On the advice of my dentist (given a decade or two ago), I finally broke down and bought one of those industrial-strength electric toothbrushes. I won't mention the make and model, as none of the following is specific to that.
Opening the box was quite an experience. I expected a motorized handle, a detachable brush head (I knew these wore out and were replaceable), and a charger. Those were indeed there, but they were just the beginning. There was an intimidatingly thick manual (it turns out, mainly thick because it's translated into approximately 1,400 languages). There were 4 AA batteries. Most mysteriously, there was a heavy, oddly-shaped piece of electronic gear about the size of a pack of cigarettes. I only knew it was electronic because the front of it had a liquid crystal display. Then there were assorted mounting brackets, screws, tape, etc.
After a half hour of manual reading and untangling cables, I had it basically figured out. The toothbrush bit worked about as expected. The big electronic gadget simply showed you where to brush – it's basically a timer with a hard-to-understand graphic display that allegedly shows you which teeth you should be brushing at any given moment. This left me wondering (a) what problem they were trying to solve, and (b) what the preceding said about mankind and its future. Nothing good, I'm sure.
So I let it charge for the prescribed 10 hours, and then it was time to try it. I'd never used one of these things before, so I really didn't know what to expect. I rinsed off the brush head, placed a dab of toothpaste on it, inserted the brush into my mouth, and switched it on.
There should have been warnings. Nowhere in the manual does it warn you about the visual hallucinations that occur when your entire head starts vibrating at 20Hz. Nor does it warn you about the merciful numbness that quickly ensues, much like the way your hands feel after using a mower or chainsaw for a while. Likewise, there's no mention of the unmentionable things shaken loose from your mucous membranes by the 350 horsepower vibrations. And most of all, there's no warning about the mangled, lacerated state of your poor, innocent gums after their first exposure to this infernal machine.
My teeth were nice and clean, though.
I'm going to devote this week to building up enough courage to try it for a second time...
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
The Tire Iron and the Tamale...
Here's a story that will make you feel better about humanity, though not necessarily about your fellow Americans.
We live out in the sticks, far away from the bustling city (though I commute to work there most days). One of the things we cherish about living out here is precisely that if you are in need of help, chances are good that your neighbors (and folks that pass you on the roads) will stop and lend you a hand. But we're all too familiar with the feelings of the author about how that would work out “down the hill” in the city.
Debbie and I make a regular practice of stopping to help people or animals in need. Because I commute to work quite early in the morning, I'm fairly often the first to happen upon some unfortunate situation, and many is the time that I've stopped to assist. Similarly, when I've stopped for whatever reason, I've had my people stop to see if I was ok. When Debbie and I are on one of our road trips, we're off in some fairly remote areas, and again are sometimes the first to pass by someone in need of help. Most of the time when we stop to ask someone if they're ok, they're perfectly fine – they may have simply stopped to eat lunch or to enjoy the scenery. Often these people are quite surprised that anyone would bother stopping to check on them. Pleased, but surprised.
Personally I think this is one of cultural consequences of cities, those vast accumulation of nameless strangers in whom you cannot afford to trust. Outside the cities, that simply isn't so – we all lean on each other when we need some help, and we're all looking out for each other as well. Of course it's not quite so absolute – there are certainly untrustworthy people living outside the cities, and not everyone out here is going to be neighborly. But the proportions are definitely skewed out in the country, skewed in the direction that I am much more comfortable with.
I suspect that's what the author ran into. His benefactor, I'll guess, wasn't willing to help because he was a poor Mexican. He was willing to help because he came from the culture of the countryside, not the city...
We live out in the sticks, far away from the bustling city (though I commute to work there most days). One of the things we cherish about living out here is precisely that if you are in need of help, chances are good that your neighbors (and folks that pass you on the roads) will stop and lend you a hand. But we're all too familiar with the feelings of the author about how that would work out “down the hill” in the city.
Debbie and I make a regular practice of stopping to help people or animals in need. Because I commute to work quite early in the morning, I'm fairly often the first to happen upon some unfortunate situation, and many is the time that I've stopped to assist. Similarly, when I've stopped for whatever reason, I've had my people stop to see if I was ok. When Debbie and I are on one of our road trips, we're off in some fairly remote areas, and again are sometimes the first to pass by someone in need of help. Most of the time when we stop to ask someone if they're ok, they're perfectly fine – they may have simply stopped to eat lunch or to enjoy the scenery. Often these people are quite surprised that anyone would bother stopping to check on them. Pleased, but surprised.
Personally I think this is one of cultural consequences of cities, those vast accumulation of nameless strangers in whom you cannot afford to trust. Outside the cities, that simply isn't so – we all lean on each other when we need some help, and we're all looking out for each other as well. Of course it's not quite so absolute – there are certainly untrustworthy people living outside the cities, and not everyone out here is going to be neighborly. But the proportions are definitely skewed out in the country, skewed in the direction that I am much more comfortable with.
I suspect that's what the author ran into. His benefactor, I'll guess, wasn't willing to help because he was a poor Mexican. He was willing to help because he came from the culture of the countryside, not the city...
Libyan Rebels Making Progress?
It's hard to know what's really going on with all the conflicing reports flying about. Here's the clearest summary of the current state of Libyan affairs I've found...
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