It wasn't cartoons; it was the tape that Kirsten had made on the finish line at Sunday. He had already seen it seventeen times at least, but he watche... the climactic moments once again: the teams racing across the ice, pounding along side by side, Tiffany so tiny behind the drive bow of the sled, but so intense and dedicated. Once again, he heard Kirsten's yell of "Come on, Tiffany," shouted right into the videocamera's microphone, and once again he followed the teams racing down the chute as. At the time though I dreamed of going into food science, a lucrative field of chemistry that had created magnificent inventions like the taste of the McDonald's hamburger, which tastes the same no matter where or when you bought the product. Yummy.As with so many other of my dreams, I earned my credentials from a mediocre school under a second-rate professor, and found that those laboratories that line the New Jersey turnpike had no openings for mediocrity. There were bills to pay, so off to. More

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