silver catalyst

PS! Fun bits! How does a chemist spend her Christmas Eve when at work?

The conversation started with "Gee, I think I [a lead educator] am the highest in command today since all the administration are out. What's the most dangerous thing we can do today and not get in trouble?"

Cue a brief brainstorm of possibilities, leading to a discussion of jet packs. (Boba Fett?!) The end product:



The bottle contains about 150mL of 30% H2O2. That's me in the beginning releasing the clamp from a pipette, causing powdered silver to fall into the bottle, where it catalyzes the decomposition of hydrogen peroxide into oxygen gas and lots of water (as steam due to the highly exothermic catalysis) that propel the car across the floor.

We tried it again today in front of 60 people, and guess what? It failed! The silver was stuck in the pipette. Arghhh.

slide along my neck, I'm not very interesting; mouth-hungry

Mucho tiempo, y yo no... yo no recuerdo español. Pobresito. J'ai oublié le français aussi. Mais, j'ai... discovered the joys of a Mac's option+key, wee! It just occurred to me that it's Friday night and I am not depressed that I've spent it in my room dancing to the Same Old Playlist with my old friend, glass of red wine. Hello red wine. How are you?

I can't report anything remarkable since 10/1, the same old additions and subtractions, multiplications and divisions, with a few remainders per usual. I wish to be amusing, here. I currently have the bottom half of a dress (ok, a severed nightgown) wrapped scarfishly around my neck. Christmas was unremarkable. DannenFamilyChristmasExplosionPalooza is on Sunday, and the more time I spend with my family, the more unremarkable it becomes. I think I feel that it's too convenient to live only 30 minutes from where I grew up, still in-state and so easily accessible to all that Dannen family. I don't know what familial deprivation feels like.

Plans for Hungary-Croatia, at least as they were, have dissolved due to acknowledgment of the Truth (the Truth being that we are incompatible in interests and coming to terms with it as such), so I remain in Portland in the spring, perhaps. Job, residence, sociality--I feel like an arthropod outgrowing its exoskeleton but with no way to crack it open and itching for a break between my shoulder blades. Scritch scritch scritch. I need growth and change, or at least a good wrestle.

One week, three games of catch-up with school chums: BethBeth today [real life], Xtina yesterday [real life], Aariq and lnzE a little over week ago [video conferencing life]. Reviving!

New Year's resolution: Go to the Art Museum monthly.
New Year's resolution: Do not grow up to be Your Father's Daughter. No one wants diabetes, and you used to have really fantastic legs in a swimsuit. (So what?)
New Year's resolution: Sew what.
New Year's resolution: I can't I can't I can't. Go, it's your turn.
New Year's resolution: Be less and do more.
New Year's resolution: You really don't have to.
New Year's resolution: And you really don't need it.
New Year's resolution: Have more dreams about squids and other mollusks.
New Year's resolution: Research diatomic nitrogen as an alternative source of oxidation for respiration. If magnesium can do it at 4000, why can't I at 98.6? Maybe I will turn a lovely neon yellow color, too.
New Year's resolution: Find a recreative (because recreational sounds like meth) chemistry lab partner. Do not blow things up. Well, not too much.

A perfect, luscious, fleshy pear would be heaven right now. As well as gobs of new music, I've been lazy lately with my show-going and have always been poor at researching.

Meet Lappy and Sexy Noodle Soup

Hello blog, meet the new lappy. I've never owned one before, but so far things are working out very well. As you can see, I am currently struck in a popular lappy-owner pose; sitting on my bedroom floor, a boyfriend pillow lovingly wrapping itself around me so its stubby arms can gently caress my hips, lappy perched on my lap (hence the name). As you can also see, it's a Macbook black, and although you can't tell by looking, it's a refurb. I have a received a few compliments on it, and have gladly absorbed them. Not so gladly as I could were this lappy something I had baked, but so it goes. Not everything can be made of flour, egg, and sugar.

Tonight was the second to last Sunday night of the Bodyworlds schedule. As all Sundays have gone since this exhibit took hold at OMSI, I worked 10:30a to 9p. It makes for a very long day, longer feeling than other 10-hr days because it goes so late. I eat breakfast at the beginning of the shift, lunch around 3p or 4p, a snack around 7p, home by 9:30p. It's late enough when I get home that I often disregard dinner. Since the weather has officially turned nasty, tonight around 11:30p when hunger pangs hit, I wanted warm hot no fuss comfort food. Consulting my comparatively extensive pantry, I found only mostly condiments, dried fruit, cans of beans and legumes, and mac 'n cheese. Even that seemed like too much effort. Yet salvation! A can of TJ's chicken noodle soup! Chicken noodle and I have a long and pleasant history. We are as comfort to each other as big fuzzy blankets and cold days, and exactly what I needed in this freezing house and as I enter into the lonesome, anxious, perturbed, and depressing week, days 21-28, that slides into days 1-7 of my menstrual cycle. (What I know almost as well, though not so long as soup.)

This soup alone would not satisfy me. It needed more. Having made chocolate molten lava cakes for our dessert-themed housewarming on Friday, a double recipe of which calls for a dozen eggs--six whole, six yolks--I had a fair amount of egg whites left over. I intend to use some of them to make the fluffiest pancakes sometime later in the week, but tonight, one of them plus a whole egg would garnish an otherwise still-tasty can of soup. I'm used to the way the egg flowers and wilts in the boiling soup, but what was unexpected were the globs of not-quite-thoroughly-cooked egg white. They remained heavy and viscous, and were the most delicious thing I've had the pleasure of swallowing in quite some time. The thick gel sliding down my throat was heavenly erotic, especially when accompanied by the fragrant delights of the hot, burning chicken broth. It was a treat for someone who had only just spent earlier hours reading about how to successfully deep throat and give perfect, mind-blowing head. No foreseeable chance to practice in the near future (though I know the pastures of such-minded animals, I keep to my side of the fence [metaphor! no animals in my love life]), but you can never learn too much.



Poached Egg Chicken Noodle Soup

one can of you favorite chicken noodle soup or vegetable noodle or comparable
one egg, or an egg and a half, or even two eggs if you want, or a few two-day-old eggs whites if you want the erotic experience, or some combination thereof


Bring the soup to a light boil or simmer over high heat. In a small bowl, lightly whisk egg(s) to break up the yolk(s). Pour into simmering soup. Wait a minute or so for eggs to cook through, remove from heat, and eat. Caution, hot and sexy!


As for those molten lava chocolate cakes, I'm not sure if I really actually like them or more the idea of them. It's egg-heavy chocolate cake that you don't bake all the way so that steaming hot chocolate cake batter can dribble down your chin. The baked cake is incredibly dense and moist, however, though it's hard to time the baking since I use muffin pans instead of ramekins and the cooking time can vary depending n the oven, amount of batter in each cup, etc., and I often overbake to just end up with dense, moist, flat little cupcakes. All said, that soup has left me craving chocolate. Jesus, I really am heading into that stereotypical PMS.


PS--In the course of my eroitc online research, I came across this: http://www.mypenisandeveryoneelses.com/ and think it's a brilliant idea. I would love to see the film and hear his conclusions. Has anyone done one about vaginas yet? I'm so sure there must be one out there. I can't say I didn't look at the crotch of every female Bodyworlds artifact to check out their build and assure myself that I'm not alone in looking like me. And lo, I am not. Warmer to the touch and much more responsive than those plastinates, though.

Fantastic Omelet

It's early September, and here around Portland, with the way this season has gone, that means tomatoes, zucchinis, cucumbers, green beans, and a host of other veggies are hitting their peak. Or at least they are in my parents' backyard, which has become my charge while they are out of town. (This also means I have a car through next week, yay far-away errands!) Given this, last night I came home with a metric buttload of vegetables. Pretty much every meal I've made in the past couple of weeks has already included tomatoes, cukes, zukes, and/or corn thanks to them. I'm heading towards capacity, but I need to raise my threshold because honey, ain't no one else here who's gonna eat these things like me.

Today was my sleep-in day. I have some eggs I've been ignoring for a while. I have veggies. I have various spreads and sauces leftover from trips to TJ or cooking adventures. This added up to omelet for brunch. And it was FANTASTIC. I ate it before I could snag a pic or even before my toast could finish toasting, but here's a general recipe:

Fantastic Omelet
serves 1

2 eggs
splash of soy milk or whatever milk
margarine or butter or oil or whatever
handful mixed cherry tomatoes, quartered
3/4 handful slivers of onion (I used a Hermiston Sweet)
Trader Joe's roasted red pepper spread with eggplant & garlic
cilantro pesto (recipe follows)
about 1/4 cup shredded cheese (I used leftover four cheese mix)
salt
pepper
Italian spice grinder spice mix thing (contains rosemary, garlic, sundried tomatoes, sea salt, basil, other stuff)
toast spread with margarine (or butter, if you're into that sort of thing)

Beat eggs with milk and salt, pepper, and random spices to taste until eggs yolks and whites are nicely mixed. Set aside. In a small saucepan over medium heat, melt a little margarine and sauté onions until wilted, just a few minutes. Add tomatoes and stir to heat them thoroughly. Add a thwack (approximately one knife-scoop) each of cilantro pesto and roasted red pepper spread. Stir to mix and warm, then turn off heat. In a larger saucepan over medium heat, melt some margarine and turn pan to cat bottom and sides evenly. Pour in egg mixture and allow to cook through, until the surface of the egg pancake is no longer soupy but before the pan-side browns too much (use a spatula to lift up an edge to peek). Carefully pour the tomato/onion mixture onto one half of the omelet. Sprinkle the cheese on the other half and continue to heat for about a minute or until most of the cheese is melted. If it's not all melted yet, don't worry, it will. Carefully use a wide spatula to life up the cheesy half and flip it over onto the tomato half, then slide the omelet onto a plate. Eat. Mmm. Don't forget your toast, too, because you need some fiber in this meal.


Cilantro Pesto
I once had pizza with a cilantro pesto base from HotLips and decided that I could make the same pizza but for way cheaper than $5 per slice. Here's what I ended up with. It's great as a pizza sauce, pasta sauce, on sandwiches or wraps, or whatever. I should mention now that I am very pro-garlic. I also haven't been doing a lot of kissing. Coincidence? I think not.

one bunch cilantro, rinsed and the really stemmy parts removed
handful pinenuts or other nut
handful feta or some other cheese
six cloves garlic, or whatever approximates your taste for it
olive oil
sometimes I add a handful of firm tofu, too, which thins out the flavor, makes a smooth sauce, and adds secret protein

In a food processor (or whatever you use for mashing things together), toss in the garlic, a splash of olive oil, the nuts, cheese, and half the cilantro. Chop chop chop mix blend until smooth. Add the rest of the cilantro and repeat. If choppy or not smooth, add a little more olive oil.

the gender trail mix

Only the second post, and here I am straying from my prescribed subject matters. The second post was supposed to be about a bread-baking adventure. It's still stored in draft form from weeks ago. The post before that one even was supposed to be a review of PDX Pop Now! 2007. Let's suppose I'm just not much of a journaler/blogger these days, and I'm still trying to transition from LiveJournal to Blogger.

But this is ridiculous. I'm not particularly feminine. My natural grace is lacking. My voice is not sweet and soothing. I have a hard time nurturing. My feet are large and wide. I am a chemist. (Not a strikingly feminine career.) My hair is shortish, my shoulders wide. And, let's face it, I have a more of a 'stache than the typical female and most young men, but I'm kind of over caring about it and keep it around, unbleached, unwaxed, unlasered, as a testament to my attempts at being completely comfortable with my body. (Attempts, attempts, trying trying trying.) However, given all that, I still think I'm pretty outrightly female, if not my huge breasts and wide hips, then at least the overall suggestion that my parts and attributes make toward my gender identity.

Why is it, then, that I can't go a week without being referred to as "sir" or referenced as "he" or "him"? For the most part it's been at work--I make a helpful remark to visitors and the parent interprets it to their child, but says "Did you hear? He says it's because of..." or I'll hear "Pardon me, sir?" directed at me. The first time it happened, it was a cute mistake. The second, an odd coincidence. The third worried me a little, but the final, final straw came when I was at a venue, idling my time between band sets, and someone--a male in my age bracket--squeezed past to get to the bar, uttering, "'Scuse me, sir." Ok, now, at the museum, there's a lot going on, visitors are not really paying full attention to everything, lots of distractions, my lab coat hides a lot of features, so a "sir" remark or two is permissible. But I am out on my free time. I am engaging my social role, going to a bar to see a band, I am playing the game that you play at places like that, all sex: music is sex, sipping your drink is sex, eying audience members is sex, your narrow pants and fun shoes and band t-shirt and hair mussed just so and nonchalant pose is sex. The game you play at venues and shows and bars is sex. I am female. I play the female part in the game of sex which for me is hetero and I do NOT want a potential player, even if the potential be so so minuscule as to be negligible, thinking I am a dude. (Unless he was cute and into dudes in which case... but I digress.)

The following arguments are going to sound superficial and trite thanks to my lack of clarity when arguing. I'm all for fluid gender roles. Yes, I think our language and society lack enough words and understanding to describe the various genders of which people identify. There was even a time when I sought more androgyny and primarily shopped in the mens' section, strove to play mens' roles in classes, and I still mostly find comfort in mens' shoes. I've deviated from that to being rather nonchalant or calmly feminine, even going so far as wearing dresses casually instead of reserving them for "nice" occasions. I've adopted more traditionally feminine roles in embracing cooking and baking and feeding others. I want to be soft and sweet and nurturing as much as I want to be tough and protecting and striving.

This is probably a good time to mention that lately I've realized that I'm struggling to get out of my clearcut views. Growing up, this were either very clearly one thing or another, no gray zones, even through most of college, which I think led to some of the snags. Chemistry is comfortable because it is so clearly either black or white, proven or theoretical or wrong, things that work and click together or cannot, will not work. As interactions progress in the greater world, I've tried adopting a broader accept and move on attitude rather than getting hung up on the judgment of clearly good or clearly bad, though I have to be very very conscious of it. It's all human, infinitely complex and varied. Accept and move on.

But still, I am soo not a sir.

la

I'm getting tired of LiveJournal, thought I might make a switch, so here it starts. La!

To start, in the vein of Chemical Applaudables, I've been demo-ing with sodium metal for the past two days, trying to develop a good way of presenting it in demonstration format. While the biggest obstacles have been finding a good, safe way to present it to visitors (layer of oil above indicator/water in a tube = neat, but not exciting, like a painfully slow lava lamp [hmm...]; shallow pan to watch it zoom around = dangerous!; giant clear deep tub with lid = excellent!) and trying to present all the information (surprisingly, there's a lot to talk about with this little alkali metal, half of it being, "This is very, VERY dangerous!"), I've been getting it along pretty well and very safely. However, the second sodium demo today left me shaken but relieved: a chunk of sodium approximately the size of a small marble, in the large tub partially filled with water, in the fume hood (heat from sodium + denatured alcohol for dissolving phenolphthalein = lots of cough-inducing vapors), expelled hydrogen gas on fire from the lit wooden splint I had just introduced--standard practice--and zooming around as sodium is wont to do in water. Suddenly, a BANG! louder than most rocket launches, pink streaks all over the inside of the fume hood from the indicator, and the sodium? Nowhere to be seen. Uh oh. Dissolved? Reacted? Exploded? Sucked up the fume hood vent duct? Who knows, but it was gone gone gone. Now we know what not to do with sodium, which is as good, if not better, than knowing what to do with it. My throat is still sore from how tense my body became at the noise.

My version is less dangerous than this: