Monday, February 28, 2011

Forgetting to Remember - MIKE BUZZELLI

My memory isn't what it used to be. Today, I went to push my glasses up on the bridge of my nose, but I had taken them off earlier and I poked myself in the eye.
I walk into rooms, and I forget what I'm doing there. Usually, I stand there for several seconds, walk back out, remember and return.
My life is a scavenger hunt. I am constantly hunting down my keys, my wallet, my tennis shoes. For me, "Why am I here?" isn't an existential question; it's a literal one. Why am I here? Oh. Right. I left something important in here.

Gone are the days when I could run out of the house at the last minute. I have to mark off my checklist, denoting the location of my money, keys, cell phone.
Once, I was talking on the cell phone as I was walking out the door. I grabbed my pants pocket. I almost said to the person to whom I was speaking, "Wait. Where is my cell phone?" I also have sought out my glasses while they were on my head, and I have looked for my keys while I was driving.
I am convinced my tennis shoes have gotten up on their own power and walked out of the room where I left them. Maybe they were bored, because I don't exercise enough in them.
The forgetfulness is really bad in this era of personal identification numbers and passwords, especially because so many of them have to be different lengths or contain numbers or symbols or both.
I will never meet the love of my life on simply because I don't remember my password. There is probably someone out there yearning to meet me, but that person is on the other side of a wall. I can't communicate with my suitors; I can only wink at them. Pyramus and Thisbe be damned.
I like the websites that give you hints. I responded to the one that read, "Name your favorite high school teacher and your favorite author." I used William Weprich and Walt Whitman, because the alliteration made it one step easier for me. I was still denied. I had to put my teacher in as Mr. Weprich or it wouldn't grant me access.
I think I changed my favorite author to Constantin Cavafy. Yes, I picked another poet, but I actually like alliteration more than poetry.
Even though no one was going to see it but me, I couldn't tell the truth and name my favorite author as Stan Lee, the creator of Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four and the X-Men. I had to be pretentious even when no one was looking.
Sometimes the hint questions are different, and I am tripped up even further. "Name your childhood pet." I had a turtle. He didn't have a name. He was just Turtle. Maybe he was even Turtle the turtle. He only lasted a few days and then he ran away. Or rather walked away. After all, he was a turtle. Though now, years later, I suspect that when my dad said, "The turtle ran away," what he meant was, "I flushed him down the toilet."
I was trying to make a point about something, but I forgot what I was talking about.

Mike Buzzelli has performed his standup routine at places on the Left Coast like The Comedy Store and The Ice House, before relocating to Western Pennsylvania. And he has plenty of writing experience, to boot.

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