A few folks who know me really, really well might be aware that I have a thing about aliens. To be specific, the culture that’s built up around the Roswell incident and the visitors known as the Greys. This isn’t about belief one way or the other and no, I’ve never been abducted so don’t waste your time arguing and flailing your arms around about how I must be nuts and how there are no little green men (grey!) and how even if there were, no proper knitter would be interested in them.
This is about my fascination with folklore and popular culture in general, and oogie-boogie tales of the supernatural in particular. I’m intrigued and amused, plain and simple, and aliens provide endless, rich material for my art projects and schemes.
That’s why I love this joint. I’m surprised that two guys from North Dakota thought this up, instead of some enterprising soul in Roswell. We visited the Fargo outpost on our trip to western NoDak in May. Really now, y’all, what’s not to love about a doorway like this? It must be slammin’ at night when those lights are on.
These are the mirrors in the restroom. Yes, backglass from old arcade games, fitted with mirrors. You can tell they’re authentic and not repros because there’s paint flaking away from the glass in places.
Fun details like that are everywhere. You can’t look at a single corner of the dining room without finding some sort of freaky alien collectibles. It’d be a perfect place to kick back and work on a project like this dishcloth, except for one small problem. It’s a rib joint. Ribs and knitting are not compatible. Ribs can’t be properly eaten with a knife and fork. You’ve gotta get in up to your wrists, and there just aren’t enough moist towelettes in the world to ensure the safety of your knitting.
Particularly since the ribs there are not bad. I’ve had better, but the very best ribs can be had only in some rather difficult to access places–including one that’s now, sadly, impossible. (A tiny joint in deepest Mississippi with a cafeteria line set up in the shell of an old fast food restaurant; a takeout place in Chicago which featured a bulletproof glass window where a woman waited for you to slide your money into a little metal tray, then the bucket of ribs would appear through a small door; and the backyard of a now-deceased friend who seriously knew how to tear up a grill–this was a man who, when he knew he was dying, told his family, “Start the ribs,” so they’d be ready for his memorial service.)
I can’t knit and eat ribs in the Space Alien Grill, but I can certainly work on an alien dishtowel at home, with clean hands, and imagine what it might be like to have unearthly powers. Say, the sort of unearthly powers that would allow me to levitate a rib to my mouth using only alien psychic hoodoo, while I clacked away at my safely clean knitting.
The pattern linked above is for a washcloth. I love it, but I didn’t want a washcloth. I wanted a towel for drying things in the kitchen. So I’m simply repeating the pattern–two aliens side by side–and hoping I can get a whole towel out of one ball of Sugar & Cream. I have more in Hot Green, but not in the same dye lot.
I could be setting myself up for trouble here. Wouldn’t be the first time. I’ll keep going, though, and find out how far my ball of yarn will go, because just in case aliens are real and one happens to stop by Chez Mystery for dinner and then offers to help out with the dishes, I’m going to be ready with my towel. Because they could be–well, why not? Or why? Nobody knows, now, do they? Maybe aliens knit…
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