I've been a member of Personality Café for a while, and thought I'd join up over here as well. (Join up? 1) Why - are you falling apart? And, if so, physically, mentally or emotionally? 2) Who are we fighting? Try your nearest at your earliest.)
I'm a student (life long, it seems), under stimulated, and interested in a lot of things. The arts, in general - TV, movies, computer games, theatre, literature, music. Science. History. Good at languages, but bored by linguistics and grammar and rules and rote learning. In my own modest unassuming way, a polymathic genius - or at least glib and convincing.
My interest in the MBTI was sparked by discovering Jungian psychology four years ago - after spending my adolescence interpreting everything in terms of Freudian complexes, and gleefully horrifying people by pointing out their Oedipal attachments - in the erotic, rather than Buddhist sense, although Gautama would, no doubt, suggest that we be free from both: honor thy father and thy mother, but don't hie thee to incestuous sheets. (Thinks of making a - rather tangled - pun about being tangled in sheets and not being free from them; thinks better of it.)
Have you ever considered that a stop sign teems with hidden meaning? (In fact, everything is a sign, if interpreted correctly - or, even better, incorrectly. Jouissance! And, at least in this case, why should not something be a sign of itself: the signifier be the signified?) The masculine rigidity of the pole. (Poles are very rigid, unlike Czechs, who are made out of rubber. Particularly Czechs who turn to crime; bad Czechs bounce. Although don't push them off tall buildings.) But it is a "STOP" sign. There, on every street corner, stands the embodiment of the superego surmounting the phallic Will (with a bawdy quibble).
(This brings a new meaning to the idea of a rut in the road. Of course, this could all be a phallus-y.)
Still not very good at typing, however. (I've decided to get a secretary, who can sit on my knee, while I teach her to type. And even if I don't succeed, we'll have fun trying.)
I apologize; my worst instincts come out if I'm put in front of a keyboard. (I'll forbear from making the obvious pun about self-indulgence and practicing on my organ.)