This weekend, an end to humdrum Chicago existence at the end of the Union Pacific North line train, an ending in . . . KENOSHA!

KENOSHA! That fabled hamlet, that glistening jewel of the Midwest!

KENOSHA! From whence have sprung a hundred hundred poets and a thousand thousand cheeses!

KENOSHA! Where the dewy tears of rosy-fingered Dawn cling to the soaring spires of the city, glistening like the diamond mines of deepest Afrika!

KENOSHA! When I can be found on Saturday.

Jealous? Yeah, you totally are.

So, Wednesday I took a sewing class, my very first experience with sewing unless you count helping Mrs. Levine make togas my senior year in college, and the help I gave was so very minimal -- just guiding the material through the machine as it sewed a keen meander pattern for the hem -- that it doesn't really count.

It was awesome.

One of the first things that the instructor told us was that we should almost never need to take our machines in for repair. Almost anything that can go wrong with it, we should be able to fix ourselves. I definitely appreciate that attitude.

I spent 4 hours learning how to thread the machine, change needles, change feet, change bobbins, thread a bobbin, stitch, baste, backstitch, measure, cut, pin, select fabric, install a zipper . . .

It was a fantastic class.

In the end, I left with a pillow made entirely by me, about 16" x 16". I haven't taken a picture of it yet, but here's the fabric that I used:


I'm pretty happy with it. I'm going to take Pillows II next, a necessary prerequisite for taking Upholsery Project -- Ottoman.

Eh, virgins . . .

I was just listening to Matt Nathanson's cover of Edwin McCain's cover of the Indigo Girls' cover of Dire Straits' Romeo and Juliet, and everytime he sings the line "When we made love, you used to cry," all I can think is: You're doing it wrong. Try some lube.