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Ok. So I had presumed something catastrophic was happening inside this jaw/mouth of mine - a filling going hay-wire and releasing itself from the bonds of super-strong adhesive that once restrained it to my back molar.

Note: I have more than one back molar.

However, my assumptions were… abrupt. Perhaps.

Note: whatever follows shows no stupidity on my part, but rather an… incomplete… knowledge of the dental field.

I had my appointment at the dentist’s office this afternoon. I was expecting a multi-hour long session that would involve anesthesiologists galore, probably some grinding of bone and tooth, and blood spattered about on the duck-hunting-themed walls. This was not to follow.

After an explanation of my pains, an X-ray was taken. Just one X-ray, not enough gamma to spice up my afternoon with diluded visions of talking Japanese dragons; but I suppose one X-ray is better than no X-ray. Then the wait followed; in the meantime, I closed my eyes and attempted an afternoon nap amongst the dental offices ambience. The nap was in vain.

The dentist returned with news. There’s nothing wrong with your tooth, no filling lost - although you’ll have to suffer the absence of those brain cells thanks to the gamma. Hmm, I thought. But she wasn’t done explaining - all of this pain that is occurring is due to two, separate events. One: I have a horrible sinus infection that is compressing the root of that molar. Two: my wisdom teeth must have taken an equally evasive maneuver and begun an inevitable journey into the reaches of my mouth that I’d rather they not attend.

So, there’s a sinus balloon in my head waiting to explode and my wisdom teeth have decided to uproot their tectonic plates in hopes of a better future near the front of my mouth. Exciting.

Thus, I was given a prescription for some anti-sinus infection drugs and told to keep it up with decongestants and ibuprofin. In summary - here, have some drugs, you’ll feel better when you’re a bit high. And they don’t allow marijuana on the free medicinal market in America - Hut!

But wait? What about that black hole on the molar that is hurting? That still doesn’t explain the abyss present on the tooth? The answer - it’s not a hole, it’s a filling. A silver filling. I had NO IDEA I had a silver filling. And apparently, I don’t have just one.. but two! of these things. Maybe I don’t remember, chose to forget, or was very much reeling on the drugs they used to put me down during the operation, but I have no recollection of ever getting two fillings (at separate times, mind you; I do remember the first, but I thought it was an ivory-colored filling).

I left the dentist’s office feeling stupid. Stupid like I just spent a half-hour being told that I’m not going to die and my tooth was not committing mutiny on my mouth. But, I had a prescription for some pleasant drugs to gradually relieve me of sinus pressure that I would not have been aware of were it not for the dentist’s proposal.

“My teeth are like dinner mints… I mean, they just melt in my mouth.” - Mark, from work, trying to console me after my dentist’s appointment this afternoon

In middle school, we had these special gatherings in the gym prior to Christmas break. I would suppose that they don’t continue the tradition of pulling all kids out of class and into the gym in fear of A.) possibly getting behind on the SOLs and B.) for terrorist attacks that may focus on high-children saturation areas. But back in the days of innocence and ignorance, the entire middle school body got together for an hour or two of clamoring excitement.

I use “excitement” lightly as us cool, hip, and otherwise bratty middle schoolers tried to feign interest in the holiday music and performances that were elaborately displayed before us. I recall one particularly memorable time when twelve faculty members dressed up like one of the “twelve days of Christmas” and as the music of the song played they entered the gym dancing around in their “cows a’milking” or “lords a’leaping” outfits. That was humorous, and even the less responsive of us kids had to chuckle at the sight.

But there’s one performance that still stands out in my mind, and, for some reason, seems to haunt my middle school memories whenever I reminesce. The principal at the time, and another faculty member who doesn’t quite come to my memory clearly enough, would sing a song called “A Hole in the Bucket”. This had nothing to do with the holidays (as a few of the performances didn’t either) but it was funny and worth the time. These two authority figures were dressed up in their redneck-hillbilly-sandy-dandy best with overalls (slightly above the ankles), straw hats, and flannel everything-else. The sight alone was great, but the song added that punch.

Basically, since I can’t remember lyrics (see past blog entries), they sang about a hole in the bucket and carried a catchy rhythm that was hard to shrug off (or forget - as I am attesting to). So they sang about a hole in that bucket. And no matter what those two did, there was a hole in the bucket. Hole in the bucket. HOLE IN THE BUCKET.

As all intelligent defense attorneys know, if you can make a proper analogy, an analogy sufficient enough to change the mind of just one jury member, you can save the life of your defendent (or reasonable doubt works as well). So, I am blaming the mindless repetition of the “Hole in the Bucket” chorus to the current abyss that now occupies valuable real estate in my mouth.

Yes. There is a black hole in one of my upper molars and it HURTS. Quite possibly a filling may have fallen out, but I stick to my story that those minutes of continuous Hole in the Bucket rhythms haunted my dreams enough to start a cataclysmic downward spiral in which my body will fall into a million pieces. And I demand swift and complete retribution from the Bedford County School Board.

But ::ouch!:: my toof does ache.

“Coffee-maker conversations” are one of my favorite, somewhat-daily occurrences at work. Topics fly in from every direction and leave totally transformed. The conversation that arrived around lunch today was no less enjoyable.

It was based around healthly living, genetic conditions that affect health, and eating habits that affect health. I suppose you could say that a bunch of engineers were trying to argue within fields of study far beyond their perfect comprehension, but hey, that’s what engineers are for.

Someone, I’m still not sure who, keeps a portable blood pressure checker at their desk so we were taking turns seeing how close our imminent deaths were. My blood pressure was very low and within sane limits (I cannot remember exact numbers, but I’m still alive to write this down so it must be pretty good, and anyways it doesn’t matter to my point). However, something striked me and caught my attention.

In the middle of this light debate on health, my heart rate was 53 beats per minute. Fifty-three times per minute my heart was beating. Perhaps it is just my ignorance, but that seems very low. Low enough that the second hand on analog watches outpace my heart rate. Low enough to be mistaken for an immobile, slumbering sloth (assuming someone sees me through “heart-rate lenses”… err.. something like that). Low enough to possibly throw off the less-scrutinizing lie detector. Those hours of aerobic activity and weight training are paying off.

Maybe there is a job in my future at the C.I.A.

In the absence of a wireless connection here at the Euro Cafe in Wyndhurst (curse their ill-conformity!), I will write this in a stickie to be later posted as circumstance (and wi-fi range) allows.

My drives to work are very repetitive. In the past, my past jobs, I mean, I never listened to music on the way to work. Perhaps I was mentally preparing myself for the end of the day by chastising myself for the morning (this may make no sense, but think of it as deferred gratification, if nothing else), but it was my habit to only listen to tunes on the return trip. However, the habit was dropped since I began my co-op, and, maybe without surprise, I’ve been enjoying the entire day now rather than just the afternoon. (Even I’m confused by that former routine, so don’t ask… ::shrugs::)

I listened to The Postal Service album today and suddenly I found myself connotating the lyrics. Some people are aware of my deficiency, but I have a difficult time of remembering lyrics to music. It could be that I am overly focused on the musical composition or perhaps I just zone out on the words, I’m not sure myself. Anyways, I was surprised to hear the lyrics and note the characteristic motif.

In several of the songs, there are mentions of an end or completion to something. Namely, of the end of the world (or of mankind). “We Will Become Silhouettes” has a striking resemblance to the possibilities of a nuclear world disaster (the silhouette idea coming from the now-famous picture of a human shadow permanently cast on a well-constructed wall post-a-nuclear-blast; I believe this was following WWII, but I am not positive).

“Sleeping In” has several references to the ultimate fate of the world coming, in this case pleasantly to middle-minded America, by the hands of global warming. “Now we can swim any day in November…” is a notable line. “…thought we were being rewarded…” carries the implication that the warmer weather was a gift for human goodwill. Even the song title suggests the results of a warmer environment, deep slumber being caused by progressive laziness of the heat.

Somehow though, The Postal Service puts a positive, if not uplifting, spin on the whole idea of utter, resulting disaster. “Brand New Colony” is almost upbeat regarding the rejuvenation of the whole world. “Recycled Air”… hello, that title is full of meaning from every angle.

Anyways, I have found this album to be most provoking lyrically - something I find a rarity in other modern musical compositions. Top-40 music is generally total crap and a waste of my hard-earned time.

I wanted to share my newfound wonder in the lyrics of music. I will purposefully refrain from ever seriously analyzing rap lyrics though, but will leave that up to one of my favorite lines from About A Boy - “most of the time they’re just angry, but some times they just want to have sex”.

One of the books I have soared through lately speaks of the inherrent evils of the computer in engineering design. The book focuses around large-scale design, namely bridges, skyscrapers, jet aircraft, and other high-cost ventures. Point after point is made negating the positive effects of the computer as it is steadily incorporated into design. This book was also written in 1984.

The author notes that, “as more complex structures are design because it is believed that the computer can do what man cannot, then there is indeed an increased likelihood that structures will fail…”

I could not disagree more. Part of me feels idiotic for arguing the twenty-year-old written opinion of a professor, but the time and experience of which he was speaking does not justify his statement. I feel that he was decrying the computer long before it had primed. Think of the naysayers during the Wright brothers’ experiments with flight. Or the endless people who said we couldn’t transport humans a couple hundred thousand miles to the moon… and back… alive.

Granted, I also understand the aim of his comment. Amidst the recurring newsworthy engineering disasters of the late 70s and early 80s (Three-Mile Island disaster, DC-10 crash, Hyatt Regency collapse, Challenger explosion), engineering design was reaching a point at which creativity was shunned. Look at the American cars from that period, for example; the early 80s Mustangs were hideous, the Corvettes no better, but they certainly were safer (and heavier) than their lightweight ancestors. However, for someone to throw up a red flag to an entire industry of innovation long before the kinks and quirks had been worked out only reveals an insecurity for more grand discoveries and creations.

Engineering is best thought of as learning through iterative failure. That could be said of most things, actually, but especially for the area of design.

1984 was also the year of the Mac. And also the year that Orwell predicted we’d all be unconscious slaves to the government and controlling officials. Ha! we showed him… we clearly made it into the 90s before that happened.

It’s kind of strange arguing the past. Makes me feel like I’m digging up graves and writing words with dead men’s bones. Eeeewwww.