I have probably never mentioned the ick I feel regarding Josh Groban, but I think The Hater put it perfectly:

Josh Groban's voice has a perfect, warm sweetness to it that only mothers over the age of 50 can hear. To the rest of us, it sounds like he's singing out of his nose through a megaphone made of pretension and old Andrew Lloyd Weber t-shirts.

I am not fooled by your wobbly vibrato and staged earnestness, my friend.

Photos, as promised:


This is Vine from MagKnits (December 2007); I loved the pictures on Ravelry, and was able to find a cached page using the Wayback Machine. (I suppose I should go through all the MagKnits patterns on Ravelry, to see if I can retrieve the patterns I like before they're lost to the ether.) And that's Malabrigo Lace; the tinkering I had to to for gauge and fit (I have man-hands) was well worth it. These are beyond soft and yummy. The yarn was leftover from my Swallowtail, which I just sent to my grandmother for her 75th birthday. (The woman cooked dinner. On her 75th birthday. I think she insisted. Take a break, Grandma!)


The Evil, Evil Monkey socks, of course. I ran out of the bamboo blend with one repeat left, so I subbed in some salmon Brown Sheep laceweight I had leftover. Not bad for stashbusting, really.


The finished Poet's Pullover. I'm not 100% happy with this. The sleeves are way too puffy for my taste, and it's basically too big in nearly every dimension. Also, it seems to have a minimizing effect. I think it actually makes my boobs look smaller. I didn't think that was actually possible. Anyway, it kind of visually throws off my perceptions of my actual figure. Maybe I just need to get over this one.

The unhappy professional situations I referred to last week are partially resolved, though not particularly satisfactorily. At least I'm not as angry about it as I was last week. Onward and upward, I suppose...