Adventures in Dentistry

I had a relatively large adventure (by my standards) last weekend. It all started Sunday after breakfast. I was  generally expressing my satisfaction concerning the existence of bacon and running my tongue over the inside of my mouth, and then I stopped both activities. My tongue had found a large bump on the inside of my lower mouth underneath my teeth. It wasn't a bump I recognized, so I went to a mirror and examined it. My tongue had told the truth - there in my mouth was a large bump that I was previously unaware of.  I won't gross you out with the details (if I haven't already), but it looked unnatural and out of place.

I immediately took the best course of action. Namely, self diagnosing. Two things went through my head.

1) Oh my God, it's gum cancer. A large, painless lump. It has to be. I knew I shouldn't have smoked all* those cigars** during my lifetime! What if I lose all my teeth and have to eat applesauce for the rest of my life? How will I chew on ice cubes ever again?
*like, five.
**well, cigarillos, actually

and...

2) It's an alien. Or a bug. Or an alien bug. Where could it have come from? It must've been all that swimming in lakes out west. It has a bony feel, just like how I always imagined the exoskeleton of an advanced, sentient, parasitic alien bug would feel. I wonder how long I have to think independent thoughts? What if it's already been controlling me this whole time?

So first thing Monday morning, I went to a Doctor to ask some questions. After looking into my mouth, he told me it everything looked fine, but that if I really wanted to get it checked out, I should go to a dentist. This didn't make me feel any more at ease. By this point, I had narrowed my two initial diagnoses down to just one. I eliminated gum cancer, because the Doctor would have recognized that. Also, the fact that everything looked fine seemed to be more evidence that it was an alien bug, because naturally it was in the invader's interest to keep me (the host) healthy as long as possible so it could do whatever it wanted with me.

Despite my reluctance*, I made an appointment with my dentist (whom I normally avoid despite his office's harassing phone calls asking me to confirm appointments I never made) for that morning, and went down to see him.
*which I attributed partially to the alien bug wanting me to avoid the dentist, and partially to my fear of being stabbed in the mouth repeatedly

Sitting nervously in the torture chair, I informed him that there was a terrifying bump (I wasn't calling it an alien bug yet - I wanted him to reach that conclusion for himself) in my mouth, so they took an x-ray. The dentist came back into the room and asked me where the bump was exactly. "This is it," I thought to myself, "he's going to tell me that its fibrous tentacles have worked their way up my jaw and are almost in my brain." I opened my mouth and pointed.

"That?" he asked? "That's normal bone growth, it happens in about 40% of people. You probably had that the last time you came in, it's nothing to worry about. But as long as you're here, why don't we give your teeth a cleaning." And so he sent in his apprentice torturer* who stabbed me in the mouth with sharp objects for the next half hour.
*I'm pretty sure this was her official title

All in all, I have to say, I didn't leave the dentist feeling much better, despite my squeaky clean teeth and the free toothbrush he gave me to make me feel better about having been stabbed in the mouth. I think the reason is I'm not sure I trust him. I still think it's an alien. And I think my dentist has one, too. If it's already taken over his mind, of course he would try to comfort me and tell me it's nothing...

So please, if anyone has had a similar experience and had the alien bug removed, or knows someone who has been completely taken over already, let me know. I want to know what to expect.

Kansas, My As! Or, KISS MY kansAS)

Those of you who have spoken to me recently may have heard that I just got back from a cross (most of the) country trip. It was a great time; I got to spend quality time with a bunch of friends, met some great people and all in all got to pretend that I was an adventurer (which is easier for me when I'm travelling than when the greatest danger I face is that I might go hungry because my natural indecisiveness makes it impossible for me to decide where I want to get food). At the end of the trip, I had a new respect for America, a few new friends, several favors owed and peace of mind. That's not to say the whole trip was wonderful; there were about seven hours of misery that coincided with when my friend and I drove through Kansas.

I don't want to sound like a hater. Honestly, I came into the trip with high expectations for Kansas. The first presentiment I had that it could be less than I had hoped came in Missouri. We were camping in a National Forest and met two Missourians (more on them later, perhaps). As we explained our plans for the next day, one of them interrupted, "Oh, man, you're going through Kansas? That sucks, I only drive through Kansas during night because I don't have to look at it. I feel sorry for whoever's driving that stretch." The next fifteen minutes of the conversation consisted of them explaining the many reasons they hated going through Kansas.

Still, the next day we drove off and after an intimidating storm that forced us to pull over (conveniently near a Waffle House*, I might add), left Missouri. Then we entered Kansas. The first 30 miles were actually beautiful: rolling green hills, pastures, horsies, you know, the usual. Then we passed one turn, at which point almost everything green dropped behind us and slowly disappeared through the rear window as I clawed at the seat and asked desperately to turn around, to no avail. We continued into Kansas, and for the next seven hours, almost everything was the same grey, dusty scenery.
*Actually, a disappointment. Turns out they used aluminum and wood, like most other diners I've seen.

The most exciting portion of Kansas (see? There's a train!)

The strange thing was that it changed as soon as we crossed the border into Colorado. It wasn't a mental thing; it was actually prettier. It was as if whoever made the border decided to bound in a lot of ugly into one state and just get it over with (no offense to any beautiful Kansas folks out there!*)
*Ha.


That being said, I came out of the trip with a new understanding of two things. First, I realized that when Dorothy turns to Toto and says, "Something tells me we're not in Kansas anymore," she's issuing a sigh of relief. I wonder what it was that told her; probably a tree, a lake, a river, or anything remotely beautiful. Secondly, I understood the joke one of the Missourians told us at the campsite, which I will recount for you.

The night before Little Bighorn, General Custer sent out a scout to assess the situation. When the scout returned, he told Custer that he had good news and bad news, and asked the general which he'd like to here first.
"I'll take the bad news first," the General said.
"Sir, I've looked around, and we're not going to make out of here alive," the scout told him dismally.
"Ok," the stoic General replied. "Now what's the good news?"
"Well, Sir," the scout said, brightening up, "we're not going to have to march back across Kansas again!"

I made it out alive, but only thanks to a cheap one-way flight. Thank God.

So, I'm back now, and everything's going well. There are more stories that may get posted as time goes on, but I've also started working, so who knows what quality or length will follow from here on out. Hope that everything is going well with you!

An Accounting of Time

I know many of you have been wondering where I've been for the past few months. I don't blame you; I've been wondering that myself. It's been a while since I've let anyone know what I've been up to. I'm not a mysterious person, I just haven't had the time. So, I'd like to take this opportunity to let you know how I've been keeping busy these past few months.

First off, you should know that I'll be graduating soon, so I've been busy preparing for the professional world.

You can never practice office skills too much.

 I've also been working on one of my long term goals, learning how to cook. This has been going fairly well, judging by the fact that I have not set fire to everything in my room.

Frijol à la Jorgé is my most successful recipe to date.

Most surprising is the family of bears that's moved in with me. I have no idea where they came from, but they are sweet, so I've tended for them as well as I can.

Victor and Margaret, my most recent companions.

 Really though, I've had a lot of things come up this year. I've been pulled a lot of different ways, and it really taxed my time management skills and problem solving abilities. I think it was really beneficial for me in the long term, though. I learned a lot about how much I can handle and how I cope with such a full schedule.

How I face the challenges of everyday life.

I hope that explains why you haven't heard from me recently. As you can see, my days have been packed. Expect more updates from me soon, because I'm about to have more free time than I'll know what to do with. And oh, if you have any jobs lying around, please let me know.

Hope all is well!

Dealing with Celebrities: The Sasha Baron Cohen Edition

So I was hanging out in my local dive this past Saturday night trying to hit on my favorite bartender for what was probably the millionth time. She dismissed my usual advances, then leaned in a bit closer.

"Brendan, do you know Sasha Baron Cohen?" she asked me.

"You mean, Borat?" I replied.

"Yeah. Look to your right."

So I peeked furtively to my good side, and there, 20 feet away, was Sasha Baron Cohen himself. All 6'4'' of him (or some stupid number of meters, as he would probably say). He was dressed in a tweed jacket with a vest and a paperboy cap, as inconspicuous as a tall, goofy looking guy who looks exactly like SBC can look. From the looks of it, there was some sort of small party going on. He and his friends had brought a few boxes of pizza with them, and they were all casually standing around eating some slices, drinking some beers and chatting normally with each other. I'm not great at picking up subtle clues, but that's an invitation to be interrupted if I've ever seen one... right?

But really, I thought about it. Every time someone would put on a goofy accent and say "Hi-five!" I would have a story. "I saw Sasha Baron Cohen! He was in the same bar as I was!" I mean, that's cool, but it's not much of a story. What is this, catch-and-release fishing? "Yeah, Sasha Baron Cohen was there! He was like, this big *stretches arms out*" If it was going to be a good story, I knew I was going to have to talk to him. Or mount him on my wall, but one seemed more feasible and less likely to get me in arrested.

So no shit, there we were. Me and SBC. He was talking to his friend, I was creepily looking over his shoulder. I tugged his sleeve discreetly, and he turned towards me, pulling off a mask that covered his face to reveal that he was actually an alien.* I looked at him, and bashfully started to speak.

*this last bit about him being an alien is not true. Just making sure you're actually paying attention.

"Excuse me, I don't want to make a big deal of this," I started.

He interrupted me to say, "No, don't make a big deal of it, it's fine" (in writing, that makes him sound like a jerk, but he really said it in a nice, encouraging way).

"But, do people ever tell you you look like..." I paused a second. "You look like a dick in that cap?"

He looked at me with a straight face for a second.

"Actually, my father tells me that all the time. That's actually why I'm growing out my beard; I want to make my chin look like hairy balls," he continued, scratching at the scraggly growth on his face.

"It's working," I replied. "If you really want to make it better, I can give you the name of a plastic surgeon, and he can give you a great cleft chin."

Neither of us seemed to be a novice at bullshitting.

So we shot the shit for a a bit more, just talking about how he could look like a dick. My friend joined us, and we got into a two minute conversation about who we were. I really didn't want to overstay my welcome, so we left a few minutes later.

Now, I had just insulted a complete stranger. He took it well, but he didn't know me, so thought an apology was in order. On my way out, I decided I really should tell him I was sorry. Fortunately, some more people had come into the bar. A group of them was wearing dumb hats. Like, really dumb hats. Straw farmer's hats and pirates hats and whatnot. I pushed my way to the back of the bar again, found him and tapped him on the shoulder again.

"Listen, you know, I'm really sorry. I said you look like a dick earlier, and I was wrong. You don't look like a dick. Those guys look like dicks," I said, gesturing towards the pirate fAARRRRRmers (heh heh) in the front of the bar. He thanked me for apologizing and told me not to worry about it.

"I never caught your name, by the way. I'm Brendan."

"Sorry, I'm Mohammed."

Damnit, and I thought I had a story about talking to Sasha Baron Cohen!

Canadian* Adventures

In my last post, I mentioned that I was going to Nova Scotia (which translates to "New Scotia." I think a scotia is a type of rash, but I could be wrong). I should clarify what I meant: I meant that I was trying to go to Nova Scotia. In my case, the difference between those two statements is similar to the difference between my saying "I have a lot of friends" and "when I have good dreams, I have a lot of friends" -- a substantial one.

I won't bore you with any foreshadowing because there was none. Emily (my roadtripping partner) and I were driving happily for two days. Everything was fine up to the border. The drive went well, Maine was pretty, and spirits were high. We waited for a few minutes at the border before pulling up to the gate. This was how I thought the conversation between me and the border guard would go:

Guard: Hi, eh?
Me: Hi. We'd like to enter your beautiful country, which is disrespected without reason by most Americans. Can we come in?
Guard: Hmmm... That depends, eh? Are you planning on smuggling guns, drugs, children or maple syrup in or out of the country, eh?
Me: No! We're planning on importing goodwill and friendship into your country, and exporting a great reputation for Canada through my huge blog readership!
Guard: Awesome, eh? Go on in, and here, have a shot of maple syrup that I keep handy in my flask!

That wasn't what actually happened. This is more along the lines of what actually happened.

Guard: Hi, eh?
Me: Hi...
Guard: Are you planning on smuggling guns, drugs, children or maple syrup in or out of the country, eh?
Me: Er, no.
Guard: Have either of you two ever been before a judge, eh?
Me: (thinking to myself) Aw, he's noticed how bashful I get before authority figures, and is trying to comfort me!
Me: Gosh, she hasn't, but I actually have! Funny story.
Guard: I don't really want to hear it. Go into the office now. If you just drop your pants now and bend over, it might save time later, eh?

This was when a pretty Canadian border guard grilled me (this is not as fun as it sounds, and no maple syrup marinade was involved, if that's what you were wondering), and then told me that I had reckless endangerment on my record (NB: If you googled me to find out if I have a record or anything, I really don't. This is an error, I swear). At this point, I was hoping against hope that she would say something like,"A wild one! You'll fit right into our untamed country. And what's more, you didn't even hurt anyone! That's like cautious endangerment. I have so much respect for you. Here's my number, call me when you guys are partying, I think it would be fun to join you, eh?"

That didn't happen, though. After she ignored me for two hours (I'm used to this - girls normally ignore me when I'm asking them out, so this didn't seem unusual), she smiled nicely, and told me that I had to sign a paper saying I didn't want to come into Canadia, anyway, and I wouldn't try to come back for ten years. The best way to think of this is that Canadia pre-emptively issued a restraining order against me. This is something that I actually have never had happen to me with a girl despite some of my best attempts, so I didn't know how to react. I wanted to find an adult, preferably a policeman, and ask for advice in between sobs. Emily's wiser counsel prevailed, fortunately, so we just went to a bookstore, got a guidebook for Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont, went to the public library to e-mail the people we were supposed to visit, and then started driving around.

So I never went to Canada on my road trip. Instead, we stayed in the northeast and had an awesome time. We also saw a moose, which was roughly the size of the largest town we saw in Maine.

Findings:
Maine: Very large. Very, very large.
New Hampshire: Not as large as Maine, not as happy as Vermont. We barely spent any time there.
Vermont: People are strangely happy in Vermont. I suspect the water is drugged with happy pills by the corporation that runs Ben and Jerry's. It's also beautiful.

Anyway, I'm still a bit disorganized, and I need to find a giant to step on my back to straighten it out after sitting in the traffic we hit in New Jersey. Stay tuned, I'll put some photos of the trip up eventually, and discuss a few more things that I noticed while staring blankly out the passenger seat window for hours (this is more dangerous than it sounds. I was driving).

Pre-Trip Excitement II

I finished that pesky paper I had mentioned yesterday, so stress levels are down, and once again, anyone who meets me is likely to walk away thinking, "Gosh, I just met a man of leisure!" Right after that, they're going to save my number as "Do Not Answer this Number... Creep." Maybe with all the leisure time I have now, I should change my name to that.

For those of you interested in stalking me*, I'm going to Nova Scotia tomorrow morning. Now, Nova Scotia, for better or worse, is in Canadia, where the internet has yet to be discovered. Don't worry for Canadia's sake - they have their top scientist** working on it. Unfortunately, progress is slower than molasses. What this means is that I will probably not be posting for the next ten days. What this also means is that you won't have any reason to click refresh compulsively on my page, hoping that I've added a new post*.

"O kind and humorous man of leisure," you're probably asking your screen right now*, "what should I do in the meantime without your blog to amuse me and prod me into deep thought?" Proselytize. Tell people exactly what you think of me***, and then tell them to read my blog. I'd appreciate that so much that if you told me you showed someone my blog and they laughed, I would probably buy you a cookie.

A good way to spread the word about me could be to get a tattoo saying something about how much you love my blog. Nothing says unnatural devotion like injecting ink directly into your skin (if this seems extreme, just use a fat sharpee). On that note, while running today, I saw an interesting tattoo. I didn't have my camera with me, so I'll have to use my descriptive powers. Imagine, if you will, an average guy jogging in front of you with his shirt off. Brown hair, normal farmer's tan, green shorts. You keep imagining, I'm going to keep remembering. Imagine a weird spot on his lower back, right above the shorts... Look closer, through your mind's eye. It's a circle... Wait, no, it's a male sign. A male sign! A male-sign tramp-stamp! What is he trying to broadcast to the world? More importantly, is the conversation I'm imagining in my head one that's ever happened?

Him: I noticed you've got a tattoo of some squiggly lines on your lower back. Does it mean anything?
Her: It means I haven't found my soul-mate.
Him: *turns around, lifts shirt a tiny bit* Check it, babe. Hoo-ah!
Her: Ignore what I said last. It's all changed now. Let's go home.

Actually, that's probably what he thought would happen, but I can't really ever see that going down. Can anyone else envision a more realistic conversation between those two? If you can, I'd love to hear it.

I hope you all have a great time over the next ten days. Really. Please don't miss me too much*, and expect a report when I get back!


*Yeah, right. It's ok, I know I'm deluding myself.
**The person who discovered Maple Syrup. He's still alive.
***Actually, maybe you should skip this part.

Back from Colorado

I'm normally only capable of having one conversation at a time. By that, I don't mean that I can only keep track of one conversation at a party, or something like that. I mean that for extended chunks of time, there's often only one thing I'm really interested in talking about. Up to last Friday, that conversation often went along the lines of, "So, did you know I'm going to Boulder?" Well, I'm back now, so the only conversation I've been having recently starts out, "So, did you know I went to Boulder?"

It's true, I did go to Boulder, and it's also true that it's fantastic. As  I mentioned before, I was visiting my friend David (he's really the only friend I've mentioned, so it's fair if you assume that he's the only friend I have), who was kind enough to put me up here:

Available where all Mattel toys are sold. Assembly not included.

This was very kind of him, especially considering he had to kick his parents out of their room to do it.

The hiking portion of the trip began with a warning: If you are attacked by a mountain lion, don't quit!

I would never quit on a Mountain Lion without giving my two weeks notice.

For other pictures from the trip, I'd refer you to the album where I've uploaded them all here. Unfortunately, my photography skills never really advanced past the stage I was at when my parents let me twist the dial on disposable cameras to advance the film and then took them away from me so that I wouldn't take blurry pictures up my nose (this will hopefully change soon). What I'm trying to say is, don't expect any artistic value or much story-telling merit from my pictures.

What I really noticed about the area (besides the fact that it is stunningly beautiful) is that people there are generally happier than what I'm accustomed to. I'm not trying to say that no one in New York City is happy, or that my college friends are all depressed (they probably just act that way when I'm around to make me not  want to spend time with them... once I'm gone they're all fun and games), but people have a different attitude out there. Those that I met there sincerely love where they are, and many rearranged their lives to be able to live there. For example, David introduced me to Karen, a new friend of his who had moved to the same town  David lives in just two weeks ago. She came with a car full of stuff (one of the things was a telescope, which was awesome), not knowing anyone, but confident she would find friends and be happy there. And so far, so good. Deep down, I'm a little jealous. I really respect her for being so confident and making the decision to do what makes her happy, even if the path isn't sure, and I wish her the best of luck.


And lastly, I'd like to show you that just because you can't hold something in your hands doesn't mean you
can't still express confusion.

How the heck am I supposed to get up there?