freckles_and_doubt: (South Park Self)
In my last post about the inscrutable Cosmic Wossnames inflicting themselves on orientation and reg, I inexplicably neglected to mention 5, Teeth. My teeth historically seem to choose the start of the year to crumble, possibly because I'm tense and grind them unconsciously, or possibly just out of spite - a few years ago it was emergency root canal during orientation. At any rate, I had 7 fillings over the last six weeks. Very minor fillings, I hasten to add, but he did 5 of them in one marathon 90-minute session, out of which I emerged pale and shaking and went straight into a day of registration in which I slurred at students like a drunk for several hours. Because registration, clearly, doesn't hold enough terrors all on its own.

I wish to issue a Public Service Announcement at this point. For the sake of your teeth, avoid lemon juice! Over the last couple of years I have made a material difference to the health of my teeth by drifting into habits of (a) drinking hot water with lemon in it, and (b) drinking that lovely Woolies bottled fresh lemon juice, more of a lemonade as it has sugar added, but it's still pleasingly tart. Even though a teaspoon of lemon juice in hot water is not much, and even though I dilute the fresh lemon juice to about a third with sparkling water, the lemon is acidic enough that it weakens tooth enamel noticeably after less than a year of the habit. (Apparently this extends to citrus in general: orange juice is not quite as bad, but has the same general effect). My teeth were starting to erode along the sides, causing the hygienist to do that doom-laden sharp intake of breath thing, and requiring these incredibly fiddly little flanking fillings across three separate teeth. (Matters are exacerbated by my Evil Sinuses, which cause me to sleep with my mouth open, which dries out the teeth and makes them more prone to decay. Apparently. Hence the decay in my front teeth, which is unusual).

I have a particularly lovely dentist, a very quiet, gentle, reassuring man who is also, it turns out, a quiet, gentle, reassuring, completely demented Pink Floyd fan. He was shooting me full of local anaesthetic prior to the five-filling marathon, and made some comment about making me "comfortably numb", to which I went "Pink Floyd!" in a reflex trained by my undergrad days, during which various of the CLAW types were madly into Floyd and infected me whether I liked it or not. (I did. Apart from the statutory mandate which requires you have your mind blown by watching The Wall in undergrad, it's interestingly complex and provocative music). So he put on "Saucerful of Secrets", which I had on bootleg tape back in undergrad and have always loved, and proceeded to enliven the fillings by imparting gentle nuggets of Pink Floyd biographical information of the more outré and unlikely variety.

There's something peculiarly apt about listening to early Pink Floyd while being shot full of drugs and drilled. It was also one of those unexpected gut-punches to the memory. I haven't really listened to Floyd since those much younger days, and it thus has unfettered connection with all the complex associations of nostalgia and wistfulness and regret that attach inevitably to music that's been important in your life at important times. It was all, at any rate, nicely distracting.

The Great Car Music Trek has raged through She Wants Revenge and embarked, as my subject line suggests, into Sisters of Mercy. Apparently it's all about the nostalgia up in here. Gothy, post-punky, gloomy nostalgia. Appropriate to teeth.

August 2017

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