I've finally figured out who is drawn to becoming a dentist: Not sadists, as Steve Martin so enthusiastically portrayed in Little Shop of Horrors -- that's too easy. And the dentist I went to today -- a specialist my regular dentist sent me too -- was actually very cool, and it didn't hurt much at all.

No, the people who hear the call of dentistry are those who are in love with the sound of their own voice, but unwilling to talk to themselves.

The guy I saw today was a classic case. I mentioned that I lived in Hong Kong. He proceeded to strap a dental dam (a piece of latex to keep the tooth dry, for those of you not up on your dental hardware/safe sex tools) over my mouth, anchor a suction device under my tongue, attack my teeth with picks and drills, and launch into a "discussion" about Hong Kong and Japan. Could I respond? Of course not!

He was still quite a nice guy, although I disagreed with his take on Japan. Not that I could tell him that.

So yes, I had a quasi-root-canal today. Like I said, this guy was good, and I didn't feel any pain. Even now, with the Novocaine wearing off, I'm in surprisingly good shape. I'm going to eat soft food for the next couple of days, but I'm doing ok. He managed to take out the nerve without my being aware of it and put a temporary filling in without eating up the entire day. I was impressed. He also has an office on the 20th floor of a building on Wabash, meaning I had an amazing view of the lake from the dentists chair.

Alas, such views (and skills) come at a price. Poing! Thank god for dental insurance. And medical flex spending accounts.