My mind did this neat thing.

I was reading a “Talk of the Town” in “The New Yorker” which began “the sculptor John Ahearn.”
“(S)culptor” caught its interest more than, say, “meter reader” or “celebrity chef” would have, but “John Ahearn” registered absolutely zero, until, a few lines later it came across “studio in the South Bronx,” at which point I found myself asking, Is that the guy who did those statue of the fellow with the boom-box and the one with the pit bull?

In the early ’90s, Jane Kramer had written an article in “The New Yorker” about such a guy and the Public Art issues raised by those statues, which was published as a book, “Whose Art Is It?” in 1994 (highly recommended), both of which I’d read. But in the over-20-years since, I don’t think I’ve read or thought of “John Ahearn.” I remembered the issue, but I couldn’t’ve told you his name or, other than NYC, where his studio was.

But my mind had known this and held onto it and, triggered by those few words, had brought it out of the freezer. It even patted itself on its back for this achievement.

Pretty cool, huh?