The Dentist

Dentists are evil and must be destroyed.

This morning I had my first cleaning with a new dentist in Silver Spring. Granted, I hadn't been for a dental cleaning in a long while because Gallaudet's health insurance covers its students about as much as Britney Spears covers her no-no parts. Still, I feel that my cleaning was unusually harsh and unnecessarily painful, like spraying alcohol on a paper cut when all you really need is a band-aid.

The year is 2008, people. Teeth have been around quite a while; they are not a new phenomenon in the evolution of our species. Therefore, I believe it is a serious disappointment that in our advancement as conscious beings we have not yet invented a more suitable way to bring our molars and bicuspids up to their hygienic par.

It's a very compromising position to have your head tilted back and your mouth gaping wide open, like a baby bird in a nest waiting for its pre-digested meal from mommy. You are at the complete mercy (or lack of mercy) of the hygienist or dentist- who could obviously use a seminar or two on empathy and compassion for human suffering. What ever happened to "do no harm"?!?

That little scraper they use to grind in between the teeth and gums is barbaric yet surprisingly legal. I swear my dentist was using it like a pickax going after gold in some cave. I was clutching the sides of the chair and wincing when I opened my eyes and silently pleaded with the man to leave me in peace- in peace!!! And the only thing this bastard could say was "Wow, the rain is sure coming down hard, isn't it?" Yeah, the rain is very interesting, especially when you're trying to saw my face in half.

I think dentists take it personally when you haven't been for your checkup in a while. They're like a disgruntled date who is steamed that you didn't call soon enough, only in this situation the date has unlimited power to maximize your pain-- and then you actually pay for it!!! They always give you that look like "Oh ... you haven't been back promptly at 6 months ... well, I hate to see you suffer, but I have a contract with Satan and must do as he bids ..."

It must be a very dissatisfying experience to know that your entire career is disliked by the general public- quite like auto mechanics, telemarketers, and Richard Simmons. But dentists are consoled by the mantra they say to themselves every morning-- "Because of plaque, they'll always come back".

And so we do, and so we shall, until modern medicine actually becomes modern. Until then, I fear that these closeted S&M fetish-ers will have free reign over our cake holes and continue to manipulate the population with their scrapers, water pics, and saliva-slurping vacuums that always seem excessively loud ...

Perhaps that noise is there to drown out the wails of despair from another schmuck down the hall who is suffering an all too familiar fate at the hands of a monster we affectionately call the dentist.

Water into wine ... and beer

Express, April 22, 2008
"Tapping the Keg of Life"
Beer was on tap as a new church held its inaugural service in a Sidney, Ohio, bar. The bar-room church is an offshoot of Sidney United First Methodist Church, whose head pastor says he's been looking for creative ways to reach people. The church's Web site for its new branch advertises "Top regional bands, pizza, wings, rowdy fun and a short message." The Rev. Chris Heckaman's sermon compared staying on the bar's mechanical bull to learning how to get along in life.
Church website- http://www.sidneyfirst.com/Discover/CountryRockChurch/tabid/140/Default.aspx



OH MY GOD ... where do I begin?

A few months ago I wrote a blog about a minister who challenged the married couples of his congregation to have sex every night for 30 days ... and now we are worshipping in a bar. Reverend Heckaman, head of the church sipping the head of his beer, has decided that alcohol consumption is definitely the new direction for Methodists.

Just imagine ... for communion there will be shot glasses filled with Bloody Marys, bar nuts will replace the body of Christ (why not?! he never used his own!), and the choir will take a back seat (or stool) to the whims of drunken karaoke-ers singing "Summer Lovin' ... from Jesus ".

I suppose that regular church protocol would not apply to congregants while worshipping in a bar; it doesn't matter whether you're standing, sitting, or kneeling since the room is spinning anyway. Baptisms will be replaced by the minister gently lowering the person's head back and letting them chug directly from the keg. And the following morning, people won't know if that pain in their head was caused by an atrocious hangover or from the smack they received when filled with the spirit.

One major concern is how to discern drunken bar-speech from those actually speaking in tongues. Put a little tequila in Granny McAllen and suddenly you can't tell the difference between her and an evangelical on speed. Once she starts dancing around and raising her hands in the air ... well, let's just say y'all better move the darts out of the way in case she decides to smite the wicked.

While the bar is hushed in reverence during quiet prayer time, one can't help but be distracted by the sound of someone blowing chunks loudly in the restroom, reminding us all that everything- even communion- should be taken in moderation.

And then the sermon- "Life is like riding a mechanical bull". What, if you continue doing something for only 8 seconds you get a medal? Life is full of bullshit? Life can can make your ass sore? (giggle)

Finally the reverend makes one "last call !!!" for congregants to come to the front to accept forgiveness -- your sins are now washed away, compliments of Smirnoff.

Go in peace. Amen. And call a cab ...

Polk County - a news magnet

"The National Face of Polk County"
http://www.theledger.com/article/20080420/COLUMNISTS0301/804200330

A recent article in the Lakeland Ledger, Polk County's finest news source (their coverage of the 1987 Lake Morton mysterious swan disappearance is legendary, almost got the Pulitzer), came about in response to the the surge of negative press surrounding the P.C. in recent months.

Lakeland, my home town, has gained national attention due to a YouTube video that shows some white-trash girls beating up a fellow cheerleader, smacking her around a good few times, and having a jolly laugh about the whole thing. Slapping, shoving, and punching are Polk County's preferred methods of conflict resolution, and can often be observed in vivo at home during domestic disputes and then reproduced for the general public via networking sites.

The author's biggest complaint in her article was the shocking "cheap shots" other newspaper giants and news sources around the country have taken when describing Polk County, namely-- "rural Florida" and "Lakeland, a lower-middle-class town".

Well guess what? Polk County IS rural, the opposite of urban (New York, LA, Chicago), and it IS a lower-middle-class town (and the last thing those cheerleaders had was class!).

But why get caught up in labels for a county that has violent cheerleaders, cop killings (which resulted in the suspect's untimely death by a disturbing 110 shots fired by authorities ... apparently 100 bullets aren't enough to kill someone?), and bloody parent-butcherings. Hey, what can you expect from an urban upper-class town like Lakeland???

A general search for Polk County on CNN.com reveals its impact on a national level:

April 10 - YouTube video cheerleaders could get life in prison

Feb 16 - The North Illinois University shooter's father lives in Lakeland, FL

Oct 6 - Registered sex-offender in Polk County arrested for allegedly luring a 15-year-old girl through MySpace

Sept 29 - "Florida police kill suspect in deputy's slaying" ... (referenced above) I'd like to call attention to the word "suspect", I'm just saying ...

Sept 13 - "Judge warns victims' mother not to cry on stand" ... oh yeah SURE she's only telling about how she came upon the bloodied bodies of her children, how inappropriate to tear up over that ...

There are more, but I got bored ...

How can one small county gain such infamy? Perhaps the Ledger article should be re-named "The National Egg-on-Face of Polk County" ...

The Little Mermaid: A Critique

"If only you would notice
how I ache behind my smile..."
Ariel

The Little Mermaid sailed into Broadway last fall in Disney's attempt to make yet another animated classic come to life. The smash success of Beauty and the Beast, The Lion King, and Phil Collins' Tarzan .... ok strike that -- xxxx the smash success of just Beauty and the Beast and The Lion King have certainly upped the ante for stage productions to max out their visual effects, as well as enticing younger audiences to dip into the deep end of the theatrical world.

Does anyone find it interesting that The Little Mermaid highlights a young girl's struggle to obtain "true love" at the risk of losing everything she values- her friends, her family - her FINS, for cryin' out loud. Ariel is willing to sacrifice her entire life- even her body and voice- at the shot of being with a man she hasn't even met. What a gamble!! (heads or tails? ... I mean, legs or tails?). Is this the message we want to be sending young girls and gay boys?

Naturally I was thrilled when I heard the LM would be making a splash on the big stage, and I was on iTunes the day the album was released to hear the pumped up and boisterously-belted showtune version of a childhood fascination.

Alan Menken, who is largely responsible for the Disney renaissance beginning with the LM and declining with - damn, that Tarzan again - delivered (as usual) with clever and spunky songs that swim in circles around your head all day long. And then pair up the lyrical genius of Howard Ashman with that of Glenn Slater and you get .... a tsunami.

Honestly- how can you compare Ashman's
"each little clam here know how to jam here,
that's why it's hotter under de water,
yeah we in luck here down in the muck here
under the sea"
with Slater's
"If only you could know the things I want to say,
if only I could tell you what I wish I could convey" ???

Now let me try! ... "Roses are red, violets are blue ..."

Slater!!! You are dealing with a Walt Disney masterpiece ... be careful!!!!

Which is not to say the entire production is like a fish out of water. Despite its simplistic vocabulary and a rudimentary rhyme scheme, Menken pulls through the swishy-washy words and has me singing "She's in Love" to the rhythm of jackhammers during my morning commute.

And despite its message that abandoning your family and friends can ultimately bring you to true love, there is a lot to be said about a heroine who isn't comfortable in her own scales. I remember singing Part of Your World as a kid and wishing that I, too, could cast aside my gills and breathe easier in a world where I belonged ... i.e. a world where I was "normal".

But now I can walk (in Dupont Circle), now I can run (at the gym), now I can stay all day in the sun (at Rehoboth) ... no fear of drowning here *takes in a deep breath*

I still gotta find a pair of those purple shells, though ...

A visit of Papal proportions

"I know we've come so far, but we've got so far to go ..." -- Hairspray

Radio, TV, internet sites and almost every news source have gone ga-ga over the Pontiff's arrival in America - quite like a mob of jittery Japanese teenage girls trailing after Justin Timberlake. It is inescapable- the only competition for some limelight on CNN is the presidential election, and probably only because the primaries are beginning to resemble a WWF match ("you BITTER frigid bitch!" followed by Obama-bitch-slap).

WE GET IT ... the Pope is here. He's old, he's introverted, and he has never had sex. Talk about a crowd-pleaser!

And what a busy schedule for an aging direct link to god ... birthday at the White House, visits to Catholic University, mass at the National's Stadium ("Play ball !!! Just not with his !!!) ... and all the while he is rebuking the American priest sex scandals and hoping to reunify the Church and abate declining revenue.

In his pre-Pope days, Ratzinger ... which incidentally sounds like the name of a villain in some Disney film (and prompting me to coin the phrase "I don't give a Ratzinger's ass about the Pope coming to town") ... had a notorious anti-gay record of denouncements and blatantly discriminatory acts of Vatican law. And so his arrival in DC could not be met with less scorn on my part.

Ratzinger's paw prints have plagued numerous documents issued by the Vatican declaring its stance on homosexuality- not only in homosexual practice but also in terms of support, i.e. non-discriminatory behaviors. Ratzinger's influence in several Vatican organizations has resulted in statements such as- "the Church may not admit to the seminary and Holy Orders those who practice homosexuality, show profoundly deep-rooted homosexual tendencies, or support the so-called gay culture".

How about some more Vatican statements: "There are areas in which it is not unjust discrimination to take sexual orientation into account" - namely: adoption, education, medical (contagious diseases), and mentally ill persons.

The Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith (led by Ratzy) stated in 1992 that homosexuality itself "must be seen as an objective disorder". Well ... as an aspiring clinician, the only real disorders I can see are a lack of compassion, an inability to tolerate/appreciate differences, and the audacity to use religious doctrine in masking personal agendas which consistently fuel discrimination on all levels of society.

It's just plain gross.

I remember when the new Pontiff was elected- I was living in Rome at that time, not even 2 miles from the Vatican where all the whoop-de-do was occurring. Thousands of people had come to pay their tributes to the recently deceased Pope, and thousands more gathered in St. Peter's Square to welcome Benedict as the new head of the Catholic Church.

During the service, I was jogging on a treadmill in an empty gym that was normally bustling with Italian life. Everyone had gone to St. Peter's to get a glimpse of the new Pope ... quite like the masses that will descend upon DC in the next few days, trailing him like group-ies, following in his footsteps...

I just pray that most of us are truly wise enough not to follow in those footsteps ...

Life & Death

Nothing brings people together quite like a death in the family. Funerals do not discriminate- young and old, relative or otherwise, interested or required--- a funeral is like a social black hole. You can either swim against the rip-tide, and wear yourself out, or roll with it and enjoy the plunge out to sea (so much for being led beside still waters).

And so my family survived a 3-day weekend without much drama or shocking family secrets revealed (Jerry Springer audience sighs and dejectedly sits down); nevertheless, there was enough activity to keep me on my toes and attentive despite my sleep-deprived state:

-Cousins: I have 5 cousins on my mom's side. Three are about my age, and the other two are youngins (aged six and nine). This was our first chance to meet (well ... meet as speaking and conversation-holding people, not while changing diapers and smelling poo). We played, ran, laughed, and sang songs from Enchanted (I challenge any of you to find another 27-year-old cousin who is cool enough to know all the words).

-Mischief managed: I forget that the ideas I come up with are not always appropriate for children, including: trying to fly a kite inside the house using wind generated from a standing fan, catching bubbles on your tongue (which are carcinogenic, I was later informed), sneaking cookies 10 minutes before dinner, doing line dances in the middle of the grocery store aisle, and claiming that Lufthansa airlines is the best because they serve free alcohol.

-The art of Haiku: In honor of our late grandfather, an avid haiku poet, the following were constructed:

Drinking with cousins
And watching Lord of the Rings
What is malt made of?

Granddaddy is dead
We come here now to mourn him
His neighbor's a queer

-Gay gay gay: In reference to the previous haiku, my gaydar spiked to unprecedented levels after the memorial service while munching on "Thanksgiving-stuffed-between-two-buns" type sandwiches provided by a local church. My grandfather's neighbor, who pinged on my boy-barometer way before the stereotypes began to kick in (lover of music, noticed I had lost weight compared to my photo 6 years prior, and a 1st grade teacher), indicated that his wife had gone with him to some flower show a few weekends before-- which promptly caused me to choke on my food and cough hysterically (gag reflex, you'd think I'd have had that fixed by now).

-Gay gay gay (part deux): My six-year-old cousin turns and asks politely, "Do you have a girlfriend?" Used to this question from kids, I didn't bat an eyelash and honestly replied, "No, I do not have a girlfriend. Do you have a girlfriend?" ... "No, I'm a girl!" ... "Well girls can have girlfriends, too." ... "Yeah ... when I asked you that question something weird happened. I don't know what, but something weird happened". Damn perceptive six-year-olds!!!

-Somberness: Funerals are not always such a sad affair. My sister and I were jamming to the Lion King's "Circle of Life" on the way to the service (appropriate), as well as Beyonce's "Get Me Bodied" (somewhat less appropriate). The Starbucks barista, amused by our glimmer and giggle as we eagerly dived into our morning mochas, suggested we try on our somber hats before we arrive at the grave site.

-Albums and photos: The time-honored tradition of pouring over the pictures and moving pictures of years past. It's embarrassing, like that feeling you get when someone walks in on you in the bathroom-- you haven't done anything wrong, but you feel awkward nonetheless. Moreover, in the home-made movies, you re-experience the idiotic and extremely flamboyant things you said as a child that should have clued your parents in to your sexuality about 15 years prior.

We sat around and swapped stories, as families tend to do: the one with granddaddy fighting with the bakery delivery woman for bringing stale cinnamon buns, the one where a 3-year-old David puked all over granddaddy's table after tasting bad Chinese (and thus instilling a fear of Chinese food until the age of 19), or the one where granddaddy tolerated the fancy of his adolescent grandchildren and wore a bicycle helmet while assuming his role as the Good Wizard in an amateur production of insanity.

The entire weekend reminded me that the memories we leave behind continue long past our brief mortality. So ... what will my legacy be???