As coffee steamed in our Garfield mugs, the bf and I mused, "Wouldn't it be nice if we could go to Santa Cruz, get to the ocean for awhile?" Already I could see us zipping through the forest with something inoffensively jangly on the radio, wind whipping tendrils of hair around our smiling faces, and the faintest whiff of saltwater beginning to scent the air. The trunk is filled with Mexican blankets, film cameras, and good intentions. Whose car is that, I wonder, transporting us through this dream? Neither of us have one, nor could we afford to get one even if we pooled our resources, not with the prices of insurance and gas... Amtrak prices, too, are exorbitant. Flying is out of the question. Do all the people who ask me to come visit them have rich parents or real jobs? Does travel to them require no more thought than remembering to put the tickets in their pockets? So many dream canvases are ruined this way, punctured and ripped through by a sharp and intimidating dollar sign. I wish I had some money-- not a ton-- just enough to leave town if I felt like it, and buy some nice Christmas presents for the people whose generosity I've probably exploited while "living on my own."

Someday when I'm rich and famous for blogging, gluing googly eyes onto inanimate objects, and fretting inside my duplex, there will be some kind of grand repayment to all those people that make my life easier, probably in the form of an awards banquet/ comedic roast hosted by Alf where there are ostentatious giveaways under the seats ala Oprah. Until then, I'm hoping for an It's A Wonderful Life inspired rediscovery of all the things and people in my life that are precious after a frightening journey led by an unearthly visitor conjured by my own childish complaints.


A Slow Meltdown

Here is a list of the most recent songs played on Sacramento's Mix 96 radio station. Coincidentally, it is also a list of the Songs I Never Need To Hear Again. Several (all) songs by Journey, Eagles, and Billy Joel who have not yet appeared on the former list deserve special recognition for topping the latter.


Saturday Night Cloister/Total Brain Rot

I made these on the 1994 macintosh emulator. I wonder how many other people are thirsty for human contact but are at home on a saturday night tinkering with outmoded software because they envision many terrors lurking in the autumnal shadows, the most horrific of which include:
1. an unholy combination of rotweillers, knives, junior-high age males and quicksand
2. conversational lulls
3. buying things

If you are one of these people you should call me right away so that we can talk about how awful this is, making no motion to get together. In fact, I probably won't even pick up.


Hanging Out With My Mom: Our Mutual Profession and How Weird It Is

There are very few perks, I'm learning, in the dental profession aside from TOOTHBRUSHES! TOOTHBRUSHES FOR FREE!* But occasionally, there are dental events that the dentist will pay for you to attend with pinot noir, lasagne, and a motivational speaker with a comedic style in a banquet room at the Hilton. These events are good opportunities for dentists and sellers of dental equipment and materials to shmooze and make business arrangements. These events are like mini-versions of Dental Conventions, which rage on for many days in exotic locales like Hawaii and Las Vegas and were, from what I hear, a sort of publicly sanctioned gigantic key party back in the 70s. Of dental conventions, my mother astutely summarizes, "You could get into some trouble at one of those. I think even I could still get into some trouble at one." Dental professionals can log a certain number of hours or "points" after attending such an event that count in some esoteric realm of which I'm only remotely aware and have no desire to explore. Tonight I attended such an event with my mother, Debbie "Knows No Strangers" Scott, an RDA with over 30 years in the 'biz. As we parted the sea of business casual with glasses of pinot gripped sloppily in our fists, she immediately began identifying people she'd worked with before and introduced me to several Dental Professionals of Her Past. I stifled the urge to say "Ain't that the tooth," in response to all statements directed my way, figuring they would nullify all my Possible Career Advancements. "There's that doctor I had a fling with years ago," she murmured. Strangely, I received neither an introduction nor an identifying point in the man's direction. The dinner was decent but it was hurled at us and was snatched away just as quickly. I hadn't time to wonder if what I had eaten was in fact lasagna before the motivational speaker emerged in all his chubby white loud guy telling jokes glory. I was pleasantly laughing along and soaking up the motivational "dental family message," not thinking much of it until he said, "Dental front offices are populated by freaks. Where do they get these people? They had to have a relative that got them the job-- McDonald's rejected them." Was he a psychic? How did he know so much about me? My office contingent was pointing and laughing at me while I indulged in cartoonish, hammy shoulder shrugging. Again, a prime opportunity for that dental pun came and went.

Later, I'll identify this event as catalyzing a deep look at the direction my life is taking. Much cartoonish, hammy shoulder shrugging will follow.

*limited to amounts of unnoticeable-by-boss quantity