Mole versus Field: In Which Dr. Inkenstein Compares and Contrasts

As some of you might already know, Dr. Inkenstein loves notebooks of all bindings and sizes.


Lately I have been fond of those little brown Field Notebooks, having first discovered them bundled in a pack of three with three different types of pages: blank, ruled, and grid. They come in handy for all sorts of things.


When a set of similar-in-size Moleskine notebooks appeared in a stationery catalog I had to try them.

Both notebooks are pocket-sized (abt. 3 1/2" W x 5 1/2" H), and in a side-by-side comparison, they crossed the finish line in a dead heat. (A little horse-racing lingo, there, folks).

　

The paper quality in each is similar, being softer and less slick than the noted Clairefontaine, yet harder and more fountain-pen-reliable than the average composition notebook, maybe on par with Miquelrius.


The verdict? Six of one, half-dozen of the other. The Moles are sewn, the Fields stapled in three places.
I like the pocket on the Moles, like the notations on the Fields (which is really handy for us sock-knitters! A ruler, right in the notebook!).


Both are more or less a similar price, so take your pick and have fun. Or be on the safe side and buy both!


Coming soon: Four new fountain pens, quick impressions thereof.
　

Knitting With Fountain Pens: In Which Count Sockula and Dr. Inkenstein Find Their Common Cause

So what does knitting have to do with fountain pens on earth? (Sorry, there---a little Hong Kong anime dub lingo inside joke).

　
Haven't you wondered?

Both Count Sockula and Dr. Inkenstein have pondered that question over and over. Well, for short, flea-flicker attention span moments anyway.
　
The inescapable conclusion is: you can knit with fountain pens. And I have the swatch to prove it.

　
Actually the fact that you can indeed knit with a fountain pen is not the only inescapable conclusion, but it's one Count Sockula has been toying with ever since a knitting thread appeared on the Fountain Pen Network. Yesterday, the time arrived for the Great Science Experiment.   Behold!!!  The moment of truth. The yarn hit the pen. The buck stopped here.

　
Knitting with a pair of Hero 616s was awkward and silly but it proves it can be done. Now to move on.
　
The profound and genuine link between fountain pens and sock knitting is just this: color.
　
I'm color-crazy. The more colors I can jam into a sock, the better. The more different inks I have loaded in my fountain pens, the better. I love color. Right now I am looking at an apple-green pair of three-pound dumbbells. They are much, much more effective than black bells of the same weight. An unfinished pair of socks in Easter-egg colors is sitting in a fuschia basket. This will make for better socks. I have a favorite omelette pan in blazing yellow and orange. Omelettes taste better in it. Color makes the world go round.
　
Some people are all about black or blue ink only. I can respect that. One of my pen buddies is a Sheaffer Blue-Black man.
　
Some people also knit socks of a single color. Yes! I've heard it's true!
　
That would not be me.
　
So now that one mystery is solved, carry on, one and all, and stay tuned for the---dun dun dunnnnn!---EXCITING MYSTERY SOCK!

Be Heeled! In Which Count Sockula Gets A Revelation

Good evening, my children.  Turn down the lights, sit back, and listen to another tale from the kingdom of Sockopolis.

So you know how, in spite of short-row yearnings, Count Sockula was unable to fashion a short-row heel that actually looked like a real, flap 'n gusset heel? One that had depth? One that fit?
　
Coming up instead with pathetic little half-heel nubbins?
　
Well, my children, the answer was so seeeeeemmmmppppllllle!  MUAHAHAAAAA!
　
In a casual little aside from one of my sock books, just a footnote really, there lay a picture of a short-row heel and some text that read: 'If you have problems creating a heel with depth, you can use up to 60% of your total stitches.'
　
Yes! Thievery was the answer.
　
Imagine that! Use MORE stitches. Steal from your instep stitches to add to your heel stitches! And here I was, using the 'normal' half of the total sock stitches for my heels. Silly Count Sockula.
　
Out came the needles and workbasket. Out came some Red Heart scraps. On went the Count's usual 32-stitch I-need-to-perform-an-experiment socklet. (From the toe up this time, just for laughs).
　
Count Sockula may have been absent the day they taught math, but I do know that sixty percent of 32 is not an even number. And 32 isn't all that big a number to start with. So (also just for laughs), I stole four stitches from the instep: two for each side of the heel.
　
It worked. A real heel, with enough depth not to be laughed at by all the other heels in the sock drawer.
　　
　
And now, behold the triumph of the short-row heel!

　
　
Yes, I know they are not identical twins. They are not even fraternals, but cousins.  But they are real heels.


 Now, once upon a time, in the ancient days of double-pointed needles and flap/gusset heels, Count Sockula was obeying the sock books and CUTTING the yarn (just as the books demanded) before knitting heel flap and turn.  Because, as you know, the yarn ends up sticking out of the middle of where your heel flap would be.

And then one day, another book said, 'Forget cutting yarn!  You can re-arrange the heel flap stitches so the yarn comes out at the beginning of the flap.  You can even knit half a row and purl back.  No one will notice, and we won't tell."  

So it was then that the Count discovered the joy of not cutting heel yarn.  And then came two circulars, with no stitch re-arranging whatever.

Imagine the sense of freedom the Count achieved at the prospect of not having to pick up gusset stitches at all!

This Cousins Sock-speriment has been an exercise in freedom.   I haz a happy.

And here they are compared to a dishcloth sock with a flap/gusset heel.

　
Once the heel is completed, placing the extra stitches back on the instep is optional, and only slightly hazardous.

Count Sockula imagines one could also make extra heel stitches, not steal them, and then work the extra stitches away once the heel is completed. But this has not yet been tried.


So---unless Count Sockula is the only knitter in the entire kingdom of Sockopolis with this heel problem---if your short-row heels are also lacking depth, you might want to try the simple expediency of  stitch-stealing for yourself.

Dishcloth Socks! In Which Count Sockula Defies All Logic

Behold! And tremble in fear, my children!
*Lightning-flash, thunder-crack*
　
Yes. It's true.
　
　
Count Sockula makes socks out of DISHCLOTH YARN.

　
　
Because, you know: colors prettyyyyy.
　
　
And Count Sockula, as yet, is quite impatient. Quite. Sitting there squinting at size zero needles and almost a hundred stitches? Alas. Not the Count.
　
　
　
Now, cotton yarn has problems. Such cannot be denied. People have tried to warn Count Sockula off cotton yarn, and with good reason. It is in no way stretchy. It is hard on the hands as one knits. And socks made with dishcloth yarn will exxxpaaaaannnnnddddd into fishnet as you wear them. Whee. Feel the nice cool breeze caress your feet through the gaps in the stitches!
　
　
This is exactly what happened with my first pair of dishcloth sock yarn: each time I wear them, they turn into fishnets, especially the soles, which were knitted with a different cotton yarn so soft and pliable it was probably made for clothing, not dishcloths.
　
　
And they were knitted on two needles, as well. Section by section. Cuff and instep. Sole and heel. Toe. Then stitched together. What I noticed is that the thicker section, the instep, was indeed made of dishcloth yarn, and it was holding up better.
　
　
The stubborn part of me insisted on trying again. I switched to a smaller needle (a size 6, if you must know0, more stitches, and this time, knitted the sock in the round, without seams.
　
　
Not bad! Better, in fact. Like a hug for my feet.

　
　
I was on a roll! Now you will note this next pair has two different-looking heels. Count Sockula is still trying to conquer the no-wrap heel, but this heel appears to be nothing more than a pathetic little bump. The other heel was done with a flap and gusset, and looks much more heelish and fits better. But flaps and gussets can be---trying.   Count Sockula still finds the idea of a no-wrap heel intriguing. Perhaps some day, I will master it to the extent that it actually looks like a heel.

　
　
On to the latest, again done with conventional flap/gusset heel. They are fraternal twins, as are almost all my socks these days. Since I am still watching Prince of Tennis, I call them Mixed Doubles.

　
　
Of course, since these are mostly bed/house socks, they don't need to fit as well as conventional socks, but you would be surprised how well they do fit.   Go ahead.  Try a pair.   Good for padding around the house or tucking up in bed.
　
　
 Coming soon:  Be Heeled!  In Which Count Sockula Gets a Revelation.

Until then--
　
　
Muahahaaa. Behold!! Socks made from dishcloth yarn.

Sad day in Sockopolis: In which Count Sockula feels like a total heel

For some time now, Count Sockula has been wondering about different sock heel styles.

The conventional heel-flap-turn-then-gusset type produces the best results.  Nice and crisp, 90-degree turn, with plenty of room for your actual heel to fit.

But sometimes it is just so dreary picking up and then decreasing those gusset stitches.

What to do?

Enter the various other heel types: Lifestyle Toe-up.  Fleegle.  Afterthought.  

Now, a foray into Count Sockula's favorite Red Heart yarn to try out two different kinds of heels on one pair of socks, both done from the toe up. 

The results?  Two sad, much-frogged socks that are finally, finally finished. 

First, we started with far too many stitches.  It was going to be a clown sock.  Frog one.

Second, we underestimated the number of cast-on stitches for the toe-up beginning.  Frog two.   

Finally, on to the socks.  At last (using #8 needles, both metal circulars and wooden double-points) they reached completion.  Usually that event makes Count Sockula happy.   Not this time.

Behold!  The top-sock heel doesn't.  Even.  Look.  Like.  A.  Heel.

It's just a pathetic little nubbin of a heel, a mere bump lying there flat and exhausted, piteously muttering, "Look at me...  I stand as a disgrace to your knitting skills!"

Don't know why.  The numbers work out.  The heel just never looks like a heel.

See?  From a different angle---this time the offending heel on the right:

The first heel, an Afterthought heel, at least LOOKS like a heel.  And the Afterthought heel has that circus come-on of seeming easy.  You just knit over a piece of placeholder yarn, then come back in when the sock's done to reactivate the 'held' stitches and finish that heel!  Wheee!  Nothing to it!   Done it successfully with baby socks! 

The problem is, for an adult, the Afterthought Heel foot always ends up too long.  Even when you take into account the fact that an Afterthought heel produces a longer foot and adjust your measurements accordingly. 

This particular Afterthought heel sock had to have its toe picked apart and shortened by two inches.  Frog three, and out.

I like the bull's-eye look of an Afterthought heel, especially with self-stripery yarn.   Hate the tedious picking up of stitches and the invariable gusset holes.

But at least the Afterthought is simple and needs no pattern.  You basically pick up the held stitches and make a toe where your heel should be.  That's right, a toe.  Doesn't make sense to put a toe where the heel should be, but that's how it is.


These socks took waaaay tooooo long to finish, because by the time Count Sockula was on the leg part, it was like rolling a boulder uphill.  A giant boulder made of boring, much-frogged sock particles.


At least I liked the colorway (Latte).


After all that sturm and drang, Count Sockula gratefully returned to conventional heelage.   This scrappy little pair is the result:

Nice, right-angle heels.   The way they should be.  Maybe picking up gusset stitches isn't such a bad thing.

In Which Dr. Inkenstein Reviews the Pelikan Future Pen

Mostly hand-written, but Dr. Inkenstein wants to add that, at a mere $25, the Pelikan Future seems to be a typical good value and sturdy writer. 


The pen came from isellpens, along with its new little friend, a blue Peli Junior, which Dr. Inkenstein has reserved exclusively for Noodler's Baystate Blue.

Besides, I was eager to try the B nib.  Because every now and then, you just HAVE to write with a garden hose. 

And, as one would have to squint really, really hard, or use a magnifying glass, I will also tell you that although the Future has a kind of cheapy, plasticky feel to it, and the rubberized section isn't as cozy as the much-cheaper Pelikano Junior, there is absolutely nothing wrong with the B nib.  It lays down a thick,  smooth, wet line on just about any sort of paper (this example is a Staples Quad-ruled composition notebook), and though the pen's barrel is more of a lime green, and this Pelikan green ink cart more blue-ish, Dr. Inkenstein will let that slight discord slide for the moment.

It's a fun pen.  We like it very much.

In Which Dr. Inkenstein Redefines Cheap 'n' Cheerful Fountain Pens

You all know by now that Dr. Inkenstein is the Chief Engineer on the Cheap 'n' Cheerful Fountain Pen Express.

　
　
And that I always jump to recommend this pen or that pen (usually a pen that costs under $10).
　
　
But I've been thinking about this. At times, when I follow my instincts, I don't always know what I'm doing, until later in the process. Now I do: I've been experimenting with nib, fit, and finish, trying to see what suits me and why.
　
I thought that I wanted needle-fine nibs exclusively but that turns out not to be true, though they're still good for certain applications, like practicing Vertical Manuscript/Business hand, and for editing.
　
　
I find myself leaning more toward the inclusion of 'garden hoses' and italic nibs. I have some peculiar needs with the girth and weight of a pen that outweighs almost every other consideration but the nib and 'writeability.' And I'm beginning to get the picture.  Some pens feel too cheap and plastic-y even for me.
　
　
That said, there are still certain cheapies I like.
　
　
Fountain pens that always make that go-to list include:
　
Pelikano Jr. : Running from about $9-15, depending where you buy them, they are remarkably smooth writers for the money. I have an older, opaque two-tone flat top model with an ink window, but also many  more current models with the bullet-y translucent plastic bodies and caps. All clipless, and the newer models have rubber-grippy stuff on the section. The long Pelikan carts have a huge ink capacity.
　
　
Platinum Preppy: About $3 for a clear-view flat-top, comes in many colors, and two nib widths, .03 and .05. These pens will usually write even after being left on the shelf for months. Eminently refillable, with Plat's big ink capacity cart.
　
　
　
Pilot Petit 1: Abt. $5. Again, a clear barrel, but smaller, and a fat little cigar shape. Cute and a half. Wild colors; the carts are refillable if you have a pipette. Fine-ish nib. Certain colors seem to write a bit dry.
　
　
　
Pilot Plumix: About $7 at Target. A stiff italic nib in a clear-or-tinted plastic body that looks sort of like a squid. No clip, huge ink capacity in the cart, cart can be refilled.
　
　
Hero 616: If you get the genuine article, running from $3-$10 each depending on whether you buy in bulk.  Good writers, and so inexpensive you won't bemoan the loss of one or two should you misplace them. Bulb/aero-type filler, and you will get more ink per fill if you remove the metal tube before filling. The nib is fine-ish and dryish, and lately I have been wanting broader, wetter nibs, but I ALWAYS have one inked.
　
　
(Now for some older pens, still available somewhere as NOS):
Hero 366: Ran about $4 each in bulk. This is a mini-pen, cigar-shaped, slightly smoother and wetter nib than the 616, a cute little bulb-filler.
　
　
Stypen Creeks: Abt. $3/each in bulk, if you can still find them. Take standard international carts and come in a small bullet-shaped version and a longer flat-top version. Colorful, plastic-y and way up there on the cute list. The nib is a medium-fine and seems to write dry. I have successfully stubbed two of them and they seem ideal candidates for such experimentation.
　
　
Sheaffer No Nonsense, OLD STOCK ONLY: About $5-$25 each, depending where you can find them. The new ones are horrible, the old ones have easily interchangeable nib sections running from EF to VERY broad italic. Flat-top, many colors, have clips, standard Sheaffer cart-fillers. If you see one of the old-style NN Calligraphy kits at a yard sale, grab it!　
　
　
　
　A glass of cheap 'n' cute, grabbed at random, which all HAPPENED to be red:

　
　
　
　
Now I am NOT proposing that any of these pens are the equal of, say, a Sheaffer Legacy or Waterman Carene.
　
What I am saying is that more often than not, what gets inked is not the Legacy or Carene. Especially if I'm trying out a new, possibly DANGEROUS ink.
　
　
(Though the more expensive a Pilot is, the less I like writing with it. I prefer the Petit and Plumix to the 78G, and I was REALLY disappointed in the Falcon. Felt cheap and the nib wrote chalky.)

Yes. There are big differences in finish and quality. The Hero 616 and some others do have a cheap finish and the 616 caps don't always mate well with the barrels. But---FOR THE MONEY---they are all good, reliable writers and no one should be ashamed of using them.
　
　
As for Lamy, I just don't care for their fountain pens. It's personal. Don't like the triangle grip, don't like the proprietary cart, and though I am content with the nib on my charcoal italic Safari, I've heard enough complaints about wildly varying QC to say nope, not for me. Other pens at the same price point seem better all-around:  Chinese pens (Hero, Jinhao, Kaigelu) costing more than, say, $15, can be splendid bargains, with fit and finish the equal of pens costing, well, way more.

Lamy fans, don't sue.  ;-p