Evuhleen's Corner

Among the cruelest tricks life plays on us, the way our brain declines into a blob of something that has no more memory power to spare is truly the worst. As a girl I had only a few things to keep track of. There was one place in Dubai, a small town of sorts that I lived at; two main sports, basketball and bingo; two TV channels- Channel [V] and Channel 33; one season; ten kids in my building to play with; and so on. In no category did the number go beyond a dozen. I didn't meet new people and have to remember their names, because everybody I ran into I already knew. With my extra, leftover memory I conserved senseless conversations, garbage slogans my older sister and my friends made up and told me that these were what adults used. And not to forget insignificant information such as the number of children on the bus and the number of steps from our house to the end of our street, and the time it took to run and still catch the school bus if we were late.

Since then my brain has been required to hold gigantically much more, most of it highlights the word ‘dull’. Lately, it has become a feat to remember certain vital pieces of information; such as the title of a movie or a song, where I placed my offer letter and the name of that guy I went out with in college. And just when I have about given up trying to recall it, it appears, good as new. I guess the brain has only so many slots, and by the time you reach adulthood they have become muddled and packed out. I have a small place in my brain containing the following three things:
1. Steve Martin 2. Chris Martin 3. Eric Martin

They huddle together by some mysterious law. The three are easy to confuse because as names, they sound like made-up versions of each other. The first is the legendary ‘Father of the Bride’ actor. The second is the vocalist of Coldplay and the third, the voice of the band, Mr. Big. Sometimes when I have a spare moment I take each name out, consider it, link it to the proper person, recall each one's face and biography, and then put all the names back in place in my mind. I believe this is a basically healthy exercise, like brushing your teeth or taking a walk. I am slightly afraid that there's another category I've forgotten about, but I won't worry over it now. When I have all the names straight, maybe I will get to sleep. On the other hand, I don't want to become so carried away with remembering them that I repeat it over and over to myself as I lie in bed late at night. If repeated often enough, it will drive you insane.

However, when you suddenly remember something that you've been trying to remember, the relief and happiness you feel is intense. I imagine that would be what heaven feels like. The fate of a thing lost when you were barely 3 ft tall, the names of people you met only once at a party, the difference between Robert De Niro and Al Pacino —every answer coming to you in a rush of revelation, as if you'd known it all along.
Two things are certain about Amy Macdonald; she’s quite attractive and her music is the kind of stuff I would choose for this blog. Could this upcoming artist be as good as her famous female contemporaries? A large part of me thinks it will be impossible, but I can always hope. This is for certain, Macdonald makes amazing music. Music matters, not the rest of the hubbub. That being said enjoy.