom hem, the sleeves, and the collar and top seams. Cut the biggest square/rectangle you can get out of the front and back of the shirt. Try to cut square to the grain of the shirt. This can be a little tricky on some older shirts that have been twisted and stretched from years of wear and washing, but just do your best. This first square you cut is your template for all the others. You can either just use it to trace around, or you can make a cardboard template the same size and use that.

Now cut off the bottom hems, sleeves, collars, and top hems of all your other shirts and cut squares out of the fronts and backs of all of them using your template piece as a guide. You can trace around it with a pencil or fabric chalk or whathaveyou, or you can just lay the first fabric square you cut on top of each shirt piece and cut around it. Like I said, I don’t get too specific with this project, so be as fussy as you think you need to be.

Now you’ve got a stack of fabric squares that are roughly the same size, you get to decide the size of your blanket. You can make it as small or large as you want. It mostly depends on how many tshirts you end up with. My biggest one is 6 rows of 5. It’s also my favorite, partially because it’s got the most nostalgia attached to it (There are a lot of favorite shirts in that blanket, particularly the Ben Folds Five one that I literally wore til it was falling to pieces. I still mourn the loss of that shirt.) and partially because since most of the shirts were well-worn before I cut them, they’re extremely soft, and thus perfect for a blanket.

My favorite. It's enormous! I couldn't even fit it all in one picture. Poor BF5 shirt, I wish you were still wearable.

In any case, clear a big space on the floor and start laying out your blanket. Once you perfect your pattern of tshirt pieces, you’re ready to start sewing. It’s easiest to sew each row together first. So starting with the top row, take your first two squares (from left to right) and lay them right sides together. You can pin down the side where the seam will be (recommended if you don’t sew often) or you can be a bad example like me and not bother. Sew down the side with a seam allowance of about half an inch (or whatever you’re comfortable with, you can always cut off the excess later if you feel you need more space). Open up the squares, take the next square in the row and lay it right sides together with the square to the right of your first seam, pin if you like, then sew down the right side again. Keep doing this til you get to the end of the row, then repeat with each row of your layout.

You should now have your sewn-together rows of tshirt squares laid out on the floor. Sewing the rows together involves slightly longer seams, so I do actually pin when I’m doing this bit because it’s easier to keep it all together. Starting with your top two rows, flip the second row up and lay it face down on top of the top row (so that the bottom edge of the top row is matched up with the top edge of the second row). Smooth out and try to match up the seams between the squares in each row if you can, then pin about every 2 inches (on the bottom edge of top row/top edge of second row side). Sew this the same way you sewed between each individual square. Now open these rows up, flip the third row up and lay it facedown on the second row, and repeat the same process. Do the same for each following row in your blanket until you’ve sewed the entire front of your blanket together.

For the back of the blanket, I always use tshirt sheets. I don’t generally use the flat sheet when I make my bed, so I would just go to Target and buy a set of tshirt sheets, use the fitted one and save the flat one for projects like this. My favorite tshirt blanket uses two twin sized sheets sewn together on the back because it’s so big, but if you can find a flat sheet the same size as your finished front, that’s the easiest. You don’t even have to use a tshirt sheet, you can use a regular one you’ve got lying around. It really just depends on how you want the thing to feel in the end. Make sure you wash and dry the flat sheet before you start sewing it. Especially if it’s a new one. I didn’t do this once and ended up with a slightly deformed tshirt blanket because the back shrunk in the wash when it was already sewn together. Not a huge deal, but it can be easily avoided.

The back is not nearly as exciting.

Lay your flat sheet out on the floor and lay the completed front of your blanket facedown on top of it. Make sure it’s as flat and smoothed out as you can get it, then trim any extra off the flat sheet. Pin around the outside about once every two inches, pick the whole thing up, and pick a corner to start sewing from. Make sure you backstitch on the first corner. Give yourself at least a half inch seam allowance and sew down each side of the blanket until you get about half a tshirt square length from the corner where you started, then backstitch again. (Don’t get excited and sew the thing all the way shut, because then you’ll just have an inside out blanket.) Now pull the blanket rightside out through the hole you’ve left, tuck in the extra seam, and topstitch it closed, backstitching at the beginning and end of the seam.

You could get fancy and topstitch around the entire edge of the blanket, or you could even put binding on if you want to take it further, but this is the point at which I say ‘finished!’ and wrap myself up in my new blanket.

These make great guest blankets, picnic blankets, throws, and are great for dorm rooms. Best of all, they’re a valid rescue for your most loved shirts that either don’t fit anymore or are threatening to disintegrate from over-wear.

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By Kate, 30 June 2009 12:59 pm

First of all, let me just say that Jon Stewart continues to be a genius and The Daily Show is the second best thing about my lunch break after the food.

That being said, I figured whatever he had to say regarding Michael Jackson’s death would be right on. I don’t really have much to say about it myself. I think MJ was pretty great, especially in his earlier, less freaked out years. I regularly rock out the the Jackson 5 and I can’t detach much of his solo stuff from greatness. Sure, he got a little weird, but you would too if you were a worldwide superstar with the pushiest parent on the planet and a media storm that never really let up. Look at Madonna, the closest thing to Michael Jackson in terms of star power, she’s a little freakin’ crazy too. And I guarantee there are much stranger people in the world, they just aren’t famous.

It’s sad that it happened so suddenly and that it’s kicking up so much vitriol about the guy all over again, but it’s also nice to see that a lot of people are just remembering the awesome music.

The whole thing makes me think about the perception of celebrities in general. I’ve never really been into famous people. I had some musical obsessions when I was younger, but I think that was more a product of my age than what I really thought about people. There are plenty of famous people I admire, but I can’t really get over the fact that they’re just other people I don’t know who happen to have done something cool. Approaching a celebrity for me equates with approaching some random person on the street.

Every time I walk into Waitrose for my bi-monthly peanut butter buying mission, I have the same mental conversation with myself. “What would I do if I ran into JK Rowling?*  A. Faint, B. Burst into tears, C. Timidly say, ‘Hello, thank you for being awesome, I hope you enjoy those apples’, D. Not even notice.” A and B aren’t really in my character, and I would hope the answer would be C, but knowing me, it would be D (I rarely notice people more than enough to avoid bumping into them, which is more than I can say for most people walking around this city). That or I’d notice her but be too worried about bothering her while she’s picking out the weekly veg. It just seems intrusive and weird, you know?

A week or so ago we went to see the premiere of Away We Go at the opening of the film festival, and John Krasinski was there. I was initially excited about it because I’m sort of in love with Jim Halpert (who isn’t?), but when I saw him it was kind of just like, oh, ok, here’s this guy, and I don’t know him any better than the dude sitting behind me, so what’s the big deal? (He did throw some Halpert looks for good measure though, which was at least amusing.)

I guess I just fail to catch the bug. And that’s kind of how I feel about the whole thing in general. Michael Jackson, in the end, is just a man I didn’t know. I can appreciate all the awesome stuff he’s done, but aside from pumping up the Jackson 5 and thinking good thoughts for his family at such a crappy time, I can’t see any reason not to leave him alone, and I guess I don’t get why other people want to pick on him even after he’s gone. It’s just bad taste.

*Rumour is she shops at this particular branch. For US readers, Waitrose is kind of an upscale grocery store that happens to carry a lot of tempting, wonderful things, plus Skippy peanut butter, a rarity in these parts.

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By Kate, 1 May 2009 2:37 pm

I miss Washington College a lot today.

I tend to miss it a lot, and not in the way that I want to go back and live it again, because reading The Great Gatsby often enough (and, you know, living life) will pound into your head that such things aren’t possible. No. I miss it more in the way of remembering how awesome a time I had for four years and then being a bit jealous of myself, and then a little annoyed because maybe I didn’t appreciate it quite as much as I should have at the time. But no one ever does, because if they’re anything like me, they’re having too much fun to notice. As it should be.

May Day, just like Birthday Ball, is a major Washington College holiday. For those of you who have no idea of the traditions of my alma mater (and why should you?), May Day is generally known as a time of naked dancing around the flagpole. Usually at midnight. And usually large quantities of alcohol are involved. But I don’t really associate May Day with nudity alone. (I never did participate in that particular element anyway.) I associate it more with the general happiness that the semester is over, your work is (mostly) done, and it’s time to sit on Middle porch with some beer and some friends and some bullshit. And one year, a makeshift barbecue of Foreman grill proportions. I feel like that’s a particular feeling you don’t get very often in life, and even less so outside of college.

In any case, because I’m at work waiting impatiently for the metaphorical bell to ring so I can get on a train to London for a weekend break, I’m wiling away my time trolling through the WAC website looking at all the stuff I miss about sunny Chestertown. And pining. Maybe not for my college days in particular, but just for that ‘Hey, it’s summer and this beer is good and I’m not really concerned about anything else right now’ feeling. Because it’s a good one.