fake smiles vs. genuine smiles

I followed this link from a friend this morning and was truly fascinated. It only takes a moment and I'd be curious about your results.

I took the survey this morning thinking I was a pretty good judge of genuine vs. fake smiles and I must say, I totally misjudged several of the smiles and ended with a 15 out of 20. A 75%. I'll admit I wasn't expecting that.

So, if you wouldn't mind and you have a moment take this short survey and tell me two things:
1. how you thought you would do, and
2. what you actually scored.

Plus, I think you'll have a bit of fun with it too.

BBC "Spot The Fake Smile" Survey

Enjoy!

rebel stripes II

Several years later, (almost as long as this second post has taken), I had almost forgotten about the notes page of my owner's manual. Occasionally I would need to look something up and I'd find it again and wonder what happened to this couple. Did they ever reconcile their differences? Was Shawn a total jerk or did he understand where this girl was coming from? Maybe it was Shawn that deserved my empathy. I had no idea, but I still wondered about them.

Until one day, I found it. It was in that hard to reach space where the glove box rubs against the part of the car that holds it there. I remember seeing it and thinking, "I've found it! The answer to all my questions!" I spent quite a bit of time trying to pry it from its place. It must have been hastily shoved in the glove box in anger. Or perhaps it was so loved that it was placed there so she could read it several times a day. I didn't know. I tried to retrieve it until my fingers ached. And slowly, eventually it was mine! It was covered with dust and grime from so many years being stuffed in corner and forgotten. It could have been a grocery list, or a phone number, but somehow, I knew it had to be the next chapter in our story. I read it with excitement:

And now a name to the mysterious writer. Tiffany. Tiffany and Shawn. Many conversations aimed at defining their relationship must have been had in this very car that I now owned. Conversations that they probably never wanted anyone to know about, and here I was, privy to just a short snippet of what they went through. I felt like I had had violated some sort of trust by entering their world without permission. But on the other hand, perhaps I was supposed to learn something from their story. I just didn't know what.

I'll admit, I had a hard time trying to decide who's side I was on. I would find myself at one point feeling sorry for Tiffany and her longing to find someone to love her for who she was, and still other times I would wonder about Shawn and if he'd every be able to trust anyone.

For many years after that, I waited for the day when I'd find an engagement ring box or a break-up CD telling me the conclusion to the story. I did find a CD, Red Hot Chili Peppers I think (Tiffany didn't do a very good job of cleaning before she traded in her car), but by the time someone turned left in front of me and our Rebel Stripes was gone forever (don't worry, all were safe and unscathed... other than my beloved car), I found nothing that ever finished their story for me.

I imagine, however, that this relationship ended and probably not easily. I imagine Tiffany thinking that a new car might be just the thing she needed--to let go of old memories and start a new life--decided it was time for a used Mercury Cougar.

But it could have been a great many things. They may have started a great life together, or slowly and amicably fell out of love and I'm curious what other people might imagine happened to these two.

What do you think? Pray, tell.

rebel stripes

During high school and most of college, I drove a used Dodge Neon, black with sliver racing stripes. A true rebel. I'm pretty sure carting me around to my various and mundane activities was only his day job.

Just to show you how awesome this car truly was, here is the front cover of the owner's manual. Check out that awesome teal ...


I've always wanted to find a secret key to an overgrown garden or step through a closet and find a parallel universe (both of which have been done already... darn). But the Neon brought me a chance.

One cold day, while looking through the tattered owner's manual for the correct PSI for the tires, or something of the like, I discovered a hidden gem... the notes section.

I couldn't believe it. My own personal Soap Opera unfolding right there in my own glove box. And a mystery to boot! Questions swirled... who was "Shawn" and who was our mysterious author? Would they ever be together? Could her "guards" ever be let down?!?

I would never know! How could I ever find out? It was all lost to the cosmos...

To be continued...

your thoughts appreciated

Thank you to all who added their thoughts to my previous post. I must say they were much appreciated. And I think you all know how much I love a good conversation!

May I write freely for a moment?

I've been thinking a lot (as of late) about my journey through my short-stack o' years, and I've been beating myself up. I've made many mistakes. Most of them involving the neglect of friends, family, or myself. I guess I should put it this way: in an misguided effort to improve relationships, I neglected them, giving myself irrational justification for doing so. This arises, I believe, from a faulty degree of desired perfection. Perfection I demand in myself and consequently the world around me. So, my reasoning was as follows: if you can't be the perfect [insert friend, sibling, self] avoid that relationship until you can. If this all sounds ridiculous, it's because it is and I think I'm finally ready to acknowledge that fact. I don't think it will be easy to give up my steady regimen of "be perfect!" juice, but I'm sure going to try.

So I thank you for weighing in on my question and for your thoughts, all of which were insightful but more importantly, helpful.

And after this rare moment of introspection (for this blog):
...AND NOW, back to your regularly scheduled program.

your thoughts requested:

Dare to be mediocre.


This is a phrase I read in a book my sister recommended and I've been thinking about for a while.

I'd like your input.

Your thoughts, please?

come on, y'all

in short disclaimer : I may disappoint some (sorry Linds H) when I say that this blog will stay rather unconnected with the brand new event in our lives. But suffice it to say, there has been a brand new event and I cannot believe I have embarked on one of the most exciting, challenging, amazing, wonderful, and everything-in-between adventures of my life. I'm ready, though, and can't wait to see what unfolds.



I did, however, begin the following post before this grand event occurred (it surprised us). I hope you enjoy.



For Memorial Day weekend we took Friday off and made a weekend of it complete with a written list of stuff we wanted to do that weekend (we needed a break, can you tell?). The list was full to the brim with things we've always wanted to do. Among them was a trip to what is affectionately called "Brat Fest" by the locals but what I found to be officially named "The Worlds Largest Brat Fest". This thing breaks all kinds of bratwurst related world records I'm told.Turns out, Brat Fest was going on right outside our big city hotel and was a mere walk from our room. As we passed the parking lot volunteers we thought it ironic that the Fest would be held right across from a pre-race marathon gala.

I ordered the Veggie Brat. The man helping us thought I was crazy, but I was intrigued and curious. I am however, curious no more and wouldn't recommend the Veggie Brat no matter how much delicious mustard and sauerkraut you put on it.Good ol' K didn't break from character (it's amazing I still get surprised) and went big with the "Double Johnny" or something like that. Yes, that is two brats in one bun. Crazy.

But I did have to have a bite.

All in all, a grand time. And now I feel a little more like a Wisconsinite. A Wisonsiner. A Winsconsinan.

white coral bells upon a slender stalk

God knew what he was doing when he created families.

and

God knew what he was doing when he created sisters.

hey, Victor

Does it ever bother you that there is an endless amount of knowledge of which you will never know anything about?

I go through this realization almost weekly.

Saturday night... actually, I should say Sunday morning, I came to this realization once again as I awoke at 3:30AM and couldn't regain sleep.

Normally, I would explain my seeming insomnia to a worry or concern. But for the first time in my life, I awoke early in the morning only to remain awake because I was thinking about, well, not much.

The topics my brain chose to linger upon were these:

Homemade tortillas

and

Iron Man 2

I don't have much to say about Iron Man 2 except that my brain tends to run through an entire movie in my head several times after I've seen it once. Not really sure why, but nevertheless it does.

The the homemade tortillas, however, are what bring me to the question with which I began this post. Will I ever know everything there is to know about how to make a good tortilla? The answer, of course, is no. And this is aggravating. Most especially because I've yet to attempt to make even one homemade tortilla. Not only that, but there are so many other things I have yet to learn about and/or try out.

So my question to you. Does this thought ever bother you? Do you ever feel that no matter how many Nova's you watch on black holes you still feel like there is nothing intelligent you can say about them? That no matter how many "facts" you can cram in your brain, you'll never get them all in there?

If so, know you have a friend in your frustration.

why this place just keeps getting better and better

Peeps.

So it wasn't someone starting their motorcycle on our front porch.

Turns out it was a meteor. Yep. You heard me correctly. An actual meteor.

Lesson learned: If a meteor big enough to destroy just one apartment ever came our way... sadly, I may not be saved. I came to discover that several people called the police to report the noise and to inquire as to its origin.

And what did I do?

I hit the hay.

Lesson learned, my friends. Lesson learned, indeed.

photo taken by UW Madison webcam,

found on chicagobreakingnews.com

thus far... one more thing

A film festival. That's what came to our little town and I can't tell you how excited I am. The films, many of them, are a few years old. But that didn't matter to us. Something to do on Friday night! And free!

We watched the documentary Garbage Dreams which followed three Zaballeen teens as they navigate a couple of those rough growing-up years in the trash trade in Cairo.

A couple of things I know absolutely nothing about? Cairo. The trash trade there.

But we both enjoyed this film quite a bit and now I know a couple of things about Cairo and the trash trade and I tell you, I've never been quite so inspired to recycle (Sorry Al Gore, no offense of course). Those teens know more about recycling than I think I'll know in my lifetime.

Enjoy this trailer, if for no other reason than that I finally learned how to embed (very simple) code.


www.documentary.org

...he just smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich

I was just told, for the second time, that I have an Australian accent.

Other than the fact that I've made a conscious effort to pronounce my "t"s in words like "mountain" and "Brighton" I have no idea where this comes from.

Though, it could have been because I greeted him with a "G'day mate", made several references to "Down Under", and called my cookie a "biscuit".

Just kidding.

Now I'm curious what accent an Australian thinks I have...

bowerbird

I love moments when you discover that something you thought was universal turns out not to be universal.

Consider a conversation I had this evening.

We enter mid-conversation:

Kap: [deep breath as if to say something--silence]
j: What was that you were about to say?
Kap: Well, I wanted to say something at this point in time, but I didn't come up with an idea of what to say quickly enough. So I chose to be silent. [Pause to ascertain understanding] Does that ever happen to you?
j: [Thinking] I don't think it ever has. [With a laugh] I can't seem to get the things I want to say out fast enough. They always seem to get backed up in my brain, fighting against the queue to get out.
So, really? Sometimes you don't have anything to say at the moment?
Kap: Really. Or more accurately, I don't have anything that I find interesting enough to say.
j: Wait, so you're telling me you rifle through the Rolodex of interesting topics and sometimes decide that there isn't anything interesting enough to verbalize?
Kap: Yep.
j: Fascinating.

Needless to say, I could learn a thing or two from our good friend, Kappy.

Has this type of revelation happened to you? Or is it just me that tends to think that everyone is just like me?

p.s. Some people actually like the movie "The Pacifier". This was news to me too, and I learned the hard way. Remember that backed up queue of thoughts? Yeah, that can get you into trouble.

Dear 19 D:

Dear 19 D:

I hope I'm not inconveniencing you too much if I ask that you please reconsider.

Reconsider, that is, your choice to bring lunch onto the aircraft. It is not merely that you have chosen to bring lunch with you, but that you have chosen to bring a burrito lunch with you.

Considering that this DC9 has only 21 snugly spaced rows, do you think that was the wisest choice?

Imagine my chagrin when halfway through the flight I am hit with a wave of recirculated carne asada only to find you noisily (I assume by the look of it) gnawing at your lunch with nary a care as to what your co-passengers might be suffering. What seems to you to be a private luncheon leaves us a captive audience to your olfactorily offensive exhibition.

I would appreciate your careful consideration in this matter and all others like unto it.

Sincerely,
20 B

jackie smaz is: what's on your mind?

I remember the first time I heard the phrase, "If you think it will happen, it will happen." I was immediately struck with silent terror.

"That can't be possible," I reasoned, "That much power is terrifying."

I could be considered an expert in formulating the worst case scenario and I had made a habit of playing back each possibility in my mind just to make sure I had run a thorough analysis of the situation and had time to formulate a back up plan should some unfortunate situation arise.

And plan I did.

So much so, that when the time came for me to be introduced to, "If you think it will happen, it will happen," a wrench was thrown into my well-oiled routine.

You can imagine how frantic my efforts might have been. "Test today. My pencil may not be a No. 2. One can't be entirely sure of that. I may sit behind a throat-clearer, or in front of a seat-kicker, or encounter some other form of distraction. Or I might blank entirely, or misspell 'bourgeoisie' or forget to put my name on the exam, or forget to go to the exam, or forget there is an exam, or--" and then it would hit me, "If you think it..."

Then my fear index would increase several points making it entirely impossible for me to not "think it". So I came up with a back up plan.

"I am not thinking it," I would repeat to myself, "No really, no joke, I am NOT thinking it."

My thinking? If devote a tremendous amount of time to thinking about NOT thinking about the things I'm actually thinking about, wouldn't it stand to reason (based on this new mantra) that I would begin to not think about them? My thoughts exactly.

And to this day I still occasionally catch myself demanding that I not think about whatever worst case scenario I've created.

Really.



No joke.



I am not thinking it.

the K12 dude

I was washing a bag of home grown carrots our neighbors gave us when this friend came to visit.

A little reminiscent of Better Off Dead's french fry montage. Which kind of makes me shiver. And then, softly, Van Halen began to play...

Orion, and his belt

It's late and I think I'm getting sick. I can feel it behind my nose getting swollen and painful. I don't get sick a lot, but when I do this is where it starts. So I got up to make myself some tea and ended up burning my finger.

I can't help thinking it's a kind of metaphor.

Or an Aesop fable of sorts. You know the kind. Fox selfishly gets ill then selfishly gets up to make himself tea. Fox ends up burning his finger. Wait...

Anyway, you get the point and that is, I wish I could start over. Start over getting sick, making the tea, moving here, starting my job, this post.

But since we're this far in on all counts, I need to find a way to put some ice on the proverbial burns and make the most of it. Like now, for example. I think my tea is cool enough to drink. Now that's a happy ending.

Hey, Wal-Mart.

Bananas don't need their own plastic bag.

You can put my avocado and Golden Delicious(es) with them.

Thank you.

p.s. I rode the cart like a scooter out to my car today unashamed. Kapital B, you'd be proud.

enchilada style?

Friends!

We had a little Cafe Rio away from home. I came upon a recipe very much like their delicious pork via a fellow fan and then tried to make it an authentic experience complete with, "Black o Pinto beans?"

And was it delicious?

To that I say emphatically, "Indeed."

And the only thing it lacked, I am happy to report, is a fuss made over a Free Meal.

Next step: Learn to make a delicious flan. But I'd settle for Tres Leches too.

thus far: 4th edition

Three more things I like about, WI:

Giving me the chance to give running a chance.

WI and I... we like running. I have to send

all of my positive energy to my shins...

they don't like running.

Our first harvest!

That's one nice looking banana pepper.

Here's to more tomatoes, bell peppers, jalapeno peppers,

carrots, onions, beans, basil, rosemary, and oregano.

That good ol' WI way of doing things.

Farmer's Appreciation day this weekend folks.

I'm told there is a killer parade.

to be continued...

weather and me

Being from the Great Basin I never thought much about what I would do in a tornado situation.

Sure, we had the earthquake drills every year (because, as was the buzz around our elementary school, each year was thee year that the fault hugging our neighborhood boulevard would violently give way) but a tornado? That was something that happened in places where people had shaky video cameras and southern accents.

These were the thoughts that crossed my mind as I sat late at night in our stuffy bathroom staring at the old can of baked beans I had clumsily taken from the pantry and listening to the who-knows-what-sized hail batter our windows. "What does one do in this situation? " I thought. "One certainly doesn't just sit here staring at baked beans reminiscing about the good ol' days when it was unlikely earthquakes we were worried about."

Earlier, as the tornado siren blared it's warning through the air and before the baked beans we checked the national weather service to "make sure" and as I read over the storms predicted path I saw our little town mentioned followed by, "STORMS MOVE QUICKLY. TAKE COVER NOW!"

And that cover, in our apartment sans basement, is our little bathroom.

I gave our Survival Radio/Flashlight a couple good cranks on the charger and attempted to tune the station to something other than country music without much luck and in the end settled on a tune about a man's truck and his dog. We listened for a half second frightend by the thought that this could potentially be our only link to the outside world during the storm. "At least we know there's still a radio tower out there," we said trying to laugh.

And the tornado never came. And the hail stopped, and the warning was lifted, and the trees settled down. And we started feeling stupid about actually being afraid. I watched as the sky sparked with a million bursts of lightning and the clouds rumbled in frustration.

And even though this tornado never materialized just like that terrible earthquake we are supposed to get back home some day, I'm still amazed at how flippantly our weather can forget about us, almost like a bad friend, as if to say, "I'm getting tired of you and I don't care about you and never have. And I don't care how that makes you feel," knowing that we'll call again the next day needing a friend.

And now that I've gone all Ira Glass on you, I promise not to start my next post with, "Our show today - in three acts..."