How to Make a Boiled Egg that Peels Well (According to the Fine People Of Facebook)

How to Make a Boiled Egg that Peels Well (According to the Fine People Of Facebook)

The following are all the suggestions friends on Facebook gave me for boiling the perfect-peeling egg…

I'm pretty sure that, given an infinite amount of time (I'm banking on reincarnation and recovery of past life memories), I could test every configuration of these suggestions and come up with a fail-proof way of making boiled eggs that peel well.

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It's Time for Five Star and Your Week's Good Blog Reading

Five Star's 307th Great Blog Roundup Is Brought to Us By R.L. Stine:

This week's Five Star roundup is brought to us by the choices we make and what they mean for our lives, a near-man, saying no when Oprah wants you to work without pay, a deeply troubling Barbie book, and R.L. Stine…

I'm taking part in NaBloPoMo, National Blog Posting Month, during which I am publishing a blog post every single day during the month of November.

Check out the NaBloPoMo blogroll.

It's the End of the World As We Know It, and I'm Eating Fish

This is me freaking out right now.

I read this article about how the saltwater fish might all be dead by 2048, and, "already, 29% of edible fish and seafood species have declined by 90%…" I don't even understand what that quoted piece really means, with its percentage seemingly nested inside another percentage, except that lots of things are already dead, and it stresses me the hell out. As a result, I'm writing this from under the covers in bed while I eat chocolate and order in fish and chips. The world is ending, SO WHY NOT MAKE IT TASTY. Get in my mouth, fishies.

I don't know about you, but I grew up during the 1970s and 1980s, which means that I was hammered with well-meaning messages from ageing hippies about how we were killing the earth and nuclear war was but one press of a button away, and then, for good measure because I was Christian, I had the added possibility of eternal damnation if I didn't behave well enough while the earth came to ruin and ended my life prematurely.

We watched the movie The Day After or the documentary On the 8th Day, terrifying films about the nuclear holocaust, and then we cried with our friends about the end times and read the Book of Revelation for clues. Let me tell you: the Book of Revelation is not a happy read for the panicked minds of 12-year-old kids out in the bush at church camp. I pulled myself down into the foot of my sleeping bag, sure that we were one several toes over the precipice, dangling ourselves helplessly into the Void. Children in the 80s did not necessarily sleep like babies.

So, as has been well illustrated, I have been primed to assume imminent catastrophe. Panic and dread are anxiety's wingmen when I'm told all the fish are dying. I'm not even a Christian and my mind has flown back to some dim knowledge of the end times to work out if dead fish prophesy the apocalypse, and, oh crap, they do. Sweet.

I'm sure this fish head Aidan ate a few weeks ago knew what was up, but we didn't listen, did we. Aidan ate it, and then we flew in an airplane and made lots of garbage and didn't save the planet at all. We've had this stuff drilled into us for 40, 50, maybe even 60 years already, and yet our political leaders in North America still won't admit that the environment is actually a pretty big part of our being alive and whose relative wellness might be a factor in our own continued existence.

Whatever. I'm sure this gravy my fries are swimming in will do me in faster than global fish death. At least, one can hope.


I'm taking part in NaBloPoMo, National Blog Posting Month, during which I am publishing a blog post every single day during the month of November.

Check out the NaBloPoMo blogroll.