Spring Cleaning

Yes, it's almost summer: time for some spring cleaning. Today I spent my time cleaning, cleaning my brain. As some of you might have suspected, cleanliness is not necessarily next to Danliness (the first year I decided to clean my brain, I accidentally downloaded the instructions for brain washing from howto.com; suffice it to say, I eventually freed myself from the airport, though I did keep the beads), so when I do commit myself to some cleaning, I go the whole hog. I started out with some light lifting, clearing the brain of some now-obsolete numbers and such that have been hanging around too long. For example, jettisoned were 876-5309, 10 Downing Street, 36-24-36 (not, alas, someone I once knew, just an old locker combination), Spitter007, 60'6", 68. I found an odd switch inexplicably turned "on." We'll see how many times a day I wash my hands this year. I forcibly removed a song I couldn't get out of my head for months now; an old ELO one, I believe--I've already forgotten. The shopping list I made sixteen years ago for my maiden voyage to Bed, Bath and Beyond I finally shredded. Maybe I'll get there next year. I was all set to don the EPA suit and dump the contents of my guilt vault, but then I spied, right next to it, the memories of twelve years of Catholic education, and I reasoned I might regret messing with the whole thing. Do you think that's okay? I rummaged through my dream cache, laughed once again at that one involving Janet Reno and the ring master, then cleaned house, putting up for sale on e-bay a rather juicy re-occurring one about Obama and an ear transplant. I did myself the favor of completely zapping my Cleveland sports memories for the past six months (BTW, it's NBA Finals time: the Cavs still in it? Mike Brown and Danny Ferry already concocting summer plans to make next year's team even more of a juggernaut? Is the Tribe hanging around first place long enough to put some post-July 4th excitement into the old hometown?). I dusted off my Bob Dylan shrine in my frontal cortex, re-tested my knowledge of every song he's ever written and sung, re-lit the votive candle, set the alarm and the multi-layered booby trap, and locked it all up for another year. Totally re-energized, I jogged my memory not once, not twice, but thrice around the block. Among the beads of sweat such activity produced were these gems: Thurl Ravenscroft was not only the voice of Tony the Tiger, but also sang the Grinch song. Flaghoople is Wilma Flinstone's maiden name, May 16, 1975 was the day I got my first zit. Stay away from Philadelphia. All in all, a very satisfying spring brain cleaning. Now if only I could remember where I left my glasses, keys, and raison d'etre, I could go out to Wendy's and celebrate.

Talking Heads-Artists Only