2000-06-27 - 21:29:27

Ok, here we go. Day 2. Whoohoo!

I'm not quite sure where I'm going to go with this thing. I'm torn between wanting to be goofy and talk about everyday things, or wanting to talk about the philosophical meaning-of-life stuff I'm always thinking about. I suppose I can just be schizophrenic and do both.

I also have a tendency to edit compulsively, which I don't want to do here. I'd never get an entry out if I kept fussing over it like that. So I'm going to try very hard to just type it and post and be done with it.

I feel compelled to point out that my use of nicknames is not because I'm afraid of someone figuring out who I am and being embarrassed. Not at all. I'll be posting pictures at some point, so if you know me you'll know who Evelynne really is. The only thing I'm concerned about is the remote possibility that someone might do a search on the name of a friend or relative and do some damage to them in some way. Although I'm not going to be dishing any dirt on people, I just don't want to take any chances.

Poindexter doesn't care, actually, but "Poindexter" is such a fabulous kick-ass nickname I have to use it. And my real name was also already taken at Diaryland.

THE EVERYDAY/GOOFY PART

Poindexter had a dentist appointment today, with my dentist. He'd already been to some other dentist (who I will call Dishonest Dentist, for reasons revealed below) closer to his office who wanted to charge him $830 or so for a crown. He called my dentist, who only charges $600, but is farther away. Despite dire warnings from a coworker with a dental hygienist wife that a cheap dentist is a bad dentist, Poindexter decided that $230 was worth the extra few miles.

My dentist is The Gentle Dentist. I found him in the Washington Consumer Checkbook and 100% of persons responding said he was gentle. Well, he is. And he's got green eyes, for which I am a complete sucker. I didn't realize that my old dentist in my hometown was so NOT gentle until I went to the Gentle Dentist. The Gentle Dentist puts numbing stuff on my gum and leaves the room for five minutes to let it "take", THEN stabs me with the novocain needle. Hometown Dentist puts numbing stuff on, and jabs the needle in immediately. I would always get tears in my eyes from this and practically arch my back off the chair trying to get away from it. If Hometown Dentist hadn't retired already, I would have gone back to NJ to yell at him to let the numbing gel take effect. Plus Hometown Dentist always talked nonstop about baseball to his assistant while working on my teeth, which always made me feel like he wasn't really paying attention. He was, of course, but I'm an overly sensitive soul where my teeth are concerned.

So, anyway, Gentle Dentist is also an Honest Dentist, apparently. Poindexter didn't need a crown at all, just a filling, and furthermore, of the two other "cavities" Dishonest Dentist identified, only one really needed a filling. The other was merely a weak spot that could be watched.

People don't usually "shop" for health care professionals, but I'm here to tell you that you should. It's all business.

So anyways, at dinner, Poindexter and I are discussing dental visits and all the annoying stuff they entail. [WARNING: Gross fluid-related stuff ahead.]

Poindexter in particular was impressed with the fact that The Gentle Dentist works standing up, which means that since you're sitting up, saliva sits in the front and the spit sucker really works. You don't have a bunch of saliva pooling in the back of your throat so that you're just sitting there silently pleading for the dentist to let you sit up so you can spit. And you have all these little pieces of ground up tooth and filling in there, so if you swallow you have a stomach full of lead. It's just awful.

I didn't realize until fairly recently what that spit sucker is. It's fucking disgusting. I used to think it was drying my mouth out by blowing air on it. Nooooooooo. I wish I'd never figured it out.

INTERRUPTION

Poindexter, watching television next to me, just shrieked. Someone's showing *rotating* dildos on the television. One was fluorescent green. It had a rather, er, bendy look. Poindexter is frightened, as any straight male ought to be. And perhaps a straight female, as well. IF (and I mean IF) I were inclined to purchase a dildo, I doubt I'd go for fluorescent green.

Now Hugh Hefner is yakking on the screen. Hm. I have a subscription to Playboy and read it cover to cover every month (pictorials AND articles), but I swear that guy needs to get dressed once in a while. The robe thing is tiresome.

THE MORE "SERIOUS" PART

OK, so. My best friend is a guy I'll call Big Devil. That's his nickname where he lives in Japan, because he is a 6'4" Nordic guy with a wild mane of hair. I always told him he looked like a lion and carries himself in the same slow graceful way a lion does, too. But I digress.

Big Devil and I were discussing today the differences in relationships in Japan vs. the States. Here in the States, you know, people are always talking about how Communication is Important and there's a lot of yakking going on (and not enough listening and using what you've learned, if you ask me, but again, I digress). In Japan, however, there is more emphasis on anticipating what your spouse wants, reading silent signals, rather than yakking about it. I interpreted this as meaning that you learn by watching your spouse and paying careful attention to them, as opposed to them just saying "hey, I want this".

We were also discussing the idea that the Japanese are less inclined to a lot of touching. (NO, not that kind of touching!) I, for one, am an extremely tactile person. I am always hugging, holding hands with, or sitting leaning against Poindexter. Even with other people in my family or close friends, if I'm sitting on a couch with them I'm probably leaning on them or have my arm looped through theirs. But apparently for most folks in Japan, this opposite is true. After hundreds of years of living literally on top of each other (Big Devil's entire apartment would only take up the space of the average EconoLodge hotel room, if that), there is more of a desire for space there. People don't want to be touching all the time. It's bad enough that they are shoved so tightly into the subway cars that one can sleep standing up; once they get home they want some space, dammit.

Big Devil theorizes that touching is a luxury for Americans, most of whom have more space than they know what to do with. I can only imagine what it would be like for his spouse to rattle around in my house, which has four floors and is big enough that I lose Poindexter in it. I gotta get her to come visit, definitely.

IN CLOSING, A LITTLE-KNOWN FACT ABOUT EVIE

I have a constant soundtrack in my head. Something is *always* playing. Sometimes it's because I actually heard the song, other times I'll hear or read something that is a piece of a song lyric and that'll start the song up. Not necessarily what I'd choose as a soundtrack, but there it is.

Right now I'm lucky and I've got Joe Walsh's "Life's Been Good To Me So Far" playing. Earlier today it was a snippet of a spiritual-type song I must have learned in music class back in 2nd or 3rd grade. "I love the mountains, I love the rolling hills. I love the [somethings] when all the lights are low, boom bedada boom bedada boom bedada boom boom."

Funny, the things I remember from childhood. I don't even like that song, but like I said, I don't pick the soundtrack.

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