I am inclined to believe that every day is a lesson plan, designed to carry us to bed with some profound message of life, ourselves, and humanity. But just like world history in high school, there are always distractions getting in the way of the real knowledge--the cute boy in the third row, the notes your girl friend keeps passing you, the quiz next period that you're still cramming for. High school is famous for teachers with a dark passion for the dreaded pop quiz, seeking pleasure in hearing the students moan and grumble with the agony of failure. Does life, in turn, have the same brutal passion for pop quizes? I'm not sure what today was really out to teach me. It all seemed usual in its practical way--go to class, see the same people, do the ordinary things. Darkness seems to be the backdrop for the projector screen of the real lessons to be taught. Tonight was no exception. Somewhere between video editing and taking random (however hilarious) photos, I was at last given today's pop quiz and the grade stared me hard in the face. I've become so passionate about the lens that my comfort level is restricted to the viewer where my finger is the bullet and I can shoot whatever I find fair game. But when the gun was turned around and the lens was suddenly looking me in the eye, I was faced again with the sort of intimacy your classic mirror lacks. In the dark with nothing but a poor desk lamp as lighting, I put on my armor and took off my mask to see what the world was looking at these days. Truth be told, I didn't like the score. A dozen photos and nothing came close to an A (or a C, for that matter). Granted, the equipment poor, lighting horrendous, and face not at all prepared for a close-up, life had confronted me again with the swelling questions of beauty and satisfaction. Just that morning I had stepped in the shower and, while shaving my legs, was wowed by a sudden visual improvement from my struggling hours at the gym--finally some proof of effort; definition. And I was pleased with myself that I hadn't opted for a cookie at dinner, my eleven o'clock snack was carrots, and except for my giant handfuls of chex mix, I hadn't done all that bad for a day. My surprise inspection in the shower and the pop quiz by the camera had simply divided me into a matter of choice: Does feeling and looking better lie only with le naturel, or is a little cheating acceptable? Carrie