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August 8, 2001
I went to the dentist today and, while under the influence of nitrous oxide, I reflected on my good fortune. Like the good fortune of having a dentist who is unafraid to hook a brother up with laughing gas. This despite my repeated attempts to leave his office with the tank on my back and the gas-mask strapped to my face like some kind of giggly Lloyd Bridges. I am also fortunate to be predisposed to revelations.
I learn a lot from a large sign outside the nearby Baptist church. You know the kind of sign I'm talking about---the kind with movable letters arranged into pearls of wisdom. Right now, the marquee counsels: "Forbidden Fruits Create Many Jams." How true, I thought as I lay back in the dental chair huffing nitrous. How true! If I had used only acceptable fruits, I wouldn't be in the "jam" I'm in.
I swallowed a piece of tooth-filling. "Sorry about that," says my dentist. "Tee hee," says I.
And what of Tom and Nicole? I could swear I heard the annoying strains of the Entertainment Tonight theme song above the drone of the tooth-sander. How could such a marriage fall apart? He a short, over-acting ferret and she a milky Aussie too proud of her gums. Is no union sacred? Has one or both of them been making jam of forbidden fruit? And, if so, what flavor ?
I snapped out of my gas-induced daydream just before I heard the words I've learned to dread, "I'm giving you oxygen now." Goddamn oxygen. The nitrous lifts. Revelation interruptus.
© 2001 by the beastmaster