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August 8, 2001

revelation interruptus

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