That song is stuck in my head. Walk into a gas station to pick up an iced tea and a Twix (peanut butter) and some horrible song from the early 80s soft rock era (or any equally bad musical genre/era) is playing gently in the background.
It slowly enters your head. Two minutes later, you walk out and you are singing it. They are always the songs you can’t stand but you know all the words to because your mother always had the soft rock/pop station on at home and in the car as your developing brain was trying to form . . . and somewhere in long term memory are ALL the words to these damn songs.
I asked myself today, “how in THE HELL do I know all the words to “Sailing” by Christopher Cross. I hate that song, I really do. Always have. Yet it burns through my memory banks, wasting perfectly good brain cells that could be better spent on memorizing statistics of guys like Ken Oberkfell (3B 1982 St. Louis Cardinals), or Fennis Dembo (12th man power forward of the 1990 Detroit Pistons).
Damn you Christopher Cross. Damn you mom. Damn you FM radio.