There are Places I Remember...

Norah Ephron has a book recently published called I Remember Nothing. I have not read the book, but I listened to her talk about it briefly on Wait...Wait Don't Tell Me! this past weekend. I identified with Ms. Ephron. I am not a published author, I have not seen the places or met the people she has, nor will I ever likely be a part of so many historical events as she has been, but the fact remains that even though she has lived a very special life, she maintains she remembers little to none of it.

I took a lot of classes in college regarding how the brain works in humans. There is nothing, however that can tell us why I vividly remember the morning of my fourth birthday, coming around the corner of the kitchen and seeing the brand new Radio Flyer 90 wagon, gleaming red and in it the black, single speaker GE portable radio that proudly announced it had transistors in it. I didn't know then what a transistor is (and only vaguely do I now), but I knew it must be a good thing just from the fancy font and prominence of its advertising.

It was my best birthday to date and maybe since. I remember spilling milk on that same transistor radio a year later and the white chalk that settle in the plastic speaker grate after it dried and the scent of that radio afterward.

I remember my 13th birthday and the Magnavox rack system stereo I got with all the pretty slides on the equalizer, dancing lights that seemed to do nothing other than pulse in satisfying synchronicity with the music, dual cassettes with "speed dubbing", (which then as now sounded vaguely dirty), and even a turntable. A CD player came the following year... I was the first among my friends to have one. CDs cost in 1989 about the same they do now, which made them princely purchases indeed. I received with that player Milli Vanilli's Girl, You Know It's True and the original motion picture soundtrack to The Blues Brothers which my friend Don and I were obsessed with. Who am I kidding? I am still obsessed with. I am just a man after all. I remember employing home jury-rigging techniques to make a subwoofer for that stereo, much to the delight of my parents. My room was so small the whole thing, speakers included had to go in my closet. I opened it up and it was like a party in a box. The only thing missing was a retractable disco ball. I had been vying for the room in the basement for awhile. The loud bass is what finally did it. I got the room downstairs for my 15th birthday.

I got a car for my 16th birthday because I am spoiled and always got more than I deserved. I always took care of my stuff, so it's not like the kindness and prosperity I enjoyed went unnoticed and unappreciated.

Finally, as written in a previous post, I remember my 30th birthday on account of the party and the surprise and the whole thing. If you haven't you can read about it here.

But that is four birthdays out of 35. Not impressive since I was there for all of them. I have been there for a lot of things that I simply couldn't recall. But, if we had a conversation about something 10 years ago and you and I disagreed, I would remember every single word of every single exchange of that conversation. It drives Emily nuts that in one second, I forget all the normal prosaic housekeeping type of things she tells me but that I can put anything she has ever said to me in an argumentative way right back in her face.

It's not fair. For her or anyone. I also seem to remember things when paired with food. If we went out and had a nice time, I won't remember tomorrow. If we went out and had a nice meal, I will be able to tell you in 15 years where we sat, what we ate and a physical description of the creepy pepper grinder man who is way too old to be working as a pepper grinder.

Many guys can remember sports stats. I like sports, but I am lucky if I can remember coaches' and players' names. I couldn't tell you who won the Superbowl unless it was last year's. I watch them all, but I don't retain things. The exception is Formula 1 racing which I have a pretty good memory of.

I memorize car stats. Did you know an 86 Ford Escort GT had 124 horsepower? I did. And I always will. Why? Who knows. I have to try very hard to remember important things, dates, appointments, etc. but I can tell you the Blue Book price of almost any make and model of car since 1990 within a couple percent. I know with great detail the significance of the descriptors L88, L82, L48, L98, LS6, LS8, LS1, LS7. You don't and I don't blame you. In fact, I am happy you don't have to wade through that minutia to get to the things that matter.

I can't remember where anything is in the kitchen. I've lived there for over four years. Em just told me she wants my input on a kitchen reorganization. I am happy to do it, but I fear the looming specter of her expectation that I will forever after remember where something since I had a hand in putting it there. She will be disappointed. I don't blame her. I would be, too.

We remember what we make important to us, and what tickles that part of our brains that offers some sort of positive give-back, whether it's a shot of dopamine or some endorphins, or perhaps some adrenaline. Did you know that the body is essentially a drug addict and its main pusher the brain? I do. I took a few classes on it. This is why I can still tell you the difference between an MAOI and an SSRI and why they shouldn't be mixed. I can tell you what chemical the brain produces to break down and reuse the other chemicals that the brain uses. But I can't tell you who my God Parents are.

I am going to stop worrying about it. As long as I can remember to wipe my ass when I'm done and how to cash a paycheck, I figure I'm 90% or so of the way 'there'. Wherever 'there' is. I seem to have forgotten.