Speak, Memory: Jenny Allen in the New Yorker

You know what I’m tired of? People being so down on themselves for not remembering things. Doesn’t it seem like everyone you know over a certain age is spending way too much time saying, “Dammit, I just saw that movie yesterday, and I can’t remember what it’s called. This is terrible.” That’s so negative. Quitcherbellyachin’! Celebrate what you do remember!

For example, I was in Duane Reade the other day, forgetting what I was there for, and, yes, getting bummed out about it. Then I remembered that I was there for some kind of hair product, only I couldn’t remember what it was. Then I remembered that it was the stuff that comes in a bottle that you wash your hair with, but I couldn’t remember what it’s called, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to ask any of the employees to help me find it. Just as I was about to throw myself a great big pity party there in the hair-care aisle, my eye caught a display of those fake tortoiseshell headbands. And my brain said, “Lynne Tryforos.” Read more…