Life-Brain Disconnect

Memory is a crazy woman that hoards colored rags and throws away food.

-Austin O'Malley

Not to complain about my life or anything (although I’m very good at that; it’s a college student pastime), but I have recently been pondering a certain predicament, one that’s trapping me more and more frequently. Take a quick gander at the examples below, won’t you? Then we can talk about it.

What the text says: “Then in early 1979, after a year of paralyzing strikes and demonstrations by supporters of militant Iranian Shia Muslim cleric Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, Iran’s Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi fled Tehran, opening the door to the founding of an Islamic republic. As the impact of the Iranian Revolution on world oil prices began to be felt, Carter in July 1979 unveiled a comprehensive energy plan to help America Combat its overdependence on unstable Middle Eastern oil, promoting conservation, alternative fuels and higher taxes on gasoline and gas-guzzling cars….It is widely assumed that OPEC’s continued control over prices depends on whether emerging African, Caspian, and Latin American producers reject OPEC membership and create excess global supply….Mexico has overborrowed to keep production going and has more than $30 billion in pension liabilities, leaving it with a huge longstanding debt and too little money for maintaining old oil fields or finding new ones…sudden oil windfalls have also triggered what economists call the “Dutch disease”—skyrocketing currency values that depress local manufacturers’ exports and trigger huge jumps in imports. The economic paradox got its nickname from a drastic decline in economic growth in the Netherlands after natural gas was discovered there in the 1960s.

What I will retain from that after the assignment is turned in: Everything in the world is a conflict between Islam and Christianity, and I bet that Ayatollah guy is the same one Billy Joel talks about in We Didn’t Start the Fire. You know, “Ayatollah’s in Iran/Russia’s in Afghanistan”? It’s right before the end of the song, right before “Wheel of fortune, Sally Ride/heavy metal, suicide/foreign debt, homeless vets/age, crack, Bernie Goetz/hypodermics on the shore/China’s under martial law/rock and roller cola wars/I can’t take this anymore!” And that would make sense, because I think Sally Ride and heavy metal were ‘80s things. Anyway, oil prices go up and down a lot. It’s mostly because of corrupt officials. Something vague about China and Iran and that sea that has the same name as a Narnia book. And apparently that Netherlandsy, Swedeny area has exports besides, like, furniture and cross stitch. Huh.

Or what the teacher says (rather, reads off a printout from Wikipedia): The cell is the basic structural and functional unit of all known living organisms. It is the smallest unit of life that is classified as a living thing, and is often called the building block of life. Some organisms, such as most bacteria, are unicellular. Other organisms, such as humans, are multicellular. The largest known cell is an unfertilized ostrich egg cell….In cell biology, an organelle is a specialized subunit within a cell that has a specific function, and is usually separately enclosed within its own lipid bylayer. Organelles are identified by microscopy, and can also be purified by cell fractionation. There are many types of organelles, particularly in eukaryotic cells. Prokaryotes were once thought not to have organelles, but some examples have now been identified. Eukaryotes are one of the most structurally complex cell type, and sometimes include mitochondria and chloroplasts. These organelles, which have double-membranes and their own DNA, are believed to have originated from incompletely consumed or invading prokaryotic organisms, which were adopted as a part of the invaded cell. This idea is supported in the Endosymbiotic theory.

What I remember: Cells, check, we’ve all got them. Organelles are part of cells. Organelles look like jellybeans. This class is stupid.

Or what I should know: Biscuits require the oven to be at 350 degrees. And: My phone is on my dresser. And: I need to take off next Sunday, better write that on the calendar at the bookstore. And: This application is due on the 23^th.

And I recall from that: A wetter biscuit makes a better biscuit…oh, drat, did we write this temperature down last time? Sigh. What’s Memama’s number, again? And: My phone? I just had it. It’s…um…well, I checked my messages when we went to lunch, and then I remember putting it in my pocket, so the bathroom, maybe? No? Bother. And: Did I remember to write that date on the calendar? Um…no. I’ll do it tomorrow, promise! And: I swear, I just looked this due date up. The 28^rd? The 26^th? No, I’m thinking 26^th because that’s Jamie’s birthday…oh, well, I’ll look it up ONE LAST TIME and remember it this time…

Yet I can remember the names, backgrounds, exact time periods, and historical contexts of 24 dolls. I can tell you the entire history of how the English language came to be, if you’re willing to sit and listen for a day or so. I know the lyrics to hundreds if not thousands of songs. I remember precise barre combinations for ballet and pointe, and the exact jazz/lyrical/hip-hop warm-up. I can tell you the intricate details of my suitemates’ love lives, going back to first crushes, and I can tell you that one suitemate’s current boyfriend’s brother is autistic and her ex-boyfriend’s childhood dream was to be a firefighter, and I can tell you that another suitemate’s cousin’s fiancée is named Megan and comes from a large Irish family and has four older brothers who are pretty big guys with red hair.

I can recite the Gettysburg Address, the preamble to the Constitution, the beginning of the Declaration of Independence, the entire section of A Midsummer Night’s Dream which begins with “Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania,” much of Romeo and Juliet, nearly all of “The Highwayman,” and bits and pieces of dozens of poems. I know that the Wizard of Oz can be taken as a metaphor for populism and the gold rush and US economics in the nineteenth century. I know that Lewis’s Carroll’s real name was Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (and L. Frank Baum’s first name, by the way, was Lyman). I know that Michelle Obama’s inauguration ballgown was designed by a young man named Jason Wu. I know by heart large portions of Alice in Wonderland, Little Women, Dancing Shoes, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, The Phantom Tollbooth, and plenty of other books. I am familiar with the intricate household routines, wardrobes, food choices, and ideologies of families in all countries for the past few thousand years. I know a lot about 1950s McCarthyism and the Hollywood blacklist.

I know a lot about North Carolina history. I know a lot about literary symbolism. I can list all the astrological signs and their characteristics (and I’m not all that fascinated by astrology), and I could tell you most fairy tales, Bible stories, and Greek/Roman myths. I know that the African-American character in Where in Time is Carmen Sandiego who helped you solve the mystery where you went into that Kimono closet and had to decode the Japanese symbols on the drawers to find out which one spelled “Rat” so you could open it and find the little gross guy who was preventing Lady Murasaki from finishing up The Tale of Genji (the world’s first novel) because he had messed with her mirrors so she couldn’t see the moon and get inspired—the character who was helping you wore green and her name was Renee.

I know exactly which dolly shoes go with which dolly outfit, and I have 115 pairs of doll shoes. I am familiar with the essentials of sewing, knitting, crocheting, tatting, embroidery, weaving, beading, scrapbooking, cross-stitching, quilling, felting, origami, dancing, creative writing, hairdressing, makeup application, photography, mental math, photoshop, moviemaking, piano playing, annotating, calligraphy, et cetera.

In eleventh grade, Ian Wright had a shirt that said “I’m a Ninja.” It was black. He wore it the day we watched Secondhand Lions in AP Language. It was a female Texas governor who said that famous quote about Ginger Rogers doing everything Fred Astaire did, but backwards and in high heels. Fred Astaire’s nickname for Ginger was Feathers. December 16^th was the date of our winter formal senior year of high school. When we were decorating for the homecoming dance that same year, Lauren Hollowell had on a white sweatshirt and fuzzy red socks. Jamie’s favorite princess movie was always Sleeping Beauty; Dalton’s was Snow White. Their horses are named Freckles, Sir, Astro, and Sage, although I don’t know how many they own presently. My roommate’s bloodtype is A.

Ok, now I’m tired with this inexhaustive knowledge thing. There is obviously nothing wrong with my memory. Aren’t you impressed with my memory? Say yes. Please say yes. I need you to be amazed by my impressive intellect and memory capacity. You’re impressed? Oh, good. Thank you. You have a good memory too, I can tell. Good taste in blogs, too.

So you’re probably pretty well qualified to help me answer the question currently consuming my life:

WHY CAN’T I REMEMBER IF I TURNED MY ALARM CLOCK ON OR OFF, OR MY BANKING PASSWORD, OR THAT IN ORDER TO NOT PULL AN ALL-NIGHTER, I HAVE TO WRITE THE PAPER IN ADVANCE?!?!?

It really is a mystery, I know.

A brain racking, egotistical mystery.

Maybe I should go ahead and start on those puzzle books meant to sharpen elderly minds. Heh. Oh, wait, I got one of those for Christmas, didn’t I?

Now, if I could just remember where I put it…