I was watching the boob tube a couple nights ago. As usual, I got sucked into some show on a science channel. It was covering all sorts of topics about advances in science and technology and how the two twains would one day meet in marvelous ways.
One of the subjects of the show was a researcher who had an implant put into his body. It allowed him to control a synthetic, robotic arm. Whichever way he moved his arm, the roboto arm would mimic it with almost eerie precision. Kind of creepy.
I’m not really sure what the test was supposed to show us, except that at some point he would be able to control the motion of some amputee’s robotic arm. That would make one heckuva practical joke, suddenly taking control of someone else’s arm. One minute you’re spooning up some Corn Flakes and the next you’re trying to strangle yourself as a quirky madman scientist is around the corner doing all the movements for you.
This same guy, though, has a master plan. He wants to create the first implant that can go into our heads. Without going into all the technoratzi on how this would work, it would basically allow you to carry the Internet in your head. Instead of looking up something on Google, you would just think it and the answer would come to you. As if by magic.
I personally thought this was a great idea. I already use the Internet as an extension of my own knowledge. I can play a search engine like a virtuoso on a piano. I can find things using search strings know one else would think of using to find a particularly obscure piece of information.
So, I’m pretty good with that kind of implant, as long as they can shove it up my nose or through an eardrum and not have to can opener my noggin open to do the installation. Not a big fan of someone opening up my skull, if only because I’m afraid they may find nothing up there but some cotton candy and a couple of nine volts making the whole thing run.
But then the guy went even further. He believes that if you can get two people to put the implant in, then they will be able to communicate telepathically. Yes, mind read.
I’m not really sure if I want to read another person’s mind. Oh, sure it would be a blessing in dating. You’d know whether that girl you just passed thinks you’re kind of hot or if she wants to do the horizontal mambo with you on your first date. But it could also be a curse. She could be smiling at you and at the same time be thinking about the guy who laid her last night and wondering just when she could excuse herself to use the restroom when in reality she’s calling that guy again to see if she can get wanked tonight after she ditches you.
As you can see, there are complications to this seemingly brilliant idea. If you ever watched “What Women Want” with the slightly quirky, borderline psycho Mel Gibson, then you know the dangers of having this ability.
Initially you think it’s a godsend, but then you start hearing everyone at once. Quickly you come to find that no one is really that smart. In fact, everyone’s thoughts are more inane than the things they actually say out loud.
Mine certainly would be. That voice in my head rambles on constantly. At the most inappropriate moments, it likes to fanaticize and daydream. It goes off on its own without provocation. I could be there engaged in a seemingly deep conversation while my brain is skipping ideas like rocks. I can be in bed with you in the throes of mad passion and be wondering if there’s any cake still in the fridge.
I’m not sure anyone should read my mind. I know I will eventually get slapped for things I think. It can get pretty depraved in that swirling cesspool of a brain I have. I can look like I’m totally into what you’re saying, when in reality, I am wondering if I turned off the oven or thinking about what you look liked naked.
Yes, I have been known to think ill about people who think I really like them. I size people up almost instantly, rushing to judgment that is rarely wrong. And yes, I have had some intense moments of lust in my mind, often at the most inopportune time. I can tell you, however, that it can be a very freeing experience, imagining that police officer naked while she’s giving you a ticket, wondering what it would be like if she handcuffed you and did a …
I digress. Mind reading certainly would be inconvenient in a restaurant. Being a fourth-born Gemini, I rarely know what I want to order until I open my mouth. Between the time I opened the menu and finally ordered, I could have decided on a half dozen different things that I wanted. If the waiter could read my mind I may end up with something I didn’t actually order, though I may have wanted anyway. So maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
Unfortunately, after weighing all the options, I have to come out on the side of not wanting a mind reading capability. I think the downsides outweigh the benefits. But then, if you could have read my mind you’re already know that.
In the Emerald City, wondering if the waitress washed her hands the last time she used the restroom and wishing I knew for sure,
– Robb