Sparkle J and I left from school, and got off at Porter Square. The reading had been moved from Porter Square Books to the Masonic Temple nearby, and I was pretty sure I knew what building that was. As we were walking along Mass Ave., we passed a woman wearing a pretty blue shawl. We both turned to look at it, and then said to each other "Hey, that's Birch!" (That links to someone else's rendition of the pattern.) This is what happens when you are a knitting-blog-reader. You recognize patterns. As they walk down the street.
Passing this woman, who was walking in the opposite direction, should have been our first hint. Soon thereafter I spotted a street number and realized that we were way too far down Mass Ave for the temple to be the building I was heading towards. We turned around and walked back the way we came, and I soon realized that we had again passed the temple. At that point, we turned around once more and noticed the GIANT BRICK BUILDING looming over Mass Ave. Sure enough, it was the Masonic Temple. (To be fair, there were absolutely no signs about the reading outside and the building's sign was very high above our heads.)
Sparkle J and I walked in and there were no signs inside, either. We heard some female voices and decided to follow them. Turning the corner at the bottom of the stairwell, we saw her — the YARN HARLOT! At that point we stopped calling her by the name of her blog and started referring to her by her real name, Stephanie. She, too, was wearing a gorgeous rendition of Birch. Then we started giggling uncontrollably and telling each other to "calm down, we can't be Those Girls." By the time Abby arrived, we were OK.
Before the talk started, I craned my neck around a bunch of times to see if there was anyone I "knew." (I put that in quotes because I was looking for bloggers.) I spotted Grumperina but apparently missed frecklegirl. Not that I introduced myself, which was a topic of conversation between myself and another knitting friend today. How do you just walk up to someone who doesn't know you from an unbanded skein in the bottom of their stash and say "Hi, I know who you are and know random details about your life, knitting-related and otherwise" without feeling like a stalker? I'm not really sure, but clearly I didn't. I am pretty sure that if I knew that they read my blog, I would have introduced myself. To me, that would be more of a "hey, how are you?!" moment than an "ohmygod, you rule!" sort of embarrassing encounter. That being said, I bet they would both say what I would say if I were them, which is "you should have introduced yourself!" Oh well.
While craning my neck around I realized that I had forgotten to wear something I'd made — many, many other people had something they'd handknit on them. Sweaters, shawls, scarves, bags. All kinds of beautiful stuff. Since I haven't knitted anything for myself yet, it would have been one of my lovely crocheted scarves. Which would have worked nicely, since I broght crocheting to work on while at the reading. I know, what a rebel!
We also failed miserably in our goal of getting a mention in the blog. Our angle was going to be "hey, we're crazy librarians, look at my funny shirt and Sparkle J's homemade apron." When we finally made it up to the table to get our books signed, it was all we could do to stop giggling. I think the most intelligent thing any of us said was "thank you!" Oh well.
I guess that must be what other people feel when they realize they've been seated two tables away from, say, a well-known actress or musician. (My example yesterday when I observed this to Sparkle J was Tom Cruise, but later it occurred to me that at this point, people are probably more scared than awestruck.) As I have long suspected, I have nothing intelligent to say when presented with someone famous. We just sort of stood there quietly.
So, here is the entry about the reading on Stephanie's blog (which is even better now that I know what her voice sounds like) in case you are curious. Sounds like she had a fun time in town, despite the terror of landing at Logan. I personally find myself fascinated yet terrified whenever I'm coming in for a landing . . . can't tear my eyes away no matter how nervous I get.