More than thirty years ago I worked as a museum exhibit designer/craftsman for the Deptartment of Conservation in Tennessee. Our little group of five artists/craftspeople/designers would design and build exhibits that were placed in state park interpretive centers. Everybody in the group was highly educated, artistic, and talented. One night we were all in a stationwagon returning home from working on an exhibit in another city. The driver, who was very intellectual and very bright, suggested that we play the twenty-question game. Everyone agreed that would be fun, and we began. The first person took his turn, and after fifteen or so questions we eventually figured out who or what he had chosen as his secret. This happened about three times, and each time the answer was guessed before we had used up the twenty questions. Then, a silk-screening specialist/artist with our crew, Robin, said, "Okay, I've got one. Try to guess what I'm thinking of."
Well, we used up ten questions without narrowing anything down. This was unusual, so the two of us who were the most logical thinkers, agreed to stop questioning for a few moments in order to review all of the questions we had already asked to try to determine why we weren't making any progress. We had already asked, "Is it alive?" and the answer was yes. I then said, "Okay, you said that it was alive, so just for clarification that means that it isn't dead, right?" She replied, "Well you didn't ask me that."
I looked at the driver, the other big thinker in the car, and he looked at me. He then slowly and curiously asked, "Is it dead?" She replied yes. I then asked, "Is it imaginary?" She replied yes. The driver and I looked at each other again with one of those "is this for real?" looks.
Well, we continued to ask question after question, but after twenty questions, three of us had grown extremely angry because we were no closer to guessing what was on her mind than when we first began, and we were convinced that something was fundamentally screwy.
Finally, we gave up in total disgust, and asked her what she was thinking of. She proudly and smugly replied, "The Mohole." (For those people who aren't familiar with the mohole, it was an advertised attempt by geologists in the 1970's to supposedly drill through the earth's mantle where the mantle was supposed to be closest to the earth--a specific area in the Pacific Ocean. Later, it turned out that this was a ruse for secretly raising a Soviet submarine, but that's another story.)
After she replied "The Mohole," it took several moments for her reply to fully sink in. We all sat there silently reviewing the questions that we had asked along with her answers. I said, "Look, the Mohole is a drilling project in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Why did you say that it was alive?" She responded, "Oh, I'm sure that there were organisms swimming around the drilling rig somewhere."
The big thinker and I looked at each other with disgust, and he asked her, "Well, why did you say that it was dead?" She replied, "Well, they probably drilled through sediments containing fossils and fossils are dead animals."
Someone else asked, "Well, why did you say that it was imaginary?" She replied, "Because someone had to imagine the project before it was built."
Ha ha. I still laugh every time I remember the dialogue that night and the effect it had on everyone except her. It didn't matter what was asked, the question was always answered by yes. Her idea of the Mohole was so broad that it included the entire universe, and maybe beyond! Our anger eventually erupted into hysterical laughter, but I don't think Robin ever understood what we found so funny.
Afterwards, we told this story to lots of people, and Carol and I still refer to the story from time to time. Because Carol is a feeler more than a thinker, she occasionally gets into what we call "Mohole mode." To stay awake, we frequently work crossword puzzles while driving at night between cities. Sometimes she will suggest a word in response to one of the clues, and I will respond, "No, that's a Mohole." She never misses a beat; she just shrugs her shoulders, says okay, and searches for another word.
Well, we used up ten questions without narrowing anything down. This was unusual, so the two of us who were the most logical thinkers, agreed to stop questioning for a few moments in order to review all of the questions we had already asked to try to determine why we weren't making any progress. We had already asked, "Is it alive?" and the answer was yes. I then said, "Okay, you said that it was alive, so just for clarification that means that it isn't dead, right?" She replied, "Well you didn't ask me that."
I looked at the driver, the other big thinker in the car, and he looked at me. He then slowly and curiously asked, "Is it dead?" She replied yes. I then asked, "Is it imaginary?" She replied yes. The driver and I looked at each other again with one of those "is this for real?" looks.
Well, we continued to ask question after question, but after twenty questions, three of us had grown extremely angry because we were no closer to guessing what was on her mind than when we first began, and we were convinced that something was fundamentally screwy.
Finally, we gave up in total disgust, and asked her what she was thinking of. She proudly and smugly replied, "The Mohole." (For those people who aren't familiar with the mohole, it was an advertised attempt by geologists in the 1970's to supposedly drill through the earth's mantle where the mantle was supposed to be closest to the earth--a specific area in the Pacific Ocean. Later, it turned out that this was a ruse for secretly raising a Soviet submarine, but that's another story.)
After she replied "The Mohole," it took several moments for her reply to fully sink in. We all sat there silently reviewing the questions that we had asked along with her answers. I said, "Look, the Mohole is a drilling project in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Why did you say that it was alive?" She responded, "Oh, I'm sure that there were organisms swimming around the drilling rig somewhere."
The big thinker and I looked at each other with disgust, and he asked her, "Well, why did you say that it was dead?" She replied, "Well, they probably drilled through sediments containing fossils and fossils are dead animals."
Someone else asked, "Well, why did you say that it was imaginary?" She replied, "Because someone had to imagine the project before it was built."
Ha ha. I still laugh every time I remember the dialogue that night and the effect it had on everyone except her. It didn't matter what was asked, the question was always answered by yes. Her idea of the Mohole was so broad that it included the entire universe, and maybe beyond! Our anger eventually erupted into hysterical laughter, but I don't think Robin ever understood what we found so funny.
Afterwards, we told this story to lots of people, and Carol and I still refer to the story from time to time. Because Carol is a feeler more than a thinker, she occasionally gets into what we call "Mohole mode." To stay awake, we frequently work crossword puzzles while driving at night between cities. Sometimes she will suggest a word in response to one of the clues, and I will respond, "No, that's a Mohole." She never misses a beat; she just shrugs her shoulders, says okay, and searches for another word.
