Dentists

Just when I was about to journal something...

The phone rings. The number is unfamiliar, but appears to be local. I answer:

[Me] Hello?

[Caller] Hi, it's Tracy from (local dental clinic that I visited 6 months ago) - this is just a courtesy reminder call for your six month check-up.

[Me] Oh. Ok. Thanks for calling, but strike me off your list - I've found another dentist.

~insert farewell salutations~

What Tracy doesn't know, and I was polite in not telling her, is the dentist she's employed by is the THIRD WORST dentist ever to stick gloved fingers into my mouth.

Six months ago, I had THE most agonizing tooth ache. I've had a few before, and have even personally pulled one of my own teeth that ached. I don't like dentists - never have - and might tell why later. Anyway, I had this ache.

In its early onset, I self-medicated with strong over-the-counter pain killers and oil-of-cloves (thanks to the book/movie Marathon Man for the heads-up on this!) As things got progressively worse, I succumbed and made an appointment with the aforementioned dentist.

I don't like dentists. I've never liked dentists. In the world of medicine, they're like optomitrists. But optomitrists aren't licenced to pull out eyeballs, nor drill holes into them. Something they don't teach dentists at their pseudo-medicine colleges.

But, I digress.

Anyways, I made the appointment and turned up dutifully and on time for my appointment - my tooth aching like a motherfucker.

Ordinarily, I am not "racist" by any stretch of the imagination, but the look of diplomas issued from various VietNamese "institutes of dental technition" should have been my first clue to grab my hat and run a mile. I gave the man the benefit of doubt.

I won't be petty and say I couldn't understand a word he said - about a subject that was about as far from my heart as my mouth is from my heart, and my mouth ached so much, I coulda almost ripped out my own heart with a bread knife, such was the pain in my mouth.

X-rays were taken. As they do. No sense in visiting a dental surgery unless you've been nuked with x-rays. When the (very non-vainglorious) pix returned, he declared words to the effect that I had some kind of bone disease in my jaw that he couldn't fix: not on the spot - not ever. Me, feeling somewhat disappointed by this, only paid the $97 bill because I had cash in my wallet and not a knife in my sock.

Feeling somewhat financially raped, and plotting all kinds of revenge against dentists generally, I went home and self-medicated again - this time adding vast quantities of dark rum. I won't lie and say this regime significantly lessened then pain, but the oil-of-cloves as a mixer with rum had a way of diluting thoughts of going ape-shit with a high-powered rifle with dentists in the crosshairs.

The following day, I made a new appointment with another dentist who, as it transpired, has my name. He's a locum in a larger clinic, but regularly works there. He confirmed what the previous dentist had said, however, he also (1) wrote a prescription for stronger drugs to alleviate the pain/cure of the infection and (2) negotiated a plan to "stabilize" the bone rot. That was six months ago.

If anything, Tracy has reminded me to make an appointment for a check-up with my newfound Savior of Glorious Teeth. I had a couple of smaller appointments with him after the first emergency and was told my teeth are actually in good repair. So, I'd like to keep it that way and daymn! if I'm going to make any routine follow-up appointment with a VietNamese Lawerence Olivier.

"Is it safe?"

In the words of children's songs, "No it's not!"

Mr P

Things that make me say 'fuck!'

PCs running Windoze that you turn off one day only to discover when you turn them back on the next, you find a whole bunch of regularly used devices and programs no longer have their drivers installed. And you know what? I'm not even remotely interested in an explanation as to why that might happen. Why? Let me put it this way.

I stepped into the computer world 21 years ago. Yes, this is my 'puter "coming of age". To continue the human age analogy, that first computer of mine was like a breech birth. It was an Atari-ST: its monitor was kinda deformed and funny and its B&W palate harkened back to television of the 1950s. It had 4 meg of RAM, which is to say, it was completely and utterly retarded by today's Terrabyte standards.

Yet, that computer traveled the world quite literally in a plastic milk crate. Now, in 2007, as it comes of age, I am proud to say that that little machine was never once sick with viruses. It's "operating system" was simple: supply electricity - after 21 years, it STILL does its farking job!

I feel like "supplying electricity" to the testicles of people who foisted Micro$oft onto the world. Your OS sucks more ass than an African Tapeworm.

Fuck it.

Is there death after life?

In recent years I've developed an interesting theory about this. People often ask the question, "Is there life after death?" I have died at least once that I can remember and now wonder whether the better question to ask is, "Is there death after life?" After my brief death, I came "back to life" but I'm not entirely convinced the life I came back to was the same one that I left. I notice lots of little subtle differences that could be quite spooky, if I allowed myself to be spooked by them. Taken to the extreme, I wonder if we don't die a little every time we sleep and dream - each day waking not just to a new day but to a new variation on life.

Science today points to "matter" - the substance of the universe - being something that "blinks" between being in existence and not being in existence. It's only the fact that particles of matter (which are simultaneously waveforms) are so small and that there are so many of them all blinking on and off at different frequencies that we perceive "continuity" in the universe. I've also come to believe that time isn't linear. Rather, time itself is periodic motion - a waveform. As a waveform it means that it moves through a 360 degree cycle - a circle - and that there is a point in time where its at zero. In other words, there is a point in time where nothing exists, just like when a single particle of matter vanishes, only to immediately come back into existence. More than this, the "big bang" isn't the beginning of time but simply this zero point in the periodic cycle of time.

Also interesting is, if it's the case that matter blinks on and off, it's perfectly analogous with the 1s and 0s of binary - the mother tongue of computers. This all sounds like The Matrix, but I don't believe in any kung-fu Super Jesus characters like Neo.

Getting back to life and death, we see life around us being born, growing and aging, and finally dying. But if everything in the universe is the duality of particles and waveforms, the "interference" of so many different frequency of vibrations is such that it creates the illusion of continuity that we perceive as life and death.

Ok, it's official: I am an insipient absent-minded professor!

It goes like this: I got all dressed up for my meeting and turned up at the arranged location with my usual pathological earliness. I read a bit (more of that later) as a kind of mental twiddling of the thumbs until 11 am rolled around. It came: it went. At 11.06 am I phoned the aforementioned to enquire as to his whereabouts, but "no answer" was the stern reply. I read some more. Maybe I got the time wrong. Maybe, the meeting was scheduled for 11.30 am. At 11.27 am I phoned again and got a reply:

Me: Hi, where are you?

Him: Did you call me earlier?

Me: Yes, I'm at (the place - I wasn't sure I had it right) - where are you?

Him: The meeting is tomorrow!

Me: (Thinking "tomorrow" is Saturday and wondering how I could have gotten it so wrong) It is? It IS Friday today, isn't it?

Him: (cell phone breaking up a bit) No, it's Thursday.

Me: Oh. Fuck. See you tomorrow.

*click*

Sometimes, it sucks to be me...

I've been patiently waiting for three months to hear whether or not I was successful in my scholarship application: I wasn't. The letter I received didn't explain why except to say, "There were a lot of applicants for relatively few scholarships." The italics are mine. How many is "relatively few"? Two? Seven hundred thirty-seven? This "relatively few" is in stark contrast to the bright, shiny, happy web page for scholarship prospects, published by the university, that gives the impression there is a money printing press owned by the university and virtually everybody who applies will be successful. I guess I'm not really surprised, but still. It's going to make things next year more financially difficult than I anticipated, but it won't be the first time in my life I've had to hustle to survive.

I mentioned in an earlier entry that I planned to move to Newcastle next year. That was dependant on getting a scholarship AND a bit of part-time work tutoring at the university. Now, unless I can wangle a full-time position, I'll stay put where I am and continue as an external student. It's a long-shot, but I have a meeting later today with my PhD supervisor and will discuss all of this with him. He has some influence there, but how much influence remains to be seen.

On a brighter note, only two more sleeps until my birthday. I'll be forty-five for the first time in my life! Yay! Numerologically, it's a 9 - a revolutionary number. Nine planets; nine Beethoven symphonies. In math number theory, 9 is a lucky number. So yeah, despite the setback, I'm looking forward to next year. Bring it on, baybee!

Pervert by Name: Pervert by Nature

It's official: I'm back on the prowl for a partner. I thought I'd put this little notice here in my blog rather than on my profile because, well, the person I'm looking for has to be interested in me and be willing to read. A lot. I like to write more than anything, and my favorite subject is me.

That might sound a bit stuck-up, I agree, but the person I'm looking for will laugh and understand entirely what I mean. I have a sense of humor, but not everybody thinks I'm funny. Ho-hum. Such is life.

I should probably say at the outset that I have Aspergers or, as some people say, Ass-burgers. What does this mean? Well, first of all it isn't a sexual ailment nor is it transmitted sexually or otherwise. It means, if I can believe the quacks who talk about it, that I have difficulty relating to people emotionally. I don't like to be hugged, for example. If you do that, I'll probably tell you to stop squeezing me. I don't like to be squeezed. That's what it feels like to me when I'm hugged.

If you have a baby or a cute puppy or cat, don't try thrusting it into my arms to hold and go gah-gah over. Sure, you may think these things are cute but to me, they're not. They're not ugly or repulsive or anything and I have an affinity for all kinds of animals (except fish), but if I want to demonstrate any show of affection, it needs to be on my own terms.

I'm not especially tolerant of crowds either. Sure, I've learned all the social skills necessary to interact with people in a crowd but ultimately, doing so either exhausts me or bores me. Sometimes both. I've been known to disappear from parties, even in my own home, without saying goodbye to people. Many people think I'm rude for doing so but if you take the time to get to know me, you'll understand. Incidentally, if people leave my party without saying goodbye to me, I don't usually think much of it.

People sometimes don't think I listen when they speak but believe me, I hear and comprehend everything. It's like a curse. I can be listening and taking notice of everything else going on in the world around and composing music or doing some other kind of mental gymnastics in my head at the same time. I can also meet people once and remember their names years later.

Need sympathy for some upset? Ask somebody else. It's not that I have no empathy - in fact, the reverse is often true. It often overwhelms me, and I don't like to be overwelmed emotionally. On the other hand, if you accidentally cut yourself, I'll be the first to provide practical assistance with a bandage or whatever.

I have an enormous capacity for knowledge and very wide ranging interests. The person I'm looking for will need to be similarly brainy. If this intimidates you, we're not a match. If it causes you any indignation or if you think you're smarter than me and try to challenge my intellect, you'll lose. Seriously. Maybe you really are smarter but if that were the case, you'd understand why such a game is dangerous and ultimately futile for you.

What else? Well, if this all sounds bad, there is a good side to Aspergers. I am a gifted composer and musician and delight in showing off my talents. I enjoy a great variety of musical styles too. If you don't like lots of different music, I won't be attracted to you in the least.

I'm not religious or even spiritual in any way, though I'm well read on the subjects and don't mind discussions. I'm not mystical either, though I do enjoy reading all the good things astrologers say about sagittarians. The bad things, while usually true, are ignored. Such is my nature. If you're an aquarian, stop reading now and just write to me! Gemini is supposed to be my second-most ideal partner, but I've never met one I liked. Not that I've met many, and I'm open to be proved wrong. Taurus is by far the least compatible for me - and I've met a lot of taureans. Virgo is supposed to be "good" for me - whatever that means.

So, if you've read this far and your eyes haven't rolled completely out of your head, message me.

Oh, and I should probably state, for the record, that my preference is for a woman in her thirties. Slightly over or under is OK, but my favorite boots are 25 years old, and I'm not wanting a partner who isn't as old as my boots. My preference is also for somebody at least remotely attractive. What does this mean? Well, put it this way. I'm 6' (182cm) tall and weigh 210lb (95kg). If you're heavier than me, particularly if you're taller (and especially if you're shorter), I'm not interested. Oh, and if you're shorter than 5' tall and/or weigh less than a bag of sugar, I'm not interested. So, I don't expect you to be a glamorous supermodel - just a person who looks after themself a bit. Incidentally, I'm a bum man and don't have any particular preference in the boob department.

Location? I suppose somebody local would be preferable but then, when I complete my PhD I intend to work overseas - most likely in the US. If you're an Australian, you'll need to be similarly mobile. If you're in the US or Canada, you'll need to be patient. If you're in the UK, the jury is out. Are the Poms in the UK any different to those in Australia? If not, we're not a match. If you're in Europe, hmm. I'd really like to learn to speak German if only so I could sound more domly when I give orders. Russian? Write to me. I'm currently trying to learn to speak it. If you're in China, "ni ho!" If you're in Antarctica, you're probably a crazy scientist and thus, interesting.

So, I suppose that's about it for now. Still reading? Bravo! I applaud your sense of humor and mental fortitude! Message me :-)

Mr P

Dr Mister Pervert

As readers of this blog may remember I decided to go to university last year and get a "real degree" as my Associate Diploma in Music (Jazz) just wasn't cutting it for me in getting a regular job. At the time I applied I had resigned myself to spending three years, starting from scratch to get a Bachelor's Degree in Music. At the time of my interview I was asked "Why haven't you applied to do a Post-Graduate course?" I had no idea at the time I could be eligible for entry but, after taking the advice of the interviewers, applied and was accepted into a Post-Grad Certificate.

There was a small downside to this: if I'd gone into an undergraduate course I could have deferred payment of fees. As it was, there was no such deferrment plan available in Post-Grad courses however, each level of Post-Grad (Certificate, Diploma and Masters) was only six months long and so I figured I could be out of there with a Masters by Coursework in Music in 18 months, all for the princely sum of $18,000AU, give or take a few dollars.

I finished last year with a Post-Grad Diploma in hand, and a grade point average of 6.5 (out of 7). I had a very supportive music faculty friend who encouraged me to apply for a Masters by Research degree and, to cut a long story short, was accepted into that at the beginning of this year. While I knew this would now take a further two years study, where I could have gotten a Masters by Coursework in six months, there wasn't a fee involved and thus I managed to save myself around six grand.

Anyway, the aforementioned faculty friend (who was also my research supervisor by this time) transferred in July to a kick-ass job as Professor and Chair of Music at another University. He encouraged me to apply to transfer my studies to follow him, which I did, but he also said my work was of a PhD standard and that I should apply for the higher degree. This I also did and lo! if I wasn't accepted.

Now, the rules at this other university say they expect PhD students to complete their research not less than two years and not more than four. As it is, I am already advanced enough in my research to aim to complete in two years but, get this! They also are giving me six months credit for work already done at the Masters level. What this means is I have a good shot at completing my PhD by the end of next year. In short, I started at the beginning of last year with virtually no academic history behind me at all and will have, in three years, gone from scratch to a PhD.

So, yeah! Not bad going, even if I do say so myself.

Oh, and it also now looks very promising that I'll get my academic career started as early as next year. Not that I believe in palm reading, but I had my palms read when I was sixteen or so. I was told all those years ago I'd have two large financial peaks in my life: the first in my early thirties and a second and larger one in the years following my forty-fifth birthday. The first prediction came true and I'll be turning 45 at the end of this year. Maybe there really is something in that palm reading hocus-pocus?