Interview Game: Heather

  1. Leave a comment, saying you want to be interviewed.
  2. I will respond; I'll ask you five questions.
  3. You'll update your website with my five questions, and your five answers.
  4. You'll include this explanation.
  5. You'll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed.

My questions are from Heather of Her questions and her answers are archived on her site as well.

duck, quack, and cover

Be vewwy vewwy qwiet. I'm hunting endorphins.

Hour eight of headache. Die, headache, die. Lovely evening consisting mostly of staring at computer, trying very hard to move nothing more than my fingers and my eyes. A still head is a head that hurts less.The battle was lost in hour five, when thirty minutes after taking the first aspirin + acetaminophen + caffeine combo, I was whispering to friends, "When can I take another? I think the first one skipped town before doing anything useful..."

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"This is great!" she said between forkfuls of pad thai. "You picked the one Thai restaurant next to a Books-A-Million. I was so craving a mocha…and now I can take care of my sushi cravings and my mocha cravings!"

After we all finished our lunches, Rick and I pronounced ourselves the chile fans at the table, agreeing that the three-pepper heat level of our noodles wasn't much more than a nice tongue-tickling heat.

Befriend your local crack dealer

In this world, there are two kinds of yarn shops. The first are more prevalent; they have skeins and cones of yarn arranged in graceful rows of manufacturer, fiber, and colorway. They believe in browsing, newsletters, and knitting classes, and the employees proudly wear their hand-knitted clothing like the store samples they are.

Those are yarn shops.

But there is another kind - the kind buried not in the small-businesses section of southeast Huntsville, but buried in a sea of directions that start off like this: "Take Rideout Road until it dead-ends into Highway 53. Turn left and head toward Harvest. I don't remember how many flashing yellow lights you'll go through, but one of them's for McKee Road. Take a right, drive a ways, and we're on the left. We lock the front door while we're in the back, working with fiber, so it may take us a minute or two before we can get the door unlocked for you."

That, my friends, is a crack dealer in the guise of a fiber shop.

Wobble, wobble

Few things are more difficult or more tiresome than trying to come up with something halfway interesting to say on a Friday night when you're tired, quite possibly coming down with a bit of a cold, have nursed the beginning twinges of a headache for several hours, and can't think of anything else better to say than "Hey, I made chicken stock tonight."

Yes. That's it. That's the full extent of it: another two figures accomplished on Kat's scarf (each figure is approximately four inches long) and a nagging, throbbing pain centered square in my forehead, like a third eye. The good news is that the chicken stock, given time to cool and solidify, will be strong enough to stand up under its own power and … well … do whatever chicken stock does whenever it's strong enough to stand up under its own power.

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Weaving in the ends

My grandmother never expected me to stick with yarn work. When I asked her to teach me, I think she was surprised, and even moreso that I persevered and became good at it. Later, I added knitting to my repertoire, but was never able to master the art of tatting (using carefully-crafted knots to create delicate lace).