If a day passes that I don’t have a learning experience, I consider it a wasted day.

I waste very few days.

Just one of the things I’ve learned lately is that an MP3 is not a submachine gun.

I’ve also found out what “BOGO” means, although I’m still not sure how to interpret a sign that said “Shoes: Buy One Get One 50% Off.”

And it did take a while, but it finally sank in that a Facebook is not a bound collection of photos the police show crime victims in hopes they will recognize the perpetrator.

My learning experiences sometimes begin soon after I get out of bed.

Early one morning before the start of the Democratic National Convention, a TV reporter went inside a warehouse to show viewers the cages Denver had assembled as holding units in the belief that swarms of protesters would soon be arrested. Denver’s city fathers obviously watch the TV news and take note of what happens elsewhere. (Protesters seem to despise the Republicans even more than they do the Democrats, so it’s hard to tell what lies ahead for St. Paul.)

Protesters-to-be were already calling it “Gitmo on the Platte.” The reporter was asked what they would be protesting, and she wasn’t sure ... anything and everything was her best guess. I suspected that considering the diversity of their causes, they’d wind up being no more unified or organized than the Democrats themselves.

At any rate, I have paid virtually no attention to them — save to read that one of the first four defendants to appear before Denver’s version of the Guantanamo Bay tribunal was actually arrested for panhandling.

The reporter said many protesters and arrestees would be “live streaming” from the scene, and my still-besleepfogged brain asked itself, “Live streaming? What in the hell is that?”

My idea of a live stream would be flowing water that has trout swimming around in it — but in this case, probably not so much.

I asked Wikipedia what “Live Streaming” means. Here’s what it said:

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Streaming multimedia is multimedia that is constantly received by, and normally presented to, an end-user while it is being delivered by a streaming provider (the term “presented” is used in this article in a general sense that includes audio or video playback.) The name refers to the delivery method of the medium rather than to the medium itself. The distinction is usually applied to media that are distributed over telecommunications networks, as most other delivery systems are either inherently streaming (e.g. radio, television) or inherently non-streaming (e.g. books, video cassettes, audio CDs). The verb “to stream” is also derived from this term, meaning to deliver media in this manner.

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Sounds more like government talk than anything else. Considering that I still haven’t figured out why the radios and televisions I grew up with needed vacuum tubes, this explanation was of no use. I had to look elsewhere for enlightenment.

“Live streaming” apparently involves the taking of videos and sending them out over the Internet in what’s called “real-time” (a term I did understand when I first heard it). Practitioners can use a webcam (which I realize does not involve naturalists filming spider activity) or even cell phone cameras.

Protesters would be able to document the process by which they and their pals are arrested, stuffed into paddywagons and hauled off to Gitmo on the Platte, there to be taken in front of a judge who would set a bond small enough that they could post it with no trouble — the idea being that it’s cheaper to book them and let them go than to keep them and feed them — thereby regaining their freedom and the opportunity to return to the convention site and begin the adventure all over again. (And I am aware that a “post-it note” isn’t a message you send Dad asking for bail money.)

Broadcasting this on the Internet would allow everyone else to share the experience and perhaps be inspired to join the proceedings. Having Tons of Fun. Wish You Were Here. Come On Down, The Water’s Fine.

Once these folks were locked up, their cell phones would become cell phones in a whole ’nother respect. The joke of the day would be, “Dude! How many bars have you got?”

For all the complaining I’ve done, I’ve never been a true protester. I did become an anti-protester last year when busloads of Vietnam veterans and other folks went to Washington for the Gathering of Eagles. There had been fears that protesters might try to vandalize The Wall.

There were cops all over the place, and they were 100 percent on our side. Contrary to what some people (mostly the same schmucks who had nothing good to say about Vietnam veterans 30 years ago, or their successors) tried to tell you, it was for the most part peaceful — which was what we wanted.

When I think of protests, protesters and anyone else who goes looking for a fight, I think of two things: the 1968 Democratic National Convention (about which enough has already been said) and “Brannigan,” an old John Wayne movie.

The Duke portrays an American police lieutenant named Jim Brannigan who goes to England in pursuit of an American mobster.

Brannigan finds himself in a London pub, where he sees it will be necessary to create a diversion. He decides to accomplish this by sidling up to a rough-looking British sailor at the bar and asking him, “How are things in the world’s second-best navy?”

It’s always a learning experience to watch what happens when somebody gets precisely what he asked for ... and in cases like Brannigan’s, jolly well entertaining.