The Dentist

While I was home, one of the most important things I scheduled for myself was the extraction of my remaining wisdom teeth (3). I had one removed on my previous trip home, leaving the three asymmetrically taking up space in my mouth, thus I had to get rid of them. Of course, it was due to my dentist's recommendation that I had them removed (why would he tell me otherwise?). I didn't want to get any of them removed originally, but when the one put me through so much agony, it was apparent that they did not belong.

So the appointment was made, and I walked into the dentist's office on Monday afternoon, prepared for my surgery. I don't think anybody is quite prepared for that gas they give you when you go to the dentist. It is kind of unexpected to feel the way it makes you feel in preparation for somebody to drill holes in your mouth. It is a pleasant feeling, though, and the more gas they give you, the more equatable the whole experience is to a night of drinking, I feel.

Really, though, you go out, some strangers give you some chemicals that alter your state of mind, you can't drive home, and when you come to, you are in a lot of pain. Something about you is different, but you might not be able to pick out what it is at first. You just know that your mouth hurts and you lost a lot of money. When you become more conscious, your friends or family might have to recount the events of the past few hours to you.

I see it happening something like this:

Me: "Oh, what happened to me last night? Why does my mouth hurt so much?"

Friend: "Dude, last night was crazy! You got your wisdom teeth taken out!!"

Me: "What? I did? I don't even remember that!"

Friend: "Yeah, you were so F***** up! It was crazy! You kept trying to talk to this dental hygienist chick. You actually said some pretty offensive things. You might want to go back there and apologize."

Me: "Oh, no! How could I?"

Friend: "You were pretty messed up. You were spouting off all sorts of nonsense that you apparently thought was really funny. I had to drive you home, you were not fit to drive. Then, you pretty much just passed out after that."

Me: "Oh, God. I don't believe it. What else?"

Friend: "Well, we all got Taco Bell, but you were already asleep in the car. I saved your teeth for you, in case you wanted to keep them."

When you are under the gas, these thoughts creep into your mind that you think you want to say out loud. Depending on who is in the room, you definitely might say something inappropriate or offensive. Maybe you'll confess something that they never thought they would hear from you.

"Mom, maybe it's just the gas talking, but I think I might be gay."

I would imagine, in the quest for teeth, the dentist gets to hear all sorts of interesting things.

And then, when the drugs wear off and the pain sets in, you might wonder how come you've never felt this kind of pain before. And then you realize, oh yeah, I've never had a full-grown man lean his entire body weight on one corner of my jaw in an effort to pry out a deeply-rooted molar before. That hurts.

The overall experience of the dentist can be rewarding, I suppose. In the end, you got what you came for. But in order to avoid paying for it indefinitely, one must remember moderation is key. You can have fun, but don't have too much fun.

Home

In less than a week, I plan on traveling halfway across the continent to go home. The journey is something I planned on making a while ago. The trip home is something I need to do. It is the holidays, and because of that reason alone, I am somewhat obligated. Other than that, though, I am obligated to go home because I haven't been in months. I owe it to all the family and friends who have helped me get here to go back and visit every once in a while.

While I feel obligated in doing do, it feels somewhat bizarre to go home at a time like this. At this point in my life, I am not sure what my place at home is. I love being at home, but I could not possibly be successful there, not when compared to my own personal aspirations. I clearly love living my life on my own, but I also clearly am still having trouble putting it all together.

What makes it more difficult is that every time a major holiday comes around or an event where I should be with my family, I feel like I am missing out on some great opportunity by leaving New York. In this case, I had the opportunity to be cast in my first movie, probably as nothing more than an extra, and in a short, independent film, but, still, I had to turn it down because I will be out of town during shooting.

As of right now, though, New York is not a home for me. My apartment is a refuge from the cold, hard city, but it is not a home. It is too inconsistent. I have roommates and we all get along great, but we are not a family. I don't have obligations to them like I would my family. And for now, I would be missing out on far more if I did not go home for some time during Christmas. I would miss out on seeing nearly all of my family together again. Who knows how long that is going to continue to happen? My distance from them only makes it harder.

I novelty of being able to travel is not in seeing wild destinations and experiencing new things, while that is a big part of it. The great value of travel is being able to come home afterwards. When you have been away for so long, the only thing that brings the journey to an end is coming home afterwards. Those familiar places, people, and things that make it home are what make the trip so worthwhile.

Home is not defined by location. It is defined by the people who make it so. I am able to go back to the place I was born every once in a while, and even though I was moved from there many years ago, I can still call it home because there are people still there who care about me. As soon as those people leave, though, I will find it a very foreign place indeed, despite how familiar it is to me. New York is familiar to me, and it is getting to be more of a home for me with each passing day, but until I have the people in place that I can consider family, it will not be my home.

Dear Baby Cockroach,

Dear Baby Cockroach,

You must understand why I cannot let you mature into an adult cockroach. I'm sorry to say it, but your life is going to be short-lived. If I let you live, you will grow up and become more powerful than you can imagine. You see, as a baby cockroach, you do not affect me as such, so that I might have the courage to squish you or flush you down the toilet or brush you into a current of running water flowing down the drain. This I can do if you are little and not so defined. But if I were to let you grow up unscathed, maturing into an adult, not only would you and your buddies get all up into my foodstuffs, leaving crap everywhere, and reproducing in record numbers, but, upon discovering you at a later date, fully grown, I would be crippled with fear, and would likely not be able to make the move I need in order to eliminate you.

I must take you out while I still have the chance. There is something about the combination of antennae, multiple legs, a hard exoskeleton, and the sound of scurrying that makes me freak out like a little girl. I have no problem admitting my irrational fear. I can handle a great many things in this world, including a number of other species of insects and arthropods. Certain ones, though, like the adult cockroach, make me squirm with unparalleled discomfort.

So you see baby cockroach, even though you have successfully avoided my many traps that I have set out, I cannot let you get away. I must end your life here and now, while the iron is proverbially hot. I apologize, as I am usually not this cruel and cold-hearted. I believe in all critters of nature, the survival of the fittest, and the food chain, but I also believe in free enterprise and the principle of ownership. As you are invading my home, you are violating a code we humans have that prohibits one another from stealing other people's stuff. You're not in a position to understand this, and I'm sorry. But you are callously taking advantage of the shelter, heat, electricity, and hot water that I am paying for! I'm sorry, but I have no room for free-loaders. I have no choice but to end your life here and now, before you get too used to this lifestyle.

Goodbye, baby cockroach. I'll see you in hell. Maybe. We'll see.

Channukah Time!

Channukah Time is here! I've never been more sure of it! It is evident the Channukah spirit is in full force. Decorations and menorahs are everywhere! I've never experienced anything like it! Then again, I've never lived in part of a Jewish neighborhood as I do now.

The tell-tale sign is the aptly-named Mitzvah Tank that drives around my neighborhood and New York all day long, spreading the Channukah cheer. The Mitzvah Tank is clearly a Jewish party wagon. It is an RV decked out in colorful banners and fixed with loud outdoor speakers that boisterously play Jewish Channukah carols over and over. On top of the Mitzvah Tank is an electric light-up menorah, signaling how deep into Channukah we are. It is driven by two Chassidic gentlemen. Who knows how many people are in the back partying it up?!

The guys drive around all day long celebrating their holiday. They have been sighted all over the city! I've never witnessed such enthusiasm! The Channukah spirit is rampant and has infected me. I've never wanted to celebrate the Festival of Lights so much in my life! It's too bad these guys don't know how hard baby Jesus parties. Now baby Jesus knows how to celebrate! It keeps me coming back every year, and I'm afraid that even with eight nights to compete with Christmas' one, Channukah does not hold a candle to the birthday of baby Jesus.

Little Children

I have noticed an extraordinary number of little children in my neighborhood and around New York while on my way to work or coming home from work or just out and about walking around. I don't know why I'm taking special notice. I generally notice children all the time, but for some reason, it seems there are more around this time of year than usual.

I notice them usually when they are doing something cute. I find it especially touching when they walk alongside their parent or guardian with one hand outstretched upwardly clasping the hand of the adult. The contrast in height is something I can't get over. It moves me every time. I just find it adorable when the child is so much smaller than the adult and yet they walk hand-in-hand as equals. It's a beautiful thing.

I also find it especially adorable when kids are really giving their parents a hard time. They'll be on the subway or in some building running and jumping around, completely misbehaving, and their parents are powerless. They shriek at them in agony and frustration. How embarrassing it is to be the parent of a misbehaving child. But the kids just look back and smile. They know they can't be caught. One cannot argue with the innocent rationale of a child. They get away with so much!

For no reason at all, a child could break into a song, a dance, or a dead sprint, and no one can question that. Occasionally they must be rescued from the cruel ways of the adult world. They are not yet aware of all the ways they could hurt themselves.

For me, there is a certain point when children become unconditionally cute. I think it is when they are just getting to the age when they walk on their own, they explore on their own, they start dressing in normal-looking clothes. That's the kicker, I think. When kids start dressing in tiny versions of adult clothes, it is adorable. Babies don't do it for me. I think babies, for the most part, all look pretty much the same. But the opposite is far worse. There definitely comes a point when a young child starts growing up too fast and wants to start doing adult things like buy things with their own money and spend time with their friends that they fail to be cute any more and are just annoying. That in-between stage when children first start learning on their own but are still very fresh and have fertile minds.
The ages between 2 and 10 are the best, in my opinion. They're out of diapers, able to walk and talk on their own, just beginning school and developing a personality all their own. That is something everybody can appreciate, parent or not. I definitely would like to have kids one day, but I can wait. No rush here. Until it happens, I will gladly look on at other people's kids and admire what they have to say and do from a bystander's perspective.

A Small Tribute to My Mom on the Way to Meeting Ken Burns

Tonight I met Ken Burns. Ken Burns is one of my many idols. Mr. Burns is known for such informational documentary films presented by PBS as the Civil War, Baseball, and his most recent work, the War (World War II). I am a big fan of his documentaries, and have learned a great deal from them. I owe the experience of meeting Ken Burns solely to my mother, for two reasons.

The first reason is that I would not have known about Mr. Burns' book signing in the first place had I not been visited by my mother and the rest of my family last week. My mother's insistence to venture into the book store while we were at the Time-Warner Center at Columbus Circle using the bathrooms directly led to my seeing the sign advertising the book signing and discussion that was to take place the following week.

The second reason is a little more complex and far more deeply rooted. When I was growing up, my mother often suggested things for us kids to do that we weren't necessarily keen on doing. My mom obviously knew what was best for us, but being children, we were prone to resisting activities that didn't involve ice cream or video games. She signed us up for classes at an educational farm in the area. She made us go hiking and camping. She made us go to the library. We were participating in all these things that none of our friends were doing, and therefore were not cool. But my mom always retorted with the answer that we would be glad we did after it was all finished. As it turns out, she was right. Everything she said was true. Because of her persistence, I now have a much deeper appreciation for nature and the library and my surrounding community than I ever would have gained otherwise. So much so that when I see that I have an opportunity to meet in person such an influential figure in my life, I jump at the chance.

I got there early, I waited in line, and I met Ken Burns. I shook his hand even. What is even more remarkable about this situation was the fact that I met another celebrity while fulfilling my goal of meeting the first celebrity. As I sat waiting for the book discussion to begin, who should sit down and occupy the seat to the right of me but none other than Robert Wuhl, a comedian and actor made famous by the popular HBO show Arli$$. I would never have guessed that Robert Wuhl was into history as well, but it just goes to show you how the influence and work of Ken Burns reaches out to a great many people. So I met two celebrities in one sitting. Killed two birds with one stone, if you will. And I have only my mother to thank. Thank you, Mom.

Dynasties in Sports

In my life thus far, I have witnessed a small, yet dominant and very memorable, number of dynasties in professional sports: the 1991-1998 Chicago Bulls under the guidance of Phil Jackson and Michael Jackson, the Greg Popovich-coached San Antonio Spurs, the Joe Torre-era New York Yankees, and currently the New England Patriots led by Bill Belichick and Tom Brady. Each of the teams in this collection have spent seasons perfecting its own sport and winning championship after championship, then taking a year or two off, and winning more championships.

For fans of these teams, the situation is great. It is always so great to see your team dominating the game in such a way that it cannot be removed from the top. But for the rest of the leagues' fans, who are not rooting for the teams in question, this situation is torturous. It is crippling and frustrating to see one team completely wiping out all of its opponents. And when you know there is no chance of winning, it almost hurts to watch. An ordinary fan can wind up hating another team for the sole reason of it being successful.

And so I raise the question of whether or not dynasties are good for sports? While on the one hand, a single dominant team draws in a great amount of fans when it is doing well, but it also alienates the rest of the fans. The fans of all the other teams can't possibly enjoy the sport as much when the playing field is not even. What makes sports so interesting to watch and take part in is the fact that everybody starts as equals, more or less. Trades get made and deals happen and teams' personnel connect better with themselves than other teams'. That's what competition is all about. Everyone starts out more or less the same though.

When one team pulls out ahead so much that the entire rest of the league is left choking in its dust, it becomes less fun to watch, agonizing and painful at times. In this day and age of dollars and cents, it cannot be good for the league as a whole to have one team in such a dominant position atop all the other teams. Other fans will lose interest. The teams who are already struggling to make it into the competitive balance, whether they are crawling up from the bottom because they are new to the league or have been afflicted season after season by their own pitfalls, are more likely to enter into financial jeopardy and lessen their chances of even returning at all next season.

Thus lies the debate. Are dynasties good for sports?

Lazy Sunday

My lazy Sunday occurred yesterday, and it was the laziest of days; far lazier than that of Andy Samberg's and Chris Parnell's. They at least went to see a movie. I never left my house nor did I ever leave my pajama pants. That's how you know when a day is dedicated to being lazy, when the pajama pants never come off from start to finish.

Truth be told, I did actually change out of them at one point in order to take a shower. Even on a lazy Sunday, I can't go without showering. But I did hop right back into another pair once I was finished.

My day involved moving from the couch to the kitchen at times to my bedroom, my bed, and my computer. Realistically, though, I guess those are the only places I ever go in my apartment. Oh, and I go to the bathroom, too. So that covers every room that is part of my domain.

Anyway, the point is, I spent all day doing nothing but sitting around. I watched football. I ordered delivery. I ate some food. I did laundry. I didn't do much else. It was an inside day. A lazy day. The fact that it was snowing outside only sealed the deal that I was to stay inside. The irrefutable highlight of the day was the viewing of Home Alone 2: Lost in New York, which made me laugh far more times than I expected. It allowed me the opportunity to relive the not-so lost days of my youth (having not seen the film since I was probably in second grade) and to reconnect with my young adult life here in New York. I was able to recognize the notable New York landmarks as they appeared in the film as well as guffaw at the beguilement of the unsuspecting crooks, the Sticky Bandits, by one Kevin McCallister. One paint can! Two paint cans! Then a big metal rod! Brilliant! How does that little tyke do it?

I had a pretty cool day, and I think it is everyone's duty (you owe it to yourself) to take the time out and have one of those days every once in a while. Relax with your soulmate or your roommate, whatever you have at the time, and take in the scenery of the day from the safety and comfort of the couch. It does a body good...sometimes.