Question: It's always interesting to read back on why people do things, especially people who end up making a career or a fortune out of the seemingly benign choices they make. Thelma Schoonmaker, the film editor whom my previous post was about was one of those people; she got into editing after seeing an ad in the New York Times. I'm in no way suggesting I'm going to make a fortune, nor that I'm a Thelma Schoonmaker in the making, but I certainly do make a lot of benign choices. Art blogging, for me, was one of those benign choices. I made the decision to start an art blog very randomly, so randomly I'm not even sure where the idea came from. At the time I had been studying a bachelor of psychology for about two years and found myself interested in the subject, but underwhelmed with the lack of creative ideas and media I was being exposed to. I'd always been interested in art and most creative mediums, often recording music or taking photographs on the side. But the pages and pages of white and black scientific journal articles must have got to me, because I found myself yearning for splashes of colour, moving imagery, challenging concepts and undefinable ideas. The next thing I knew I had started an art blog aptly titled: Artistic Expansion and I began spending hours a day searching through the internet for content, often finding my best pieces in the most random places, often not even defined intentionally as 'art'. Over the last two years I must have blogged hundreds of multi-coloured, multi-textured and multi-layered images, accumulated over 2000 followers and consumed more art than I ever had in my entire life. I find it interesting not because of it's success, but because before I started my art blog, I really had no idea how much I did or could love art and once I had made my art blog I couldn't imagine how I ever functioned without it. What does the author converse with friends about often probably? - not enough information - engineering - science - art
Answer: not enough information

Question: I'm going to take something that happened to my daughter for this answer. Billie Jo (our daughter) was probably around ten years old when it happened. We had a young Black Labrador dog who had become quite smitten with chewing things up that she wasn't supposed to. The list grew longer as the months passed. Looker, our black lab, had chewed up and eaten a $10 bill, my VCR remote control (probably around 1987), and a sticker-filled blackberry vine my wife had planted. How she did that one without serious repercussions is beyond me. She also had a habit of grabbing the mail as it slid through the slot that was in our front door, taking it out back and 'sorting' it for us. So what happened really came as no big surprise. My daughter was a very diligent student, never wanting to let down her teachers by not turning her homework in as soon as she got to school (at least until she hit 14). One morning our daughter was trying to find the math homework that she knew she had completed the night before. My wife assisted in the search and soon found a partially chewed up piece of our daughter's homework page. Our daughter was devastated! How could she possibly walk in to school and publicly announce, "My dog ate my homework!" without becoming the laughing stock of the school? Like this: Mama Bear (my wife) storms into the classroom and vehemently upholds our daughter's "dog ate my homework" bit, showing the teacher the half eaten paper. Funny thing was, the teacher would have never doubted our little girl for one minute. Back then, Billie Jo was the sweetest, cutest, most polite and well mannered child a parent could possibly hope for. And her teachers loved her. So, if you have partial proof, it can be a valid excuse. What did the dog eat? - The teacher - A treat - Homework - not enough information
Answer: Homework

Question: Jon's back ached. Frost had come early this year and the ground broke like stone. Jon had spent eight seasons breaking this ground to plant spring's crops and every year it got harder. Sweat beaded on his brow and he felt his cotton shirt stick to his skin under his coat. Jon took off his soft-brimmed hat and wiped his forehead. He examined the hat as he let his breath return. The hat had kept the burning sun and beating rain off his head for as long as Jon owned the farm. He wore it every day. It had been a gift given to him on the day he married Alasandra but he could not remember who gave it to him. Jon put it back on his head and pushed the tiller deep into the stubborn earth. Daven ran over the hill and down the cart path leading to their small cobblestone house. The boy had only left a short while ago and he held no sack with the bread and cheese his mother had told him to buy. Jon furrowed his brow. The boy continued to run and soon the wind carried his cry to his father's ears. "Papa! A carriage is coming! Two horses!" Jon's furrowed brow remained. Surely the boy meant a cart from a neighboring farm. No carriage made it out this far. "It's from the city! A soldier drives it!" Jon felt ice water flow over him. He turned to the house. "Sandra! Get the musket out of the pantry!" Jon saw his wife's face appear at one foggy window. Jon gestured wildly at her. "Get it!" They were too late. As Daven reached Jon, the black carriage already approached. A single figure sat on the bench, guiding the two brown horses down Jon's path. Immediately after the end of this text, Jon is: - single - not enough information - divorced - married
Answer:
married