Symphony Of Dental Destruction
My latest offering at Crawdaddy! is a reminiscence about the time I got my jaw smashed at a hardcore punk show…at a church. Here’s a snippet:
Being the first major injury I sustained in the absence of my parents, I had no idea what to do concerning treatment. Should I go to the emergency room immediately to try and get painkillers, or should I just tough it out like a goddamn man until the next day to go to the dentist? Remembering what a licensed physician once told me about Florida hospitals shortly after arriving in the Sunshine State (‘If you ever have serious medical trouble, fly to Atlanta!’), I decided to deal with this calamity overnight until a specialist could be sought. I got home and ingested the maximum amount of Tylenol I knew the human body could handle (eight, right? I think it’s eight). Sleep did not come easy; I spent most of the night staring into the blackness, cursing my stupid decision to attend an event that featured a ska band.
“Dental technology has come a long way since man first realized the sun is the center of our solar system; frustratingly, the tooth epoxy most commonly used by dentists in 1996 was not strong enough to effectively caulk the chips in my teeth. The confidence I felt leaving Dr. Smiley Fart (not his real name) evaporated two hours later when I bit into a tuna sandwich and felt my repair work break off into the mayonnaise. Subsequent visits yielded no success. Unless I wanted my front teeth filed down, I’d have to live with this cosmetic deformity. Fine, fine. I’d get used to it. But I couldn’t ignore the damaged nerve endings in my mouth. For a long time, anything firmer or colder than a Pringle would turn me into a frothing, howling beast. The good doctor shrugged when I spoke of this torture and suggested, ‘Sensodyne?’ in a lazy, what-are-you-expecting-from-me-here? kind of tone.”
A truly painful tail that references Thoreau, “Leave It To Beaver,” and shriners on motorcycles. Read the whole shebang here.