(Question)
The doctors told me I would be placed on a seventy-two hour hold for observation. Knowing this was the only way out, I obeyed and diligently signed all the papers. I hated my parents but still felt the inescapable drive to prove to them that I was worth something. I had to show them I wasn't crazy. As the hours passed, I was shown to a blank room with plastic sheets and plastic pillows, which caused me to wonder what kind of distant confused souls had been imprisoned in this sterile place. There were bars on the windows and the only door out of the unit was locked 24/7. I knew my only refuge for the time being would be through the hour a day art therapy class and the smoke breaks I could take at will. They had given me a legal pad after my parents had told them of my affinity for writing. With it I set to work on the flow of words and the river of thoughts, both dark and hopeful that careened through my tired mind. Instead of sleep, I would write. I expressed my vicious frustration for the place and thought constantly of the passing hours, counting them down as they went. Because of this I was thankful for the eight to ten I would use up easily in my escapes to the world behind my eyelids. There I was free and could experience a life unhindered by limitations of ethics or gravity. When I'd awake I'd write what I could remember of my escapes on the obtrusive legal pad. I had the suspicion that the attendants would come in and read my thoughts as I was eating meals or watching TV and I wondered if this was hindering my ability to get out. I wondered what kind of opinions and judgments they were forming about me. I had bared my soul on those pages explaining desperately how the thoughts would not leave even in this place, where it mattered most that they were gone. The fuckers would never leave. Maybe I was crazy. The narrator is most likely in: A. A jail B. A mental health facility C. not enough information D. A sleep clinic
(Answer)
B

(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. How does the author feel about traditional art literature? A. It's interesting but difficult to read B. It's one dimensional and drab C. not enough information D. It's full of variety just like art
(Answer)
B

(Question)
Job offer many years ago. I had two, one for staff accountant and the other was as accounting manager for a holistic health clinic. The clinic job paid about 40% more and came with a "manager" title. I believed in myself and all that, but who offers someone just out of school with only 2 years of internship and no specialty in field manager level? That kept bugging me. Something just wasn't right. Acting on instinct, I took the other job. Good thing! A few months later, I read that the owner of the clinic (an MD) and his two partners (his wife and the CFO) had all been indicted for numerous counts of fraud. They were cheating the state, they were cheating the church they were affiliated with, they were cheating Medicare and private insurance companies. The IRS was after them it was supposed to be not-for-profit but it turns out they were living large. Not only that, but they hadn't been sending in w/h tax for non-church member paid employees. Then there was the allegation that they were abusing mentally handicapped workers who were related to church members. The church itself tried to distance themselves, but three elders were also on the clinic's Board of Directors. It was nasty and the entire management team ended up with at least some jail time. There was no way anyone who had any access to the records (medical or financial) could have claimed innocence. My job would have included filing false budget and financial statements with the Board, IRS and other agencies. I would have also probably known that they were withholding but not remitting tax from employee checks. Fact is, the poor kid who took the job got 2 years, so I found out. Those in on the medical fraud got even worse and the three principals all got 2-digit sentences. Why did the health clinic close after a few months? A. They were a not-for profit organization. B. not enough information C. They were affiliated with a church. D. They were at fault for multiple cases of fraud by the IRS.
(Answer)
D