The Good Old Days

Hello World,     Happy Spring! You'd never know by the temperature around here, but Tuesday was actually the first day of Spring, and the way things have been going lately, it could not be more welcome, believe me. Back when it was warm in February, we couldn't help but notice whole bunches of jolly snowdrops popping up in our neighbor's yard, followed by a veritable explosion of crocus, in splashes of bright gold and deep purple. Our purple crocus are also putting on a show in the front yard, in spite of Old Man Winter's icy grip on the thermometer. Bill even saw a robin in the backyard last week, and as a harbinger of Spring, that would be hard to beat. Of course, another harbinger of Spring used to be the annual donnybrook known as the St. Patrick's Day Parade, but nowadays, those festivities can range anywhere from the beginning of February to the end of April in the local communities, so that doesn't narrow it down as much as previously. Not to mention, like Waitangi Day, a lot of the controversy has been eliminated from the venerable parade (which is probably a good thing, and an improvement that I dare say would be much appreciated by the saintly personage supposedly being honored by the celebration) so you can't hardly even tell when the parade has come and gone anymore. They're obviously going to have to find a new way to get attention, because the green beer and bagpipes aren't doing it for them at this point, begorrah.     Speaking of flowers, now here's something that you wouldn't expect to be coming at you from the opposite side of the generational divide, but there you have it. Our friends at The Hallmark Channel were recently running a special program to promote their springtime romance movies, featuring some of the stars of these movies, plus assorted clips, behind-the-scenes snippets, and other related content. Part of it included little spring-themed pop quizzes between the performers, such as "list 3 flowers that are also names" (for instance, Rose, Ivy, and Dahlia) or "what is the most popular month for weddings?" (June) The one that pulled me up short, though, was a "fill in the blank" question where they needed to complete a phrase like "busy as a [ blank ]" or "in the merry, merry month of [ blank ]" and along those lines. To their credit, they pretty much all did a fine job with the busy bees and merry month of May, and which at the time, I admit I would have taken it for granted. On the other hand, it was astounding to me that among the more mature talent, in the query of "fresh as a [ blank ]" the word "daisy" sprang immediately to their lips, but when it came to the younger actors, they had literally nothing to suggest, and in fact, a look of pure and genuine bewilderment spilled over their faces like no amount of acting could ever accomplish. Apparently the "fresh as a daisy" idiom has not stood the test of time, and not come tripping down through the ages like many other well-known phrases, so that young people nowadays simply have no familiarity with it at all. I would not have believed that was true, if I hadn't seen it happen over and over again on this show, where people of all ages came up with the right answers on many different questions, but none of the youngsters could pull a daisy out of a hat, no matter what. Younger than springtime, indeed.     Also on the topic of the generational divide, we had our own experience with that when we had occasion to revisit those halcyon days of Motown a couple of weeks ago, as we took in a concert by the irrepressible Temptations and the Four Tops at the old Westbury Music Fair, now the NYCB Theater at Westbury. Of course, many of us "of a certain age" remember them fondly from our youth, and now might be justly concerned that these renowned singers and dancers from a bygone era might be too advanced in years (or, even worse, already dead) to put on much of a show anymore, and not worth seeing in person. Not so fast! Over the decades, these groups have replaced some of their former members with younger and more energetic fellows, but who still manage to move and sound just like the originals, and when it comes to putting on a show, these acts basically wrote the book, and then some, good golly Miss Molly. The Temptations came out first, in flashy red jackets, and hit the stage in full stride, at full volume, and at full throttle, grabbing the audience by the lapels right from the opening drumbeat. Of course, they have no trouble launching into an unbroken string of their hits (after all, they had so many) each one with its own precise choreography and memorable harmonies - and not to mention, the (perhaps unwelcome) addition of audience participation, as the AM Radio generation sang along with all the familiar words as one. There was not a lull in the proceedings from beginning to end, and many of their timeless classics, like "Can't Get Next to You" or "Ain't Too Proud to Beg" tore the roof off the place, in a way that modern hipster musicians could only dream of. It was a whale of a show, and I don't mind saying that more than a few of us were hoarse from shouting, as well as hard of hearing from the loud music. They never let up for a solid hour, and after they finally dragged themselves off the stage, I don't know who was more worn out, them or the audience.     After that, the poor over-matched Four Tops couldn't possibly hope to compete, but it must be said that they certainly gave it all they had, in snazzy black sequins and plenty of enthusiasm. They also trotted out a familiar string of hits, plus a couple of surprises along the way, and no slouches in the harmony and choreography departments either. Their biggest hits, like "It's the Same Old Song" and "Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch," were faithfully recreated, and once again, the audience participation came in loud and heavy on every side. For a mostly WASP-y audience of people our age (although I did notice a few misguided individuals apparently brought their grandchildren with them, for some reason) they certainly rocked the rafters in the joint, and stayed up way past their bedtime, with a lot more gusto than I would have expected. For anyone who has a chance to go see them, I would say to run, don't walk, and snap up some tickets before it's too late.     A pleasure excursion like this, which went so blissfully well, is exactly what you would expect from an event that was planned many, many months ago last year, with all the details meticulously arranged way ahead of time, and thanks ever so. Au contraire! (That's French for "They laughed, Igor!") It all started innocently enough, as these things so often do, when when Bill scarfed up some tickets for this Motown show, coinciding as they did with my birthday weekend, and invited our Albany friends to join in the fun as well. They not only jumped on the bandwagon with both feet, but immediately booked rooms at a nearby hotel so we could all stay overnight and make a whole celebration out of it, with the concert as the icing on the cake, as it were. Things started to go a little bit off the track as soon as we found out their hotel choice had no pool, which is one of the things that we always look forward to in our travels. I remembered that our whole family had spent one Christmas years ago at a Marriott hotel in the area, and it was so cozy and charming that I always wanted to go back, plus it had the added advantage of a pool and hot tub, so we talked them into changing the hotel reservation based on my recommendation. This all seemed to be holding together admirably, right up until just about the last minute - when our friends called out of the blue, and said unfortunately they were too ill to make the trip, thanks not. This was a low blow indeed, and left us with 2 extra seats and one extra hotel room at the 11th hour on a previously well-planned trip that we had been looking forward to for months, that now seemed to be falling apart around our ears. In the end, we were able to get a refund for the extra room, and press my sister into service in the place of our friends at the concert, so it was not a total loss after all. She also joined us for dinner, and a welcome splash in the pool, plus a soak in the hot tub, and for a change of pace, a relaxing stop in their sauna as well. Bill and I liked the place well enough, but it somehow just didn't seem like the old Christmas hotel from years ago, and we couldn't figure out what they had done to it in the meantime. I explained our dilemma to my sister, only to have her cheerfully pipe up with the simplest explanation, "Oh no, this isn't that place at all - that's the Hilton on the other side of the highway." So the punch line to this story turned out to be that we went to all the trouble of changing our reservations so we could stay at the Christmas hotel once again, only to wind up at the wrong hotel anyway. Talk about just my imagination, Berry Gordy! Elle

The Times They Are A-changing

Hello World,     Well, what hasn't been going on in the local area lately, and much of it decidedly not at the top of anyone's Wish List, I dare say! After the warmest February on record, in the history of them keeping weather records to start with (in fact, I believe the dinosaurs will agree with me that it was Thak who invented the weather forecasting dartboard that is still in use by meteorologists today) March has certainly lived up to its reputation for squirrely weather since then. We had not one, not two, but three nor'easters come barreling through here in 2 weeks, and to say that none of them was a welcome sight would be an understatement of epic proportions, I can assure you. The first one was known officially as Winter Storm Riley, and came thundering across the plains, leaving a trail of disaster and destruction in its wake, with deep snow, frigid temperatures, and dangerously high tides made even worse by driving winds and a full moon. Trees fell on every side, taking power lines with them, and leaving many hundreds of thousands in the dark, and it goes without saying, thanks so very much not. The overwhelmed utility companies were unequal to the task of restoring power to their besieged customers, and trying to get anywhere - between downed trees, broken traffic lights, flooding, and the total lack of mass transit - was just an exercise in futility. We lost power at our house on Friday afternoon, along with a handful of neighbors, and looking (unhappily, I might add) at a long, cold night in our drafty old domicile, with nothing to recommend it. So we called our nearby diner to find out if they had electricity, and when they said yes, we scurried right on over there, to take advantage of their heat, lights, and a hot meal. It turned out that getting over there was more than half the challenge, as most of our part of town was completely blacked out, and traffic lights were almost non-existent. Luckily it was business-as-usual at the diner, and we enjoyed a wonderful meal, and even more so, the restorative benefits of their light and warmth and convivial company, after the chilly gloom that we had left at home. The evil minions at Con Edison gave us no reason to hope for any impending improvement, so rather than sit in the dark and be miserable, we decided to take in a movie.     Luck was with us once again, as it was again business-as-usual at our local cinema, and we were able to score some excellent seats to see the new "Black Panther" in glorious IMAX 3-D, and even better, all the electricity we could possibly hope for. The character of Black Panther had already been introduced as part of the Marvel Studio multiverse in the most recent "Avengers" movie, but this was his first solo outing, and it was obvious that the studio spared no expense, and pulled out all the stops, in their efforts to turn this into another blockbuster in the Marvel line-up. I will say that I personally did not find it as incomprehensible as "Wonder Woman," but I thought it was still plenty hard to follow, and while the special effects were outstanding, the story left me dazed and bewildered. Now it's possible that even with the most perfectly lucid story, this might not turn out to be the superhero of my dreams, and might work a lot better for me in a group setting like the Avengers, rather than on his own, and no shortcoming of the movie itself. On the other hand, the place had heat and lights, which we didn't have at home, and under the circumstances, that was good enough for me, I can tell you that.     We spent a very uncomfortable night under the sheets, trying to sleep in basically everything we owned, and hoping against hope of waking up once again in the modern era, with all of the conveniences of home at our fingertips. Alas, it was not to be (BOO!) and hearing the news reports of widespread devastation across the region in no way encouraged us to expect any sort of rapid resolution. We finally decided to cut our losses, get outta Dodge, leave behind the cold and dark, and hit the road to our happy place that would be sure to put a smile on our faces, no matter what. And luck was with us one more time, as it was business-as-usual at Denny's in Danbury, and we were delighted to settle in for an impromptu lunch on the go, with all the (heretofore) comforts of home, and once again, thanks ever so. We weren't exactly sure what we were going to do with ourselves next after our unexpectedly special lunch outing, but when we tried to phone our house, and the answering machine dutifully picked up the call, we realized that the power had been miraculously restored in our absence (YAY!!!) so we turned back towards hearth and home, to enjoy all of the wonders that modern civilization has to offer, and not taking any of it for granted, that's for sure. And may I say from the bottom of my heart that electricity is not over-rated, and God bless you, Thomas Alva Edison.     It turned out later that getting our service back after only 24 hours made us some of the most fortunate among the local citizenry, as the media continued to bombard us with horror stories of beleaguered residents without power for days on end, and some as much as two weeks, if you can imagine that. Even worse, the next of the unwelcome nor'easters slammed into our area while work crews were still trying to clean up after the first one, bringing even more havoc to communities reeling from Riley's onslaught, and once again, thanks ever so much not. Oddly enough, the second unwelcome interloper was known officially as Winter Storm Quinn, which even the most backward schoolchild of the meanest intelligence could tell was woefully out of alphabetical order, since it arrived after Riley, for some reason. Unhappily, this ushered in a new round of trees and power lines going down, mass transit shut-downs, traffic lights on the blink, and another swath of neighborhoods without electricity. In a perverse twist of fate, many of the original customers without power, who had theirs restored in the brief aftermath of Riley, lost it all over again in Quinn's relentless march to the sea - and which would have to be considered an unfair double whammy that should be outlawed by the Geneva Convention of climate protocols, after all. Our electricity went out again also, but fortunately only for about an hour this time, and to say that we greeted its return with a euphoria usually reserved for winning the lottery would be an understatement of mythic proportions, believe me. Now we were left with the nuisance of resetting all of the clocks and timers around the place, and try to get on with our lives as usual.     Speaking of resetting clocks and timers, of course last weekend brought us the infernal return of the dratted Daylight Saving Time once again, as a misguided humanity went springing crazily ahead an hour, like some primitive society of cavemen who all fell victim to a kind of widespread voodoo hogwash. For those of us who go to work early, the resulting change is that it's even darker in the morning, thanks not, although admittedly light for longer in the afternoon, if you like that sort of thing. (Or like me, do not necessarily consider it a change for the better.) Now, it's inescapably true that our prehistoric forebears worshiped the sun, as indeed they would have to, in the absence of anything else around at the time - at least until Thak invented the wheel, as it were. But as for me, while I'm as big a fan of the sun as the next fellow, I don't mind saying that personally I'll take mine with a big side of electricity, and don't spare the kilowatts, my good man! Elle

O Solo Mio

Greetings Fellow Travelers!     In their continuing efforts to keep the general public edified and entertained, our friends at The Project Gutenberg recently sent me an excerpt from a free ebook by a writer who is a particular favorite of mine. (Please do feel free to go right ahead and visit their web site at www.gutenberg.org and see for yourself.) Since I'm sure we can all agree that travel is broadening, especially travel abroad, it occurred to me that others might appreciate these insightful observations on foreign excursions, beginning with a somewhat cautionary tale about tandem bicycles. =========================== Excerpted from: THREE MEN ON THE BUMMEL by JEROME K. JEROME There is always unpleasantness about this tandem. It is the theory of the man in front that the man behind does nothing; it is equally the theory of the man behind that he alone is the motive power, the man in front merely doing the puffing. The mystery will never be solved. It is annoying when Prudence is whispering to you on the one side not to overdo your strength and bring on heart disease; while Justice into the other ear is remarking, “Why should you do it all? This isn’t a cab. He’s not your passenger:” to hear him grunt out: “What’s the matter—lost your pedals?” Harris, in his early married days, made much trouble for himself on one occasion, owing to this impossibility of knowing what the person behind is doing. He was riding with his wife through Holland. The roads were stony, and the machine jumped a good deal. “Sit tight,” said Harris, without turning his head. What Mrs. Harris thought he said was, “Jump off.” Why she should have thought he said “Jump off,” when he said “Sit tight,” neither of them can explain. Mrs. Harris puts it in this way, “If you had said, ‘Sit tight,’ why should I have jumped off?” Harris puts it, “If I had wanted you to jump off, why should I have said ‘Sit tight!’?” The bitterness is past, but they argue about the matter to this day. Be the explanation what it may, however, nothing alters the fact that Mrs. Harris did jump off, while Harris pedalled away hard, under the impression she was still behind him. It appears that at first she thought he was riding up the hill merely to show off. They were both young in those days, and he used to do that sort of thing. She expected him to spring to earth on reaching the summit, and lean in a careless and graceful attitude against the machine, waiting for her. When, on the contrary, she saw him pass the summit and proceed rapidly down a long and steep incline, she was seized, first with surprise, secondly with indignation, and lastly with alarm. She ran to the top of the hill and shouted, but he never turned his head. She watched him disappear into a wood a mile and a half distant, and then sat down and cried. They had had a slight difference that morning, and she wondered if he had taken it seriously and intended desertion. She had no money; she knew no Dutch. People passed, and seemed sorry for her; she tried to make them understand what had happened. They gathered that she had lost something, but could not grasp what. They took her to the nearest village, and found a policeman for her. He concluded from her pantomime that some man had stolen her bicycle. They put the telegraph into operation, and discovered in a village four miles off an unfortunate boy riding a lady’s machine of an obsolete pattern. They brought him to her in a cart, but as she did not appear to want either him or his bicycle they let him go again, and resigned themselves to bewilderment. Meanwhile, Harris continued his ride with much enjoyment. It seemed to him that he had suddenly become a stronger, and in every way a more capable cyclist. Said he to what he thought was Mrs. Harris: “I haven’t felt this machine so light for months. It’s this air, I think; it’s doing me good.” Then he told her not to be afraid, and he would show her how fast he could go. He bent down over the handles, and put his heart into his work. The bicycle bounded over the road like a thing of life; farmhouses and churches, dogs and chickens came to him and passed. Old folks stood and gazed at him, the children cheered him. In this way he sped merrily onward for about five miles. Then, as he explains it, the feeling began to grow upon him that something was wrong. He was not surprised at the silence; the wind was blowing strongly, and the machine was rattling a good deal. It was a sense of void that came upon him. He stretched out his hand behind him, and felt; there was nothing there but space. He jumped, or rather fell off, and looked back up the road; it stretched white and straight through the dark wood, and not a living soul could be seen upon it. He remounted, and rode back up the hill. In ten minutes he came to where the road broke into four; there he dismounted and tried to remember which fork he had come down. While he was deliberating a man passed, sitting sideways on a horse. Harris stopped him, and explained to him that he had lost his wife. The man appeared to be neither surprised nor sorry for him. While they were talking another farmer came along, to whom the first man explained the matter, not as an accident, but as a good story. What appeared to surprise the second man most was that Harris should be making a fuss about the thing. He could get no sense out of either of them, and cursing them he mounted his machine again, and took the middle road on chance. Half-way up, he came upon a party of two young women with one young man between them. They appeared to be making the most of him. He asked them if they had seen his wife. They asked him what she was like. He did not know enough Dutch to describe her properly; all he could tell them was she was a very beautiful woman, of medium size. Evidently this did not satisfy them, the description was too general; any man could say that, and by this means perhaps get possession of a wife that did not belong to him. They asked him how she was dressed; for the life of him he could not recollect. I doubt if any man could tell how any woman was dressed ten minutes after he had left her. He recollected a blue skirt, and then there was something that carried the dress on, as it were, up to the neck. Possibly, this may have been a blouse; he retained a dim vision of a belt; but what sort of a blouse? Was it green, or yellow, or blue? Had it a collar, or was it fastened with a bow? Were there feathers in her hat, or flowers? Or was it a hat at all? He dared not say, for fear of making a mistake and being sent miles after the wrong party. The two young women giggled, which in his then state of mind irritated Harris. The young man, who appeared anxious to get rid of him, suggested the police station at the next town. Harris made his way there. The police gave him a piece of paper, and told him to write down a full description of his wife, together with details of when and where he had lost her. He did not know where he had lost her; all he could tell them was the name of the village where he had lunched. He knew he had her with him then, and that they had started from there together. The police looked suspicious; they were doubtful about three matters: Firstly, was she really his wife? Secondly, had he really lost her? Thirdly, why had he lost her? With the aid of a hotel-keeper, however, who spoke a little English, he overcame their scruples. They promised to act, and in the evening they brought her to him in a covered wagon, together with a bill for expenses. The meeting was not a tender one. Mrs. Harris is not a good actress, and always has great difficulty in disguising her feelings. On this occasion, she frankly admits, she made no attempt to disguise them. <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> The Project Gutenberg eBook, Three Men on the Bummel, by Jerome K. Jerome This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

Get Lost

Hello World,     Happy March! I see that the new month has rather precipitously launched itself upon us, ready or not, and one rarely knows what to expect out of the month that is famous for roaring in like a lion and then bowing out like a lamb at the end, one hopes. At the beginning of last week, the rest of the country was being socked by another one of those confounded Winter Storms, this time Riley, with arctic temperatures, gale force winds, and treacherous accumulations of snow - all across the fruited plains, and purple mountains majesty besides, thanks not. It wasn't expected to be as bad once it got here, as it was in other places, but heaven forbid you needed to go to the supermarket or gas station lately, it would not have been worth taking your life in your hands, I can tell you that. In an effort to lighten the mood, one of the radio personalities on the classic rock station was trying to explain a "nor'easter" as the preparations that ancient Viking Norsemen used to undertake in advance of the Easter festival, but this misguided notion was uniformly shouted down in the studio before getting any further along than that, and a good thing too. It's actually reassuring to know that here isn't the only victim of ill-mannered snickering from our old friends the dinosaurs in The Peanut Gallery, and once again, thanks so very much not.     You know it's March when the Winter Olympic Games have wrapped up for good, the athletes have all packed up their medals and gone home, and the words "biathlon," "curling," and "luge" are never uttered by ordinary citizens for another 4 years. By all accounts, this was a disappointing experience for American hopefuls, although one supposes those fewer wins than usual, might have made each one even the more sweet in contrast, perhaps. And of course, the Olympic Village always full of so many diverse and fascinating human interest stories, it really brings the whole wide world right into our living rooms, like a sociology experiment run amok, I dare say. After a while, the entire concept of PyeongChang will have faded from our collective memory like countless locales of Winter Games past, joining the bygone ranks of yesteryear like Lillehammer, Grenoble, Sarajevo, Innsbruck, Albertville, Torino, Sochi, and Sapporo, of all places. (Quick - go point out Nagano on a map!) And while the Olympic torch may have gone out, I'm sure we can count on the true spirit of peace and brotherhood continuing to burn bright from now until the next time around. Ni hao, Beijing 2022!     Speaking of peace and brotherhood, alert readers at the AOL Welcome screen might have noticed a giant screaming pop-up ad from Geico Insurance, encouraging us to take advantage of a free quote from my local Westchester agent, the estimable Weezie Mullaly, of all things. They also helpfully provided a phone number so I could reach the man (or woman) of the hour, and have my insurance needs fulfilled on the veritable spot. Frankly, I'm of the opinion that if I was calling myself anything along the lines of "Weezie" to start with, I doubt that I would have gone into a business of interacting with the public, much less advertising online and sounding for all the world like some sort of ridiculous cartoon character. Weezie, indeed.     Also sounding like cartoon characters, our friends at Stew Leonard's Farm Fresh Foods recently sent us a flyer touting what they described, apparently without irony, as their "All Natural Boneless N.Y. Strip Steaks" for only $7.99 a pound. And while I personally want to believe them when they claim to be "all natural," I'm finding it hard to believe that the bovines in question are naturally boneless, without any outside intervention to make it so. In fact, it begs the question of how the unfortunate critters would even stand up by themselves in the first place, and the mental picture of an entire cattle ranch full of naturally boneless livestock, would make the ill-mannered snickering of our old friends the dinosaurs in The Peanut Gallery pale in comparison, believe me.     And while we're on the topic of things that make no sense, we come face-to-face with a front page news story about the arrest of a suspect from a shooting in Tarrytown. Prior to the arrest, "the shooter was reportedly seen in the area of Larchmont Acres in Mamaroneck" and "the possible sighting prompted the Mamaroneck school district to let students out early from all schools." Excuse me???!!! It seems to me, if the alleged shooter has been spotted out in the community, then just about the safest place for the students is securely inside at the school to begin with - and not just tossing them all out willy-nilly and left entirely to their own devices, on the very streets where the perpetrator has already been seen. In the old days of vaudeville, they would have said about the Mamaroneck school district, "With friends like this, who needs enemies?" Truth to tell, I can't say that I would blame them much, at this point.     In other situations where the supposed experts did not exactly cover themselves with glory, the newspaper also ran a story about flu vaccines, and how difficult it is to match the current vaccine to whatever variation of the disease is presently active around the world. The National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases has designated a universal flu vaccine a top priority, but they admit that despite 100 years of science, the flu virus all too often beats our best defenses because it constantly mutates. According to the newspaper, the flu biologists at The Scripps Research Institute put it this way: "We've made some serious inroads into understanding how we can better protect ourselves. Now we have to put that into fruition." (???) Well, I certainly wish the flu biologists better luck with their universal vaccine than with their English idioms, or we're all in for some tough sledding ahead. In fact, I would go so far as to say, that like Stew Leonard's naturally boneless cows, we wouldn't have a leg to stand on. Elle

Another One Bites The Dust

Hail to the Chief! In the immortal words of the late Rodney Dangerfield (you youngsters can go ahead and ask your grandparents about that) "I don't get no respect, no respect at all!" Just when you get to start thinking that being President of the United States is a big deal, you find out that as many as 12 states in this country don't actually observe Presidents Day as a holiday in the first place, by George. Personally, I find the connotations of that should give us all plenty to think about, on several levels, many of them more than a little disturbing, in fact. I've had plenty of time to ruminate as I've been recuperating in sick bay for the last few weeks, clawing my way back into human likeness after a dental emergency caused life to become very much not worth living, and making the therapeutic benefits of hallucinogenic drugs seem positively delightful by comparison. Obviously, nobody wants to hear about my tooth problems, so I'm taking a page out of the Internet annals of Punk Walrus, and his own tooth problems, because at least his commentary has a punch line, which mine has yet to develop, thanks not. And I think it goes without saying, once again, thanks ever so very much not. ========================== I was poor, and the only dentists on our plan were those revolving-door-style clinics where bad dentists go to die. During a "routine scaling," where an angry lady in her 50's actually straddled my chair to dig into my gums, a filling cracked. So then they had to do more work, and finally, some $800 later, I had a crown. Then the crown got infected. It didn't happen right away, it happened about 6 months later. Long story short, the infection abscessed about an inch into my jaw. When the pain became excruciating, it was a weekend, and we finally found a surgical dentist far away who could make it. His anesthesiologist didn't show, so he had to do all the work without pain killers. The pain I felt was beyond any scale I had ever felt before. To his credit, he was a really nice guy, and was very patient and kept apologizing for how painful it was. I was openly screaming, I bit through two mouth guards, nearly severed the dentist's finger (but he was quick), and peeled off the metal armrest from his chair, popping two rivets (I had to pay for that). I had some kind of inhuman strength. For about a day, I lived through a shadowy existence like a torture victim. I apparently tried to kill myself, too, so they tell me, because all I remember was sort of sleeping a lot, and then waking up in a dark room. I didn't see a dentist again for 5 years. Even when I was hit in the face with a ladder and broke four molars. I finally had to see one when I had another infection, and this led to four root canals because I waited so long. My face was swollen like a melon for days, and sometimes my tongue would swell up and shut off the back of my mouth. Never wait. Ever. P.S. - What made it funny was that week was my first week as an ISP tech. My mouth was so swollen that I was saying stuff to the patients like: "Fank oo for cowwing, may I haff oo phone mummer ftarting wiff oo awea code, pweaff?" I can imagine some customers must have thought, "Aw... they hire the handicapped... isn't that sweet..."