Would you believe it? I'm getting a root canal. Or at least that's what the dentist I made the appointment with for tomorrow (Wed.) at 10am is guessing needs to happen, based on my symptoms. A funny thing: two weeks ago, when I went into ER w/the kidney stone (referred to by me from here on in as "the Kid"), the doctor asked me to rate the pain in my stomach on a one-to-ten scale. I was like, "Well, that's easy! I'm a critic--I do that with records all the time!" So I said it was a consistent 7 with occasional leaps into 8 or 9--sort of like an inspired journeyman, a Richard Thompson of pain. After all the tests and the catscan and all the doc was like, "I thought it was a kidney stone right away, but you said it was only a 7 on the pain scale," and I was like, "Well, I didn't wanna overrate it . . . "

Today, when I was talking to the dentists' nurse over the phone, she asked me for various symptoms (lower left molar, next-to-last in the row; off and on for over a year, but especially intense the past two weeks; everything aggravates it, not just heat and cold), came the question: "On a scale from one to ten . . . " And this time I was ready: "9. And sometimes 10." Fuck this underrating shit, I'm in friggin' PAIN, and I want as many meds as they'll give me--to hell with whatever namby-pamby excuse/s I've been making for this thing of late. If life's gonna suck for me for three weeks straight (barring friends visiting and the fact that I am in fact still alive and breathing and eating and whatnot, but you know what I mean), I might as well get something to take care of it.

By the way, and the first two sentences of this post were cribbed from Keith, who cribbed them from Huey "Piano" Smith, who also had the rockin' pneumonia, the boogie woogie flu, the tu-ber-cu-lucas, the sinus blues, high blood pressure, a pop-eye, a free and single disengagement, a drag-queen singer, some of the greatest nonsense lyrics ever written, Earl Palmer on drums, and the best left hand in New Orleans this side of Fats Domino's. He also made "Little Liza Jane," maybe the hardest-rocking record of the '50s, which if I had MP3-blog capabilities I'd upload right this second.