I’d better write about this subject while I still have a horse in the race. I have always had a great memory.
Of course, the Domestic Despot Karen says I have a very selective memory.
I beg to differ.
It’s just getting worse.
I can remember the most minute details of the most immemorable times in my life, and yet I can’t remember where I put my car keys. It is only human that as we age, many of you will have gradual memory loss. Try not to bump into things and be more obvious, I guess, is the only advice I have.
What an asshole.
I used to joke about amputees, too.
I don’t think anything is off-limits as far as comedy goes.
If it’s funny, it’s funny.
The barometer is immediate.
I personally love the very act of laughing; it is contagious and I have always said that hearing my wife laughing as she plays with our two Cocker Spaniel puppies on a sleepy Sunday morning is the soundtrack I want playing when I check out on the Soylent Green Express.
Definitely don’t want to be around if/when that becomes a reality.
I used to remember everything.
I can remember as far back as being inside my mother’s womb.
I could overhear two nurses talking about where they were going to eat lunch Something about milkshakes.
Every player in every league of every sport. The definitive Wizard of all things statistical. I mean I knew where they were born, what minor league clubs they played for, all the baseball numbers available at that time.
Get this: I had to go to the library to get a copy of every American newspaper, and put my bar graphs together on a daily basis.
Right now, I’m trying to remember where I put my glasses.
The only thing that kind of saves me is my stubbornness. If I am asked the name of someone, I will take until time immemorial before I give up.
I WILL NOT GOOGLE ANYTHING.
I have taken days to retrieve the answer from my brain, but my memory retrieved it.
I wish I had practiced that tenacity in the brief stint I had my NASD license and was trading and selling securities for a leading Wall Street firm.
I made good, not great, money, but I just could not fuck someone over to make a buck. That’s what the guys tooling around in Jags and amassing big numbers have to do.
My mom told me when she was raising her fist and beating my rock-hard buttocks (yes, even at the age of seven) “there are no thieves in this family.”
I remembered that.
I understand the whole aging thing as I start my next chance God is providing after my heart attack and subsequent surgeries.
I just want to remember Karen all the way up until we kiss like we did on our wedding day and fall back in a soft bed of flower petals.
That’s not asking too much.