Snow Day

The house is dark and quiet except for the pulsing gush of the percolator.

The family sleeps soundly, while notices of liberation scroll across the screen.

I peek through the window, barely able to see past the front yard.

but I can see my immediate future.

Feel Free to Rinse

There are a lot of words in the English language that can be mentioned that prompt little to no reaction from people. Two such words are, "root" and "canal." "Root" which refers to the under part of a plant or the encouragement for an individual or team, much like all of New England will be doing as the Jets take their well deserved foot fetished beating this coming Sunday. Then there's the word "canal", which immediately inspires visions of panama hats, big ships and malaria. As stated, speaking these words individually is a harmless endeavor that you yourself can try as a fun little experiment. Walk up to a complete stranger and say, "root!" The reaction you receive will be somewhere between disinterest and "buzz off, whack job!" You may even get a little spare change out of it in the process. Now try stringing the words together. Go ahead, try it with anyone. Walk up to someone and say "root canal" and you'll immediately trigger sighs, grunts and groans like you just kicked them in the crotch. The two words root canal have struck more fear in Americans than uncle Osama, four dollars a gallon and the true ingredients in bologna.

So where does all of this rambling lead? It leads to the fact that I had my first root canal today. I hate to use the word first because it indicates that there may be a second or more on the "You're going to feel a little pressure here," horizon.

I suppose I deserve the procedure. I remember when I was a kid chomping on the hard and gooey candy I was relegated to due to my allergy to chocolate. I earned my fair share of cavities when I was a kid. I had so much silver in my mouth that when the dentist would shine the big space ship looking lamp in my mouth, the reflection off of my silver fillings would bath the room in little points of light like a giant disco ball.

As I grew older I learned to take better care of my teeth. But with time and age come issues, and thankfully, I've had few, but I certainly had one now. My dentist explained that a root canal is necessary when the root becomes irritated by bacteria and causes pain. He also told me that the root really doesn't have much to do with the overall health of the tooth itself. He went on to say that the root was like a tenant that rented the space inside of the tooth. If this is true, I need to speak with the realtor who leased my number 13 tooth, because the pain I was experiencing leads me to believe that I had a bunch of college kids with no references or credit checks living in there, partying, bumping into the walls, and breaking all of the furniture.

To be honest, the procedure wasn't all that bad. Before we got started, I asked if I could listen to my iPod, which I was told was okay. I ran through the waiting room out toward my car with my little bib on. Most of the people in the waiting area probably thought I was trying to escape, and I'm not sure if they felt any better when I returned with my aforementioned coconut half headphones. I got back in the chair and started looking for the right selection. Maybe something soothing, but something that was loud enough to kill the sound of the drill. I thought about watching a video, but the only thing I had on my iPod was a YouTube video I uploaded of some dude getting a root canal.

Just prior to the procedure, they gave me a pair of tinted protective sunglasses. I don't know why they were tinted. Maybe the dentist thought the site of me crying would be distracting. He also placed a medieval metal and rubber thing that looked like something out of a Marylin Manson video. After 45 minutes of Drilling, filing, and filling I was sent on my way, short one root and a fairly hefty co-pay. I headed of to the office for a staff meeting where I would stutter and stumble through a project plan presentation with a mouth full of Novocaine and drool, hoping that the root canal would be the difficult part of my day.

Back to the Gym

Fair warning that some of the language in this post may be questionable. I'm not sure just yet how questionable it will be because I haven't written it, but some of the things floating around in my head probably justify the disclosure.

I'm happy to report that I've turned into a gym rat, which means I've managed to drag my lazy ass to the gym two days in a row. Yesterday, after a slow start, I managed to do a fair amount of lifting. My favorite moment came when I asked one of the over inflated muscle dudes for a little assistance with something that was questionably too heavy for me. He asked me if I needed a spot. He was a nice enough guy and together we moved one of the weight benches into place. He did chuckle a bit as I picked up the 25 pound dumbbells for a little bench pressing.

This encounter was not unusual for me as I'm not a good gym guy. I don't dress in the proper attire(if there is such a thing), I wear big "coconut half" head phones and I have a tendency to sing out loud. In a past post I've discussed the questionable etiquette in the men's locker room, but I have to admit that singing out loud in the men's locker room isn't particularly cool either. I should at least monitor my play list a little and grunt a little Metallica instead of "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go." If you're getting a vision of me prancing around the locker room shouting, "Jitterbug", then you're on the right track.

Yesterday, as I was on the treadmill, I decided that I would kick it up a few notches and start running. All was cool and I was jamming while running to a little Pearl Jam when the guy next to me flinched. It seems that the "way too long" cord from my iPod was smacking him as I was swinging my arms. Swing your arms, you say? Yes, my mechanics aren't the best. My running is somewhat reminiscent of a one year old being attacked by bees while chasing after the ice cream man. Anyway, I shouted, "Sorry" at him over my music. He was not wearing headphones and didn't require my screaming, but I'm sure he appreciated the sentiment.

As far as different exercises go, I prefer some of the ab work. It's not so much that exercises are fun, it's just that for a lot of them I get to lay down. I always try to catch a few quick Z's when I'm down on the mat, but Deb says that it's way too obvious. Maybe I should switch to an actual exercise position instead of the fetal position. The drooling and snoring doesn't help either. Speaking of drooling, I find it a little annoying when I walk by the ladies doing the thigh exercises. I swear, I'm not looking at you, so save your dirty looks for the actual perverts that cruise the machine area. I'm tired of the scowls of the eighty year old geriatrics doing the Thigh Master, so step off Grandma Moses.

I also find it a little distressing that at least one of the televisions in the cardio room always has an infomercial about some crazy work out routine. If it's not PX90, it's some other program called "Insanity, or "Push Till Death." It's frustrating seeing a bunch of cut and ripped people working out harder than I am, plus it distracts me from my People magazine. One other thing about the machines in the cardio room; I know I've done this a bunch of times and you may have as well. Have you ever gotten off a machine to grab the stuff to wipe down the machine and forget which one you were on? I have no doubt that my fellow runners, walkers and joggers have seen me wiping down a random treadmill and questioned their own work out buddy as to what I was doing. I imagine the typical response is something along the lines of, "Do you see his head phones, he's obviously a little slow. Just leave him alone and don't touch his ears."

The steam room and sauna are my reward for working out and they are the things I really look forward to, but they're not without their issues. I still can't understand why guys insist on going into the hot tub naked. I mean if we were all away for a guy's weekend and there was a hot tub at the hotel or house, we wouldn't be naked in it would we? The same goes for the steam room. I'm proud to report that I always go into either of these things with a swimsuit. That's not cool you say? Well, I say tough shit! I'm not sitting in your funky, gross, hairy guy ass and ball bag broth. Quite honestly, I'm considering purchasing a wet suit.

The other thing that I do in the steam room is bring my own aromatherapy. Due to the unpleasantness that I just mentioned, the steam room smells just a little funky. I picked up a small bottle of eucalyptus oil the last time I was in Australia. I pour a little on a paper towel and hold it near my face when I'm sitting there. It's probably a funny site seeing this big pasty guy with his face in a paper towel. I think some of the old dudes think I'm huffing chemicals as part of some hippie homoerotic adventure, but I don't really give a crap.

Yesterday, while I was in the men's hot tub which is in the far end of the men's locker room, pretty much away from anything else, I had a visitor. An old gentleman brought a stool over and sat next to the hot tub. He never got in, he just sat in the corner on this little white plastic stool. I thought to myself, "Great, this guy is going to want to talk to me. Another Calgon moment goes bye bye." And of course I was right, straight away, the guy started babbling. If that wasn't enough of an issue, I couldn't hear a damned thing he said over the water jets. He was talking and talking and I just sat there smiling and nodding my head. He was probably asking, "Hey, you want to go into the steam room and check my prostate for me?" I kept smiling and nodding in the affirmative.

As this was happening my mind started to wander. I was temporarily transported back to the many days, or should I say nights where my buddies and I would go to dance clubs to meet girls. I couldn't hear the damned thing there either. This was a real disadvantage for me because I didn't possess the looks or the style that my buddies had and I had to rely on dialogue to make any headway, without it, I might as well have been wearing my goofy headphones.