My own sandbox

Recently, the on-line chat group undertook to accomplish a survey called the Keirsey Temperament Sorter, with interesting results. Most of the guys turned out to be INTP (Architects) which makes sense. Those of the female type seemed to gravitate towards INFP (Healer). Eric, Lord Sabre, apparently ruined this trend by being something bizarre. Trend-bucker! I, on the other hand, was the stately INTJ (Mastermind). I'm not making that up, either.

Well, okay, so that's stretching it a little. I was only narrowly on the INTJ side, so I could be a Mastermind or an Architect, depending on my mood at the time I took the little test thing. For those of you who haven't been badgered into this temperament thing, it's sort of a 'find your Archetype' deal. It ranks Introvert vs Extrovert (I/E), iNtuition vs Sensing (N/S), Thinking vs Feeling (T/F) and Judgement vs Perception (J/P). Hijinks generally ensue.

I suppose it makes sense for most (if not all) of us in the on-line circle to be introverts. I mean, if we were extroverts, we probably wouldn't be spending so much time sitting in front of a computer 'talking' with people from Outer Mongolia. And with such an engineering/problem solving bend, there's a certain predisposition to smaller groups, where interactions can be anticipated and manipulated with greater precision.

Curses. No wonder I'm so whacked in the head. I can't figure out wether my archetype should be the leader-oriented Mastermind or the project-oriented Architect. Curses. Currrrrses. The end result is I seem to end up doing neither. Embarking on projects I never finish, continually seeking leadership in bloody contests of personal charisma, but without any firm idea of what to do with it. I love pop psychology; now I can blame all my problems on Meyers-Briggs and their accursed temperaments!

Another amusing pop psychology bit I encountered was the theory that because we originated as a hunter-gatherer culture, any human group above a certain size will immediately begin to fracture along doctrinal lines because it's written in our genes that large groups are Not A Good Thing. Society exists merely as an artificial construct to prevent us from executing our genetic imperitive to gather up a few friends, sling a female type or two over our shoulders, and go establish a stomping ground over the next hill or two. Cripes. This would explain a lot, wouldn't it. It does seem to shed some light on the eternal conflict between the Forpites and the Heenites, in our doctrinal war which can only end when one of us is utterly defeated!

The DragonBall Z Update: Vegita is finally defeated, after only 12 episodes of furious battle! And the heroes, in a magnificent fit of idiocy, let the schmuck go free. Uh, okay. Bulma (one of only two female main characters, both of whom are stuck on Goku like flies on super-glue) the Team Techie flies in an aircar to evacuate the surviving heroes to the hospital. Much angst and general exhausted thinking occurs, as they try to figure out how to bring back their fallen allies with the Dragon Balls. Unfortunately, the only person who could find them, Piccolo the alien, got killed... oh, sorry, sent to the next dimension by the alien Saiyans. But wait! There's more where he came from! They just have to find the aliens home planet! Goku puts in a collect call to God and wrangles the coordinates from him.
Meanwhile, a monkey dances around for no clear reason.
Bulma does some quick calculations and laughs condescendingly, because hte planet is over 4,000 years away in any of her space-ships. Until Spots Guy (whose name continues to elude me), one of the surviving heroes, points out that there were two Saiyans, only one of whom survived to escape, so there must be a space Saiyan spacecraft lying around. He also pulls a plot device out of his... jacket by revealing he stole the remote control from the dead Saiyan. Bulma laughs (confidently now) as she takes the control.
The entire crew goes to the hospital, and are promptly swathed in bandages. Well, the injured ones, anyway. They're also drugged to the gills, because one of their associates is a floating, anthropomorphic cat with an axe. An axe for pity's sake. I'd be at least mildly concerned at the floating cat bit, but a floating cat with an axe? Anyway, Bulma spots the Saiyan pod being taken away on TV, manipulates the remote, and causes it to detonate. Some technical genius. Immediately, everyone begins the ever so human task of trying to foist the blame off on someone else.
They're saved by a deus ex machina (literally, in this case) as one of the zillions of minor characters shows up and runs off with Bulma to show her the location of another space-ship. One run by voice commands in a language they only barely know. Hijinks ensue. (Bulma: "Hmm... what happens if I press this button...")

Todays' Costume Boy Sightings: None.

The Morning Weather: Pleasantly cool, cloudy, lots of rain likely.

The Filler:

Eat-Man!
As demanded, a picture of Eat-Man.

Rant 'o the day contains no additives, preservatives or small woodland creatures of any kind. Use only as directed. Do not expose to direct sunlight. Do not fold, spindle, multilate or remove identifying tags. Handle with care. Contains less than 3% milk fat by weight, not by volume. Squeeze the lemon.

THIS SPACE FOR RENT