Get well soon, Peter Gammons

Terrible news: Peter Gammons, the finest baseball writer of this generation, had surgery to repair a brain aneurysm on Tuesday. It's a topic that hits close to home with me, because my father died of a hemmorage in his brain. Bob Ryan wrote the news linked above. I know Ryan is a close friend with Gammons, but I still am a bit unnerved by the obit tinge of the piece.

Get well, soon, Peter.

Three things

1. My buddy Jason had an op-ed run in the South Florida Sun-Sentinel yesterday, where he explains how he got his high school to stop forcing kids to stand for the pledge of allegiance. He makes the point perfectly; respect for our freedom has to include the freedom to keep your seat.
2. Remember how I said Barney Frank dug knuckle-deep into his nose on national TV? There's video evidence on youtube.
3. Enough of the waiting; Build the goddamned parks! I swear, I must be the last guy in the commonwealth who still likes the Big Dig project, but they're starting to lose even me.

Mitt Romney: cowardly hack

Brian McGrory batters the Hell out of Mitt Romney in today's Globe for skipping out on the Tip O'Neill Tunnel dedication:

Could it be that he's still sulking over the fact that Congress flicked aside
his efforts to assign the main portion of the Big Dig the completely white-bread
name, ``The Liberty Tunnel"?
Could it be that he's so partisan that he can't
take a couple of hours out of his day to honor the memory of one of the great
Democratic leaders to come from this state, a truly significant national figure?
Or could it be that his presidential aspirations have made him so
knock-kneed that he's afraid to be associated in any way at all with the
so-called liberal politicians from Massachusetts, especially as he's performing
for a national Republican audience?
Take your pick. One's as bad as the
other. A classless partisan or a political coward -- you decide.

McGrory has been hit or miss lately, but this piece is dead-on-balls accurate about how craven Mitt Romney really has become. Think back to before he ran for governor, and how he had plotted to take Utah's top executive job. This was never about Massachusetts or being an effective governor, it was about raising his profile. And now, as he panders to the right, he's making the same classic mistake most would-be candidates make; He appears feckless and petty. And by yesterday's performance, we now know it isn't just an appearance.

Tony Maz: He-man woman hater

Wow, Tony, take it easy! I know it must be hard for you, a reporter, sitting up in the press room, filling your face with lobster and drink, to look down and see pretty college-aged girls sitting where fat bastards like me used to be, but seriously; It's not that bad.

Yeah, they can be annoying, but so were fans in the park before all these fair weather kids came rolling in. And it's always been impossible to get seats at Fenway. When I'm shut out of the game, it doesn't matter who's sitting in the park instead. I hate them all, equally, as God intended.

And the cell phone thing? Are you serious? Generally, it's rich season ticket holders and their buddies who sit behind home and wave at the camera while on the phone. How many pink hats sit back there? Really, Tony, you're a great writer, but let's learn to pick our fights a little better, n'kay?

What a snitch!

What's up with this lady? Some gas station made a mistake and was selling premium gas for 32.9 cents instead of $3.29. And this lady called 911 -- nine-one-one! -- to tell the cops! The station owner would have picked up on this anyway, so why screw everybody else? Maybe it's because I'm from Revere, but that ain't right...

Welcome back, Heraldites

Pat Purcell has taken the chains off his columnists, so we can again read them for free on the Herald's Web site.

 

It's about damn time. This is a great move by the Herald, and it's great news for Boston in general.

 

What we had before were these Herald columnists, putatively the voices of working class Boston, locked up in a caste system style Web site where you had to pay more for their wit and wisdom. Excuse me? No one really discussed these guys anymore. When you would hear the talk on the radio (Oddly dominated in our market by Herald people), you couldn't follow up by going to the Herald's Web site and reading the column. That's bunk.

 

Here's the thing: Columnists grow in value as they grow in influence. The more people talk about a columnist and her work, the more readers that columnists gets. So walling them off behind a subscription ransom is completely counter intuitive. You effectively separate the columnist from any chance at hooking new readers. These writers are the bait for the newspaper. You give them away for free to draw eyes. And dollars.

 

You want a better example? Look at TimesSelect. Who really talks about Maureen Dowd anymore? Paul Krugman? No one online, at least. These columnists used to dominate the "most requested" page on nytimes.com. Look now, as of Thursday morning, there's one Times select piece in the top 25 most e-mailed stories. There are none on the "most blogged" list.

 

Newspaper still view the net as a threat, because they can't figure out how to make money off the thing. But that's just a lack of imagination. Newspapers must find a way to make the Internet work for them, because it's so clearly their future. Stop stop whining about Craigslist and do something about it. Localized vertical searches are a good start, but Google will catch up. Keep innovating. And keep the columnists out in the open!

 

*Full disclosure: I used to work for Community Newspaper Company when it was owned by Purcell.

Barney Frank digs deeper into FBI raid, own nose

Barney Frank: How can you not love this guy? He's smart, witty, and a damned effective legislator. He's one of the few guys left who was never ashamed of being liberal, and that's my kind of guy. So it should not have surprised anyone that Frank came out against his party leadership and decried all the criticism of the FBI for raiding Rep. William Jefferson's office.

But I will say this: If you're going on national television to explain your position, don't pick your nose. Frank was on MSNBC's Countdown last night, and after giving a great answer about why he's bucking the trend and supporting the FBI's actions, he got right in there and buried his finger up to the first knuckle. The show cut back to a single shot of fill-in host Brian Ungar, but it was way too late.

Unfortunately, there's no film yet on the countdown Web site. But it totally happened.

Baseball in San Francisco: They're not worthy

Just one other note about San Francisco: The city doesn't deserve baseball. I always thought it was a form of selfcongratulation when people would talk about how Boston fans were rabid and loved their team and other places weren't like that. Based on what I saw at Pac Bell Park, it's totally true.

I decided to get tickets for a few reasons; to see the park, to experience one of baseballs biggest rivalries (The Dodgers were in town), and to see that fraud Barry Bonds.

During the game, I had noticed the guy next to me had a dark blue hat, so he wasn't a Giants fan, and the color was too dark for the Dodgers. During the middle of the third, he got up and took his windbreaker off, and then I saw it: A "26 rings" Yankees shirt. I was sitting next to a Yankees fan. He started jawing with the older couple in front of me and the lady said something snide about the Yanks (with a smile. These people were all season ticket holders).

So I said "I can't believe I flew 3,000 miles to see a ballgame, and they sit me next to a Yankees fan." The guy turns around and says, "Are you from Boston?" Yeah, I am. It ends up he's a transplant to the West Coast, and the lady in front of us is originally from Attleboro. Small world.

The Yankees fan and I chatted it up the rest of the game. He said it was actually good to sit next to a Boston fan, b/c people from San Francisco really weren't that into baseball. As the game progressed, I could see that was true. These people were committing every ballpark sin imaginable: Half the place showed up late, at least a thoudans people were out on the shoreline, with no view of the game, they talked during balls in play, walked up and down the aisles during the game, left early, the whole nine yards.

When Bonds grounded to first to end the eighth inning, the Yankees guy elbowed me and said, "Now watch the stands." I looked up, and I swear to God, a third of the place emptied out. The Giants were only down by three to their biggest rivals, the Dodgers, and they had their 4-5-6 hitters up next, and everyone was leaving. Friggin bandwagon.

But they're the ones who missed out; The Giants rallied for four runs in the ninth and won the game. And with about 12,000 non-fans now out of the park, the people left were like a distilled version of the crowd; These were the people who really do like baseball, and weren't there just for the Bonds spectacle. So in the end, it felt like a real ball game. But for like 20 minutes. The rest of the time it was like watching a movie outside.

Open Berto for Steve Perry!

It's been raining. Thought you'd might want to know.

I actually missed a good portion of the rain. I was in San Francisco on business (Jesus, did I just write that?) most of last week. It's a spectacular city with a little bit of Boston in it. But just a little.

But San Francisco itself, while great, wasn't the best thing about my trip. No the best part was meeting Steve Perry at a Giants game. You know, Steve Perry, lead singer of Journey, Oh Sherry, You should have been gaw-awne, Steve Perry.

I went to the Giants-Dodgers game on Saturday. Pac Bell Park (now AT&T Park) is friggin gorgeous and super fan friendly. I was sitting in the club section of the stadium, which I didn't realize until I got there. I was in Section 202, the last on that deck before you get to the water. Just awesome.

So I got to the park early and walked around for a bit. There were only a couple of people in my section, so it was pretty quiet. Then these two guys walked up. One was totally nondescript, but the other looked wicked familiar.

That hair. That nose. The guy looked just like Steve Perry.

I immediately called my buddy Jonathan and left him a message, asking whether it was lame to try and talk to the guy. Jon left me a message saying I should just yell out "Steve!" ands see if he turns around. But I was afraid to do it, because that seemed like it would be lame. I was worried about seeming lame to Journey's Steve Perry, you see.

So I finally got Jon on the phone and again he pushed me to yell. I guesstimated that the maybe-Steve guy was about 20-25 feet away, looking over the railing at the concourse below and the expanding Pacific in front of him. It's too far, I decided. I couldn't just yell out.

Then I heard the guy talk, and that totally confirmed it; I was looking at Steve Perry.

Just then, he turned as he and his buddy started to leave. They were about to walk past me, about two rows down. There was still like maybe 10 people in my section, so it's like he was right in front of me.

I half-turn away and hiss to Jonathan: "Oh my God, he's leaving. He's walking right up. He's walking right in front of me! Hang on!"

I look up, and there he was.

"Steve?"

"Yeah."

"Steve Perry?"

"Yeah, what's your name?"

"Roberto Scalese. I'm a big fan."

(Cue big shit-eating grin on my face)

"Hey, thanks, man."

With that, he shook my hand and went on his way. No muss, no fuss. And I was a happy guy, because I really do like Journey, and not in some ironic trucker hat indie rock way. It's good music, dammit. But the world is coming back to where I already am, and when it does, it'll see me with Steve, side by side, like Jake and the Fat man.

I wasn't even there at the time

Gienna, a friend of mine from work, went to Las Vegas for a conference and then took a couple of vacation days to unwind at Caesar's Palace. She asked if I wanted her to play anything in my name while at the casino, so I gave her $20 to bet on black at a roulette table. She didn't know exactly how that was done, so I explained it to her. While she was there, she e-mailed me, and I mentioned that she should feel free to let the money ride if I hit on black. OK.

So she's in the casino and she finds a table that'll take small action like $20. But she's scared, so she decides to watch a hand and see how it's done. The spin comes red. Now, she's mentally preparing to place my bet, but she's still nervous. Some guy steps up next to her and lays down $20 on black. Gienna thinks, "OK, now's the time!" but hesitates and the dealer waves off any additional bets.

It hits black. I'm out $40.

The guy who came to play let's the money ride, which is exactly what I told Gienna to do when we last spoke. But now she keeps thinking she just screwed up, and since the last bet was black, does that mean it's less likely to come up, etc. She's not stupid; she knows that it's still 50-50, but she's like parylized with fear.

Black. My $20 would have been $80.

Now she's frozen, panicking at the table. A couple of ladies who Gienna swears were nuns come up, and one of them puts a sizable bet on black. Gienna doesn't move.

Black. The nuns are way up, and I'm out $160.

Black comes up three more times; that's six times in a row. That's $20 to $40 to $80 to $160 to $320 to $640 to $1,280.

I'm out $1,280 bucks at this point.

So that's the final straw. Gienna now realizes that she cannot--CANNOT!--put any money on this table, because it's cursed. So she walks over to the new Roulette wheel and smacks down the $20 on black like a pro.

Red.

But at least she got me some poker-chip-shaped chocolate. Thanks for playing.

Is that fair? Of course not. Anyone would have walked away after the original bet and maybe let it ride once. But still, it's more fun to hang a grand over her head. :)

MBTA fare increase: The rumbling's getting louder

The drums of discontent are getting louder.

Pelican In Her Piety has an outstanding summation of the T's funding situation and a spot-on analysis of the problems facing T riders and the agency, thanks in large part to outer suburb Representatives who cut the T's funding and then tried to raid its accounts (Via Universal Hub).

In case you missed it, Mike Dukakis got into the act in yesterday's Globe, and make some damn good sense:

''Gas prices are now $3 a gallon for regular," he wrote in an e-mail. ''Yet, here in Massachusetts where we are blessed with what could be the best public transportation system in the country, we seem to be doing everything we can to drive people away from the T.

''It is now clear, as it should have been at the time it happened, that tying the T to one penny on the sales tax as its principal revenue source was a terrible mistake. The T is a public service, just like our highways. It is a critically important piece of our metropolitan and state economy. It needs expansion, not contraction."

So is this the real start of the pushback, and where will we end up? If I had to make a guess, the T will offer transfer to CharlieTicket riders and keep the increase at $1.70, instead of retreating on the final increase amount itself. Then they'll say everybody wins, although the evidence shows this is the solution that should have been in place in 2000. Grrr.

Welcome back, Doug

I guess this is baseball's version of a mulligan: Doug Mirabelli's back with the Red Sox.

Seriously, has a trade ever been undone this quickly? I know Josh Bard was having some trouble, but Sheesh. Anyway, i like Doug, so welcome back and help out Wake, wouldja?

MBTAfare increases: The good and the bad

The MBTA used a delightful Friday afternoon to let slip the news of a new fare hike. It's lousy, and it confirms the worst fears opponents had last time around, but there are some silver linings here.

First, when the last fare hike was made two years ago, many opponents (including myself, in my only appearance ever on NPR) said it would start a vicious cycle: Ridership is down so you increase fares, but that forces down ridership, which forces you to increase fares. Clearly, that's what's happening here.

Some of the same rate hike canards are making the rounds again. The T has the cheapest subway fare in the country, but it doesn't offer free or reduced transfers for most rides, making it one of the most expensive total trips. Thankfully, the new fare structure will include free transfers from subway to bus. Even with that, though, the T offers far less service that New York, Chicago, and DC for the same price. All these lines run into the late-night or 24 hours, while Boston rolls up its tracks by 1 a.m. (depending on the station.

Eliminating the exit fares, free outbound rides and the rest of the irregularities is a small but appreciated item. Decreasing the combo pass price is also a great help.

Charging more per ride for CharlieTicket users than CharlieCard users is something that I find a little troubling. Look, you certainly want to reward the people who use the system the most and keep them as loyal customers, and lower fares for consistent users is a good way to do that. It also creates an incentive for people to use the faster technology (the CharlieCards are wave-throughs, while the tickets have to be manually fed into the system.

My concern, though, is that the price jump for non-traditional T users is so steep as to keep them away from the service altogether. At the very least, make CharlieCards purchasing available at the terminus of each line and branch, so out-of-towners can take full advantage of the better technology. If the T wants to increase its ridership appreciably, it needs to attract these people on the periphery who feel that driving to town is still worth the hassle and cost. Bilking them for an extra 55 cents than other users is just as unjust as an exit fare. These are customers who will see a full dollar jump in fares, all because they aren't aware of the new cards, or are less frequent users. That's bunk.

There is no God in Rhode Island...

...which is funny, because didn't they start Rhode Island to get their God on?

I was at a friend's wedding, which was in some retreat in the woods in Rhode Island. At one point, I had to find a store. On the way back, I stopped at a Dunkin Donuts.

Me: Can I get a Mountain Dew and a chocolate stick?

Cute Dunks girl: A Mountain Dew and a what?

Me: And a chocolate stick.

CDG: Stick?

Me: What? OH! You don't have those?

CDG: (Smiles and looks at me like I'm a jerk)

Me: OK, sorry, can I get a chocolate glazed?

What's up, Rhode Island? How do you not have chololate sticks? It's bad enough that Dunks took our cruellers away from us, but to deny me the Go-Bots version as well?

My silent war with the school crossing guard

Every day I pass my old grade school on my way to work. It's the Paul Revere School, on Revere Street, in Revere. You can't get quainter than that. Here's the thing: The crossing guard at the school is making me miserable.

Look, I'll say this up front: Of course I want children to remain safe as they walk to school. And this is a woman who volunteers her time to make sure the children stay safe. That's fantastic. I'm sure she's a wonderful lady with a big heart. My concern is that her heart's a little too big.

Our Lady of the Crossing Children stops traffic for every single little snot who steps up to her crosswalk. She doesn't wait for other kids approaching to reach, and then cross them all at once. She doesn't allow parents to cross by themselves. She crosses everyone as soon as they show up.

As a result, she stops traffic like a dozen times before I can pass her. I turn onto Revere Street about 6 blocks away from the school. It should take me 30 seconds to pass the school. Instead, because of her, it usually takes me the better part of five minutes. Every day. That's nothing, really, but it's killing me because it used to be different when I went to school there.

Back in my day, Dotty was our crossing guard. Dotty was awesome (I was best friends with her son). A kid would walk up to her spot, and she would look to see if anyone else was coming. If there was, she'd wait patiently until everyone was sort of gathered up and THEN cross us. It was a marvelous system that balanced the safety of children with the need of everyone else to get to work every day. Thoughtful, pragmatic, caring. Those were the golden years of school crossing guards.

Today, however, was a perfect example of how this once-great art has been lost. We all stopped for the bus as it let out the kids. The crossing guard (who I swear really must be a nice lady) stood in the road to block traffic, which is fine. But then she lets some van scoot out from a side road in front of the bus, which seems crazy to me. But fine, whatever, the van is also a school bus of sorts, so it's in her purview, I suppose. But after that, she stops traffic to let a kid across the street, and then stops traffic AGAIN to let some old Buick out from the same side street. I was trapped a block away from the school for like seven minutes while all this was going on. What the Hell!

Had Dotty been there, things would have been different in a number of ways. First, the bus would have used some side street to turn around and therefore dump the kids off onto the sidewalk in front of the school. Maybe that wasn't Dotty's doing, but it happened back in my day and it was better. Traffic would still have stopped, but keeping the kids on the right side of the street is safer to begin with. This would also allow the van to pull out and line up behind the bus, dropping off the kids inside and saving us all an extra step in the process.

Dotty would have held onto the kid as others were walking down the street toward her, and she never, NEVER would have stopped traffic to help some old guy in an Eighty-Eight pull out into traffic, because she has better things to worry about. Just like that, you trim the wait time in half, and stop at least one commuter from mentally swearing at a person doing a bad job with a good deed.

Atlantic City: When bad choices are all that's left

I went to Atlantic City for a bachelor party this weekend. We had a
blast, but let me say a few things about Atlantic City:

Atlanitc City is gross. I mean that literally. The place literally
stinks of old people, cigarettes, and Drakkar Noir. If sadness and
failure has a smell, this would be it.

Even the boardwalk was sketchy. Picture Hampton beach with casinos. They have these hand cabs, where you sit in a little cart and a guy pushes you down the boardwalk to wherever you want to go. But because it's still early in the season and it gets cold at night, the cabs all had this clear plastic sheeting over them, so sitting in one would be like riding around on a tricycle with a huge ziplock bag over your head.

And the hand cab drivers were all sort of scary too. I mean, maybe I
don't understand their industry, but having a guy scream "Spend some
fucking money! Spend some fucking money here!" doesn't seem very
inviting. Along the boardwalk, I saw a few women have their heels get
stuck between planks. As soon as that would happen, the hand cab
guys would swarm like seagulls on a french fry "Did your shoe get
stuck? How about a ride?"

You can't even see the beach from the boardwalk, which is weird.
There's a big berm of sand in between. That makes sense, I suppose,
but it was a bit disappointing.

Even the casinos were sort of seedy. Some were really nice, like the
Sands and Caesar's, but others were filthy. I was sitting at a table
game in the Showboat, and the felt looked like a used towel. There
were drink and water stains all over it. The place smelled a bit
dingy, too.

My buddy Jason has more details on the Hotel, but it was no prize,
either. We couldn't get a second cot in our room (fire code,
supposedly), so two of us were forced into a position the Catholic
Church says is a sin. There was a balcony with a nice view of the
ocean. But no furniture to sit on and enjoy the view. There was,
however, a helpful sign reminding us that seagulls are known to shit
wherever they please. Seriously.

Little Brother has a posse

Have you seen the Little Brother is Watching billboard up along the pike? The one near the gun violencee billboard? Yeah, the state's trying to pull the thing down. Brian McGrory at the Globe has the details.

It seems that the state's Outdoor Advertising Board is using some real ticky-tack technicality to force the billboard out of the sky. It's a clear case of someone's political panties are in a bunch, and now the apparackik has made a veiled threat to the gun violence billboard as well:

For now, Little Brother remains in place, but here's where it gets really touchy. Rosenthal has crusaded against gun violence, and this month he repapered his 252-foot-long antigun billboard, shaming states that don't require background checks for private gun sales.

Suddenly, state bureaucrats were checking on a waiver Rosenthal received 11 years ago that allowed a billboard that large. ''I've had several people ask me about it," Bickley acknowledged. ''Eventually, someone may challenge it." Who would challenge a billboard that discourages gun violence? That remains unclear.

How thuggish is that? After years and national exposure for his gun violence billboard, John Rosenthal has to listen to some guy tell him his free speech must be curtailed because there's a subprovision in a bylaw somewhere that says his views and opinion are geographically too close to advertisements. God save us all.

The Boston Herald needs to stop

Good grief.

What really bothers me about the Herald's wall-to-wall coverage of the Scalia hand gesture isn't that they totally screwed up and called the gesture obscene (It's absolutely, 100% is not). It's that they manufactured this controversy by missing a mistake by a reporter, and then claimed the mistake was actually part of a larger national conversation over whether the gesture was obscene.

In effect, they screwed up and put in on Scalia so they could sell more papers. It's slimy and unethical.

It's easy to hate on Scalia, not because I disagree with virtually every opinion we writes on the court, but because he's a prickly asshole. But he isn't stupid. Apparently, however, the Herald thinks you are. Why else would they feed us this ridiculous line?

* Full disclosure: I used to work for Community Newspaper Company, which is owned by Herald Media.

Sleight of Wilbur

What the Hell?

I was about to post about the Wily Mo Pena-Bronson Arroyo deal, and I based it on kicking Eric Wilbur in the teeth for his "gentleman's agreement" line on his blog. But now that line is gone, and the post starts with what was the second paragraph.

So did Wilbur realize he was wrong? If so, why not cross the line out or admit it was incorrect in a separate post or in an update? Why scrub the line instead of owning up to a dumbass comment?

Clearly, I'm more pissed because it screws up the premise of the following post, but hey, what can I do? Wilbur totally caved/showed some modicum of integrity by correcting a mistake, even if he did it in an underhanded, "I never said that" sort of way.

Whatever. Here's the now obsolete post:

Pity poor Eric Wilbur. As news broke of today's Red Sox deal sending
Bronson Arroyo to Cincinnati for outfielder Wily Mo Pena, the
boston.com blogger had to rely on his own memory in recalling
Bronson's recent contract extension with the Sox. It was a three-year
deal under Bronson's Market value. Wilbur seems to recall a
gentleman's agreement, where the Sox said they would not trade Bronson
in exchange for the lighter salary. And thus, Wilbur's hackles are up,
claiming the Sox reneged on a handshake deal and should be ashamed of
themselves. He writes:

"The moral? Don't make any gentleman's agreements with the Red Sox."

Poor Wilbur. If only there were a way to look up written articles from
the recent past. Something like a virtual library, where things that
have been written are stored forever. And there would be this clever
and easy way to sift through the veritable googol of pages in that
virtual, world-wide library, so he could find just what he was looking
for by typing in some key words.

Had that technology existed, and Wilbur typed in the words "arroyo
deal," he would maybe have found Chris Snow's Boston Globe article on
the deal, dated Jan. 20:

The Sox, according to Arroyo, told him they have no immediate
intentions of moving him.

''They didn't give me any guarantees," said Arroyo, who began looking
into buying a place in Boston. ''But Jed and Ben [Cherington] both
stated to me there were no deals on the table for me now, and they
felt pretty strongly I wouldn't be traded anywhere in the near
future."

Or maybe he could have found the Providence Journal's take, where Sean
McAdam had this:

"I want to stay here for my whole career," said Arroyo. "I think it's
a move that's going to be beneficial to me as well as the team for
right now, at this point in my career. Hopefully they see it that way
and don't trade me."

Arroyo spoke with co-general managers Jed Hoyer and Ben Cherrington
before agreeing to the deal and received no guarantees that he
wouldn't be dealt.

"But Jed and Ben both stated to me that there were no deals on the
table and they felt pretty strongly that I wouldn't be traded
anywhere, anytime in the near future," Arroyo said. "Not that they
could guarantee me any security for the lifetime of the contract. But
at no time in the near future did they see me going anywhere."

That could have gone a long way in stirring Wilbur's memory, and maybe
he would start to see that there was no "gentleman's agreement," as he
so eloquently put it. Heck, a little more digging on this
interconnected, web-like portal of information would likely have
yielded this AP story on espn.com, which stated:

Arroyo said neither of the Red Sox co-general managers, Jed Hoyer and
Ben Cherington, could promise him that he won't be traded.

But hey, we don't live in a world with that sort of unlimited access
to information. Would that we had such a fast and easy portal, almost
like a superhighway of ideas and information!

you'll be a dentist...

I think my dentist has marked me as a wuss.

I just had a caviry filled. The dentist who did the work is great; Happy, calm, friendly.

So she set me up in the chair and gave me a topical swap to numb me up for the novacaine shot. I asked her to wait like a minute, because the last time I had a cavity filled, they shot me up right after applying the topical, and it hurt like Hell. So she agreed, and even daubed a little more of the topical stuff before she started. OK.

She starts to drill, and things are going fine. Apparently, though, this cavity of mine was way back on the far end of my last tooth, and it was hard for the dentist to get to it. So she pulls back on my cheek a little harder, and says, “You’re doing fine.”

I’m doing fine?

I wasn’t aware I was doing anything. But OK, maybe she was talking more to herself than me. Like I said, she’s wicked nice and good at what she does.

So she keeps working, and I hear drill bits grinding to a stop on the tooth. Which is awful, but what are you going to do? I didn’t feel anything, although I could smell the burning tooth and sense the vibration come to an abrupt stop. “You’re doing great.”

Wait, what?

Then I start to realize: She thinks I’m freaking out. But I wasn’t, and I know I wasn’t. I wasn’t grimacing, I didn’t say anything, or pull away. So why does she think I’m about to break down in the chair?

I start to wrack my brain as she continues to work. She’s tugging hard at my cheek, because if she doesn’t, she says, she’ll cut the cheek. She took her hands out of my mouth and I say, “I appreciate that,” trying to use a little humor to let her know I’m all good.

She gives off a little (forced) laugh and said “You’re doing a great” again.

She starts to work again, and I realize, it has to be because of the form I filled out last year when I started with this dentist. It had a question about whether you feel anxious about seeing a dentist, and I checked “a little.” I wanted to be honest, because I don't entirely like the idea of someone poking around my mouth with needles and drills. But maybe everyone lies on that form, and tries to play themselves off as cooler than they are. So to the dentist, "No" means "A little" and "A little" means "Hell yeah I'm scared."