My Grandmother Hates When Women Wear Pants–But Also When They Don’t Wear Pants

This is the Mekong Delta today.

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This was the Mekong Delta 40 years ago.

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Just sayin’.

No, I’m not just saying. There are reasons I’m swimming upstream in time through inglorious mangroves swamps and  incalculable shrimp farms to traumatic events in the Mekong Delta.

But…I do still find “just sayin” jokes funny, just like I find a well-delivered “psyche” joke funny. (I have conducted a fairly heavy-handed sociolinguistic analysis of why “psyche” jokes are funny, but “not” jokes are not.)

I can only remember “psyche” jokes because I am a creature from a certain era, and indeed my DNA strands were first double-helixing right around the time of the frantic American embassy rooftop evacuation of Saigon.

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SAI2000042702- 29 APRIL 1975 -Saigon, South Vietnam: Evacuation of Americans and Vietnamese allies. Ooops. Ooopsy Daisy.

Lately I have been a bit imaginatively obsessed with the Vietnam War (those of you who remember my World War I, World War II, French Revolution and Russian Revolution benders will find this a refreshing change!)…probably because: 1) I’m planning a trek through Vietnam next summer 2) where “The Vietnam War” is known as “The American War.” Because: 3) Some of my most beloved students are Vietnamese; and 4) my grandmother just delivered an impressive Moth-like set of Vietnam War refugee stories from Lancaster County,  Pennsylvania.

Below are the salient points of my grandmother’s monologue (my grandmother sheerly monologues at this point, and specializes in topic derailments, but you can nudge her this way or that. Here I asked her about the war refugees sponsored by her church, some of whom lived on our family farm). She said that:

1. A Vietnamese refugee whose “boat was hijacked” and “went through the Philippines” asked to hold me on his knee when he was visiting my grandparents’ farmhouse, because I reminded him of his own daughter back in Vietnam; I was “tiny,” you see, and had “dark hair.”

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Dramatic portrayal of me as a pseudo-Vietnamese baby, hanging tough on a river boat

2. When my grandmother went to pick up a Hmong Laotian family at the Lancaster train station, it was raining and the little girls “were not wearing any pants!” “The Lord” told her to “take some towels” when she was leaving for the train station, and, boy, is she glad she did, because, “they weren’t wearing any pants!” By “no pants,” I figured out she means they were wearing short, tropical-clime dresses.

3. My grandmother is not in favor of women wearing pants. Nor was the lady who lived across the hall at the retirement home. Nor was my grandfather.

4. I “will never catch” her “wearing pants,” that’s for certain.

5. When my grandmother visited another Vietnamese family she found their fridge shockingly bare except for some “chicken wings and backs,” so she hightailed it to the store to stock them up. Years later, the father invited her to an all-you-can-eat buffet and told her to fill her plate “many times,” because she had loaded his family’s fridge when he was hungry so long ago. “I don’t eat like I used to, I have a small appetite!” she said. “Then you will fill these styrofoam boxes and take them home with you!!” he replied. And she did.

6. My family’s grandfather clock clonging in the background is “from the 1830s.” I do the quick and dirty mental math and realize that’s almost 200 years old. Also: My grandmother recently got rid of her car and that’s good, because the cherry tree over the driveway would drop cherry blossoms on the windshield and hood cracks. That was a nuisance.

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Me again as a pseudo-Vietnamese child in a reunified Vietnam

7. Here the conversation ended because I had finished my glass of wine and my grandmother was doubling back on things she had already said.

The two little Hmong girls sans pants (Dawn and Mary Ann) would become our playmates in the yards and water-cress meadows of my grandparents’ farm. Only the provocative details like their pierced ears strung through with knotted thread, their queerly flavored cold cuts, and translucent clots of sticky rice have survived the ravages of time on memory. I had no sense of context beyond that narrow eyelet world.

Mary Ann, the younger girl, attended my grandfather’s funeral four years ago, which led to us reconnecting on you-know-what– that great wrecking ball of time and space, and concomitantly, nostalgia–Facebook.

Now, thirty-some years later I’m applying for jobs in north Thailand not far from the Laos border where the Hmong live, and trying to get some kind of grip on Vietnam.

The point is: life backflips back onto itself, over and over. Time moves and doesn’t move, simultaneously. The Vietnam vet who asked me for money on the street last week– where is he? Here, there, or somewhere in between?

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The young don’t care about water under old bridges, says this Atlantic article from 2015. The war is immaterial since they didn’t experience it themselves. “Old people often reminisce. We young people can’t relate, so we mind our own business.”

History pretty well confirms the massive loss of life and environmental damage of the war in Vietnam as a politically and morally pointless nightmare. But the search for meaning happens on multiple levels…

Time is not a line; memory will always arc inwards. Points from decades ago connect with points in the present, relaunching back to other points, in roulette curves. In this way, our lives become stunningly three-dimensional– past shooting through the present, the present re-illuminating the past.

How else could I be a river boat baby and an American baby at the same time?

This is what I am determined to find out.

Happy Multi-Holiday

Strange signs and portents:

This past weekend townspeople ravaged the asparagus shelves; children sat for portraits with 6 ft bunnies; and hotel staff in Bangkok apologized for not responding to my emails (which they will kindly respond to Monday).

At this time in cosmological history, Christ busted out of the grave and the demon king Hiranyakashipu was defeated by Prahlada and Vishnu. And so we celebrate Easter and Holi.

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To compound the celebration, all of this while the sun transits Aries–Christ’s resurrection, Hiranyakashipu’s comeuppance, the beginning of a new year–evidenced in asparagus hoarding, powdered dye attacks, unavailable hotel staff, and wasted butcher paper (see above). Easter, Holi, Songkran. (Songkran won’t precisely correspond with Easter until 2085.)

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A lot of asparagus was bought, but how much asparagus was enjoyed?

If you find this all very confusing, just remember that no matter which holiday you celebrate, this weekend was all about triumph–starting over, being down for the count, or even two-days dead,  and then springing back up like: “RRRRAAAARRRRGGH!”

New year, new life, new world order.

Still confused? Here’s a concept map that I definitely didn’t draw while I should have been putting my daughter to bed.

IMG_20170416_213351Perhaps some of you locals know there was a Holi bash at UNM on Sunday. You probably didn’t know it was organized by a fast-living billiards champion from India who, two years ago, self-reportedly missed my class because he was sitting at home shivering in a blanket (pantomimes shivering in a blanket). Did I believe him? Yes and no.

In any case, he has adjusted to the climate now–to wit: his showing at the national pool championships and staging of campus-wide Holi celebrations. Triumph!

So, Happy Holi, Songkran, Roman Easter, Greek Easter, Passover, and whatever else just happened. This week is the perfect time to reset. Did you already do something new? Comment and hashtag below #freshbeginnings

For example:

“Escaping South Pacific penal colony #freshbeginnings”

“Learning how to spell words #freshbegginigs”

“Hatching baby chicks in my kitchen #freshbeginnings”

For example.

Alterna-Trump: #1-3

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a picture Donald took because analog photography is one of his hobbies

Black Canyon of the Gunnison

Donald sits on a ledge at Black Canyon of the Gunnison. There’s an eagle perched there.

When the eagle looks at Donald, Donald looks back and says: “Tremendous.” He really knows lots of better, bigger words, but he considers this a laminate word that includes all of those other words. He knows the word “laminate” for example and that the rock is “Precambrian.”

It’s been a long day backcountry camping and Donald is alone. That morning he baked a cinnamon roll in an orange peel over the campfire, which is a fantastic trick he knows. (Everyone agrees it’s fantastic.) That’s what he had for breakfast.

“This is the greatest moment of my life,” he says into the canyon. “I’m a good person.”

Donald has let his hair go gray and dresses in T-shirts and slacks. He can do a funny javelina impression, taking mincing steps and letting his hair flop while snorting. This is a great ice breaker when he leads expeditions into the wilderness with troubled teens.

Everyone loves him. They really do, because he’s funny and believes in other people. But more importantly, he loves himself. “If I were president of the United States, the first thing I’d do is secure the status of our national parks forever,” he says. “But I’m not the president, and that’s a fact.”

Donald stops dreaming and starts contemplating.

That’s something else he’s good at.

 

Halfway House for Troubled Teens

Donald can pour pancake batter in the shape of any of the world’s 196 countries to order.

Romania? You got it. Italy? no problem. Somalia? Well that’s a bit of a problem, but he’ll do it. Indonesia? Fine, but you’re gonna get murdered by the people behind you in line.

It’s totally true that Donald knows the shape of every country in the world. He takes it upon himself to know these things because he wants to be a good pancake artist when he visits the halfway house for troubled teens where he works.

One kid whose trust he hasn’t yet earned orders a pancake of Sudan.

“Sudan or South Sudan?” asks Donald.

The kid changes his mind and orders a pancake in the shape of Goli Otok.

“I don’t do Communist-era Croatian prisons,” Donald says.

And just like that Donald has made another new friend.

 

Donald Hates Twitter

Donald is practicing giving a thumbs up. Why? Because people love it. People love when he sticks out his bottom lip and flips up his thumbs like little toadstools.

He likes to his imagine his thumbs as toadstools because he cherishes woodlands and misses them when he’s working in the inner city at the halfway house for troubled teens.

The troubled teens post pictures of Donald and his exemplary thumbs-up on Instagram and Twitter.

“Stop being addicted to social media!” Donald tells the kids. And he means it.

Come to the Carpet

Wanna hear the lyrics to the song my daughter’s first grade class sings whenever it’s time to gather as an orderly assemblage on the rug?

I found her singing this last night:

Come to the carpet

And use your walking feet

Come to the carpet

Moving to the beat

Come to the carpet

Remember not to shout

Come to the carpet

And use your quiet mouth

As you can see, the great socialization/domestication program of our children has begun. I think we all know that the “carpet” is corporate, capitalist, middle-class America. “Shut your traps, kids. Fall into lockstep. Dial it down. It’s better…over here…on the carpet.”

But Lali told me that while the rest of the class is singing “Come to the Carpet,” she and her friend Evie are singing:

Bum boobee barpet

Booboo boppin’ beep

Bum boobee barpet

Boobin to the beat

Bum boobee barpet

Bebember bopoo bout

Bum boobee barpet

Byboo bybit bouth

She says her teacher doesn’t notice that she’s altered the words.

It’s subversive.

So eff you, Corporate America.

And now in the days of Standing Rock and downward political spirals, let our voices all together ring out, over pitched roofs and flat roofs, over telephone wires and cell towers, over railyards and air strips, in this refrain:

Bum Boobee Barpet!

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And thank you, Lali, for inspiring adults everywhere in their freedom fight against their own childhood grooming.

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Stand strong, friends.

Tips and Tricks to Improve Your Life

Do you want to improve your life? Do you know about improving your life? How about some advices on improvement your life?

The preceding three sentences were all examples of very bad introductory hooks. And yet, they are also, in a way, very good hooks for their spectacular vagueness and unusual turns of phrase. This is, in part, why I like teaching ESL writing.

But I promise not to teach you ESL writing here (for now, anyway). No, what I want to impart are some tips and tricks that you may not find on the Internet, where tips and tricks go to breed and grow into underhanded little “life hacks.”

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Girl in Motion, 2015. Trick: It’s okay to use a blurry photo in your blog now and again if you use the word “In Motion” in the title

My tips are more like anti-tricks. They won’t make you blindly subscribe to the myth that easier = better. They won’t claim that “This Unbelievable New Trick to Cut an Avocado Will Change Your Life,” and then leave you alone over single-serving guacamole to realize that you saved yourself a mere two seconds, while the gaping abyss of gross meaninglessness in your trick-filled life still looms large (for example).

No, these tricks will in some way make your life more difficult or more controversial. Isn’t that the real byzantine sort of trickery that you truly crave?

I think it is.

Because in the end, the person we most need to trick in life is our own self-sabotaging selves. Human civilization is nothing if not the cumulative record of life hacking. And how has it really worked out for us? Let’s see…

Cheese

Killer drones

Cuckoo clocks

Laser guns

Vaccines

Napalm

Evidently, it cuts both ways. Now let’s commence:

Tip 1: “False devil” your deviled eggs

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“One of the most onerous tasks in life is deviling eggs,” said someone probably once.

Solutions of yore included making small children devil the eggs for you, purchasing them ready-made from a deli, invoking Satan to do his handiwork, or simply not making them at all.

Wrong. Here’s what you do: Soft boil your eggs and dress them with mayo, chives, onion and maybe mustard, as pictured here. Do NOT remove the yolk.

It’s not just that it saves you time, it’s that it will disturb everyone at the party as they are blindsided by the realization of the pointlessness of deviling eggs. They will start to think about all of the other pointless things they do that they take for granted (paperwork, their jobs, social media). They’ll wonder, why did I carve these watermelon wedges into arrows? Why did I fashion this lace with bobbin and needle (I could have used a lace machine!). Why did I clink glasses with twelve people before drinking my champagne?

But these people, briefly on target, are now missing the point. The point is not to confound conformity and convention with craft and tradition. One includes delight and imagination, the other does not. It’s a fine distinction, embodied in the false-deviled egg.

2. Drop the “th” in your speech.

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Imagine an “x” over this. (Trick: A good life hack is writing a caption about what you would do in Photo Editor, if you had the time to do it.)

The interdental fricative is a relatively rare sound in world languages. (There are two “th” sounds in American Standard English -voiced and voiceless, “the” and “this”- if you want to get technical, but who wants to get technical? Not me, it wastes valuable time.)

“Th” sounds bear a low functional load (meaning ditching it rarely interfers with intelligibility), and plenty of English dialects (Irish, Nigerian, Cockney, Carribbean, etc.) don’t even use it.

Bonus: People say English speakers sound like snakes, and this adjustment would makes us sound ever so slightly less like snakes.

This trick won’t actually save you time, because you’ll just substitute “t,” “d,” “v” or “z” for “th,” but it will save you the effort of incessantly sticking your tongue between your teeth.

Note that people will think you’re being weird or pretentious to change your pronunciation so suddenly, which is why this tip might be difficult to implement. Just tell them, “Dis is a personal choice dat I’m making for myself to improve dee life of myself and dose around me.”

#3 Choose a Different Geological Era

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Let’s be frank. We have created boof a beautiful and horribly cruel world. To deny dee latter means you’re probably a rich, white person who hasn’t lived very long, or listened to many people not like you.

But one fing you can do, just temporarily, just momentarily, is pretend you’re not here. Or dat “here” is not here. For instance, I can go out into dee New Mexican desert and find geological evidence dat where I now live was once covered by a shallow sea. Dere are places where you can dig in anthills and find prehistoric sharks teef  (I know dis because dis is how I spent part of my Labor Day weekend, sifting frough anthills on my knees near Cabezon).

Collectively, we found seven shark’s teef. No joke.

But my point is, all you have to do is look at rock formations. Every striation is a different world, and if you know where to find dee P-T (Permian-Triassic) boundary, anotter era. And when fings get bad you can fink, “Inland sea, hot lava, colossal ferns.” Stuff like dat. You can say “None of dis was even here in dee Cretaceous period,” and “Dere wasn’t even people in dee Mesozoic, which includes Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous, not to mention all of dee otter eras before dat.”

You can take sweet succor in dee knowledge dat not only will you pass away, and everyone you know, but all of humankind and all of dee current land formations as well. Anover world is coming. Worlds cover eachotter in laminate at dee place where you are now standing, and you can just close your eyes and imagine it. Now, doesn’t dat feel better?

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Petting horses to see what a horse feels like is another life hack, not mentioned here.

Otter ideas:

Sell all your possessions

Meditate

Move to Taiwan

Walk some sea cliffs

Renew your library books

Apply for conference funding

Do some push-ups

(Some of dese are more of a to-do list for myself.)

Just remember:”The cost of a thing is the amount of what I call life, which is required to be exchanged for it, immediately or in the long-run.” Dis from dee ultimate life hacker, Henry David Doreau.

I hope you found some of dis helpful, but not in dee usual way.

Until next time,

X        X    (Tip: two “x’s” will suffice for a signature)

Welcome to Your Gallery Exhibit Viewing Apparatus

Art on wheels. You in art. Careening through the night, smashing into other art (don’t do that).

Adam Wohlwend has worked really hard on his Gallery Exhibit Viewing Apparatuses. He has burned the midnight bulbs in the Mattox Sculpture Center for months now – sawing, piecing, bolting, riveting, pinning, glossing, fitting, stretching, joining, testing (I’m guessing at some of these), and you can tell.

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Adam Wohlwend basks in the phantom glow of a phantom lamp outside of the Mattox-  double exposure by Seth Lunde

Because look at these beauties. Dainty, sturdy, spindle-legged, fake latex and metal carapaces in pop-art colors, decoratively fenestrated.

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The idea (one of them) is that you can view art (and be art) via your own moveable stall / pod / wagon / ark/ apparatus. They aren’t death traps. Step inside!

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The point is, you’re supposed to step inside, and this Friday, August 19, from 5-8 p.m., you’ll have your last chance to do just that at UNM’s CFA Downtown Studio. Note that unlike Adam’s Mobile Event Viewing Apparatuses, these pieces are meant to stay in place.

If you wanted to run amok at full speed in one of Adam’s pieces dressed as a giant clam, you should have been at the Civic Plaza (Creative 505) or Santa Fe Railyard (AHA Festival of Progressive Arts), or Taos (Paseo 2015). (Someone did that.)

Those were Mobile Event Viewing Apparatuses; these are Gallery Exhibit Viewing Apparatuses, which means they’re tethered down. But you can still insert yourself, cast your eyes around, and look at stationary “place-holder” art (also created by Adam), or other gallery visitors.

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What will that bearded guy with the horn-rimmed glasses be eating? Rugelach? Rice crackers? Will he have a third, fourth, fifth glass of wine? You can see! Through the portholes of the exhibit viewing apparatus. Will that small child obey her mother’s instructions not to touch the contemporary art? What are those people doing on their phones? Texting? Googling? WHAT? You can watch them all from the viewing apparatus, and they won’t know.

The thing is that everything is more magnificent, more significant, when viewed through a frame – eyelet, porthole, or window, your attention is forcibly constricted. And it is mere, glorious attention that can transform objects/scenes from blah to art.

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One of Adam’s Mobile Event Viewing Apparatuses

Now, let’s turn to Adam for more insight into his mysterious, multi-hued spying machines (he doesn’t call them that). SH= Spartan Holiday, AW= Adam Wohlwend

SH: So Adam, how do you explain your work to others?

AW: I think a lot of people view contemporary art as inaccessible and elitist. My goal is to create a body of work that can be literally and physically accessible to all people whether they understand the finer points of art history or not. I’m creating interactive sculpture that allows people to become a part of the work through the same investigative senses that get them through their daily lives.

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Some common children enjoying contemporary art

SH: (This sounds good to me, and I vow again to get through my daily life with greater use of my investigative senses, noticing, for instance that, while camping, I just tossed my box of matches into a puddle). Adam, how is your current show related to what you’ve done in the past?

AW: Gallery Exhibit Viewing Apparatuses is directly related to my most recent series of works called Mobile Event Viewing Apparatuses. I’m certainly not trying to trick anyone with the titles.

SH: (It’s true. Adam, wouldn’t do that; he is a nice guy).

AW: Both of these series are pieces of sculpture meant for looking at other works of art. They act as viewing windows, or extensions of the art goer’s body, in order to draw attention to how beautiful and essential the act of viewing art is to the art world. They also take into consideration the social aspect of being at art shows or art events. M.E.V.A.s are for viewing public art events, while G.E.V.A.s are meant specifically for looking at art in a traditional gallery setting.

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These are MEVAs

SH: (MEVAs, GEVAs, MEVAs, GEVAs- It’s good to practice so you can say these acronyms over and over at the show- MEVAs, GEVAs. But out loud I say:) How did you learn to build shit?

AW: My father was an union electrician at an aluminum mill, and my mother, before staying at home with my brother and I, was an apprenticing artist, and designed clothes for the family and local theatrical performances. Because of both of them, I always felt comfortable around materials and tools. I remember watching my family do work on houses, build cars, sod lawns, etc. There was usually a family gathering around these events to help each other out. I learned a lot about materials and processes in college, but I also worked years of low level construction labor jobs where I noted how things were made. Mostly, making objects just seems to make sense to me. I close my eyes and start visualizing how things work. Most of my designs start with my eyes closed. I find simple, obvious, and overlooked interactions to be beautiful, so it fits that these pieces are made through simple, honest means.

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Adam is simply and honestly spray-painting some wire frames

SH: (I am so impressed by Adam’s resume of hard-won skills, including, but not limited to, sodding lawns, that I don’t know what to say, and clam up, and blurt something about materials).

What materials are you even working with?

AW: Steel rod, faux latex fabric, bendy plywood, plywood, chrome hardware, casters, linear bearings, cotter pins, water-based high gloss finish.

SH: (Faux-latex?? I wonder, where do I get THAT? And what would I do with it? If I’m honest with myself, I’d probably give it to Adam…)

Adam, what are you going to do next?

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Adam’s “Transit Apparatus (for the Derelict Soul),” not at this show.

AW: I plan on proposing Exhibit Viewing Apparatuses specifically made for existing pieces of art work in a museums permanent collection. Also, I’m considering public apparatuses that can be taken on commutes to work or other city locations. These would be made for specific public interactions like grocery shopping, running errands, simply walking on sidewalks, tandem apparatuses promoting social interaction etc.

Here we stop, because basically what Adam is saying is that you could take a viewing apparatus grocery shopping, and that means everything you see could snap into focus, from banal stacks of colored paperboard and plastic and foil, to art. That box of crackers, that carton of milk…

Meanwhile you would also be art, and fellow shoppers would be like, “Who’s that weirdo inside that exquisite contraption?”

Unless maybe you were at Whole Foods and then they’d say: “Look at that artistic shopper.” Or possibly: “You have to leave our store because you are wrecking our sense of upper-middle-class safety.” Depends on the day, I guess.

The point is, think how your life could be enhanced encountering everything through the window of an Everything Viewing Apparatus.

But for now, let’s just stick to Friday night, August 19. I will be making chocolate raspberry rugelach. You should probably come, so people can enjoy watching you eat it.

And you should probably like Adam’s Facebook page for information on more upcoming fantastical events.

 

 

Test Your Knowledge: Quiz 1

It’s time to test your knowledge.

You suspect you have some knowledge, but feel uncertain that it has not just been twisting and turning in your brain, warping to some other kind of different knowledge, without your knowledge.

It’s creepy, that this could happen, but it will eventually leads to more abstract thought or surprise expertise. So, don’t worry– that’s good!

Here’s a quiz to test your knowledge. It’s not a standardized test. Do your best to answer. Don’t just give up after the first one or two–what if this is a test of the perseverence of the human spirit? Or a test to see if you’re a non-test-taker. Remember, sometimes tests that you think are about one thing are actually about something else.

Good luck.

Can you answer the following questions correctly?

Q. 1 It’s 1940 and you’ve just parachuted into rural England. Maybe there’s hay around or mown grass. Whatever it is, the landing went badly and you broke your ankle. You crawl into a nearby ditch and take a concussion-related, pretty disappointed nap. This is when you’re discovered by a farmhand who sees your feet poking out of the hedge. Why didn’t you tuck your feet in the hedge? On your person: 200 pounds, a loaded pistol, and a radio transmitter. Also a thick-as-paint Swedish accent. Oops. You are taken to jail. WHO ARE YOU?

Answer: Gosta Caroli, A WWII era spy

Q. 2 You are in jail, but that’s okay because your guard is bored and playing solitaire with his back towards you. As he moves eights under nines and jacks under queens, you find some rope. While he’s moving tens under jacks and threes under fours, you tie him to a chair. When he’s all tied up, you apologize and escape with a pineapple, a canoe, and a can of sardines. What an unexpected assortment of things to find in a police station, but you can’t complain. Better also steal a motorcycle and motor to the coast with the canoe on your head so you can row to Holland. You fall off your motorcycle and ask a passing motorist to help you toss the canoe over the hedge. Oops. The motorist calls the police and you’re imprisoned again. WHO ARE YOU?

Answer: Gosta Caroli, A WWII era spy (the same one)

Q. You are best friends in the prime of life and you’re also Norwegian. How great it is to be best friends and Norwegian to boot. There’s so much snow, and the flag is so red, blue, and white (mostly red). You, the both of you, have just been deposited via German seaplane in the foggy waters off the Scottish coast. Along with: a rubber dinghy full of things like: wireless transmitter, a couple of bicycles, and sabotage tools/devices. As soon as you land, you turn yourself in to British police because you WANT to be double agents. WHO ARE YOU?

Answer: John Moe and Tor Glad, WWII era spies.

Q. You also just parachuted into the English countryside and landed badly. You sprained your ankle, but the saving grace is you have packed a fashionable, to-the-nines-nothing-suspicious-here suit. Oops, but also a super thick Danish accent. Like plaster. You limp into the town of Willingham (Cambridgeshire), open your mouth, and are seen in your suit. You are arrested on the spot. WHO ARE YOU?

Wulf Schmidt, WWII era spy

How did you do? Not sure? Here’s a scale.

4/4 Excellent

3/4 Pretty Good

2/4 Satisfactory

1/4 Poor

Remember, there will always be another Spartan Holiday Test Your Knowledge Quiz and a chance to improve your score. Now I need to go pack for a trip.