Some people are blessed (or cursed, as the case may be) with a photographic memory. I can’t speak for others with Asperger Syndrome, but as for me, I have a Kodak moment now and again myself. Trouble is, most of the time it’s more like a series of intermittent snapshots as apposed to the fluidity of a movie camera. Combine that with lens-flare, and some pretty bad distortion at times, and what I’m generally left with are the smoky images of an old arcade picture machine.
When I was in my twenties I bought a book that was supposed to help improve my memory. The blurb said that with this method, I could memorize an endless array of things and recall them in perfect order forever. The plan was that you would take any series of disjointed objects and build a fantastic story around them. A visual association of sorts. The more ridiculous the better. Actually, this sounded like something right up my alley. Here’s how it’s supposed to work:
If the first thing on the list is thimble, for instance, and the second is the color red; the third, a monkey; the fourth, an old worn-out tire; the fifth, a pair of scissors; and the sixth, a bag of peanut brittle, then the list could be embedded in the mind’s eye, in perfect order by painting a visual picture, if you will. Imagine with me a really big thimble. A bright red monkey is riding inside with an old worn-out tire around his neck. The tire would be telling the monkey (in an old man’s voice, because it’s old and worn out) not to run with scissors, and a big pair of naughty scissors would be chopping up a perfectly good bag of peanut brittle.
Okay, so I need that kind of insanity in my head? I’ve already got enough monkeys running with scissors in there as it is, and now I’m supposed to remember things forever that way? I don’t think so. You’d think that would work on a guy with an imagination as vivid as mine, but no. It didn’t. I can’t even remember the name of the book . Or the author. But I do remember that there was a famous football player who co-authored it. Whoever that guy was, as far as I’m concerned, he will forever be riding around inside a huge thimble eating peanut brittle out of an old tire that reminds me of Gabby Hayes. You may also have noticed, it helps a lot if things are really big.
This theorem was also supposed to work on names and faces. Let’s say you are at a party, and you are meeting all kinds of new people. They say that the reason most of us don’t remember names the first time around is that we don’t take time to think about the name in relationship to the person to whom it belongs. Now, to correct that, here is what you are supposed to do: (I’ll just make up a name at random: Henry Farquar) Let’s say you are just meeting Henry for the first time, and let’s also say that Henry is balding. Oh, and he’s got really big lips. You can build a story that will help you remember his name and face forever. Pretend that there is a hen sitting on his head, and his head is a very large egg. The hen is singing with really big lips “Comin’ Through The Rye” (do chickens even have lips?). Never mind. Hen + Rye = Henry. The guy whose head looks like a giant egg and who has really big lips. Got it?
But let’s not stop there. We can go for the last name as well. Now the hen with big lips who is sitting on a very large egg, singing “Comin’ Through The Rye” is really a far distance away. Far, far away. So far that you have to get in your car, which is actually a very large letter “Q”, to drive up close enough to hear the singing hen. Are you with me now? Far + Q + Car = Farquar. Henry Farquar! Now, try shaking that guy’s hand with a straight face next time you meet him. That is, if you can even recall which of those story cues it was you were supposed to remember. If you’re like me, you could easily mistake poor Henry for Chickenlips Travelqueer. Imagine yourself blurting that out like someone with Tourette’s.
I must say, however, that every now and again this kind of visualization pays off for me on a subconscious level. The other day, my wife and I were watching a benefit show where there were many musical personalities whose names were not being plastered up on the screen when they appeared. As they were doing obscure tunes, or songs that other artists had made famous, this left us grasping for names. At one point, two guys and a girl came on together. An unlikely trio indeed. We could recognize the guys, but the girl had us stumped for awhile. Eventually I said out loud, “black.” Then after a few moments, I said “b..bird.” I thought about that for another minute, and it finally hit me. Something bird? Blackbird? No, wait! It was Sheryl Crow. I had played a guessing game with myself where I kept giving myself clues until I could figure it out. “Let’s see, she’s white, so it can’t be ‘Totally Raven’.” Anyway, I don’t ever remember making up a story line on her name before, but I guess on some level or another, that old book made an impression.
Anyway, I would love to tell you there’s a point to all this, but if there ever was, I’ve completely forgotten it by now. I’m sure my brain will be giving me clues throughout the day, and it will dawn on me, long after this baby has gone to press. Right now I have to go to the store and get the only toothpaste that I really like: Colgate with baking soda. Or is it Crest? I honestly can never remember. All I can visualize is a large tube of toothpaste that looks like the Goodyear Blimp, with baking soda streaming out the back like so much smoke, a very big letter “C,” and a pilot that resembles Captain Crunch, waving to me from the gondola.
