Reaching back through the mists of time, I resume a thread started by the esteemed Lictor and carried by the venerated jasona, then the revered Harlock.
My first reaction to this musical-zipper brainstorm was one of abject horror.
See, I was in Southern California recently. One of the things I noted, other than the entire area having degenerated into one gigantic, seething pit of toll roads and development run amok, was flat panel monitors at every frickin' checkout aisle in Ralphs.
In the old days, the only things that would assail you as you waited to pay for your groceries were candy, miniature books on how to talk to your cat, and tabloid headlines. It was the store's final attempt to coerce you into buying one last, needless, and overpriced item. I always took the displays in stride. After all, supermarkets exist not to make your life easier, but to make money. Now that I'm a parent I can understand the fear with which shoppers with small children regard the stacks of candy. It's like taking a smack addict to a DEA drug bust: "Here are bundles of China White stacked to the ceiling, but you can't have any." But no matter how annoying the child or how large and bizarre the headlines ("GEEZERS LAUNCH NURSING HOME PANTY RAIDS", "Man picks nose - and finds a PEARL!", "Gust Of Wind Blows Midget Balloon Peddler 20 Miles", etc.), you always had an element of control. With candy, the issue was between you and your child. With the tabloids, you could simply look away and carry on a conversation with your loved one or wonder what that woman planned to do with all those cucumbers.
Now they have flashy ads and cooking demos edited by MTV disciples blasting at you. There is no escape. I have seen the coming of the Beast and, as many in Northern California already knew, it is coming up from SoCal. It's only a matter of time before each patron acquires a PSA (Personal Shopping Assistant) as they enter a store, always hovering in your field of vision, instantly accessing your credit report and shopping habits, flashing adverts at you, and transmitting sound via your new tooth phone and your PIZEL (Personal Integrated Zipper Entertainment Launcher).
It's like 1984, The Minority Report, Brave New World, and Amazon.com all rolled up into one seething lump.
So initially, my reaction to zipper technology was a little negative.
But then I started to think about where I use zippers the most, day in and day out. After some reflection on my experiences in restrooms, I realized that the musical zipper would be a godsend.
First off, let me say that I have no hang-ups regarding public restrooms. For Number One, I feel very lucky being a male. I haven't yet met a public restroom I couldn't piss in. When necessary, I've pissed behind bushes, against Swiss walls, and into Dutch canals. There's hardly ever a problem with urination. For Number Two, again, I rarely have an issue. As long as no one has pissed all over the seat (which happens way too often at my work), it's a snap. I even conquered a particularly heinous squat-and-drop in Turkey.
I have met folks with hang-ups. One hall mate in my dorm found it impossible to evacuate with anyone else in the room. Of course, he also made animal noises during sex and left massive Astroglide stains in his bed from masturbation.
The issue I have is with other folks and their bathroom trials. Too often I've been treated to a performance that sounds like someone trying to drown a tubercular duck. On those many occasions that I'm forced to hear to some poor guy grunting like he's trying to pass a bowling ball (and afterwards sounding like he's just dropped a bowling ball into the toilet), I fight the urge to lecture him on the health hazards of straining on the pot. The taboos run strongly against conversing with strangers as they desperately struggling to pinch off a brownie.
Even peeing can be a problem. This is where I feel unlucky being a male. There's nothing like an older man bellied up to the urinal, puffing and groaning to push the merest trickle past his swollen prostate. I hear that and I hear my own doom.
In conclusion, I would much rather listen to music, any music, even Michael Bolton, Kenny G, or Tiny Tim. With musical zippers, the tunes would always be on hand. We'd just have to make sure that they had sufficient volume and bass response to drown out your average gas-charged brown torpedo.
Pakeha