It was about this time last year that I learned how to knit.
My roommates, K. and K.T., and I had moved into our new
apartment. And since we were all going home for most of August, we
didn’t want to set up the cable before we left. Naturally, we
were ecstatic to find that the former residents had paid their
cable bill through the middle of July, leaving us only about two
weeks without cable TV. Two weeks ““ we could handle that.
Or at least that was what we believed until the man from
Adelphia showed up at our apartment door asking to speak with Jodi,
the former resident. K. played it cool and acted like she
didn’t know who or what he was talking about and managed to
send him on his way without setting foot in the apartment. But
apparently, he didn’t need to. Twenty minutes later, our TV
went from airing the latest episode of the “Ashlee Simpson
Show” to a blank screen because not only did the cable go
out, but the TV did, too. And after fiddling with all the wires
behind the TV for a good two hours, we gave up on even having
network TV.
So, the first thing I did was head down to Westwood to stock up
on magazines. Not being able to watch “Entertainment
Tonight” wouldn’t be a problem so long as I still had
“Us Weekly.” Or at least that was my initial thinking,
before I realized that reading about the same Britney Spears
sighting at Coffee Bean every day was making me more outdated on
the current Hollywood gossip than my parents.
As a summer school drop out, I didn’t even have any
reading to resort to. Plus, I had waited until it was too late to
apply for summer jobs, putting me in a position where I was
desperate to find something to fill my free time.
It was then that I finally took up a friend’s offer to
learn how to knit, and went out to purchase my first set of size 9
knitting needles and some pink yarn. And I’ll be honest with
you, I enjoy knitting ““ there’s something about the
mindless, repetitiveness to it all that made it almost as good as
watching a “Real World” marathon on MTV. I even started
to toy with the notion that I would actually wear the pink scarf I
was making.
But it didn’t take too many nights of my roommates and I
sitting around Victorian style ““ me knitting, K. reading
Alexander Pope’s “The Rape of the Lock,” and K.T.
lounging on the couch napping ““ to realize that we needed to
take advantage of our fleeting free time as well as the fact that
it was the 21st century, not the 19th. I was turning into a
middle-aged woman in my twenties ““ knitting, going to bed
early, and waking up before noon because of caffeine migraines. I
had to do something fast to stop my tumble off the social
ladder.
So, the next morning I put away the knitting needles and got in
the car with K. to go to the Museum of Contemporary Art in downtown
Los Angeles ““ a place I had talked about visiting, but never
managed to find the time to do when I was caught up with school
work during the year. And since there was no “Dr.
90210″ episode or “E! True Hollywood Story” about
the Hilton sisters to rush home to, why not go out at night?
I soon found that there was a whole bunch of places I wanted to
go to and summer flicks I wanted to catch, and what better time to
do it than summer, when I didn’t have to worry that I should
be at home researching criticism on Pre-Raphaelite poetry instead
of having fun?
So take advantage of the extra free time the summer lets you
have and do fun things in the city that you don’t get around
to during the school year. Scrounge up $30 to go see the King Tut
exhibit at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art; go to the movie
theaters and watch “The Dukes of Hazzard” or any of the
other summer films instead of watching “Old School” for
the 50th time because it’s the only DVD you own. Or walk down
to the Hammer Museum to experience Paul Chan’s digital
animation “My Birds… trash… the future,” a bizarre,
trippy story featuring the late Biggie Smalls that’s worth
checking out.
Besides, one step inside a dark and deserted Maloney’s to
hear Oasis’ “Wonderwall” whining out of the
speakers is enough to make you realize that the Westwood summer
social scene is not worth planning your schedule around.
But if you still refuse to leave your apartment for your
entertainment, at least pay the cable bill. It’s worth
it.
Know a way to keep Rodgers away from the knitting needles
this summer? E-mail her at jrodgers@media.ucla.edu.