Thursday, August 07, 2008

Getting The Chair

I hate the dentist. I freaking hate going to see the dentist. Can I be more clear? There are a precious few things that make me cringe in life. I don't like large expanses of open water [the kind that cover horizon to horizon], I'm not overly fond of the summer heat and humidity, but I flippin hate the dentist. There isn't much middle ground for me and that chair. Why? Why not! That scraping feeling, where it feels like each tooth is coming out for sure during their "delicate cleaning" process makes me cringe. I hate the sound the implements make. I hate the feel of your gums being burnt as they polish and apply fluoride paste. I detest the minuscule chunks of plaque and garbage they fling in the air, that inevitably lands in your eyes. I hate it when they say "sorry, that looks like your in pain." I hate the dentist.

When I go to see the doctor, I meet with a nurse first; who takes my information and has me sit and wait for the doctor. When I go to see the dentist, they snarl at me with perfectly bleached fangs, and scowl at the dingy chairs and 3rd rate magazine rack, as if I didn't know what my fate was. At the doctors office; I hear pleasant music. Sometimes Bach, maybe even Schubert, and on a rare Friday afternoon, maybe some talk radio. At the dentist, Axis Sally still calls out units thanking them to die, and welcoming fresh young teeth to wait their torture. My medical doctor leaves nice booklets about the place, modern health trends, Men's Health, Midwest Vacation Magazine, and that lone issue of Golf Digest. Its decorated in pleasant end tables, with lamps! And on the wall is some quaint [as I think of it] Nantucket house on the edge of the sea. Herr Dentist has framed pictures of Stage 4 Periodontal Disease over the exit door to dissuade any escape attempts. Tommy the Tooth leans on his brush, like the butcher leans on a meat grinder. His face is the cheeriest in the room, as I gaze over my copy of Tooth Cracker Illustrated. The waiting room at my physician has a slight hint of gauze and powdered rubber gloves, but is a fresh breath of sterile for the most part. The fetid fumes of the tooth puller are saturated in pain and sweat.

The doctor calls me by name, smiles, and comes out to shake my hand. Dr. Anderson doesn't see me much, but knows when he does something isn't right. He does his best medically, and personally to make me comfortable again. In the Evil Empire of Enamel, I only hear "NEXT," where I open the door my self, half expecting a rifle to be pointed out of it, to walk and find my fate. The screams of drills, and the garbled cries of my fellow man are all around me. I'm as hopeless now, as they are.

The doctor waits till I sit, then has the PA come in to take my history, and my basic vitals. She smiles, makes small talk, and reminds me about my weight. We laugh. I shrug, and say I try my best and some day it should show. Then she departs, reminding me that the doctor will be right in. I stand in the hallway of the [tooth]death camp, looking about me, as if i could, to find a brick I could pull away and crawl behind. But I'm spotted, and gestured to the room. And to The Chair. The last sharp voice I hear orders me to stop with soda, sugar, and all manners of things I love to eat; or else my teeth will rot right through my skull. After that, I hear the snap of a glove, and the whine of the drill. I black out. The pain is still there. But I try to separate myself in two. To peel back a layer of my psyche as they probe and scrape.

The doctor sees me, checks my symptoms. He knows I have drug allergies, and prescribes me a healthy dosage for my ailment. He knows this is the best treatment, but reminds me to call if a side affect materializes, or to set a follow up appointment in a week it my symptoms aren't diminished. He smiles, shakes my hand, and walks me out to the door. But by now, The Dentist, has yet to see me. He lets his underlings have their way with me first. To tire me out. To break my mind, and split my body, then let his healing touch flow around me. I'm scared. The minutes are hours... and after the first hour, I've lost track of what day it really was. Its painful. Its mental more than anything. They continue their wicked ways with out mercy. Until He arrives. He says nothing to me, but speaks in gibberish to a lackey. He identifies me only by my dental records. "Twisted 9." I can't speak. "20 mm over bite." More fingers get shoved in my mouth. Then he stands over me, shoving the light into my eyes, as if it could bring me more discomfort. "I still want to do that Endo on 17." I don't want what he wants, but its futile. "No cavities. ... This time. Schedule a follow up for the Endo, and a six month in February for him. Mark to watch Twisted 9." Then he leaves. My jaws ache from the abuse, but its my mind thats battered most.

Thats why I hate the dentist.

Because every time it feels like this. Every time my teeth hurt down through the roots, my jaws ache to the point of numbness, and I swear I can feel the places where they've burnt streaks into my teeth with the drills and instruments. I've been through 7 dentists in my life. Every single one is a vile as the last. I have a gag reflex now, that I never had. Its the freaking putrid smell of the dentist office and a finger in my mouth, and I'm ready to choke. I hate going to the dentist. I hate it more than most things in life. But I went. And yes, they really want to do a root canal on me, for a tooth that brings me no pain, and very limited sensitivity to cold. It made my routine check up, seem like a tool to shake me down for more money and more pain. I hate dentists. They only seem to have appointments for me at 8:15am, on my only day off in 2 weeks. Do I need more reasons? I think not. Did I mention, I still at 27 have never had a cavity? I rest my case.

Monday, August 04, 2008

400 Is Just A Number

Post 400 is coming up very fast. 4-freaking-hundred. I'm not so sure that I ever planned on keeping this thing going that long, but here it is. I also like to sit back and think about all the others I've left in the dust in the past 6 years or so. I can hardly remember how many of my friends used to have blogs and let them die. Trouble is, many of them still read this one. WHy? I've wondered late at night about what is so compelling to people to read what I write with such regularity. Its flattering. I enjoy it. Hell, some days I even cater to it. But it behooves me to understand it. Just as much so as the reasons why people refuse to read it any more. So many people, so many reasons. So to get that out of the way, I appreciate the ZERO blog birthday wishes I received last week. My six-year old self and I thought about a lot of things over a boring car ride this weekend. Here is how it all started:

"" Tuesday, July 23, 2002

POST NUMERO UNO!

Yep.. Im here. Its really funny, i used to do something like this on my old website [back when xoom.com was alive... god rest ye soul~!]; it was a pain in the ass to keep updating everything in a txt file to do it... im glad technology finally caught up to me once again.

Anywho. post numero uno should be a joyous one.. so ill talk about myself in another entry. As you can tell, if your cool, the title of this blog was ripped from my two of my favorite Guns n Roses songs... Estranged and Its So Easy... GnFnR for life! yeah.. first post is going well.. im glad i have such a great audience here tonight. ill get into more concrete things later... just getting her set up.....

THIS BLOG WAS BORN ON JULY 23, 2002 at 1:53am CST.

ain't it fun~
s. ""


More of a whimper than a bang, thats how this whole mess started out it into the world. What ever the antonym of "impressive," is, we should apply it. Maybe not as much as the void that should have been filled by an "impressive" entry would seem more apt. Fear not, by the second post I was assailing the DMCA, something that can still get me worked up years later. Ho-hum. I'll blow out my candles now.


S.

Sunday, August 03, 2008

Some new news for your fix.


Stippers and Vaginaplasty. Mmmm.. Tasty.



Yes, indeed, nude dancing an art in Iowa, judge rules


Available: QCOnline / Moline Dispatch [www.qconline.com]

DES MOINES, Iowa (AP) _ Nude dancing remains an art in Iowa.

A Fremont County judge ruled Friday in favor of a nude dancing club owner charged with violating Iowa's indecent exposure law.

Judge Timothy O'Grady said prosecutors failed to prove that the club wasn't a theater and protected under an Iowa law that allows nudity at such venues devoted to the arts or theatrical performances.

The county attorney had charged former club owner Clarence Judy after a 17-year-old girl climbed up on stage at Shotgun Geniez in Hamburg and stripped off her clothing.

'I think it's a little scary,' Fremont County attorney Margaret Johnson said. 'This person was a minor by just a few months, but what do you do if it's a younger minor? At what point do you say 'This is not appropriate.''

Johnson said she'll provide a copy of the ruling to the state attorney general's office, which will decide whether to appeal the case. Johnson said she hopes to meet with state prosecutors next week about the matter.

If the case is appealed to a higher court, it could affirm the rights of dozens of strip clubs in Iowa or deem them in violation of state law.

A 1998 case in Davenport also found nude dancing is a form of art. Given that, the new owner of the Hamburg club expressed confidence nude dancing would remain legal in Iowa.

'It would be pretty tough to try to appeal it to the Supreme Court,' said Terry Rutledge, who bought the club on Monday. 'In all actuality, you don't have be a theater hall, concert hall or anything. You can be a strip club that has nude dance, which the state of Iowa for the second time has recognized that it is art.'

Arguments in the Hamburg case were made during a one-day trial on July 17. Johnson said the intent of the law is to allow movies in a theater where there's brief nudity or for an art gallery displaying paintings of nudes.

Rutledge, who owned the establishment from 2001 to 2005, said he plans to establish an Iowa Nude Art Center Association. The proposed group would bind Iowa nude dancing clubs together to help establishments that may face similar challenges in the future.

'It's just art and I didn't want to see it die,' Rutledge said about buying the club. 'I didn't want to see somebody give up on it.'




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Australian doctors warn against 'designer vagina' craze


Available: Breitbart News Agency [www.breitbart.com]



Australian doctors have raised concerns about clinics offering vaginal cosmetic surgery, warning the trend towards so-called "designer vaginas" may be exploiting vulnerable women.

The Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists said procedures being offered included "vaginal rejuvenation, revirgination, designer vaginoplasty and G-spot amplification".

"What is involved in these procedures is often unclear since recognised clinical nomenclature is not being used," it said in a position paper released this week.

The college labelled the procedures dangerous, expensive and unwarranted, and said it strongly discouraged surgery that was not backed by scientific evidence or clinical trials.

"The real risks of potential complications such as scarring, permanent disfigurement, infection, dyspareunia and altered sexual sensations should be discussed in detail with women seeking such treatments," it said.

The college said women should understand that there were a large number of variations in the appearance of normal female genitalia.

"The college is particularly concerned that such surgery may exploit vulnerable women," it said.

Ted Weaver, chairman of the college's women's health committee, said most of the operations cost at least 10,000 dollars (9,500 US), which he described as an "extraordinary amount of money".

"We feel these operations might prey on people with insecurities and fears who actually need psychological help," he told Australian Associated Press.

"They are also not very anatomically-based and have the potential to cause serious harm."

Doctors in the United States and Britain have raised similar concerns about the surgery.



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Maybe I should start thinking of tramp stamps, as fashion labels? No? Just think of the poor, exploited children of the world... laboring all day for 30 cents per hour to hand craft designer vag's in sweatshops. What a cruel world!!!!