The Dentist

The title of my post is not in reference to the 1996 horror film of the same name, although the experience is remarkably similar! A while back I had chipped one of my molars but, as it was not a serious chip, I decided to just live with it. But at some point I started considering that the gap might start growing and become problematic, so with great reluctance and a lot of trepidation I made an appointment with the dentist.

On a side note, while looking for a picture to go with this post, I only came across pictures of smiling dentists and happy patients. Total and utter misrepresentation! The dentist might be smiling, but that is only in anticipation of the many horrors that they are about to unleash upon you! I am not a fan of the dentist, as I have never had any pleasant experiences while visiting them. This time was no different. I was ushered into the chamber of horrors and made to sit in the torture chair. With a friendly smile (and an inwardly evil snicker) the dentist asked me to sit back and open wide. She poked and prodded and scraped and eventually, inevitably, told me that she would have to repair my tooth. And so it began.....

First on the list was the dreaded injection. I am not a fan of needles in general, and definitely not one that has to be poked into my jaw in particular, so we were not off to a good start. She told me that she would numb my gums first, I wouldn't feel a thing. Yeah, not so much. It felt like she was trying to push the needle through my jaw and out the other side. Then, while waiting for the sedative to take effect, she started using that weird spike thing (as in the picture above) to supposedly clean my teeth. It felt (and sounded) like the proverbial nails on a chalkboard, but in my head. Then she used some sort of machine to clean and polish my teeth, which also set my skull rattling. All while the side of my face was going numb. Eventually she turned her attention to the main event, the tooth in need of repair. She started drilling and chipping away at it, and I suspect the sedative had not taken full effect yet because at times it felt like she was drilling into my soul. And the noise the drill makes was akin to a swarm of mosquitos buzzing around in my skull. Add to that the fact that, not only was the dentist's hands in my mouth, but her assistant's as well. And for some reason they always feel like chatting, asking you questions which you have no way of answering. I assume this is part of the torture. Maybe they are trained to do it in medical school. The person who can ask the most questions that require a lengthy response from the patient while they have most of the dentist's arm in their mouth is the winner.

Eventually my tooth was repaired and I was allowed to sit up again. I half expected to look out of the window and see the  moon and stars, as the appointment had felt like it had gone on for most of the day. But no, in reality only 30 minutes had elapsed. I was given my bill, which was substantial, and a list of instructions. They also asked me one or two more questions, probably so that they can inwardly giggle at my attempts to answer them with half of my face still soundly asleep. I am convinced that being a dentist is one of the most profitable jobs on the planet. You get to poke, prod and drill into patients all day long and then charge a massive fee for it. And of course get some silent pleasure out of making your patient try and answer inane questions with while being elbow-deep in their mouths......

Enquiring Minds

I recently received a list of questions that I wouldn't normally think of asking other people. But upon reading through the questions I started wondering about their answers. Maybe you can come up with a few.....

1. Who let the dogs out? Has this person ever been found?

2. Has anyone ever found the way to Amarillo?

3. If a jogger runs at the speed of sound, will he still hear his iPod?

4. If man evolved from apes, why do we still have apes?

5. If money doesn't grow on trees, why do banks have branches?

6. How do you handcuff a one-armed man?

7. When does it stop being partly cloudy and start being partly sunny?

8. If pro and con are opposites, wouldn't the opposite of progress be congress?

9. Why does grape flavour smell the way it does when actual grapes smell and taste nothing like it?

10. Why does quicksand work slowly?

11. If a bald person works as a cook at a restaurant, does he have to wear a hairnet?

12. Why is it if we "skate on thin ice" we can end up "in hot water"?

13. What do you do when you see an endangered animal eating an endangered plant?

14. Are eyebrows considered facial hair?

15. Why are there no "B" batteries?

16. If a surgeon suddenly had a heart attack while operating, would the other doctors work on the surgeon or the patient?

17. How can something be "new and improved"? If it is new, how can it be improved upon?

18. If a mime is arrested, do they still tell him he has the right to remain silent?

19. Since bread is square, why is sandwich meat always round?

20. If vampires can't see their reflections, why is their hair always so neat?

And a bonus question:

If Justin Bieber, Lady Gaga or Ke$ha were all in mortal danger and you could only save one of them, what kind of sandwich would you make for lunch?

Fitness Fanatics

During the week a friend and I met up for a visit. At some point during the conversation the topic of fitness came up. We decided to order another round of beers and discuss it. We all know that we have to stay healthy and keep fit. And there are a myriad of ways to do so. One of the options that I am looking into is to take up cycling. I just refuse to wear modern cycling apparel which makes you look like a cross between a power ranger and a comic book villain. Another option is to get a gym membership. And this may be the most daunting option of all!

Upon entering most gyms you are faced with a bewildering array of equipment. (Or torture devices, depending on your mind set.) Most of the time you will be wearing an expression that is a mix of fear and cluelessness. This is usually when one of the personal trainers will stomp on over to see if they can be of any assistance. These guys normally look like they regularly bench press locomotives, just for fun. So now you are faced with a mountain of a man with more muscles than a small country, usually towering over you and so filled with testosterone that you can feel your body hair growing just standing next to him. Outwardly you put on a brave face but inwardly you want to turn and run away just in case he decides to eat you.

In April I decided to venture into a small gym located in a shopping centre to see if it was any better. Imagine my surprise when the gym was almost smaller than my flat and had no equipment in it at all. Seeing my bewilderment, a ridiculously good looking buxom blonde bounced over to me and explained that this gym utilised electrical muscle stimulation. So, in essence, they stick little electrical pads to various locations on your body which generate small electrical impulses which cause your muscles to contract. They couple this with an exercise routine so that you get double the exercise you normally would. In theory it sounds quite plausible. In reality that means that I am going to already be trying not to poop myself while going through the normal exercise routine, and now they are going to be inducing small electric shocks as well. It sounds like a recipe for utter disaster for someone as unfit as I am!

I recently discovered a mockumentary that sheds some amusing light on what really happens in most gyms. Be warned, there is some strong language involved:

The Common Cold

Yes, it is that time of the year again. The time of the year where temperatures plummet faster than political promises. And while we have not experienced any truly arctic temperatures this year, it has been enough for some crafty airborne viruses to do the rounds. There has been a resurgence in swine flu and a wide variety of other exotic and unwanted illnesses associated with winter. I was lucky to have escaped most of it until this past weekend. I woke up on Sunday morning feeling fine but then had a bit of a scratch in my throat by midday. By the time evening swung around my throat felt like I had gargled with molten glass and my voice sounded like that of a serial killer in a horror film bent on threatening teenage girls over the phone.

Yes, someone had graciously (and unwantedly) shared their cold with me. Unfortunately I do not know who this generous individual is, otherwise I would have graced them with a glare colder than our temperatures. Sleep was completely out on Sunday evening. I could barely swallow because of the rawness of my throat, and every time I fell asleep my now blocked nose would cause me to wake myself with the horrendous sound of my own snoring. And not the normal run-of-the-mill blocked nose snoring. No! I am pretty sure I sounded like a misfiring farm tractor on a cold morning. The neighbours probably thought that I was working on a diesel engine through most of the night.

The rest of the week brought a nose that ran more than I do. Any sudden head movement would cause my nose to unleash a rather unwanted torrent. Then, especially when I am nowhere near a convenient bathroom, I would have to give a mighty sniff, one that makes me sound like a pool cleaner sucking on an especially large leaf. With the tide momentarily stifled I would have to seek out a bathroom where I could temporarily relieve the pressure in my nasal cavities, only for it to start again 10 minutes later.

Around the second day I also developed a cough. One that made me sound like I had the black plague, or at least an interesting and disgusting variation of it. Conversations would have to be halted because I would cough like a dying Buick and then have to run to the bathroom to get rid of the offending stream of mucus that would follow. The cough would also interfere with my sleep, but thankfully I procured some medication that would suppress it until the following morning, when the whole coughing/sneezing/sniffing/dying thing would start all over again.

Thankfully I am on the mend and my trips to the bathroom to blow my nose have lessened considerably. My coughing is also not so bad anymore. I can actually have a conversation without sounding like I am about to keel over mid-sentence. I think I have mentioned this in a previous blog post, but I suspect the cure for the common cold has been discovered ages ago. The pharmaceutical companies just don't want to release it because they are making way too much money out of our misery. I think we should, when we develop a cold, walk into one of their laboratories and go sneeze/cough/drip on them, and see how they like it. The cure will be released pretty soon after that....

Pain in the....um....Eye

For a few months now, I have experienced a scratching sensation in my right eye. Some days it would be barely noticeable, other days it would feel like I am constantly being poked in the eye with a splintery stick. On those days even light would cause my eye to ache so much that it would constantly water and turn an alarming shade of red. To other people it would look like I am half grieving over some devastating personal loss (the other eye being completely oblivious and thus not watering at all). Shortly after it started I went to the optometrist and was told to not wear my contact lenses as it sounded like an infection, and that it would clear up by itself in a few weeks.

Alas, it did not, and after two months of not wearing contact lenses the pain and irritation still persisted. So I returned to the optometrist, who decided to run a few more in-depth tests. She looked deeply into my eyes (with a big machine, not romantic in the least) and declared that she could not see anything out of the ordinary. Thereafter she turned my eyelid inside out, which was just as uncomfortable as it sounds, and declared that she had found the infection, as my inner eyelid was inflamed and red. As she could not determine what kind of infection it was with her equipment, I was referred to an eye specialist. Unfortunately I could not get an immediate appointment with him because he was fully booked for two weeks.

But, finally, the day of my appointment arrived and I was shown into the eye specialist's office. They did an eye test wherein they found that, unsurprisingly, I could not see very clearly with my irritated eye. I could have saved them some effort there! Next, the eye specialist used a much more powerful machine to look deep into my eye and declared that there was a microscopic piece of plastic lodged in the single celled layer covering my cornea. It had been there for so long that it had been covered by that single layer, and that was the cause of the immense irritation. He put some sedative in my eye and told me to hold still, as he was going to use a needle to try and pry it loose. Never in my life had I focused on a spot on the wall more than in that moment. I had visions of me flinching and him having to book me into hospital to remove the now lodged needle from my eye.

Thankfully that didn't happen, but unfortunately the needle had no success. So he took another little device and, after applying some more sedative, started it up. It sounded like a dentist's drill and he told me to keep still again. It was only after this device had successfully removed the piece of plastic that he informed me that it was in fact a small drill, and that he had drilled through the single celled layer in order to get to the offending piece of detritus. A contact lens was fitted which would protect my eye and I was given a prescription for antibiotics that I had to apply every 4 hours. Then I was sent home with instructions to have some pain medication on hand. That confused me as, apart from a lot of blurriness, my eye didn't hurt. Unfortunately a short time later the sedative wore off and it felt like someone had scraped sandpaper over my eye. The pain was immense! I sat in the dark, almost vampirically afraid of light sources, for two days. Then it was time for my follow up appointment, during which the contact lens was removed and I was told my eye is healing beautifully.

Now, two weeks later, the pain is gone and, apart from a slight blurriness, my vision has returned. I am still using eye drops every four hours, which is rather annoying, but at least I can get on with my daily routine without looking like I have just returned from a funeral. All-in-all this was a very unpleasant experience, but I thank the Lord that all is well! And with that, I will be "seeing" you soon......

Holding Out for a Hero

Right, now that you have Bonnie Tyler's massive blond mane and raspy voice singing through your head, we can continue. It has been said that a dad is his daughter's hero. He can do anything, fix anything, be anything. He is stronger than Superman, faster than the Flash and can handle more repair jobs than Bob the Builder. His mighty arms provide comfort and in his presence nothing can go wrong. And as a dad, that is a lot of pressure!

My little one clearly has a lot of faith in my fatherly abilities. One night, while outside and gazing at the full moon (which she has always adored) she asked me to hold her up high so that she could touch it. I had to explain rather quickly that it is quite far away, and that she wouldn't be able to reach. Another time she brought me a rubber toy that had been treated rather differently than the designer had anticipated and was thus mangled and broken. With her big beautiful brown eyes sparkling with daughterly trust she asked me to repair it. I should explain that it had started off its life as a rubber lizard, but now resembled a thoroughly masticated jelly baby. I had to tell her that, unfortunately, said rubber lizard was beyond even my ability to repair.

There are many other examples of her tremendous trust in my supernatural abilities:

• She once asked me to make a helium balloon float again.
• Another time she asked me to pick up her boerboel and throw him on the house's roof so that he could chase and scare off birds that were annoying her.
• On another occasion, while preparing to make dinner, she declared that because I had handled the food it had magically been made edible and wanted some immediately.
• I have to occasionally do animal impressions for her as a game, the most interesting request was to pretend to be a zebra (with all the appropriate sound effects)
• She recently went on her first major airline flight and enjoyed it so much that she constantly requests to do it again. Once, when I answered that it was too expensive to do it regularly, she told me to simply build a Boeing so that we would have one of our own.

I suspect that dads everywhere can identify with the adoration that our little ones shower upon us. But I also suspect they can identify with the weird requests that our kids can come up with, because let's face it, in their innocent eyes we are all heroes.

Innocence Lost

So my little one is a big fan of animated movies. And let's face it, Disney and Pixar can crank out some really awesome ones. But of course, having a pre-schooler does mean that you have to watch the same animated movie at least 17 592 times before they get bored of it. Which usually lasts about two weeks and then they want to watch it again, just to make sure. So the other night, while watching The Lion King for the 739th time, I started noticing some rather adult references, something that would, thankfully, pass the little one by. So I thought I'd scour the internet and see if what I glimpsed was true. And I found a lot more than I bargained for! It appears that animated filmmakers like to sneak in some very adult humour in an attempt to amuse the more mature watcher:

Cars

This Pixar film about a world with living cars looks like a lot of fun, until you have a look at some of the characters depicted. I draw your attention to a rather inappropriate van in the picture above.

At some point during the movie, two of Lightning McQueen's female fans flash their headlights at him. I don't think I have to explain that reference.

Monsters Inc

Monsters Inc is another award winning Pixar film. The story revolves around monsters that scare children in order to power their city using the sound of the children's screams. In a heartwarming turn of events, they realise that children's laughter has much more power. In the scene above though, it might be the adults laughing. Have a look at the drawing to the left of the door.

Ratatouille

There are lots of funny moments in this movie that would slip past a younger audience. One such moment is where Linguini tries to reveal the truth about his cooking ability to his love interest, Colette. When he starts the sentence with "I have this tiny..." she briefly looks down to his trousers with concern.

The main villain in the film, food critic Anton Ego, also makes a rather adult reference when discussing how he rates food. He blatantly states "If I don't love it, I don't swallow."

Mulan

In the Disney animated film about the great Chinese female general Mulan, the Fa family guardian Mushu, portrayed by Eddie Murphy, explains his tremendous powers to Mulan. His abilities include being able to see right through Mulan's armour, causing her to try and cover up.

 

The Lion King

Now for the film that made me take notice of the rather R-rated moments in children's films. At some point Simba and Nala frolic together after meeting up again after years apart. At some stage during their playful session, Nala licks Simba on the cheek and then lays back and gives him a look that, thankfully, only adults will understand.

During the catchy musical number "I Just Can't Wait to be King" Zazu, portrayed brilliantly by Rowan Atkinson chases after Simba who is riding an ostrich. He flies through some trees and over some very, um, suggestively shaped hills.

These were just a few of the more mature moments in animated films. There are literally hundreds of others that I haven't mentioned. Clearly, when it is time for the little one to learn about the birds and the bees, no explanation is necessary. Just throw on a Disney and relax.....