Bad Education

I am constantly trying to unlearn things that I have been taught all my life. (Let me clarify, right off the bat, that this statement doesn't reflect upon my parents, to whom I genuinely owe a great deal with respect to imparted wisdom.) My desire for anti-education is directed at the society in which I grew up, the society in which we all live - The Society of the Spectacle - which Debord details in the book of that name. (A "capitalist society based on hierarchical power" will do just fine, for these purposes.) A few key concepts: consumption, possession, exchange value. These categories apply to objects, to be sure, but also to human beings, space, and time (consumption of my own "free" time, possession of the time of others, exchange of services)... all ideas that dictate my life in some form or other.

And I could live the rest of my life without forgetting that two slices of pizza equal a four-pack of energy-efficient light bulbs, or that an X-ray and dental consultation costs $50, or that I need to buy a new DVD player to get closer to the experience of going to a movie theatre. But I don't want to think in those terms anymore. It makes life trivial, and more and more, I notice how these concepts affect and direct my everyday life - my relationships with other people, my day-to-day activities, and what goes on inside my head. And I'm really getting tired of being controlled by abstract concepts.

Here's another one: recognition. One could also say "prestige," or even "success." "The injunction, everywhere, to 'be someone' maintains the pathological state that makes this society necessary. The injunction to be strong produces the very weakness by which it maintains itself, so that everything seems to take on a therapeutic character, even working, even love" (The Coming Insurrection by "The Invisible Committee). I just reread a section (First Circle: "I AM WHAT I AM") of this remarkable pamphlet, and something occurred to me that never had before: that the desire to be someone, and to be recognized by others (for accomplishments, for character, for appearance, whatever) can function as a means of separation. Wanting to be someone, and getting noticed by others for "being someone," actually sets one apart, removes one further from a shared connection with his or her fellow beings. Just a thought, and I won't go much further, only to say that, like the other concepts, I am deeply afflicted by this one, as I suspect most of us are, whether we admit it or not. It would be nice to get over that....

Account of a Root Canal

In the chair, initialing stacks of forms describing what they might do to me. Meet the doc. He looks pretty young.... But amiable enough. At ease, I am. Explain to him the tolerance I've developed toward novocaine. Doc says, "We'll give you double what you're used to. And would you like some nitrous oxide - to relax?" Hell yes. Inhaler over my nose, and within minutes my feet and legs are prickly. And then numb, as he injects the novocaine. Shortly thereafter, I hear a soft rock drumbeat. Then singing. The voice of Richard Marx? And it seems to be emanating from my nose. Doc and his assistant have left the room. I'll ask them about the soft rock coming from my nose when they get back. On second thought, better keep that to myself. More oxygen and I come to. And then wait.

Long time.

Doc is back to administer more of the nitrous. Pretty soon I understand completely all of Dennis Hopper's actions in Blue Velvet. And the Counting Crows trying to get into my nose.... Or out of it? Feeling blissful, except for the increasing duration (it's now been at least a half hour, probably more; lost all track of time) with which my jaw has been propped open. Like the portrait of the man in Munch's The Scream. And the discomfort makes my background swirl too. At a break, I reach for the block keeping my jaw agape - I just want to relax, and talk. (Jonah has had plenty of time to escape.) "No! Don't take that out." Doc cuts me off the nitrous, probably thinking I've had enough. Probably right.

And hours go by. Various X-rays, various complications, various repetitions of the same various procedures. Travel Channel has gone through two episodes of Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern, and on the second Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations. And all this time, being subjected to the most heinous sound to anyone who's ever spent any length of time in the dentist's chair - the drill - and I'm feeling fine, because I don't feel shit. It's awesome. I'm used to feeling the drill when I get a filling - a bizarre, deeply sensitizing sensation - but now I know why: not enough novocaine! A revelation. And then finally it's over.

(Figured out the soft rock too: it actually came from the speaker directly above my nose as I faced the ceiling. They almost had me fooled....)

I've always taken good care of my teeth. Floss once a day and brush at least twice. But I have what they call in the industry, "soft teeth." So I may have to get used to the above experience. Fine and good. Just gas me up and make me numb.