just call me raegen

STUPID, MEANINGLESS LIVES UNITE TO DISCUSS UNPOPULAR OPINIONS

Month: July, 2012

Oh, you’re in a public restroom? Then GET OFF THE PHONE!

This week, it came to my attention that there may be some confusion over what a bathroom is for. As always, I’m more than happy to educate everyone out there who may be confused about this rarely discussed but often taken-for-granted space.

English: Bathroom (toilet and bath)

This is a bathroom. Any questions? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Let’s start by detailing the purpose a bathroom serves — for it is indeed designed to be a functional space. Unless you happen to find yourself in a mansion, you’ve probably noticed how the bathroom area of a house or building is often not terribly formal. No one’s thinking about how to make a bathroom — and more specifically the toilet portion of it — a piece of conceptual art (except for maybe this guy) as much as how to hide the things that take place in it via a curtain or mottled glass door on the shower and a lid — sometimes decked out in a chic, shag-carpet-like cover — on the toilet.

But the bathroom is so much more than this. Where do you turn when you feel sick and your mom’s no longer there to clean up the cookies you could get away with tossing in your bed when you were young? The bathroom. What cool, refreshing surface do you press your hot, clammy skin against after a long night having too much fun at the bar? The beloved toilet in that bathroom. And when you ate some funky chicken, where is the sanctuary that provides relief? It ain’t no church, temple or mosque; it’s the porcelain God.

English: This is used to pee in the bathroom.

Bow down, bwotches! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Many of you already know this. Your love and appreciation for the restroom is deep and abiding. Who knows where this respect came from? Perhaps your parents potty-trained you with a sense of toilety morals. Or maybe like me, you’ve had intestinal issues pretty much your whole life that have led you to recognize that sometimes, all that stands between you and chaos, you and the literal, unescapable stench of humanity, is that bathroom — private or public.

But this week, I witnessed firsthand the severest form of disrespect ever levied against a restroom and the people in it. No, it wasn’t a renegade trickle of urine down the side of the toilet that its maker didn’t wipe away. It wasn’t even “Nicky is a creamy, garlicy vag flap” etched into a stall door (which, yes, I’ve seen inscribed in a school bathroom almost verbatim).

No, my friends, it was some bumb ditch huddling in a corner, almost leaning against the closed door of the stall she was nearest to, talking on her cell phone while some poor stranger suffered inside, trying to drop her deuce in peace.

English: Lady talking to a pay phone in Tallin...

FYI: This is the only stall in which or near which it is appropriate to talk on a phone. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Many things ran through my mind, witnessing this crime against humanity and my sanctuary. I could say something to the ditch like, “Look, you bumb ditch, can’t you see people are trying to do the dew in here? Take it outside!” But she probably wouldn’t hear me over her inane blathering — the volume of which was amplified by the humble tile flooring found in most bathrooms.

I could start making flatulence noises with my hands and mouth so loud that the person on the other end of the phone would say, “Are you in the bathroom while you’re talking to me?” thereby shaming the bumb ditch into a) leaving or b) ending the call. But knowing that like typically draws like, the person the bumb ditch was talking to was probably a rude bumb ditch herself — and equally inconsiderate.

I could try to be the hero, snatching the phone out of the ditch’s hand and throwing it into the toilet. But no — I didn’t feel like getting arrested that day, especially when I wasn’t really the party at fault.

Whoops… And by “whoops,” I mean, “Go eff yourself.”

In the end, I decided to start laughing audibly while shaking my head and expressing condemnation with my eyes — which, surprisingly enough, is extremely effective with those who know me IRL.

But I have to admit, the ditch kept on talking without pause, so I had to accept that this effort to defend my innocent restroom comrade was just plain ineffective.

This led me to brainstorm about what can be done against the plague of morons that believe their shiz — the metaphorical type, of course, since we can garner that they have no respect for the literal kind based on their behavior — is so epic, so effin’ important, that it simply cannot wait until they’re anyplace but a restroom.

phone

Why, yes, I do live on Planet Look-at-Me! (Photo credit: mike r baker)

But let me first say three things directly to these bathroom heathens:

1) There is never any reason for you to be on the phone in a public restroom. No, really — NEVER. If it’s your child’s school or your significant other’s boss calling, you have the number programmed into your phone and would be halfway to your car by the time you answered it anyway, right? You understand that there’s a sense of importance with such calls that sidesteps any urge you may have had to go to the bathroom in the first place, let alone answer the call from there. This means that any call you’re willing to take in the bathroom is trivial in nature. Yet you’re still willing to put your asinine social time above other people’s necessary bodily functions, which have been acknowledged by humankind as critical enough to dictate the creation of entire rooms specifically for the carrying out of such acts? Congrats: You’ve just won my Completely Narcissistic Butt Clown Award! People like you are the reason this country is going down the crapper and organizations like this must be founded.

Unless you’re the leader of a country or the like, your life is just as stupid and meaningless as the rest of ours (see here), so spare everyone who doesn’t give a shiv the details of yours. And if you were the leader of a country, you would know better than to even think about talking on the phone in a bathroom. Can you imagine if one of our presidents was caught talking to, like, Hu Jintao while taking a leak? World War III, suckas!

English: President Barack Obama talks with Isr...

Mind if I put you on hold a sec and transfer this call to my “private” private office? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

2) When you were potty-trained, you may recall that there was no phone involved. Please consider this to be deliberate, as a phone is unnecessary in a bathroom environment and, in fact, is in direct conflict with it and all it represents.

If you can’t recall your potty-training experience, feel free to go ask your parents how it went. Hopefully they’ll reiterate how stupid you are for talking on your phone in the bathroom while recalling the many pairs of shorts you stained back then not getting to the bowl in time.

3) It’s high time you were educated about a syndrome known as “poo anxiety.” Poo anxiety is a real disorder, characterized by a person’s inability to release fecal matter in the presence — however guarded against by stall walls and doors — of others. If a poo-anxiety sufferer sees or hears other sentient life forms in the same restroom he or she is in, that person will clench the sphincter closed until such time as a) other people leave, b) the No. 2 feeling has passed — at least for the time being, and/or c) he or she can escape to some other — and hopefully unoccupied — restroom and achieve the sweet release.

Bathroom Phone

This is ONLY for when you’ve fallen and can’t get up. (Photo credit: netmonkey)

Given that I entered the bathroom when the innocent stall victim was already there, I baked my own brownies, I witnessed the bumb ditch’s criminal behavior, I washed my hands, and I exited the bathroom all while my innocent comrade remained silent, I think it’s safe to assume that this stall victim suffers from poo anxiety. Add to this the fact that the innocent comrade chose one of the end stalls — practically a poo-anxiety-sufferer dead giveaway — to attempt to relieve herself, and I believe my argument would be indisputable in a court of law.

As for me, you may have guessed from what I mentioned above that I am not a sufferer of poo anxiety disorder. I’ve found that people like me who have intestinal issues are generally forced to get over this type of fear at an early age by virtue of their colon’s untamed power and take-no-prisoners mentality.

And me even more specifically — I’ll crap right into your hand if you want. You don’t even have to dare me. You just have to wait until I get the special tingle.

Heck — maybe that’s the solution to this dilemma! Maybe the poo-flinging monkeys had it right all along!

Monkey Mountain

Aim for the open mouth, brah! (Photo credit: pnoeric)

Can I be arrested for flinging poo? Someone in my posse must know…

Still, even if it weren’t illegal, why should I have to suffer with a smelly hand for days because of some bumb ditch’s poor life choice?

No, my friends — I’ve found an even better solution for dealing with these idiots.

Two words: air horn. Not only can you blare this blessed little treasure from the privacy of a restroom stall, thereby keeping you relatively anonymous, but you will render perps too temporarily deaf to continue a conversation with anyone, let alone the accessory to the crime — the person on the other end of the phone with which a bumb ditch is conspiring.

English: Italian Air Horn

Forget children — THIS is a real gift from God. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

And heck, you might even literally scare the crap right out of a poo-anxiety sufferer, curing him or her of that fear in a single blow (pun intended).

For the low, low price of $4.50, you too can wield the long arm of justice. It’s an investment well worth making — for the preservation of your sanity and a safe, special place I consider my second home but most of us call, quite simply, the bathroom.

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The Dark Knight and Night Within Us: The Colorado Shooting

Aerosmith’s “Living on the Edge” played on the radio station I was listening to a few weeks ago. I hadn’t heard the song in years. I’d forgotten not only how good it is, but how relevant it has remained.

There is something wrong with the world today. And I don’t know what it is, either. But here are some thoughts.

I grew up in a time where kids played outside, and sure, there was some degree of bullying even in my youth, but never to the degree that it exists today. No matter who you were — jock, nerd, or whatever other label had been attributed somehow to each individual — you had a place in some crowd. Everyone belonged somewhere. You didn’t have to find friends online — indeed, there was no online then — let alone find out those so-called friends weren’t really who they claimed to be and, on top of that, weren’t really your friends.

I grew up in a time where people knew their neighbors — perhaps even a little too much, like how Mrs. X had a disturbing preoccupation with sweeping the driveway twice a day. I grew up in a time where people — young and old — really weren’t isolated, sitting behind screens all day, possibly stuck in some perverted scene or another without a sense of compassion for humanity or grip on reality.

I grew up in a time where spanking wasn’t considered child abuse. I grew up in a time where there were real consequences for even minor transgressions at an early age, where kids were reined in long before the vast majority could ever go too far.

I grew up in a time where people for the most part knew how to interact with each other appropriately face to face, understood the difference between fantasy — even dark fantasy — and real life.

This is not to say there wasn’t war, murder, rape, or other horrors humankind inflicted upon each other. Perhaps I am under the delusion that certain incidents are more common today than they were then. Perhaps it was that we didn’t hear as much about these tragedies because we simply weren’t as interconnected then as we are now.

Still, is anyone really content with the current state of affairs, whether they’ve gotten worse or (I say with a large degree of skepticism) perhaps even better, statistically speaking?

Yeah, me neither.

There’s something wrong with the world today. The light bulb’s getting dim.

But what can be done?

Even more frustrating than ensuing arguments about gun control, corporal punishment, law, etc., is the thought — perhaps truth — that there really is nothing that will stop this insanity… at least nothing from a large-scale perspective.

So this is where I return once again to the issue of individual responsibility. Each and every one of us has got to be personally responsible for our actions in this world. While I do not endorse any religious belief system here, I did find some of what this Christian Science Monitor article had to say reasonable — specifically the first half. The following quote was particularly thought-provoking:

“The ultimate goal is reliable protection.”

While law enforcement, weapons regulation, etc., can potentially assist in the reduction of violent ends, they will never be able to prevent violence entirely. All these things do is serve to temper the swell. They are a treatment of the symptoms, not a solution. They will never be able to stop all evils, though they may thankfully head some off at the pass. They will never be a cure for the dark desires we all have but that rise to the surface for some people, who subsequently act out such fantasies.

Which is why heroes like Batman are so appealing in the first place. Heroes remind us of the good that also exists in people. They help us — particularly as children — to feel safe in an otherwise unpredictable and therefore terrifying world.

But the world is unpredictable, and that is and should be terrifying. Let’s not forget that even Bruce Wayne possessed the awareness that safety is an illusion — a lesson he learned as a child, when he witnessed his own parents’ murder.

He also illustrates why personal responsibility is so important. He could have taken what happened to him and let it warp him into a villain. Instead, he chose to be a force of good.

But even he stands as an example of how problematic “fighting” for peace truly is. He wreaked vengeance upon those responsible for his parents’ murder, which gives the character dimension, though he would’ve been prosecuted in our justice system for assault at the very least whether we consider it justifiable or not. The injustice he suffered as a child served to drive him toward helping others — but sadly, this requires violence to counter violence.

Guns and people kill people, but so do knives and people and fists and people. What’s the common denominator? People. We all have it within ourselves to be forces of evil or hate, just as we all have it within ourselves to be forces of good or love. We can all be knights fighting for the good of humankind or get swallowed up in the abyss of our own dark nights.

But the fight is really never with others. It’s strictly with ourselves. Batman’s cause is utterly hopeless, when you really think about it, because even his fighting against criminals can’t transform the root of the problem in the first place, which is in all criminals’ minds — and in each and every one of ours.

You can help yourself from falling. In fact, you’re really the only one who can. (This is where Steven Tyler and I disagree.)

In spite of all of those wonderful toys comic book characters have, and in spite of those heroes’ most benevolent intentions, real heroism resides in each of us; it manifests itself as the responsibility we take for our own self-control as individuals. No one else can take personal responsibility for the mastering of the self or its dark side. And though I’m sure it’s of no consolation to any of the lives touched by the Aurora, Colo., tragedy — to whom my thoughts and prayers go out to — I do believe this is the only logical solution to the problem, the only thing that can possibly prevent such atrocities from happening again in the future.

Four Radical Ways to Save Money

“Dude, on a scale from 1 to 10 — 1 being not so extreme, and 10 being extremely extreme — I give this a 9.5!

It’s probably going to come as no surprise to any of my readers that most of my friends are broke. OK, maybe not broke, but definitely not rolling in the dough. And don’t get me wrong — neither am I; that’s what I (and they) get for picking professions (like writing) that few people make a ton of money at. If only my friends and I weren’t artsy, instead developing healthy, profitable passions for blood & guts, the law, or venture capitalism!

Seven Second Surgery

This won’t hurt a bit… (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

While most of us in our later years have come to manage the pittances we make a little better than we once did, every now and then, I’ll still hear the “broke as a joke” line; “I can’t do fill-in-the-blank, because I’m broke as a joke right now,” Friend X will say. And every time I hear this, I think about some of the choices I’ve made that over the years have saved me hundreds of thousands of dollars (no exaggeration), and then I think, “Man, I am so glad I never started doing fill-in-another-blank, because I’d probably be broke as a joke right now too.”

Most conventional wisdom will tell you about — you guessed it — conventional ways to save. Getting rid of your landline, not eating out, not going to movie theaters/concerts/other events, stopping shopping, selling off your stuff via Craigslist, keeping your home cold in the winter and hot in the summer, etc., are all great ways to save, but what do you do if you’re sitting around your studio apartment in your underwear in July sweating into your ramen, still broke as a joke? Before you go selling your spunk or worse, consider my extreme — and extremely unfun — ways to save! (Hey, I never said being radical was going to be easy, did I?)

1) Stop fussing with your hair

Those balding friends in my posse may already know how much money they’ve begun saving simply by virtue of Mother Nature’s wrath. After all, if you don’t have hair, you don’t have anything to cut, color or style now, do you?

Balding

Look into this crystal ball, because it is 66% of the male population’s future. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

However, if you do have hair and you insist on being pretty boys and girls, let me detail how much you spend every two months to achieve this (and I’m being generous here, since some of you visit a salon monthly):

$40 — Hair product (and can I just say how much I’ve grown to hate the word “product” because of its pairing with “hair”?), which is a modest estimate that does not take into account cleanliness items like shampoo

$75 — Hair color in a salon (because some of us are now having to cover the grays – yikes!)

$65 — Haircut in a salon

Grand total: $180/2 months, or $1,080 a year

2) Stop wearing makeup

You know what sucks? Makeup. Besides requiring testing (usually performed on animals) and generally being a pain in the rectum to both apply and remove, it supports a sexist double standard and tricks people into thinking you look like something you’re not — well, at least with the way most people wear it. I remember seeing this girl I worked with while we were in high school once without her makeup on, and it was horrifying — not because she was ugly, mind you, but because she literally looked nothing like the person I’d come to know. It was creepy — like that-show-The-Swan-where-those-women-got-all-that-plastic-surgery-done-and-looked-nothing-like-themselves-by-the-end creepy.

Three Way Mirror

Who am I, really? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Last time I checked, it wasn’t law that women had to wear makeup, and since the only men who regularly wear it are those of the stage while onstage, why should anyone else have to bother with this demoralizing task? (Seriously, wouldn’t it be interesting to consider people beautiful just as they were instead of telling them they were only pretty when they didn’t actually look like themselves?)

Anyway, here’s what you spend on that crap every three months (because if you’re not using it up, you’re supposed to be discarding it by then anyway; it does expire):

$10 — Foundation

$10 — Powder compact

$3 — Concealer

$20 — Eye shadows (because I know you bwotches need your variety)

$5 — Mascara

$5 — Eyeliner

$10 — Blush

$15 — Lipsticks

$10 — Lip glosses

Grand total: $88/3 months, or $352 a year

Keep in mind that these are prices for, like, Cover Girl. If you’re all about MAC or some department store brand, you’re paying double this, at least.

While we’re on the subject of female beatification, stop getting your nails done too — and I mean both fingers and toes. Quit being a lazy arse, grab a bottle of Wet N Wild, and call it a day.

Applying nail polish on toes

Because it just ain’t that complicated, folks. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

$30 — Acrylic nails (initial application in a salon, nail polish included)

$20 — Acrylic fill (twice a month after initial application, nail polish included)

$15 — Pedicure (twice a month)

Grand total: $80/1 month, or $850 a year

3) Stop smoking

And you’d have far less wrinkles anyway if you’d put down the ciggie, Smokey McNicotine. Dude, do you know how much cigarettes really cost these days, even if you buy them by the carton? In Las Vegas, my mom was paying $150 a month for her Marlboros! Granted, my sister was smoking half of them, but you get my point. Other cities (L.A., New York, etc.) are even worse — not to mention the fact that you know you’re going to be at a bar or some other inconvenient location some night when you run out, so you’re going to pay full price for a single pack somewhere along the line as well — which is like buying a CD at Barnes & Noble; it’s just not smart.

$50 — carton of Marlboros in Las Vegas (assuming you’ll only smoke one carton a month)

Grand total: $50/month, or $600 a year

Now, keep in mind that this is only the price of cigarettes. If you’re a cigar aficionado, your cost will be different. And if you’re a lover of the ganja, well, that’s going to cost you quite a bit more — even with your medical marijuana script.

English: "Marijuana Cigarette"

Was that my coupon I just rolled this in, Doc? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

4) Stop drinking (alcohol, soft drinks, or any beverages you pay for in dining establishments)

Yeah, I went there. I took the knife, and I stabbed it right through your pickled little liver!

Seriously, though, what if, instead of being teetotalers on principle, those temperance peeps were just cheap, you know what I’m sayin’?

$2.99 — Two-Buck Chuck (a glass a night, 5 glasses per bottle)

Grand total: $17.94/month, or $215.28 a year

But we all know you’re men and women of more distinguished tastes; plus, you could easily spend $17.94 on alcohol alone in one night at a bar, so let’s be more realistic, shall we?

$13 — 12-pack of Sam Adams (2 a month)

$30 — Gray Goose (1 a month)

$20 — Jager (for those of you who haven’t quite realized you’re not in college anymore)

$20 — Miscellaneous mixers (per month)

$20 — Bar tab (4 times a month, so as not to further embarrass the lushes among us)

Grand total: $176/month, or $2,112 a year

But this is just for alcohol. What about the cost of soft drinks when you’re out and about? Not to mention having someone else make your morning coffee — and yes, I am talking to you, Starbucks junkies!

English: A photo of a cup of coffee. Esperanto...

Remember when this was what coffee looked like? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

$2 — Pop at a restaurant/fast-food joint (8 times a month)

$4 — Grande Mocha-frappa-cappa-latte-cino, no whip  (twice a week)

Grand total: $48/month, or $576 a year

It may be extreme, it may be radical, it may even be feminist (gasp! the horror!), but not being a nicotine-filled, caffeine-driven party skank — aka Paris Hilton — saves me more than $5,000 a year, according to my calculations. Just something to think about the next time you’re hungover and can’t figure out where all your money went, let alone how that video of you got filmed and posted on YouTube.

Paris Hilton at Cannes Film Festival 2005 Deut...

“That’s hot!” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Careful What You Can’t Wish For?

Prepare yourselves for “Deep Thoughts” by Jack Handey Raegen.

Remember when SNL was funny? (Photo credit: Amazon.com)

I’ve totally had a quote stuck in my head ever since I read it — this whole week thus far. Which means one of two things: 1) I’m not keeping myself busy enough, or 2) it’s actually got some merit. Here it is:

“Memory is a magnet. It will pull to it and hold only material nature has designed it to attract.” — Jessamyn West

It started out innocently enough — with a consideration of what the quote is actually talking about. Much of my creative writing deals with memory, so right off the bat, I could relate. In fact, I bet all writers are drawing from this wellspring every single time they write — even fiction writers. (Granted, some of us edit memory more heavily than others, but I’m suspect of those who try to tell me it plays no role.)

Plus, I love the metaphor… though honestly, I think you could compare anything to a magnet and get away with it. “But isn’t that what metaphor does?” you might ask. And I would get your point, but I’m just saying that “___ is a magnet” is an easier one to pull off than “___ is an Tesla coil.” But you can take the Pepsi challenge and submit a story or poem based off of the latter below, if you’re so inclined, to try to convince me otherwise.

English: Tesla Coil Sparks. Português: Faíscas...

As Pat Benetar would never say, “Love is a Tesla coil.” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A larger assumption posed by this quote is one about nature, and that’s also intriguing. The implication is that nature designs one’s memory, which is a harder sell for me, as I don’t think of Mother Nature that way. Perhaps West was speaking of physical nature, though — genes and chemicals and things biology teachers and doctors know about? That’s more convincing to me, I suppose, but I’m still not sure I wholly agree.

Nevertheless, it’s really the idea of only being able to pull and hold that which this mysterious “nature” character has designed a thing to attract that’s been plaguing me. And yes, I acknowledge that this was likely not at all what West originally meant by what she said. I don’t think it’s even remotely implied. Still, separating the second part of the quote from its opening half and considering the remainder from a more metaphysical perspective, I find myself wondering if this could be true for the future. This is just a typical happening in the mind of Raegen.

Making eggs in baskets

This is your brain on Raegen, because Raegen demands order… and deliciousness. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What if we can only attract or learn what it’s within our imaginative capabilities/consciousness/awareness to conceive?

If you’ve read my blog about attraction (and douchebags), you’ll already know my thoughts on the whole idea of “attracting” things into one’s life. But to sum up, I believe we are responsible for attracting into our lives the lessons we need to learn to set ourselves free from self-hate so our souls can express their higher purposes. We don’t necessarily attract people; we attract lessons.

Think of it this way: If you’re at a keynote, everyone in the audience is listening to the same person speaking. We didn’t all “attract” that person; we made a conscious decision of our own volition to be present at such-and-such event. Or even if you think we did attract that person (for argument’s sake, because I surround myself with argumentative types — you know who you are), everyone’s still going to get something different out of that person and speech — a full range of emotion spanning complete loathing of everything that person is and stands for to an absolute embracing of that person’s message… and perhaps even the person him/herself. Our individual lessons — what we garnered from the experience — that’s the thing that’s attracted.

But how can you attract what you can’t even imagine?

A stainless steel frying pan.

This is your brain on — I don’t know, because I can’t imagine it. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s wild to even think about, right? It’s like trying to imagine a color you’ve never seen before. (Someone asked me to do that in high school, and it messed with my mind for, like, a month straight.)

The main thing about Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure that would be different if it happened IRL and I was, say, Socrates (So-crates!) is that I would probably lose my friggin’ mind, having come from a place that didn’t even have electricity, let alone houses with it. TVs and plumbing would destroy me. What’s on and off? Where do the little people in the box go? Heck, where did my poopy go? Poopy heaven? Poopy hell? My whole perspective and understanding about the world would be so compromised, I don’t think I could possibly recover.

Leave it to me to take it to that special dark place. Carol Ann… (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I have to chuckle when I think of the phrase “ahead of his/her time,” because in this context, there can be no such thing. We can have innovators, but even they are working within boundaries — whether they’d like to admit it or not. For example, going back to the Greeks (Am I craving a gyros or something?), they were capable of doing math. But do you think they could imagine how to get from there to a laptop computer? It would’ve been all Greek to them. (Yep, I went there.) I could be wrong, but I don’t think so.

Taking out that problematic “attraction” thing for a second (just to take out a cause for argument) and bringing this down to a more personal level, though — which is how I’ve been thinking about it most, actually — how can you possibly pursue the thing that might make you happiest in life if you’re not even aware of its existence (or the possibility of its existence) in the first place?

Yeah, think about that.

Art or coincidence? A toilet that was left out...

Or think about this! (Bet you thought you could escape the evil clutched of my toilet idea, huh?) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

We know what we know, and we have the capacity to learn beyond that — to a degree. But how can we learn something that isn’t in the world in the first place — or at least on a wavelength we can comprehend?

Don’t get me wrong; believing that there were greater things out there in the world for me allowed me to find those greater things. (And yes, you can argue that the only thing that’s changed is my perception, but that’s not the point here, so stuff it.) But those greater things were still within the confines of what I could imagine as me, today, in 2012, with all the things that means and doesn’t mean. Take closed captioning, for example; it was mind-blowing to find out it was actually people that put those words on a TV screen. I thought it was all computerized, but I was able to adjust fairly quickly because I knew what words, TV, and computers were.

English: Red diode laserbeam on skin. Never lo...

I mean, HAL was capable of murder in 2001: A Space Odyssey; can you blame me for being confused about captioning? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

But what would happen if I wished to know or experience something beyond what I could imagine? Would I get it? And if I did, would I even know it? And would that be the worst mistake of my life? What if it turned out to be some sort of spiritual (and perhaps somewhat Faustian) imprisonment — like ceaseless reincarnation for all of infinity? How much would that suck? Or would it? How could I know?

Anyway, like I said at the beginning, I’m not sure if my pondering of this is because I’ve got too much time on my hands or the thought really has merit, but in my own defense — which I may have killed with that closed captioning disclosure — I have been pretty busy these past few months. I will admit that I’m not-so-secretly hoping the question will haunt your soul as deeply as it has mine, though.

Does it? Anyone? Anyone?