So Gothamist asked, "Do you remember your friends' phone numbers?" And, sadly, I don't. I wish I did. I used to take pride in knowing everyone's numbers. These days, I know my wife's cell number and, on good days, my sister's and my mom's. My dad's never took. Yet, I do still retain the digits of two of my best friends' houses, but only one would still do me any good. The other's parents have moved away, leaving their 8321 suffix embedded in my brain, unable to be defragmented.
If I were living in my bathtub for a week, that's what I'd use my time for -- memorizing phone numbers. That'd prove to be more useful going forward than knowing the presidents in order.