Speaks for itself: http://xkcd.com/137/
Getting Hot Over Instructions
2009/11/09 By Leave a Comment
Why it’s so important to be thoughtful when writing instructions:
On Saturday, Debby made a big pot of “black bean harvest chili” that included, along with beans and sauce, chunks of butternut squash, dark beer, and canned chipotle peppers.
The first taste almost blistered the skin off the roof of my mouth (although it was also incredibly delicious for the first 100 ms). Debby, hot pepper girl that she is, gave me a predictable look of scorn, took a big bite and raced for the sink (only three steps away, but she raced). If I hadn’t been drowning my personal furnace with our last bottle of beer, I might have taunted her as she ran the tap straight into her mouth. Instead, I set the empty bottle on the counter with a decisive clink and raised my eyebrows. She glared from under the tap, clearly knowing that the only other (and much weaker) extinguisher left was the gallon of milk we’d meant for the children. She turned off the water, wiped her mouth (delicately) with a towel, and marched (three steps) back to the chili–ignoring my offer to run to the store for more beer–and said, “We’re going to fix this or end up killing everyone (but us) in the dinner party.”
Did I mention that we’d invited two other couples over? (One was couple my brother and sister-in-law, so any damage done there probably didn’t count, but the other couple were close friends, and foodies to boot!)
So what the hell happened? We’d picked up the recipe via Saveur.com–where the recipes are almost always bulletproof–and Debby is a thoroughly competent and increasingly spectacular cook. We shrugged it off and theorized that the recipe author was Venusian and for them, this chili was probably mild. Debby fished out all the chipotles she could find, and we dumped in a jar of spaghetti sauce and soup broth to cut it down. We weren’t able to retrieve the sauce from the cans of pepper, nor most of the baby nuke pepper seeds.
On the Scoville scale from 0 to 1,000,000 (it goes higher, but only for pepper spray and pure capsaicin), the undiluted chili was probably at Scotch Bonnet level: between 100,000 and 350,000 units. Post-dillution, it was closer to 8,000 to 10,000 (Jalapenos, Hungarian Wax, and most chipotles–which are often smoked Jalapenos). Since we’d used the same brand of canned chipotles just a week before, we guessed that there’d been some QC or pepper supply issue at the factory along the lines of “Dammnit we are out of Jalapenos but look at these freight damaged Habaneros! They will be a delightful treat for our customers who are used to less. As my venerable grandmother who founded our company once said, ‘Smoke em if you got em, boys!’”
At dinner everyone had a small bowl along with lots of bread, salad, cheese, pasta, and other neutral or low-temp side dishes, and some bold wine. We all agreed that it was tasty and about as hot as we’d ever want our chili. We topped the evening with a giant pan of apple crisp and full bodied vanilla ice cream. Everyone left with their own food baby, totally sated and still talking about our little food adventure.
Today, I was reading the ingredients again, and had an aha moment.
1 small pie pumpkin or orange squash
1 tbsp olive oil
1 medium onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 can (28 oz) plum tomatoes, chopped
2 cans (19 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
1 bottle (300 ml) stout (such as Guinness or Dragon)
2 tbsp brown sugar or maple syrup
1 tbsp chili powder
1 tbsp ground cumin
1 tsp each cinnamon and oregano
2 canned chipotle peppers, minced
1 red bell pepper, diced
1 cup fresh or frozen corn kernels
Note the number and units of chipotles. It calls for two peppers, from a can. We added two cans (6 oz or so). So it’s pretty clear that two things happened: we added too many peppers; and the peppers themselves were either not your typical Jalapenos (fresh peppers of the same variety can differ drastically in heat, depending on the crop) or another, hotter variety as described above.
How’d we make our mistake? Tip for recipe authors–do not, repeat, do not use the container type (canned, jarred, bagged) as an adjective prefixing the noun/food item, at least when for ingredients that make a huge difference in flavor or may kill the consumers of said recipe. Cooks are often moving fast and focusing on the food noun itself–we are more likely to see the container type if it follows food name. Especially if there are other ingredients that read “cans of”–even people who work with words for a living can read “cans of” instead of “canned” in a big list followed by a paragraph or more of instructions. Or, if you do used “canned” as they did above, it’s okay to add a note along the lines of:
Note: Dear harried cook or people who overlook the little things, please be sure to use two chiles from a can of chiles, not two cans.
In retrospect, it’s possible that the early disaster made for a more successful dinner party. And, leftover chili cold from the fridge the next evening was tasty and didn’t need any help (that didn’t stop me from adding slivers of cheddar). Debby and I agreed to try the recipe again, and this time we’ll have a six pack on hand.
Queen of the Editorial Jungle (repost)
2009/10/20 By 2 Comments
Reprinted from an early episode of Nuclear Frisson with Bob Price. Written for an Editor friend on her 40th. I ran across it recently and it made me laugh, so I’m sharing again. But not oversharing. Really.
QUEEN OF THE EDITORIAL JUNGLE
FADE IN:
SHE is sitting at her computer, with marked up papers scattered in loose piles about her cube floor. SHE is wearing headphones, and is frustrated and mumbling to herself.
HE stands in her cube entrance, dripping sweat from dysfunctional glands, tangling up his therapist’s advice with the feverish influences of lonely nights fueled by super heroine graphical novels (She Bantha, Tiger Twins, Ms. Victory, and Lightnin’ Streak), his adrenalin fired by a Venti latte, 50 sit-ups, new power tie, narrow nylon rimmed glasses, and red Pumas, he blurts the completely inappropriate observation he’s been girding his loins for days to get the balls to make.
SHE turns, pulling off her headphones.
SHE
I’m sorry, what? Say again?
SHE squints at him.
HE
I—
SHE
Stop there. Here’s some advice: keep your eyes on the business end of business, buster, and it won’t trouble you again.
HE
But, I—
SHE (sighing)
I suppose it’s natural to descend right to the anus jokes, but it won’t do. Helloooo, employee handbook? Look, page 65, paragraph 6. There’s an opaque shield around exposed skin at the office. If you’d follow rules, you wouldn’t find yourself in such a state.
HE
But—no, please, no, let me speak! Look, it’s very attractive, but do you worry about unwanted attention?
SHE
Hellooo? Business end? Opaque shield? What’s the problem? Okay, look. It’s comfortable. It’s practical. And…
SHE dangles limp marked up copy as EXHIBIT B.
SHE
…it is hotter than a freakin’ jungle in here.
HE
But—
SHE
Floss—yeah, I’ve heard it all before. In high school.
HE
Not…
SHE
So hard to see the utility, is it? It not only covers me below, but it doubles as a sling, and a slingshot—I can stun small vermin at 100 yards. Voila!—it’s fashionable headgear, and a very edgy robber’s mask. Itis my utility belt, Boy Wonder. Stick ‘em up! Hah!
HE
Well. I didn’t mean, just—be right back.
SHE
That didn’t take long.
HE
While I was gone I—
SHE
Got into your lower left desk drawer? We all know about the bottle. Let me extinguish all live flames.
HE
—Did some research while I was gone.
SHE
I see you killed a few trees.
HE
Well, I have compiled a definitive history of the thong. You may find it—
SHE
Fascinating. CliffNotes version please.
SHE
Ahem. For millennia, this versatile strap was habillement du jour for the wandering San men of southern Africa…and, err, male gods of the Greek pantheon…who were captured and sold into the harem of Awilda, a migratory Scandinavian princess turned Viking raider—
SHE
Great-great-great granny!
HE
—to avoid marrying Alf the Feeble…she traded thongs for salted herring to Native American fishermen…their photos firing the imaginations of golden age American comic book artists…launched the first Brazilian Carnivale…and, ahem, of course, Gandhi.
SHE
It’s a history of men? Typical. Not the tale of your daddy’s shower shoes, though, eh?
HE
I, um, also wrote a song. In praise. A thong song.
SHE
Stop there, citizen! You’re about to violate copyright. As an Editor, I’m duty bound to report you. First, I’ll have to stun you and bind your wrists and ankles. Two more uses.
HE
You…it’s like you anticipate my every move. Are you…a super hero?
SHE
Heroine, mac! Get a clue. No man can do this!
CRACK! THWUP!
THE OVERHEAD FLOURESCENTS start to strobe…
SAMUEL JACKSON (lyrical, growling V.O.)
FOXY GUINEVERE JONES!! DIVINE EDITORIAL ENFORCER!! (“motherfucking” implied)
A LIGHT OVER A DISTANT CUBICLE explodes, with accompanying shrieks. JUNGLE DRUMS BEGIN, LOW.
HE
I…seek your autograph.
SHE
Rise, citizen. Here’s my catalog—order something and I’ll be happy to sign it. How about this decorative Post-It block? Comes in handy as a cry for help when I’m away from the desk.
CUT TO BLACK
Participant Writing and Publishing
2009/10/07 By 1 Comment
Fiction Stimulus
Actively engaging people (via text, chat, and video) in the reading and writing experience until Oct 13, then it remains as an archive. As David Bowie once said, they invitate you to join. Requires a Ning login.
A Clean, Well-Lighted Place for Books
Thoughts on “how bookstores might evolve to give publishers a way to reassert their brands and strengthen their position” (at if:book)
Branding: The Future of Publishing?
Vroman’s bookstore riffs on the if:book post around branding.
Subject: Our Marketing Plan
Modern Marketing help for Authors (via the New Yorker)
More Slamming w/ Spam
2009/10/06 By Leave a Comment
Fresh spam, hot off the griddle:
Permanent enlarged penis
What should I do?
I failed to find you
In that very bed
Can’t answer?
Fine, then
Erase my photo
I canz chatz w/ celebrity
The gmail pre-spam spam filters are reasonably effective, so I don’t have a really gooey rich cache of spam from which to draw. If nothing else, composing freeform from spam subject lines is a good way to loosen (and lighten) up.
There is some unsung talent out there, occasionally crafting fridge magnet poetry subject lines to get past the old school filters. Or, more likely, someone’s using a semi-random text string generator to make poetry the same way that some musicians compose New Age rhythms.
You know what they say: Cork the wood that parts the barley, John. And leave the periwinkles to Mother.
Email Fridge Spam Slam
2009/10/05 By Leave a Comment
In seeking inspiration for fridge magnet storytelling, look no further than your local e-mail spam queue. Here’s a sampling of subject lines from the last two days, in order of appearance:
Torment of cheerleader girls
Our school’s in trouble!
What should I do?
Everybody be cool!
Don’t panic, I’ve found a solution!
Bro, you sure?
To climb your throat on sobs easily chased
Courage required
PageFour?
2009/10/05 By Leave a Comment
As pretty as the GUI is for the latest version of Word, and as nice as it is that they’ve fixed so many bugs from previous version–it’s still not a great tool for writing a novel. Not without having minion tools (paper or electronic) to keep track of all the disparate pieces that go into that novel, most of them on paper needing transcription of some sort.
I’ve accumulated years worth of amazing and invaluable (yes, every single one of them!) handwritten and typed notes and epiphanies, drafts, questions, issues, todo’s, and sublimated research, that I don’t want to search through by hand, rediscover, or rewrite (the latter happens far too often, producing variations on a note scattered physically and chronologically–drives me f–ing nuts sometimes). I know that writers have been producing novels for hundreds of years from notecard and other paper-based filing systems, but I’m entrenched in my computer, have a horrendously busy life already, and need an easy to use single tool or suite of tools that’ll help me keep organized (even if I do have to retype from paper–never a bad thing), and does not smack my hands if I need it to be flexible.
I’ve heard good things from writers about Scrivener, but it’s for the Mac, and I have a Windows system. I’ve looked at several novel writing tools for Windows over the years and found them too restrictive or short-handed and keep going back to my Word-based free form approach. But the author of Scrivener noted that a tool called PageFour “allows you to edit and organise your writing in a tabbed interface. It provides word processing and outlining capabilities, and is probably the product closest to Scrivener on Windows.” And it has version control–always a good thing.
I’m going to download PF and give it a shot. This weekend I’m attending workshops at Wordstock, including one on managing writing time with an already full life. Having a writing tool to support that effort can only help.
Update 10/13/09: Who would have thought that a focused word processor with a handy folder-based sidebar that took me almost no time to learn now to use would make me so productive. I love this tool. It has a few shortcomings, all easily worked around. Note: I’m very good with Word and similar tools–that probably made it harder for me to adapt to a simpler tool like PageFour than it would for people who don’t waste their time building such arcane skills or don’t have much experience with them. Or have simply lost patience with Word, even with the new bejeweled version.
The Canon
2009/09/30 By 2 Comments
I wish Nancy Angier had been my mother’s best friend while I was growing up, someone who we hung out with for Saturday night card games, Sunday picnics, and summer vacations. My mother has a wide-eyed embrace for life and adventure, and my father delves deep into the intracies of life on our planet (often not emerging for months)–most recently human life and longevity. Nancy (or her in-print persona) would have balanced them and help them find words for their experiences and observations.
I’ve been reading her rich survey of the major fields of science, The Canon, on the train to and from work. (It starts with a definition of science, which is reiterated throughout the book.) As I read, I think, no one person can have this large of a vocabulary and wield it so consistently and pointedly (and offhandedly) with wit and homage. I’ve reached a solid conclusion, or several: Nancy Angier is actually a small university working under the onus of a staff of editors with massive thesaural resources; Nancy Angier is a hive mind from space or the future; Nancy Angier is far more common than we know–we’re just too dumbed down to see more like her published.
I grew up with an interest in fossils, and like many kids had my pile of prehistoric flora and fauna toys and books. In high school and college, I studied paleoanthropology and eventually, the study of evolution (for fun). My bookshelves at home proudly display Stephen J. Gould’s big fat Structure of Evolutionary Theory among related works. I also have what I hope is a deep appreciation for other people’s spiritual beliefs, and have never seen a conflict between evolutionary (or other) science and those beliefs. (Let’s leave corkscrewed interpretations of doctrine out of it–that discussion just leads to bloody noses, TV evangelism, and car bombs.) To paraphrase Richard Feynman, science is about What, religion is about Why (because it’s very, very hard to answer Why).
So when I opened the chapter on evolutionary biology this morning and read her interview with David Wake, a biology professor at UC Berkeley, I wanted to kiss the book (not in a metaphorical attempt to plant one on Ms. Angier). He tells of his life growing up in a conservative Christian community and the words of his grandfather, a pastor and amateur naturalist, who didn’t see a conflict between his religion and his scientific knowledge, telling young David “that religion must always accommodate reality,” that we “live in the real world and must understand the world on its own empirical terms.” Or, to quote (via Angier) Thomas Dhobzansky, the Russian geneticist, “Nothing in biology makes sense, except in the light of evolution.”
Yet, according to summarized survey data, about 35% of the people in this country question or discount evolution (especially if prefaced by the word “human”). Often because we don’t understand (and are not taught) the difference between the word “theory” and “conjecture” or “belief” or “opinion.” It’s wrong to lay that problem on the porch of religion, though–there are people out there who are just dumb as dirt or igner’nt as sin, and some of them stand behind a pulpit (or in other positions of power or leadership), and they lead their children into instead of out of the mists. A similar argument can be made for people who wield science to quash religion….
Back to the path. Even if you’re immersed in science and don’t understand the fuss, read her book. It’s not hard to skip over the wordy pulp to find the pith. She sometimes uses words for their own sake, like a logophile from Wales (where it’s said, why say something with 10 words when 100 will do). I’m not going to quote them here, because–unlike the cheese–they don’t stand alone. But they are such lovely words.
Theme supports comments on posts only (hmmm)
2009/09/25 By 2 Comments
Hmm, this theme isn’t allowing comments on pages (i.e., About), only on posts. Or, themes add that ability and this theme, very simple and clean, with almost no code or metatags in the page content–lacks that ability. I’ve got a little work to do–I’d like to retain that ability without changing themes right now.
Entertain You
2009/09/25 By 2 Comments
It’s Friday, and I can treat it in one of two ways: wind down the work week with a carb-inspired nap, or end it with a bang of work and energy that launches a productive weekend. Sounds cornball, but we don’t always require deep, meaningful motivators to achieve. This Friday’s motivator: “rocker chicks” who either went out on top or started (solo) with a bang. My choices: Sleater-Kinney’s The Woods, with tracks I sometimes find comforting (like a sonic warm blankie) and Amanda Palmer’s punk cabaret Who Killed Amanda Palmer. I’ve had both of these albums since they were released, and haven’t tired of them yet. (Although overplaying them guarantees I’ll be waking in the middle of the night with one lurching round my skull like a lopsided antelope, so I also handle with care.)
Not that these are the only rocker chicks in my playlist (which is as varied as the business signage along Portland’s SE 82nd Ave). They’re just getting play today. Why is that important to you, the reader? It’s not, unless you’re looking for something new and haven’t heard of either (they’re easy to find on YouTube and other spots that play music and/or videos). And if you need a bandaid after listening, try Bach’s suites #1-3 on cello by Peter Wispelwey (you can find him on YouTube playing Hadyn’s Cello concerto in C Major with Violons du Roy–yes, they rock, too–in a lively performance Soames Forsyte would find most improper).
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