“Looking for a set of wheels? We can beat all them deals. Great is how you’re gonna feel. We’ve got the cars that have appeal. Come on down to Dave’s, let’s make a deal. You’d better believe it! Leary Chevrolet, Route 9-W, just South of
Newbergh. You’d better believe it!”
The above is an example of some of the completely useless
information I have stuck in my head. It
is a commercial jingle I heard when I was eight years old, and we were living
in New York. It’s no wonder I try to sign my maiden name
on checks half the time. I can’t concentrate
worth a damn. And here are some of the
reasons why.
I know the lyrics to entirely too many hair band songs. I can’t remember my sister’s current address,
but I know every word to “Unskinny Bop.”
Though this information might one day prove useful at drunken karaoke,
these unintelligent and perverted lyrics are not something I want crowding my
brain anymore. And for some reason, I know every word to “I Want it that Way”
by the Backstreet Boys, even though I don’t recall making any effort whatsoever
to actually listen to the Backstreet Boys.
The lyrics to many “One Hit Wonders” are also stored in my cursed
cranium. “Baby Got Back,” “Ice Ice
Baby,” and “Mambo Number Five” are just a few of the offenders. “A little bit of Monica in my life, a little
bit of Erica by my side…” And yes. I meant to get that stuck in your head. If I must suffer, then so must everyone…
Naturally, when I want to know the lyrics to songs I
actually like, I can’t remember them to save my life. I have to look them up, and then I promptly
forget them.
I have also played the “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon” game way
too much. It has permeated all forms of
entertainment for me. Do you know how
many actors they re-use in “Law and Order?” I do. I can identify them within seconds, along
with which versions and which episodes they starred in. I can even recognize actors from commercials
and link them to movies and TV shows.
Other than the fleeting and nerdy sense of accomplishment it gives me,
this information serves no practical purpose.
If I’m lost in the woods, the crickets and raccoons and vultures are not
going to be impressed that I can link Joe Piscopo and Kevin Bacon within two
steps. Since I have not managed to
retain even the most basic of survival skills, I will die of exposure or
dehydration or bear mauling, while deliriously reciting lines from
“Ghostbusters” or any of the other movies that I have memorized in their
entirety...
Then there are certain things I’d really rather not know:
some of the interesting but trivial tidbits I learned in college. Like the chemical composition of stars. And the many fun facts I retained from
Biology of Human Disease. Tetanus, and
tapeworms, and cysts, oh my! Not stuff
I really want to dwell on. Maybe I can
be on “Jeopardy!” one day. Until then, I
must endure the burden of such useless knowledge in silence.
And of course there are commercial jingles. And elevator music. And the different versions of secular
Christmas songs I had to listen to during my short stint as a department store
employee. Do you know how many versions
of “Santa Baby” there are???
“A little bit of
Rita’s all I need, a little bit of Tina’s what I see…”
Dear God, make it stop.
