One is a number divided by Two

I was listening to Harry Nilsson yesterday and the song "One" came on. The lyrics have always been terrific, but I hadn't quite grasped the idea of "One is a number divided by two."

But in my recently experienced temporary re-bachelorhood (Rachel's on a 3-week trip to India), I think I understand it better. Being part of Two means that all One's energy can't get spent on One, some gets spent on Two.

I, for One, think this is an awesome thing. I am completely bored with One (not to mention, He is super-neurotic when Two aren't Twogether.)

Okay, that's just a ramble that I had to express somehow. It's true that "One is the loneliest number," though. The month of November has been a lesson in 1) trying to refocus energies, 2) trying to stay both mentally and physically healthy without a co-pilot, and 3) getting shit done. I have to say, number two has been the most successfully met lesson. I have gotten some shit done, but not as much as I wanted. This has never changed, for all my (now) thirty years, I have always wanted to get more done than I actually do. Even when what I've done has been, well, a lot.

In My Dream Last Night: I was recording an album at Brian Speaker's house. We couldn't decide on the kick drum rhythm. There was a track listing for the album! And I can't remember a damn thing from it! Which leads me to tangential rant number six-thousand-and-three:

I wish I had a better memory. This week, at the Bushwick Book Club, we all sang songs about Nabokov's "Despair", a book I truly loathed. Me and the "unreliable narrator" would have bar fights if we could. I wrote a song about "Dostoyevsky" and being the Bearded Lady. I don't know why but it felt super honest (Dostoyevsky kicks Nabakov's ass, and the other day, a guy treated me like a circus act, asking me to my face, "Is that a real beard?" I incredulously asked him if he was serious, and walked away.)

Lots of people wrote songs about interesting parts of that book. Parts that I didn't remember. I couldn't remember a significant detail of the plot that was really interesting, once other people brought it up. I have trouble with names of friends-of-friends all the time, and even people I've met on more than one occasion. I envy people who can remember all kinds of details.

NOTE: I'm not talking about times when brains get so substantially altered that it would be understandable (or at least explainable) that one "doesn't remember". That's totally not what I'm talking about here. Though I am also constantly amazed by people who do not have this problem.

I don't remember a lot of my childhood. I have flashes, very specific memories, but not a progression. Some people I know remember lots of things from growing up. I feel like I have a photo album of important moments. But for example - my fifth birthday. I don't remember that. My nephew just turned four (and already knows about Black Holes, I should mention!) - will he remember his Pirate Party, twenty five years from now?

I don't know why I'm blogging. I'm not good at doing it regularly. I guess, I'm on one of those upticks with writing at the moment, and this is part of it.

Is there a good way to increase memory? Ginko Biloba? Would that work? I had a teacher in high school who was so forgetful and would always say, "Time to start taking Ginko Biloba!

What a great name for a band. What kind of music would it be? Math Rock? Hippie Tribal? Insert idea _(here)_.

Watched Bob Fosse's "Lenny Bruce" movie the other day (night) and was fascinated. I feel like I could do that kind of comedy, like what's funny about society. Here's something I was thinking about the other day, before seeing this movie:

A group of people are sitting around a table, drinking coffees and talking about movies. One says, "Oh, who's that actor in that movie we saw?" And another says, "OH, umm, he's the one, the one from that TV show. What's his name?" And another says, "The one from 24?" and the first one says, "No, not him. The OTHER one..." And the fourth person picks up his iPhone, and says, "Hold on a sec, I'll look it up." And everyone reaches for their coffee cups, takes a sip, while person four tap-taps on the glass, and hits enter. Waiting for the page to load....person three says something like "So how was the movie?" and person two says, "Well, it was um, you know, it was just okay."

Person four is staring at his phone, which after three minutes, says, "Unable to load the requested page" and he says, "It can't connect." He tries again, and then three minutes later, shakes his head, and says, "Oh well." The conversation slips into something about this random blog by a fledgling songwriter in Brooklyn.

Now, what happened here? A perfectly good brain bank of four people couldn't find the name of a famous actor on the tips of their tongues, and so they ask the internet. Then the internet fails. I've been in conversations (hell, I've been the guy with the iPhone) where honest communication has been pre-empted by technological consultation. And what's actually not connecting here? The phone, or us?

I wish I could remember the track listing from my dreams. I do remember that one song was going to be solo (I had put a band together for the album) and I thought, in the dream, "well, that's good, a lot of band albums could benefit from a solo track."

A solo track. One is okay sometimes I guess.