I was driving home in the car (as opposed to my horse buggy), listening to a man recount a night of partying with the metal band, Skid Row. He mentioned that he had a blast with them--from what he could remember.
Well if my memory serves me correctly, the nights that most of my friends and fraternity brothers would brag about the following day would be the ones they could remember the least. In fact, it seemed as though the measurement of fun was based on how much one could remember: If you remembered a lot, it was a good time; if you couldn't remember anything at all, then somehow the night turns out to be one of the best nights ever.
My question is this: If the best times of your life are measured by how little you remember them, shouldn't the first two years out of the womb be considered the greatest?