Tuesday Project Roundup: New Jeans

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I finished a pair of jeans last week–my first button fly and a wearable test of a pattern designed for selvedge denim.

I didn’t do any fitting on these and overall, they’re working OK–there’s a little room to get more swole but that just means they’ll fit longer than 6 months. Plus, my denim here is an 11 ounce weight; most selvedge denims are 13-15 oz so I think if I ever make these as intended, the heavier weight will help smooth these out just a little. (Of course, the nature of a straight side seam and long fly means it’s always going to wrinkle from wearing ease–thanks to The Crooked Hem for explaining that so well!)

Since these were just a test, I didn’t want to order (or shorten) a custom-length zipper, so I used the pattern option for a button fly. I’m a complete button fly convert now–you make the buttonholes first thing so they’re easy; you don’t have to worry about hitting the metal zipper at the bottom of your fly topstitching; and you can use your RIVET PRESS.

I also used up a label from my stash of patches and labels, because why not?

Rainy Projects

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Now that I’m funemployed, the weekends are the same as the regular days and the key words are “stay busy” (followed by “save money”). So I tried making some cardamom buns–a food item I’ve always been curious about–and pulled out some twill and my patch collection to plan a project from the stash.

As the tiger patch reminds us, EVERYTHING’S FINE!

Twisted round cardamom buns on a baking sheet

A few patches on orange fabric. One includes a roaring tiger with EVERYTHING'S FINE and another has a duck holding a knife with the words BECOME UNGOVERNABLE

I Was Right (I Didn’t Want To Be Right Yet)

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Well, my suspicion that my agency was going to cut jobs as they start rolling out mandatory AI was correct: I got laid off yesterday.

The last time I was laid off was during the 2008 Great Recession and wow, is there a difference between being 28, renting, not having anyone to rely on, and having no savings and being 46, having a house and a partner who’ll put me on his insurance , and having enough savings that I’m really not panicking (yet).

I also go this very kind text from my manager which, upon reading, made me shout, “I’m the John Henry of AI!!”
Screenshot of a text that says, I'm shocked truly because you were honestly faster and better than Al on all of my projects. I wish I had an opportunity to fight for you because you were our top performing writer.

I mean, I hope it works out better for me than it did for John Henry but by god, I’ll beat those any of those writin’ machines and I have the work to prove it.

 

But the bad boss come up laughing at John Henry,
said, “You full of vinegar now, but you ’bout through–
we’re gonna get a steam drill to do your share of drivin,
then what’s all them muscles gonna do, huh John Henry?
Gonna take a little bit of vinegar out of you.”

John Henry said to his captain, “A man ain’t nothin but a man,
but if you bring that steam drill round, I’ll beat it fair and honest.
I’ll die with my hammer in my hand, but I’ll be laughing
’cause you can’t replace a steel drivin’ man.”

Tuesday Project Roundup: In My Giant Clothes Era

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I wore giant pants all through high school in the late 90s and lo, the wheel of time is turning back to not having any of my body discernible beneath swaths of fabric.

Seeking more giant pants, I sewed up the Awl Trousers from Alamain Studio as a wearable muslin in 7.5 ounce twill. I used soft elastic for the waistband and the combo of the heavy fabric and wimpy elastic makes the drawstring not optional, but–for a pant with 8 inches of ease at the hip–I think they’re kind of chic?

Mirror selfie of a woman in oversized olive drab drawstring pants and an oversized lapis blue t shirt.

I also whipped up a giant top to fully reject the male gaze. This is the free Jesse Tee from True Bias and my fourth attempt at an easy knit top in the last 6 weeks. (I made Top 1 too big, I didn’t like the style on Top 2 after I finished it, and Top 3 was just bad drafting so I didn’t finish and will repurpose for some undies in the future.) Thankfully this easy knit top worked out.

Happy Birthday (Tomorrow) To My Dad

Karen

My dad will be 79 tomorrow! It’s hard to remember that that’s pretty old, because he just keeps going. Last weekend he was up on a ladder and bending conduit; he walks at least five miles a day; and he isn’t even all the way gray.

I hope I can still be that strong when I’m 79–literally but of course figuratively too. He’s still learning (cooking, gardening, model railroad computer programming, history). He’s sharing a lifetime of knowledge. He’s making the best of things, and that’s really admirable.

So happy birthday, Dad. I hope tomorrow is a great day! We love you.

A Writer On AI

Karen

A friend pointed me to novelist Chuck Wendig’s newsletter a few weeks ago and I keep thinking of that last bit (you’ll see). He’s responding to a member of the Horror Writers Association board defending her use of AI for writing. His style can be chaotic but his points are flawless:

It’s very serious to us [writers]—a theoretically-existential threat!—to have our work taken without our permission and used to feed gluttonous software designed by techbros who literally say the quiet parts out loud when they talk about how it’ll destroy jobs, how we’re all gonna have to move to the fucking moon or instead live in a bunker beneath a data center somewhere, how if they actually had to pay creators for licensing rights they’d be bankrupt. They steal our work, they throw it into the machine like so much coal, and then use it to enrich themselves while simultaneously harming the environment and poisoning the fidelity of all our information systems. It is very clear that they want to treat information and knowledge as a resource to be mined—a utility to control, one that can be leveraged to extract payment from us. We and our work are all just material—Capital-C Content—to be melted down into slag.

So yeah! We’re kinda fucking mad about it! And when we see someone we like using it, we kinda want to kick some sand onto your shoes. You look like a sell-out. Like someone who just sold his buddy to the Cannibal Farm down the road.

 

Here’s the part that stuck with me:

If you wanna use AI, I can’t stop you.

But I can definitely give you a look like you just giddily shit your pants on a crowded train. That’s not me bullying you. That’s me acknowledging you shat yourself willfully and with joy and now we’re all having to deal with it.

You make your choices.

 

Wednesday Poem

Karen

There’s the joke that poets only talk about spring but I think late summer is really the season they love best. The longing! The foreshadowing! “Always, this hunger for more.”

 

How the Trees on Summer Nights Turn into a Dark River
by Barbara Crooker

how you can never reach it, no matter how hard you try,
walking as fast as you can, but getting nowhere,
arms and legs pumping, sweat drizzling in rivulets;
each year, a little slower, more creaks and aches, less breath.
Ah, but these soft nights, air like a warm bath, the dusky wings
of bats careening crazily overhead, and you’d think the road
goes on forever. Apollinaire wrote, “What isn’t given to love
is so much wasted,” and I wonder what I haven’t given yet.
A thin comma moon rises orange, a skinny slice of melon,
so delicious I could drown in its sweetness. Or eat the whole
thing, down to the rind. Always, this hunger for more.