"You've just been impaled by paper points," said my dentist in the middle of my latest bout of Dental Hell. No idea what that means. All I know is that my gum is swollen, my mouth feels as if it's been stretched to admit a bowling ball, and all I want to do is ... well, nothing. Thus, these Random Bullets of Root-Canal Recovery:
Unless I'm hallucinating, I just heard on the radio that the minor-league baseball team in Akron, the Rubber Ducks, will play a series against the Richmond Flying Squirrels. This is what happens when you put toddlers in charge of naming baseball teams. (I'm rooting for Underdog.)
Jill Lepore's long New Yorker essay "Joe Gould's Teeth" makes for some really interesting reading, touching on topics as diverse as the nature of biography, the brutality of authorial friendships, and the heyday of the prefontal lobotomy. For chuckles, though, nothing beats "Mitt Romney's Slumber-Party Diary" by Paul Rudnick. ("'I mean, what kind of unions do they have in Wisconsin, anyway? Cows and chickens?'")
I saw an acquaintance in the grocery store today and almost ducked down the next aisle to avoid her because who wants to talk to a grieving widow with a mouth full of novocaine? (Meaning my mouth was full of novocaine, not hers.) But I'm glad I stopped for a chat because we somehow managed to mutually encourage each other. (And I somehow avoided drooling all over myself too.)
Too much summer squash? Yesterday I baked a summer squash bundt cake containing ground pecans and dates, and my my my was it good. However, it called for only one cup of grated squash, which won't put a dent in my squash supply unless I make a lot more cake. In which case I'll have plenty to share. Come on over!