It was chilly this morning in Northern California. As a matter of fact, it was so chilly I had to turn on the heat for a little while. That was hours ago, though–at about 7 this morning. Just now, as I came back inside from taking my dog out back to pee, I noticed that it felt warm in the house, but I attributed that to the sweatshirt I was wearing and to the fact that I’d just been outside, in the sun.
It has warmed up considerably this afternoon and I had been outside for a while. I was taking off my sweatshirt when I remembered that I’d turned on the heat, early this morning. Curious, I walked over to the thermostat to see if I’d accidentally left it running. “I wonder if the heat is still on,” I thought as I approached. “The heat is on,” I said to myself as I turned it off, and that’s when it happened.
The moment the words, ‘the heat is on,’ left my mouth, I heard the saxophone from this song start up in my head:
I know, it was weird and I felt compelled to sing as much of the song as I could. It confused the dogs terribly. I too was dumbfounded, but for different reasons. I was surprised at how many of the lyrics I had actually managed to remember. I wasn’t even 7 years old when Beverly Hills Cop came out and here I was, thirty years later, singing the shit out of “The Heat is On,” in my living room.
It’s pretty strange what manages to stick to one’s memory.