Crunchy Thoughts

Look at me!

I’m sure most of you have heard about the craziness that happened in London again yesterday, and I am truly thankful that no civilians were hurt. However, I read something on the BBC News site this morning that has me absolutely dumbfounded.

Apparently, the British police shot dead one of the suspected perpetrators yesterday after he tried to flee the scene. I understand the general idea: if you’re running from a scene where there were explosions and fail to stop when the police tell you to, you are likely to get shot since there is the possibility of you having explosives strapped to yourself. Also, you couldn’t expect the police to shoot at your torso since that’s the most likely place where these explosives can be.

It’s the details of this story that have me confounded. An eye-witness, one Mr. Whitby, told the BBC News, “I was sitting on the train reading my paper. I heard a load of noise, people saying, ‘Get out, get down!’ I saw an Asian guy [read: Middle Eastern] run onto the train hotly pursued by three plain-clothes police officers. One of them was carrying a black handgun – it looked like an automatic – they pushed him to the floor, bundled on top of him and unloaded five shots into him.”

What what? The British police caught up with the guy, pushed him to the floor, then shot him five times?! The BBC is also saying they believe the police shot this man in the head, so as to avoid shooting any potential explosives. Also according to them, the police are trained to shoot to kill if they think someone is being a threat, which does make perfect sense. But one has to ask: is a man who is restrained on the floor by multiple officers a threat? If they were still threatened by this man, which could be understandable given he might have had explosives strapped on to him, why did they not knock him out, use mace, shot him in an extremity like the foot, or even use a taser to subdue him? Why shoot five times at close range?

By doing what they did, the police not only killed a man, they killed a potential witness — someone who could have given them reams of information as to who is behind all this and if there was a connection with the attacks of two weeks previously.

Maybe all this can be explained somehow. The eye-witness could be mistaken, the suspect could have said or done something to prompt the officers into action, or the officers could even have been given explicit instructions that would make this event come about in such a manner as it did. But right now, just by having the information that I do from the news sites, I am very, very confused.

Just a quick note to let you all know I am officially falling off the face of the earth starting this evening. I will not climb back on until I have finished and mused upon Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I see myself rematerializing sometime around Sunday evening. I have waited two years for this book, so consider that first before calling to see if I wanna watch a movie or something.

Two years ago when the fifth book came out, myself, Steven, Ken, and Lisa went to the midnight release party at Hastings. This year not only will be all be there, but Ken, Cathy and I will be helping with the party. So, if you want to get your face painted, attend an Herbology class, pin the tail on Dudley, or watch the three of us act out some scenes, don’t hesitate to drop by. You can stand in the back with Steven and Lisa to snicker at us while we attempt to impersonate Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I’ll give you one guess who’s playing Ron.

Yes, I will recruit Steven to take pictures.

Sometime last December I finally quit procrastinating and went for my semi-annual teeth cleaning fest. I was delaying the visit because I had no dental insurance at the time but I finally decided the health of my teeth was worth a cool hundred and some-odd dollars. Also, I figured that if one’s teeth hurt every time one bit into a tasty confectionery product, it can’t be good.

Unfortunately, I did not inherit my mother’s naturally straight teeth nor her excellent flossing habits, but I did acquire my dad’s penchant for cavities. Well, non-flossing plus weak teeth plus an attraction to chocolate equals the worst kind of cavity, the kind that is in between two teeth; therefore, both teeth must be filled. They said I had two of these kinds of cavities: right in between my first two molars in the top of my mouth on both sides. That explains the sugar pain. Joy and rapture.

They gave me a lecture on flossing that truly scared me shitless — it started off with the question, “Do you want to keep your teeth?” — then drew up an estimate for four fillings. One look at that estimate told me I’d definitely have to wait until I got some insurance, which thankfully happened a little over a month later.

I had all four of them filled one day in March soon after we moved into our house. It gave me an excuse from constant unpacking but I sure was sore when all was drilled and filled. It had been quite a while since I had last gotten a filling and I had forgotten how weird it was.

Here I must confess I have always found dental procedures quite hilarious at times and I usually have to restrain myself from laughing. This is why I close my eyes when I’m getting worked on: just watching someone looking down my mouth with such a look of concentration — or sometimes, surprise — just strikes me funny. Getting struck with the silly giggles during a filling procedure could hurt quite a bit since you’ve got a bunch of metal protrusions sticking out of your mouth. Thankfully I was able to fend off the giggles this time.

Two weeks after that joyous experience my teeth were still quite sensitive, especially to cold. Even tap water set my teeth to aching. This pain was a good bit worse than the sugar pains of months past. Well, back to the dentist I go, where he files down my fillings a bit and double-checks the bite. Two weeks later, I’m back again for some more filing and bite-checking. Two more weeks later, I have the metal filings taken out and white enamel filings put in, with the idea being the cold-conducting properties of metal does not agree with my apparently sensitive front molars.

You know what’s worse than having four filings put in? It’s having four filings drilled out, then new ones put in. One would think that anything involving small teeth would be a delicate process, but all you need is a dremmel-type dentist tool and some safety goggles. Little boulders of aluminum filling were flying everywhere. I could hear them bouncing off the walls! It was a dental hailstorm. I had my eyes squinted shut, trying so hard to think of something else so I wouldn’t bust out laughing. My anti-giggle resolve has been soundly tested of late. So far, so good.

The enamel filings, which is what I originally wanted but the insurance company classifies them as ‘cosmetic,’ seemed to do the trick. I could drink a glass of water and eat salads with no stabbing pain, huzzah! All was fine . . . except for tooth #5, that evil little bugger on the top right side. It took a quick dislike to having small, hard bits of food being chomped on, especially little raspberry seeds from my favourite jelly. Damn that #5!

So once again I’m back at the dentist for some more filing and poking, which only seemed to make #5 even more sensitive. The phobia to cold things also came back with a vengeance. By this time I was getting to know my dentist very well.

Then one day after another session of filing and bite-checking, he said the scariest phrase I’ve ever heard come out of a dentist’s mouth: “root canal.” Cue the scary music in a minor chord here. He wasn’t for certain, though, and wanted me to visit an endodontist to get his opinion and make absolutely sure.

I ran by Mr. Endodontist sometime last week to be poked and prodded yet again. It was his personal mission to harass #5 until the little bugger was provoked to harass me. This he did by spraying a cotton ball with something — I’m guessing liquid nitrogen here — and holding it on #5, My Oppressor.

SWEET GRAHAM CRACKER, DID THAT EVER HURT!

So, three guesses as to who’s getting a root canal in the near future. The first two don’t count.

Wait a second; didn’t we just go through this ten months ago?

Hey, hey! Remember Ivan? Well, do ya? I do. Boy, do I.

Well, if you’ve been checking the weather models obsessively like I have in the past few days, you would notice something. Mainly, this:

Notice where Auburn is on this map? Can you see it? Maybe not, ’cause it’s covered under all the coloured lines! Especially that pink one. Dennis has just strengthened to a Category 3 hurricane, and it seems he intends to stay that way.

Unfortunately, people are already referring to this thing as ‘Dennis the Meanace,’ which I find atrocious because I never liked that comic/cartoon/movie/decorations-on-a-Dairy-Queen-cup thing. Stupid kid.

I just look at these satellite images and think, “Oh man, it’s only July . . .”

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And when I get around to it — maybe this weekend — I shall tell my tale of dental woe.

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Also, Tony Blair rocks, even if he does listen to Bush.

Tropical Depression Cindy is outside my window. We expect Dennis next week.

Just writing a quick note before I am off to the lake for holiday. I have a short announcement to make. Wait, before the announcement; an explanation.

Anybody heard of podcasts? Click on that link; it’ll explain it better than I can, but I’ll give it a shot. It’s like blogging for radio. You do your own radio show on whatever you want, then post it up on a podcast directory. ‘Podcast’ insinuates that you need an iPod to listen to the show, but that’s not true. The iPod merely makes it convenient to take your favourite show with you. As long as you’ve got an mp3 player on your computer, you’re set.

Why am I explaining this? Well, I’ve gone in with a friend to make one. Weird, eh? So, that’s the announcement: my friend, Ken, and I have a new podcast radio show called — you never would have guessed it — Crunchy Thoughts! We came up with that mainly since I already own the site. And, yes, this is Ken’s idea; I’m just there for the talking.

So, if you want to go listen to us ramble on anything from movies to books to nasty feet, go to CrunchyThoughts.com to take a gander.

You can’t miss which one is me: I’m the accented, uneducated-sounding nasaly voice. And no, I am not happy with how my voice sounds. How’d you guess?

Blah.

Enjoy!