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Produce trio: eggplant

I love eggplant. Really really really. It is good in so many things! Eggplant parmesan! Eggplant in garlic sauce! Ratatouille! So many lovely things to do with eggplant! So here are some.

1. Roasted eggplant. Very simple, very good. Cut off the top, whack it in half, oil each cut side as minimally as possible (basically so as to keep it from sticking). Put in a moderate oven (that’s 350 F) for half an hour or so. Timing will vary based on the size of your eggplant. Drizzle with lemon juice, sprinkle with sea salt, eat. Yum. My brother said, “I tried that, but the insides got all slumpy.” Yes! Slumpy insides are the best! So good. This is best with small eggplants. The tiny ones will do nicely, or the round green stripey ones. The long ones are fine too. But with the great big ones, the most common ones to find in American supermarkets, you get a lot of slumpy per unit slightly-crispy skin.

2. Eggplant dips. This is best with large eggplants for exactly the reason above: lot of slumpy per unit slightly-crispy skin. You may have to roast them a few minutes longer, but roast as above. Then scoop out the insides and mash them up with a fork. Then add the spicing you like: olive oil and roasted garlic is nice, or lime juice and chopped cilantro. I’m going to try sage butter today and let you know, but I hardly see how it could go wrong, because sage butter makes everything better. (Edited to add: I am right, sage butter does make everything better. It was lovely.) A variation on the roasted garlic version, with tahini and lemon juice, makes baba ghanouj, and that’s a lovely thing to do, but if you don’t have tahini, you can still have good eggplant dip. This is good for chips or crackers or as a sandwich spread base or what have you. For example you could spread the lime and cilantro eggplant dip on a good baguette and then top it with slices of avocado and sweet bell pepper and a soft white cheese.

(I saw a recipe that advised that you cut the eggplant into cubes to roast it. I do not recommend this for eggplant dip. It is a perfectly fine way to get your roasted eggplant fix from a big eggplant, but the cubes will form edges that do not want to be mashed with a fork nor with a food processor nor noffing. At least mine did. They were perfectly nice roasted eggplant cubes, but what I wanted was the tangy limey dip stuff.)

3. Fried green eggplants. This is a recent invention of Timprov’s. He takes a tablespoon or so of bacon grease, although if we hadn’t made any bacon lately I daresay it would work with other fats. He slices up the lovely little round green stripey eggplants into fairly thin slices but not paper thin, and he fries them up in the bacon grease. Then he tops steaks with them. This is good. I am a person who needs something else on a steak to make it tasty (I’m anemic and the worst carnivore ever, basically), and we are out of dates at the moment, but fried green eggplants are at least as good as sauteed mushrooms. Possibly better.

I also like moussaka, but I make it differently every time, so I have a hard time telling you how to do it from that. Oh, and I also like roasted eggplants tossed with rice vinegar and peanut oil and chopped cilantro and roasted peanuts and halved cherry tomatoes and the tiniest dash of chili oil. That’s good stuff. That’s another thing you want little eggplants for.

I do like the big eggplants, but the little ones are so handy.

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Brain momentum

For the last two weeks, my brain has been stuck in “on.” I’ve said elsewhere on social media that I’ve written five stories in that time, and that’s true, and I am not sorry for the existence of those five stories. I have also done revisions on various things and worked on projects still in progress. And that’s just on the writing front.

I really enjoy the feeling that I have a hold on things, that I know how to make a story do what it needs to do. I really do not enjoy the feeling that my brain is going to be twitchy until I actually get the words out get them out get them oooooout. I don’t enjoy writing-induced insomnia, and worse, it’s pretty bad for me. And this is one of the places where I feel like the dominant culture of SFF writers online makes things harder, not easier.

Because I have friends–actual personal friends, people I have invited into my home, people who know details of my health situation–who have to have the downside of obsessive writing behavior explained to them every time. Who go into the same mode that upset me with some of the girls I knew in high school: “Oh, you look so good in that, I hate you.” You wrote so much, I hate you. Whenever anybody comes out and says to me that they hate me, I tend to reply in a very quiet voice, “I’m not feeling so fond of you right now either.” I never got accustomed to that kind of “friendly” hostility, and I don’t really want to. We’ve all got different styles of working, and all of those have ups and downs, and I don’t really think we should have a problem acknowledging that.

I’m hoping that I managed to dump the brain momentum into a novel. Or two novels, I don’t really care at this point, honestly. But novels are not things I can hold in every prose detail in my head all at once, so they are less likely to hit the brain chains that take forever to die down and leave me exhausted and short on cope. Also I like novels. So the fact that I sat down and wrote a thousand words on a novel that had previously stalled out, and before that another thousand words on a novel I haven’t even tried starting–that sounds hopeful. If I can keep productivity slightly elevated but stop it from interfering with things I need like sleep, that would be really a lot better. If I just go back to regular levels of productivity, I could cope with that too.

I really am glad of the five stories. Don’t get me wrong. It’s just that I am feeling the negative side of that behavior pretty strongly right about now.

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Other people saying smart stuff about the orchestra

If you care about the Minnesota Orchestra lockout, you should probably be reading Emily anyway, but here’s a really good one. Her incredulous rage is my incredulous rage. Other letters are worthwhile, too.

In the last week, the Orchestra Board has openly declared their willingness to treat us as commodities. I don’t mean “us,” the orchestra patrons, although honestly I don’t doubt that we’re pretty fungible in their minds too. I mean us, people who work in the arts. Artists. (I get a little squirmy about declaring myself an artist. But muttering things like “I tell lies to strangers for money” only gets you so far.) Anyone who’s an avid reader or a fan of music or the visual arts or dance or–hell, anyone who watches television–we all know that these things are not like cans of Campbell’s soup. Not even the extra-fancy super-chunky cans. You may like my short stories and Alec’s short stories, or mine and Bear’s, or any of a number of other combinations, but everybody knows that liking both does not mean that they’re interchangeable.

I’m sure the Minnesota Orchestra could get some young, desperate musicians. It could even get immaculately trained young, desperate musicians. And the thing is, sometimes young musicians are the right answer–the Orchestra needs a range of ages not to fall into a variety of problems. But leaning heavily on the young and desperate–the people who need some orchestra job to pay off their conservatory loans–is not going to get you the same quality as focusing on the best. It’s not going to get you Burt Hara. It’s not going to get you Douglas Wright. It’s not going to get you Wendy Williams. I play the flute. If you want to hear a demonstration of what you’re paying Wendy Williams for, you can have me as a flutist for the Orchestra for a weekend. I promise, nobody will ask for me back.

I’m really afraid at this point that even if some kind of official settlement is reached, the musicians are going to have to look for better options as soon as they can find them. And I mean that: have to. I would. I would advise them to, unless we can get this Orchestra Board changed. I will be sad and in some cases devastated to see them go, but I work in the arts, too, and I have seen what happens to people whose publishers do not value them. It’s not pretty. I cannot recommend it. If we do get a settlement–which became even less likely the minute they started treating Osmo like he was a can of tunafish or a pair of sneakers–the first priority has to be ousting this board. Because they don’t have a plan, they don’t have a clue, and their attitude towards the musicians is scary and toxic.

This is not a difference of attitudes on one contract. This is a difference of attitudes on the value of art and artists.

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I provided the flora and fauna, Alec provided the weaponization.

Today at Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Alec and I have a new story for you: “On the Weaponization of Flora and Fauna”. It’s got colonialism and rare birds and the risk of being turned to stone by the imperial basilisk. I’m pretty pleased with this one–it’s one of my favorite things Alec and I have written together–so I hope you like it too.

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Produce trio: things I can’t get

So when I started doing my produce trio entries, I asked what you guys would like to see in this project. And for many of the items, I’ll get there. But. We are closing in on the end of farmer’s market season, and there are several things on the list that I have not seen at our farmer’s market or Byerly’s. And part of the point of this is that I would tell you things that I have verified that I think are good, not just things that sound nifty. (And a good thing, too, because there was at least one thing for the upcoming eggplant post where I thought I had a viable technique and had to go back and adjust. Anyway.)

So! Here are the things that I can’t get. If you want to share ideas for preparation/recipes in the comments section (either on marissalingen.com or on lj, I don’t care which), please have at it. The requested items are:
Currants
Elderberries
Gooseberries

Go.

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Where I’ll be (rest of 2013)

Mostly I will be at home, but not everyone has heard the rest of my plans, and it might be relevant to some of you, so:

I am going to Farthing Party at the end of this month in Montreal. I will show up the Wednesday before and depart the Wednesday after the Farthing Party weekend itself. J’aime Montreal. So many lovely places to return to, so many lovely places I haven’t been yet. And Farthing Party itself! Which is full of excellent monkeys but not in such bulk as to be unmanageable! Hurrah. Am excited. I already have one dinner plan. Poke me if you’re going to be there too and want something else definitive in that time.

I am also going to a family wedding in the Hudson River Valley in mid-October. I will not be going through New York City this time, just in and out of a little local airport a bit further north than NYC. Last time we were going to the Hudson River Valley, we wanted to stop off and visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Which I loved, and which I bet I still love. But NYC traffic I do not love, and this trip is all about the family wedding, and since it’s a fairly short-notice wedding, we are not planning any kind of tours or visiting of NYC friends around it. Sorry to be so close and yet so far for some of you.

I will not be going to the Minn-StF fallcon this year, and this is no fault whatsoever of the concom. Fallcon is fun. You should go if you like fun. But following one round of very active con-like participation at Farthing Party and one set of family stuff, this year’s fallcon comes just too soon for me to plan to spend the energy. There is really nothing additionally fun the concom could have done to make this interesting to me; I was already interested. I just have not been overflowing with energy of late, and that’s already kind of a lot.

I will also not be going to World Fantasy Con or Sirens, although neither is off the table for future years when I have different time/energy commitments.

I have no idea where we will be for Boxing Day and beyond, but the odds are fairly good it will be somewhere in the upper Midwest that is not here. I am not in sole charge of that decision, and it’s unlikely to result in visits for any friends, given the other parameters and priorities–that’s Christmas with Mark’s side of the family, which means maximizing niece-time.

And now you know.

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Girl Meets Books.

This is an old old story. Boy meets girl in Science Fiction lit class. Boy mentions his love of Iain M. Banks; girl catches a ride with a friend to a different city to buy one and talk about it. Boy shoves stack of additional Banks novels at girl with shy hope. They start dating.

In the first few months they’re dating, they trade a great many books, like boys and girls and non-binary-gendered young persons do when they are nerds in love. What he lends her, in great bulk, is: Charles Sheffield, Iain M. Banks, Frederik Pohl, C.J. Cherryh. (Her list is a bit younger.) And since you know this story in one form or another, you won’t be surprised that it was Mark, or in other words, reader, I married him. I just…keep thinking about that list. Gee, for some reason.

I’m going to go reread Gateway now, but if any of you know C.J. Cherryh personally, can you, like, send her a fruit basket and invite her on a nice walk or something? Remind her to stretch while she’s writing and look both ways when she crosses streets. It would be creepy coming from me, but I’d just like to take a precaution. I’m a champion worrier, and I’m starting to feel a bit worried.

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All the baby tapir you could ask for.

The Minnesota Zoo has a new baby tapir, and she is so cute. I mean, sure, other people’s baby tapirs are cute, but…well, okay, she looks very much like them. But imagine how cute that is! With the watermelon mottling and the wee snout!

Oh wait! You don’t have to imagine. Because Tim has been taking pictures of her. You can see hundreds of adorable baby tapir pictures on his baby tapir photos Tumblr. If you’re one of those people saying, “Eh, what’s Tumblr for, really?”, the answer is here: baby. Tapir. Photos.

And then! You can get some of the best of them in high-quality art prints, or in sets of equality high-quality cards to send to your near and dear (or your distant and disliked–it’s not up to me where you send them). Because he’s having a Baby Tapir Blowout Sale! Now until September 12.

Tapir tapir tapir. So cute. I had been thinking of her as Hosey-nose, as an homage to the Hilary Casson books, but she needs a better name than that. The children at the zoo with Tim on Saturday thought perhaps Torpedo, and I have been going with that. Because she is a concentrated missile of mottled cuteness shooting through the water (or air).

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Books read, late August

Paul M. Barrett, Glock: The Rise of America’s Gun. I do not have a particular interest in guns, but like Doctor Worm in the TMBG song, I’m interested in things, and weapons often illuminate other aspects of the culture they’re in. This was not a terribly deep book, nor was it highly illuminating about other cultural aspects. Worse, the author had moments of sexism that were completely unnecessary to the microhistory, just popping in gratuitously and declaring themselves in a bright and perky way: “Hi, I’m sexism!” And then me, wearily: “Hi, sexism.” The thing I would say here is that if you’re interested in the flaws and drawbacks of a gun, read a microhistory of a similar gun, because dang. From the ones I’ve read, it really looks like the sort of people who write gun microhistories are not even slightly interested in being even-handed. Either that or all previous guns really did point death and despair solely at their owners. But from this and the AK-47 history I read, you’d think it was at Monkey’s Paw levels.

John Bierhorst, The Mythology of North America. This is an overview of myth types rather than an exhaustive compendium. It has maps carefully labeled with where Raven stories take which forms. It is useful. He also has two other volumes, one on South America and the other on “Mexico and Central America,” so if you were looking at the North America one in hopes of getting Aztec and Mexica mythologies, you would be disappointed. I was not. More a jumping-off point than a last word.

Sarah Cross, Dull Boy. Okay, I know titles are hard. And I get why she thought this title fit the story. But seriously, Dull Boy? DULL BOY? The kid’s superhero name isn’t even Dull Boy. It’s a step back from that, more thematic and all. And…you cannot name your book Dull Bo-. It’s too close to Dull Book. And this was not a dull book. It’s a teenage superhero story that actually gets pretty well into teen friendship dynamics, so if you have social embarrassment buttons, this will probably press them. My main complaint other than the title was that the ending was so very set up for sequels that it felt like the resolution was almost completely undone in the denouement, and then…there are not sequels, apparently. Sigh.

Karen Joy Fowler, We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves. I am sort of at a loss for how to talk about this book, because in some ways I think the premise is best if you let Fowler unfold it at her own pace. It’s sharp about family and humanity. It’s one of those books that’s less science fiction and more fiction-about-science. I like both. I like this.

Roger A. Freeman, Mustang at War. Grandpa’s. History of a particular plane mostly in WWII. Lots and lots of pictures. Probably not of great interest unless you’re specifically into Mustangs (as planes as opposed to cars or, y’know, horses).

Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane. Neil is going to get asked a lot of personal questions about this book, poor man, but it’s his own fault, I expect. The nameless narrator does not get to do a lot of protagging compared to the much more interesting family at the end of the lane, and the ending…either assumes a Neil Gaiman semi-biographical element or only gives you resolution for the least interesting character in the book. So no wonder he’ll be asked questions.

Ken Kalfus, Equilateral. Another fiction-about-science book. This one was about the late Victorian plan to inscribe giant geometric figures in the northern African desert so that the Martians could see them. (Yes, the plan was a real thing, even though they didn’t manage it.)

David I. Kertzer, Prisoner of the Vatican: The Popes’ Secret Plot to Capture Rome from the New Italian State. This was aimed at chipping away at my ignorance of the unification of Italy. I currently don’t know much about the unification of Italy and find the entire thing rather hazy and confusing. I suspect that after another six or eight books, I will know a fair amount about the unification of Italy and be able to definitively explain why it really is hazy and confusing. That’ll be much better. Anyway, there is quite a lot of Victor Emmanuel and quite a lot of Pius IX, and that seems useful, and I was hoping for a bit more Garibaldi, but you can’t always get what you want. Useful piece of the puzzle.

Eve LaPlante, American Jezebel: The Uncommon Life of Anne Hutchinson, the Woman Who Defied the Puritans. Recommended. Anne Hutchinson was really a lot of trouble, and her family was also quite a bit of trouble. They were sort of proto-Quakers in several key ways, and the way that she (with their support) changed the American colonial landscape is really worth a read. It will also demonstrate that the phenomenon of “any word I don’t like can be applied to people I don’t like regardless of content” is not at all new.

Bruce Levine, The Spirit of 1848: German Immigrants, Labor Conflict, and the Coming of the Civil War. Every time I get to thinking I have a handle on what’s been erased in the standard schoolbook version of American history, I get to a book like this one and have another forehead-smacking moment. Among other revelations: it turns out it wasn’t only women with British Isles surnames doing the heavy work of first-wave feminism GO FIGURE WHO KNEW. Ahem. Sorry. (But Mathilde Franziska Anneke! You can look her up!) But seriously, the systematic removal of German-American contributions from standard texts looks like it’s the crappy residue of the World Wars. I knew the ’48ers had to have contributed to the mid-century American zeitgeist, and this book goes into some detail–with disagreeing factions! and divergences!–about how. And Levine does a great job of debunking the historians who want to use the refined student stereotype of ’48ers–can you believe that in many studies they were figuring that anyone who had economic reason to depart Germany could not possibly have been “political”? Aughhhhh, and also thank you, Bruce Levine, for the debunking. Lovely book, very important.

Caroline Moorehead, Dancing to the Precipice: The Life of Lucie de la Tour du Pin, Eyewitness to an Era. There is a trend that confuses me in nonfiction, and that is giving background in a book as though it might become a breakout popular history, read by people with no knowledge of its era or people, when no particular likelihood of that seems to be present. Seriously: if you don’t have an interest in Revolutionary-through-mid-19th-century France, how likely are you to say, “Ooh!” and pick up a biography of Lucie de la Tour du Pin? So why was this book filled with all sorts of rehash of the basics of the French Revolution? Interesting historical figure, interesting life, but this volume…well, I hesitate to say who this is for, since the people who would mostly find it interesting are also more likely to find it slow and frustrating.

Dmitri Nagishin, Folktales of the Amur: Stories from the Russian Far East. Beautiful, beautiful book. I am so very much not visually oriented, but these gorgeous illustrations made even me linger. And the stories themselves were different and fun. One of my best birthday presents this year. If you can find a copy anywhere, snap it up.

Phoebe North, Starglass. Generation ship YA SF. Sympathies do not go where they initially seem like they might. The warping and rediscovery of Judaism on an intended-Jewish generation ship was particularly well-handled, I thought, but this should be of interest to people without a particular interest in Judaica also. I’m looking forward to the next book.

Phillip F. Schewe, Maverick Genius: The Pioneering Odyssey of Freeman Dyson. It is so very strange to read the biography of someone you know personally. And it’s not that I think Schewe necessarily got Freeman wrong, it’s just that…okay, I guess I take for granted the intelligence of the people around me. (I guess, huh?) But when I think of Freeman, first I think “sweet-natured” and second “shy” and third “curious” and only far down the list do I get to “smart.” Whereas for Schewe, it really ended up sounding like he was a bit intimidated by Freeman’s intelligence. Anyway, interesting book about an interesting man, good addition to biographies of 20th century scientists, not automatically in sympathy with its subject and his foibles every time. (This is important in any biography, but in the biography of someone amazing like Freeman who has also made some amazing mistakes, it’s particularly crucial.)

Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö, Murder at the Savoy. Not a particularly satisfying Swedish murder mystery novel, definitely not their best. The resolution hinged on a particular plot trope I never like. Meh. Don’t start here, and unless you’re deeply committed to the series, you can probably skip this one.

Jane Yolen and Adam Stemple, The Hostage Prince. I had heard an excerpt from this at their reading at Minicon, so I was pretty sure I would like it, and in fact I did. The tone is humorous without being insubstantial, and the different Faerie groups are great fun. This is a series that’s not attempting to tell a complete story in each volume, so the ending is a bit of a cliffhanger, but I’m willing to keep hanging around here until the next volume comes out.

Sarah Zettel, Golden Girl. Zettel’s Depression-era fairies have gone on from the Dust Bowl to Hollywood. I agreed with my friend Diatryma that the ending was not as interesting/compliation-producing as it could be. But other than that, I really enjoyed this, the second volume in another trilogy that is not trying to tell independent stories with each volume. I’m a sucker for the 1930s, and I’m glad to see Zettel using them full force in these books.

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Compromise means I get what I want and you get what I want.

I am long past being surprised by anything the Minnesota Orchestra Board does. But this article, while not surprising, was pretty frustrating. “Let’s do mediation! Crap, mediation seems to mean that we don’t just get our way! Let’s go outside the mediation! To ask for the same things as we did in mediation!”

There was a perception in the Mpls classical music community that the deadline for getting this fixed was Labor Day weekend, because Osmo–our conductor, a kickass Finn who is pals with other kickass Finns of classical music interest–has said he will resign if the Orchestra is not going to be ready for the Carnegie Hall concerts in the fall. We’ve since heard that 9/15, not 9/2, is the date at which he thinks that’s reasonable. I can’t really argue with that. The man knows his stuff, which is why we still want him around.

Which is why. We still want him around.

One of the life skills I only acquired as an adult, and with some difficulty, was the ability to say, “Hey, this person’s behavior makes no sense. I should stop twisting myself into knots to try to see a way in which it does make sense! Because sometimes people just don’t.” I try not to overuse this. But it’s a lot better to acknowledge when someone is making no sense than to warp reality around them. And that’s kind of where I am with the Orchestra Board here. I have turned it over and over, trying to look for a hidden agenda or a secret way in which all this would make sense. It doesn’t. They’re trashing a local cultural treasure out of stubborn conviction that they are Righty Right Right, without regard to whether being right is the only relevant thing here.

I recently read Lawful Interception, the new Cory Doctorow novella, and I’m not sure I really thought the music analogy in it was quite right. But I thought of it again when I read the MN Orchestra article. I thought of how the MN Orchestra has already built this system with great communication among skilled artists, and…well. Cory’s story seemed relevant after all.