Brainstorming with Bob

After reading Charlie Swansea's article on brainstorming in March's OMNIBUS, I was able to come up with give additional things to do with a brick (in a mere one hour and 49 minutes):

1. It can be used to build the substantial out-buildings to which we frequently compare the figures of voluptuous women.
2. It can be used to make denigrating remarks about someone's intelligence, e.g., "Dan Quayle had the IQ of a brick (or if we are to give Gary Trudeau a degree of credence, somewhere between a feather and brick)."
3. It can be a literally useful substitute for denigration for those less skillful in hurtling invectives: e.g., "Frustrated at his inability to verbalize his scorn for the South American ambassador, Mr. Quayle picked up the brick to which his intelligence had been compared and…"
4. It can be used to describe a particularly woeful basketball shot, or what the Big Bad Wolf did after eating through the little pigs' brick home in the new wave version of the fairytale: "He threw up a brick."
5. After a miraculous transmogrification, it becomes black and smaller and an indispensible incendiary ingredient of Americana: The Briquette (not to be confused with a brickette, a member of the sturdily built, yet melodious female singing group from the 50s.)

My mind now continuing to brainstorm unilaterally (I could find no one in my family to engage in this endeavour with me: "How can we brainstorm and watch TV simultaneously?"), and I began to think that this mental exercise might also be helpful in resolving some long term problems of a more practical nature. For instance: How many things can you think of to do with some of those awful 70s artifacts you have in your attic?

Except for the BeeGees disco tapes, which could be sold to the Army to help drive Castro out of hiding, should we ever decide to invade Cuba, most everything else from that decade of tackiness—from double-knit suits, white belts, and polyester shirts to lava lamps and gold chains (I recently had a leisure suit rejected by a lady at the Salvation Army: "Just because they're homeless doesn't mean they have no pride.") is completely useless. Although I will concede that I do occasionally unfurl my Herb Tarlek poster just to remind myself that it could happen again if we do not remain vigilant.

Obviously, then, brainstorming, at least at my level, has its limits and is potentially incapable of creating time warps.

Unbowed, I returned to less demanding but still significant tasks, such as, for instance, how many things can one do with a leaf blower. To begin with, let's acknowledge that the leaf blower is certainly one of the most inane yard tools yet invented. All it does is blow leaves from one part of your yard to the other, or perhaps, if they're not at home, to the neighbor's. Hey, wait a minute, isn't that what the wind does? So let's put this device to some more meaningful uses:

1. A multi-person hair dryer.
2. To help sail a boat during calm.
3. To extinguish the lighters of obnoxious smokers lighting up in restaurants.
4. To blow out the candles on George Burns's next birthday cake.
5. To help speed readers turn pages.
6. For emphasis, when you tell someone to "Blow it out your ear."
7. To create an occasional Marilyn Monroe ambience at sidewalk gratings.

There you have it. Through brainstorming, I was able to turn a formerly borderline
useful item into "The Amazing Blowmaster."

I also discovered, through the brainstorming process, an article whose ostensible use belies its real importance. The cellular telephone, so it seems, is rarely used for communication purposes, but mainly as:

1. A P.P. (Prestige Pumper); it enables the user to feel supremely important and superior to those not having one.
2. A C.I. (Class Inflamer); user is able to arouse feelings of class envy in cellular-less drivers of non-luxury cars.
3. An A.C.S.D. (Auto-Communicating Subterfuge Device); it enables the user to feign discourse and talk to himself without appearing foolish.

Of course, I continued by solo brainstorming until the sudden realization of what I was doing became apparent. I was in effect, asking, "How many things can one do with brainstorming?"

I was out of control. I switched on Mr. Rogers, as I always do when I feel an anxiety attack brewing (I also have a video tape "Fred Rogers at the Apollo, Live"). I find his clam, gentle manner very relaxing. There he was in his cardigan and tennis shoes, with his nerdily beatific grin: "Boys and girls, how many things can we do with a crayon?"