late to the game, but whatever, maaaannnn...

If you're not familiar with the vagus nerve, maybe you should think about getting acquainted. This wonder regulates how one's body physically expresses stress and anxiety, so whenever you have a weird reaction to an uncomfortable situation, this is the nerve to thank. I'm not going to go into any more detail about this shit, I mean, like all of my information is coming from Discovery Health channel -- which I watch purely for entertainment, I'm not on my way to med school or anything -- so I don't want to perpetuate any more possibly-incorrect info. Look it up yourself if it sounds so fascinating. My point is, though, I'm very aware of my own dealings with the vagus nerve, and this goes back...wayyyyyyy back. Check out this picture: It's my dad's workshop in the basement of the house in NJ where I grew up. Yeah, this is just a detail, but let me fill in the blanks. What you're looking at is an acid-green wall of tools that have been outlined in Sharpie so everything has its place. Not the most OCD system in the world, and further images of the basement would confirm that this is one of the rare instances of semi-order. Anyway, if one was to glance at this wall, and some tools were, you know...out of place, you'd be able to tell right away.

When I was a kid, I totally believed in ghosts, and killers who would slash up families in the middle of the night, and skulls that could talk. Yeah, there was nothing scarier -- or more possible -- than a talking skull, in my world. These are total suburban fears, the result of a somewhat stagnant environment I guess, but anyway, if there was any place where I was going to get murdered in my own house it would probably be in the sketchy-ass basement. I HATED going down there, but chores and toys and what ultimatley turned out to be the love of fear lured me down those steps on a daily basis. The thing I never understood, though, until I found out about the vagus nerve, was that every time I went down into that crazy green room, I would have to take a shit, like immediately. Only one other location had such a strong and intense effect on me at that point, and that was the bathroom of the Phillipsburg Free Public Library. At least that was logistically convenient. Turns out, this is pure science, this nerve that regulated stress is also in control of, say, sweating, blushing -- these things make sense -- and then, pooping. Anyway, cut to me, age 7, running into the basement to get some food product for my mom or a beer for my dad...I get to the fridge, confront that wall, notice the outline of tools that are NOT in their proper place. There's a hatchet on that wall, no joke, and whenever that was gone, I would quietly accept the fact that I was about to have a cold steel blade launched into my collarbone as the opening act of the Tibbott Family Massacre. Five minutes later, I would not be dead so much as dropping a deuce and flipping through a National Georgraphic. That's kind of why I'm interested in so many things.