Memory is a funny thing. It is not as accurate as we think.
My mom had a better memory of my childhood than I. She told stories that I believe happened, and I was there (obviously), but I don’t remember. Some of these stories I’ve adopted, and I don’t remember whether I’m remembering what actually happened, or I’m just remembering the story my mom told me.
Other times, I remember parts of an experience. A few days ago, it was cold in Orlando. And, every time I walked outside “in the cold”, it reminded me of my trip to Berlin a few years ago. The air felt just like Berlin. It’s funny how something as simple as the temperature has a way of transporting you to places and memories.
Some songs are attached to memories. I heard a great obscure song the other day, and it reminded me of my days as a college DJ at KSLU. Five seconds into this song, I’m back in a DJ booth with turntables and carts everywhere (song, Postcards from Paradise by Flesh For Lulu–told you it was obscure–yes, a shameless display of my alternative credentials, almost as unauthentic as telling people to be authentic…).
There are plenty of things I want to remember, but I just can’t. Here’s an odd one, and maybe you can answer this question. First, some background.
My significant other and I were big fans of Pleasure Island (PI). For those of you unfamiliar, think back to a time when Disney was at the peak of their powers, no competition in sight. They decided to create an adult playground full of dance clubs, beach bars, and comedy clubs. At midnight, they celebrated New Year’s. Fireworks. Dancers. Every night. It was a sight to behold.
But parties aren’t meant to last. Continue Reading