The ironic thing about memory is that from time to time the bits of information one stores within it always ends up misplaced. Whatever goes in seems to get lost in the shuffle, but then reappears several hours after one no longer needs it. I'm sure everyone has had an experience like this. For example, a few years ago I wrote an organic chemistry exam (I should point out that this was during a tragic time in my life when I thought science was worth something. [Now, now, I know I shouldn't be like that, everything has worth--in this case science just happens to be worth beans.]) I digress. I came to a question with respect to electrons. It asked: If the outer most valence of an atom has only one electron, the electron is said to be______. I searched the furthest recesses of my cerebellum, but for the life of me I couldn't remember. So I said it was lonely. Several hours later, lying in bed at a time when I no longer gave a fig, the answer came to me. As it turned out, I got half points for my answer so my sense of humour bailed me out. Unfortunately, this doesn't always work out so favourably. Like the time last term when I couldn't remember what Captain James Cook and Adam Smith had in common, I said they were into wife swapping--oops. Well, I win some, I lose some.

One of the most frustrating things about my memory is that it has a mind of its own, or so it seems. It has a knack for remembering some of the most inane, useless bits of information, but never the stuff I need for my finals. I've come to the realization that it must have something to do with the make up of my brain. While others have the customary grey matter and constituent cerebral particles, I have a brain made out of one part sponge, one part brick. The sponge part absorbs everything with which it comes into contact so long as it's fluid and basically superficial. The brick part of my brain is of course impenetrable and impervious to everything and anything--such as, oh I don't know, arguments to support how the Rebellions of Upper and Lower Canada in 1837 sought to achieve similar ends even though they were not coordinated, for instance. Is this really too much to ask of one's brain? I think not, but then again, I don't remember what I was on about.

I find that songs stick in my mind like glue. Have you ever woken up to the tune of YMCA because you heard it at last night's hockey game and then it haunts you throughout the day? It never seems to fail, I hear a catchy tune and it's as if my brain has a record button forever storing in my mind a song that will greet me one morning and torture me for hours. If only I could store lectures in the same fashion. That would be great. Just imagine--I'd have no need for pens and notebooks, just a comfy chair and a coke. I'd sit back, press record and voila. The entire lecture on Theories of Imperialism Part One and Two would be instantly stashed away along side of Rainy Day Women Part 12 and 35. Maybe that is the answer. I've got to convince my profs to put their lectures to a hip top forty tune for it to truly register. Let's see--"Sorry I'm not home right now, I'm lookin' for Dr. Livingstone, who was a missionary in Africa. He's been missin' for a long time, but fortunately Stanley found him in 1871." Well, perhaps not.

As a final word on memory, I have a little prank I'd like to play before I graduate this May. I'd like to steal my way into an engineering exam, wait five minutes after it starts, then yell at the top of my lungs: "I DON'T REMEMBER ANY OF THIS SH*T!" and run out. I must not forget to do that. The Underground