When I was in 8th grade, I had a fairly rigorous science teacher who, among other things, insisted that all students memorize the Periodic Table of Elements. I've never been too clear on why she thought that this was a necessary part of a science education unless she was preparing us all for eventual glory on Jeopardy!, but along with my classmates I was tested on the elements, ten at a time, each week for about ten weeks. Each Friday we'd go to the science lab, pull out a blank sheet of paper, and regurgitate the most recent elements, their numbers, and their symbols. Spelling counted.

17 years later, when I poke around in the dusty corners of my brain, I come across the first 22 elements, along with the first two of the 25 Nations With the Mooooost People (Miss Tang, 5th grade), the Preamble to the Constitution (Mr. Fitzsimmons, 7th grade), the first 18 lines of The Canterbury Tales in Middle English (Mr. Austin, 12th grade), and the first 7 lines of the Iliad in ancient Greek (Professor Levine, 16th grade). So, what to do with these random elements? Collect them all, some insane neuron in my brain whispers. And do what with them? I snort.

Well . . .

Maybe they'll come in handy someday. Maybe, just maybe, someone, say an overconfident geek, will make some reference to them in passing, leaving me an opening to arrogantly assert that the Table of Elements isn't all that hard, why anyone could memorize it! Thinking to call my bluff, the overconfident geek will demand that I recite it myself, it it's so easy. Appearing flustered, I'll stammer that obviously I wouldn't perform for free -- what am I, a trained monkey? -- and only for money will I recite the Table of Elements. Convinced that he has me on the run now, the geek will boldly declare that he'll pay -- if I can perform. But he's sure I can't. He, you see, has never heard the adage about not betting on sure things. I'll ask how much and he'll tell me to name my price. $100, I'll demand! He'll think that I'll think that it'll be more than he's willing to put on the line, but so certain is he that this is only an exercise in rubbing my nose in my own hubris, he agrees. Not before you show my the money, I'll insist, appearing to him only to be stalling for more time. He whips it out and puts it on the table. Wellll? he'll ask insolently.

I'll smile. He may realize his mistake then, but it'll be too late as I start to rattle them off at 80 mph: "Hydrogenheliumlithiumberylliumboroncarbonnitrogensoxygenflourineneonsodiummagnesium . . ."

Yup, he'll be screwed and I'll have an extra hundred dollars.

But I can't make this work with only 22 elements. For maximum effect, I must have them all. So, I've started rememorizing the table, an element a day. I'm up to Krypton now, so I have about two thirds of the table to go. My only worry now is that my golden opportunity will come before I finish memorizing them all. I may have to avoid all geeks until then.