Last night, as I sat through the Oscars once more, I thought to myself, as I ritually do at 10:07, “Why am I watching this?” I see very few movies, and if I do, then they generally aren’t the ones that get nominated. (I will admit that I’ve got plebian tastes, sue me.) I guess it’s just habit, at the end of February you watch movie stars get little statues, just like you haul up the patio cushions is April (Or March as this year is going) and like who you rake leaves in October. (Or December as last year went.) Still, if the Oscar’s are great to read a book during, or solve a knitting problem, the latter I did, and the former I tried to do. Maybe tonight.
Anyway, as far as stuffy awards shows go, last night’s was pretty good. I got a little teared up twice. (Octavia Spencer and Christopher Plumer) (He is 82 and won his first Oscar, how touching is that.)It was actually entertaining — I had to put my book down. And it was short too. A little over three hours. I hate what that says about me that three hours is short. When it was over I actually looked at the clock and thought, “Geez, they’re over before midnight?”
Last night I finished the sixth (out of nine) square on my blanket. Almost two-thirds of the way done, and I’m starting to get a little burnt out on these things. So, to keep my busy I started a little sweater, the one that was giving me problems. Still, I knit several swatches, and the edging, not bad time. Too bad that it’s in odd numbers, which means that it’s impossible to evenly increase one-third of the stitches. Fudging will ensue today if I can find the time, which given the mess I made in the kitchen cooking breakfast, might not happen. Sigh, it’ll be there later.