Nov. 28th, 2015 01:35 pm
jazzfish: five different colors of Icehouse pyramids (iCehouse)
Because it's been ages and ages since I did a proper con report.

Though this isn't exactly one )
jazzfish: an evil-looking man in a purple hood (Lord Fomax)
Since 2005, when I started flying semiregularly, every time I've checked a bag on a multi-leg flight home it's gotten lost. Every. Single. Time. I used to joke that my luggage went to Chicago unless I was going to Chicago, in which case it went to Denver. These days I no longer check bags unless forced to.

Because I was bringing home too much stuff I checked my suitcase in Dallas. Got to Toronto, waded through customs, came out at the baggage claim area, where apparently you're supposed to pick up your bag and check it to your next flight.

I bet you can guess where this is going.

I asked the Air Canada baggage desk if that was actually the procedure. They said no, and pointed to a list of origin cities from which baggage processing is expedited. Dallas was on that list. With some foreboding I went on through.

In a shock to no one, when I got off the plane in Vancouver my luggage wasn't waiting for me.

Based on conversations with several other people on a couple of different flights, it sounds like *no* bags from Toronto got transferred to anywhere. Idiots. I filed a report and got a claim number, and my bag is currently listed as "en route to destination airport."

I wisely pulled my laptop out of the suitcase during packing. I neglected to grab my razor, and I completely forgot about my house keys, so I'm housebound today.

Stupid Toronto.

Full con report coming probably later today, because I've not done one of those in awhile.
jazzfish: Jazz Fish: beret, sunglasses, saxophone (Default)
Going out of town tonight: Jeff K-- had a spare ticket for BGG.con, and I had four days of vacation that I have to take before the end of the year or else they vanish into the ether. (There are things about my job that I am not fond of, and its vacation policies are high on the list.)

So, have some links.

Pinboard on the Next Economy Conference: Maciej Cegłowski, who I hadn't realised until yesterday is also the author of The Alameda-Weehawken Burrito Tunnel, livetweets the O'Reilly Next Economy Conference. "We’re moving from a world of widespread unemployment to one where people have three, four or even five jobs. #prosperity"

Ernest Shackelton Loves Me, "a musical about the inspirational romantic connection between a down-on-her-luck electric violinist and the legendary turn-of-the-century polar explorer."

David Mitchell on Earthsea: "Ged's story is told with the calm authority of an age-old Icelandic saga, yet stitched here and there with passages of pure beauty for its own sake." This article is everything I love about A Wizard of Earthsea, and also why that love is fundamentally different from how I feel about books by, say, Tolkien, or Mike Ford, or most recently Ann Leckie's Ancillary books.

Mitchell has (also?) written an introduction to, o my, a beautiful new edition of A Wizard of Earthsea. Based on the samples, the illustrations by David Lupton are exactly perfect.
jazzfish: a black-haired man with a big sword. blood stains the snow behind (Eddard Stark)
I've been out of DC for long enough that I'm starting to think of driving as fun again.

I've popped down to Seattle a couple of times in the past few months to play 1817, one of them honking long train games, with a group down there. It's about a 2.5-hour drive, so I've been leaving around 8-8:30 and arriving at elevenish. Then we play for eight hours, and I drive back, getting in well before midnight. Reasonable.

Traffic is light, the scenery's pretty, and I get to dig into some music I've forgotten I had. (Coming home last weekend I listened to Loreena McKennitt nonstop.)

Maybe this is bundled up with why I like traveling: if you're traveling, there's nothing you need to do other than travel. Nothing that needs worrying about, nothing that needs attention.

I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
jazzfish: Jazz Fish: beret, sunglasses, saxophone (Default)
On Friday afternoon we writers relocated to a different spot in the Great Wide Open (god i hate open-plan offices). Now we're at the far back corner, where I will no longer a) get distracted by people walking by and b) get tense because I'm at the front of a row and I always feel like someone's WATCHING me. So that's a minor improvement. And I snagged a better chair on Tuesday and have been much less tired since. It's not perfect but it is definitely an improvement.

Other than that, not much going on. E's been ill all week, the kind of low-grade ill that depresses executive function but doesnt really do much else. I seem to have dodged it so far; will see how long I can stay lucky.

We've started looking at apartments closer in to town. Nothing has really come up yet, other than a general sense that we're likely going to have to get rid of some bookcases. Oh well. Every so often I get the urge to just go live in a tiny bachelor suite (studio apartment) somewhere, but I'm pretty sure I'd miss my stuff after a month or two.
jazzfish: Randall Munroe, xkcd180 ("If you die in Canada, you die in Real Life!") (Canada)
I can see the lights in the distance
Trembling in the dark cloak of night

(Though it's really just the fireworks over Surrey. Vancovites will take any excuse to set off fireworks.)

On my own tonight; E's gone out to a Night Vale show, someone had to be home to stick the cat, and frankly I'm looking forward to an evening By Myself. Plans likely include A Movie and probably Cat Cuddling.

The wind is full of a thousand voices
That pass by the bridge and me

oof time

Oct. 31st, 2015 10:41 am
jazzfish: Jazz Fish: beret, sunglasses, saxophone (Default)
I am still struggling through, and have yet to achieve work/life balance. Have a couple of weeks worth of update.

Cats: Kai is perfectly fine, if a little rounder than she ought to be.

Chaos has been revealed as vampire-cat. Or possibly vampire-victim-cat. Part of managing a diabetic cat involves glucose testing, which requires a bit of blood. THIS CAT HAS NO BLOOD. We spent half an hour last weekend repeatedly sticking him in the ear or toebean, getting a tiny drop of blood, wiping it away (because you can't use the first drop), and then getting about half as much as the glucometer needs before the stick-hole seals up.

E took him to the vet on Thursday, where they used their magic powers to extract blood from him and determined that we probably ought to double his insulin dose.

He's more mobile and more talkative since he's been on the insulin, which are both good. He doesn't seem to be gaining any strength back in his legs, which isn't, but supposedly that'll take awhile.

The discovery that I *can* juggle book + tea + Skytrain pole has improved my commute immeasurably.

Finally read all three of Ann Leckie's Ancillary books last week, which are fantastic. The first is, mm, probably the best-plotted and best-structured, but the second and third have more interesting things to say. Also, "We aren't related, Cousin" is the best line on the best page of anything I've read in quite awhile.

Also (re)read Bear & Mole's Iskryne books. I read A Companion To Wolves (AKA "the book that tackles the Green Dragonrider Problem") when it came out and thought it was great: a *very* interesting exploration of gendered roles in a warrior society, as well as just being a good read. I read the second one, The Tempering Of Men, when *it* came out, and was mostly frustrated. Rereading it now I'm even more frustrated. NOTHING HAPPENS IN THAT BOOK. There is *no* reason for it to exist, plot-wise. It is entirely build-up for the third book. What payoff there is comes in the form of an inevitable romance plot.

The third book, An Apprentice To Elves, came out last month, and I dutifully picked it up and plowed through. And... despite ToM being made of setup, the first hundred pages or so of A2E are mostly backstory, because it takes place fifteen years later and a decent bit has happened in the meantime.

The book goes on to ramble in ways that remind me unpleasantly of Neal Stephenson: too much Cool Stuff, not enough resolution. Fascinating gender politicking but that's not enough to hang a book on, not for me. Your mileage may vary.

Currently reading: Dracula Unredacted, by Bram Stoker with assists from Kenneth Hite and Gareth Ryder-Hanrahan. The conceit is that Dracula was a thinly-fictionalised after-action report of a British Intelligence attempt to recruit their own personal vampire and all the ways it went wrong, and the original novel had to be heavily redacted before it could see print. This is the "original" version, annotated by three generations of British Intelligence agents who are not entirely sure that the ongoing attempts to recruit a vampire are a good idea at all. It's really a giant prop for the Dracula Dossier campaign frame, in which the players are secret agents fighting vampires... the idea being that the players read Drac Unredacted and follow up on some of the annotations, making for a neat, complex campaign. I'll never get to run it of course but it's still excellent reading.

101 in 1001 update )
jazzfish: Jazz Fish: beret, sunglasses, saxophone (Default)
Let the fall leaves fall
And the cold snow snow
And the rain rain rain 'til April.
Our coats are warm
And the pantry's full
And there's cake upon the table.

--Clyde Watson, from "Father Fox's Pennyrhymes"
If you asked, I'd tell you that I've been extremely lucky, much of it in ways that aren't directly traceable to any action on my part at all. To take a random example from this past year: I bought a nice carbon-fibre viola dyed dark green. When it arrived, the colour turned out to be pretty unpleasant... but the viola had been irreparably damaged in shipping. The company had to make & send another one, and I was able to get the replacement in basic black *and* get my money back for the colour upgrade.

Or, you know, being here at all. Sitting on my favorite childhood couch, with a healthy fourteen-year-old kitten sniffing my toes while the ill-but-manageable sixteen-year-old cat snores in the far bedroom. Listening to the thumping of my partner mangling the turkey left over from yesterday's Thanksgiving dinner, at which we had a few good friends and a really good time. Watching the rain on the river from the 31st floor, in an apartment that's big enough to hold all our stuff while still being reasonably affordable and not too far from the city. Living in Canada as a permanent resident, with health care and Employment Insurance and all that social-safety-net jazz. Employed, relatively quickly, at a job that isn't killing me. Still being alive.

Sometimes things just work out, and today I'm very thankful that they have.
jazzfish: Two guys with signs: THE END IS NIGH. . . time for tea. (time for tea)
To Chaos's laundry-list of conditions (geriatric, hypothyroid, arthritic, impending kidney failure, heart murmur) we can now add "diabetic."

His back legs have been weak for years but over the past couple of months they've gotten drastically worse. So we took him out to the vet yesterday, and she ran some tests, and, yep. Diabetes.

So now, in addition to the morning pills to supplement his nuked thyroid, morning anti-inflammatory syringes for arthritis (temporarily stopped while we rebalance everything else), kidney-cleaning powder mixed in with food, and joint-strengthening cat treats twice a day, he now gets insulin injections every morning and night.

But, y'know, he's still Chaos the happy cat, super-friendly and pleased to see people. All he wants in the afternoon/evening is for me to lie down on the couch so he can come sit on my chest and purr at me while I pet his head. So I guess we'll be keeping him.

Dammit, cat.
jazzfish: artist painting a bird, looking at an egg for reference (Clairvoyance)
Or, unfinished writings that I've got more than just a scene or two on, newest to oldest.

Drowned City (not a title): Novel, scientific-revolution-fantasy long-con. Stalled out at the end of the first act. Pretty sure this is because my protagonist needs to have some actual motivation instead of just being the still hub around which cool things happen.

"Blood on Her Hands and a Stone at Her Throat": Story, urban fantasy noir. Stalled out because the brilliant climactic scene is Just Not Working, in part because of the passive protagonist problem but also because it Just Doesn't Work. Fixable, I think, but I got tired of beating my head against it.

"Bloodmagery" (not a title): Longish story, sword-and-sorcery. Stalled out at the end of the first act because I hit the point of Then Some Plot Happens and didn't want to figure out how to get from there to the Great Big Fight. On the bright side, it does not have Passive Protagonist Problems.

"One Only" (not a title I'm thrilled about): Story, dark SF inspired by a passing complaint about how all evil aliens are slimy these days. Technically complete... except that this is the one that four years ago Patrick said "If you, say, double the length I would take a very close look at it." The advice I got that week on lengthening it consisted of "Get into trouble sooner" (Teresa), "That doesn't sound like it's really a story" (Steve), and "Add another character" (Jim). Then I went home and froze up and burned out.

No actual words tonight, but I did plot out most of the bloodmagery story. Except for the specific bit that was causing me grief, of course, but I think that'll come.
jazzfish: book and quill and keyboard and mouse (Media Log)
16) See ten movies at the Vancouver International Film Festival. (10/10) 2015-10-04

I did not expect to knock that off the list this year, but this was a decent year for VIFF movies. And I've still got at least two more coming this week.

Very good: A Tale of Three Cities, High-Rise, Ayanda
Good: 600 Miles, 808
Not bad: Beeba Boys, The Anarchists, The Classified File, A Perfect Day
Not my thing: The Assassin

many many films )
jazzfish: an open bottle of ether, and George conked out (Ether George)
I don't know.

I'm tired much of the time. Partly that's from having to be On eight hours a day again, I expect, but mostly it's from waking up at 6:30 6:15 sometime that starts with a five, and screw you, brain, I'd rather collect that last half hour of sleep.

(I could sleep in. Core Hours are ten to four and as long as I get my eight hours in nobody cares when I get in. But going in an hour later means fighting terrible skytrain traffic instead of just moderate, and going in two hours later means not leaving until six, which is Not Even Remotely Acceptable. I think this is the worst commute I've had since the summer I spent counting office furniture in Maryland. We have *got* to move closer in.)

I don't know if I'm actually too tired to keep up with what I'm doing or not.

I'll feel better about it once I'm comfortable checking mail & LJ/DW there. ... that was not intentionally a tautology, but I guess it turned out to be anyway.

Due in part to surprise!employment, I am not going to my twenty-year high school reunion next month.

There are maybe a half dozen people I'd be genuinely excited to see, mostly people I haven't seen in a good many years. It'd be nice to see a dozen or two more. The rest... I really don't care about. I didn't realise how much I don't care about them until I started seeing reunion-planning messages pop up on Facebook, and having vague memories float up associated with names and faces.

I am no longer in high school. It took me a long time to come to terms with that. Maybe it also took moving out here, where the nearest Jeffersonites I know are three hours and an international border away.

What I really regret missing is the autumn trees. I'd been kicking around the idea of going down to Blacksburg because the Applachians in October are not to be missed. Maybe next year.
jazzfish: A cartoon guy with his hands in the air saying "Woot." (Woot.)
1) Write up a postmortem on the previous 101 in 1001.

First off: $382.61. That is the end result of 100) Donate $10 to Planned Parenthood for each incomplete item on this list.

$382.61. Over a third of the items on the list unfinished.

Partial credit for items listed as X/Y, and I gave myself half credit for several more, so it's arguably even worse than that.


To the left: over sixty percent of the list finished. So, yay.

What have I learned?

1) Items in the style of "Do this until the end of the 1001 days" are terrible. They give me zero sense of accomplishment and feel like an obligation hanging over my head. I've gotten rid of all of those for this round.

2) Items in the style of "Do this for a specified period of time" are frustrating. Did a thing for five months and then stumbled in the home stretch? Too bad, no checkmark for you. I've gotten rid of all of those too.

3) Items in the style of "Do this X times" work well, because there's incremental progress.

4) It's good to have a mix of things that are easy and short-term, easy and long-term, and hard in various aspects. I won't get all the hard things but I'll get some of them, which is more than I'd get otherwise.

5) Some individual notes:
  • Organizing is easy, as is money.
  • People are hard, but not as hard as I'd expected.
  • Writing is hard. No shock there.
  • Gaming is hard. That does surprise me; a lot of factors went into it. (Also, did I really not play any video games at all? I guess not. Huh.)
6) Overall, an interesting experiment, and worth repeating at least once more.
jazzfish: A small grey Totoro, turning around. (Totoro)
Hard to believe it's been a thousand days since I started the previous one of these. Expect a post-mort analysis... mm, probably over the weekend.

I can't really improve on my blurb from then: The idea is that a) a concrete and wide-ranging list of 101 items, b) a not terribly restrictive but still somewhat limiting timeframe of 1001 days, and c) public accountability can all combine to form a sort of Voltron of extrinsic motivating factors, since I'm not doing so hot with intrinsic motivation lately (or ever, really).

Note that 101 tasks in 1001 days works out to roughly three tasks per month, on average.

101 in 1001: 2015/09/23-2018-06-20
Completed: 3
(Abandoned: 0)
A large list )
jazzfish: Jazz Fish: beret, sunglasses, saxophone (Default)
I could write about work (garden-variety corporate stupidity coupled with software-industry-specific stupidity) but that would just make me irritated, so I won't.

Besides, I've been meaning to write about some music stuff for a couple of weeks now. That was the first time I've ever done any sort of formal play-by-ear. That is, my teacher picks a key and plays a few notes, and I play them back to her, and repeat.

The first time or two it was fun but exhausting. It works my brain in a way I'm not at all used to. A couple of times I could stop trying to think note-names and just *play* and it worked, which was amazing and inexplicable. And then today... today it was just fun.

And I am apparently pretty good at it, which is a great shock to me as I've always thought my ear wasn't all that hot. I can mostly tell if a note's out of tune, but not always whether it's high or low.

Then it occurred to me that this isn't the first time I've done this. In high school, on cello, I picked out the melody to "Chariots of Fire" and the bass line to "Stand By Me." So, I dunno.

Side note: I seem to have a much harder time hearing notes in voices. I don't know why that would be but it might explain some of my inability to carry a tune in a bucket.

On being a beginning music student, by [ profile] siderea. (Who, incidentally, is brilliant, and you should all be reading her stuff, and probably throwing money at her as well.) I was mostly Xena, with a lot of Quentin mixed in.

I started playing cello in third grade. I stuck with it because, I don't know. Because it was Something I Did and I didn't know how to stop doing things, and because I had some friends who I only knew/saw because of cello. I don't think I really aspired to anything musically.

Except that my uncle Jimmy Dale (not to be confused with my uncle Jim) knew that I played cello, and one Christmas he gave me a cassette of Skylife, by the Turtle Island String Quartet. I was... as blown away as it was possible for me to be at the time, which was "kind of." I had no idea you could do that with a string quartet. I wanted to be able to do that. To play like that, popping and sliding and all.

I never said anything about it. Certainly not to my parents, but not to my teacher either. I'd moved on from the early-music violist who taught me at first, to Liz West, a bassist who ... was probably only a year or two older than my current viola teacher, now that I think of it. I suspect Ms West would have been thrilled if I'd ever said that I wanted to play like Turtle Island. But I didn't, because I was in eighth grade and miserable, and I'd been stuck in Fayettehell for five years, and I still stung from the lack of support I'd gotten when I'd said I wanted to be a writer. I'd learned better than to want anything.

And then we moved, and I went from being the second-best cellist in the district to second-worst in the school, and eventually something had to give and it was music.

When I started taking viola lessons last year I thought I was David. To some extent I still am. (With that same mix of Quentin to go with it, of course.) But I put on Skylife for my commute in to work one day last week... and I'm starting to suspect I might be an Emily as well.
jazzfish: Jazz Fish: beret, sunglasses, saxophone (Default)
...thought it was just a road from a to b

Actually, when I went up Grouse this morning I was pretty sure it was a mountain. Made the hike in 1:53, which is a terrible time for me, mitigated by a) not having my inhaler, b) not having done much exercise in the past month or so, and c) encountering a chatty hiking companion at about the quarter-mark.

Plans to sit up there and do some writing once I'd had lunch and recovered a bit were derailed by being too exhausted to write. Something about having effectively climbed two miles worth of stairs. I wandered around a bit and then headed back down. and after the two-hour trip home had a nice hot bath.

Tomorrow marks the end of my fallow year. I am not really looking forward to work but I'd be looking forward even less to getting evicted for nonpayment of rent, so there's that. I hope I'm overreacting, that balancing work and life won't be nearly the difficulty I'm afraid it is and that everything will be okay. Only one way to find out I guess.
jazzfish: Two guys with signs: THE END IS NIGH. . . time for tea. (time for tea)
The True Story of Kudzu, the Vine That Never Truly Ate the South: "Kudzu has appeared larger than life because it’s most aggressive when planted along road cuts and railroad embankments-- habitats that became front and center in the age of the automobile."

I'm Getting Really Tired of My Mysterious Flaky Friend: "Mostly, she was just a really good listener, always asking questions and wanting to know more about you -- where did you grow up? What are your parents like? Did they get each other anniversary gifts? Did they use a top-tier security system or own dogs? Stuff like that." This may well be the best thing I have read on the Toast.

Tattúínárdǿla saga: If Star Wars Were an Icelandic Saga: "Meanwhile Lúkr shipwrecks on an island in the Faroes called Dagóba (the name is of unknown origin but probably Celtic) where he meets and is trained by the great warrior Jóði, who was a companion of Víga-Óbívan in his youth; Jóði continues to incite Lúkr to kill Veiðari, but his remarks are confusing in the text as preserved and are probably much damaged by later redactors – the word order is considerably jumbled and many of his comments reflect anachronistic Christian sentiments." Oh man, this is GREAT. (via [personal profile] vass)

Elopement in Situ: "More than anything, I think, we were introverts who didn't want a fuss made; our devotion to one another did not need a public demonstration to be real." THIS. I met Jonathan and Jennifer at Farthing Party, and wish they lived close enough that our paths would cross more often.

The Most Metal Deaths in Middle-earth, Ranked: "Gandalf died after he, 'Threw down my enemy... and broke the mountain-side where he smote it in his ruin,' which is the most metal line in the entire trilogy, and possibly all of English literature."

The Sea of Crises: an article on sumo, an attempted coup, and being lost in yourself in Tokyo. Long but worth reading.
jazzfish: Jazz Fish: beret, sunglasses, saxophone (Default)
We're finally watching Treme, David "The Wire" Simon's series about a poor New Orleans neighborhood in the aftermath of Katrina.

Christ. If that storm had hit just a year earlier, before the 2004 election... well. I doubt I'd be in Vancouver, for one thing.

Also, when John Goodman is one of the least interesting parts of your show, either you have an amazing cast or you are criminally underusing John Goodman.

  • Catbox
  • Call Canada Revenue about missing tax refund Tax return accepted, will finally be processed on Friday.
  • Write to a random internet person Wrote to TWO random internet people! This is, in fact, more soul-crushing than jobhunting is.
  • Jobhunt Nothing new available. I did schedule a final interview for Thursday at a place that it would probably not totally suck to work.
  • Eat a thing Eggs and toast! Of which, one came out fine if v.slightly undercooked, and one overcooked. Still tasty.
  • Viola
  • Organize scattered novel brainstorming notes, preferably into something resembling an outline, or at least a structure.

Right. Back on my head.
jazzfish: Jazz Fish: beret, sunglasses, saxophone (Default)
Turns out getting an enclosed litterbox didn't solve all the problem, because the problem comes from the cat not bothering to get all the way *in* the box. This is partly due to arthritis in his hips, and partly due to him having to go SO BADLY that he can't or doesn't want to hold it until he gets into the box and turns around. We've upped his antiinflammatory dose and moved the litterbox into the living room, closer to where he sleeps, and those seem to have fixed the problem.

I mean, ultimately the problem is the arthritis, which traces back to Chaos being an Elder Cat (he turns sixteen in October). To quote Beckett, "You're on Earth, there's no cure for that!" But he's still perfectly happy, if a bit wobbly in the back end. So we keep him comfortable and give him lots of cuddles.

I'm a bit worried about the winter. This is not an apartment that retains heat all that well, except in the summer. I suspect that we're going to have to get out the electric blanket for him at night, and then Kai will insist on stealing half of it.

I have viola thoughts but those haven't quite gelled yet. Not unlike my playing of the Kreutzer etude.
jazzfish: Jazz Fish: beret, sunglasses, saxophone (Default)
One of the great disappointments in my life is that [personal profile] uilos Does Not Eat Eggs.

I am a big fan of Breakfast Any Time, and over the last holy cow ten years I've more or less perfected my pancake recipe. (Although these days instead of "1 cup flour" it's "5 oz flour," because flour should be measured by weight not volume.) I make pretty good crepes, too, and my waffles are only okay but I blame that on having a not so good waffle iron. Real Breakfast is a thing that happens, at least one day a weekend.

I don't get to make eggs for two, though. Which is a shame, because I like eggs, and there's an awful lot of things you can do with them. So I only get eggs when I'm willing to cook for just me, and also to do the dishes from actually cooking something.

Scrambled eggs are easy: skillet on low-medium heat, a little butter in the skillet, beat the eggs but not too much and mix in some milk and chili powder, and go. (I am not a believer in "cheesy scrambled eggs," mostly on the grounds that it's a pain in the neck to clean up melted cheese and egg.) Omelettes are harder, but the failure mode of "omelette" is scrambled eggs with stuff, so that's alright.

I've tried poaching eggs, and I mostly end up with a mess. A few years ago I got a couple of silicone "poach pods," which hold the egg and float in a covered pot of boiling water. This makes something close enough to poached eggs for my taste. I can never get the yolks right, though. Either they're too runny, or they're solid and I might as well have hard-boiled them. What I'm looking for is something Lewis Grizzard described as "over medium": "The yolk shouldn't run out when you cut it. It should ooze."

A couple of weeks ago Shauna ([ profile] idoru, not that she posts anymore) put up a link on Facebook to the basted egg. That's "basted," not "blasted" or "bastard," though I suppose [personal profile] uilos would disagree. It's sort of halfway between frying and poaching. I've tried it a couple of times, and their description of what happens to the yolk isn't really accurate. It doesn't so much "change colour" as it develops a sort of translucent skin of cooked egg-white over it. When the skin covers the whole thing, it's nearly overdone and you should have served it up about ten seconds ago. It's tasty, though. Served over toast the yolk sort of seeps in, and the whites aren't as crispy-crunchy as I get with fried eggs. It has replaced "scrambled" as my go-to egg.

I haven't tried the egg-over-tortilla-basted-with-salsa that the article describes. Maybe next week for lunch.

(happy birthday, sor!)


jazzfish: Jazz Fish: beret, sunglasses, saxophone (Default)
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Adventures in Mamboland

"Jazz Fish, a saxophone playing wanderer, finds himself in Mamboland at a critical phase in his life." --Howie Green, on his book Jazz Fish Zen

Yeah. That sounds about right.

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