I Am Kate's Brain

Even though it's the kind of delicious tidbit that inspires many a bumper sticker and novelty t-shirt, it is, alas, a myth that human beings only use 10% of our brains.

I'm surprised this didn't get debunked much, much sooner. On every medical drama, when a doctor checks out a CT scan or an MRI of the brain, the screen is always lit up like a Christmas tree. If we were only using 10% of our brains, the screen should look like the terrain outside a jet window when you fly over Utah.

(Note to readers who may be actual doctors: Okay, maybe the CT or the MRI doesn't track brain activity, but one of those things does, because I saw this documentary on addiction, and they were totally looking at a picture of a guy's brain as he thought about doing crack. And it was lit up like a Christmas tree. So even former crack addicts use more than 10% of their brains.)

Anyway, I knew this already because my brain works even when I don't want it to. This start years ago, during a family viewing of an Agatha Christie mystery. Half way through, I proposed that the murderer was a female character who killed her victim for giving her TB (I think. Or maybe cholera) and causing her to miscarry her one and only child. I was, I think, twelve or thirteen at the time.

I was right.

Since then, it's been the rare hour of television that can completely stump me. My best hope is to have a small drink before turning on the TV, so that I'm working at a disadvantage. After that, there's surfing-and-watching, which distracts me just enough that I don't pick up all the clues. Then, too, there are the people who can bring it every single week. My first day as an intern on "Mad Men," I walked around the room reading the white boards, with my jaw hanging open in disbelief.

(That's right. I knew in March that Peggy was pregnant. And did I say anything? To anyone? I did not. I didn't even tell my MOM. Because I don't believe in spoilers. And also because I signed a confidentiality agreement.)

Sadly, the strike has stripped me of all my usual favorites, and I am reduced to obsessively watching "Project Runway." It used to be that I would never see the challenges coming. It used to be that I delighted in the surprise reversals and unexpected rivalries. Now, unfortunately, my brain has too much time on its hands. Even as the trailer is running for the following week, I know what's coming.

I knew last week would be a candy story challenge. I actually thought it would be Dylan's Candy Bar, but that's because I forgot that Project Runway doesn't deal with one-shot stores owned by Ralph Lauren's daughter. Rookie mistake.

This week, I knew it would be prom dresses. I knew. And I knew the models would be teenage girls.

And alas, I know what next week's challenge will be as well. I wasn't even trying to figure it out, and it snapped into my head. Stupid brain! This is one of my few remaining pleasures and you had to ruin it for me! That's it. We're going straight to the bathroom to do a couple shots of Nyquil until you learn your place around here.

I won't spoil it for anyone else, but just for posterity, I will "inviso-text" it below. So if you want to see my guess, or come back next week and see if I'm right (which I'm hoping I'm not), highlight it with your cursor.

SPOILER ALERT! READ NO FURTHER!




Next week's challenge: Making an outfit from materials found/taken from the contestant's apartment.