dys· phem· is· tic Wednesday, March 31, 2004
On Vision
Neil Armstrong, the reclusive astronaut who endorses nothing, emphatically endorsed President Bush's call for a moon base and missions to Mars. Before Mr. Bush announced his vision for space exploration, Discover magazine asked Dr. Alan Stern, Director of the Southwest Research Institute why we weren't doing more manned exploration in space. "The political will hasn't been there," he replied, "and it's so unfortunate. I think human beings really are explorers at heart. The planets are the obvious next frontiers for human exploration. There's no reason that we shouldn't have a significant number of people living and working on the moon, doing geological studies of asteroids, and pioneering the path to Mars. The technology is well in hand... To be a great nation in the 21st century, the United States needs to explore the space frontier. "
This is not an isolated viewpoint in the scientific world. Besides, researchers have been grousing for years about the paltry science you're able to do on the Space Shuttle and Station. Then, of course, George W. Bush proposes what a lot of scientists already say we should be doing and suddenly it's the stupidest idea in history. At least according to the newspapers. Does this tell you anything?
Exploring the Moon and Mars is what we should do, what we need to do. As Dave Scott said when he first pressed his boot into the grey lunar powder as commander of Apollo 15 -- the coolest of all the moon missions -- "Man must explore." The human spirit needs to, yearns to go to the Moon, to Mars, to leave the solar system and personally examine the universe that spawned it. Over the past 30 years we've stagnated, turned inward, sat self-indulgently navel-gazing here on our little, blue planet. President Bush is correct: the time for hiding in our room is over. It's time to go back outside and play.
posted by Pleonic @ 7:34 PM
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Saturday, March 27, 2004
That Nobody Should Molest Saturday
I'm working this morning. The powers that be at Fiscal Interpositions Incorporated feel it is vitally important for a crew to answer the phones on Saturday morning. And so every sixth Saturday I get up at 6:30 am and sit unshaven and fuzzy-headed at my desk letting my mental autopilot talk to the occasional client until noon. This is an abomination.
Saturday morning was made for slow waking without benefit of alarm clocks, and for sipping espresso in your favorite chair. Working Saturday morning is against the natural order.
Saturday morning was made for slow waking without benefit of alarm clocks, and for sipping espresso in your favorite chair. Working Saturday morning is against the natural order.
posted by Pleonic @ 9:27 AM
(0) spontaneous expostulations
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I take back half of what I said. The President, Dr. Rice, and anybody else involved ought to testify in public about the 9/11 attacks -- but not before the 9/11 Commission. A panel of reputable citizens is a fine idea, but these guys aren't it. They are for the most part hack partisans playing gotcha' politics.
Let's put together a committee of 9 regular people from towns across the country: Bankers, barbers, police, airline pilots, doctors. Divide them between parties, give them an investigatory staff and complete subpoena power, and let everyone involved with this from the Clinton and Bush administrations come before them and tell their story. Keep the press and the politicians away. Let the common people quiz their leaders.
"Oh, but they'll ask only softball questions!" No, they'll ask the questions we really are asking. We don't need political sharpies; we need citizens more concerned with their country than with promoting a party.
Friday, March 26, 2004
On 9/11 Hearings (Reprise)
I take back half of what I said. The President, Dr. Rice, and anybody else involved ought to testify in public about the 9/11 attacks -- but not before the 9/11 Commission. A panel of reputable citizens is a fine idea, but these guys aren't it. They are for the most part hack partisans playing gotcha' politics.
Let's put together a committee of 9 regular people from towns across the country: Bankers, barbers, police, airline pilots, doctors. Divide them between parties, give them an investigatory staff and complete subpoena power, and let everyone involved with this from the Clinton and Bush administrations come before them and tell their story. Keep the press and the politicians away. Let the common people quiz their leaders.
"Oh, but they'll ask only softball questions!" No, they'll ask the questions we really are asking. We don't need political sharpies; we need citizens more concerned with their country than with promoting a party.
posted by Pleonic @ 10:55 PM
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Tuesday, March 23, 2004
On 9/11 Hearings
I'd like to see the President testify in public before the 9/11 Commission. Everybody should testify. I don't believe all the paranoid conspiracy theories, so I don't think there's anything to fear. In a republic, my rule of thumb is: the more government openness (within reason), the better.
posted by Pleonic @ 11:56 PM
(0) spontaneous expostulations
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On The Holmes Effect
When I read Sherlock Holmes, I feel smarter.
posted by Pleonic @ 11:44 PM
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Places I want to see:
Jerusalem
Cairo
Kenya
London
Paris
Rome
Peru (Inca sites)
Yucatan (Maya sites)
Angkor Wat
Fiji
China
Easter Island
Galapagos Islands
Antarctica
Sinai
Monday, March 22, 2004
On Visits
Places I want to see:
Jerusalem
Cairo
Kenya
London
Paris
Rome
Peru (Inca sites)
Yucatan (Maya sites)
Angkor Wat
Fiji
China
Easter Island
Galapagos Islands
Antarctica
Sinai
posted by Pleonic @ 8:15 PM
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Sunday, March 21, 2004
That I Am Not Suited For Gainful Employment
Even in this relatively openminded age an aversion to work is still looked down on. But I am not a person that needs to work. There are old people that keep working when they could live a leisurely retirement. The world is run by people that live for their jobs, that are always thinking about work, that feel compelled to work.
I am not afraid to confess that I'd never work another day in my life if the opportunity presented itself. It's not effort I dislike though; it's effort that I have to do, that keeps me from what I ought to do, need to do. If I didn't have to concern myself with providing for life's necessities, there is still something that would inspire more labor than ever -- but from impulsion, not compulsion.
That thing is learning -- and then writing about it. It is traveling and studying and conversing and absorbing, and sharing and teaching and writing. But without a care (because never needing to care) for how it was received or whether it earned money. I believe in calling. Somewhere there is an audience for what I was called to learn and disseminate. The audience will find it or it will find them. That isn't really my concern. The tiny bit of light that my mind opens upon is all I need concern myself with. I will learn it and lay it out. Whoever needs that piece may have it and fit it into their own puzzle of insight. Would to God that I could spend my time finding and sowing my little patch of sky blue truth.
I fantasize that this could be a familiy affair. It is hard to express the happiness I would find in trotting the globe with Daisy, Brian, and Gwen, seeing Machu Pichu, visiting the Masai, spending days in the Cairo and British museums. I want them to see Paris and Angkor Wat, I want to watch the sun come up with them from the top of Sinai. Most of all, I want to break them out of the well-meaning but creativity-sapping public schools and tutor them in the school house of the wide open world. I hate and despise the "juicing" they go through everyday, leaching out a bit more of their wonderous individuality, replacing it with more stodgy, safe thoughts. I am not in the least bit concerned at their ability to handle university with an education tutored while on ship and plane -- not these two. I'm more afraid of the potential that might be lost with the crabbed, rote education they are getting.
I am not afraid to confess that I'd never work another day in my life if the opportunity presented itself. It's not effort I dislike though; it's effort that I have to do, that keeps me from what I ought to do, need to do. If I didn't have to concern myself with providing for life's necessities, there is still something that would inspire more labor than ever -- but from impulsion, not compulsion.
That thing is learning -- and then writing about it. It is traveling and studying and conversing and absorbing, and sharing and teaching and writing. But without a care (because never needing to care) for how it was received or whether it earned money. I believe in calling. Somewhere there is an audience for what I was called to learn and disseminate. The audience will find it or it will find them. That isn't really my concern. The tiny bit of light that my mind opens upon is all I need concern myself with. I will learn it and lay it out. Whoever needs that piece may have it and fit it into their own puzzle of insight. Would to God that I could spend my time finding and sowing my little patch of sky blue truth.
I fantasize that this could be a familiy affair. It is hard to express the happiness I would find in trotting the globe with Daisy, Brian, and Gwen, seeing Machu Pichu, visiting the Masai, spending days in the Cairo and British museums. I want them to see Paris and Angkor Wat, I want to watch the sun come up with them from the top of Sinai. Most of all, I want to break them out of the well-meaning but creativity-sapping public schools and tutor them in the school house of the wide open world. I hate and despise the "juicing" they go through everyday, leaching out a bit more of their wonderous individuality, replacing it with more stodgy, safe thoughts. I am not in the least bit concerned at their ability to handle university with an education tutored while on ship and plane -- not these two. I'm more afraid of the potential that might be lost with the crabbed, rote education they are getting.
posted by Pleonic @ 9:11 PM
(1) spontaneous expostulations
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On Passers By
A chunk of rock the size of a gas station just missed us the other night. This apparently happens all the time, but we usually never see them coming.
posted by Pleonic @ 1:03 AM
(0) spontaneous expostulations
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Gwen, who just turned 10, has always loved mysteries -- The Hardy Boys, The Boxcar Children, and above all, Nancy Drew. Now that we've read through every last one of those I thought I'd try introducing her to the Master, Sherlock Holmes.
Every night before she goes to bed, I read her a half hour of Holmes. We just finished The Five Orange Pips and are now involved in The Man With The Twisted Lip. I am facinated by the quickness of her mind in following Holmes' logic, the almost worldly-wise way she can predict the actions of the characters, her stabs at guessing the solution. More than that, I love to hear her commentary on Conan Doyle's writing technique -- she being a writer herself.
Tonite she pointed out that, instead of having Watson say, "It was about 10:00 at night..." he wrote that it was "about the hour when a man gives his first yawn, and glances at the clock." Gwen has reams of stories written longhand in pencil, stashed safely away in a zipper binder, most involving YuGiOh and company. Her descriptive power is growing every day, and she writes evocative poetry as well when she's in the mood.
Watching this develop in her is one of the joys of my life. Gwen wants to be an elementary school teacher, but I hope she finds a place for her writing.
Saturday, March 20, 2004
On Daughters and Detectives
Gwen, who just turned 10, has always loved mysteries -- The Hardy Boys, The Boxcar Children, and above all, Nancy Drew. Now that we've read through every last one of those I thought I'd try introducing her to the Master, Sherlock Holmes.
Every night before she goes to bed, I read her a half hour of Holmes. We just finished The Five Orange Pips and are now involved in The Man With The Twisted Lip. I am facinated by the quickness of her mind in following Holmes' logic, the almost worldly-wise way she can predict the actions of the characters, her stabs at guessing the solution. More than that, I love to hear her commentary on Conan Doyle's writing technique -- she being a writer herself.
Tonite she pointed out that, instead of having Watson say, "It was about 10:00 at night..." he wrote that it was "about the hour when a man gives his first yawn, and glances at the clock." Gwen has reams of stories written longhand in pencil, stashed safely away in a zipper binder, most involving YuGiOh and company. Her descriptive power is growing every day, and she writes evocative poetry as well when she's in the mood.
Watching this develop in her is one of the joys of my life. Gwen wants to be an elementary school teacher, but I hope she finds a place for her writing.
posted by Pleonic @ 11:14 PM
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Sunday, March 14, 2004
That I Am An Idiot
4:00 a.m.??? Geeze, what am I doin' up this late?
posted by Pleonic @ 4:02 AM
(0) spontaneous expostulations
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Saturday, March 13, 2004
On Evaluating Presidential Candidates
This is a very serious time in modern history, and it behooves the citizenry to weigh their upcoming Presidential suffrage with the utmost in prudissitentiality -- a word I had to make up in order to encapsulate the maxination of our national enervacity.
So, for your edification, here are the criteria I use in picking a decent US President:
1.) Could he kick Jacques Chirac's butt?
Obviously, both Kerry and Bush could, but I think Bush would enjoy it more.
2.) Does he own a cat or a dog?
Presidents that own cats have historically been losers. Case in point: FDR had Fala (a dog), Carter had Misty Malarky (cat). Bush has two dogs, I haven't seen much in the mainstream media on Senator Kerry's pet preference. More research is needed by the League of Women Voters on this point.
3.) How cute is his wife?
Both candidates do ok here. Laura Bush is renowned for her cuteness; Teresa Heinz Kerry is not bad either and has panache and elan. Still, this election will continue the dry-spell on hot babes in the White House that's persisted since Jackie Kennedy moved out.
4.) The Schnozzola Factor
It's the Lincoln curse: since that black day in April, 1865 no President with an oversized honker has been any good. Kerry has the nose of a muppet and looses hands down in this all-important arena.
5.) Would his dog bite Jacques Chirac's butt?
This is not as clear cut as it would seem. Bush has two dogs, and that berserk little scotty dog wouldn't hesitate a second to rip into Chirac's butt, groin, and any other anatomical feature you care to name -- including his bulbous schnoz. The hound doggy one, though, would probably just lick his face and steal his croissant.
The enigma of Senator Kerry's alleged pet continues to occupy the investigatory prowess of the League of Women Voters. The entire election could come down to this one issue.
Finally, 6.) Is he boring?
I remember Nixon when I was a kid. Even at his skulking, thuggish worst he was still boring -- so very, very boring. The Constitution clearly states that the President must be a natural-born citizen, at least 35, and "by no means wearisome to the publick's attention span." Bush has this down pat: landing on aircraft carriers, spouting old west gunslinger phrases, fighting war after war. Senator Kerry is trying hard but has a long way to go before he doesn't sound like an angry mortician.
Of course, between now and election day all this could change...
So, for your edification, here are the criteria I use in picking a decent US President:
1.) Could he kick Jacques Chirac's butt?
Obviously, both Kerry and Bush could, but I think Bush would enjoy it more.
2.) Does he own a cat or a dog?
Presidents that own cats have historically been losers. Case in point: FDR had Fala (a dog), Carter had Misty Malarky (cat). Bush has two dogs, I haven't seen much in the mainstream media on Senator Kerry's pet preference. More research is needed by the League of Women Voters on this point.
3.) How cute is his wife?
Both candidates do ok here. Laura Bush is renowned for her cuteness; Teresa Heinz Kerry is not bad either and has panache and elan. Still, this election will continue the dry-spell on hot babes in the White House that's persisted since Jackie Kennedy moved out.
4.) The Schnozzola Factor
It's the Lincoln curse: since that black day in April, 1865 no President with an oversized honker has been any good. Kerry has the nose of a muppet and looses hands down in this all-important arena.
5.) Would his dog bite Jacques Chirac's butt?
This is not as clear cut as it would seem. Bush has two dogs, and that berserk little scotty dog wouldn't hesitate a second to rip into Chirac's butt, groin, and any other anatomical feature you care to name -- including his bulbous schnoz. The hound doggy one, though, would probably just lick his face and steal his croissant.
The enigma of Senator Kerry's alleged pet continues to occupy the investigatory prowess of the League of Women Voters. The entire election could come down to this one issue.
Finally, 6.) Is he boring?
I remember Nixon when I was a kid. Even at his skulking, thuggish worst he was still boring -- so very, very boring. The Constitution clearly states that the President must be a natural-born citizen, at least 35, and "by no means wearisome to the publick's attention span." Bush has this down pat: landing on aircraft carriers, spouting old west gunslinger phrases, fighting war after war. Senator Kerry is trying hard but has a long way to go before he doesn't sound like an angry mortician.
Of course, between now and election day all this could change...
posted by Pleonic @ 1:31 AM
(0) spontaneous expostulations
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As part of my diligent, carefully-thought-out program to rehabilitate my ravaged mouth, I'm having a Polish Sausage Sandwich New York-style and chili-cheese fries at James Coney Island.
Between that and the chocolate cruellers I ate last night, I should be good to go in no time!
Friday, March 12, 2004
On Rehab for my Mouth
As part of my diligent, carefully-thought-out program to rehabilitate my ravaged mouth, I'm having a Polish Sausage Sandwich New York-style and chili-cheese fries at James Coney Island.
Between that and the chocolate cruellers I ate last night, I should be good to go in no time!
posted by Pleonic @ 1:34 PM
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On 9/11 TV Commercials
"On September 11th... terrorists tried to change America forever... (Image: Flags materialize proudly on a row of pastel colored homes)... Well, they suceeded... because now we have something else to whine about."
posted by Pleonic @ 12:24 AM
(0) spontaneous expostulations
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That There Might Be Something They're Not Telling Me...
When the dentist was all done prying out my teeth, he put me on a "prophylactic antibiotic" (not as risque as it sounds) called Clindamycin. But I come to learn, Clindamycin has one unfortunate, niggling little side effect, namely, it makes your bowels fall out.
"Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!" The Physician's Desk Reference reads. "Use Clindamycin only in dire emergencies when all hope is lost -- unless you just have a thing for colostomy bags."
"Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!" The Physician's Desk Reference reads. "Use Clindamycin only in dire emergencies when all hope is lost -- unless you just have a thing for colostomy bags."
posted by Pleonic @ 12:13 AM
(0) spontaneous expostulations
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I'm writing this as I recover from having my three remaining wisdom teeth cut out. Frankly, it was fantastic. The Oral Surgeon (whose name I would publish far and wide except I don't want him to get in trouble, for reasons you'll see in a minute) was a stocky, jovial guy that reminded me of Al Roker, and I was his second surgery of the day, which is good in my eyes because then he's still fresh. He described what he was going to do. I told him not to spare the anesthetic. The technician told me I could look the other way if I didn't like to see needles. I told her I didn't mind seeing them at all; it's feeling them I don't like. We all chuckled and the Doctor found a vein on the second try; the first time he hit a valve, which I take it is not good. A slight feeling of lightheadedness came over me. I looked at my watch. It was 10:45. The technicians afixed blue plastic bands with attached wires to my wrists. I asked what they were. They told me... but I don't remember what the explanation was because at that point my stream of consciousnesses suddenly went bone dry.
Later, at 11:14, I woke up. Three wads of bloody gauze were in my mouth and my lower lip was numb and flaccid. It wasn't like when you wake up in the morning -- slow and agonizing. This was just suddenly regaining concise -- like turning on the TV. [UPDATE: Actually, I regained consciousness, not "concise." But I wrote this under the influence of drugs, remember. You're lucky you can understand anything at all in this entry.]
My ability to stand up straight was a bit wobbly as the other technician helped me walk into an adjoining room and sit in a strikingly similar dental chair. I think they do that just to see if you'll fall down.
Earlier, when the Doctor asked if I had any questions, I told him I'd like my teeth back when he was through with them. "Well," he said, "Texas law requires that they be disposed of as toxic human waste. But if I carelessly left them beside your chair when you come to, there's no way I could stop you from sticking them in your pocket."
So, as I sat in the recovery chair, the technician came in with a paper cupful of bloody molars. "I'll just leave these right here," he commented, setting them on a stool at my side. In an instant, they were gone -- later to show up in the above grotesque photo on the Internet.
My helpful wife Daisy had thoughtfully run to the nearest Eckerds and filled my new prescriptions for Vicodin (secret generic code name: Hydrocodone/Apap) and Clindamycin (no secret code name) while my body lay in the dental chair. I have now gulped them down before the last vestiges of my anesthesia wears off. The instructions I was given say to do that so as to reduce the chance of agony. Also according to the instructions I need to eat mashed potatoes and milkshakes for dinner.
More exciting dental updates as the news comes in.
Wednesday, March 10, 2004
That Anesthesia is Great Stuff
I'm writing this as I recover from having my three remaining wisdom teeth cut out. Frankly, it was fantastic. The Oral Surgeon (whose name I would publish far and wide except I don't want him to get in trouble, for reasons you'll see in a minute) was a stocky, jovial guy that reminded me of Al Roker, and I was his second surgery of the day, which is good in my eyes because then he's still fresh. He described what he was going to do. I told him not to spare the anesthetic. The technician told me I could look the other way if I didn't like to see needles. I told her I didn't mind seeing them at all; it's feeling them I don't like. We all chuckled and the Doctor found a vein on the second try; the first time he hit a valve, which I take it is not good. A slight feeling of lightheadedness came over me. I looked at my watch. It was 10:45. The technicians afixed blue plastic bands with attached wires to my wrists. I asked what they were. They told me... but I don't remember what the explanation was because at that point my stream of consciousnesses suddenly went bone dry.
Later, at 11:14, I woke up. Three wads of bloody gauze were in my mouth and my lower lip was numb and flaccid. It wasn't like when you wake up in the morning -- slow and agonizing. This was just suddenly regaining concise -- like turning on the TV. [UPDATE: Actually, I regained consciousness, not "concise." But I wrote this under the influence of drugs, remember. You're lucky you can understand anything at all in this entry.]
My ability to stand up straight was a bit wobbly as the other technician helped me walk into an adjoining room and sit in a strikingly similar dental chair. I think they do that just to see if you'll fall down.
Earlier, when the Doctor asked if I had any questions, I told him I'd like my teeth back when he was through with them. "Well," he said, "Texas law requires that they be disposed of as toxic human waste. But if I carelessly left them beside your chair when you come to, there's no way I could stop you from sticking them in your pocket."
So, as I sat in the recovery chair, the technician came in with a paper cupful of bloody molars. "I'll just leave these right here," he commented, setting them on a stool at my side. In an instant, they were gone -- later to show up in the above grotesque photo on the Internet.
My helpful wife Daisy had thoughtfully run to the nearest Eckerds and filled my new prescriptions for Vicodin (secret generic code name: Hydrocodone/Apap) and Clindamycin (no secret code name) while my body lay in the dental chair. I have now gulped them down before the last vestiges of my anesthesia wears off. The instructions I was given say to do that so as to reduce the chance of agony. Also according to the instructions I need to eat mashed potatoes and milkshakes for dinner.
More exciting dental updates as the news comes in.
posted by Pleonic @ 3:14 PM
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Tuesday, March 09, 2004
On Blog Blocking
My blog would be much more prolific, but it's hindered by anti-blogging software on our LAN (they still call them LAN's, right?) at Fiscal Interpositions Incorporated (FII) -- my place of employment. What threat a blog poses I have not a clue, in my charming, naive way. But try to reach virtually any blogging site of note (like my friends here at Blogger, for instance), and the blazing crimson SAFE SURF screen leaps courageously between you and the malevolent website. Even the communal, recreational computers are cut off from blogging.
I guess this means I need to set myself up with Movable Type or something because they don't block me from my own site. My other buddies here at Netfirms.com are more than happy to let me. I just don't want to go to all the work of switching over and then find out the FII techies already blocked that too.
I guess this means I need to set myself up with Movable Type or something because they don't block me from my own site. My other buddies here at Netfirms.com are more than happy to let me. I just don't want to go to all the work of switching over and then find out the FII techies already blocked that too.
posted by Pleonic @ 1:35 PM
(0) spontaneous expostulations
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Monday, March 08, 2004
On Things I Miss
Houston is a fine, fine city -- please don't mistake me. Since we moved here in 2001 I've found it to be a happening, welcoming place with some great restaurants and gasoline 20 cents cheaper than anywhere else. But I spent 20 years in Southern California -- Pasadena, Altadena, South Pasadena, Arcadia, and Hancock Park -- from college to layoff. There are a few things that I miss:
Alright, now I have to come up with a list of what I like in Houston. Let's start with steak houses...
- In n' Out Burgers... of course!
- Our Pediatrician, Dr. Afuape
- Beckham's Place -- and in particular, the Prime Rib, Crusty Onion soup, Yorkshire Pudding, Creamed Corn, Hearts of Romaine Salad with crumbled Blue Cheese Dressing, and a gargantuan Long Island Ice Tea. The meal that prepares you to face eternity.
- Trader Joe's
- The Hat -- famous Pastrami-dip sandwiches
- Archives Bookstore
- Yoshinoya Beef Bowl
- Vroman's
- Those ruins up at the top of Lake Avenue
- Maverick's Steak House in Arcadia
- All of South Pasadena
- Lack of humidity
- Presence of soft, dry summer breezes that gently caress your cheek and billow your undyed linen curtins even on the most sultry of sunny days.............
- Being surrounded by Presidential Libraries
- Huntington Gardens
- The Shubert Theater and the Pasadena Playhouse
- The LA Arboretum
- Living only an hour from Disneyland
Alright, now I have to come up with a list of what I like in Houston. Let's start with steak houses...
posted by Pleonic @ 9:33 PM
(0) spontaneous expostulations
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As I described previously in excruciating detail, I visited my primary-care dentist for a throbbing broken wisdom tooth on February 16th. Ordinarily he could take it out, he drawled, but my teeth require an oral surgeon's knife because the roots are wrapped tightly around my inferior alveolar nerve. I appreciate that since research I've done tells me that tearing up your inferior alveolar nerve results in at least a year of writhing agony.
But to do that, we first had to get the OK of my Dental Management Organization (which I won't name here because I want them to pay for this). I'm walking around with a gaping, bacteria-infested hole in the back of my jaw -- the ruins of my tooth -- while they deliberate. Anything, it seems, can set it off. Last weekend consisted of lying down, swabbing my tooth rubble with polysporin (which you're not supposed to do but I've discovered helps immensely), and gulping Codine/Tylenol pills.
Finally they made their leisurely decision: I can have all my wisdom teeth extracted this Wednesday with full IV sedation, for a mere $1765 -- that's with the insurance. Almost a full month after I saw the Dentist.
I have a feeling there will be further updates on this.
Sunday, March 07, 2004
That DMO's Should be Consigned to the Lowest Levels of Hades
As I described previously in excruciating detail, I visited my primary-care dentist for a throbbing broken wisdom tooth on February 16th. Ordinarily he could take it out, he drawled, but my teeth require an oral surgeon's knife because the roots are wrapped tightly around my inferior alveolar nerve. I appreciate that since research I've done tells me that tearing up your inferior alveolar nerve results in at least a year of writhing agony.
But to do that, we first had to get the OK of my Dental Management Organization (which I won't name here because I want them to pay for this). I'm walking around with a gaping, bacteria-infested hole in the back of my jaw -- the ruins of my tooth -- while they deliberate. Anything, it seems, can set it off. Last weekend consisted of lying down, swabbing my tooth rubble with polysporin (which you're not supposed to do but I've discovered helps immensely), and gulping Codine/Tylenol pills.
Finally they made their leisurely decision: I can have all my wisdom teeth extracted this Wednesday with full IV sedation, for a mere $1765 -- that's with the insurance. Almost a full month after I saw the Dentist.
I have a feeling there will be further updates on this.
posted by Pleonic @ 5:21 PM
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First, let me get the irresistibly easy cliche out of the way: "What Would Jesus Rip?"
The Passion of the Christ is the current cultural phenomenon (along with gay marriages): lives are being transformed, 2000-year-old controversies swirl, people that would normally rather be crucified themselves than talk about Jesus engage in heated debate: "It's a beautiful depiction of God's love for humanity." "No, it's a two-hour Jesus snuff film."
Here's what I noticed: In my office, many of my fellow co-workers are so enthusiastic about getting everyone to see this film that they're selling bootleg DVD's (bad ones!) to their friends. With deep religious fervor.
Granted Hollywood is a monolithic, bloated, impossibly rich, self-obsessed, plutocratic, money-making machine, and Jesus tended to be for the little guy -- prostitutes, adulteresses, tax collectors and the like. But I can't help feeling there might be a slight disconnect in here somewhere.
Would Jesus steal... anything? Even from, say, Caesar -- because "He won't miss it anyway?"
Friday, March 05, 2004
On Stealing Gideon's Bible
First, let me get the irresistibly easy cliche out of the way: "What Would Jesus Rip?"
The Passion of the Christ is the current cultural phenomenon (along with gay marriages): lives are being transformed, 2000-year-old controversies swirl, people that would normally rather be crucified themselves than talk about Jesus engage in heated debate: "It's a beautiful depiction of God's love for humanity." "No, it's a two-hour Jesus snuff film."
Here's what I noticed: In my office, many of my fellow co-workers are so enthusiastic about getting everyone to see this film that they're selling bootleg DVD's (bad ones!) to their friends. With deep religious fervor.
Granted Hollywood is a monolithic, bloated, impossibly rich, self-obsessed, plutocratic, money-making machine, and Jesus tended to be for the little guy -- prostitutes, adulteresses, tax collectors and the like. But I can't help feeling there might be a slight disconnect in here somewhere.
Would Jesus steal... anything? Even from, say, Caesar -- because "He won't miss it anyway?"
posted by Pleonic @ 12:35 AM
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According to this AP story (and plenty of others), one of the main reasons democrats vote for John Kerry is because they want to get rid of George Bush. According to many analysts, that's supposed to be why Howard Dean imploded so completely: the true believers loved him, but realized that, paradoxically, he had not a chance in Hades to beat Mr. Bush. The antipathy for Bush outweighed the attraction for Dean. Sen. Kerry's rhetoric about showing Bush the door gets the biggest cheers of all at rallies.
Perhaps if I accepted the Bush=Hitler theorem this would make sense to me. As it is, this seems perilously close to Mr. Kerry surfing a wave of hysteria into the White House... but I don't think it is a hysteria most of the nation shares.
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
On The Mania to Run Bush Out on a Rail
According to this AP story (and plenty of others), one of the main reasons democrats vote for John Kerry is because they want to get rid of George Bush. According to many analysts, that's supposed to be why Howard Dean imploded so completely: the true believers loved him, but realized that, paradoxically, he had not a chance in Hades to beat Mr. Bush. The antipathy for Bush outweighed the attraction for Dean. Sen. Kerry's rhetoric about showing Bush the door gets the biggest cheers of all at rallies.
Perhaps if I accepted the Bush=Hitler theorem this would make sense to me. As it is, this seems perilously close to Mr. Kerry surfing a wave of hysteria into the White House... but I don't think it is a hysteria most of the nation shares.
