There are times in your life that you have to engage in self-reflection. You know, that introspective soul searching we occasionally do in order to understand who we really are, what we want out of life, or just to get a bit more happiness or satisfaction out of life. Thankfully, Facebook can help. If you really want to dig deeply into the nooks and crannies of your personality, then consider taking a Facebook quiz or three. Be warned, some revelations may be unsettling.

First off, I wanted to validate my self-esteem and sense of identity, so I took the “What’s your ghetto nickname? quiz and the “What’s your Native American Indian name?” quizzes. Eerily, I found the results to be strikingly similar: “Stank Bug” and “Little Brown Cloud” respectively. Any close friend or family member can vouch for these results, and this told me I was clearly on the right path to a better understanding of me.

Next, I wanted to learn a bit more about my personality, so I took the “Which Harry Potter Character Are You?”, and “Which Tarot Card Are You?” quizzes. From the titles of these, I assumed they would speak to the aspects of my being that sincerely love and respect all things magical and wondrously mysterious about the world. Interestingly, I learned that I’m a forgetful geek like the Potter character “Neville Longbottom”, although I possess the “childish innocence” and “mystical cleverness bereft of reason” characterized by “The Fool”. Truly, I was getting somewhere. So I dove in and took quiz after quiz, popping through them like some ancient pac-man gobbling 8-bit dots.

I could recount all the wonderful and exciting things I learned, but that would take way more time than I want to spend. I’ll just hit some highlights: my hidden superpower is teleportation, my eyes say that I know how to fold a map correctly, I would most likely be arrested for helping a Harvard professor break into his own house, and I should probably move to Dublin.

Some Facebook quizzes don’t provide you with much actionable information. So my lightsaber is green, so what? Does it really matter that I’m not country, I’m as mature as a 15 year old, my emoticon is >=D, or I should get a patriotic pinup tattoo? Probably not. I learned that some of these quizzes are just there for fun. Seriously, I was surprised too, but there it is. Some people use Facebook as some kind of diversion rather than to become fully self-actualized.

So finally, inspired by my wife, I was able to come up with my own Facebook quiz. I thought it was time to give back, to provide something of equal or greater value than what I was able to receive from going through countless other quizzes. I created something that would let us peer deeply into ourselves, and determine how we really see the world. Of course, everyone should take the new “Which Photoreceptor Are You?” quiz today. You’ll be surprised at how similar we all are.

The recent murders of an American doctor in his church, and of an American security guard at the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC stand out as two examples, although depending on who you listen to, they’re seen as examples of different things.

One camp says that these are tragic examples of crazed and depraved lone gunmen. In this line of argument, the murders are acts of violence that could not have been prevented since there’s no way to fathom the depths of the mind of someone bent on murder. In this view, the killings were isolated instances, each occurring because of the design of a single perpetrator, in the absence of any broader social or political context save for that which each of these murderers made up to justify their horrific acts.

The other camp claims that these are tragic examples of domestic terrorism. In this line of argument, the murders are acts of politically-motivated violence that could possibly have been prevented since the social forces that allow some fringe groups to justify murder are reasonably well understood. In this view, the killings are connected to a broader social context in which the election of the nations first African American president, and a broader acceptance of more socially liberal policies and norms is threatening to some of our American brothers and sisters – and with adequate provocation – some of them will act out in order to make a political statement.

I wonder if just one of these lines of argument is correct, or even if there are alternative ways to view these violent acts. More than that, I wonder if our description of them would be different if these were not examples of American on American violence, or if we didn’t have a double standard when it comes to blaming the victim. If James von Brunn, the white supremacist who is accused of murdering Stephen Tyrone Johns at the Holocaust Museum had been a Saudi, Iranian, or Palestinian, headlines across the country would have been splashed with the word “Terrorism” in bold type and accompanying exclamation points. It doesn’t matter that Scott Roeder believed that his murder of Dr. George Tiller was justified because doctor Tiller performed abortions – because Roeder’s goal wasn’t just to kill Tiller – it was to send a message to all Americans that people like him will try to kill you if you have the misfortune to require or provide legal abortions – so you better stop.

Daniel D. Novotny said, “An act is terrorist if and only if (1) it is committed by an individual or group of individuals privately, i.e. without the legitimate authority of a recognized state; (2) it is directed indiscriminately against non-combatants; (3) the goal of it is to achieve something politically relevant; (4) this goal is pursued by means of fear-provoking violence.”

I think we have to look very closely at ourselves in the mirror – because I suspect some of us will see terrorists staring back.

You’re at a party, and the lights are flashing, the music is pumping, and people talking, laughing, clapping, dancing, and then a rumor starts: somewhere, out of sight, someone might have puked. Like a wave it moves through the crowd, touching everyone as they consider, “Oh no, I may be next”, and they swallow nervously, not wanting it to be true, but with that tentative swallow, they know the truth: they could indeed.

In true whisper-down-the-lane fashion, everyone does their part to pass the rumor, but the details change and morph as it goes, and the rumor becomes more grandiose, more twisted. First someone simply puked in the kitchen, then they puke on someone in the kitchen, then they puke while dancing with kitchen knives, then someone is almost stabbed and pukes in self-defense, and then … It doesn’t end, but builds and self-organizes. The rumor becomes a living thing.

Then the rumor is on everyone’s lips, as they share their own distorted versions, and argue over the details that don’t add up. Witnesses to the event are brought in and consulted for historical accuracy, “No, there were no knives involved”, and “no, it didn’t really look like tapioca pudding.” But in the noise and growing hysteria, these observations are misheard or misinterpreted, and are then woven back into the narrative, giving it new life: “Yes, a witness just confirmed that it looked like some kind of awful pudding.” Someone else gags, and the crowd holds its collective breath, as everyone hopes to keep their bile down.

And then there’s the confirmation, indisputable evidence that at least part of the rumor is based on actual events: Someone finds a small, puddle in the kitchen that smells badly. It doesn’t really look like tapioca pudding, but there are little pearls in it that could once have been nourishing. But it’s strange, and maybe there’s too much of what was clearly someone’s salad, and there’s an overabundance of saliva.

Even after it is cleaned away, there’s a nagging odor in the air: it’s not quite vomit, but not quite not either. Like that odor, the fervor of the rumor wanes, but doesn’t quite go away as the unanswered question lingers in an otherwise festive night. Some ass drank too much, or too fast, and now we’re paying for it with our suspicion and doubt, and our own internal efforts to control the reaction we feel in the back of our throats. We accuse one another of being the perpetrator, start new rumors about someone else’s guilt. Fingers are pointed and voices are raised. How could you, or you, or you, be so inconsiderate? How could he, or she, or they not control themselves better? You’re disgusting. I always thought you were a pig too. Way to go, pal.

And feeling much better, the dog is back in the yard, eating grass again.