“I’ll remember it in a little bit.”

“I’ll remember it in a little bit.”

“Baker Street” by Gerry Rafferty. I woke up this morning with the song title that I couldn’t remember last night (we were watching an episode of Fringe). It now takes REM sleep to recall information. I guess it’s about time I say, “FML!”

The phenomenon sneaked up on me. At first, recalling movies and actor names became a losing game. I thought I just couldn’t tell Pacino and… whatsisface… apart. De Niro. But before long, the lines totally blurred among Denzel Washington, Samuel Jackson, Morgan Freeman, and Laurence Fishburne (they just made too many similar movies, that’s my excuse). For some time, I referred to the Runaway Bride actress as Eric Roberts’ sister.

The time we were in North Carolina, at my stepdaughter’s place, Nikki said there’s an outcrop in their lawn of what looked like weeds, but when her husband mowed them down, they smelled of onions. I quickly said, “They’re… uhm… uhm… wait. I know what they are. They’re… it starts with the letter C… argh… not cilantro… it’s an herb… argh… a relative of the onion… wait… argh… I’ll remember it in a little bit.” Total blank.

Two hours later, over lunch, in the middle of a conversation about football, I yelled, “Chives! They’re chives! I knew it started with a C.”

Last week, we got the Avatar DVD and watched it for the nth time. About an hour into the show, I swallowed my pride and braced for utter embarrassment.

“What movie did we just see that had this guy as the lead actor?”

Mike looked at me, checking if I was serious. He’s been stung a few times — I pull his leg just to check if he’s paying attention. Subconsciously, maybe, I want to know if his memory has become as bad as mine.

He rolled his eyes and stared back, as if waiting for me to come around and say, oh, nevermind, I remember. Ten seconds. Thirty seconds. I flashed my “I’m serious, I can’t remember! Sue me!” face.

Sometimes he’d tease me. He’d snicker and let me suffer. Sometimes he’d let me walk all the way to my PC to google my answer (which, of course, makes me suspicious that he couldn’t remember the data either). I google a lot nowadays. Mostly to save face — I’m in denial about my CRS (Can’t Remember Sh!t). The Internet is heaven’s gift to senior moments.

I’ve considered wearing a ‘Net enabled device around my neck. Ye, those fancy wifi-enabled cellphones have been on my wish list. I figured I don’t really need one because I work at home and I’m always close to my PC. But when I’m in the bathroom and I suddenly can’t recall the name of the guy who wore Darth Vader’s costume in the original trilogy, it would help my sanity if I had a Web-search device within reach. (David Prowse. I googled.)

Maybe in our lifetime someone will invent a brain implant -– a microchip with on-demand googling for the memory-challenged. It will eventually become a necessity, as we entrench deeper into this Age of Information Overload.

“Clash of the Titans,” Mike murmured. That’s right! I knew that.

And right now, McArthur’s Park is playing on Mike’s PC. Argh. Who sang this again?


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