The Brick and the Blanket

Stop reading before even starting and just consider this one thing: name the numerous ways in which one can use a brick.

Got one? Two and three? Keep going. Try it for two minutes.

I first took this test a few months ago at my sister-in-law's apartment in Savannah, and forced everyone there to take it too. At first the party was pissed I'd stopped Yahtzee to make everyone write, but then they got the hang of it, and when we read our answers to each other, ah, it all went down superbly with the Kentucky moonshine and whiskey. Our fingers were sparklers, our teeth pearls. Everyone was adored by everyone else.

Because I try to keep everything I write, even if it's on a post-it, even if it will likely get lost, I still have the half-sheet on which I took this test. My answers are below.

Brick:
to build
to tear down
to hold up to my face and wear as my new mustache
to be a doppleganger for Brock
as a shoe lift, to see the world better from up high
to stack around a fire pit
in track and field, as a substitute for shot put
as paperweight
for carving the initials of lovers
as baseball bat for pygmies
for bashing the heads of racists and pedophiles
for bashing into pieces and creating more rubble in the world

The great thing about this test, of course, is that there are no wrong answers, and if you can come up with at least more than three, a lot will be revealed about who the test-taker is. Looking at my list, I see two practical uses, at least six that are absurd, two that are violent, and maybe three that are sort of loving. (If you know Brock, then you probably know of his old tradition of getting drunk and picking up the object closest to him and holding it up under his nose as he tells friends and strangers, "Look at my new mustache!" At the John Kerry party we attended in '04, right after I decided I was going to love him, he picked up a 5' x 6' sign, refrigeratoresque in breadth and heft, and held it up under his nose and said his famous old (but new to me) line. He had me at mustache. Thus my brick-as-mustache answer, five years later, is an ode to him and is firmly ensconced in the absurd/loving category.)

But I shouldn't kid myself. There is a way to do badly on this test, and that is to be solidly practical. Like with bricks, one might admit they stack and build and come to think of it that is all one should do with bricks. Lots of people's brains work this way and they likely make lots of money with their practicals degrees and jobs. But it isn't fun to read their results aloud at parties. Though these types will always be welcome at any party of mine, because hopefully they'll supply the fancy drinks and finger foods.

The other part of this divergence test is asking the test-taker what are all of the possible uses for a blanket. I forced my Savannah party to take this part of the test too, and I've since--not surprisingly--lost the scrap of paper with my results. Instead of revisiting uses of a blanket, then, I'm thinking of ways in which I've been a blanket in my life. Five minutes, here I go:

Brooke as blanket:
*when a friend in some bad state calls, and I'm smart enough to remain silent and truly listen and empathize, and maybe only say, "you are loved"
*when Lala was in the hospital, and I opened up the rear tent of her gown and spooned up into her, and didn't retreat even when nurses bustled in to move tubes and crank oxygen levels but instead rubbed Lala's back and scratched her head, thinking of my dogs and my childhood and nothing of pain
*when I'm hungover and can only drape over this chair or that sofa, basically feeling wide, long, inanimate, so not really feeling at all...just draping
*when King or Nola look at me in that real way that kills, and I'm a bundle on the floor and let them tap dance all over my body, licking and wagging their desires, and I'm fixed as the floor, only moving when they decide I should, letting their snouts roll me over
*when Brock awakens late with the comforter crumpled in the corner of the bed, and from the other room I hear a long, "Buuuuhh," and I run to the room and flatten myself across his torso. In this case I'm also sort of a brick.

The brick and blanket tests taken here are my tacit apologies to myself for my history of bad standardized tests scores. It's funny I truly don't think these tests are worth a damn in proving anyone's intelligence except my own.

This comes up because last week in my freshman comp class I allowed students do perform a mock interview of me to help prepare them for the real live thing they would have to do for their profile essays. One of the last questions a student asked was, "What was your ACT score?" Thank god he asked for this score, which was a decent 27. I remembered how I felt so goddamned special for getting that score without even trying that when I took the GRE four years later, I felt like, what's the point of studying? I've got a decent brain. Plus tests like this don't matter, I'm going to be a Writer.

But here's the truth about the GRE: out of a possible score of 800 on the Verbal Reasoning section, I received a 400. That's 50% wrong, to you and me. This is still the lowest score I've ever heard of in the history of that test and because of it, I will always see myself as hopelessly stupid, and anything I do to prove otherwise as pure farce.

So I've shown my brain can work divergently. Super. Invite me over and ask me what are the potential uses for your cat, or plant. But don't expect me to bring too many fun party supplies, because I'm poor, divergent, dumb.