Listen to This, Would Ya?

Listen to This, Would Ya?—Hair Cut

They say you can't trust your feelings, like the ones that suggest you feel like shooting up a shopping mall. "I feel like punching somebody" isn't a feeling you can trust for sure, although "I feel like a sandwich" isn't so bad. Funny, you don't look like a sandwich.

You can't always trust your senses either, it turns out. You know that saying, "believe none of what you read and only half of what you see." Ten people can witness one car accident and then present ten different stories of what happened, all from a different angle and with a life time's worth of preconceived ideas. What we want to be true can distort what we see as well. Some people would look at this picture and see a miracle of Jesus. I live with two cats, so I know exactly what it is. What do you see?

All kinds of things can interfere with your perception—there is a whole world of clutter out there ready to play games with the signals your brain gets from your senses. Some of that clutter comes from within your own head—here is a site with all kinds of visual illusions that will make you question everything your eyes project into your head.

This Virtual Barber Shop is the perfect example of how our senses betray us. It looks like a video, but don't be fooled by what you see. Listen to it with headphones, making sure the left and right parts are in the corresponding ears, and close your eyes. After you've had your hair cut, tell me if you turned your head to follow the sound, and fess up if you cringed or touched the back of your head. And did any of you scream a little at the end, or am I the only one?

Am I Stupid, or What?

In two weeks, I will climb up into a charter bus, take my assigned seat, and ride 22 hours straight to Orlando, Florida. I will be a chaperon with the high school marching band, which will perform at Disney's Magic Kingdom--me and 180 people on four big buses for seven days. We will travel together, eat together, play together, fall down exhausted together--and after 22 hours, I suspect stink to high heaven together. Because of the crazy schedule, we will leave Ohio at 6 pm, travel all night and most of the next day, and spend several hours at MGM Studios before ending up at the hotel sometime after 7 pm. After I check in with the eight girls I am to supervise, I intend to shower and shower and shower. I intend to wear clean clothes and socks and brush my teeth until my toothbrush wears out. Of all the things I could be concerned about on this trip, being dirty seems to weigh heaviest on my mind. One of my eight charges could run off and do bad things with her boyfriend, but I'...

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

An Offending Pile

So, I'm standing in my living room letting my mind wander for a minute or two as I stare out the window and watch the day go by, and I see my neighbors walking their dogs down the street. They are nice neighbors who are always friendly and responsible with their property. That is to say they aren't like the other neighbors who heap rubbish behind their house like Ma and Pa Kettle and let their dogs bark for thirty minutes at a time . Anyway, I see the nice people walking their dogs, a big golden retriever who is as sweet as can be and as dumb as a post—he once ate a sock and nearly died before it was surgically removed—and a new golden retriever puppy. Then I see Neighbor Wife suddenly run down the street with the big dog. Then I see Neighbor Husband stopped in front of my house with the puppy on its leash. And then I see the puppy taking a huge dump in my grass. Let me tell you, that is not done in this town unless the dog owner has a plastic bag handy and is ready to pick up ...

Scout Moves

Search This Blog