chocolate, shortbread, and strawberries

Got your attention, eh?

Last night we dinnered with our neighbors -- the same ones in whose kitchen I broke my toe last weekend. (Tried desperately to be low-key about it. Of course, they saw it in the first few minutes, despite the remarkable fading of discoloration.)

Their oldest daughter has multiple food allergies, including nuts and eggs. I didn't realize how key these components were to most desserts -- not only were cakes and cookies out, but most puddings and store-bought ice creams.

So I improvised, as I do best in the kitchen.

First, I made an eggless chocolate mousse. I started with maybe 1/2 cup of heavy cream in a small pot, then melted roughly 12 oz -- maybe more -- of a combination of Hershey's Special Dark chips and Ghirardelli milk chips. Kept it over very low heat, so as to not scorch/kill the chocolate. When this was smooth, I took off heat and let cool to room temp. Then, I whipped the remainder of the heavy cream, and folded into the ganache little by little. It was rich, but verrrry good.

To cut the chocolate, I layered with sliced strawberries from Central Market, which were tasty and sweet. Then, to top it off, I'd crushed Walker's Shortbread cookies (shortbread = no eggs) to sprinkle over the mousse and strawberries.

Success! Everyone loved it, and I avoided Allison's food allergies.

adult add

Today I was in a bookstore for the first time in months. I used to really enjoy hanging out at a Borders with a coffee and browsing, but... haven't done that in a while.

What's changed? Well, I realized that... it's been literally months since I read a novel. Months.

Most of my coworkers would stop and take my pulse at this point. Earlier this month, I realized that it had indeed been a long time since I'd read a novel.

But y'know what? I haven't felt the need. I actually haven't wanted to read any books. Which is a little disturbing, given my previously voracious book appetite.

And I chalked it up to my already overly-stimulated life. Why spend the time reading a book when I could be writing a song? Practicing guitar? Blogging? Doing other stuff that's useful in and of itself?

But then I sheepishly realized -- how much of my time is spent surfing the web??? Voyeuristically reading others' blogs? And how is this more productive than reading a novel?

I fear that my mind has gotten used to soundbites. Between reading blog entries, short articles from Fark, magazine articles... I've begun my slide into lack of focus.

So I got home from Third Place Books starting a new exercise. I searched the shelves for a book I hadn't read (that was tough...) and told myself I'd read for a while. I picked up something easy -- an old Dean Koontz that I'd gotten from a used bookstore. Nothing earth-shattering, but I don't have to think too hard. Anyway, I read six chapters earlier. Goal is to read at least another 6 by the end of the day tomorrow. During the week, the work/music/running schedule tends to get in the way, so we'll have to see about that, but... it's a start in the more focused direction...

my neighbor's kitchen is not a slip-n-slide

An adventure in a neighborhood kitchen.

Innocent enough. Bruce and I went two doors down to hang out with our neighbors yesterday afternoon. The only one home was Steve, who was rapidly, frenetically putting together a marinade for steak he'd be later cooking for his wife and daughters. He doesn't fancy himself much of a cook, and struggled to find ingredients.

Every time I offered to help, his neverending hospitality took over. "No, sit back and relax with your wine! I'll muddle through." I eventually sneaked out (kind of) to grab a few ingredients they didn't have. Shortly thereafter, as Steve struggled with other ingredients, I attempted to round the corner from the living room into the kitchen.

Thing is, they have patches of loose carpet on their kitchen linoleum. Slippery ones. And I didn't take this into account.

Yep. Brooke fall down go boom.

And I still can't remember what I did -- I somehow kicked the corner of the wall, or something -- but the pain in my second right toe steadily increased. Later in the evening, as we wandered to another neighbors' for a party, I was clearly limping, and getting nice wine-colored horizontal stripes on that toe. (But not on any of the others.)

These neighbors drowned me in ice packs... I love our neighbors.

Six hours after the fall, my toe stopped hurting. It still hurts when I move it or touch it, but it no longer hurts on its own. And what did I do to it? It's nicely purple and blue, so there's a good chance it's fractured. (Steve, you didn't see that, did you? Please don't feel indebted to us...) And that foot can barely move from all of the swelling.

But, just like my previous broken toe incident, which I recall being *worse* than this one, I'll take a week off, then start hard core running again with taped toes.

However, I do row tomorrow morning without shoes. This shall be interesting...

row, row, row your boat

I am suddenly involved in crew for the first time in my life. I've had a passing interest for a while, but when the time came for intramurals this quarter, my coworkers decided on the traditional 6am slot, which made me reconsider.

Until... many of the women in my lab admitted they didn't know how to swim. Of course, to be on a boat out in the lake as part of UW Crew, they make you pass a swim test. It was a piece of cake for me, but I doubt it would've been for the others.

So I roped myself into the whole thing. Yesterday, the 5 of us were out on a boat together for the first time. Ever. None of us have significant rowing experience, so it was... interesting. We had trouble going in a straight line at any time... the boat keeled to the left a lot...

And perhaps the most interesting thing -- the coxswain is our boss. All of us work for him. It's interesting how cranky he gets out on the water. Some of the others took it personally; I just laughed it off, figuring he's a competitive soul, and would never hold grudges about this sort of thing in the workplace.

Tomorrow we're out on Portage Bay again, the 5 of us, at 6am. It will be... interesting... to see how much, if any, progress we have made. And it's darn discouraging to see these other undergrad teams -- our competition -- when all of us are over 30. (Handicap, anyone?)

still got my web chops

I was assigned the task of creating a simple marketing web site for a newly regalvanized big band with whom I play. Sadly, the photographer didn't get me in any of the pictures (snif) but that's another issue...

I'm quite proud of myself for having come up with the following in about an hour:

http://cascadiajazz.8k.com/

I use Photoshop in big bursts a few times a year. I always have to remind myself how to use it when I come back from any hiatus. But this wasn't too tough.

Hopefully the band will make enough money soon that I can put it on its *own* domain rather than one of these freebies...

the type i love to hate

Warning: slightly geeky science rant to follow.

When I was in graduate school (in the #1 program in my field, which doesn't mean a thing if you're in a bad situation), I had the worst luck. My advisor and I would make what we thought was a reasonable prediction about the protein I worked on. I'd do a series of experiments, and... well, I always got a negative result. My protein does not do this. Neither does it do that. Nothing in which the publication world has a single iota of interest. I wasted several years going around this cycle, especially those years that my advisor made me feel unworthy as a scientist, and I eventually quit graduate school.

I currently work in a staff research position. I have a master's degree, but it's not necessary for my job. It's a nice, cozy place to be for the time being, while I think of what I want to do next in life. Which, honestly, I haven't a clue about. But as things go, it's fairly dead-end.

Today, a few of my colleagues and I went to a seminar given by one of the guys who runs our lab. Now, while Mark is a great guy, I realized today: he is among the lucky ones, the type I love to hate.

All through the talk, the experiments and results he presented so elegantly fit all of the predictions. They came together as a great story, and made publications in big-name journals. People with two copies of the common gene needed dosage N of coumadin to thin their blood; people with two copies of the rare gene needed dosage 4N of coumadin; and the people with one copy of each? Well, they looked like they needed darn near close to 2N. How elegant a story is that?

And I sat there thinking... Mark, you give a great talk, and you seem to be a great scientist, but... would I be in his position if I had better luck in graduate school? Would I have gotten less frustrated if a mere one of my series of experiments followed a single prediction I'd made? (I never, ever got a single positive result, in three years' work on this particular protein.)

Worse yet... Mark is just a few years older than I am. Sigh.

But do I regret being a grad school dropout? Mostly not... if I'd stayed in grad school, I would've missed the whole amazing SillyCon Valley experience, which was training of its own. Still, I'm jealous...

perfection of sweet peanutty goodness

It took me years to appreciate peanut brittle. Why? My grandparents' friends, the Emmetts, made it homemade all the time. We had it sitting around pretty much constantly. I never thought it was anything special.

I don't remember how long ago I started liking it again. It's pretty easy to make, and it's a crowd-pleaser...

Recently I found Alton Brown's (think Good Eats) special peanut brittle recipe. No ordinary brittle, it has a hint of spice to make it more interesting.

I made a first batch with the intent of taking it in to work, a few weeks back. Yeah, like it made it that far. Last weekend, I attempted a second batch, a double this time, to take in to my peanut-lovin' comrades (especially since Ian is gluten-intolerant and can't eat the cookies people bring) -- but alas, it crystallized funny!!!

Anyway, I kept the ugly batch and am eating it myself -- what a horrible cross to bear.

And here's the recipe, more or less (with a few modifications) so you can make your own spicy peanut brittle...

1. Mix one cup peanuts with 1/4 tsp cinnamon and 1/4 tsp cayenne pepper. Set aside.
2. Heat 1 1/2 c sugar, 3/4 c water, and 1 tbsp corn syrup in a heavy pot -- nonstick is best. Bring to a boil, and cover and let boil 3 minutes to get crystals off the sides of the pot. Remove the lid, and patiently let the syrup turn a pale amber color.
3. Remove the pot from heat. Mix in 1 tsp baking soda; syrup will foam up (Alton doesn't do this, but it lightens the texture a bit for me). Stir in spicy peanuts.
4. Spread out on a cookie sheet ideally lined with a Silpat or similar product. The peanuts will have a tendency to clump in the center; continue folding from the outside in to attempt to evenly distribute. This will also help the candy cool and harden.

And there's your spicy peanut brittle!

i like to google myself in public

Everyone's done it, right? Googled ourselves, to see where we're "out there" on the net. To see if there's another "me" out in the world.

This came up in band rehearsal last Tuesday night. Our director has a reasonably common name with an uncommon spelling, and he was shocked to find there was someone else in the world with his spelling. I am proudly the only Brooke Yool ine the world. Google myself, and I come up with sites about marathon results, music stuff, old chemistry teaching sites, science research... all about me.

Which got me thinking: when I married, I kept my name -- mostly because I'd been Brooke Yool for 27 years, and it felt weird to be called anything else. So I wondered: if I'd changed my name, would I have lost my uniqueness? So I googled Brooke Caruthers yesterday, out of curiosity.

And there is indeed a Brooke Caruthers, who lives on the east coast, is a few years younger than me, and runs lots of local 10Ks.

Ha! I maintain my uniqueness. Glad I didn't change my name.

eyes bigger than my stomach

We've all experienced it before: you see a food item you really, really want, and you end up buying much more than you can actually eat. It's universal.

This happened to Bruce and me yesterday. We stopped by Vancouver (BC) to visit friends and celebrate his 35th birthday. One thing he really wanted to do was stop by Mondo Gelato for one of their larger containers, stroll into the middle of Stanley Park, sit on a bench, and share said container. When we bought the gelato, we had a choice of 1/2 liter or 1 liter insulated containers. The half liter looked awfully small, so... you can see where this is going, we picked the liter, naturally.

(Mind you, this was our first food of the day, at about 1pm. I'd gone for a run that morning, as well, and had not had a thing to eat. No wonder I was crashing all day.)

So we got our trio of straciatella, cream puff, and limone gelati. We found a bench in the middle of the park, sat, and munched happily. After about 10 spoonfuls each, we realized... barely made a dent. That was a lot of gelato. We packed over half of it to take back with us to eat later, indoors, especially since the wind was picking up... not fun to eat ice cream in overcast and wind.

Of course, we realized afterward... 1/2 liter would've been plenty.

But it brought back humorous memories of our time in Como, Italy, four years ago. Wandering around, we found an outdoor market with the most fabulous looking fruit. I decided to buy some dark cherries as my afternoon snack.

But pride got in the way. I have a meager knowledge of Italian, and I was trying so hard not to come across as an American (as it is, I was mistaken for a Spaniard in many places), so I placed my order in Italian. Thing is, I couldn't remember how to say "half" in Italian, so.... I pointed at the bin of cherries and said "uno chilo" when, really, I would've been better off with a half. One kilo is 2.2 pounds, I kept telling myself, but I went ahead with the purchase, because it was cheap, anyway.

I carried cherries around with me for days. I finally finished them, what, 4 days later? But all because they looked really good, and I had my non-ugly-American pride to maintain.

It happens to the best of us, eh...

Um, yeaaaaahhh, Lumbergh for President

It was just a few weeks ago that Bruce and I realized... not only did Gary Cole play wisecracking characters in Office Space and Dodgeball, but... he's been playing VP Russell on The West Wing. As long-time WW devotees, I was shocked we never caught that before.

And now that Russell is one of the Democratic candidates for President on the show, and I've realized who the actor is, we've gone on and on about what would happen with Lumbergh as President.

Umm, yeaaaaah, you're going to have to look at that budget. You're going to have to come in on Saturday.

Yeeeeeaaaaaahhhh, Peter, did you get the TPS report on the defense program?

IMO, Gary Cole's character hasn't a snowball's chance in hell of winning the Presidency. But if so, it would be hilarious if they brought Peter, Michael Bolton, and Samir in for underling roles.

kitchen unaccomplished

Ah, our kitchen.

It's not our favorite room in the house. But, it's livable, and this is a starter home, after all.

Our appliances are the same age as the house -- 21 years. And we knew they were going to go soon. About a month ago, in fact, our oven died.

So we shopped around for a new one -- and also decided to get a new dishwasher (since it's leaking a bit), a new fridge (since you can feel cold air as you walk by), and a new dryer (since it's taking longer and longer to dry things). Besides, places were offering a bulk discount on multiple appliances, so why not take advantage?

Then we realized... our 1984-ish builders' grade appliances are much smaller than the current supersize standards. Not only that, but our cabinetry is custom built around it all.

Aieeeeee!

Bruce has a fabulous talent for redesigning rooms in a very space-efficient fashion (remodeling is a hobby of his) so he drew up a new floor plan, fitting in the new appliances. Now, he's in the process of taking it by all of our construction-savvy neighbors for a sanity check. We've been spending time at Home Depot every single weekend, sometimes buying, sometimes just doing research.

And it all seems to be working out. Hurray!

The appliances are purchased, but not yet delivered. We're also trying to figure out how to move the entire kitchen pantry into other rooms, and hot to live with only a sink, fridge, and microwave for at least a week.

But the plans are in motion. Party at Brooke's this summer to show it off!

when I think about you, I blog myself

Since I'm actually doing real work today, this is an abbreviated entry.

Over time, I've accumulated several blogs (before the term blog was kewl) that are very subject-specific... thought I'd list 'em here for your reading pleasure.

First: Left Lane is a small blog I created while living in SillyCon Valley. It also contains some travel recommendations, which I plan on expanding.

I also wrote up a journal of our month-long trip is Europe from 2001.

Here's a bit about our house-search circa 2003.

More to come later...

I am a normal rock

I learned this from the "which Zoloft rock personality disorder do you have?" quiz, which I stumbled upon. I had to take it, since I've always found the rock to be utterly cute.

Anyway, here was my result:



You are a normal rock!


::Which rock personality disorder (from the Zoloft commercial) should you have? (Results contain pictures!)
brought to you by Quizilla


Yes, friends and acquaintances, you've heard it here officially: apparently I'm absolutely normal. **snicker**

It's sad, in a way, though: why can't I be bipolar like all the other kids, Mommy?

"toilet" humor

A few years back, when we almost went on a trip to Greece, I was reading up on Greek vocabulary and made an interesting linguistic observation: many European languages, even the ones that are less related, seem to have a word closely resembling "toilet". I remembered toilette from taking French, Bruce remembered toiletten from a trip to Germany, and I'd read about (pardon the Anglicization here) toualetta in Greek. Interesting, huh?

Over the past few days, we've been looking into going to Prague sometime in the fall, so I found a Czech tutorial website last night. Guess what word I found... toaletni! Proving my theory right. Shortly thereafter, I stumbled upon an online dictionary for multiple European languages and played around a little bit. Lo and behold, there are "toilet" like words in over 10 Eurpoean languages, ranging from Portuguese to Swedish to Bulgarian... wow! Even more amazing is the fact that Hungarian falls into this category (toalett) -- if you know anything about European language evolution, you'll know that Finnish and Hungarian are by far the least related to the rest of the continent.

So here's some food for thought. I'm thinking these "toilet" variations are more modern words, brought about by travel/free borders/etc. It just wouldn't make sense that all of these countries would de novo come up with variations on "toilet".

Talk about a sewer mind, eh???

In any case, it makes a helluva linguistics PhD thesis.

what does "friend" mean to you?

I guess maybe I'm feeling a bit introspective and sappy since I woke up feeling flu-like this morning in addition to the ongoing sinus infection. I'm not feeling the best and am not in the best of moods, so I wasn't going to post. But maybe I should.

I'm doing some work from home with Joshua Redman in the background. He's typically too much on the "smooth jazz" side for me, but a friend was his high school music teacher, and besides, he's a heckuva sax player. and it made me think of home, not only due to this friend, but because Mr. Redman's playing style is much like the guy who taught me how to play sax, in California.

I was supposed to fly to CA today. I have a car that's much more fuel-efficient at my mom's house, which we never got around to bringing up here. I postponed the trip because I didn't want to fly with a sinus infection. But also, I wasn't thrilled to go. Everyone experiences this. You move away from home, you lose touch, things aren't the same.

And now, on to the friend-related issue that's really weighing on me. One anonymous friend and I have been working on a music project, with him in charge. I've offered help and support, and for the most part, he's taken me up on it. I've also offered some unsolicited opinions about the plans being too bold/not conservative enough/not doable in our time frame. He'd always laugh it off and say, "it'll all work out." Well... deadline is fast approaching. And guess what -- the group is not on the plan time-schedule. Since I care about the group, the last thing I'm doing is "I told you so". That's just not right. But suddenly, my offers of help are refused. "I don't need your help" is the message I get. Things just haven't been the same between this friend and me, for the past few weeks. I'm trying to stay in the background to see where things end up, but I don't want to kill the friendship. I hope not to have to quit this band.

My head hurts...

always remember to save

That's my moral for the day. Listen closely; use it wisely.

I've been double checking a rather large document at work. Before I left on Friday, I remembered to save my changes, but I've gotten rather complacent about just leaving the document up on the screen, and not leaving an "I am here" tag for myself.

You can see where this is going. I got in this morning, did one little task, then poof -- the machine crashed. Meaning... my changes were saved, but I had no clue where I was.

I learned my lesson. Back to little tags before I leave my computer for the day. Or maybe even every 15 minutes, the way our computer systems work.

Speaking of work, deadline time is coming up, so I'd better get back for now...

Giving you a pizza my heart

Happy Easter, to those who celebrate. I ran again this morning, which gave me the appetite of a rhino, but I consider getting back to running a sort of "rebirth" for me. Hence the Easter run.

I had the most fantastic experience yesterday -- one might call it a "foodgasm". See, Bruce is from just outside NYC -- a very Sicilian town that makes real pizza. I've had some of this greasy, cheesy ambrosia (as well as similar stuff in Italy!) and while I'm happy enough with other inferior pies, nothing's as good as a real NY pizza.

The Seattle food scene... well, it kinda bites. Nothing spectacular, esp for someone who's lived in San Francisco. Pizza, especially, has been mostly too dry, not enough sauce, too salty a sauce... and I'd mostly given up.

Until yesterday.

I was famished (from running, and from planning a possible Oktoberfest trip) and after a round of studying Home Depot for more house fixin's, Bruce says... "there's a new Romio's in Mountlake Terrace. Let's try their pizza!"

I'd been to the Romio's in Magnolia/Queen Anne with Jessica, but we both had pasta dishes. They were pretty good. I hadn't tried their pizza.

"Sure," I said, thinking about replacing all the run-burned calories, and then some.

We ordered a plain cheese with gyro meat. (Gyros... YUMMMMM...) You see, a good pizza doesn't need 20 toppings to taste good, so this was a true test for us.

And... WOW. Words don't describe how close this comes to mafia-owned Scotto's Pizza in Great Neck. Thin crust. Toppings almost all the way to the edge. And the grease. Some might consider Romio's pizza too greasy, but it's all part of the NY way of doing things. I could've used a hint more sauce, but otherwise... WOW. Unfortunately it's not the dirt-cheap that Scotto's is... maybe that's a good thing, since we'd eat it more often otherwise.

We will be back.

As the 'mill turns

I ran today for the first time in two weeks. I usually run pretty regularly, but gunk-filled sinuses haven't enjoyed the idea of jostling. Still, I had to try it today.

Before Sinus SuperBug (BSSB), in the beginning of January, I was going out for "relaxing" (yeah, I need to be commited) 1 1/2 hour runs on the weekends. I've run marathons before, but I'm not training for one now -- it's nice to go out for a long run if you feel like it, with no pressure if you don't.

Then, as I hypothesize I contracted SSB toward the end of January, something suddenly happened. I was out for a 1:40 run... I had run "out" 50 minutes on the Sammamish River Trail. When I turned around to come "back", I had a horrible thought: "gee, I feel like walking for a bit." My body had run down. I walked most of the way back. And it had started to pour rain. Waaaa. And this continued over the weeks to follow, until I couldn't run more than 15 minutes without wanting to stop. ???? I only attribute it to SSB. And while I've run since then, I've had to engineer in some walking breaks so as not to poop out entirely, so I can make it 45 minutes. Sigh.

And this is what I did today, though it started out pouring, so I drove to the gym treadmill. I have a short attention span, so this is really tough for me. I'll run, stare into space for what seems like a really long time, then I'll look back at the timer, and... 3 minutes.

But! I had a CD player, so I listened to the last Rush studio album (Vapor Trails) while I pounded the rubber.

And my gym has three TV's in front of the cardio equipment, so there's usually something to stare at. But today, the middle TV had infomercials -- one for a juicer, one for synthetic HGH which promised to improve your entire life, and one for a cleaning solution. The right TV had a Mariners/Royals pre-season game, which was rather boring, since the M's were trouncing KC. And on the left TV....... the constant CNN scrolling of the Terry Schiavo case. Tragic, ironic, I'm tired of hearing about it. And the irony being: the battle is about a feeding tube, while it's bulimia that got her into this condition in the first place? Hm.

Note to self to create a living will asap. That way, my "millions" of hard-earned government dollars can go to my loved ones. Heck, it's better than sending it back to the government, eh...

I won't say the run was easy (esp given the lack of mental stimulation) but I did it. The first time back is always hard; you have to remind yourself that you like doing it, because if today were any barometer, I'd consider running "too hard" and just give up.

Anyway, tally ho, and off into the rain to pick up a new round of antibiotics that hopefully will finally kill of SSB.

The weight is over

Double meaning to this title, of course... bad blogger, I haven't written anything for a few days. Chalk it up to being mildly feverish during the week from ongoing infection, which led to my dealing with a few situations a little too emotionally. I owe it all to several fabulous coworkers who listened to all of my whining and continue to provide support: Johanna, Heidi, Christine, Ian, and Hugh -- my hat is off to you.

The second meaning of this title... I'm finally getting back to regular weight routines at the gym, for the first time this year. Just after Jan 1st, I had some minor surgery on my left arm. Then, I injured my right hand (the story which I'll tell sometime, I'm sure). Finally, my upper extremities are healed enough to be able to hold a dumbbell. During my down time, I tried as much as I could with the few weight machines that didn't require grip... but it just wasn't the same.

Last Friday night (yeah, loser that I am -- Bruce plays Dungeons and Dragons on Fridays) I set out to the gym for my first full weight workout. I don't think I've ever hit the gym on a Friday night before -- it's crowded! Not what I was expecting. Anyway, I didn't follow much of a routine, but there were certain exercises I did just because I *could*. And after about 20 minutes, I could feel my right hand ache a bit -- and not a "good ache" -- so I took it a bit easy. But I tell ya, I couldn't have been more excited to hit the gym again.

Throughout my injured phase, I could almost see my shoulders shrinking, my chest drooping (face it, my chest won't "shrink" at my size), Popeye arms... but I didn't seem to lose that much tone. And now, a week later, after three weight workouts, I do believe I'm seeing progress in my upper body. So in the end, maybe the time off was a good thing.

Other than the fact that I hurt like hell last Saturday morning. :D Comes with the territory.

So don't mess with me! I'm strong... er... I'll probably still be achy from my last weightlifting session.

Happy beginning of Easter weekend! I'll be getting back, shortly, to the Thai Tomato Soup I just made from the last issue of Cooking Light (fyi, needs a hair more sugar than the recipe calls for). And a little bit more of the Dreyer's Light Thin Mint that mysteriously made its way into my cart. Hmmmm, however did *that* happen...

Quatre -- the last of 100 things

This might take some thought... the well's running slightly dry. But here goes...

76. I've performed on two semi-major performance stages over the past 4 years (one in CA, one up here in Bellevue).
77. I hate filing. My receipts and stubs often end up, sadly, in piles.
78. I love animals, but a plant is enough responsibility for me right now.
79. I tend to have closer male friends than female friends.
80. Former students told me I remind them of Rachael Ray -- not so much in looks, but the way I teach my classes.
81. I strongly dislike fake, placating people.
82. I've seen every single episode of ER. Yes, they all blur together after 10 years.
83. I write goofy work-related parodies of well-known songs...
84. ... and I printed out sheet music for my organic chemistry students with reactions put to well-known tunes.
85. I have no idea what my lot in life is, career-wise, and I'm hanging out at this "safe" job until I figure something out.
86. I am one of the few people in my family not named after another family member. My Anglophile parents flipped through a baby name book and pulled out Brooke Erin. I'm pretty happy with it.
87. If it weren't for the crowds, Christmas shopping would be one of my favorite activities. I get such a thrill out of hunting down and finding the perfect gift for everyone.
88. I could spend a mint in Crate and Barrel and Williams-Sonoma.
89. When I was 19, I tore a ligament and 3 pieces of cartilage in my left knee. I've since run three marathons on that knee and rarely have problems.
90. I play tons of jazz, but my mind often wanders too much to listen to it (I swear I have Adult ADD).
91. Until I met Bruce, I didn't think there was any person in the world with whom I'd be willing to share my deepest, darkest secrets. Happily, I was wrong.
92. I like watching the olympics for the sports and competition, but they're often too Americentric for me to watch for more than a few minutes.
93. I am a spelling Nazi. I seethe inwardly at misspelled words.
94. I crave change and new challenges.
95. I fancy myself a better cook than baker; still, I get requests for my baked goods.
96. I love learning, but I don't have the patience to sit in a classroom anymore -- besides, having been a teacher, I'm aware of the general crap teaching quality out there.
97. I didn't get chicken pox until I was 20 -- broke out the morning I took the GRE.
98. I rarely sunburn. But when I do, it's bad.
99. When I was a kid, I wanted to be either a newscaster or a weathercaster. All the other girls wanted to be cheerleaders.
100. While I find some celebrities attractive, I don't lust after them. But LL Cool J has a fabulous smile. :)

And there's 100! I'm sure more will trickle in later...