You know that feeling you get, when you just can’t quite remember something?
You’re sitting there eating a Filet O’ Fish sammich and watching Eraser. You see a guy, and you know him but can’t come up with the name. “Who’s that guy? Hey, Bill, who the hell is that, the guy flying the chopper. Who the hell is that? He was in that movie with Bruce Willis, you know, he was like this old spy and shit. Damnit, it’s Jim something, wtf it’s RIGHT on the tip of my tongue.”
“Come on, what’s his name, white hair, starred in Our Man Flint or Flynn or some shit back around when Spencer for Hire was on the air, you’re old, you should know this. I can’t believe I can’t remember his name, it’s right there, I can almost touch it.”
“Come on, come on…. SHIT!”
You reach for the name, or the address, or whatever it is and you really strain for it, but nothing. Your brain gets the request, looks around at the shit you’ve got up there, no organization to speak of, looks back at you and says, “Fuck you, you want me to find something around here, clean this room.”
So you get frustrated, and the smartass watching the movie with you says, “Just stop reaching for it, think about something else. It’ll come to you out of the blue. You’ll be doing something else and think you forgot and BAM! Suddenly there it is.”
So you try it.
But it doesn’t come to you out of the blue.
So, so what? You let it drop, not much else to do. Meh, wasn’t that big a deal anyway, just irritating as hell. It’s gonna bug you for the rest of the day, like a tooth that got pulled and you keep running your tongue over the spot, oh yeah, no tooth.
So it’s gone. Oh well, no big deal.
Ah, but you’re wrong, fish breath.
It IS a big deal.
That guy, the smartass that told you to go think about something else, it would come to you?
He was right, you go think about something else, and somewhere in the back of your brain some wheels are turning. There are pieces of memories flowing by and a teeny tiny piece of you is sitting tiredly on a stool, watching all that shit go by on the conveyor.
Every once in a while the bit of you thinks he sees something, reaches forward, grabs it, turns that memory around and tries to match it up with what you wanted to remember… and then tosses it back on the conveyor. “Nah, not it.”
The problem is, that teeny tiny little piece of you is gonna sit on that fucking stool looking at shit flow by until it finds the right memory for forever, or you die, whichever comes first.
Sitting right beside him on stools next to that conveyor belt are more little pieces of you, all bored off their ass and patiently looking at every damn thing in your head, waiting to match something up.
Waiting to come up with that answer.
Now ask yourself, how many tiny little bits of you can you afford to have tied up looking through your memories for shit before the YOU that’s managing the whole warehouse runs out of bits that can do any real thinking?
The older you get, the more of these pieces of you get tied up trying to come up with the name of that actor you loved that starred in a TV show in the seventies about a magician detective.
And you’ve got no control over it.
I’m telling you, this is serious shit, SERIOUS SHIT.
If you don’t nip this in the bud, if you let it go, I’m warning you, you’ll be as completely fucking useless as I am by the time you’re 40.
And nobody wants that, least of all you.
So get off your ass and bookmark IMDB.com, make sure you’ve got Google hotkeyed in your smartphone, and don’t let it go.
Whatever it is, don’t let it go. Answer that question. If someone tries to tell you to blow it off, it’ll come to you, tell them, “Shut up, I have to find out what the name of that damn Ewok was that Leia kissed, damnit, if’n I don’t remember I’ll end up just as stupid as Bear!”
Seriously. Nobody wants that.