Teeth and Lasers 2007

Since 1984 I hadn't been to the dentist. It seems the last 23 years I've just been really busy with homework and girls. So I decided I should go back there and see what it's like.

The waiting area reminded me of Nuevo Laredo, Mexico.
Cracked, checkered tiles.
Plastic laundromat chairs.
Telenovelas screaming from the TV.
The only difference was that everyone had all of their legs.

My dentist was from Iran and spoke in a soothing but mumbling cadence, like drool-warm Persian decaf on the ears. I was told I needed a new filling and this sort of thing. We made a conversation while the local anesthetic considered my mouth.

"So what do you do?"
"I'm a dentist. What do you do?"

I told him I had been a courier for the last 6 years, but it sounded like "curator."

"Oh, for the museum?"

I had to correct him and that was a drag. He thought I was a distinguished museum curator, with a fanciful home full of groovy artifacts, and German key parties and a fax machine. In reality I'm a bike messenger with a messy apartment full of weird props, and scars from spills, and a Kinko's nearby. To compensate for this dip in status, I told him I also teach.

"What do you teach?"
"Comedy."

Really, I teach improv. But that might require an explanation so it's easier to say "comedy."
Or is it?
My dentist begins to tell me a joke involving Sofia Loren, Madonna and the Sahara Pipeline. It was hard to tell when the joke had finished but I managed a courtesy laugh, though I laughed hardest at the first mention of Sofia Loren.

"You have to be on top of current events to do comedy," my dentist informed me. "Did you hear about the massacre in Virginia?"

Yesterday a student at Virginia Tech opened fire and killed 32 people before killing himself. I told him I had heard about it and waited, unsure if he wanted me to make a joke about it. I thought I'd play it safe and bust out an old space shuttle Challenger one-liner but he continued.

"I was in the Iran revolution in 1979. Since they elected that asshole one of my students committed suicide."

Whoa. This was getting angry and sad. And we hadn't even begun drilling. I started to drift.

"Is my talking putting you to sleep? Don't fall asleep."

Drills, suction, probes, and lasers* obscured my dentist's words during the procedure. Which is too bad. I could have gotten some fresh material for the jokes that I say during the improv.

"Improvisation. You have to be ready for anything," my dentist informed me.
As per his request, I handed him cash for his work. But hadn't I seen his assistant wandering the premises?
"No, she's busy."

He came back with my change and asked if I would be performing soon. I mentioned that I had a ridiculous dancing audition for Hallmark in the afternoon.

"You have a lot of Jewish people in your business, right?"
I said I had a lot of Jewish friends, yes, and there are also a lot of Catholics in Chicago who do comedy.

"Are you Catholic?"
"No. I'm from Iran. Are you Catholic?"

I told him I had been raised that way but now I am "nothing." I should have said Agnostic or Atheist or something. That I was nothing seemed to upset him.

"You must have a relationship with your Creator. Whoever that may be." My dentist pointed skyward.
I made the case that I was in charge of my own destiny and pointed a big thumb at my chest.
Then I said, "Right?"

"We'll see you on the 23rd."

Yes, the 23rd year from now.
No, I'll be back. He has to chop up my enamel next week or something. Maybe by then I'll figure out who my Curator is. I mean Creator.



*Yeah, man. Lasers!!!

drawings by Joanna Buese

A 26th Birthday

Before we broke up, Joanna and I used to date. We were together for almost 4 years, like in the Olympics. We decided to spend my last pre-9/11 birthday by going on a road trip. We had both never been to Louisville, Kentucky. And so we left Chicago on a Saturday morning with 2 goals: bluegrass and bourbon.

It was a Best Western or a Super 8 or something. Maybe we didn't even unpack. We got right to it. After all it was a weekend getaway.

Things got heavier and that's when the goddamn front door opened. What?! The afternoon light cut into our afternoon delight and cast a jagged spotlight on me. Somehow I leapt from my ass to the floor, where the bed shielded me from our uninvited guest.
Was it a murderer..with lots of keys? A clueless peeping tom? One of those weird men that collect TV Guides?

She was a woman in her mid-50's and she used two words.
"Aw shit."
Then she closed the door.
We laughed.

The scatter-brained desk clerk was quick to apologize. He had accidentally given this woman our room key.
Turns out the woman wasn't even supposed to be in Louisville. She and her husband were passing through when he had a heart attack at the wheel. He was going to be in the hospital overnight and she wasn't sure if he was going to make it.
We laughed again and continued drinking our giant Kir Royal.
No we didn't.

Well, off to find some authentic bluegrass on a Saturday night in Louisville!
We searched the dailies, the free lefty rags, and inquired of the locals. But there was no bluegrass to be had in Louisville that night.
Oh. Well, we just thought Louisvillebluegrassmumblebrumblebrumble.
In lieu of authenticity we found a karoake bar and got loaded. I did Cher's "Do You Believe." Joanna gave it a big thumbs down.

My birthday fell on Easter Sunday that year. Easter is my least favorite day. Easter is a bunny-shaped, bunny-shit-flavored assault on the soul. It's like being in a badly ventilated juice bar where a Jesus impersonator invades your space with disgusting pick up lines.
"How 'bout a different kinda stigmata: my bone piercing your punani..heh heh."
That's what Easter is.

Oh yeah, but we were going to take a country drive into eastern Kentucky and stay in a cottage. The drive was indeed calming. And we did indeed find a cottage.
"We'll settle in for the night, drinking bourbon on the porch overlooking this peaceful majesty! 26 and the rest of 2001 is going to be the best year ever!" is what I probably thought.

We went to the market and couldn't find any booze.
The clerk said it was a dry county.
But I had seen a sign in the window advertising Corona.
"Corona? Oh, that's for Corona cigarettes."
I had never heard of Corona cigarettes until that moment.
I have never seen a pack of Corona cigarettes since then.

We looked at a map and noticed we were only 25 miles from West Virginia.
So we put on our funglasses and drove away from the sun.
In West Virginia you bet they had booze...only the liquor was roped off.
No liquor on Sunday.

We looked at the map.
We noticed we were only 25 miles from Ohio.
In Ohio, where they have Cleveland, they must have booze!
And at the drive-in liquor store you can get liquor!!
You can even get authentic Kentucky bourbon!!!
Just not on Sunday.
Especially Easter Sunday.
Not in this county.
You faggots.

We snuck a 6-pack of beer into the cottage. Joanna watched Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.
I tried to get her to videotape my account of the events. She kept panning over to the TV in the middle of my anecdote, and I mistakenly didn't see the humor in this.
We bickered.
The red light was on.
It's on a tape somewhere.

Earlier that day in the men's room, the rental car keys accidentally fell from my hoodie into the urinal I was about to use. After finishing up in a different urinal, I searched for a way to pull the keys out of the deep water without touching it. I had found a toilet paper roll and little else when an old man stepped up to the urinal with the keys in it and took a big old man piss right on the keys.
Yes, he was humming a song.
No, it wasn't "Happy Birthday."

And then 9/11 happened. So, y'know.
Can't win 'em all.

drawings by Joanna Buese

Pricey.com

When I first got the internet my friends and I used to play a game.

It's pretty simple.

Pick a word.

See if that word has its own website.

If the website pertains to the word, you lose.

For instance: Scissors.

www.scissors.com will take you to hairproducts.com.

So you lose.

If the website is nothing, you lose.

For example: Kerfuffle.

www.kerfuffle.com is nothing, you loser.

But if the word takes you to a strange place that has nothing to do with the meaning of the word, you win.

Por ejemplo: Open Sores

www.opensores.com takes you to a site that sells supplies for reptiles.

With open sores you win!

So I decided to revive the game.

I chose the word pricey.

The word has a website that features a photograph of two dogs.

They are resting on a dalmatian-print mattress.

The larger dog has a haircut.

Kind of like Heather Locklear's.

The smaller dog does not have a haircut.

Above the dogs is the name of the website.

To the left is the word Home.

When you click on the word Home it takes you to where you are already are.

This is Pricey.com.

It was the only thing I won today.

Pickles

If I wanted to put pickles on my hamburger I would've just severed the blackened toes from that hobo corpse and dipped them in a beggar's cup filled with the diseased urine of his mourning, coughing rail buddy.

Mustard

If I wanted to put mustard on my sandwich I would've just squeezed the pus from that jaundiced drifter's infected, gangrenous foot.

Vinegar

If I wanted to put vinegar on my fries I would’ve just had that street vagrant take off his socks and press his scaly, festering feet to my meal.

Splits & Flips

Recently my girlfriend and I were watching Splits & Flips on the television. It's a dance contest show on the FOX network. If you haven't seen it yet, here's the premise: dramatic people with a desperate need for attention and adoration audition for the title of World's Best American Dancer. To show how good they are at dancing they do aerial splits and tons of flips. Lots of crying is involved, along with serious importance and other heightened emotions. It could be considered of interest to some.

One of the judges is a dancewoman from Ohio named Mary Murphy. She is weird. She's weird.

Mary screams when she talks. It's quite high-pitched. And often long. It has become necessary to turn the volume down whenever it's Mary Murphy's turn to screech and howl gushingly about a particular routine, for fear of her piercing the tube on our TV.

Lauren informed me that Mary Murphy had been "molested or something" in the past.

I considered this.

"Maybe if she got molested again, she'd go back to normal."

During a commercial break we looked her up on the internet.

It turns out she wasn't molested. She was a victim of domestic abuse.

I thought about this.

"Yeah, I can see that."

My girlfriend and I continued eating dinner and enjoyed Splits & Flips in mutual harmony.