Murphaswitchism...
My mind has turned to the mysteries of the universe today. Not the big stuff, meaning of life dreckola and the like, but the real nitty-gritty everyday enigmas. Life is filled with them. I notice them everywhere.
An example? How about light switches? I've seen so many ridiculous contradictions and paradoxes surrounding light switches its, well...ridiculous. In the house I grew up in, (a circa 1910-1920 big old monstrosity) the paranoid amateur farmer who lived there before us had rigged lights up everywhere around the house. If you turned them all on at night, it looked like a Presidential compound under super Secret Service probation. Not to mention the gruntin and groanin that must have been coming from the fuse box. Pretty much every square foot of our 3/4 of an acre was lit up so the farmer could catch people stealing his fruits and vegetables at night. Which means switches. Inside that house, there had to be 50 freakin switches. On one wall, there was a switch for the hall light, a switch to turn on the electric outlet underneath it, and two banks of switches with at least a dozen on each.
And still there were more! Sometimes in my wanderings, I'd find a previously unknown one just lurking behind a seldom closed door, or in a shady corner. I once was nearly electrocuted when I decided to flip one of my new discoveries. My fingers were black with soot, and I had a monster bruise on one ass cheek from when I was thrown across the room by the discharge. I guess that was why that electrical tape was covering it...
The quest for the solution of a mystery can be a tricky thing. And in my case, it can even result in a mild charbroiling. What would I have missed if that happened?
I wouldn't have broken all the bones that I have.
I wouldn't have nearly drunk myself to death in college (the first time, not my current community college days).
I wouldn't have had the actual bone structure of my foot change from all the marching in my ill-fitting Army boots.
I wouldn't have broken 3 fingers of an anonymous drunk in Alabama during a bar fight that I (stupidly) started.
I wouldn't have gotten to see two crank-called delivery men arrive at my friend's neighbor's house at the same time.
I wouldn't have learned to drive at 15 by taking my Grandmother's car out every night that summer.
I wouldn't have become a slut, then got married, then relapsed to sluthood, then had two pseudo-marriages in a row (one emotional, one not), and then entered into this long hermitage.
I wouldn't have climbed on top of my elementary school, or realized what racism is, or explored my yuckaphobia, or learned how to shoot a rifle, or helped defraud the banking industry (loan officer, car salesman, etc.), or gone pool-hopping at 3 in the morning at 12 years old, or broken a heart, or been the bad guy, or been the good guy, or learned how to drive a stick, or finally hit a wiffleball over the roof at Enzo's, or any of a thousand memories that fill my thoughts.
So was it worth it? I don't know. We'll see what comes next.
Jason
P.S. This may be dating my comic book reading a little, but here goes: 'Until George W. and Hillary Clinton get caught doing the hibbity-jibbity, Make Mine Marvel!'
An example? How about light switches? I've seen so many ridiculous contradictions and paradoxes surrounding light switches its, well...ridiculous. In the house I grew up in, (a circa 1910-1920 big old monstrosity) the paranoid amateur farmer who lived there before us had rigged lights up everywhere around the house. If you turned them all on at night, it looked like a Presidential compound under super Secret Service probation. Not to mention the gruntin and groanin that must have been coming from the fuse box. Pretty much every square foot of our 3/4 of an acre was lit up so the farmer could catch people stealing his fruits and vegetables at night. Which means switches. Inside that house, there had to be 50 freakin switches. On one wall, there was a switch for the hall light, a switch to turn on the electric outlet underneath it, and two banks of switches with at least a dozen on each.
And still there were more! Sometimes in my wanderings, I'd find a previously unknown one just lurking behind a seldom closed door, or in a shady corner. I once was nearly electrocuted when I decided to flip one of my new discoveries. My fingers were black with soot, and I had a monster bruise on one ass cheek from when I was thrown across the room by the discharge. I guess that was why that electrical tape was covering it...
The quest for the solution of a mystery can be a tricky thing. And in my case, it can even result in a mild charbroiling. What would I have missed if that happened?
I wouldn't have broken all the bones that I have.
I wouldn't have nearly drunk myself to death in college (the first time, not my current community college days).
I wouldn't have had the actual bone structure of my foot change from all the marching in my ill-fitting Army boots.
I wouldn't have broken 3 fingers of an anonymous drunk in Alabama during a bar fight that I (stupidly) started.
I wouldn't have gotten to see two crank-called delivery men arrive at my friend's neighbor's house at the same time.
I wouldn't have learned to drive at 15 by taking my Grandmother's car out every night that summer.
I wouldn't have become a slut, then got married, then relapsed to sluthood, then had two pseudo-marriages in a row (one emotional, one not), and then entered into this long hermitage.
I wouldn't have climbed on top of my elementary school, or realized what racism is, or explored my yuckaphobia, or learned how to shoot a rifle, or helped defraud the banking industry (loan officer, car salesman, etc.), or gone pool-hopping at 3 in the morning at 12 years old, or broken a heart, or been the bad guy, or been the good guy, or learned how to drive a stick, or finally hit a wiffleball over the roof at Enzo's, or any of a thousand memories that fill my thoughts.
So was it worth it? I don't know. We'll see what comes next.
Jason
P.S. This may be dating my comic book reading a little, but here goes: 'Until George W. and Hillary Clinton get caught doing the hibbity-jibbity, Make Mine Marvel!'
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