Medical Miracles
In the middle of the last week, I realised that there were two things that I had to do at the beginning of February. One was attending a visiting friend's concert, and the other was visiting the dentist's office. I decided to get the latter out of the way first.
I'm not fond of visiting the dentist. There isn't a lot of pain, but they always think that I'm on drugs, and it's not for the usual reasons. But I went. I dealt with it. I did it in service of enjoying my friend's show with a clear head.
Actually, I should talk about that show for a moment. The band's called Tropical Dripps, and the friend who started it was Hot Apollo's first bassist. We parted amicably when he realised that he had to be the leader of his own band, and he's been making a success of that plan since. You can check them out at tropicaldripps.bandcamp.com. You really should.
Anyway, after I'd finished the day's business at the dentist's office, they sent me on my way with a record, which I promptly forgot to remove from my bag.
My next lapse of memory came on the following day when I left for the Dripps show at a local sushi house without my identification. This can be partially attributed to the fact that I generally don't think of the need for such things at a restaurant, but apparently some places have age limits at night. I don't know, man. I'm no restaurateur. I don't even spend much time at the places.
I get there around midnight. After a casual discussion with the doorman about the necessity of identification, I begin to leave. As I stand by the door, my fingers sift through the contents of my bag in vain hope for some form of salvation. That's when I realise that I still have the record from my dental appointment. It has no picture, but it has my birth date and a variant of my name. At this point in the night, that's enough for the doorman.
When I got in, I discovered that I'd missed my friend's set, but I got to see the guy for the first time in ages, and I found some enjoyment in the performances of the other bands.
In the end, I was gratified to note that my reluctant visit to the dentist, which I'd scheduled mainly to heighten my enjoyment of the weekend, was actually crucial to enacting my weekend plans at all.
Bonus Question!
Best tooth? Sweet.