terse & at large

GRRRRR. Arrrgh. And sometimes a travel log.

Monday, April 12, 2004

D is for Dentist

Which is what I'll need soon.

It wasn't the best trip for X, whose repair bills just hit a new plateau: a blown tire (a Simex Centipede no less, one of those big-assed, heavy-duty ones that, when fitted on a normal car going at about 40 kph on normal asphalt roads, has the ability to replicate the sound of an M113 going at full throttle); one rim that got completely warped from the explosion of air from the aforementioned blown-tyre; a leaky radiator (from the car sitting on it for too long) that had us worried for the drive back to Singapore; and paint jobs for the bumper on the front-right side and the gash along the driver side body.

And not the best trip for me, for feeling the brunt of the blast from said tyre, which happened to have been directly under my left foot at that time. It felt like we ran into the brick wall. By noon the next day, while running about the car to attach, detach, and re-attach the tow cable, I was feeling my every step in the canines of the upper set and the premolars of the lower set.

Not that we didn't enjoy the trip.

It. Was. Kick-ass. To say the least. There were leech sightings (three confirmed bites, on and around the region of my toes), lots of mud, a couple of river crossings, difficult bridge crossings and enough obstacles to ensure that X had to check every once in a while to see if his testicles were still attached to his undersides. (I had it easy; I was only the co-driver and official photographer for X's 'Faces of Fear'. Hell, I don't own the car, though it would have been interesting trying to find alternative passage back to Singapore if anything had happened to the Freelander.) Everything I could have hoped for in an expedition like this.

Still, the deal with the teeth is a bit irritating. I'm giving myself one week for them to recover from being pounded into my jaw bones before I bite the bullet and go see my dentist.



On another note, Sprite is no longer The Languishing Cat.

The Cat, as Sprite puts it, has been put to rest.

The wesbite is no more because some people had too high an opinion of themselves (ie, everything had to be about them) and took everything said on her blog (stress on the word, 'her') a little too personally.

Again, let me reiterate: teachers don't talk about you all the time. We have lives outside of teaching that do not involve dealing with angsty minors. Frankly, we'd rather talk about our lives. You think life is shitty when you're a teen? Wait til you hit our age. If it sounds too a little familiar, a little too much like your life, it's because, believe it or not, teenagers, for all their wanting to be identified as individuals, are too fucking alike. You have a problem with authority? You want to rebel? You want to express your uniqueness? You want to bemoan that the world isn't fair and doesn't care and that everyone is against you? You are depressed, stressed and about to go postal? You are shocked that teachers will refer to students as 'damned kids'? Well, take a number and get in line. Jee-zus.

Anyway, that blog is no more. Sprite and the rest of us will just have to stay in touch with each other the old fashioned way: over good company and strong drink.

Which is the better way, IMHO, anyway.


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