Friday, December 22, 2006


It's amazing which memories stick with you and which don't.

When people talk about things which happened in the past, I can remember them, but I don't remember them on my own. I guess that's one reason I'm such a pack-rat. Just going through an old calendar or old ticket stubs jogs my memory and I can remember the particular concert/thing which corresponds to the trinket. However, without these trinkets, the memory is pretty much lost to me.

I wish I had a better memory.


Another funny thing I've noticed about my memory... The more times I try to tell a story, the harder time I have separating fact and fiction. Case in point:

When I was in Undergrad, I lived in Hart Hall with my friend Mike. Hart was a nasty old dorm in the middle of campus. It was un-air-conditioned and was built in 1930. At least 33 layers of paint were caked on the walls. It had a kick-ass view of the Academic Plaza. It was home, and I loved it. Anyway, this story involves me, Nick, Mike, a trash can, and some pizza. Here's how the story usually goes: Mike realizes that someone in our mutual company hasn't heard the story, so, like a little 14 year old girl, he squeals with delight, claps his hands, and tells the story how he remembers it. Apparently, I ate some ancient pizza with mold on it that I'd found by rooting through the 55 gallon trashcan outside our door. At this point, whoever is listening to the story gasps with horror and glares at me with revulsion. So, I have to defend myself by telling my side of the story (as I remember it). Nick (who lived across the hallway) had ordered some pizza for his dinner. I'd come back from doing something on campus, and I was pretty hungry. Before I went into my room, I stopped in Nick's room to shoot the shit. As I was getting ready to leave, I watched Nick pick up the (almost) empty box of pizza, took it out into the hall, and placed it _on_top_ of the trashcan. On my way across the hall, I opened the box, and fished out a (still warm) piece of pizza. Not nearly as gross as Mike's telling of the story.

Which one's true? Probably neither... It's probably somewhere in between, but I can't really remember. I've defended myself so many times, I can't really remember what happened and what didn't happen. Maybe I really did eat moldy pizza and I've just convinced myself of what I want to believe happened. Who knows?

I'll understand if you never again want to eat pizza I offer you. If I did fish out the moldy piece of pizza out of the trash can, I assure you it was only a momentary lapse in judgment. I'm better now, I promise.

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