An Open Letter to UC Berkeley

Hey there Berkeley,

Melanie here. I would take more time to introduce myself, but you already know everything about me. You know that I grew up in Connecticut and then moved to New York. You know that my GPA is a sparkly 3.8. You know that I love writing like fat kids love cake. You even know how much money I made last year. And you say nothing.

I gave you all this personal and private information - and more. I wrote you essays when I should have been studying. I filled out your supplements when the sun was shining and Dolores Park was calling my name. I've told all my friends about you already. Even my parents know about you. And, yet, you give me nothing.

Oh, sure, there were the impersonal form emails. Those few pleasantly mass-produced reminders. And of course the dream I harbor of being a student under your fine tutelage, but none of this is specific to me. Thousands of potential transfer students received those form emails. Those reminders have been seen by more eyes than that Paris Hilton hamburger commercial. And that dog that sleepwalks into walls. COMBINED. And almost every student at CCSF, ever, has had the dream of walking through your doors as a full-fledged student. I say 'almost' because some of them are just not smart enough to see you the way I do. Plus, they are kind of lazy.

How do you think this makes me feel? All I want is a little reciprocity. A little requited love. All my professors think we are made to be together. And most of my friends, too. And I know that some people think you are out-of-my-league, but you know what, I don't care what they say, because I know that you and I would make beautiful music together. But not real music. Like, figurative music. That was a metaphor and I used it because I am smart. You could definitely use me - and I don't say that to just anyone.

That's all for now. I just wanted to open the lines of communication. Again. Some people think I deserve better, but let's prove them wrong. Write to me. Tell me you want me. Tell me you need me. Hold me in your educationally esteemed arms and let me put you on my resume for the rest of my life.

Even if you just need to tell me to give it up, that you are not interested in a girl like me. Sure, I might cry. I might eat a gallon of ice cream. But that's OK because I live right near the best ice cream store in the world. And I have, like, a million friends on Facebook and in real life, so I'll be good. Just please say something, anything. I'm dying over here.

The ball's in your court.

Sincerely yours (if you want me),

Melanie Duve

PS And if you break up with me it's totally fine because SF State has been writing me love letters for months.

PPS I'm just playing, you know I love you.

PPPS But really. Other people want to tap this resource.

So Cute It Hurts

At the moment, I am stuck on the couch with a really bad stomachache. I am currently waiting to see if it is food poisoning or just indigestion. Seeing as I haven't eaten anything since last night, it's not looking good. What a bummer. I really hate pooping and throwing up at the same time. But at least my tummy will look really flat afterwords.

As I lie here on my couch, images of this video I saw yesterday keep running through my mind. It might just be the cutest video of 2010, since Surprise Kitty was so last year. So, thank the powers that be for not potentially having food poisoning, and feast your eyes on this leg o' lamb:

The Science Of Baking

So I haven't blogged in awhile. OK, that's an understatement. I haven't blogged in over a year AND I deleted all of my old blog posts to anger/appease an ex-boyfriend. It didn't work, and now I'm back.

And it's the strangest thing that brings me back - a science project. Like, a real, live science project. The course is Oceanography and the assignment was fairly vague, which is perfect because 'vague' is just how I like things related to science. Basically, we had to pick an area of the ocean and make a creative project inspired by the oceanographically interesting aspects of the locale. If you are really excited about either oceanography or the things that I do to fill my day, you can check out the actual assignment on my class website. That's right, my class has a website. And that's normal now. When I started school we got our homework chiseled into stone tablets, and it was delivered by brontosauruses*. At this rate, when I graduate, a robot will teleport a hologram of my diploma directly to a microchip in my brain.

It took me awhile to figure out what to do - we were given free creative license and sometimes that makes it hard for me to decide on a direction. In the end, I scrapped the idea of a children's game (because I curse too much) and nixed a series of diary entries from the vantage point of God as he created the oceans (because...well...yeah) and I settled on baking. That's right, I decided to bake the ocean. As we speak my house smells like fresh bread and I have a warm loaf of 'Divergent Plate Bread' cooling on a rack in my kitchen. But before I get ahead of myself, let me explain the process of creating this delicacy.

Step 1: Find the cutest possible recipe for bread.

Step 2: Pick a portion of the ocean. I chose the Mid-Atlantic Ridge. Not only because you can actually SEE it on googlemaps, or because it is where the earth actually COMES from, but also because I spent the early part of the semester getting up close and personal with this awesome diagram. This Divergent Plate Boundary Cross-Section is an easy-to-follow pic of what is really going on where two tectonic plates are moving away from each other.

Step 3: Turn that diagram INTO BREAD. That's right - Moses + Betty Crocker = Me. I planned on amazing the world and turning water into bread. I began by assembling some killer ingredients, all organic of course. Except maybe the food coloring. And the yeast. Oh, come on. What does 'organic' really mean anyway?



And them I measured them out, which was super tricky because the bread recipe I used was from somewhere in Europe and everything was in grams, but my professor will love that because she is all about the metric system. Not only did I use my new kitchen scale that I impulsively purchased a few months ago, but I ALSO broke in an impulsively purchased set of color coordinated bowls. I am so cool. You know it.



And then, in an even more science-like moment, I used a thermometer to gauge the temperature of my egg/milk combo. A temperature which I ingeniously converted from Celsius to Fahrenheit like a real scientist. I don't even recognize myself underneath all these brains.



As I was alone in my kitchen, I was unable to photograph the kneading process because my hands were covered in dough for thirty-five minutes. Did you know that you have to knead bread dough for so long? I didn't. I had to use my elbow and chin to change the TV channel - I mean, do math. Busted. I was watching Bravo while I kneaded the bread. I just love an elimination challenge.

After the dough was nice and...doughy... (and some angry lady got voted off Shear Genius), I separated it into four parts and added matcha (green tea) powder to one section, cocoa powder to another, blue food coloring to one and nothing to the fourth. I laid them in well-greased bowls to rise.



I punched the air out of them after thirty minutes. Literally. I had never heard that term before, so I just punched my dough with a closed fist. This was not an open-handed slapping kind of situation. It was pretty satisfying. Then I let them alone again. After another half an hour I began assembly of the 'Divergent Plate Bread.'

The bottom, white, layer, which represents the Earth's asthensoshere came first. Magma is generated in this elastic layer from a drop in overlying pressure as the above plates move away from each other.



Then, I molded and added the thick, green layer, which represents the bottom layer of the lithosphere.



The next layer, a thin, chocolaty, brown layer symbolizes the thin oceanic crust.



The final layer, and only layer that is remotely colored true-to-life, is the blue layer, which represents the ocean water laying above all the others.



And then I let it rise for awhile. Again. This bread thing is really time consuming, much like the process of seafloor spreading (just ask all those Gondwanalandians - wow, that was a terrible joke). When I came back to put it in the oven, I was a little nervous because it didn't really rise very much, and certainly did not fill up the loaf pan. So I did what any good scientist or baker would do - I shrugged my shoulders and stuck it in the oven anyway.

Before long, my house filled with the smell of baking bread. Delightful. And not difficult because my apartment is roughly fifteen square feet. I snuck a peak during the baking and this is what I saw.



Just kidding! The bread did not turn into a chihuahua. Although that would have probably guaranteed me an A+. This is what I saw:



It was working! The bread was rising! I was very happy that I would not have to write a blog about my 'Divergent Plate Matzoh.'

And the end result...well, you be the judge:



All I know is, it made me happy. I really like not failing. It is my second favorite thing to do after not camping.



The only question that remains is 'How does it taste?!' And the verdict is...it tastes okay. Some things are just meant to be beautiful and not eaten. Like a good symphony, Kate Moss and my 'Divergent Plate Bread.' Well, it's not THAT bad.

Update: I just slathered it with lemon cream cheese frosting and now it tastes like heaven served on plain bread.

* I am so old that the brontosaurus is no longer even considered a dinosaur, but I am too stubborn to call it by the correct name. Also, Pluto is a planet. You can't argue because it's my blog and I call the rules and I say that I win. Pthhhhhh!