Molar Masonry

Today I went to the dentist to get some of my frail human tooth replaced with the finest composites dental science has to offer. To my great shame, I... had a cavity.

Still, this provided me with a wonderful opportunity to show everybody what a "rubber dam" is. My dentist uses them when he does fillings. Evidently, not all dentists do. I haven't been to many dentists and finding out that different ones use different tools is similar to learning that some tailors measure pants and that others measure pants (reference explained).

So, to further the conversation about dental filling techniques with all my friends, I took a dashing self portrait this morning.

Proof that everyone looks 15 pounds balder on the internet. Also, a rubber dam.

I was really tempted to make that my profile picture on facebook for today. Then I decided that I didn't have so many friends that I could afford to be un-friended by 100% of them, so I didn't. You're welcome. And now you've come here. Crap. Scroll down. The next picture is fruit.

As for this tooth thing, I should also mention that yesterday I lost my faith in flossing. In the last six months, I've failed to floss twice. That's a 98.9% floss rate. Previously, it wasn't really part of the process. If I needed to I would, sure, but I could go months between good sturdy flossings. Results: I had a shiny new between-the-teeth cavity and the cleaning part was just as much work as always. Flossing did nothing. In fact, I think it may cause cavities.

Betrayed by Farm Folk

On Saturdays and Wednesday's, Manhattan has a farmers' market. We don't usually go. However, with me eating whole chickens and crate-fulls of celery and carrots, we thought it would be a fun trip. While shopping, we picked up some plums. It was a bit odd to see plums because you don't get a lot of plum trees in Kansas, but it was a farmers' market and you can trust farmers.

When Julie went to eat a plum this morning, she noticed this.

Proudly grown in California. I had no idea our local market drew vendors from so far away.

Chagrin was had by all.

As near as I can tell, some vendor had this internal conversation:

self: Hmmm, growing stuff is hard.
self: Those hippies that shop at the farmers market sure do pay a premium for produce.
self: Wait... If I go to the grocery store and pick up some cheap produce, I can charge the hippies double and keep the profit!
self: To heck with beer money, I'm gonna have fancy beer money!

Not cool, vendor I don't remember. Not cool.

Comments