At least a half dozen times a day, I break into song. Mostly popular music, but I have been known to perform a number from a Broadway or Hollywood musical from time to time. I’ve always seemed to have this talent, if you can call it that, and I share it with my stepson, Ken Keiter. Ken is even better at it than I am, but I’m loath to admit that to him. I do not know where this comes from, but I suspect it’s the same unique brain mechanism that allows me to remember who is married to who in Hollywood, or who won what Academy Award. Come to think of it, it’s probably related in some neurological way to my uncanny ability to remember what people wear down to the smallest detail.
Lest you think I’m boasting, think again, because I’m aware that this is very shallow stuff. I mean, what if the brain cells being used to store all this information were used to do math problems or design cities or find cures for diseases? Instead, I’m singing off-key or noticing unflattering outfits on people or wondering why Jennifer Anniston hasn’t remarried or watching episode after episode of Glee.
So trivial I may be, but it does make me fun at a party. So I’ve been told.