First, I’d like to declare my undying love for Snoopy of Peanuts fame. He’s smart, funny, good-looking, and a little bit mischievous (also canine, which is always a plus). Sometimes my dog reminds me of the Peanuts cartoons I grew up reading, which makes me reach out and hug him. He’s disconcerted by quick motion, so he’s not a fan of those moments.
With that confession out of the way, it’s on to talking about being snoopy, not Snoopy. I’m reading a book called Snoop, and it’s about looking at a person’s office, house, whatever and determining who they are on a deep level based on the things in their space and where those things are placed, etc. The author is a professor of psychology who seems to know his stuff, but my overwhelming reaction to the book is that I’m glad I’m not friends with the author. He notices everything! If you have a picture of someone taped to the interior of a cabinet, he’ll tell you what that means about you in general, your emotional needs, your friendship with that person, and loads of other things.
The first few chapters of the book made me so nervous that I completely rearranged the stuff in my cubicle. Whew. That was close. Another day and Mr. Snoop might have gained ridiculous levels of insight into my character because my Audrey Hepburn calendar was placed behind my back, not in my line of sight. I can breath easily now since Audrey is just to the left of the computer monitor. Forget the fact that I can only see the first two weeks of the month.
Based on the cubicle frenzy, you can all rest assured that I won’t be snooping through your stuff any time soon. The new game plan is to finish the book and promptly forget everything I learned from it. I’ll be sticking with Snoopy instead.