Hee-hee

't was the day before, and humour was the lore.
A brain, particularly mine, is a tremendous instrument. First of all, your frontal lobes possess the gift of creativity. You know, the whole genesis thing: 'in the beginning, there was nothing, and then the-artist-also-known-as-god hit a huge bassdrum' (well, something along those lines, anyway). It's not even necessary to present your grey matter with a problem: if need be, your central nervous system (in some people, that term is a brilliant allegory, by the way) will create and occasionally solve it's own mysteries.
Did I leave the coffeemachine on? Does that girl with the proverbial boots dig me? Yeah, I know I checked it - at least I think I know I checked it - then again I'm not so sure: maybe I dreamed it all up - but did I leave the coffeemachine on? This here mathematical problem should be trivial to solve, but I don't really have the time to solve it now (a^24+b^24=c^24)? Damn, that was great, but how do I boot her out of my bed again?

Another greater feat of your thinking device (I mean the one closest to your skull - not your bitter balls or your spouse), is the ability to remember. And funny things do get stocked in that neural net. Trivial knowledge that isn't even going to serve me on quizes, personal non(sense)-historical events, messed up parts of lyrics, and the way to ride a bicycle.
What has been rumoured as the most important function of the mental pudding, however, is one I am particularly good at: the great gift of... wait - what was it again? Oh, right: forgetting. To set that record straight up front: I'm not jealous of Alzheimer's patients (though "ignorance is bliss" has a ring to it), but imagine not being able to forget what a jerk(-off) you've been last week. What would happen if you could recall every (bad) dream you ever had (how long would it last until you were unsure where to draw the thin line between what happened and what hasn't anyway)? Would it still be romantic if you remembered every mariage proposal you ever read (in books, I presume - unless you have a very confusing love-life)?

So, yes, I'm very good at forgetting. How come? Well, let me take you on an inch of study (I did start to become a psychologist once). Memory is considered as a three-step process. First, you observe something (hey, when that bell rings, soon after, I get fed). Next you actively or passively memorize it (bell, fed, bell, fed,...). Finally, the last important step is to recall the information at the relevant time (though recollection at inappropriate times sometimes gets you a laughing crowd - and sometimes knuckles implanted): 'Ting' - ooh, yummy!

As I'm alright at remembering (I've had my share of knuckle implants) and, while selective, not like Michael Jackson (if I'd be doing a stand-up this would be where I'd give the people a second to let it sink in, virtually drumrolling ont the wall) at imprinting data (witness be my reasonable success at any studies I undertake, reorientation notwithstanding), there is only one explanation left for my enhanced ability at forgetting (what is the etymology on that one? for-get? Shouldn't that be not-getting?): I'm a terrible observator.
And indeed: I manage to have an hour-long conversation with a person, wondering afterwards what they looked like (hair-colour, to name but one). If I don't explicitly focus my attention on what you are saying, chances are I was paying more of that precious gift to my own pondering. I can read a book and deeply enjoy it, but not notice its title.

Yesterday evening, it all came together again.
I saw a man at work, known in some circles as Guillaume, who sparkles with creativity, and remembered what needed to be so, thus rightfully gaining the crowd at a stand-up performance.
It was good to be there (released quite a load of endorphines), and my mind surprised me again: I visually recalled people and even managed to locate them in time and space. And you know what: I cracked a few creative jokes as well, albeit more incrowd-oriented.
No booted girls were observed, the coffeemachine was long dead by that time, and yet: this morning (no, my house did not burn down), Ruben asked me to tell one of the jokes I heard yesterday.

I couldn't come up with one.