It's kinda like my actual house, that way.

Zenkitty is me there. Anybody whose ever seen one of my apartments, or my current office, knows that a memory house would be next to useless for me.

Back when I was acting in high school, I had the hardest time learning my lines -- I spent hours and hours for each scene, becasue the only way I could learn them was to learn every line in the scene, not just mine!

I've also never had a great memory for numbers, but I've hit upon a fairly foolproof (for me) method. When I get a significant string of numbers I must retain for a while, like a telephone number that I can't write down, I draw it out in the air with my finger, or "write" it on my thigh under the table or whatever -- so long as I actually have to translate the number into a different form using my body rather that just repeating the numbers in my head. It actually seems to work -- except of course, if I don't think that a number is going to be significant, so I don't try to remember it in the first place.

Because that just can't be sanitary.

Exactly.

Interview with Timothy Omundson of Psych - he plays golf with Adrian Pasdar!

I'm good at remembering pictures. Which means I should probably turn 2D images into a memory device.

But what happens is I see someone and think "Oh! That's that guy!" and can pretty much remember the photos I have of him on one of my sites...but not the tell-tale filename. But I can go home and scan thumbnails and work out who it is in pretty short order.

My memory sucks ass as far as useability goes. Or does weird things to me. Needed to say "menopause" in a conversation today, but could only think of "change of life" as well as the hormonal consequences of radical hysterectomies. The fuck? I had to back off conversationally and come at it from another angle, at which time the word popped right into place.

Sort of how I deal with vocab issues in foreign languages or the strange hard-c-word deficiencies I have after concussions.

My memory sucks ass as far as useability goes. Or does weird things to me. Needed to say "menopause" in a conversation today, but could only think of "change of life" as well as the hormonal consequences of radical hysterectomies. The fuck? I had to back off conversationally and come at it from another angle, at which time the word popped right into place.

ita, over in Bitches earlier today, I couldn't think of "dust pan," and had to describe it as "the thing that you sweep debris into."

I feel you.

Oh Jesse, what you were saying about Running with Scissors? On the weekend I bought a cheesy YA novel to read to relax (Third of the Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants) and about 60 pages into it I realized that I had read it!!! There must be something in the water.

I was always able to (eventually) learn lines for plays--it just took a while to get drilled into my head. Actually, the most scared I ever was on stage was during a performance of Appointment with Death in high school, when the boy whose character was going to kick off the next plot point failed to show up on stage for about 2-3 minutes, and I had to continue my idle chit-chat with the only other actor onstage at the time. Thank goodness I was a big history/travel geek even at the age 16, because I was able to blather on about Petra in character to fill in the time.

Oh, and I have a question for swimmers out there--is it usual for a pair of "no-fog" goggles to start fogging up only two weeks after I bought them? Made doing my final third of a mile a real PITA (well, half of it, since I did the backstroke the rest of the time).

ita, over in Bitches earlier today, I couldn't think of "dust pan," and had to describe it as "the thing that you sweep debris into."

I once lapsed on the word headphones and came up with "ear goggles". My memory used to be scary good, and everything was kept in my head. Now that my brain's foggier, I've never developed the organizational skills to cope with not remembering everything. My pothead friend, on the other hand, has a serious faulty memory, so she is organized to a fault.

Oh Jesse, what you were saying about Running with Scissors? On the weekend I bought a cheesy YA novel to read to relax (Third of the Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants) and about 60 pages into it I realized that I had read it!!! There must be something in the water.

I'm so glad that wasn't just me!

Also, I can't think of words this week, either.

We are as one, people.