May 14, 2008
I used to pride myself on my excellent command of all things Hollywood. I could always be counted on to remember the names of actors and movie titles and who won an Oscar and who went home empty-handed. I could rattle off deliciously useless details with great authority. When it came to showbiz trivia, I was your gal.
Lately, my grasp of the frivolous has started to slip away. I won’t lie. I’m disturbed by this turn of events. Apparently, my 50-year-old brain decided it’s time for spring cleaning and forgot to notify me.
These days, I have trouble recalling the name of an actress who appeared in a show I watched the night before. This is an unforgivable gaffe on my part. And I’m not handling it well. I’m fully ensconced in my anger stage. This feels like punishment. This feels like Goodwill arrived and carted away boxes of all the precious factoids I hold near and dear to me. The helpful gems that served me well at dinner parties have disappeared without warning. This particular deduction feels less than charitable.
Out of courtesy, I think my brain should have sent me a text message before the van pulled out of the driveway: “Getting rid of some stuff today. Make a pile of what you want to keep.”
But no, the trivia truck was gone by the time I got home, and now, I can’t remember diddly. Well, I’m not taking this theft lightly, people. I have been robbed. I plan to file a report: Missing valuable minutiae. Reward if found.
Until I get back what is rightfully mine, I can only take comfort in the knowledge that my closest friends are all experiencing a similar kind of mental lapse. We sit across from each other in restaurants, pounding our foreheads, trying to dislodge info we hope is still in there. And when it isn’t in there, approximately 99 percent of the time, we look to each other to fill in the blanks.
Connie and I go through this routine on a regular basis. A few weeks ago, we were sharing pita at the Great Greek when Connie suddenly dropped her head in dismay.
“Oh, no,” she whispered, horrified.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“There’s that actress… She comes in here every Friday for lunch. I was in a movie with her.”
“Which movie?” I asked.
I should mention Connie is a wonderful actress who has appeared in many films and television shows. I’ve been with her many times when people recognize her. “Weren’t you that lady on ‘The Torkelsons'?"” they’ll ask. They might not know her name, but they know her face. In such moments, Connie turns shy. She nods humbly, confesses her affiliation (she played Millicent), then gets in her car and floors it.
Sadly, Connie couldn’t remember the name of the movie she was in. Not that I blame her. It was 10 years ago. And then like a bolt from above, it came to her.
“Hope Floats,” she said.
Ah, okay, good. That was my cue to fill in the blank. Not-so-discreetly, I glanced over at what’s-her-name and recognized her immediately. “Oh my God, I know who that is!”
Connie smiled at me expectantly. “I knew you would. Who is it?”
“It’s… it’s… oh I love her, she’s so good in everything. She was married to that… director guy. John…. Something- or-other! Oh wait, I know. It’s Gina… no, it’s not. It’s Gena…”
Connie clapped her hands. She couldn’t wait for me to cough up the last name. If only I could think of it. “I’ll call you later when it comes to me.”
My good friend sighed heavily. I’d let her down. But then, half-way through our salads, the last name presented itself like a gift from the gods.
“Rowlands!” I said, too loudly.
“Shush,” Connie shushed me.
I ignored her. I wasn’t about to shush. Not now. I needed to lord my victory over her. What are friends for? I told her to get up and go say hello to her. I knew she wouldn’t.
“Eat your salad,” Connie said. I did as I was told. But I knew what was going on. Connie was worried that Mrs. Cassavates (okay, I Googled her) wouldn’t remember her. But I kept that to myself. You know how sensitive actresses are, not to mention writers who can’t recollect squat… most of the time.
Comments
betyler (anonymous) says...
Carol
Just think of all the space you can use now that the diddly is cleared out. It does seem cruel that our memory and vision are competing. They may be carted off on different days, but vision has an assigned moving day also.
Sorry for spoiling the surprise,
Beverly
May 15, 2008 at 10:33 a.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
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