Y-Chromosomitis

I received an IM from a friend the other night that read simply:

"Why no T-Bone?"

No "hello." No "hi, how are you?" Just those four words. Yet immediately, I not only recognized it as a line from Seinfeld, but I knew the specific episode and scene it came from, as well as who said it.

Granted, that was an easy one, since that is the episode my name, Bone, was derived from. (By the way, thanks Renee for explaining that on another blog. I love my readers!) But it's not the first time this has happened.

I can pretty much do that with any Seinfeld line. Yet someone has to tell me when their birthday is at least five times before I can remember it.

I can name at least eight current pro bowlers off the top of my head, and recognize them when I see them on TV. And I don't even watch bowling all that much. (Except apparently I do.) Yet I have trouble remembering much of anything any female said to me even twenty-four hours ago. Or five minutes ago.

How can this be? Well, I have come up with a theory. You may want to sit down for this. You know, if you normally read my blog standing up...

I think I may have selective memory.

(Pause to wait for gasps of disbelief to subside.)

Please don't let this negatively affect your opinion of me. I'm still same old rugged, General Hospital-watching, 24-recapping, Seinfeld-quoting, Jason Morgan-esque ladies man you've come to know and love. But, I do have a problem. And admitting it is the first step to recovery.

Now... what were we talking about?

Oh, yes... bowling!

No, seriously. I've also come to believe my selective memory could be partly due to the fact that, at times, I may also have selective hearing.

I know, I know. This is almost impossible to believe. It's like hearing that Rosie O'Donnell hangs upside down for fun. But let me give you an example:

If I'm watching sports (or Letterman, or poker, or You've Got Mail) and a girl calls, I would venture to guess that I fail to comprehend anywhere from 50-75% of what she is saying. If it's a really exciting game, or Alabama is playing, that number could be as high as 99%. (I would say 100, but I normally eventually hear them saying my name repeatedly when they realize I'm distracted.)

Why do I do this? In my opinion, it basically comes down to two simple facts. I have a short attention span. And, I can only concentrate on one thing at a time. Sure, sometimes I fake it, who doesn't? Like with the television and phone calls. But in reality, only one thing or the other is getting thru. And if I'm listening to her, then I'm missing the game. And, well, obviously...

Now one might ask, "Bone, why do you specify when a girl calls, and not a guy?" Well, with guys, conversations tend to be short and have a specific point. Let's look at a couple of examples of guy conversations:

Example one:
"Hello."
"Are you watching this?"
"Yeah."
"Did you see that crap call!?"
"Yeah."
"That's terrible!"
"I agree."
"Alright, I'll call you back."
"Alright."

Example two:
"Hello."
"Hey, I'm not gonna be able to make it tonight. Sheena and I got back
together."
"Oh. Alright. That's cool."
"So, uh... I guess I'll talk to you later."
"Yeah. Later."

In these examples, notice how a short attention span wouldn't really come into play. I can usually pay attention to the first three or four things someone says when they call. But after that, it's all downhill, swiftly and steeply.

Contrariwise, with women, there's often a lot of "how was your day" and "guess what happened to me today" kind of stuff. Conversations can, on occasion, begin to wander aimlessly, dragging on sometimes for hours.

It stands to reason that if I don't even hear half of what she says, there's no way I can be expected to remember it. So selective hearing leads to selective memory, and that, I believe, is what I have.

When I mentioned this newfound realization--epiphany, if you will--to a couple of women, their responses were surprisingly uniform. Of course you do, you're a man.

Yes friends, aparently my selective memory and selective hearing are only symptoms of a much more serious, terminal condition, known as being a man.

"I'm only a man in a funny red sheet. And it's not easy. It's not easy to be me..."