April 7th, 2005
|02:32 pm - The Mighty Thor, DDS|
I went to the dentist yesterday. This is not going to be one of those "my teeth have more problems than the Middle East, and they'll cost twice as much to clean up" posts, so I'll just get out of the way right now that my teeth look good, but I need to use less pressure when brushing my incisors. Oh, and when the hygenist noticed that my lips were chapped, she offered me a choice between lime, orange, cherry or medicated lip balm. I said I was somewhat amused that they were offering flavored lip balms, and she laughed the way people do when they've heard the same joke from every customer for the last four years.
As if you wanted to know all that.
Anyway, the dentist I go to inherited his practice from my old dentist who retired around the time I was graduating high school. I've seen the new guy for years, but I still consider him the new guy. My old dentist's methods were very much a product of the time during which he started his practice, and he did things which probably wouldn't fly today like working with his bare (but immaculately clean) hands and never wearing a mask. The new guy, on the other hand, wears so much protective equipment that he could spend a day on the sun looking for estrogen, estrogen, estrogen and hair and come back with a light tan.
He's good at what he does though, so I'm not writing to complain about him or the fact that he shares his first name with the Norse god of thunder. No, I'm writing because of what he keeps in his office.
The old dentist (who shares his first name with millions of people named Dave) used to have pictures of his grandkids hanging up in his office. I don't know either of them, but they're both around my age and they're in my high school yearbooks. Every once in awhile new school portraits would show up around the office. It occurred to me yesterday that not only are the same portraits on the wall, but there are new ones there as well. My dentist -- who has kids of his own and who is related to my old dentist neither by birth, marriage, or secret pact never to reveal the truth about that night by the river with the hacksaw and the blowtorch -- is updating his wall with pictures of somebody else's family.
As a side note, I'm terribly thrilled that I waited until after my dental appointment to watch Little Shop of Horrors...
Current Mood: weird
Current Music: OkGo -- Get Over It
|Date:||April 7th, 2005 08:08 pm (UTC)|| |
On Bob and Tom this morning, they had an astronaut who watched Alien for the first time in space.
On a space station, in fact.
During a meteor storm, causing the occaisional eerie tap against the craft's hull.
I think that takes the cake Non-Replicable Perfect Viewing Experiences.
Damn. I know fanboys who would give their college fund and their unopened box of Frosted C-3POs to watch Alien for the 52nd time in space, let alone the first.
No, going to the dentist has never bothered me the way it bothers some people, but I squirm in my seat whenever I watch Steve Martin in Little Shop of Horrors.
|Date:||April 7th, 2005 08:16 pm (UTC)|| |
want some thor comics to give him??
...not really. I'm sure it's been done, and either way, he's been my dentist for like, seven years now (give or take), and it'd feel weird if I just started making fun of his name out of nowhere.
What is this, dentist week?
Geez, I guess so. I haven't checked out that thing you linked to about overclocking your toothbrush, but it sounds... interesting...
Indeed it is... interesting.