Two days ago I got a phone call from that mid-level retailer (not J. Crew) offering me a position at their Georgetown shop. I turned them down. But not after thinking about it. Part of me really wanted to take it because it had been my dream, when I was sixteen, to work at this mid-level retailer. My friend Andrew worked for them at the time and I thought he was the coolest kid ever - 30% discounts and a fantastic wardrobe. Finally, at age twenty-nine, I had achieved my teenage dream. Talk about a dream deferred.
When I thought about it some more, though, the prospect of working retail in Georgetown during the holidays wasn't all that appealing. Furthermore, the Captain brought up the salient point, "You'll be working two jobs, which adds up to full-time, and you don't even really need the work."
Touche.
Showing posts with label goals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label goals. Show all posts
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Done and done
On Sunday I ran a marathon. My list of life goals just got a little shorter.
I had been wanting to do a marathon ever since I saw my first one in person: New York, 2002. It is now 2008. Six years is a long time to have thought about doing something. Imagine how different I felt on Monday morning, then, when I didn't have to think about marathons any more. I was a whole new person. I was triumphant.
Which is why it doesn't (really) bother me that I came in thirty-eight seconds slower than my goal time. In my mind, thirty-eight seconds is my goal time. I could be negative and think to myself, "I'm always just shy of everything I want." Or I could be positive and remember, "Hey, I just ran a marathon - and I feel amazing." Because I do.
(And for those who are curious, yes, I had one of those days on the course. It was everything I could have hoped for and more. Naturally I'm planning to do another as soon as I can. San Diego 2009, anyone?)
I had been wanting to do a marathon ever since I saw my first one in person: New York, 2002. It is now 2008. Six years is a long time to have thought about doing something. Imagine how different I felt on Monday morning, then, when I didn't have to think about marathons any more. I was a whole new person. I was triumphant.
Which is why it doesn't (really) bother me that I came in thirty-eight seconds slower than my goal time. In my mind, thirty-eight seconds is my goal time. I could be negative and think to myself, "I'm always just shy of everything I want." Or I could be positive and remember, "Hey, I just ran a marathon - and I feel amazing." Because I do.
(And for those who are curious, yes, I had one of those days on the course. It was everything I could have hoped for and more. Naturally I'm planning to do another as soon as I can. San Diego 2009, anyone?)
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Waddle on
Tomorrow I "run" my first marathon. To say that I am scared is an understatement.
I am petrified.
My last long "run" was three weeks ago and I did the last five miles in interminable pain. All I wanted to do was curl up and depreciate on the side of the trail. If I'd done that, though, I still would've had to get home, and since there wasn't any other way to get home, I just kept on walking. (Yes, by that point I was walking. Hence my terrible fear.) Marathoners often have mantras to keep themselves going, things like, "Yes! We! Can!" or "Almost there!". My mantra on my last run was, "Ignore the pain."
Rather than dwell on my fear, though (or snap at the Captain and seethe at our houseguests), I've decided to remind myself of why I run as a kind of reassurance.
I run because I want to. I run because I can. I run because if I don't, I develop a kind of depression so subtle I don't even notice - until I run again and feel exhilarated. Earlier this year I had to sit out two months and I entered a period of mourning. I grieved for the pleasure of running, of finding that a distance once impossible was later no big deal. I grieved for the sense of accomplishment of pushing myself - and succeeding.
When I finally started running again I thought I had been reborn. I had bad days and slow days and walked-more-than-I-wanted-to days, but I also had good days. Days when my legs were strong and my body was fast. Days when fourteen miles were like a walk in the park. Days when I felt so coordinated and perfect I felt closer to God. Truly. On days like that I rejoiced in the wonder of creation and the gift of the human body. On days like that my running was prayer.
It is unlikely that tomorrow will be one of those days. But it might. And those moments of joy are so pure they are worth chasing.
I am petrified.
My last long "run" was three weeks ago and I did the last five miles in interminable pain. All I wanted to do was curl up and depreciate on the side of the trail. If I'd done that, though, I still would've had to get home, and since there wasn't any other way to get home, I just kept on walking. (Yes, by that point I was walking. Hence my terrible fear.) Marathoners often have mantras to keep themselves going, things like, "Yes! We! Can!" or "Almost there!". My mantra on my last run was, "Ignore the pain."
Rather than dwell on my fear, though (or snap at the Captain and seethe at our houseguests), I've decided to remind myself of why I run as a kind of reassurance.
I run because I want to. I run because I can. I run because if I don't, I develop a kind of depression so subtle I don't even notice - until I run again and feel exhilarated. Earlier this year I had to sit out two months and I entered a period of mourning. I grieved for the pleasure of running, of finding that a distance once impossible was later no big deal. I grieved for the sense of accomplishment of pushing myself - and succeeding.
When I finally started running again I thought I had been reborn. I had bad days and slow days and walked-more-than-I-wanted-to days, but I also had good days. Days when my legs were strong and my body was fast. Days when fourteen miles were like a walk in the park. Days when I felt so coordinated and perfect I felt closer to God. Truly. On days like that I rejoiced in the wonder of creation and the gift of the human body. On days like that my running was prayer.
It is unlikely that tomorrow will be one of those days. But it might. And those moments of joy are so pure they are worth chasing.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Stripping away the inessential
In her much-discussed Commencement address at Harvard this June, J.K. Rowling submitted that a mere seven years after her own college graduation, she was the biggest failure she knew. She was jobless, a lone parent, and "as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless." While she was careful not to glamorize her poverty, she maintained nonetheless that her failure had benefited her by stripping away the inessential. She stopped trying to be what other people wanted her to be, and she began, in earnest, the only work that mattered to her.
Tomorrow I will begin what I hope will be my last meeting ever with the California state bar examiners. After two long days, the third day is a test as much of my endurance as it is of my legal knowledge. This entire exam, in a sense, has been a stripping away of the inessential. No more fretting, no more wondering - nothing but me and my opportunity to show just how much I want it.
One day more.
Tomorrow I will begin what I hope will be my last meeting ever with the California state bar examiners. After two long days, the third day is a test as much of my endurance as it is of my legal knowledge. This entire exam, in a sense, has been a stripping away of the inessential. No more fretting, no more wondering - nothing but me and my opportunity to show just how much I want it.
One day more.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Progress
No, not in the bar exam sense, but in the recovery of my identity sense.
As some of you recall, somebody stole my identity and caused me great vexation. In April, the IRS told me I'd get my tax refund by June. In June, they told me they needed authentication from me, even though I'd already sent that authentication in April. Seeing that the IRS was not going to help me unless I helped myself, I declared Wednesdays to be "Call the IRS Day." (And after the bar, EVERY EFFING DAY WILL BE 'CALL THE IRS DAY.')
Anyway, it is July 23, and I now have a caseworker to follow up with. I hadn't been able to follow up with her before because she hadn't been assigned to the case until last Friday.
Whatever. She and I are going to be good friends.
As some of you recall, somebody stole my identity and caused me great vexation. In April, the IRS told me I'd get my tax refund by June. In June, they told me they needed authentication from me, even though I'd already sent that authentication in April. Seeing that the IRS was not going to help me unless I helped myself, I declared Wednesdays to be "Call the IRS Day." (And after the bar, EVERY EFFING DAY WILL BE 'CALL THE IRS DAY.')
Anyway, it is July 23, and I now have a caseworker to follow up with. I hadn't been able to follow up with her before because she hadn't been assigned to the case until last Friday.
Whatever. She and I are going to be good friends.
Monday, July 21, 2008
I shall not be moved
My senior year of high school, I was a peer group leader. Why I tried out for an activity usually reserved for the professionally popular (jocks, cheerleaders - i.e., NON-orchestra geeks) I don't know. But somehow I made the roster and found myself on a weekend training retreat somewhere in the woods of New Jersey. With the professionally popular.
One of our workshops was designed to show us how positive reinforcement can yield different results from negative reinforcement. (We were about to be trusted with fourteen year-olds - the school didn't want us making them cry.) The workshop leaders lay down a line of masking tape along the length of a room, and everyone else took a seat along the line, except for two volunteers. The volunteers took turns donning blindfolds and walking down the room, while trying to keep as close to the line on the floor as possible. For the first guy, everyone shouted words of encouragement, no matter if he was actually on the line or veering off into oblivion. For the second guy, the group shouted insults and words of...well, let's just say frustration.
As you probably have figured out, I was one of those brilliant, blindfolded volunteers. And as you also probably have figured out, I volunteered to be insulted. By the professionally popular. But even though I knew I was going to be insulted and that nobody actually meant all the horrible things they shouted at me, I still remember being confused and hurt as I walked down the room. But I also remember a tiny, tiny laser beam pointing me in the right direction, and an even tinier voice telling me to ignore the very loud yelling. And so I walked.
When I reached the end of the line, I took off my blindfold and was told that I had just beaten the positively reinforced volunteer by eleven steps (out of a total of thirteen). So not only did I totally frustrate the workshop, I also gave a big, imaginary middle finger to the professionally popular.
I remain proud.
But I still remember how conflicted I was as I walked down the line. Every bone in my body was telling me to give in and to give up, and that's exactly what I would have liked to have done. Instead I kept on walking. It was very confusing, this internal tug-of-war.
So as the days wind down to the bar, and as I grow more and more tired and sad, I'll have to remember that tiny little voice. I shall not be moved. Read entire post...
One of our workshops was designed to show us how positive reinforcement can yield different results from negative reinforcement. (We were about to be trusted with fourteen year-olds - the school didn't want us making them cry.) The workshop leaders lay down a line of masking tape along the length of a room, and everyone else took a seat along the line, except for two volunteers. The volunteers took turns donning blindfolds and walking down the room, while trying to keep as close to the line on the floor as possible. For the first guy, everyone shouted words of encouragement, no matter if he was actually on the line or veering off into oblivion. For the second guy, the group shouted insults and words of...well, let's just say frustration.
As you probably have figured out, I was one of those brilliant, blindfolded volunteers. And as you also probably have figured out, I volunteered to be insulted. By the professionally popular. But even though I knew I was going to be insulted and that nobody actually meant all the horrible things they shouted at me, I still remember being confused and hurt as I walked down the room. But I also remember a tiny, tiny laser beam pointing me in the right direction, and an even tinier voice telling me to ignore the very loud yelling. And so I walked.
When I reached the end of the line, I took off my blindfold and was told that I had just beaten the positively reinforced volunteer by eleven steps (out of a total of thirteen). So not only did I totally frustrate the workshop, I also gave a big, imaginary middle finger to the professionally popular.
I remain proud.
But I still remember how conflicted I was as I walked down the line. Every bone in my body was telling me to give in and to give up, and that's exactly what I would have liked to have done. Instead I kept on walking. It was very confusing, this internal tug-of-war.
So as the days wind down to the bar, and as I grow more and more tired and sad, I'll have to remember that tiny little voice. I shall not be moved. Read entire post...
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Yes. I. Did.
With a click of a key, my studies were finished.
It was anticlimactic, actually. I had thought I would have experienced an immediate sense of relief. Instead I felt simply, uh. In fact I wished I could have done better, managed my time more efficiently, devoted more attention to my paper.
Instead, I went to war with the army I had. And it really wasn't much. Which is pretty much how I feel about the whole of my law school career, actually. I began every semester hoping to improve upon the last, and while I was able to do so, I still lived with the constant pressure to try harder, to work a little longer, to want it a little more. Now that pressure is gone.
So I'll have to get used to feeling good about myself again. Odd.
It was anticlimactic, actually. I had thought I would have experienced an immediate sense of relief. Instead I felt simply, uh. In fact I wished I could have done better, managed my time more efficiently, devoted more attention to my paper.
Instead, I went to war with the army I had. And it really wasn't much. Which is pretty much how I feel about the whole of my law school career, actually. I began every semester hoping to improve upon the last, and while I was able to do so, I still lived with the constant pressure to try harder, to work a little longer, to want it a little more. Now that pressure is gone.
So I'll have to get used to feeling good about myself again. Odd.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
B stands for Baking
Associate at my firm: So, really, you have nothing to worry about.
Me: (slightly disappointed) Oh. Well, that's good. To be honest, though, I'd already cooked up a fabulous plan b.
Associate: Really? That's good. Well, make sure to keep in touch with that other firm.
Me: (pausing, then realizing he thinks I've already hooked up with another firm) HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Me: (slightly disappointed) Oh. Well, that's good. To be honest, though, I'd already cooked up a fabulous plan b.
Associate: Really? That's good. Well, make sure to keep in touch with that other firm.
Me: (pausing, then realizing he thinks I've already hooked up with another firm) HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Fabulous Plan B
Last week, my hiring partner called to tell me the firm was pushing my start date from October 1 to January 2 because of the economic downturn. And because of the disaster that is the Southern California real estate market.
Naturally, I had a cow.
The last time I had heard about "deferrals" was in 2001, my senior year of college, when several of my classmates had their shiny new job offers delayed, then rescinded, just months before graduation. (And history repeats itself.) My initial reaction was to ask the partner, as calmly as I could, whether I still had a job. He assured me that I did, and that "January 2" really did mean "January 2," not "never." I'm not entirely naive, however, so I fretted for a good several days about what I would do if "January 2" ultimately meant "never."
My prospects looked grim. I am registered for the CA bar, but I live in MA, so finding a new job in CA, now, would be nearly impossible. Plus, my T&E professor's opinion notwithstanding, my GPA is not the most alluring. Then there's the Captain, who himself is trying to navigate a cross-country job hunt. Was it up to him now to find a job that would support the both of us? In SoCal?
Apparently, he didn't think so. (Don't worry, we didn't break up.) He suggested that he should extend his job hunt beyond our agreed-upon region (CA, OR, WA, AZ, maybe CO) because I wasn't starting until January, anyway. Maybe we'd end up spending some time apart, but at least he'd have a job and another year's worth of experience. I fretted some more. But fast forward through more fretting, then some running, and finally some rejoicing as I attained enlightenment along banks of the Charles.
The Captain was right. He did need to extend his job hunt, but to a place where I still could use my admission to the California bar: Washington, D.C. I practically flew from my house to his as I told him my Fabulous Plan B: he follows up on a lead he has in the District (and ultimately lands the job), while I poke around at a bakery for a few months so I can send out feelers for permanent jobs later on. He'd get to coach, and I'd get to bake. Plus, I'd get to run the marathon that I didn't get to run before. He loved the Fabulous Plan. I loved the Fabulous Plan.
So we're Fabulous Planning it up. He's working his connections, and I'm working my running mileage. Do I expect to get another first-year associate job, should it come to that? No. But there are many ways to skin a JD, and Washington is just about the best place to show me. Should my firm come calling to let me know that January 2 still means January 2, I'll go. But if January 2 means never, well, that's fine, too.
Naturally, I had a cow.
The last time I had heard about "deferrals" was in 2001, my senior year of college, when several of my classmates had their shiny new job offers delayed, then rescinded, just months before graduation. (And history repeats itself.) My initial reaction was to ask the partner, as calmly as I could, whether I still had a job. He assured me that I did, and that "January 2" really did mean "January 2," not "never." I'm not entirely naive, however, so I fretted for a good several days about what I would do if "January 2" ultimately meant "never."
My prospects looked grim. I am registered for the CA bar, but I live in MA, so finding a new job in CA, now, would be nearly impossible. Plus, my T&E professor's opinion notwithstanding, my GPA is not the most alluring. Then there's the Captain, who himself is trying to navigate a cross-country job hunt. Was it up to him now to find a job that would support the both of us? In SoCal?
Apparently, he didn't think so. (Don't worry, we didn't break up.) He suggested that he should extend his job hunt beyond our agreed-upon region (CA, OR, WA, AZ, maybe CO) because I wasn't starting until January, anyway. Maybe we'd end up spending some time apart, but at least he'd have a job and another year's worth of experience. I fretted some more. But fast forward through more fretting, then some running, and finally some rejoicing as I attained enlightenment along banks of the Charles.
The Captain was right. He did need to extend his job hunt, but to a place where I still could use my admission to the California bar: Washington, D.C. I practically flew from my house to his as I told him my Fabulous Plan B: he follows up on a lead he has in the District (and ultimately lands the job), while I poke around at a bakery for a few months so I can send out feelers for permanent jobs later on. He'd get to coach, and I'd get to bake. Plus, I'd get to run the marathon that I didn't get to run before. He loved the Fabulous Plan. I loved the Fabulous Plan.
So we're Fabulous Planning it up. He's working his connections, and I'm working my running mileage. Do I expect to get another first-year associate job, should it come to that? No. But there are many ways to skin a JD, and Washington is just about the best place to show me. Should my firm come calling to let me know that January 2 still means January 2, I'll go. But if January 2 means never, well, that's fine, too.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Inspired
I am not inspired. Law school, despite its intellectual rigor, does not inspire me. Perhaps it's true that inspiration is not the point, but somewhere along the way I lost my passion. Passion that pushed me to build a house, quite literally, out of nothing. Passion that moved me to learn for the pleasure of learning, and nothing more.
I've been thinking about passion lately because I discovered some old friends who have themselves embarked on pilgrimages of passion. Thanks to facebook and Myspace, I now count a soul singer, a folk singer, a hip-hop artist, a jazz violinist, a classical violinist, and a children's choir director among my childhood friends. Their works are earnest and sophisticated; their talent is pure. We all were musicians when we were kids - but somehow I let my ache for beauty become an ache for... nothing.
Somewhere along the line I folded. To my credit, my surrender was not completely because of creature comforts - I just wasn't that good a violinist. My bleakness, then, must be a result of envy, too. I envy these artists and their talents, I envy their courage and creativity.
This issue is of particular relevance because my better half also has found that law school has not inspired him. He's had success in law school, but the exercise has grown hollow. He is lucky enough to have something that does inspire him, however, and I delight in his delight.
I've been thinking about passion lately because I discovered some old friends who have themselves embarked on pilgrimages of passion. Thanks to facebook and Myspace, I now count a soul singer, a folk singer, a hip-hop artist, a jazz violinist, a classical violinist, and a children's choir director among my childhood friends. Their works are earnest and sophisticated; their talent is pure. We all were musicians when we were kids - but somehow I let my ache for beauty become an ache for... nothing.
Somewhere along the line I folded. To my credit, my surrender was not completely because of creature comforts - I just wasn't that good a violinist. My bleakness, then, must be a result of envy, too. I envy these artists and their talents, I envy their courage and creativity.
This issue is of particular relevance because my better half also has found that law school has not inspired him. He's had success in law school, but the exercise has grown hollow. He is lucky enough to have something that does inspire him, however, and I delight in his delight.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Mortified
Earlier this week I went to office hours. In addition to my usual class confusion ("So...this basic rule we covered months ago..."), I also had some questions about the long-term. Namely, I wanted to know how mobile I would be if I entered a particular practice area, because I'm not entirely sure I want a lifetime in San Diego. (Don't hate.)
She gave me the usual spiel, how when I hit my third year as an associate I'll be tremendously marketable, but then she suggested applying to LLM programs in parts of the country where I would want to spend a lifetime.
I almost left the room.
Thing is, I've already done my time: two years' MPA, three years' JD. Do I really need to add three more letters? I didn't voice these objections to her, but I did offer another: I didn't think my grades would be appealing to any school worth going to. She countered, "What do you have, a 2.2?" I gratefully shook my head, but she wanted my actual number. She then proceeded to shout, "'[Number]?! What's so bad about a [number]?"
(Uh, lots of things are wrong with [number]. Especially if you keep shouting it down the hall like that.)
Still, it was nice to have her vote of confidence.
She gave me the usual spiel, how when I hit my third year as an associate I'll be tremendously marketable, but then she suggested applying to LLM programs in parts of the country where I would want to spend a lifetime.
I almost left the room.
Thing is, I've already done my time: two years' MPA, three years' JD. Do I really need to add three more letters? I didn't voice these objections to her, but I did offer another: I didn't think my grades would be appealing to any school worth going to. She countered, "What do you have, a 2.2?" I gratefully shook my head, but she wanted my actual number. She then proceeded to shout, "'[Number]?! What's so bad about a [number]?"
(Uh, lots of things are wrong with [number]. Especially if you keep shouting it down the hall like that.)
Still, it was nice to have her vote of confidence.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Revamp
My readership (Hi, Ms. J! Hi, Munch!) recently has pointed out that I have lagged behind in posting. Mea culpa, but let me explain. When I first imagined this blog, I imagined it as a satirical look at the third year of law school. The postings themselves would be spontaneous and varied, but the opus as a whole would hang together by its strong thematic links.
So you see why I've lagged behind. There's not much else to say about 3L year other than: I have lots of free time. I'm not that motivated to work any more. I'm staring down the bar exam and imminent employment.
It's not a pretty picture. But there must be more than meets the eye, because well, there's always more. What this means is that I am taking this blog in a new direction. Rather than try to be so tragically hip ("I have so much free time"), I'm going to try to be honest. Anything is fair game, so my hoped-for thematic links might not be so obvious (read: not exist). But who knows, what results might even be funnier and more acerbic than what's preceded it.
So you see why I've lagged behind. There's not much else to say about 3L year other than: I have lots of free time. I'm not that motivated to work any more. I'm staring down the bar exam and imminent employment.
It's not a pretty picture. But there must be more than meets the eye, because well, there's always more. What this means is that I am taking this blog in a new direction. Rather than try to be so tragically hip ("I have so much free time"), I'm going to try to be honest. Anything is fair game, so my hoped-for thematic links might not be so obvious (read: not exist). But who knows, what results might even be funnier and more acerbic than what's preceded it.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Progress!
Today, Lunch Pal and I had our weekly Friday lunch outside the Faculty Lunch room. We did not get invited in, but one of the professors did bring out a tray of cookies for us. And only for us, not the other students who also happened to be eating nearby.
I'm so glad my mother taught me the importance of having goals.
I'm so glad my mother taught me the importance of having goals.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Weekends
So, it's been a while (I think) since my last post because I had a paper draft due. Which I actually submitted. On time. (But don't ask about the quality of the work submitted, because, well...yikes.)
The draft took up my entire weekend last weekend, so already I'm looking forward to making up for it this weekend. Gone is any sense of propriety as I already have 1) double-booked on both Saturday and Sunday, 2) accepted invitations without first consulting the Captain, and 3) intensified my work-outs in anticipation of all the gluttony.
Giddy-up.
The draft took up my entire weekend last weekend, so already I'm looking forward to making up for it this weekend. Gone is any sense of propriety as I already have 1) double-booked on both Saturday and Sunday, 2) accepted invitations without first consulting the Captain, and 3) intensified my work-outs in anticipation of all the gluttony.
Giddy-up.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Goals
My teachers taught me early on in life that it's important to have goals.
These are my goals for 3L year:
1. To get invited to the faculty lunch. Every Friday, the faculty get together for lunch, whether purely for fun or for some sort of institutional advancement/team-building effort. Every Friday, my pal and I get together for our weekly lunch, which serendipitously takes place outside the faculty lunch room. My two favorite professors always stop to chat when they're on their way to lunch. Lunch Pal and I have decided that one of these days, the faculty will get so used to seeing us, they'll have to invite us to the faculty lunch. It's gonna work.
2. To get a one-year subscription to Cook's Illustrated. I am an aspiring foodie and I subscribe to Cook's Illustrated, a fantastic collection of science and food writing. Every couple months, I read a new issue, full of tricks of the trade and of explanations for why white chocolate won't behave the same as dark chocolate in a recipe. [FN1] I'm not averse to renewing my subscription, but I want to see if I can "win" one, because if you write a letter to the magazine, and they print it, then you get a free year's subscription. I want to be printed.
----
FN1. There's no actual cocoa in white chocolate. That upsets the sugar-fat ratio in recipes calling for regular chocolate. Any dummy knows that, but it's nice to be affirmed in a magazine.
These are my goals for 3L year:
1. To get invited to the faculty lunch. Every Friday, the faculty get together for lunch, whether purely for fun or for some sort of institutional advancement/team-building effort. Every Friday, my pal and I get together for our weekly lunch, which serendipitously takes place outside the faculty lunch room. My two favorite professors always stop to chat when they're on their way to lunch. Lunch Pal and I have decided that one of these days, the faculty will get so used to seeing us, they'll have to invite us to the faculty lunch. It's gonna work.
2. To get a one-year subscription to Cook's Illustrated. I am an aspiring foodie and I subscribe to Cook's Illustrated, a fantastic collection of science and food writing. Every couple months, I read a new issue, full of tricks of the trade and of explanations for why white chocolate won't behave the same as dark chocolate in a recipe. [FN1] I'm not averse to renewing my subscription, but I want to see if I can "win" one, because if you write a letter to the magazine, and they print it, then you get a free year's subscription. I want to be printed.
----
FN1. There's no actual cocoa in white chocolate. That upsets the sugar-fat ratio in recipes calling for regular chocolate. Any dummy knows that, but it's nice to be affirmed in a magazine.
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