OK, so this was a pretty modest achievement. I got two questions wrong, which means that if this were a test in school I would have gotten an 83, which even by South Carolina’s currently overly generous grading system would be a low B.
But here’s the thing… Y’all know that I’ve always taken inordinate pride in my test-taking skills. That’s what got me through high school without studying, slacker that I was. (One of my favorite lines from Woody Allen’s “Love and Death” is when a fellow soldier, heading into battle, moans, “Oh, God is testing us!” and Allen’s character says, “If He’s gonna test us, why doesn’t He give us a written?” Yes! Why can’t all tests be written?)
But the Slate News Quiz is the kind of test that foils me time and again. Partly is that they have a penchant for trivial news over the top stories. But mostly because you get points for how quickly you answer, which rattles me. I hate being timed doing anything, and especially on something requiring thought. I don’t do anything fast.
So week after week, I get skunked on this quiz, humiliated by the Slate staffer they pit you against, or the reader average, or both. But not today.
You know why I did better today? I made myself slow down. I allowed myself that extra beat where I go, Come on, you read something about this, or when I don’t know, Which makes most sense?, or on less certain ones, Which of these names do you have a vague memory of having heard lately?, or more deviously, Which of these names wouldn’t be here unless that’s the one?
I took a hit on my score for taking time, but I got most of them right.
I even did better than “senior editor” Jeremy Stahl. Curious as I tend to be when these online publications call somebody a “senior” something, I looked him up. He graduated college in 2004, so he’s about 37. Which at least is older than I would have guessed.
I mean, at least he’s four years older than that twerp, “Senior White House Advisor” Stephen Miller…
And who knows? If the boy studies up, maybe he’ll beat the old man next time. You know how it was in the old Westerns: the top gun always has to be looking over his shoulder for the next punk looking to make a name for himself…