Sideways

Sideways
Originally uploaded by thegreatplotnik.

The other day, as Mrs. Mushnik and The Great Plotnik were enjoying their afternoon delight (OK, OK, so it was just latte, and non-fat at that), they tried to recall the name of the Paul Giamatti movie about wine. Neither could.

"It's two words, one of them has a 'w' in it," said Plotnik, and Mushnik said "Oh, I've got it, it's...it's..." But nothing.

As they walked down Church Street, Plotnik said "First one to think of it, wins." "You're on," said Mushnik; still, neither of them could recall the title. They separated at Cesar Chavez and Plotnik started home.

He almost had it. He could literally feel the two words in his brain, but it was if a very thin, gauzy drape hung over them, keeping them from view.

Then, in front of St. Paul's, at that bizarre spot where the cement cross in the ground commemorates the exact spot where the Irish stone mason fell from the steeple to his death while building the church in 1908, the words almost landed on Plotnik. They were....right there. SOO close.

"Oh, it's ___.eze. Or ___ -aze. It ends in a 'z' sound." So he started through the alphabet. "___-beze. ___-ceze. ___-deze...oh wait, the 'w' sound. ___-weze, -waze. SIDEWAYS!"

When he got home, the phone was ringing. "I know, 'Sideways,'" said Plotnik. "Where did you think of it?"

"Guerrero Street, before you did," she lied.

What is it, this slowly advancing monster lurking in front of all of us who have the audacity not to have fallen off the steeple yet? What exactly happens to memory? Why do we remember words in such a compartmentalized fashion, by letters, by the amount of words, by sounds? Why do we remember lyrics from a song we last heard in 1956 but forget where we put our keys? More importantly, what can we do about it? Fish oil is not helping. How about beer?