Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Mass Suicide



I am calling for a mass suicide of trivia memories in order to make room for more important thoughts. I'll throw the first lemming of a memory over.



How can I go to grad school with crap like this taking up precious space? I am hoping if I throw the first one overboard, other stupid and useless memories will follow. I know all the words to this song for goodness sake. And I'm not a lonely boy.

18 comments:

Tenacious S said...

Friggin' 70's emo whiner. Boo hoo. You weren't an only child and had to share the spotlight with your sister. Egomaniac.

Echo said...

Memory suicide... I like it... I'd like the two hours of my life that I lost watching "Leaving Las Vegas" back or maybe we can just put to death the time I said, "catchy" in response to a Rick Springfield song...

Tenacious S said...

My brain is the devil's jukebox. See, just typing the word jukebox made me think of the song "Jukebox Hero." I am a victim of random musical memories. They come and command my attention, pushing aside other more pious thoughts. I can see it now. I'll be studying for a test and all I will remember will be lyrics to some inane 70's or 80's song. Now I know why my parents kept yelling at me to turn off the radio.

Echo said...

I have a very short attention span. Hey, Damian from OK Go is on the Colbert Report... See, really short...

Echo said...

I still work with the radio or iPod on. I'm half as productive with it turned off. Hmmm....

Tenacious S said...

I'm the same way. Years of conditioning. It's sort of like white noise for me. It also smacks of Pavlov's pups.

Echo said...

The best are concalls... Hit mute on the phone and crank up the volume until...

"So, echo, what do you think?"

"What do I think? I'm not sure at this point. What do you think?"

heh...

Tenacious S said...

See, and I'm still spinning on these lyrics. What was he whining about? His parents taught him and bought him warm clothes and paid attention to his newborn sister. What suburb did he grow up in?

Tenacious S said...

Talking to me in real life is just like that. Only no one can hear me turn up the devil's jukebox unless I start singing along, which I usually only do in my car.

Echo said...

Whiners...god...can we just lose the whiners already! (Don't get me started on Terry Jacks...fuck, why did I have to remember Terry Jacks... oh, bugger all to hell... aaarrrrrgggghhhhH!!!!)

My word verification was: SEEZNSINDASUN

Tenacious S said...

See, emo is just 70's whiners repackaged. I bet they all secretly like Terry Jacks.

Echo said...

Maybe they're his offspring! Didn't think of that, did ya? The evil progeny of Terry Jacks robbing the airwaves of musical oxygen...

Tenacious S said...

Love is like oxygen
You get too much you get too high
Not enough and you're gonna die
Love get's you high

See...hell. I live in hell.

Tenacious S said...

If idle hands are the devil's workshop, is an idle brain the devil's jukebox?

Echo said...

Very scary... I thought I was the only one who did that...

Tenacious S said...

I think normal people can remember things and then go about their day. This crap takes hold like spyware and weasles its way into every nook and cranny of my brain. And then that's when it does the damage, by playing over and over and over again. Today it was "Lonely Boy." How come it's never anything good?

lulu said...

Did someone say Seasons In The Sun?!?!

Sonja said...

I remember every word of "The Devil Went Down to Georgia", much as I hated that song.

And I am forced to carry a little notebook in my purse to remind me of my own phone number.

Isn't there a way to delete these temp files from our brains?