Winston's Review: Suzanne's Purse

Hello!

It's me, Winston J. Schmidt.

Suzanne's been going through a weird time lately, so I've tried really hard not to review any more of her yarn. Also, she started keeping it behind a closed door, so I can't get to it, but, even if she hadn't, I wouldn't eat her yarn right now.

But you TOTALLY should, because guess what? It all tastes GREAT!

Molly? That's not cool, because eating yarn makes Suzanne sad, and...

She didn't look sad when I tested the mouthfeel of that 600-yard ball of Interlacements superwash, or when I helped her out with a stress test of that ball of Pure Merino. She said it wasn't my fault, and she patted me on the head and said I was a GOOD DOG when I let her take it away without trying to grab it and run. Maybe it makes her sad when YOU do it, but when I do it she thinks it's adorable, because I'm a loveable scamp! Yaaaay!


O.K., um, anyway, some of us have been trying really hard not to do yarn reviews. I moved on to other media, because a guy likes to express himself through his art. I hope you like it.

Winston's Art: Suzanne's Purse

Materials: Corduroy, hard plastics, paper, leather, cloth, wood, nylon, foil, ink

My Process: I was trying to express my longing for Suzanne's steady presence in my life. Everything's changing, and a guy gets nervous, you know? Accountant Boy just stopped coming home one day, and I don't get why, because I only took a dumper in his shoes one time, and that was a long time ago. How do I know Suzanne's not going to leave me, too?

So, she went out for like, thirty-seven hours (three hours, down the street to a disaster preparedness meeting - ed.), and I got lonely and scared. My first thought after undoing the latches on my kennel with my tongue was, "If she were here, I'd happily lick her nose so that she knows how much I love her. What smells the most like Suzanne's face?"


I came up with eyeglasses, and I know she keeps them in her purse, because I've tried to eat them before. They were in a delicious rawhide case, which I gnawed to pieces, and the frame was hard and smooth, like a thin Nylabone. I only got a tooth mark on them last time I tried, but I was really able to go to town on them during this session. I popped out the lenses, then I mangled the ear pieces so that they couldn't be fixed again. The case wasn't tasty rawhide, because she's picked a cloth one when she had the glasses fixed the first time, but that didn't stop me from enjoying it. It still tasted like the inside of her purse, which tastes like Starbucks pastries and sunshine. I was pretty proud of this work, so I left it in the middle of the carpet in the front room.

I was still unsatisfied with the scale of the piece, so I went looking for something else to add. She also had a pair of Wayfarers in there, and - lucky me - they were in one of those rawhide cases, so I ate the ear pieces off of them, then I resculpted the case. With my mouth. I didn't want my display to be monotonous, so I did this part in a different room, so that the two works didn't share a sight line. I placed everything gently on my downstairs bed, which was a commentary on royalty and privilege, because it was reminiscent of crown jewels on a velvet pillow.

It had been, like, forty-six hours (Three hours. Only three hours. - ed.), and Suzanne still hadn't come back, so I continued working. By this time, though, I was pretty tired, so I dragged her finger exerciser up onto the purple couch and chewed the palm pad off of it. I also got down a lot of the blue plastic, even though it looks kinda good here. (I incorporated that into subsequent earthworks projects for weeks afterward. I call that installation Le Poo Bleu.) I left the rest of the hand exerciser on one of the couch pillows, as a commentary on the push and pull between activity and inertia.

By now, I was getting really nervous, because she'd been gone for eighty-three hours (Winston! Dammit! It was only THREE HOURS. Wasn't the fact that the sun didn't rise and set on you while I was gone kind of a tip-off? - ed.), so I stopped thinking critically about what I was chewing. I ate her earphones, but they were hard to bite through and kinda stringy, so I got them stuck between my teeth. I moved on to a reuseable orange grocery bag, just because I thought it'd have some good flavors in it and it would have contrasted nicely with all the blue stuff I'd spread around, but it was hard to tear up. I only got the attached carrying pouch free. I pulled apart a couple of pieces of paper, but that was even less satisfying.



Finally, all I had left was the collection of stick-things. I splintered the wooden one into six pieces, because it smelled like Suzanne's hands, so I really wanted to take it all in. The splinters poked my face, though, so I figured I'd try the other stick-things to see if they were better. I'm happy with how that went, because I was able to use the blue stick-thing to garnish the carpet around the eyeglasses. The carpet was a pretty shade of azure when I was done, like a summer sky.

There wasn't much else to use after that. I was about to chew what looked like the very best plastic bit in her purse when she walked in the door. She told me how much it meant to her when she picked it up and wiped the spit off of it. "Winston? This is my car key. Do you know how much I'd have to pay to replace this if you chewed it up? Of course you don't, because you're a dog, but let me tell you, big guy. Several hundred dollars. What is wrong with you?" And then I felt bad, because I think what she meant was "What is wrong with you? This bit would have tied the whole thing together, and I can't believe you didn't use it."

She picked it all up, probably so that Molly wouldn't mess with it. I think she really liked it, because she spread it all out on the counter and started crying.

Conclusion: I’m happy with how this project came together. I’ve worked with some of this media before, but I haven’t had this much freedom to experiment with it. I still like working in yarn, but it seems kinda done now that Molly’s into it. I like to be cutting edge. I think Suzanne’s trying to keep my work relevant and fresh by holding it back from the public. She started putting her purse in the hall closet so that I wouldn’t get burned out in my new media. Sometimes she slips up, and leaves it on the counter though, so there’s still a chance that I’ll have an even bigger installation in 2012. Also, I learned that there’s other stuff in the house that gets my creative juices flowing, so look forward to my writeups of that in the next few weeks.


Anyway, thanks for reading along.

Sincerely,

Winston J. ‘Bug’ Schmidt

How to Disappear Completely

Two weeks tomorrow.

I spend most of the day clearing out the office, going through all of the drawers and little corners where things collect. I go through every pocket thoroughly, even when I get so weary of the task that I want nothing more than to close the drawer back up, put the lid back on the box, come back to it tomorrow. I sort through every stack of paper, pull down every picture and postcard off of the memo board, read every letter and birthday card. Many of them go into a box in the garage. I cannot bring myself to get rid of them, but I am compelled to pull all of them down.

I move around the rest of the house, but there isn't much left anyway. One drawer in the buffet and half a dozen snapshots in frames. I change out all but two of the pictures. If my printer worked, it would all have been done today. I resolve to find another printer tomorrow. I clear out the buffet, and there isn't even anything significant enough for me to set aside for him. Expired coupons and a handful of screws. Only clutter.

I wander around again with a home staging eye. Have I missed anything? If someone new walked through, someone who had never met us together, would they have any idea? Did I leave a note tacked on the refrigerator, or some little trinket that hinted at a marriage? But no, aside from those two photos on the stairs, there is nothing.

I have erased him.

Thoughts on a Wednesday Morning

"There's a point where 'I will show you how amazing I am, and you'll (love me more/be sorry you did this to me/be humbled by my coolness)' becomes simply 'I am amazing.' Not to make it all about me, but I know that feeling, because I've had it for a while now. It's why I know that I'm going to be O.K.

"And why I know that you are, too."

- Me to Doc, December 7, 2011

Gobbles

You're never too old to make a hand turkey.

Maybe too drunk, but never too old.

Winston's Review: Horstia Maulbeerseide-Schurwolle

Hello!

It’s me, Winston J. Schmidt.

I finally got a chance to review another yarn, because Suzanne hasn't learned that I can reach as high as the top of the pub table, even though I dragged her 40-year-old Raggedy Ann down from there and, well, things happened. Look for my review of Raggedy Ann yarn hair in the future.

Squirted! Squirted right in the FACE! I like it when it's not me!

Molly? I didn't get squirted in the face, because I think Suzanne kinda wanted me to do that so that she wouldn't have to make tough decisions about her dirty, old doll. Also, you have to throw a whole bucket of water on me to get me to stop doing stuff, which makes the squirt bottle kinda useless. And she didn't catch me with the yarn, so there's no proving that it wasn't you, even though you're not tall enough to reach up on your hind legs like a velociraptor and grab stuff off the counter, and you don't like yarn. So you didn't get squirted in the face, thanks to me making it ambiguous. You're welcome.

Anyway, I got a chance to review this ball of yarn, so here's my assessment.

Yarn: Horstia Maulbeerseide-Schurwolle

Yardage/Weight: 50 grams per 100 meters

Fiber Content: 50% Silk / 50% Wool

Color: Like, um, pasta? You guys, it really did look like spaghetti, and if a guy can't tell the difference, then you can't hold it against him for trying to eat it, right?

Texture: Single-ply, and sort of shiny and squeaky, and I hate to keep saying it but it really did look just like cooked pasta when it was sitting on the floor, where it just happened to fall after I gently brushed it off of the tall bar table with my face. I watched Suzanne try to untangle and re-roll the ball, and it looked kinda like it was already getting fuzzy and felted, and I don't like that stuff getting stuck in my jowls.

Flavor: Disappointing, because it didn't taste buttery or salty. After my last review, where the yarn had notes of barnyard and grass, this one was kind of a let-down.

Mouth Feel: Silky and slippery, and a little past al dente.

Review: Suzanne really likes this yarn, I guess. She made a sweater out of some of it that didn't look like pasta a few years ago, but then she accidentally felted it, which I could have told her would happen, since I did it just by chewing on it. A few years ago, when she heard it was discontinued, she bought, like, fifteen balls of it in this mustard color, even though she thinks it's going to make her look like she has jaundice.

To me, it's just O.K. It doesn't break easily in my mouth, and it doesn't taste like much of anything. Once I tangled up the ball a little bit, I lost interest in it. If she does make something out of it pretty soon, I probably would try to eat another ball, but it wouldn't be as good as that sheepy stuff.

In conclusion, Suzanne thinks it's great, but I wish she'd let me review more angora.

Sincerely,

Winston J. ‘Bug’ Schmidt