Stopping the Insanity

Just trying it on. What are you doing, asks you.
Well.
For the past 4 weeks, it's been pushing, pushing, pushing and enduring through the horrible experiences for 4 hour long lectures, on my computer, told by spastic lunatics that tell the same story day after day. Really, it's the definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over, hoping for a different result. I kept telling myself, just push on through. Just a few more weeks. Just a few more lectures. Just keep your head down and you will come out the other side. Friends and family have been expressing sympathy, and also the same message: you'll get through this.
But. Today, I had a breakthrough. Well, yesterday, but today was the beta testing.
What if, the whole reason Barbri and the bar study is a traumatic horrifying experience because of these lectures? I'm deathly afraid to watch anything on YouTube. I can't stand any video. I can't watch my Battlestar Galactica.
I'm not an auditory learner. You can talk at me all you want, it's not getting through. I like looking. I like seeing the whole big picture, all at once, before narrowing in on the details. It's something I do. It helps that the pseudo-photographic memory necessitates total recall before it can parse through the small stuff. Memory is a strange strange thing. I have to have seen it if I am to remember it. I need to see the information to memorize it. This might explain why I SUCK at coding. Too many lines, can't tell one page from the next. In sum, I like looking at information rather than hearing it. I see words a pictures. Freaky.
As a solution, perhaps having an old animated man yell information at me is not the most soothing, retentive manner to obtain information. It's a big gamble, but I'm so deep in self-loathing and self-hatred that it's eating me from the inside. So I stopped listening to the lectures today. I just looked at the handouts and and answers and from that I'm going to study. I'm not going to subject myself to the torture of these lectures. I'm not going to keep doing the same thing over and over and hope for a different result.
Taking matters into my own hands.

As a bonus feature, this week has proven to be a boon in the baking arena. I've done too much. This week will have 2 packages going out. I understand this addiction now. It's as though if I can bake the perfect treat, then this longing will go away. I crave something to soothe the daemons inside, to calm the fire that burns away at my belly, some comforting snack/treat/edible that takes me back to that safe place. I'm looking for my cheat food. I don't have one. That's not right. I should have a cheat food. Something that I always order, that I'm slightly ashamed of, that defines me as a person by pointing out my flaws and weaknesses. I don't know what my cheat food is! Not knowing my weaknesses is really scary. When am I going to crack? How do I prevent it? What food will I turn to during bouts of insecurity and self-esteem fall-outs?

When am I going to learn how to use the semi-colon correctly?

Reaction Sequence Offline

My mother asked me which brownie mix I used when I gave her a piece of my latest and greatest incarnation of the fudgy chewy brownie. I don't know how to take that comment? Of course I made it from scratch! My whole LIFE IS MADE FROM SCRATCH. Ahem. Just over-reacting.

I felt like I really got the hang of making the chocolate from cocoa powder, butter, sugar and eggs. It looked and tasted like chocolate sauce. Legitimate chocolate sauce. No separating like it did last time. Last two times. But this new oven? Still have not quite got the hang of it! What is so fundamentally different about convection baking? I tried reducing the bake time. Maybe I should just reduce the bake temperature.

Either way, it looks gorgeous. Brownie mix. Ha. If only Betty Crocker added this much cocoa. I've got cocoa in places I can't see, there's so much in the air.

Completed my first Performance Test today. What. A. Pain. In. The KEESTER! For a few nerve-wracking hours, I was hunched over the keyboard, typing away like my life depended on it (which it did). It was a marathon of keystrokes! Clickity-clickity-clickity-click! But. Secretly? I love performance test. Because? I don't have to know any law. It's given to me. Only have to compute and spit out something. But don't need to know anything going in. Luckily? It's worth 40% of the written portion. It's worth 4 essay exams! Whoo! I can completely bomb the areas of substantive law and still get by with the skin of my teeth using the fake law provided in the Performance Test.

And now? Back to the Agency and Partnership lecture. A lisping little troll. I've never had heartburn or acid indigestion like these past two nights. It's quite, um, effervescent. Or something. Anyone know what to do for this? I'm slightly afraid of Tums after last time when I ate so many, my tongue dried out for the rest of the day.

Exhausted. Halfway. One Month to Go. No water

I am exhausted. I didn't realize how exhausted I really was until this morning. I didn't really do anything yesterday except go to pub quiz (which we arrived late bc I couldn't remember when it started. Idiot). Didn't drink. Yesterday was exhausting too. I tried to keep up my energy. Tried to put on a brave face and just work through it. But that's been the same story for nearly 5 weeks now. And it's the halfway point. It's exactly one month before the bar. I am so scared and so tired.

Yesterday there was a party for the Yelp Elite and company. Purportedly the largest event in Yelp history. I had tickets. I had RSVPs. I didn't have the energy to go. I am so lame.

This morning there is a slight overcast. It's cold. I have run out of eggs. I cannot bake anything until I get more eggs. Woe is me. Worst yet, I've run out of drive. Mondays. It's all a perpetual Monday from now on. It's always this feeling of dread in getting out of bed. The motivating factor is fear. The fear of never catching up.

Barbri has this Interactive Paced program that sets the daily routine for the entire period of study. It's like boot camp. Every day there is 6 hours of streaming video to watch (why can't we download into mp3?) and about 200 pages to read, outline, analyze, write. Then, there is "review" or memorization. I've watched so many really really long videos that I hate watching anything on my computer. If it's a video, I don't want to see it. I'm afraid it'll be a 3 hour long video of an old man standing at a podium, talking at me.

It's time to start taking it really seriously. It's time to start condensing the outlines and memorizing. It's a tedious job. At least I better understand how to condense. Each topic is condensed differently. And when I initially started with Real Property, I didn't have any idea how to do it, still don't, but it made outlining really really difficult. Like drawing an escape plan through a building and town you are not familiar with. Like trying to find your way through a maze while only being about to see one corner ahead of you. Some of the other topics are more straight forward. Dense, dry, and painful, but somehow more straightforward.

Must stop procrastinating. Must focus.

Eagle Bars have no Eggs

Oh, I'm being facetious. I'm trying to be cute. I'm trying to bring smiles to my otherwise joyless existence. Just kidding again! My life is full of smiles.

Today, I read so many bar essays on Constitutional Law that I feel full of civil liberties. I feel like a whole contingent of civil liberties. It's especially confusing when the fact patterns use waste collection as the conflicting interest in Constitutional Law. Waste collection is a fundamental right. And NO ONE should be discriminate against when it comes to waste collection. Your waste has just as much right to be dumped in the land fill as my waste. Even if your waste is green. Don't discriminate the waste! Treat all waste equally! Respect my waste's fundamental Constitutional Rights!

Wha-t-ever.

The only worst fact patterns are the ones that involve Civil Procedure. Luckily the analysis for Civil Procedure questions incorporate all the knowledge needed. Perhaps "luckily" is not the correct preceding word for that previous sentence. I'm all mixed up.

Rob was able to fix the faucet in my parent's kitchen this afternoon. Good boy. He's earned his keep for the month. It turns out that there was a buildup of lime and impurities clogging up the faucet, right where the faucet connects to the hose under the sink. Rob disconnected the water, took off the faucet fixture and took it apart piece by piece. When he came to that spigot/plug/bottleneck/thing, there were small white things blocking the flow of water. After rinsing that out, the water flowed freely! This is a great relief because for nearly a year, the kitchen sink's water pressure has been similar to a trickling brook nearing the end of summer. Barely there. Almost vapors. It would take FOREVER to wash the dishes because there was no water. Filling a glass of water to drink would necessitate planning ahead in order to not DIE OF THIRST first.

The best part of Rob's faucet fixing is that he confirmed my suspicions for why the water disappeared. It made me look good, it made him look good. Everyone looked good!

I made Eagle Bars yesterday. They contain pecans. Thus I have not tried them. But they smell fracking-fantastic! I don't have very much to say about them other than that. I think I will make a batch without nuts so I can eat them and rejoice in the glory that is caramel, chocolate chips, white chocolate, caramel, graham crackers and caramel. It looks almost like a candy bar. I sliced them very very generously since they are slightly thinner than my usual bar cookie. But be warned, it's very rich.

Who has 12 hours the next 2 days?

I took a 200 question long mock MBE (multi-state bar exam) yesterday. It was 6 hours long not including lunch. I felt so numb. And when I got home, I got to see how many I got wrong.

But the most exciting part was after that. Theoretically today. Or last night. Depends on how motivated you are (I'm not).

There are 12 exciting hours of lecture that go over each 200 question in excruciating detail! I'm all for learning from my mistakes. But. This length of lecture? Um. It's not even in the course schedule. It's a do-on-your-own-time. WHAT TIME? WHY? WHY am I the butt of some cosmic joke? WHY?

And then the baking thing today did not go as planned. I don't like to work with nuts since I'm allergic and won't be able to taste it. But against my better judgment due to extremely toxic levels of stress, I used 1.5 cups of chopped pecans. I almost can't swallow. A-hem.

My life. Is like an emo blog. Useless. Self-pity. Non-sensical. Riddled with misspellings. And fake tears. (shakes fist at sky) I need to go epilate my legs now.

From Banging my head Against the Wall

Today. Sucked. Sure, the lecture was exciting enough. It was a good Civ Pro lecture overall. He is a good instructor and it's difficult to hate him for long. But the rest of the day? Stupid, worthless, idiotic, stupid, stupid stupid! Typing at this computer hurts my wrists further. And writing has been a bit less painful. But I NEED TO WRITE TO LEARN. And when my writing is broken, I am broken.

I did several practice exams today. The most exciting of which was the mixed subject. I am going to fail. Real property has folded me up like a paperclip and thrown me into a pond. Con Law is full of nooks and crannies that are STUPID. Mostly, my beef is with Con Law and Real Property. I HATE this. Today was an endless game of shooting myself in the foot. Every time I thought I knew something, BOOM. It was wrong. I am so wrong. EVERYTHING is wrong.

I miss my friend in TX. We had a little phone chat. It made the distance between seem so much more. It was separation of time and space. Studying for the bar is suppose to be lonely, that much I've heard. But today, I actually felt the psychic solitude. My heart wanted to reach out. To know that I wasn't alone. To sense that there were other things, better places, hopes and achievements. But I feel like I'm observing the world without actually being part of the world. I get these messages of lives passing and going. It's mostly a one-directional communication. And then, I suddenly get the strange sensation that I'm in a bell jar, and that all my communications are fabricated. My experience is of a world I cannot understand. Because so long as I am under the scrutiny and spell of the Bar Study, I can be made to dance, cry and sing with the jerk of strings and the puppeteer's will.

I think we've reached the halfway point in bar review. Halfway down to hell.

(Oh, go cry, emo kid.)

(Shutupshutupshutupshutup! My point is incredibly valid. I'm entitled to bouts of emo-ness.)

The Layer of Caramel gives them Power

A few things have become clear to me while I bake my way through bar study. First and foremost is that "spreading batter in buttered pan" is a lot harder than it sounds. The batter likes to stick to the spatula. A lot. The butter likes to release the batter from the pan. Frequently. I end up having to use ninja wrist flicks in order to get the batter into the corners of the pan.

Second is that bars with layers sound infinitely cooler. But are a devil harder to make. This week I have blondies with a caramel layer (no oats, got distracted). And they are beautiful. But they were difficult to make. I had to bake the first layer for 8 minutes first. That way the caramel wouldn't sink to the bottom and turn into a black, burned mess.

Combine these two truthiness doctrines and you have twice the difficulty of getting the batter to do something predictable. Spreading batter on top of the caramel layer was so frustrating. I made it on the hottest day this week (genius, I know) so I was really warm from babysitting the melting caramel and the oven, and then I had to hold everything just so in order to pour the bubbly hot caramel into the pan. On top of that, I had to spread batter evenly over melted caramel. Not an easy task. But they turned out lovely. A very very even layer, perfectly perfect between layers of blondie.

And then there is bar study. The baking has been doing wonders to relieve stress, cut down on impulsively purchased pastries, and time management. It even helps me pay attention to lectures as I weigh and measure out all the ingredients. Not an auditory learner. Maybe part kinestetic learner and mostly visual/written learner? Ha HA. This baking thing is working like MAGIC. As I gain confidence in baking, my movements have become fluid, practiced, reliable. Like a fattening Tai Chi. In the evenings, I wrap up my creations in some wax paper. The routine of cutting the paper, taking each piece and wrapping it up, taping down the flaps is soothing and slightly mindless. An alternative is shelling fava beans which I also do.

I've been infatuated with the idea of white chocolate brownies with dark chocolate chunks. It just looks so cool. Perhaps I'll try it tomorrow. Perhaps I'll wait until next week. I will do something with nuts. Probably not an independent recipe, more likely a nut topping/garnish/mix-in. I have bags of pecans that want to be used.

And cereal bars? I love them. Especially with the dark chocolate marshmallow that I made. It gives it an extra special something. Anthony says "Nay" and to abandon that endeavor entirely. But I rather like them. I don't think I'll do the crushed chocolate cream cookies on top because it's so messy. I nearly had a meltdown while trying to slather and dip the cereal bars in melted chocolate and then the crushed cookies. Can't get the sensation of melted chocolate and crumbs out of my mind. Shudder. I know, I have a hard life.

A burger sounds really good right now. Something rare, with a sharp cheese, on a toasted bun. No onions. A slice of tomato. Dijon mustard. Maybe horseradish too. I read on a burger-devoted blog that a properly cooked burger must rest for a few minutes to release the juices. Sounds good to me. But right now, I'm so hungry. I won't mind drippy, oily elbows as I eat my eager burger.

Oh, Anthony? I'll totally go to that Super Duper burger place on Market with you. Sorry I made a snarky comment when we walked past it several weeks ago. Upon further inspection, it looks like a place that has good burgers. At least that's what the Mayor claims. Or something. I'm getting my sources mixed up. It's time for another practice test.

The pacing Chimerinsky

The wind has been taken out of my sails. My small, tattered, mis-matched, and generally in disrepair sails have been completely deflated. This Constitutional Law lecture was suppose to be the Snap. It was suppose to be the lecture that ended all expectations of lectures. After all, Erwin is the foremost expert in all things SCOTUS. He wrote these not too terrible textbooks and accompanying slightly better treatise on his textbooks. But this lecture is just unremarkable. Unlike the other lectures, he has no podium. He prefers to sway back and forth with his hands in his pockets. Occasionally, he will take a step to the left. And then another small step to the left. Followed by two short shuffle steps to the right. Is he doing the foxtrot?

His outlines/lecture hand outs are sparse. Deceptively sparse, and he speaks really slowly. Does this mean that it's the black letter law that we need to memorize? Or is it merely nonsensical statements that require some kind of insight? Insight that I am suppose to extract from this dry lecture? He's memorized his own outline down to the very numerical prompts. Has he been doing this too long? Does he have a photographic memory? Or is the outline just that dumb? The day class had Erwin in one 8 hour block of lecture, live.

I feel dumb after listening to this. He is speaking some elfin language that is foreign. And his jokes? The puns that he is infamous for? Haven't caught a single one. He told a story about his kids, the same story every law prof tells about their kids when teaching about the 1st Amendment freedom of speech. Namely, each kid will go through a stage in their life when they learn about freedom of speech and try to use that as an excuse to not follow parent's instructions. Unfortunately, their parents are not the government and thus that defense is unavailable to the kids. Clever, yet so misguided. It's like every Yelp talk that gets slightly out of control. Someone starts off with "I have the right to say this, I have freedom of speech, you can't make me stop." Except I CAN. It's not a free pass to sound off on how McDonalds ran out of Nuggets. It's not a reason to call 911 to report that McDonalds has run out of Nuggets. Who thinks to do that?

In the mean time, I've been utilizing the powers of multi-tasking to stay focused on the lecture. I have it playing loudly with the lecture handout next to it. And I'm measuring out ingredients for cookies at the same time. Yesterday, when I was just plopped in front of the computer, I ended up surfing the web. I found out that Paris Hilton currently weighs 115 lbs and is 5'8" or something like that. Even less productive than I previously hoped.

This week, I feel like making dulce du leches blondies and something else. With chocolate. One of the two must contain chocolate to balance out the evils. Would it be too much to have chocolate and caramel in the blondies? And then the second one would be either brownies with caramel, or just brownies, or just snickerdoodles. What's on the menu? I forgot. Let me check and get back.

Oh, the lecture is starting again. Gotta go.

Tennis Elbow from Typing. That's talent.

How does one manage to get tennis-elbow-like symptoms from typing? I don't know. I thought tennis elbow was the result of over-use of the elbow as a fulcrum. The bendy part of a lever. The excessive stress of relying on a ligament for those backhands. Not something that can develop from typing. And yet, I have these sore, painful, streaks of tension that go up the back/underside of my arms, starting with the elbow. I first noticed it when I leaned on my elbows about a week ago and one elbow experienced pain and soreness, and the other did not. The right elbow is also slightly inflamed around the elbow joint. I know it's not from baking. Thank you, Edwin.

Edwin is my mixer. His name reminds me of a Royal British Safari guide who has a big white mustache and a pith helmet, dressed in khaki. And his socks are pulled up to his knees. He does the majority of my heavy mixing. I only scrape down the sides every once in a while. Do I always name my inanimate objects? Yes. Don't you? But only machines or objects that I have to work with on a steady basis. For instance: my car is named Cassandra. Not the Prius. The Prius is named Slow or something to that effect. Maybe "Annoying Beeping Backup Camera." And my computer is named Quantum Unified Field Theory. Hm. Maybe that was one of those things I should have kept to myself. People must not know that I am such a dork.

One of the jokes in college was this "spy test" to see how good of a spy you would be. First you get really rather drunk. Then you change all the vital passwords on your computer. After you sober up, try to figure out what the new passwords are. If you were smart, you'd write them down somewhere, maybe encrypted, with a cipher. Or backwards. Or in pig latin or whatever else high school girls do when they think they are being particularly clever and secretive. If you can't figure it out, be sure to have the factory original boot disk in order to bypass the security login for a Mac.

This week was a baking-heavy week. For the mail patrons, I hope the current shipment has arrived according to plan. I shipped one to Texas for my friend who is also in the throes of studying for the Colorado bar while living in Austin. There was a little concern about melting in the hot Texas sun. But I think it'll be fine. What could happen? I just don't know when it would arrive exactly. It's priority post. Which means less than a week.

Overall, there were Oatmeal Rum Raisins on Monday. Shipment on Wednesday. Wednesday evening was the Chocolate Marshmallow cereal bars. Thursday was Goldilocks snickerdoodles. Let's back up a bit and talk about the Chocolate Marshmallow cereal bars. In order to make these special and different and also really really satisfying, I used a plethora of semi-sweet and unsweetened dark chocolate. It turned the marshmallows into this gooey, fragrant, chocolate cream sauce that was not too sweet. After the bars were cooled and cut up, I painted one side of the bar with either white chocolate or milk chocolate and dipped them into crushed chocolate creme cookies. I learned something really important from this experience. I do not like to get my hands covered in gooey, melted chocolate and dusty cookie crumbs. It felt really weird and I had to keep washing my hands like Lady Macbeth. So I had to work really quickly to finish the toppings. I tried to pack on as much as the chocolate could hold. I'm limited in height by the size of the shipping boxes. And there was a little snafu with the wrapping of the wax paper since the sharp edges of the chocolate wafer cookies STAB STAB STAB through the wax paper.

And then yesterday, I was inspired to make my Goldilocks bars rather than wait for Friday. They smell divine. My mother said it smelled like cookies she used to eat when she was a little child growing up in Taiwan. My father grew up on a farm in Taiwan and they didn't have cookies. But it reminded him of something much more simple and comforting, something unadulterated by commercial bakeries. And this is what I go for. This smell-memory thing. I don't know what you call it but it is really important. With one whiff, a slight taste, and the mind transports you back to some happy memory associated with that scent. It is powerful and evocative. It can trigger memories in great detail, of events that were long forgotten.

On a positive note, I am addicted to Battlestar Galactica (re-imagined series) but sometimes I will read the episode recaps on Television Without Pity. I watched the whole series in a rushed marathon last month but now I'm going through and savoring the moments. The writer of the recaps used to be someone named Strega who wrote well. The writing style was dynamic, colloquial but restrained. A different writer took over midway through the second season and he is completely different. More rambling. The writing is very descriptive and he displays vast knowledge of relevant philosophical topics. But he writes in such long sentences. Such long sentences. It makes the recaps difficult to read because the sentences go everywhere! I wish he showed just a little bit more restraint. I would give him a dollar for every period he used and take away a dollar for every comma he used. That is all. Remedies calls.

Tum, tum-tum-tum, TUM(S)!!

Oy. I've got a bloated belly. I ate lunch about 3.5 hours ago, and it still hasn't settled. This happened the last time I ate there. Have I learned? Do I ever? No. Obviously, I am nowhere near the Reasonably Prudent Person. What did I have? Garlic fries. Delicious. But heartburn/indigestion inducing. Oy. I have eaten several Tums (R) so far and it has only settled the stomach a little little bit. But this time, I will remember! Because, obviously, I'm blogging about it and that means this is a FACT which will remain relevant into perpetuity. Last time I had cheese fries. Also delicious and covered with that plastic, liquid nacho cheese. Last time I suffered silently, and without Tums (R). My stomach is not as iron-clad as I would believe it to be. When I was a young whelp, I could eat the most noxious articles any time of day and still be ok. Either that, or I was never wise enough to associate subsequent discomfort with the item ingested. Not very bright. Since law school, my stomach has turned into a fragile lotus blossom of a vessel. Easily damaged, showing signs of distress at every strain, wilting in the sunlight. Stupid stomach. I had a Jasmine Green Tea without bubbles so maybe that contributed something to the overall agitation. Oy. I am never going to regain my appetite again. Such. Nausea. Blah!

Today has been unseasonably hot. No. That's a flat out lie. It's been sunny and warm and I shouldn't be complaining. The sky is clear, the birds are chirping their little feathered pea-brains to no end, my little (big, fat, displeased, opinionated) kitty has been seeking both sun and shelter for her pink tummy, and all the undergraduates are out in their finest daisy-dukes or flippy skirts or scrunchy tube dresses or whatever passes as clothing these days. There is a breeze so the warm air does not stagnate. It is not humid. Just in case, I applied sunscreen to my bare arms, which now have a slightly sticky sensation from the walk up to campus for lunch and back. It is a flipping bea-u-ti-ful day. Sitting in the sun for an hour for the tums-inducing lunch really drained the life-force out of me.

I came home, passed out for 45 minutes. Was woken up by someone. Passed out again. Highlighted some nonsense in the Convisor. Passed out at the table with my head in my arms. All the while waiting for stomach to find a comfortable position and settle-the-frack-down. The prospects of a workout are not looking too good today. Combine that with the horrifying Torts lecture this morning, and I've had a pretty slothful day. It has been a day of sitting and waiting for the butter to come to room temperature. I can feel the atrophy consuming my muscles and all along my spine the same sinister way black mold creeps into the walls of old houses. It is a gradual, inevitable creep, silently yet persistently the mold blossoms in vulnerable locations.

This week is going to be a little different on the baking front. Just a little change in the schedule. I plan on making designer cereal bars today. With chocolate. And a smile alights on my face. Then, since I'm going to be in the City for one extra night, I will make Snickerdoodles before I leave. Or should I make Snickerdoodles now? Do cereal bars tend to dry out? Do they dry out faster than Snickerdoodles? Which one should be made first? Oh, the decisions I am forced to make.

Yesterday, I treated my parents to my homemade flaxmeal pizza. I really like making pizza at home. The toppings are tastier and more generous. Plus I add slightly strange things such as capers (delicious), onions (caramelized and delicious) and emmenthal cheese (mild and delicious). And pepperoni. The crust bakes up perfectly without a pizza stone. The bottom is crisp. The top puffs up and bubbles beautifully. The edges brown to a lovely color. It is probably wise that I do not attempt to use a pizza stone. It would have been a disaster. Oh, and parchment paper is fantastic! Even though the dough stuck to it pre-baking, everything just slid right off afterwards! And I didn't even grease it! Cut down on fat. Trim that waistline. Watch the inches melt off.

The time is 5:40 pm. I have 2 more multiple choice exams to take, 8 more pages to highlight in Convisor and a 30 minute fat-burning workout to complete before I can make my cereal bars. Where does the time go?

Scullery Wench! She's like a botte of Rum.....

Something strange has happened. I made oatmeal raisin bars last night. Because some of my previous bakeries-things have been a touch too sweet for some palates, I was very withholding with the sugar. I displayed admirable feats of restraint. Thus this morning, I was very excited to taste them. Early, early in the wee hours of dawn, before the sunlight breached the earth's horizon, I slithered into the room where the trays of oatmeal alcohol raisin were cooling from last night, while carrying a huge knife. Knowing my tract record with being clumsy, it might not have been such a wise idea looking back. Luckily nothing happened. No slips of the wrist. I still have all of my fingers and toes.

From tray 1, the one with the darker finish on the baking tray, the oatmeal bars were good, but just a little not sweet enough. I ate a corner piece so it might have gone unattended to when the raisins were being rationed out to all the nooks and crannies. But my final analysis determined that it was just a little too healthy tasting. From Tray 2, which has a shiny metallic finish and is much more worn (loved), it was perfectly perfect in sweetness, raisin-ness, that touch of booze, that scent of cinnamon. The batter for both trays came from the exact same mixer bowl. I made one batch and divided it into 2. After spreading the batter to the edges of the tray, I sprinkled a little more brown sugar on top, for a bit of crunch and just in case it wasn't sweet enough on the inside.

So how did this happen? How did I end up with two completely different tasting trays from one batch of oatmeal cookie batter? Was it the magic oven that somehow transmorgraphied something? I'm hoping it was just the edge bits and that it will all become the same happy, booze-induced cookie-bar in the middle. We'll find out this afternoon. The trays are still sitting and waiting for my attention. But first, since it's nearly 8am, I've got a lecture to not pay attention to.

Good morning, my little scullery wench (name of oatmeal cookie). Have you scrubbed the galley and tied down the hatches? Arrrrrgh!

Perfect Itchy Eyes, Fabulous!

Hello World. It's Monday. I'm suddenly really sympathetic to Garfield and his hate of Mondays. Nothing works well on Mondays. My brain has taken a hike and left a note for me to find in the morning. I am sitting here, listening to the Performance Test Lecture. He's pretty funny. It is an older gray-haired gentleman with an explosive, peppy personality. He likes to run around the stage and shout "FABULOUS!" "YOU ARE ALL FABULOUS!" There are some important life lessons to be learned here. It would make a good podcast. It's a lighthearted lecture. But it's not worth the most precious hours of my day. Well, this day, these hours are not so precious. Last night I was plagued with over-active itchy eyes. My eyes. My wrists. My brain. All melting and falling apart. I should have bought that warranty when I had the chance.

I had a fantastic normal weekend. We went out with friends for dinner on Saturday in the City. It was sushi. I love sushi. I don't eat sushi nearly enough. And on Sunday, we met up with a different friend with her new baby and had a lovely lunch at the Cliff House. Oh, I should mention that every time we go out with female friends with newborn babies, my boyfriend gets mistaken for the father, and I am mistaken for the nanny. It never fails. This time was no different. The server was very very nice and understanding (and gave us many more popovers to take home since the BF thought they were Yorkshire Puddings) and patient and there was great service. And at the end, as we were leaving, she came up to him and her, and congratulated them on their new baby. Sigh. Me: Nanny. Yup. I guess it's that game, "one of these things is not like the other." Either way the lunch was great, the baby was not too fussy, and the BF enjoyed playing "how to make the baby cry by denying her the bottle."

But we're not here to talk about babies, or my BF. We're here to talk about the upcoming menu for cookies! Alright. After a night of indian-food-induced nightmares (never eat indian food before going to bed! It WILL give you weird dreams), I have a few thoughts.
Today: Oatmeal Rum Raisin -> "Scallywag" (pirate-themed enough? no?)
Wednesday: Oreo cookie Chocolate crisp rice cereal bar (How to name something without using registered trademarks? Designer, part I)
Monday: Snickerdoodle bar -> "Goldilocks"
Wednesday: White Chocolate Brownie -> "White Knight"
Monday: Caramel Oat bar
Wednesday: Designer Fancy Cereal Bar part II
Monday: Milkshake bar
Wednesday: S'Mores bar
and that's all I have so far. Subject to change without notice. Depending on supplies of my local grocer. Product may look bigger in 3D. Not responsible for lost or stolen strollers. Incapable of making rational decisions in times of war. Risk-averse.

And the patrons that require mailing, yes you: it is lucky that I hid the to-be-mailed Hot Blondes. Last night, I woke up and wanted a blondie around 3am. I almost ate yours. Well, not nearly as close as I make it sound. But a 3am Hot Blonde sounded so good last night. With a glass of milk. Or warm tea.

Back to the FABULOUS lecture! It's so peppy, I'm going to need some cheese fries at lunch.

Rockin' Blondies

Oh sweetbabyjebusheavenlysaintedmother. I have a confession. A sweet, sweet, confession. Brownies are not my forte. I tend to put too many extras in it. For instance, the bonus brownies had way too many whole cashews and caramels bits and drizzled with too much melted white chocolate. I know, "How is that possible?" Well, it is. It was a daemon to slice and my experience was peppered with profanities. In the end, the "squares" are held together with the packaging. Please don't get mad at me because the brownies don't hold their shape too well. It's because I love you, and I put my allergy ridden life on the line cooking with nuts. (Yesterday while packing up the brownies for shipment, I did get an itchy throat and slight difficulty breathing. My throat still feels a bit funny today, since, I ate a brownie after picking out all the nuts. Hee.)

After baking a completely selfless batch of brownies, I wanted something I could eat. Enter the HOT BLONDE. It should be an advert: Wanted, hot blonde with legs for days. Flexible, scented with butter and vanilla, chewy to the bite and hiding some chocolate. The last bit sounds weird.

I dutifully did my stupid bar prep (highest score was 15/18 correct! Not a failure yet!) early in the morning (wake at 7:20 am, lecture started by 8, finished by 11:30 am!). I was looking forward to this blondie recipe because it is a modified version of the cookie that launched a thousand ships. It has all the makings of the perfect baked good. It's chewy, but not raw (i.e. there's enough leavening and flour to give it structural integrity). It's sweet, and not too healthy tasting. It contains chocolate of 2 colors. The edges where the bar touches the pan has caramelized the vast quantity of scented brown sugar. The Bourbon Vanilla extract wafts tenderly up from the beautiful bronzed surface of the cookie bar.

This is exactly how I wanted to start off my Cosmomorphic Cookie project. Exactly. I'm so glad I didn't make oatmeal raisin today. Instead, I coaxed a headstrong blondie into existence. This has been a terrific day. I can't wait to share these blondies. They taste best if you nuke them for a few seconds in the microwave.

Now, to call them: Hot Blonde? Leggy Blonde? Rockin' Blondie?

I like Hot Blonde. Yes. The Hot Blonde is going to be my trademark cookie-bar. I will make my first million with the Hot Blonde.

Please check oven for inappropriate content

Last night I was baking my first batch of Cosmomorphic Cookies. And it almost went completely south. It almost resulted in an oven/house fire. It almost released toxic fumes into the air but superheating plastic wrap in the manner which was not intended. And all because someone decided to use the oven as storage without telling anyone. For the record, I strongly advise against storing ANYthing plastic, cloth, flamable, food, canned foods or otherwise in the oven. Especially when there is an understanding that I will be baking in that oven, today.

It started off pretty well, the mixing of the batter was lovely, simple, less moist than last time. But then I doubled the recipe and sometimes that can be the undoing. Marina was telling me how her mother will wax laconic about the dangers of doubling or halving recipes. It's not linear mathematics. It is complex food algorithms that have a connection with chemistry. Either way, the batter tasted delicious. Fudge-y, chocolate-y, rich and not too sweet. Taking into account Rob's (ahem) comment that the last batch were "too rich" (and yet he inhaled them when I left the room, spiteful gnome), I tried to make this batch more cake-like. But I really should not have because there is no point in fixing something that is not broken, and Rob's (ahem) comment was in no way positive identification that it needed changing.

I made a half jelly roll sheet of dark chocolate brownies with cashews and caramel embedded in the batter. (I preheated the oven. I freaked out that there were things in the oven being superheated. I calmed down after the panic attack and assessed that there was no damage. I let the oven finish preheating. Convection ovens rock! 0 - 350 degrees in less than 10 mins if you don't do something stupid). I inserted the tray of brownies, looking all glossy and lovely and delicious. It baked. I removed and observed that some of the batter had slid over to the left hand side. The range is at an angle, I guess. Damn those stupid installation people! They pulled out a level-measuring thing with the air bubble, but I suspect that it was JUST FOR SHOW. This was not part of the bargain! I have to fully perform my part (paying) so why don't you fully perform your part by delivering and properly installing a brand new range? Why does buying a range require such monitoring? You don't see customers going through the motions, just for show, of paying. I don't hand the cashier my safeway card and pretend like it's a credit card and expect to get away with it. Buying this gorgeous oven from this stupid appliance store has been one gigantic headache over and over again. It has been an entire contracts law question from offer/acceptance, Statute of Frauds, non-conforming goods, rejection, revocation, etc.

Right. I'm ok. Had to let off a little steam there.

This morning, I finished off the brownies by drizzling with melted caramel and melted white chocolate. It looks gorgeous. I'm going to cut them up, wrap them, and mail them off as soon as I finish my Criminal Law lecture. Pictures to come. And yes. I tasted a corner of the brownie. And I ate a small cashew. This is how I show you that I love you. I put my life at risk to make sure the brownies are not gross.

12 pounds of butter + criminal procedure

Yes, it is misleading. Yes, it is intentional. 12 pounds of butter have nothing to do with criminal procedure except that I, Christina, was involved in acquisition of both items. Can criminal procedure be considered an item? I would argue yes, more so than contracts, because it's a finite set of rules. It's a procedure. You go through these steps, and pop out the other side.

This morning started off a little slow and with a light to medium drizzle of rain. The lecturer for Criminal Procedure does not have such an over-abundance of personality that it hinders the material. In fact, Mr. Lecturer just read out-loud an outline. Step One. Step Two. Insert accused here, eject on the other side. Add a dash of Constitutional Law. Spread liberally with SCOTUS. Enjoy.

I got my essay back. The one that resembled clay splattered on the wall. I got it back and I passed! Whoohooo. Never has minimal competency felt SO good. The comments on the essay concerned organization, and arguing for both sides. What both sides? I've become so accustomed to being on the correct side of Justice that I take a stance early on. Just kidding. I understand that I need to address all arguments. And I will dutifully work on that. Just let me bask in the waning twilight glory of not failing, for a little while.

This week is going to be vicious. Multiple choice questions, 3 topics to cover in 5 days. Review. Review. Still don't know real property. Still get night sweats when thinking about mortgages. Eyeballs refuse to work when looking at the dense Barbri books. I have been toying with the idea of using a magnifying glass when reading. But that might cause vertigo. The words are so tiny and close together. Sometimes, I think if I hold it closer to my face, I'll understand the material better. An optimist, evermore.

On the topic of TENS machines: Have you heard of these? It's like a personal electricity-zapper with electrodes for the treatment of pain. I'm not joking. Wikipedia has funny historical factoid about the advent of using electricity to treat pain.

"Electrical stimulation for pain control was used in ancient Greece, 63 A.D. It was reported by Scribonius Largus that pain was relieved by standing on an electrical fish at the seashore." -- Wikipedia, in regards to TENS.

Well I don't know about you, but every time I go to the ocean or large salt water body, I look for a fish to stand on. It's medicinal. Is that how ancient Greeks used to get their kicks? Perhaps television is not such a brain suck after all. Without internet as entertainment, we could have a whole planet of fish-stepping humans.

My purpose for introducing the TENS unit is because it purports to be non-narcotic pain relief. As you may know, people in high stress situations are desperate for pain relief. They will use anything, try anything, at least once. My friend has bi-monthly massages booked, I have weekly acupuncture treatments, my other friend trains boot-camp style to knock the fear out of his brain. We're all a little nuts. So I've had knots in my neck and back from the studying, but I do not like massages. Next best thing: electrical stimulation! You put a pair of these sticky electrodes on either side of a knotted muscle/pain, insert the (positive) and (negative) electrodes, connect it to the machine and amp up the intensity. It can hurt if you dial it up too high. Yes. It can feel really really weird. Like holding a whirling power tool that makes your hand numb. And you are not suppose to put the electrodes on your head, on your nose, or through your chest.

(Do you ever wonder what actions gave rise to these warning labels? Someone had to have used it for this warned-against purpose in order for the label to prohibit the conduct. The first person to have done these stupid things, not as brave as the first person to eat blue cheese or a raw oyster. But they will forever be immortalized in these warnings.)

It works really well on the muscle aches and pains on my back. Not as effective for the carpal tunnel. But then again, the carpal tunnel causes pain because I'm on the verge of causing further permanent injury, and not just chronic pain. Difference scenario than back pain. My wrists use pain to tell me to stop. My back uses pain to play a cosmic joke on me. See? Deserving of electrocution. Throw the switch!

Tonight, I am going to bake the previously-promised bonus brownies. It's going to be cashews and caramels. With a brownie base. (I hate this keyboard, it's not sensitive enough and I have to pound the keys like an angry midget volcano in order to register a keystroke). I got parchment paper, sugar, 12 pounds of butter, chocolate of all varieties, and nuts. Thanks to my generous patrons, I can afford things like parchment paper. Would you lovely patrons like photographs? I can do photographs.

Please understand that if the cookies with nuts don't taste terrific, it's because I'm allergic to nuts and tasting the cookie would be bad for my health. Heh. I live as dangerously as I can, but going to the hospital is not my idea of a good time.

Throwing clay at the wall

Today, Sunday, I submitted an essay for grading to the Barbri gods. It was a contracts question. And it was not pretty. Writing an hour-long essay answer should be practiced, oiled, perfected and skillful. For example, it should resemble a master craftsman picking up a hunk of raw material, then carving, sculpting, molding and manipulating it until the image of an angel is released. In actuality, what I did was a gigantic mess. It felt like I was picking up a wet glob of clay and attempting to throw a pot on a kick wheel: ker-clunk, ker-clunk, ker-clunk and finally *splatter* against the wall. I have seen children destroy sand castles with more skill and precision than what I wrote on my essay.

Contracts was suppose to be easier than property. I didn't feel the need to cry after reading the outlines. I got slightly higher scores on the contracts multiple choice. It was above 50%. But nothing came together on the essay. Spot the issue. Check. Write about the issue? Um. I don't understand the question.

But that is over now. It is in the hands of the Barbri gods. Passing is 65%. I don't even know. I don't want to know for a while. I could have done better. I need more practice. I need to keep going until I can carve an angel out of marble.

On a different note: I promised everyone who supported my baking project a batch of gratuitous brownies. My baking project got funded. Yay! Unfortunately, Amazon keeps the funds for 14 days after the project is charged to the patrons. Meaning, I can't access it for 14 days. Nuts. But that won't stop me. I've got a brand new oven to play with and several pounds of chocolate. My schedule has changed slightly. I listen to lectures and do stuff in the morning. Practice problems and quizes in the afternoon. And then bake in the evenings. My brain shuts off at around 6pm every night. It makes me do stupid things. Like pick up hot baking sheets with my bare hands. Or epilate a sensitive spot guaranteed to cause prolonged pain.

After a rainy weekend in SF, I'm headed back to Berkeley. Official baking project will start on Wednesday. There's butter to be bought.