When I was just a mere Popeette of about 4, I had an experience that I suspect had a profound impact on who I became later in my life as an adult and as the leader of the All John All The Time World Church. Although this took place back in what seems to have been the Triassic Era, when men were men and dinosaurs didn't give a crap, being a lot bigger and being the possessor of much larger teeth, all the better to eat you with, my dear, I still have the memory of the event, tucked away in one of the deep recesses of what purports to be my mind. (By the way, man and dinosaurs never existed on this planet simultaneously, the Flintstones to the contrary.)
My father, Harvack, who was an Etruscan from the planet Caladium, was repairing an electric table lamp one day, with my able and necessary assistance. (At the ripe old age of 4, I'm sure I was a tremendous help to my Dad. I recall an incident, some years later, when my father remarked to me, after I had pestered him incessantly to allow me to "help" to the point of driving him to drink, for which he was just looking for an excuse to do anyway, "Do you want to help me?"
When I eagerly replied that it would be my fondest desire in life to assist him with whatever household chore he was doing at that time, he looked me in the eye and said, "Good, the best way you can help me is to go away and leave me alone." A wonderful example of father and son bonding.) Actually, my old man, despite how he probably sounded from his above remark, was a pretty good guy. We were never really very close; I was the youngest of three kids, and the second of his two sons, the first being my older brother Harshamla, who my sister and I, to this day, refer to as P.A., which stands for Pompous Ass, an attitude my big bro attained early in life. I came along late in my mother and father's lives, and by the time I was old enough to grasp what was happening in our house, Dad was working a million hours a week to put together a "nest-egg", as they referred to it back then, so he could eventually retire at the ripe old age of 59. He was busy, and we just never grew close. I think my Dad liked me (and I think my Mother didn't), but it was a case of too little, too late. I'm not complaining here, merely commenting.
So my father was repairing the electrical cord on a table lamp this fateful day, and determining that the plug was culprit for why the lamp wasn't working, had taken pair of wire cutters and snipped off the plug and about three inches of cord; of course, there was a small amount of bare wire exposed where he had made the cut with the snippers. (I remember the doctor who performed my vasectomy kept using the term "snip", which I felt was wildly inappropriate, considering we were discussing my genitalia.)
Being the enterprising child that I was, I decided to determine just what exactly this whole electricity thing was all about, and proceeded to pick up the faulty plug from where my father had dropped it on the table, walked to the nearest wall socket and inserted it into the slots. Of course, the results were instantaneous and predictable. The electricity that was stored in the wall socket took immediate advantage of the path I had provided and surged out of the wall, down the short length of wire that was still connected to the plug and into my four-year old hand. Fortunately, I wasn't standing in a puddle of water at the time or you wouldn't be reading this now.
I remember the two lessons I learned from this incident vividly; one, given a proper conduit, electricity will flow unimpeded. To this day I have no idea what keeps it in the socket when the socket is devoid of "plugs"; it's obviously some kind of arcane and wonderful magic. (Actually that's not true at all; I have an excellent working knowledge of things electrical, but there are times when it does seem...magical.) But the very nanosecond you present a viable path for it to flow through, craphouse mouse, here it comes. Second, although 110 volts of household current will not kill you, unless you happen to be standing in that puddle of water I referred to above, it will give you cause to never, ever desire to come in contact with it again. Needless to say...well, if its needless to say then I won't say it. (I hate that stupid cliché, "needless to say"; well then fine, all you dumbshits that continually use the phrase, don't say it then.) Suffice it to say, (yeah, that's better), that the introduction of 110 volts of electricity into the hand of a four -year old produces an immediate cause/effect continuum in the life of said four-year old.
About 15 minutes later, after the shrieking had died down, and my mother had castigated my old man vigorously for being an asshole, I was assured that I would live, most likely with no permanent scars. (Try convincing a four-year old of that; I remember being pretty sure I was going to die; in fact, even in my at that point undeveloped four-year old brain, I was pretty sure that death might in fact have been a big improvement to the pain I was experiencing.)
So it was with great interest, and no small amount of trepidation, that I read a report in the Los Angeles Times recently that a study had been conducted by some group of scientists someplace, and that they had determined that the electromagnetic activity surrounding the antenna of a cell phone produces a discernable disruption in the brain-waves at the point where the antenna is closest to your head. True story.
Now I know that there's a great deal of difference between the electromagnetic activity of a cell phone antenna and standard household A/C (that's "alternating current" for you non-scientific types); despite all indications to the contrary, I'm not that stupid. But I don't know about you, but the idea that ANY qausi-electrical device that is operating in that close proximity to my brain, and that the activity of said device is having measurable impact on said brain, seems to me to be cause for some alarm. Don't kid yourselves; it may be minute, but that's electrical current that's coursing through your cell, every time you use it.
Now the study only observed the phenomena; it didn't attempt to measure the actual effect on the brain, which of course in the case of Charlie Sheen would have been negligible, given how much brain he seems to possess. But the brain-wave interruption by the electromagnetic field of the antenna was, apparently, irrefutable.
I'm not a big user of my cell; I have one (hell, just about everyone in this country over the age of five has one these days), but it has never been as prominent in my life as it is in so most people's lives these days. (Did you see the video that went viral recently of the lady in the mall who was so intent on what she was texting that she walked into a fountain? It was either that or she just felt like a quick dip in the pool and was telling someone about it before going in.) This event alone would seem to indicate the existence of brain damage from the overuse of cell phones (and if that's the case, you have to wonder what the excuse for that level of stupidity was prior to cell phones becoming so popular).
The report went on to state that the need for further study was undeniable; it also went on to say that the possibility that your brain would start to leak out of the ear you don't use for your cell was excellent, assuming the possession of said brain previously (see Charlie Sheen remark above).
So all you users of iPods and Peapods and iPhones and SmartPhones and 4G devices and wireless kanooten valves are all destined to quickly become brain-dead, flesh-eating zombies in the near future, much like several of my ex-in-laws.
And when that happens, rest assured the only cure available will be electro-shock therapy, which, as your Pope Guy can tell you from his own personal experience back all those many years ago, is something to be avoided.
Love and voltmeters,
PJTT
copyright 2011 Krissongs, Inc.
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