Yarn Bombing? Are you fucking serious? Renegade kozy making? Guerilla knitting? I don’t care what sort of aggressive adjective you use it’s still wrapping yarn around street poles. FUCKING YARN! The shit grannies use to make you warm sweaters, comforting blankets, warm scarves and socks. The only way this would be considered “hard” is if it was a movement led by ballsy little old ladies shimmying up poles or stacked one on top of each other like they’re about to engage in some sort of landlocked chicken fight. Only at night, dressed in all hand-knitted ninja suits, blasting “We Care A Lot” on a shitty over modulated ghetto blaster.
It’s was bad enough when every girl in her late 20s in the early 2000s was in some sassily named knitting circle – Bitches ‘n’ Stitches, Knit Pickers, Knitty Gritty, Chicks with Sticks, Ballsy Knits, Kiss My Stitch, Knit Knot Patty Wack I’ve Never Touched A Bone, Fancy Hookers Crotcheters, Serious Hookers, Knitch Knitters, Darn Yarners….You ‘member. I can’t tell you how many uneven scarves and raggedy ass shawls I had to accidently “leave” at bars and on Muni trains. Every time I lost one someone else would say “Oh I’ll make you a new one.”
Now these bitches are out in the streets wrapping their bullshit after school girls club crafts around every god damn erect pole in their line of sight. Disgusting.
But Lydia, it’s all about taking something soft and juxtaposing it against the cold hard abrasive environment we all live in. It’s a little inspired moment of color and beauty. Blech…I get it. I’m not a dumb ass, I just don’t give a shit. This is exactly the kind of fuckery that makes me hate street art. It’s all so fucking precious. I hate precious.
Have you ever worn knit gloves in the rain? Fucking gross right? Whaddaya think is gonna happen to these “installations”? Germ magnets. I pity the city employee that’s tasked with cutting this unsanitary bullshit off public property. Someone is gonna catch giardia and trust me, there is NO beauty in diarrhea and vomiting. Well, unless you are Rowlf the dog.
How She Got Good Calves, Though?
I went to a fancy restaurant my friend manages on New Year’s Eve. That night the restaurant was closed for a private event that had yet to officially start. The restaurant was empty save for myself, my homegirl and our girlfriend who managed the restaurant having dinner along with a handful of people setting up the evening’s event. I excused myself after dinner so that I could visit the restroom. As I open the door to the bathroom I heard a loud voice shout, “LOOK OUT GIRL, THAT DOOR BE SWANGIN’. On the other side of the door stood two women and an impressive array of full sized toiletries including a pump bottle of Palmer’s Cocoa Butter, Victoria’s Secret Body Spray and Oil, at least 3 types of hair products and what appeared to be the entire Wet and Wild Holiday make-up collection. They also had two flat irons plugged in. I shimmied past them into the open stall to handle my business. I stepped out of the stall and stood behind the two women who were totally in their own world. They were talking loudly about the men in their lives while they applied lotions, straightened chunks of hair and put dabs of color to their faces,
“Giiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirl, fuck that nigga Anton. He ain’t shit. You know who’s fine tho?”
“OOOOOooooh yes girl. You know he fine. I don’t know how they be cousins.”
I waited patiently for a few moments with my hands awkwardly dangling from my sides waiting to wash my hands. Despite the flushing sound of the toilet and my reflection in the mirror in front of them, my presence went unnoticed. I finally said, “Excuse me, I just need to wash my hands.”
The two women stepped back from the sink without making eye contact or saying a word, they continued on with their conversation as I washed my hands in the sink.
“I KNOW, Darrell is fine, he takes care of his kids, he got that job…”
Then I heard one of them abruptly change the subject, “How she got good calves, though?”
I didn’t think anything of it until the other one parroted it back, “How she got good calves, though?”
The two exchanged at least 3- 4 more, “How she got good calves, though?” at alternating pitches and intonations as if saying it more would incite a revelation.
I realized at this point that they were talking about me, my calves.
“She big but she DO got good calves.”
“Girl, yo ain’t got no calves. You got them cankles”
“Biiiiiiitch, shut up. I’d rather have cankles than them long ass bird legs”
“Shut up, you crazy. Them shoes is cute too.”
Mind you all of this was being said in regular volume less than 3 feet from me but never TO me. It was as if I wasn’t even there or far enough away to not hear their musings. I finished washing my hands reached for a towel to dry my hands and turned to the two women. I wadded up the paper towel turned to them and said, “You GOT to do them squats girls, got to do them SQUATS.” I did a squat, tossed the towel in the trashcan beside them, then opened the door and walked out.
The look on their faces was priceless, I head them cackle uncontrollably as the door swang shut and then back open again.
If that’s not a great way to start a New Year then I don’t know what is.