Imagine three different boxes. One is large, one is medium, and one is small.
Now, imagine seeing something different in each box.
Write down what you see in each size box, then click here

"One day Nasrudin was out walking and found a man sitting on the side of the road crying.
'What is the matter, my friend?' asked Nasrudin. 'Why are you crying?'
'I'm crying because I am so poor,' wailed the man. 'I have no money and everything I own is in this little bag.'
'Ah-ha!,' said Nasrudin, who immediately grabbed the bag and ran as fast as he could until he was out of sight.
'Now I have nothing at all,' cried the poor man, weeping still harder as he trudged along the road in the direction Nasrudin had gone. A mile away he found his bag sitting in the middle of the road, and he immediately became ecstatic. 'Thank God,' he cried out. 'I have all my possessions back. Thank you, thank you.'
'How curious!' exclaimed Nasrudin, appearing out of the bushes by the side of the road. "How curious that the same bag that made you weep now makes you ecstatic.'" --Roger Walsh

"At Harvard in the 1890's Professor William James had in his classes a rather wonky, stubby talkative Jewish girl from California. She was late for classes, didn't seem to understand what was going on, misspelled, knew no Latin -- that sort of typicall mess, the girl who couldn't get it together, a 'typical neurotic' as we might say today. But William James let her turn in a blank exam paper, and gave her a high mark for the course, helped her through to medical studies at Johns Hopkins. He saw something unique in this pupil. She was Gertrude Stein...

In a Southern small town a man named Phil Stone, who had some literary education at Yale, took under his wing as coach and mentor, a short, wiry, heavily drinking, hihgly pretentious lad of the town. This young fellow wrote poems, pretended to be British, carried a walking stick and wore special clothes -- all in smalltown Mississippi during the First World War. Phil Stone listened to the boy, whom we might call today a 'typical puer' and perceived his uniqueness. THe man went on to become the William Faulkner who was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1949...

In the year 1831 one of those marvellous old-fashioned scientific expeditions was to set forth; a schoolmaster named John Henslow suggested that one of his former pupils be appointed naturalist. The lad was then 22; he had been rather dull at school, hopeless in maths, although a keen collector of beetles from the countryside; he was hardly different from the others of his type and class: hunting and shooting, popular member of the Glutton Club aimed for the clergy. He had a 'typical family complex' as we might say today, soft in the mother and dominated by a 300-pound father. But Henslow saw something and persuaded the parties involved, including the pupil named Charles Darwin, that he make the journey." from Egalitarian Typologies versus the Perception of the Unique by James Hillman

"Many artists go so far as to engage in conversations with more than images and art materials; some even with the developing work... One artist describes the give-and-take that occurs: "I always listen to the work. I will sit and talk with it a long time". Another artist relates specific information about the negotiations. For her, not only did the painting ask for assistance, but she voiced her affirmative response: "This is what I'm gonna be," it says, "Can you help me become that?" And I say, "Okay. How can I help you?". Another artist, in describing her conversations, performs a vaudeville-like routine, physically and vocally enacting both roles--the artist and the painting: "Paintings are a dialogue between the artist and the picure. You have to listen to what the painting wants you to do. It's a dialogue between the two of you. It says, 'I want a little bit more blue over here.' And you say, 'No, you were supposed to be white.'"" from Creative Transformations by Helane Rosenberg

"If someone gave Manuel a common stone, he would hold it in his hand and look at it eagerly. In a few seconds, it would begin to shine and he would see that it was made of silver, then of gold, then of the most precious things imaginable, until the glitter died
Roberto would hold the same stone and would murmur, "Mmmmm, , , What is this good for?" But he wouldn't know the answer.
Marta would hold it in her hand for just a moment, and without a thought, would throw it away.
I, Consuelo, would look at it wonderingly. "What might this be? Is it, could it be, what I have been looking for?"
But my father would take the stone and set it on the ground. He would look for another and put it on top of the first one, then another and another, until no matter how long it took, he had finally turned it into a house." from Children of Sanchez, by Oscar Lewis

My blog archives are working again! (Usually you'd want to look for the "Earlier blog entries..." link at the bottom of the page)

Nice HTML color table

The RAVE Act holds rave promoters responsible if people use drugs during their rave.
(Thanks again to Joel)

A monster /. thread on electronic music.
(Note the subsequent page links at the bottom: "1|2|3|4|5|6|7...") (Thanks to Joel)