This is amazing, especially for those of us who have already done the Myers-Briggs test. I don’t know how this works, and it works in seconds. It made only one mistake here; all the Myers-Briggs and similar tests classify me as an Introvert, which is correct, but this one calls me an extrovert. Perhaps my writing is the one place in which I can exercise extrovert tendencies, while in all other areas of my life, I am an introvert. Try this!


I found it on Ruhas’s blog:


The analysis indicates that the author of is of the type:

ESFP – The Performers


ESFP – The Performers

The entertaining and friendly type. They are especially attuned to pleasure and beauty and like to fill their surroundings with soft fabrics, bright colors and sweet smells. They live in the present moment and don´t like to plan ahead-they are always in risk of exhausting themselves.

The enjoy work that makes them able to help other people in a concrete and visible way. They tend to avoid conflicts and rarely initiate confrontation – qualities that can make it hard for them in management positions.




(Here follows a diagram of brain activity while writing. It does correspond to other tests I’ve taken to indicate dominant brain activity. Sorry, I could not figure out how to copy the picture here.)

Of Plants and Planets

Of Plants and Planets

Not all cultural surprises and misunderstandings make for amusing tales years later.

Most children of ex-pats attend an international school, or private school with other ex-pat kids. My girls studied at the Saudi government school in Riyadh. I visited the school once, and was appalled at the litter, disarray, and drab appearance of the entire place. The teachers welcomed me, but underneath their greetings I perceived a suspicious interest, and a smug sense of superiority. By that year, 1993, foreigners were part of the Saudi scenery, except in our neighborhood, where “foreigner” meant Egyptian, Syrian, Palestinian or Pakistani. They knew I was American, and they were waiting for me.

The visit was short and sweet. I was shown my daughter’s classroom, the teacher’s offices, and the door out. I am certain I was the first American (and probably the last) to set foot in that school.

My daughter used to come home with tidbits of misinformation she’d learn from those teachers. Invariably, the most offensive bits concerned the character and habits of the American people, of whom those teachers knew nothing, my visit notwithstanding.

Crowning the pile of manure they told her was that Americans all had filthy bodies, because they did not use bidets, nor take wudu, and therefore could not clean themselves well. My daughter knew better, as by this time she’d visited my family in the States several times, but she felt distressed about the teacher’s vile remarks. I asked her if she ever contradicted the teachers. She said no, “That would be impolite.”

One day she came home and told me that the English teacher said that planets were green leaves and shrubs growing from the ground. My daughter knew the correct word- plants. She knew the definition of planets, too, and she felt sad that the teacher taught something wrong to the entire class. She wanted to correct the teacher, but could not, because it would be impolite, and they already held her at arm’s length, because she had an American mom, actually a step-mom, which was even worse.

When she was about the take the exam, she asked me, “What should I answer if the teacher asks for the definition of planets?” Reluctantly, I advised her to answer as she had been taught. We’d keep the secret.



Of Eggs and Brains

Of Eggs and Brains

Egg whites burst with protein, and yolks carry fats and cholesterol. All my life, I’ve loved eating eggs, but recently I’ve taken to tossing the yolks, reluctantly, on the advice of my doctor. I started to think about all the foods that use eggs in their preparation, and how certain dishes wouldn’t even exist without eggs-  soufflés and quiches, for example. Baked goods use eggs, meatballs need eggs to bind them together, and children adore soft boiled eggs, with their bright and creamy yolk against the firm whites.

While preparing an egg-white omelette for myself, a memory popped up, a memory of eggs and a certain taxi driver in Saudi Arabia.

We single women living in compounds loved to go out for dinner. It was a popular way to get out of the compound. Riyadh was known for its five-star hotels with elegant restaurants catering to the expatriate population. Nearly every weekend, I’d be out with a group of women, at one of these hotels, eating scrumptious food from all parts of the world, exchanging stories of our encounters with Saudi culture.

That night, after one of these dinners, my friend Lois and I took a taxi- yes, from the street! – back to our compound. The driver was particularly chatty, wanting to practice his English and ask questions about our experience as Westerners in Riyadh. The conversation naturally focused on food, and he asked whether we’d ever tried “kgidjlewrisldhfklsd;fskjdfk;sljdf.”

What? We didn’t even know what language he was speaking, much less what he was talking about. No, we’d never tried it. Oh, it is sooooo delicious!

“You eat some now?” he asked, and we laughed. “No! We’re so full.”

“Please, eat now, we are near the restaurant.”

Lois and I looked at each other, full of high spirits and mischief from a lively gathering. “OK!” we said, and the car made a turn we weren’t expecting.

The taxi stopped in front of one of those small, busy restaurants that serve men only, and he went in. I’d always wanted to know what kind of food they cooked in there, so now I’d find out.

“We can always scream and run, if we have to,” I said, after our driver had walked into the restaurant.

Soon he came out carrying a paper plate covered with foil. He handed the plate to Lois through the back window, and she lifted the foil.

Steam from scrambled eggs filled our noses, eggs ready to eat with two pieces of flat bread! Relieved, and not wanting to offend our generous driver, we forced ourselves to taste the egg dish. Yes, he was right, it was delicious. Eggs had been scrambled and seasoned with some other ingredient, and only after we ate most of the serving did we ask, “What is mixed in with the eggs?”

“BRAINS!” said our driver, with a big, white smile.