I had my teeth cleaned yesterday. [Wow! How interesting! And what did you have for lunch? For dinner?] True, that's not a very compelling opening sentence for a blog post. Let me start over again.
Do you ever wonder what prompts memories you've not conjured up in years to crop up again to the forefront? Sit in a chair at a dentist's office while the XM station is set to the 70s lite rock option, and feel them wash right over you. If you're younger than me, and so many people in the world are, perhaps the station needs to be set to the 80s pop crap. No matter, you sit in the chair, and you time travel.
Neil Diamond's Cracklin' Rosie: My mother driving the station wagon, sans my father in the car, singing along to good old Neil. Which made me remember a childhood acquaintance whose mother was an Elvis nut. I remember looking at the Elvis concert tickets on the refrigerator and thinking, "Holy crap! That old lady is going to go to a concert?!"
Maureen McGovern's There's Got to be a Morning After: Wasn't this from the Poseidon Adventure? And didn't I really just want to choke on the horrid fluoride paste? Or was it the song that did it?
The Stones' Miss You: Yeah, finally something I could sink my teeth into. The summer of '78. Seven friends and I down at Myrtle Beach, camping and drinking and smoking and stumbling upon the Stones concert. Waiting outside the concert hall, debating pooling all our money to send two of us into the concert.
It could have been a worse dental visit, really. I could have kept flashing back on all of the dentists I've been to in my life: from the military brutes as a kid to the emergency root canal in college, to the dentist in my early 20s who made me take an anti-saliva pill because I generated too much spit to the dentist just before this one, the old white hippie who only had young Asian dental assistants because he liked ordering them around.
Now, go floss.