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 ([livejournal.com 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)
As of today I've been unemployed for a year.

I'm less unhappy than I was when I was employed. That... I think that's the only thing I have to show for it, that and one completed story and the beginnings of a novel. And the beginnings of what might eventually be "music" on the viola.

It's not about accomplishing anything. It's about rebuilding reserves. It's about no longer feeling crushed. It's about being able to find joy in more than just rare flashes.

Still hard to shake the sense that I've wasted the year.



It doesn't help that I'm less than a month away from the end of my 101 in 1001 project. I have thoughts on that as well but they can wait until late September.

101 in 1001 update )
jazzfish: Owly, reading (Owly)
The trick is to channel my perfectionism and sense of accomplishment/reward out of video games and into viola instead.

What are you reading?

Samuel Beckett: The Last Modernist, by Anthony Cronin. I am four hundred pages into this six-hundred page biography and Beckett has just started writing Waiting for Godot (1948 or so). It's been interesting but not 400pp of interesting. Mostly it establishes that Beckett was a giant misogynistic asshole. Given the attitudes inherent in what of his plays I've read/seen this is no great surprise, but it's still kind of shocking to have it all laid out like this.

What did you just finish reading?

Star Door, by Stephanie Charette. It's good. It needs a copyedit and the, mm, second quarter drags a bit (I would structure the middle half differently and cut some stuff, but I'm not Steph). But the characters are good, the voices are distinct, the conceit is not one I'd seen before or at least not taken to this logical conclusion, and the last half barrels towards an exciting and unexpected climax. With a little luck everyone else will get to read it in a couple of years.

Also I reread Scott Lynch's A Year and a Day In Old Theradane, because it's online and I couldn't stop once I started. I heard Scott read from this awhile ago and am pleased to report it's as good as I had hoped/expected. "And then I went back and stole all the death spiders!"

What do you think you'll read next?

I don't really know. Probably something off the To-Be-Read Shelf because I'm running out of time. That or something on the Unread tag so I can decide whether to keep it.
jazzfish: Jazz Fish: beret, sunglasses, saxophone (Default)
I've been doing a lot of complaining lately but life isn't all bad.

We solved the cat pee problem by going back to an enclosed litterbox. The trouble with this is that the litterbox no longer fits under the sink in the bathroom. So we're experimenting with where to put the box. Currently it's in the entryway, which may or not work long-term.

Chaos has had a delicate stomach ever since we nuked his thyroid last summer. Thankfully, he's also taken to singing the song of his people before he yukes anything up, so we have some advance warning. A few weeks ago it occurred to me to try scooping him up and pointing him at the kitchen sink, rather than cleaning up whatever gets spit up on the carpet, and that works surprisingly well. I'd rather he weren't yuking a couple of times a week, but at least it's more easily cleanable.

On Satyrday we watched Jupiter Ascending with semilocal J--, Kathy, and writer-Steph. It's ... very pretty, and crammed full of backstory, and still kind of incoherent. It would have benefited from being either substantially chopped down, or spread out over two or three movies. Very very pretty, though. I almost regret not seeing it in the theatre.

Turns out the flooding problem from a couple of weeks ago was a result of a grease fire on the twenty-sixth floor. The sprinklers went off, and can't be shut down until the fire department shows up and says it's okay to shut them off, so they flooded everything from twenty-six on down. Luckily we're on thirty-one. One elevator is running; the other might be up in a month or so as they apparently have to have a part custom-made.

I've read a story for a quick critique for [personal profile] okrablossom and am reading Steph's novel, and have been bearing slowly forward on my own. Viola continues, and maybe I'm better than I was a month or two ago. (Been too warm to practice, which sounds like an excuse and sort of is, but only sort of.)

No word on the job front. Eh. Something will come up. Or it won't.
jazzfish: an evil-looking man in a purple hood (Lord Fomax)
1) I seem to have caught a summer cold. My sinuses feel like they've been packed with sand.

2) There seems to have been a flood (burst pipe, I assume) in the basement last night. The elevators have been out most of the day. Climbing twenty-five flights of stairs is Not Fun.

3) On Tuesday I saw a software testing job come up that wants "two years experience." Hey, says I, I've got that, thanks to three crappy software companies in Blacksburg a decade ago. May as well apply: I hate testing but they aren't gonna call me anyway. On Wednesday I got an email from a guy wanting me to come in for an interview today. Said guy wasn't there when I showed up, having apparently forgotten about the interview, and the person who did interview me basically said "we're looking for someone with automated testing experience," which I don't have, because crappy software companies. Complete waste of my time.

4) Icing on the cake: one of the cats (probably Chaos but we haven't seen him do it) is no longer into this whole "litterbox" thing. Near as we can tell he's getting into the litterbox and then mostly missing the litter. Contra LBJ, I'd much rather have him outside the litterbox peeing in than inside peeing out. Not sure what we're going to do about this.

In unrelated news, a barge carrying two houses just went by.
jazzfish: a black-haired man with a big sword. blood stains the snow behind (Eddard Stark)
Went to bed thinking about Pop Shackelford (digging into history trying to work out when the funeral was, so I can correctly date my acquisition of a dozen or so books), and I woke up this morning with this stuck in my head:

Warren Zevon - "Keep Me In Your Heart"
jazzfish: Owly, reading (Owly)
What are you reading?

At the moment, nothing.

What did you just finish reading?

About half an hour ago I finished Hannu Rajaniemi's The Causal Angel, sequel to The Quantum Thief and The Fractal Prince. These are, I think, the best new-to-me books I've read this year. They are heist novels with delightfully opaque characters (and multiple viewpoints, which is not something one often gets in a heist), set in a SF milieu overflowing with new concepts and strange ideas. Most of what goes on is made possible through some "quantum" handwaving; I don't know enough to say how plausible the science is, but it makes for an excellent story.

Apart from the conceptual firehose, Quantum Thief is for the most part a fine "we're here to steal a thing" story that develops more and more layers as it goes on... and then the epilogue delivers a genuine "oh shit" moment. Fractal Prince felt less impressive, possibly because everything is both bigger and smaller. I did enjoy the repeated nested stories (and the thematic resonance there), though. And Causal Angel... ties it all together in a fairly satisfactory way. I'm not entirely sure what I think of the ending. Will have to reread to decide, I expect.

I also reread Lord Valentine's Castle, by Robert Silverberg, with the intent of rereading the two sequels. LVC is a fantasy with occasional SF trappings. It was published in 1982 but feels like a throwback to an earlier era: a world that's miles wide and an inch deep, a huge cast of characters with litle characterization beyond one or two tics, and a downright languid pace. It's not bad but it didn't grab me. I can't see wanting to reread it, or to read the sequels, when there's so much other good stuff around. Into the Go-Away Pile.

What do you think you'll read next?

Something nonfic, I think; any fiction I pick up will be judged unfairly. Possibly Fred Pohl's autobiography, or the bio of Samuel Beckett I've been carrying around for years.
jazzfish: Jazz Fish: beret, sunglasses, saxophone (Default)
The weather has cooled off this week. Of course it has: several months ago we picked this weekend to go camping, so naturally it started raining off and on yesterday and won't really stop until tomorrow. We would have gone out anyway, but between the impending rain, having to skip one of the big Celebration Of Light fireworks shows, and family illnesses (not mine, someone else's, although we hadn't gotten as far as getting anyone to come in to give Chaos his pill) have all combined to make it a better idea to just stay home. So we did.

I'm looking for jobs again. Have been for a few weeks now. I haven't done this for about nine years so I'd forgotten how annoying and soul-draining it is, and how much cover letters suck. I mean, seriously: nobody will read them and yet you're expected to slave over them and produce perfect jewels of marketing prose for yourself. Fiction-writing rejectomancy's got nothing on job rejectomancy.

So far I've had two interviews with staffing agencies, which is a new one on me. These are companies that handle the candidate-searching part of finding applicants for companies: they send "acceptable" applicants along for a potential interview. This seems like a waste of money to me but I'm not a company, what do I know? I've also got a short phone interview scheduled for Monday, with what is literally the first place I put in a resume at.

If nothing else this has been an exercise in the kind of job I don't want: I'm not particularly interested in being the only writer, or in doing marketing writing, and those seem to be the kinds of positions coming up. I'd also prefer a contract or part-time position but I'm not seeing very many of those available. Oh well. Something will come up, eventually.
jazzfish: artist painting a bird, looking at an egg for reference (Clairvoyance)
From Wednesday:

Words: 1270
Total words: 6292
Neat things: Family. Also, the antagonist is a jerk. (Quelle surprise.)

Wording continues apace, in large part thanks to weekly writing sessions with Steph C. I have just about written up to the point where I know what happens, and I keep hoping a Brilliant Revelation will occur to me. Hasn't yet, but hey. I did find some family for my protagonist to bounce some characterisation off of so there's that.



Today was supposed to be writing, or at least plotting, in lieu of going out to Jericho Beach with folks. Instead there has been general poking at the internet, reading FILM CRITIC HULK's excellent article on Matthew Vaughn and Kingsman, playing backlogged Humble Bundle games, a little bit of plotting and worldbuilding and such, poking at BoardGameGeek, discovering a new game, going out and picking up said game at my Friendly Local Game Store, and a little bit of actual writing. Mostly in that order, although any of those that can be scattered throughout were.

I am not really 'stuck' so much as 'afraid of being stuck.' I am afraid of writing this scene because I don't know where it's going, which means I am going to turn my characters loose and let them yell at each other and see what they do. And I don't know them well enough to know at all what they're going to do, and I don't have enough scaffolding in place to know what (if anything) will happen plot-wise, and ... mostly I'm terrified that I'll write this and it will be pointless and will run me into a dead end I can't get out of.

I don't really understand this fear. I mean, I do, I live with it, but at the same time when I shine an outside light on it I don't, because it makes no sense. This is what writing is! I'm okay with writing that may be crap on the sentence level, that I can fix in editing. I guess now I have to get okay with writing that may be crap on the structural level, plot dead ends and contradicted character development and all of that.

Write to find out.

Dammit.

Also, I don't mind naming characters but I hate naming a whole bunch of them at once, and if my protagonist is going to have a family they do kind of need names.

... which leads down the rabbit-hole of naming conventions, and honorifics, and all of that. Bleh.

ziplining

Jul. 6th, 2015 10:04 am
jazzfish: an evil-looking man in a purple hood (Lord Fomax)
I cannot in good conscience recommend the new zipline at Queen Elizabeth Park.

... bah, it's not even worth a full-length rant. It was poorly organised and poorly run (taking roughly five minutes per person, in the ridiculous heat, in no shade), and also a rip-off: the Groupon claims that "two rides per person" is normally $40 so their $24 is a Big Deal, but a "re-ride" is an additional $5 after the initial $20 ride. In addition they were offering free re-rides on Thursday, because they were a poorly organised shitshow this was their "soft launch" prior to the official opening on Saturday. So we've got bracelets good for a free re-ride if we decide to go again. Which seems unlikely.

The ride itself is pleasant and fun for the fifteen seconds you're in the air.

On the bright side, on the walk back we ran into a small flock of adolescent ravens, ground-feeding. They were definitely ravens and not crows: the rule is, if you're not sure then it's a crow but if it's way too big to be a crow then it's a raven. I honestly thought the first one was a young turkey or a pheasant at first.
jazzfish: artist painting a bird, looking at an egg for reference (Clairvoyance)
It turns out that writing a novel from scratch is hard. Who knew? I mean, other than everyone who's ever tried.

process babble )
jazzfish: Jazz Fish: beret, sunglasses, saxophone (Default)
What a week, and it's not even over yet.

Mon thru Wed )



Today I finished reading Samuel Delany's Babel-17, which is brilliant and everyone should read it. The most recent edition (from Vintage) also includes Delany's story "Empire Star," which is written by a character in Babel-17, and is either brilliant or stupid and I cannot decide which.

Also today there was ziplining, which wants its own rant. But I'm tired and this is quite long enough already. Tomorrow.
jazzfish: an open bottle of ether, and George conked out (Ether George)
The temp broke thirty ("ninety") on Friday, and looks to do the same all this week. Thank gord we bought a portable air conditioner a few years back. That's enough to keep the living room bearable, mostly. It's also enough to make the lights flicker.

The real problem -- one of the real problems -- AMONG the real problems with this apartment are that its wall of windows faces southeast, so it gets all the morning sun. It's large enough that if there's a breeze we can open all the windows and get some airflow and it's not too bad... but it turns out that's a big If.

THIS IS NOT WHAT I MOVED TO CANADIA FOR.

Turns out I don't function well, or at all, in the heat. Since sometime last week I've spent most of my time at home sitting/lying on the couch, reading or poking at the internet, despite there being things I would really like to do: write, viola, email, planning, applying for jobs, all that stuff. I consistently sit down for five minutes, and then end up not quite dozing off but unable to get up the energy to do anything else. And then eventually the sun goes down and I think "oh, wow, i was actually way too warm, i should do something about that for tomorrow." I can't tell when I'm getting too warm, is the thing. It creeps up on me and I'm vaguely uncomfortable and sluggish but that's about it, and it slows my brain down enough that making that connection becomes difficult.

Bleh.
jazzfish: Malcolm Tucker with a cell phone, in a HOPE-style poster, caption NO YOU F****** CAN'T (Malcolm says No You F'ing Can't)
On the one hand, yay for widespread recognition that the Confederate flag is a horribly racist emblem, even if it took a tragedy to get to that point.

On the other, I didn't really need confirmation that some number (greater than zero) of my relatives and in-laws are racist crackers.

Facebook: where you learn how much you can't stand your family.
jazzfish: Jazz Fish: beret, sunglasses, saxophone (Default)
What are you reading?

Ignition! by John D. Clark, a history of the development of rocket fuel. I first heard of this book in Sand Won't Save You This Time, an article on why the author refuses to work with chlorine trifluoride ("a stronger oxidizing agent than oxygen itself ... it'll start roaring reactions with things like bricks and asbestos tile"). Indeed, chlorine trifluoride is only one of the many many overly dangerous substances (red fuming nitric acid, high-concentration hydrogen peroxide) that Clark takes a relatively cavalier attitude towards while describing their specific hazards in detail.

The book itself is a delightful combination of chemistry, history, and "and then they tried this mixture and it sat inert / froze too soon / corroded everything / blew up" (mostly the last), interspersed with color commentary and anecdotes. It's a great read, and I remember either just enough or not quite enough chemistry to make it more or less comprehensible. Not that that matters much: Clark does a good job of explaining the chemistry in layman's terms: mostly "this stabilized it so it wouldn't blow up when we jostled it" or, more commonly, "but that still had a disconcerting tendency to explode."

Ignition! is long out of print and used copies command ridiculous prices. Thankfully it can be found in PDF form at this link.

What did you just finish reading?

NK Jemisin's Dreamblood duology, set in a fantasy Egypt-inspired culture with dream magic. I read The Killing Moon several years ago, and started The Shadowed Sun and just could not get into it. So it sat on the shelf until I decided to try again... and the same thing happened. I have no idea why, either. This time I pushed through, and it picked up again for me around the 20% mark.

They're good political fantasies with culture clashes, and they do a fine job of making the cultures different not only from each other, but from what you, the reader, expect. The second book is also unexpectedly rapey: one highly nonconsensual kiss, two attempted rapes and a third threatened, and two actual rape scenes. This is not at all what I had expected. Still pondering whether I want to keep them around.

Also read eBear's steampunk western Karen Memory. It feels... minor, by which I guess I mean "not my thing." Karen's got a great voice and the characters are well-developed, it just felt... light. I dunno.

Also, some time ago (including for [personal profile] okrablossom) John M. Ford's Scholars of Night is an only-okay spy novel and a decent Mike Ford novel. Fun and worth reading but not something whose praises I'll be singing to the heavens. It's no Dragon Waiting, is I guess what I'm saying.

What do you think you'll read next?

Jo Walton's The Just City, because [personal profile] uilos has been bugging me to do so so she can rant at me about it.
jazzfish: a whole bunch of the aliens from Toy Story (Aliens)
An oldie but goodie: Deep Time Made Simple: "A Biblically Correct 6,000-year geological column drawing on the work of the Rt. Hon Archbishop Ussher." Too many choices for a pull-quote; I'll settle for "48 B.C.: All of Gaul is divided into three parts as Corsica collides with the European Plate." Although AD 1654 and 1754 are exceedingly hilarious as well.

Trash Food: "[T]he wealthy elite in this country are not starving. When they changed their eating habits, they didn't change their view of people. They just upgraded crawfish and catfish."

What Part of 'No, Totally' Don't You Understand?: "Until the end of the sixteenth century or thereabouts, English had a tidier solution to this problem: we had two words for 'no,' which we used in distinct ways." Linguistics is fascinating stuff.

Happy 100th Birthday, Orson Welles, in which a teenaged Welles walks into a theatre in Dublin and, with no professional experience whatsoever, gets cast in several plays.

Shut Up And Dance (movie dance compilation): a fantastic eighties song from 2014, set against the greatest film dance scenes of the last, what, thirty? years, plus some classics. I don't dance and this still gets me bopping in my seat.
jazzfish: artist painting a bird, looking at an egg for reference (Clairvoyance)
Words: 729
Total words: 2011
Neat things: A talking rock. A hidden door. A nick-of-time escape.

Two thousand words in (and revising will likely add half again that many to these scenes) and things are still getting started. I think that means I am on the verge of committing novel. I... am not sure how I feel about that. I'd rather be writing and finishing shorter pieces. I suppose this will at least be interesting.

Soon I'm going to have to sit down and sketch out a bit of worldbuilding: place names, history, laws of magic, tech level, that sort of thing. I've been reluctant to do that so far because I worry that it'll sap all my narrative momentum. I don't want to be one of those writers who spends all their time fiddling with their secondary world. Some amount of that really is useful / necessary, though.
jazzfish: Jazz Fish: beret, sunglasses, saxophone (Default)
Sometime between 1983 and 1986 (aka "while we were in DC the first time") my parents bought a sleeper sofa, armchair, and ottoman from Cargo. Or possibly This End Up. They're made out of nicely finished pine lumber, mostly 2x4s and 1x6s, sanded and stained and with the corners rounded. Within a few years of the turn of the millennium they had the Least Comfortable Sofabed Ever taken out and replaced with a flat panel, and they got the cushions replaced (twice) as well.

When I moved into my own place in mid-2006, I took a bunch of furniture that had been in Pop Shackelford's house until November 2005, and also the Cargo set. I've been hauling them around ever since. I like them a lot: they're reasonably comfortable, they're sturdy, and they look rather nice.

They're also literally the only examples of this style of Cargo furniture I've seen in the wild.

Most Cargo furniture has solid slat sides and narrow armrests, as currently sold by This End Up as the 'Classic' collection. A somewhat less common variant is available as the 'Artisan' collection, with vertical rails and proper armrests. What we've got aren't either of those. Our furniture has the flat 2x4 armrests of the Artisans, but with a single 1x6 as a horizontal side rail. This old craigslist-esque ad is the only photo of the chair and ottoman I've found online. Note that the couch in that photo is wrong; only the chair matches our set.

When [personal profile] uilos moved into her own place in 2005 she acquired a gigantic blue two-piece Ikea sofa, and we've been hauling that around as well. It's a really nice sofa, perfect for stretching out on... but apartment living does not really call for three sofas, two of which are Large. And we both like the Cargo set better than the giant blue thing. So we've been halfheartedly looking in thrift stores and used furniture stores, hoping to come up with a chair or couch that matches the ones we've already got.

There are a couple of places in Vancouver (well, Burnaby. same difference. unless you're in Vancouver. or Burnaby, I guess) that will make custom furniture. We're at the point where calling one of those places and saying "Make us a chair and/or sofa like the one we've got" is beginning to seem like a reasonable plan.

But before we do that, I figure I may as well toss this out to the wider internet and see if anyone else is any better at tracking down obscure and possibly nonexistent 1980s furniture.

Help?
jazzfish: artist painting a bird, looking at an egg for reference (Clairvoyance)
Words: 658
Total words: 658
Neat things: "Fish and fishfolk circled below her." Questionable, unstable, and possibly-explosive technology.

New project, from a scrap of an idea I wrote down years ago (thanks to Vesper for being a note-taking app that's a delight to use, even though I'm only using the barest minimum of its functionality).

I have a setting, a Spunky Young Protagonist, and a general sense of brightly-colored fast-paced action. I know the next couple of scenes, and beyond that I have no idea whatsoever where this thing is going, or even how long it wants to be. To paraphrase Vincent "Apocalpyse World" Baker, Write to find out.

Eventually I'm going to need a title, but that can come with the plot.



"Weren't you writing something else?" Yep. New project is a result of stalling out on "Blood On Her Hands And A Stone At Her Throat," partly because I am unsure of the proper capitalisation for the honking long title but mostly because I can't come up with a plot climax to fit the emotional climax I want. This may be a case of being kneedeep in a story and thinking it's terrible (step 3, or possibly 4, of Marcus Romer's six steps of the creative process) but I'm pretty sure it's more than just that. It Does Not Work on a fundamental level and I just can't get it to work.

My options include "write it anyway," which I am not thrilled by, "rip the middle of the story apart again and rewrite it," which I am not thrilled by, and "set it aside for awhile and come back to it later," which I am not thrilled by but which at least doesn't make me want to tear my hair out. Hence, new project.

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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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