Back over Christmas break, the family and I took a day trip to Philadelphia. After spending a good part of the morning running around the grimy, decaying Chinatown, which interested no one in particular besides my mother, my good-natured brother-in-law was kind enough to take me to a yarn store (which, of course, interested no one save yours truly), and purchase some yarn for me as a Christmas gift! The store (Rosie’s Yarn Cellar, for those in the area) featured a collection of hand-dyed yarns named after female authors and other icons. It was a tough choice for me between the Louisa May Alcott yarn, which more closely suited my color palette, and Edith Piaf because, well, it’s effin’ Edith Piaf. In the end, practicality won:

The Louisa May Alcott yarn is the bottom front one. The gorgeous strawberry and chocolate skein in the back was also part of the gift. The other two skeins are some white silk wool blend, leftover from the knitting of my sister’s gloves.

While I loved these two yarn choices (and still do), the question was, what to do with them? I mulled over the LMA yarn, debating about whether to just do a big chunky scarf or some mittens, until I finally decided that I wanted a kitty hat:

Meow!

I’m mostly pleased with the end result, though I’m not entirely sure that this kittyhat is not ugly. None of the other kittyhats I’ve seen have been made with variegated chunky yarn. I think I’ve settled on it being cute, in kind of an ugly (oogly) sort of way, so naturally, it suits me just fine!

I am, however, at a loss as far as what to do with the other skein. A lacy shawl? Stockings? Any suggestions?

Currently there is some sort of horrible germ wending its way among my circle of friends and acquaintances, devastating us all. Oddly, it seems to have struck during a bout of really good (re: warm) weather, instead of in the middle of the bastardly ice storms we’ve been having here. I will, rest assured, suitably freak out if I see any more random dead birds on the streets. Otherwise, I’m fairly upbeat, having heard from a little (not dead) bird that a boy I’m kind of interested in might sorta kinda be interested back (!), though he might have also been the source of contagion for this current phase of illness. C’est la vie.

I’m also floating on a cloud of tea and cold medication, because yesterday, two packages arrived at my doorstep:

These boots were made for walking. With proper insoles for my flat duck feet, of course.

1) A pair of boots from Zappos.com (free overnight shipping on all shoes if you order before tomorrow! bye-bye, bank accounts, hello shoes!)

2) A copy of “These Boots Were Made for Walking,” a complete set of recordings that Lee Hazlewood did during his time at MGM Studios.

Now who in the heck is this Lee Hazlewood character?, you might ask. He is the Svengali-like figure responsible for Nancy Sinatra’s career. A mix of campy pop and psychedelic country, his music is exactly what my ear has been straining for my entire life, and I didn’t even know it. I got turned on to him by my friend Louise, when we drove up to Chicago together. She’d made a mix CD and this song came up:

If you know anyone named Phaedra, this song is the reason why.

“What is this song?”

“Oh, it’s a duet of Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazlewood. Weird, isn’t it? My friend and I consider this our hangover song.”

I honestly can’t say I’ve heard anything like this. Johnny Cash comes close, because of the similarities of voice, but there’s something quite bizarre and ethereal about this particular song. Hence began my recent obsession with all things Lee Hazlewood. And then I came across this article, from the end of January:

Lee Hazlewood is ready to die. Suffering excruciating pain from renal cancer, Hazlewood, the reclusive singer, songwriter and producer doesn’t have much time left, maybe a year if he’s lucky. So he has been preparing for what he calls his impending “dirt nap”.

I do seem to have a tendency for getting into artists just before, or right around the time of their death. Kurt Cobain in middle school, Elliott Smith, Jeff Buckley, Johnny Cash, and now Lee. So, let this be a caution to you, if you are an artist: if I begin to express interest in your work, write up your will now! Get your things in order before the cold hand of creatively-spurred death grips your shoulder. I’m looking at you, members of Arcade Fire! (kidding, please don’t go! You’ve already had your Funeral! )