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The Greatest Cookie in the Entire World, Ever

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They’re here.  I thought, you know: cookies are so different, there are so many types you’ll never be able to say that one is the best, etcetera, etcetera.  I was wrong.

You guys think that I am kidding. I am not kidding.

At the Metropolitan Market on Proctor Street, the first thing you see when you walk into the store is The Cookie. (The capitalization is important: that’s what it is actually called. The Met knows what it’s about.) The Cookie is—well, how would one describe The Cookie.

I asked:

“Flawless.”

“It is deliciously gooey in the middle, but the outside has an amazingly satisfying crunch.”

“I heard the recipe is insured for $200,000.”

“One time, Gordon Ramsay ate one, and he thought it was the best cookie in the world.”

“One time, I used my entire paycheck to buy every cookie they had at the Met. It was awesome.”

(These are all 100% accurate things that other people have definitely said.)

On paper, The Cookie can be described as a giant chocolate chip cookie with walnuts. But it is so much more than that.

This is The Cookie in my hand. For size reference. That is The Cookie on my flat hand.

This is The Cookie in my hand. For size reference. This is The Cookie on my flat hand.

Each bite begins with a crunch that dissolves into layers of pure melted chocolate wrapped around streaks of cookie dough and thick clumps of walnuts. Chocolate streaks your fingers when you eat it. The smell—which is the purest smell chocolate chip cookie smell in the world—permeates through any room it is placed in. You walk into a room with The Cookie in it, and, like Pavlov’s dog, you immediately start salivating. It is that good.

A couple of my friends and I walked to the Met today. The Met is just close enough to the school to make it easy to get there, but just far enough that going every single day becomes a hassle. We entered—and if there was any question about what we were going to get, the people working there were loading cookies, fresh from the oven, onto the display sheet.

I will take all of them, thank you.

I will take all of them, thank you. 

“Dear god,” my friend said.

“These are the best [CENSORED] [CENSORED] cookies in the world,” my friend said.

We loaded up on cookies (we bought other necessities like face wash and peanut butter across the street at Safeway, where it is mildly cheaper if you have a Safeway card). On the walk back, my friends nibbled on their cookies.

“I’ve already finished mine,” my friend announced, sheepishly.

“This might be my lunch,” my other friend said.

Chocolate smeared around their lips and fingers. We walked under the pale yellow sun. I adjusted my sunglasses and thought of the cookies burning a hole in my bag. The Cookies, I should say. I was going to go back to my room and eat them, and it was going to be the greatest thing ever.

Uncertainty is alright

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This week has been on of those weeks, where everything seems to be convening on these few days with everyone in the world wanting to pitch in their two-sense and win the argument, trust, support or right to something. But guess what, sometimes the things that you want, aren’t entitled to you. Sometimes you need to think about if your actions are completely transparent and reflective of your intentions? We’re all humans and the need to be emotional, supportive and trusting are valuable traits to strong relationships and building ideas but sometimes the greater good may step on these values.

And think these are invaluable lessons to learn, we’re still in college so there is less pressure on making the right decisions but rather finding our way in the way we grow and prosper to become contributing members of society. However at the same time, college is moving so quickly I don’t often feel like I have a good grasp on what opportunities are available to me, how I may take advantage of them and allow me the peace to find my path. We’re supposed to look four, three, two or past our last semseter to be planning out each detail. We have only been on this Earth for 17-21 years, have we seen it all to know what we want? I definitely don’t think so, but everyone’s individual experiences shape their perspective on life, on what is feasible in life. I can only hope we can allow ourselves to be vulnerable to ask for the support and advice from our peers, professors, advisors, coaches and faculty, staff at the University of Puget Sound.

 

I guess you can say I’m not ready to grow up yet, and its rapidly approaching anyway.

The Imperfect Intern

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The man was dressed casually for the office in a white shirt and jeans. He had a bushy ginger beard and a paunch. “Hey New Face,” he said.

I stuck out my hand. “Hi, I’m Lorna. It’s nice to meet you.”

This was the third week of my internship at Harbor History Museum. So far, everything was moving along nicely—transportation reimbursement (check), grant edits (check), sunny day (check). My stammer was under control and I hadn’t told any bad jokes yet. It turned out that the man was a volunteer working to help restore the Shenandoah, a 1925 fishing vessel donated to the museum in 2000. When another intern asked how he could help, he said: “Grab a hammer.”

Not all my days at the office were like this. At the beginning I was nervous. I was, after all, a “new face.” There were times when my voice would go up an octave and I’d have to force the words out my throat like the last squeeze of toothpaste. I am slowly working to conquer this with a smile and my favorite pair of gray heeled boots. It works better some days than others.

This morning, I started my day at the office twenty-five minutes late. It turns out that I hadn’t turned the ignition far forward enough. At first, I thought it was the transmission stuck in reverse. I only found out it was the ignition after my second call to Zipcar customer service. In the meantime, I was stuck halfway out in the parking lot with my emergency flashers on. I got to practice my hand gesture for: “Yeah, you should go the other way.” If any of you are wondering, it’s a really awkward mix between a wave and a point. As long as you hold your hand out limply and look panicked enough, you’ll be fine. The best part was, when I finally got the office, I discovered my boss was late too.

My mistake didn’t matter because we both got there at the same time. In my English 497 class we read an article called “How to Be a Perfect Intern.” There’s no such thing. The new guy is never perfect. And as an intern, you’re not only new to the job; you’re new to the industry. You don’t know where the office pens are and you make way too much noise trying to close the filing cabinets. That’s the way it is.

I would, however, remember to check the ignition.

Water the Cherry Blossoms

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On February 15, 2001, the Trail published a message written by former Asian Pacific American Student Union President Ngai Fang Chen, which called for a more-than-passing remembrance of the internment of thirty Japanese Puget Sound students. With eloquence, Chen contributed her voice to the chorus in condemnation of the internment and of ethnic persecution in general.

Six months later, two skyscrapers fell in New York, ushering in a period marked by, among other things, a heightened national sense—that is, a countrywide solidarity founded on a common American identity.

At the same time, ethnic discrimination persisted. Entire groups were targeted for the actions of a few, resulting in the ostracism and marginalization of ostensibly suspect peoples. This unified backlash against entire communities reflects a unique inability to attribute blame to individuals with individual motives; fault is found with peoples and not persons, in perversion of a proud democracy that generalizes persons as groups according to principles of equality/equation. This tendency manifests itself daily in the persecution of American ethnic minorities based upon historically informed suspicions, however uncharacteristic of a group they may be.

What troubles me is the co-presence of a strong national sense that fosters unity on the grounds of American-ness and an opposed ethnic sense that seeks to divide Americans on the basis of color. Herein lies a fundamental problem with the attitude America has adopted toward its multiethnic inhabitants. America will continue to undermine itself and its people if it cannot reconcile its sense of nationalism with its hostility to ethnic others.

The internment of 70,000 Japanese American citizens reflects the danger of a divisive ethnic mindset, in which prejudices culminate in the subordination of national identity. Chen writes of our responsibility as students and Americans to learn from the mistakes of the past. With fourteen years elapsed since her reminder and the anniversary of the signing of Executive Order 9066 recently past, it is important, more than ever, to heed the lessons of the past and to undo, if in-small, the tension between national and ethnic identities that troubles America today.

In doing so, we water the cherry blossoms.

Thoughts at a Passport Agency

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So this week I went to Seattle to get my passport as I am going to Toronto for spring break. The whole process before arriving at the agency went smoothly. I thought I had gathered all the documents that I needed. Upon arriving and going through an airport like level of security I discovered that I had forgotten my passport photos. Luckily enough a kind security guard advised me to just run down the street to FedEx to get them done (took five minutes) and come back. So advice for you all; go to FedEx to get your passport photos done because that’s where the passport agency people actually recommend you go to since Walgreens doesn’t always nail down the requirements.

It was an interesting experience. I forgot that my queue number was 331 and NOT 333 which meant I had to get a new queuing number (371). While I waited, as you often do when dealing with any form of bureaucracy, I couldn’t help but overhear the conversations that each agent was having with the person at the window.

There was a programmer trying to fly into Tokyo for a new job, boyfriend trying to meet up with his girlfriend in the Middle East, a child gymnast who just won her way into an international competition, families taking vacations (usually to Canada), a wife trying to claim the body of her husband who had committed suicide, businessmen and businesswomen, and a lot of immigrants trying to go home.

The last group of people stood out to me the most. Many of them had previously talked to other agencies to help them navigate the complicated system in obtaining a permit and getting permission to cross the border among many other things. A woman that came here on a work permit was attempting to get a passport to go home to Mexico because there was an emergency (which is one of the circumstances that allows you to get your passport at an agency); a relative was dying. However she needed to be naturalized or a citizen to obtain a passport. She had already talked to Border Patrol who appeared to tell her this wasn’t a problem. A lot of stories were similar to this. And the whole time I was (let’s face it) eavesdropping, I couldn’t help but wonder how could you make this process better.

It turns out that failed group projects has not allowed people to realize communication is key when you hear the stories of inaccurate information being told to people at different agencies, leading to overall confusion. So, I thought what if you had some sort of process online that cleared up the issue.

The government website where you get information for your passport has a cost calculator where you enter your basic information and it spits out a number. What if you created a Situation Calculator (terrible name, I know). A person would start off entering their basic information, then enter the circumstances they are in, and then the program would tell them the process that they would need to go through required documents needed, who to contact, and what order to contact the agencies in.

It would help. Instead of individually calling each agency and searching for this information it would all be laid out clearly for someone. The program would create an outline/plan. Just a thought.

Wait, maybe I will create this for my computer science extra credit project. (cue TaySwift singing “it could be forever or go down in flames”)

(Some of the) Forms of Feminism

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One thing that does not get talked about enough is the many ways one can be a feminist.

This has been on my mind recently for obvious reasons because when isn’t fighting the patriarchy on my mind because, over the past week, I have attended two very very different presentations/performances that dealt with the multiple sides of feminism.

Last Monday, I attended a lecture given by Sister Tahera Ahmad (the program calls her ‘Sister,’ so I am going with that, although I seem to recall her being surprised by the title) on Postmodern Muslim Feminism.

We weren't allowed to take photos during the lecture. So I took one before.

We weren’t allowed to take photos during the lecture. So I took one before.  Diabolical.

Islam is often criticized for oppressing women—which, to be fair, is a valid criticism in oppressive Islamist states. It is not, however, valid for the majority of Muslim practitioners. Ahmad spent a lot of time discussing how Islam, in the Qur’an, does not actually subjugate women at all—in fact, the origins of the religion actually saved multiple female babies from being buried alive, a rather gruesome practice carried out by some of the regional tribes at the time of the Prophet. The talk did seem to be more about critical feminist perspectives being applied to the origins of Islam, but she did eventually talk about the role of women in the postmodern Muslim society. Ahamd spoke a lot about the balance young Muslim women have to work with, particularly in regard to the hijab. One of the most touching things she said was her recount of a conversation she had with a woman on a plane, which will know be paraphrased by me:

ELDERLY WOMEN (sadly): It’s such a shame.

AHMAD: What is?

ELDERLY WOMEN: We fought so you don’t have to wear the veil.

pause

AHMAD: I think you fought so that I could.

I mean, that right there is a huge part of feminism. Validating the choices every woman makes.

Comparatively, I also went to the annual Gal/Valentine’s Day performance of The Vagina Monologue.

I don't have a picture from The Vagina Monologues, but i do have picture of half a Galentine's Day chocolate chip waffle. Which is almost as good.

I don’t have a picture from The Vagina Monologues, but i do have picture of half a Galentine’s Day chocolate chip pancake. Which is almost as good.

If you have never been, bless your hearts, you should go because the performances run the gamut from hilarious to heart-breaking, they are performed by very attractive ladies in black leather and red, and the soundtrack is like 75% Beyoncé. The Vagina Monologues aim another side of feminism: primarily, the idea of sexual liberation.

(I remember going last year with a male friend, who spent the entire time looking amazingly uncomfortable. It is a good memory. I hope he learned things.)

The Vagina Monologues are less of a learning experience for me—mostly because I have seen them before, and I also already have accepted and digested all of its messages—they’re just fun. Of particular note is The Woman Who Loved to Make Vaginas Happy sketch, which has to be seen to be believed.

So you should go see it.

The most important thing about feminism is its definition: seeking equality of the genders. The second most important thing is intersectionality; is a multi-prong approach; is an understanding that there are many ways to be a feminist and to support feminism. This week highlighted multiple kinds of feminism—and it was awesome.

Afterimages

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I was walking up the path from the S.U.B to my dorm, when, illuminated by the light of the lamps above, I saw the water-prints of a dog’s paws upon the pavement. Naturally, I followed the tracks, which took me past my dorm. Turning on my phone’s flashlight, for the light grew dim, I walked the path the dog had walked. Sometimes, its paw-prints would disappear into the grass, at which point I wouldn’t be able to see them anymore; but before long, they reappeared, as if the dog’s owner pulled the dog back onto the path, as if he didn’t want to get his feet wet.

The tracks eventually began to disappear, a result of, what I believe to be, the drying of the dog’s feet. I followed them to the Field House, at the edge of campus, where the paw-prints ceased. I looked around to see if I could track the dog any further. I couldn’t.

I’ve never had a dog. But my grandparents had some and so did an aunt and an uncle of mine. Whenever my family visited, my sister and I would always play with the dogs before we would enter the house. Some, if not all, of them have passed away by now, with nothing left of them but the memory of their wet paws on the sidewalk. And even those disappear.

I turned and walked to my dorm.

It’s all in the past, where it’s safe.

The every day life

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Over breakfast, I listen to my exercise science friend talking about the people who have survived the most extreme core temperature drops. A two-year-old who was found outside with a core temperature of 57 degrees is apparently the record. My friend is going over an article for class that she thinks they might be quizzed on, and tells me the stages that a human goes through: when they stop shivering, when they start hallucinating, when “paradoxical undressing” sets in and the victim tears off their clothing to offset the sudden feeling of extreme heat that comes over them.

I had a class cancelled today, and this has made for a relaxing morning, where I can cook myself a hot breakfast and enjoy some tea and science. But hey, I’m no social science major, so I can’t get too used to it. Being a math majoring Spanish minoring part-time working student means no free days during my week. It has its perks, though. When you practically live in Thompson Hall you get to know the ins and outs, chilling with the other math lounge inhabiters, running across a gaggle of courtyard b-ballers, recognizing the faces of each and every coffee-soaked, laptop-tanned Opp devotee. Having class four times a week with a group of less than ten students certainly leads to some class community, too. Last semester in advanced calculus, we established a tradition of bringing in treats to share every Friday. The second semester of the class is even smaller, which means fewer people in the rotation, but also more treats to go around. We’ve been blessed with a non-allergic, non-picky group of people, so dairy’s in, wheat’s in, chocolate chip cookies are a go, peanut butter anything is acceptable, banana bread has made a few well-received appearances, and the crowning reward to the semester was getting to eat zoo animal shaped waffles during the final exam. Ah yes, from pie on March 14th to cupcakes in linear algebra (for when the whole class could take a test without making some previously established common mistake), being a math major is delicious. So far I’ve made only sweet treats for my classmates, but maybe it’s time to branch out. I’m thinking quiche, hum bao, hand-crepes, deviled eggs, shrimp canapés… and maybe it’s time to stop thinking and start making lunch to celebrate this rare chunk of free time in my life.

A Week of Death Plague

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Yesterday, thank god, was the first day I  managed to leave my bed without severe regrets in a week.

It started on Monday with a horribly scratchy throat, and by the time I finished class on Tuesday (classes on Tuesday end at 11:00 AM) all I was capable of doing was crawling back into bed and refusing to leave.

On Wednesday, the university sent out an email about the flu. It, apparently, was hitting campus hard, and we were strongly advised to not go to class, really, do not go, until our symptoms had died. It is kind of difficult to miss class because

a) I actually enjoy class and

b) I am spending an awful lot of money for the privilege of going to class and

c) all my classes have participation grades that are partly based on attendance which leads me to

d) I am a giant baby nerd who cries when she gets bad grades.

But, alas, when one is incapable of standing without the world lazily spinning in gentle ovals around you and one’s throat has decided to restrict passage of air and other necessities, and one’s hands—and body—shake like the long-awaited California earthquake has finally hit, albeit highly localized—basically, my roommate threatened to duct tape me to my bed if I even thought about getting out of it.

Ergo, here follows a list of the things I did when sick:

  1. Went through the denial stage of illness and went to class.
  2. Regretted it.
  3. Got into bed.
  4. Did not get out of bed.
  5. Complained frequently.
  6. Refused food.
  7. Except orange juice.
  8. And some chocolate but that’s because. You know. Chocolate.
  9. Watched two and a half seasons of The Legend of Korra.
  10. Remembered that The Legend of Korra is actually an awesome TV show.
  11. Got really emotional because of The Legend of Korra.
  12. Aggressively refused to do homework.
  13. Regretted that too.
  14. Attempted to make everyone else miserable with me, because misery loves company.
  15. Actually did not regret that part.
  16. Drank more orange juice.
  17. Complained some more.
  18. Got my roommate mildly sick. #sorrynotsorry.
  19. Contemplated things I should be doing.
  20. Rolled over in my bed and did not do any of said things I had to do.

I finally dragged my sorry carcass out of bed on Friday, because I was tired of being sick and I had a Very Important Thing on Saturday and basically I had no choice but to recover. It was unpleasant.

Although—I did have an interesting discussion in my last class of the day, International Law in a Political Context, about international law vaccinations, and why you should get them, and remember when we weren’t allowed to go to school without the measles vaccinations, and this is how polio was eradicated does anyone actually want to have polio and did everyone get their flu shot this year?

I actually did, but, as everyone knows, the flu mutates.

I did actually survive the week, and on Saturday I put on both my contact lenses and then mascara and headed off to my Very Important Thing, and pretended to be totally recovered. I was not, but it’s the attitude that helps.

I just tend to get sick of being sick; it gets in the way of my schedule and my planned blog posts and my life and my eating habits. So I have decided that, while that was a wild ride, I am not going to get sick again this semester.

If I do, I will remain in step one: denial.