I went to the dentist for my regular check-up on Thursday. Lo and behold, my gums are rotting away like zombie flesh, exposing the tasty bones of my skull to billions of Satan-worshipping microbes.

Also known as the beginnings of periodontal disease.

The good news: they caught it early enough to stop it. The not-so-good news: on Friday I was back in the chair for two hours of dental work, only half of which was covered by insurance. And no, it couldn’t wait until the new year. Sigh.

Now I’m on a super-strict dental regimen which I like to call War. I must:

1. floss three times daily (and really floss, not that cheating sort most people do)

2. brush three times daily (electric toothbrush, 2.5 minutes each time)

3. use this super-strong mouthwash three times daily (at least it tastes okay)

4. use medicated mouthwash twice daily, at least until the bottle runs out (it’s supposed to fix my gums, and it tastes like a chemical horse’s artificially-enhanced ass)

5. use fluoride teeth-wipes three times daily. It feels sort of like polishing shoes, except they’re my teeth and they’re not on my feet. At least not usually. These wipes are discontinued by the manufacturer, so I need to ask the dentist where to get more.
I’ve got to say, though–when I finish this regimen, I feel clean. Nothing could possibly survive in my mouth at this point. Nothing at all. If I were to spawn new life in my mouth which developed an advanced civilization, they’d damn well better develop space travel within 8 hours, because they are getting nuked out of existence ASAP.

If this works, it’ll all be worth it.

Now I get to thank my dad for my bad eyes and my bad teeth. At least he gave me great cheekbones. (P.S. My dad is awesome, aside from his poor taste in genetic transfer.)

Sharks

Pinatas

Things devouring other things

Triangles (the musical instruments)

Beer

Creatures with tails they aren’t supposed to have

Tentacles

Piranha

Lydia’s Body is published.

Nine Thousand Four Hundred Ninety-Four Days, which first appeared at Abyss & Apex, has been translated into Spanish and appears in the current issue of Axxon. I love the illustration by Sue Giacoman Vargas. She translated it too, although I can’t read it myself. I know just enough Spanish to get myself in trouble, like selling pizza coupons in small-town New Mexico. Er, that’s another story.

Every year, Shannon and I make our own Christmas cards.  Neither of us are great artists, but we sure have fun doing it.  We buy a bunch of stickers, stencils, glitter, cardstock, glue, and so forth… and go nuts.  Some of the cards are pretty, but mostly we just go for the surreal.  My favorite way to make cards is to combine Christmas stuff with non-holiday themes.  This year, we bought stickers with sharks, medical equipment, Scrabble tiles, “family values” slogans, and inspirational quotes for marathon runners.

I started yesterday. So far, my creations include:

• a shark eating Santa (with the slogan “The world of achievement has always belonged to the optimist.”)

• Christmas sperm in festive colors, with a google-eyed egg

• a holiday fruit basket that says “Just Add Kids”

• Santa entering a porn star’s chimney (“If what you’re working for really matters, you’ll give it all you’ve got.”)

Merry Scrabblemas!

The Nietzche Family Circus.

I think it’s an improvement.

Shannon and I agreed we wanted to cut our expenses, so we’ve been looking for a new place to live. It’s frustrating because we love our current place. All the other options look worse, but at least they’re cheaper.

Mostly the process isn’t very interesting. We find listings, ask questions over the phone, and sometimes go see the place. We’ve applied for two places right now, so perhaps our search is nearly over. It’ll be a relief to make a decision.

I’ve seen bizarre and strange apartments all over the East Bay area. But the funniest thing I saw was a place out in Castro Valley. It was a third-story apartment in a building that looked like it would fall sideways in a moderate-level quake. It stood right next to an off-ramp on the freeway. But the best part was the driveway. Due to one-way streets and a road barrier, the only way to get to your own driveway was to get on the freeway, drive to the next exit down, and take side streets back to your neighborhood.

No wonder it was so cheap.

Here’s a question that’s been troubling me.

It’s about the red rubber nose gene, most commonly seen in the North American clown.  Is the gene dominant or recessive? If it’s dominant, why aren’t there more clowns?  If it’s recessive, might I be a carrier of this gene, at risk for birthing a clown baby?  And is it linked to the big floppy shoe gene?  Or are clowns a natural mutation–and are they sterile, like mules?

Science never answers questions I care about.

Shannon and I bought tickets last night.

For our belated honeymoon. To Spain.

OMGWTFtapas!

The eye doctor tells me that I need glasses. This is notable for two reasons.

1. I had LASIK done in 2001. It was supposed to last ten years without needing any touch-ups. Apparently my eye had other plans. I say “eye” in the singular because…

2. It’s just my right eye. It’s not very bad–about 20/40. But it’s enough that glasses will help me read better, and cure these awful tension headaches on the right side of my face.

I’m still glad I did LASIK. My prescription was about 20/500 before I had the surgery. I couldn’t even read my alarm clock in the morning. But to need such a mild prescription–and only in one eye. Grrr.

I’m considering monocles and eyepatches right now.