There’s a lot of information in my brain, and I’m pretty sure about 97.3 percent of it is completely unnecessary.

I’m not some kind of super genius who knows the atomic weight of everything in the periodic table, or one who can name all the kings of England.

Rather, I know things that have absolutely no bearing on my life whatsoever, like the names of multiple characters from “The Hills” and the technical term for the little plastic thing on the end of shoelaces.

Can’t remember what class we had together in high school? I could probably tell you. Why is that important now? It’s not. At all. (Do I like when people ask themselves questions? No. Am I stopping now? Thankfully.)

A few weeks ago I met up with some college friends — Shawn L. and Mindy — for lunch at our favorite pizza place and some quality time strolling around campus. You may recall from previous entries that Shawn L. was one of my roommates.

At one point during the conversation he mentioned this one summer he spent on campus to take extra classes, and couldn’t remember which of the dorm buildings he lived in. I was almost 200 miles away during that summer (2004), and yet I could immediately recall that he spent those months staying in Hassinger Hall.

I can honestly say that conversation is the only time in the past seven years that knowing that minor detail has benefitted me in any way. I hope I didn’t need that space in my brain for something else.

(Totally unrelated note: After roughly two years, I put in the three minutes of effort it took to create my own icon for the address bar. Get excited.)