Despite the similarity in titles, this post bears no relationship to my previous ruminations over a silly film starring Rob Pattinson. Also, I am keeping said post, but would like to at least partially renege on the position posited in it for the following reasons:
1) Siobhan. The film stars Robert Pattinson for god's sake. I think you're just mad that you spent two hours of your life watching it and expecting it to become a quality film.
2) Hear that? That's the sound of your bullshit meter BLARING at you for pretentiousness and super false nationalism.
So now we move on to today's subject, one about which I have periodically ruminated for some time.
Today I left to have lunch with a friend, realizing that I was wearing an outfit which, though I've worn the component parts dozens of times, haven't worn precisely together since just under a year ago. With this friend. The occasion on which I'd last worn it occurred to me as I was dressing, but it didn't fully dawn on me until such time as I was walking out the door that that was the last time. My friend, being male, did not, of course, remember my having ever worn this outfit and nor did he comment. Or if he did notice, he wisely did not comment and it was likely less awkward for both of us that he did not.
A few nights ago, my dad presented my mom and I with cards at dinner that featured a picture of me at around age 10 (this is my guess - I am still wearing glasses, which changed circa 7th grade, and I am pre-braces, a sixth grade development). My mom posited that she knew exactly where the picture was taken, to which my dad and I both disagreed - what was interesting, however, was that I could identify the dress. I knew my mom thought it'd been taken in Baton Rouge, at my cousins' house, because it was an Easter dress. And though I recognized it instantly as an Easter dress, I knew instinctively that I was re-wearing it for a particular occasion, though what it was I couldn't recall.
I have always, it seems, had a peculiar memory for the seemingly insignificant details of my life - particularly those that happened a long time ago. I could not tell you what I had for breakfast yesterday (okay, trick question, half the time the answer to that is nothing) BUT I can tell you a vividly detailed story about something that happened five or more years ago.
Incidentally this has served me extremely well in my studies of the Method - I am (or, well, was, I guess) continually surprised what I could dredge up in terms of insignificant but somehow very important detail in the context of doing, say, a personal object or a private moment or a place. Both the monumental and the totally insipid - if it happened a long time ago, I likely have it stored somewhere in my brain in at least fragments of extremely clear detail.
Nowhere is this more crystalline than in how I remember what I was wearing (note to self: should have seen that play, Love, Loss, and What I Wore - would probably relate).
I know what I wore for my grandpa Don's funeral (age: 4.5). I know what Lydia and I wore the day we planned to come to school dressed as twins (probable age: 6), and what we wore the time we truly endeavored to convince everyone around us we were twins (probable age: 6.5). Partially cheating, because I owned all the dresses for sometime after, but I can tell you IN DETAIL about each competition dress I ever owned for skating. And I could probably give you a rundown of most of the rest of my dresses as well. I remember owning an American flag print bikini when we still lived in Toronto that I clearly must only have worn once, the April that Jess and Rach came to visit and we had a contest, in the frigid Canadian spring-winter, of who could stay out of our (very heated) pool the longest. I won, by default of the two piece bikini. I notably CAN'T tell you what I wore the day we moved from Toronto, which these days strikes me as ironic.
I remember what I was wearing the day I got into NYU and the day I moved into Rubin, and I can tell you what I was wearing for each of my significant firsts with boys. If you're a former boyfriend of mine/boy I was involved with/boy I dated and you're reading this (hahahahah. so very doubtful.) you're probably rolling your eyes in disbelief, given my seemingly shocking lack of sentimentality, but it's true. Quiz me sometime (haha that'd be a fun game, because how on earth could a boy prove me wrong on this? It's not like they remember).
It stands to reason from this that I'm a pretty good memorizer, and it's true - I learn lines quickly, and I've never really had any problem memorizing for class either. Yet I can know you for years and know, for example, what week of what month your birthday is in (first, middle, near [insert holiday in your birthday month here]) but I'm telling you now, unless you've told me the date literally DOZENS of times or more, I don't know it. I must, by absolute necessity, write something down in my calendar and my planner to remember to do it. And I routinely walk out of my bedroom both at in my apartment or at home (or at home or in my house, depending on how you want to look at it - I've strayed) to other rooms only to forget what I'm doing there. These also are all detail oriented things.
This is surely only further proof that it's possible I'm insane. But hey! If you want to know a detail about an incident that you were involved in that I was there for that happened 3 years ago, I'm your girl.
