Eggs Over Easy

Note to visitors: I am passionate about my eggs. It’s funny how many people wind up here from searches in Google and Yahoo, looking for the Answer. Read on; the key to the perfect over-easy egg is only paragraphs away. This episode was written to entertain, but clearly there is a pent-up need in the world for advice on getting those eggs just right, and by gum I’m happy to give my opinion about anything. For that reason I have now written another episode: Eggs Over Easy – The Definitive Step-By-Step Guide. I would recommend you read here first, then go over to the step-by-step page. If you find this information helpful or entertaining, please leave a comment; I’d love to hear from you. Then you can invite me over for breakfast. Mmmmmm… breakfast.

I’m not a gourmet by any stretch of the imagination, nor does Iron Chef have to worry about being unseated by me. But I do like my eggs. Thus it is not an unusual morning when I venture out to find someone to cook some for me. Now that I no longer have a kitchen, this happens with even greater regularity. Alas, my fried chicken ova* are almost never cooked right. Oh, I eat them, and I still enjoy them, but there’s that little part of me that says, “doesn’t anyone know how to cook an egg anymore?”

I’m here to put things right. You don’t have to thank me; it’s what I do.

There are four generally recognized ways to fry an egg:
Sunny-Side Up: The egg is never flipped. The yolk is a bright yellow hemisphere sitting in the middle of the pristine white. The yolk is liquid, and some of the white around the yolk may have a jelly-like consistency.
Over Easy: The egg is flipped briefly. The yolk does not stand out as strikingly, but is still liquid. The white is no longer liquid.
Over Meduim: The white is cooked to a firmer texture, and the yolk is solid around the edges, and oozy in the middle.
Over Hard: The white is firm, the yolk is a lighter color and flakey.

Then there are those who intentionally break the yolk before the flip. We won’t talk about those people here.

Each degree of cooking is associated with a preferred texture for the white and for the yolk. Which brings me to my point. People who order their eggs over easy don’t want runny whites. If they wanted that, they would order sunny-side up. Runny yolk but solid white is why over easy was invented in the first place. It is by far the trickiest egg-frying style – it requires touch and artistry to cook one part of the egg without cooking the other. But it seems most places I go don’t even make the effort to try.

When in egg-cooking school, students must be reminded with great clarity and consistency: Don’t flip the eggs too soon. If one waits until the egg is ready to serve sunny-side, then flips it for just a few moments to sear the last of the white, it comes out perfect every time. Alas, impatient cooks do not wait for that perfect moment. They flip the egg prematurely and there’s no way that much white is going to get cooked post-flip without adversely affecting the yolk. The time to get most of the white firmed up is while the white is acting as an insulating layer between the pan and the yolk.

I have considered explaining to my waiter exactly how I want my eggs. I thought of saying “Sunny-Side Over” to convey my meaning, but I have never tried. Even if the waiter nodded and took notes, by the time it reached the cook I would probably end up with Sunny Side Rubber, so afraid would he be to flip the eggs too soon. That or it would just piss him off. No, we can but hope that future generations will take this to heart, and look with pride at the eggs sitting on the plate, seemingly in defiance of thermodynamics, the yolks jiggling, the whites not.

So mamas, tell your children, when you first hand them the spatula and the carton of eggs, as they stare wide-eyed at the pan in front of them, butter or bacon drippings faintly sizzling in the shimmering heat, that they must be patient. They must wait for the right moment to flip.

—-

* this used to say “fried chicken embryos”, but I got tired of people unfamiliar with the Coneheads explaining Greek to me.

2

Jer’s Novel Writer 0.3.1.0 released

Well, most of the changes are under the hood, a big code cleanup in preparation for beta. That means that in the last two weeks I’ve broken almost every facet of JNW at least once.

Jer’s Software Hut still needs some work, but now that I have the EULA in the product, it is no longer a password-protected download. If you have a mac, take a look!

They were the Googliest of times, they were the Moogliest of times.

If only anyone else cared about this as much as I.

I’ll start with an aside. Last week was the heyday of the blog, the pinnacle of blogular traffic. The reason is simple: I started getting listed at dodmac.info, and all the regulars had to check me out. Now they’ve bitten on a coupe of lurid headlines and they know better. They have passed back into their little worlds where there is no time for discussions about which comic book heroes are best-suited for playing tag with eagles. Their loss, I say. If they don’t have the backbone to stand up on the issues that mean the most today, I have no time for their sorry asses.

Which leads me to another aside… uh, that’s going to have to be another entry. At this rate we’ll never get to to the search hits.

  • Google: aerodynamic ideas
  • Yahoo: half baked
  • Google: squirrel death – it’s pretty clear that lazy bastards too who just can’t get around to bookmarking are using this to come to the site. You’re my kind of people. Don’t ever change. Also worth mention were searches for squirrel suicide and squirrel death cult. I hope you’re not offended to be lumped together. It’s nice to know that someday when I’m promoting a book I’ll be introduced as the ‘squirrel death blog guy’.
  • Google: “great googly moogly” phrase
  • Yahoo: how do x-ray gogs work – whoever this was, I love you, man. My favorite physics professor of all times would say as he stood at the chalkboard (he was picky about his chalkboards), “Can you see the bosons moving? Put on your x-ray gogs.”
  • Google: la dolce vida
  • Google: listen to great googly moogly phrase – this from an entirely different domain than the other googly moogly search
  • Google: spyware End User License Agreement – as of this writing I rank four on Google for this topic. This is one hit where I hope the reader really read what I wrote. It’s funny (in the sense of odd), but I really believe in what I wrote that day. The whole right vs. wrong thing, and how a few words aren’t what’s really important.

I think the moral of the story is, if you write enough stuff, it’s going to match what someone is looking for. If you give it a catchy title, they’ll bite like large-mouth bass when the flies have all gone home for the holidays.

The books in my suitcase

Strunk and White: The Elements of Style
Edward Gorey: The Gashleycrumb Tinies
Franz Kafka: the Metamorphosis, The Penal Colony, and other stories
Stephen King: On Writing
Harvard Lampoon: Bored of the Rings

Left in San Jose:
Sam Kashner: When I was Cool: My Life at the Jack Kerouac School
Jack Kerouac: On the Road

Didn’t mean to leave the Kerouac. Gonna have to get another copy of that one.

Shangri-la

I’s staying in a really nice place. I’m not paying rent. I’m a “guest”. I see snow and bears and sunsets. I have my own space where I can work. My hosts feel guilty about not entertaining me more, while I feel great about getting things done. My hostess (we’ll call her Leza) recently asked if I was gong to be around mid-June to take care of the cat while they traveled. She was disappointed when I said I thought I should be going in another week or so.

There may be an ulterior motive at work here. Yesterday when I got home from a writing session (did you see just then how natural it was to say home?) and “Leza” asked – and I’m dead quoting here – “Would you be interested in a little girl?”

I was caught off guard by that one, I’ll tell you. I honestly thought for the tiniest fraction of a second that she was hoping I would adopt a little girl. The thought passed quickly, because no one would be so stupid as to entrust me with the upbringing of a child all on my own. It turns out that the “Little Girl” is Leza’s age (I can not, will not, even take a guess at that. She’s either younger than I am, or not.), and is perhaps freakishly small. So now I face the slightly lesser peril of being set up.

As a bit of background, it must be said that stories get bigger when Leza tells them. She is a storyteller at heart. I have stood by, bemused, as I hear her tell her husband (we’ll call him ‘Mark’) some minor story I told her. She can make the simplest thing sound dramatic. I wish I had that talent, and I’d wager she doesn’t even realize what she has.

Anyway, after clearing up the ‘little girl’ confusion, Leza explained to me that she had run into a friend of hers who thought I sounded ‘really nice’. So, I hear from Leza that, based on what she has told her friend about me, her friend thinks I’m nice. We’ll pass for the moment on the fact that Leza’s friend might have called me any name in the book and that would not affect what I heard back from Leza. What worries me most is what Leza told her friend. While it is likely based on fact, that still leaves a lot of room for poetic license.

So there’s a bunch of us getting together for some kind of musing thing Friday evening. I had been thinking about bolting for Bozeman this week, since the paying gig is in a lull, but I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. So now I get to see the look on some woman’s face as she realizes the gulf between what she’s been told and what I can deliver. After that it’s Bozeman, baby, Bozeman. I’m starting to yearn for the big spaces.

No Pants Day

I had a big write-up planned about all the legitimately free music I’ve found, where you can find it, and my new favorite band (eX-Girl – a frightfully strange and completely musical group out of Japan), but I’m tired. Dodging eagles and watching people shock themselves senseless has taken it out of me.

I listened yesterday to Radio Free Pants – The voice of a new fashion sense, and I enjoyed it. It was a good combination of music I knew and liked and stuff I’d never heard before. Steve Martin punctuated the evening.

Alas, today I couldn’t hook up. Hopefully that’s because everyone in the world was already listening. I hope the link above works, but I may have screwed up and I’m frankly too tired to test it. If I didn’t do it right, just visit dphc using the link in the navigation section over there.

Wildlife Survey

The other day I was walking the fifty meters between the house and my car when out from under my road-trip mobile scampered a bushy-tailed gray squirrel. There are two things I must remind you at this time. 1) Bushy-tailed Gray Squirrels are tree squirrels. They usually leave the scampering around on the ground to their diminutive chip-‘n’-dale ground squirrel brethren. 2) 87% of all documented squirrel suicides are by tree squirrels.

Naturally, before I drove, I checked my brake lines. I imagine that for a suicidal squirrel the car brakes are the greatest enemy. He dashes out into the road to his certain demise only to discover that his chosen vehicle of death has ABS and remarkably sticky tires. The squirrel survives and his squirrel buddies give him hell for it. Peer pressure can be ugly, even among squirrels.

All right, so Friday I caught a squirrel sabotaging my brakes. I caught him in time, no harm done. Saturday, yesterday, I stopped short as I walked to my car. There was a bear next to it. A fine, not-yet-full-sized California Brown bear. (Although I am now in Nevada, apparently there are treaties in place allowing certain limited visitation rights.) There was a time, not so long ago, I imagine, that the bears would go down to the lake or visit one of the tributary streams much as you and I get up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water. Now I understand the paperwork is endless for a bear to get permission to take water from one of the streams. Don’t get them started about shitting in the woods.

Today as I went out to my car a golden eagle coasted overhead. It was huge. It was majestic. I’ll bet you a buck-fifty it was looking for squirrels. The raptor turned slowly, perhaps catching a draft over the release of hot air as I lowered the car’s top. It was so close I could have touched it if I had those telescoping arms like Dr. Octopus, or maybe if I was that rubber guy. You know who I mean. No, no, not the wonder Twins. They give me the creeps. There’s a few too many possibilities there, if you know what I mean. Anyway, wasn’t there some other rubber guy? He always won the arguments against Glue Guy.

Unscheduled Interruption

… but there’s a guy at the bar tasering himself. He starts the taser going, filling the whole room with a sinister buzz. He slowly moves it closer to his skin until he spasms violently and shouts “Ouch! Goddamit!”

A few seconds pass, and he does it again. Buzz. Spasm. “Ouch! Goddamit!” I am… astonished.

When you start feeling romantic about bars, remember this guy. I will too.

Site maintennance under way

Doing some experiments. Disregard any messages you might see about needing a new browser (unless you’re using IE for windows). Please stand by… making progress… wait for it…………………………………….

OK, I think I’m done (for now) with the changes that will really cause trouble. Any messages you see about your browser are the result of your browser not rendering graphics according to standards. Make the Web a better place; don’t use a browser that makes its own rules. If you see the message above, go post-haste to

http://www.mozilla.org/products/firefox/

There are probably some other good alternatives as well, but that one I know is completely painless to install and works very well.

The onus of conversation

I can become quite the Chatty Charlie after I’ve had a couple of beers, but when I land in a situation where I am required to make conversation, expected to find common ground, the only thing I share with my fellow conversationalists is the desire to get the hell out of there.

Not surprisingly, my favorite table (my regular table) at Sam’s is someone else’s favorite as well. As the quiet afternoon passes over, giving way to evening and the after-work crowd, My choice little spot is looked upon jealously by the fixtures I have displaced. Successful integration with the fixtures, a key step in accelerated regularization, is the subject of a different post. This post is about finding yourself at a table with some other guy you don’t know. He wants to leave, you want him to go, but he doesn’t.

He doesn’t want to offend you.

He knows you would rather he leave. Everyone knows that everyone will be happier if anyone could give up on the pretense of a connection and head your separate ways. Yet no one can act on what everyone knows.

Finally, some outside influence allows the escape. “I’m just going to go over and say hello to my buddy,” he says, and he bolts for the far side of the bar. Thank God.

Yet one day I went into a bar for the first time (at least the first time for that version of the bar), and I sat down next to a guy I’d never met before and we hit it off marvelously. We hardly said a damn thing to each other. We both talked to Melissa, the bartender, and exchanged a few pleasantries, but mostly we hung out. Because neither of us felt any need for conversation, the discomfort was gone. We were just a couple of buds having some beer. People who have been friends for 50 years don’t talk so much. Why wait so long?

Megan

It was hot in here, and it’s still warm, so the doors are open and there’s a breeze passing through. Megan is on crutches; she blew out her knee, I didn’t catch how. She seems cheerful nevertheless, and is having a nice conversation with her friends. She is about eight feet from me.

What does the breeze have to do with it? I am upwind of her. I pray for the sorry souls down the bar. I think the lid must have come off her perfume bottle. When she first walked in, I thought that perhaps she had just put her smell on. They can be pretty overpowering at first. But it’s not ‘at first’ anymore. I’m actually relieved that the guy next to her lit a cigarette.

I wonder if smokers tend to lay on the stink more than non-smokers?

Maybe I’m oversensitive. My personal level of hell will be a lot like a Hallmark store. (For the arrogance of thinking I deserve my own personal hell, it will now be a very crowded hallmark store, and all the other shoppers will be attractive, stink of smells made in factories, and be asking me what I think of this cute card with the kitten, with a verse inside something like:

You’re such a very special you,
I can’t believe how much it’s true,
so on this very special day,
I have to say hip hip hooray.)

Where was I? Oh, yeah, odor. Don’t get me wrong, a little bit of the right smell can be very enticing. But a scent should be a whisper – you have to come close to catch it, and when you do it draws you closer still. That’s what makes it so exciting. When you catch that whiff it means you’re getting inside the usual barriers. Your nose is following a delicate trail, instructing your lips where to go next. When applying perrfume, put it lightly where you want to feel your partner’s breath on your skin. Scent, artfully applied, is a chemical instruction manual for the wearer’s body. It’s intoxicating, and it’s sexy.

If I got that close to Megan (not that there’s any chance of that happening anyway – I’m here and she’s there and that’s the way it always is and that’s the way it always will be) my head would explode.

While I’m on the subject of subtlety, perfume, cologne, and what-not are best when they enhance your own scent, rather than cover it up. Megan may be olfactorialy a very attractive woman. If today is any indication, no one will ever know. (There are exceptions to the enhance vs. cover rule, of course. I’ve been an exception myself. I’m under no illusion, however, that dumping a boxcar of cologne over myself will make things any better.)

If you knew me, you’d know that I’m the last one to be giving fashion advice. I am not a stylish man. Perfume is not fashion, however, no matter how it’s marketed. It is a personal statement reserved only for those you care to share it with. Keep that in mind, and maybe I can get through life without my head exploding.

Haiku for You

Haiku for You

rise from blow-up bed
rub eyes, stretch, scratch, yawn, make tea
and get back to work

1

Ooohhhh….

This is what happens when inspiration strikes in the middle of the night. Well, I haven’t gone and read over what I wrote last night, so I hope it’s not too incomprehensible. I’ll clean it up shortly. Last thing I remember was typing “Sweet Saints of Symmetry, Batman!” There’s a phrase you’ll be able to search on in a few days.

I’m looking into a couple of comment-related features for this site that might be possible. One is to have links on the right-hand side to the blog entries with the ten most recent comments. By the way, I’m pretty sure if you have a news reader you can get a list of the ten most recent comments by pointing it at http://www.haloscan.com/members/rss.php?user=vikingjs. If anyone tries it, let me know if it works. You can also use a news reader to check the blog itself. I’m told that going and checking for updates vis the Web is so 1990’s. I just tried it and it seems… OK.

One more thing – the limit on comments will soon be raised to 3000 characters. Get your typin’ fingers ready!

OK, off to fix the worst of that Whacked-Out, Nut-Assed post from last night.

Reusable Space Vehicle

Please note: There’s a lot of engineering and physics in here, but give it a try even if you hate that stuff. I’ve tried to give the Carl Sagan version here. I thought about splitting this entry up, but it’s kind of a big-picture thing. I’ll add some drawings tomorrow (er… later this morning). If you start to glaze over, you can always see what’s happening at the Suicide Squirrel Death Cult.

I’ve got it all worked out, see. I had most of the plan worked out some time ago, but I had put it on the back burner. The other day my brother sent me an article mentioning the space launch contest and that got me to thinking again. Now it’s the wee hours of the morning, and the last piece of the puzzle has fallen into place.

Here’s how space flight works now: you make a huge bomb with a nozzle at one end. You set off the bomb and hope it burns in a controlled manner long enough for it to carry something worthwhile into space. Now you have something way up there and when you bring it back down you have to do something to slow it down, or, like a truck rolling out of control down a mountain, something bad is going to happen at the bottom. To get rid of all that potential energy, you use the air to slow you down. That generates an enormous amount of heat, so you hope the payload makes it to the ground without burning up. We have seen tragedy both on launch and landing as our frail machines proved unable to handle those enormous amounts of energy. There are several other drawbacks as well. Off the top of my head:

  • Inefficiency: Most of the fuel is used to lift…fuel. I don’t know the ratio of fuel mass to payload mass with modern propellants, but it’s still ridiculous. You’ve seen rockets taking off – they’re huge cylinders of fuel with a tiny capsule on top.
  • Cost: even with reusable spacecraft, big parts are thrown away on each launch. That fuel ain’t cheap, either.
  • Environment: The exhaust from a rocket has some nasty, nasty chemicals, and nothing gets those chemicals into the upper atmosphere like a rocket. Manufacturing the fuel has some ugly byproducts as well.

It’s time to rethink the whole proposition and take a step backward. Remember Jules Verne? He shot his space travelers out of a cannon. If I remember correctly, that’s how the martians came to Earth in War of the Worlds. There are some problems with the approach, but with a little thinking a very elegant and practical space launch system could be developed.

Here’s the skinny: rather than use a huge explosive charge as a typical cannon does, use a long electromagnetic coil to propel the capsule. I’m not going to do the calculus here (I’ll save that for a later post. I bet you can’t wait.), but for a manned capsule you are limited on the acceleration of the payload by human endurance. Since I’m eventually going to be launching wealthy patrons up to my hotel on the moon, the barrel of the gun will be very long indeed. I’m thinking you find a tall mountain and start drilling down. (This needs to be in a remote area anyway, as it will be really freakin loud – more on that later.)

Now, it’s going to take a lot of energy to get your cargo up into space, though not nearly as much energy as a traditional rocket needs, because we’re not burning fuel to accelerate fuel. The total energy required will be a fraction of that needed to launch a payload today. Nonetheless, chemical rockets have one big advantage – they can release a whole bunch of energy at once. It is very difficult to store that much electrical energy and release it all in a very short time. That’s what had me partially stumped until tonight.

So here’s the story so far: we have a miles-long electric cannon that in a burst of energy flings a breathtakingly beautiful streamlined capsule into the heavens. The capsule is designed to be as aerodynamic as possible, so that the pesky atmosphere hinders it as little as possible. (No amount of streamlining will diminish the enormous shock it creates as it tears the atmosphere a new one, but we’ll try to minimize that.) There are certainly some hurdles into getting the thing up there, but things really get interesting on the way back down.

As I mentioned before, spacecraft returning to earth have a lot of energy to get rid of. They need a way to apply the brakes all the way down that big gravity hill. Spacecraft today use the atmosphere to slow themselves down, turning all that potential energy into heat. Not my aerodynamic little beauty. When it points its slender nose toward the earth, it’s going to slice through the air as cleanly as possible. Oh, don’t get me wrong, there will still be lots of heat, but this baby will only have to deal with a tiny fraction of the heat that other spacecraft do. Out of the sky our capsule plunges, greedily hoarding its energy rather than using it to heat the air. Down it comes – straight down the barrel of the gun that launched it.

Now those giant coils that first hurled our spacecraft upwards become the brakes, transforming the kinetic energy of the capsule into electricity. We actually get back some of the energy we used to launch the craft in the first place!

Here’s the beauty part: it’s very difficult to store electricity, and boy, we’re going to be getting a lot of it all at once. If it doesn’t find a place to go, there will be trouble. We need to use that energy right away, as it’s generated… by launching another space craft. Sweet Saints of Symmetry, Batman! As one goes in, another comes out of another barrel of the gun, like two people on a trampoline bouncing each other. Bounce! one comes down, sending the other soaring into the air. Bounce! the other comes down and sends the first even higher. Of course, there has to be energy added on each bounce. The trampolinists use their legs to supply the energy to send each bounce higher. Our bouncing space capsules will use a large electric power plant. But since the power plant doesn’t have to supply all the energy for each launch, the problem becomes manageable.

All that’s left is getting the bouncing started. That’s the part I came up with tonight. Like the two bouncers on the trampoline, you don’t start at full height, you bounce back and forth, building up your energy over time. If you have two capsules, first you give one of them the biggest kick you can. Maybe it goes 5,000 meters up then comes back down. You get some of the energy back from that one and kick again. The next capsule goes 9,000 meters up, and so on. The biggest problem with the electrical launch, how to store enough energy, is solved. Away you go, Chumley, laughing at the very idea that it would take two whole weeks to launch a capsule twice.

That Ten Million is practically mine. Anyone have a billion to loan me? Actually, better make it five billion.

Post Script: Please read the followup article which discusses a slight hitch in this plan.

Ugh

Someone explain to me why the (no longer supported) Mac version of Internet Explorer is more standards-compliant than the Windows version. On windows, my PNG is being blended perfectly – with the wrong color. Where the hell did that gray come from? Over at the Hut there is a similar problem, but since I’m flogging mac-only software I didn’t worry about it too much.

I mean, shit, when was the PNG standard adopted? I had big plans for a graphic treatment that simply won’t work if browsers don’t render images according to well-established standards.

Someone Microsoft laid off from their Mac Business Unit should go give the windows folks some lessons.

Meanwhile, I’d be grateful for some feedback from the field about how other winders and Linux browsers are handling my graphic. It should look like this:
Obviously, there was still a ways to go, but you see how the ampersand crosses into the lighter color? The ability to do that was very important for my plans. I’m sure there are ways to accomplish what I want to de despite Microsoft, but this way was easy.

I know it’s an old story: Microsoft choosing which standards to follow and which to ignore. I would have thought they would be all over PNG, since it gets them out of paying royalties.

OK, I feel better now. I have work to do. On my Windows machine. Huh.