Emptying the crap vacuum
Why is it that I can recite entire Monty Python routines that I've seen maybe twice?
Yet I can't manage the Java windowing toolkit.
Or the types and keywords.
Lyrics to songs I don't even like.
But not things I have to do every day.
Jerry Seinfeld routines and bits of shows.
Movie quotes.
We were discussing this phenomenon the other night at my Anne and Joe's (Anne's and Joe's? My brother-in-law and sister-in-law)and Joe introduced to me the theory of the Crap Vacuum. That is, the place in one's brain where the useless stuff goes and resides. Some people have large butts or thinning hair; I have a large crap vacuum, a veritable ShopVac for the small-penis set, The equivalent of a Hummer in vacuum. Some people are equipped with the equivalent of a Dustbuster or one of those gizmos you buy to get dust off your keyboard. For me, pop culture trash, no matter how stupid or insignificant, gets written to memory and saved right away to hard drive.
On our trip to Chicago Thursday night, my tiny little Swiss Army Knife turned up in my backpack. I must have just emptied my pockets into it when I got home. I make it a point to put all my pocket change in the front pocket before I head for the airport, along with my keys, thus simplifying my trip through the metal detectors at the airport. But in my haste to get out the door, I inadvertantly put my tiny little Swiss Army knife in the pocket. The security people looked for about 5 minutes and then found it.
"Oh."
I had the choice of checking my backpack or surrendering it or renting a locker to leave the thing in while we were gone or handing it to my co-conspirator outside the gate area, a person who didn't exist. So I surrendered it. It was imprinted with LewerMark, my former employer. One more piece of them is out of my life. So long, Chuck.
