Drillz to your headz

But, I love you!

But, I love you!

The Melt show
I walked into the dentist’s office two weeks ago for the first time in … many, many years (I think it was the same year Melt-Banana released Speak Squeak Creak—look it up! I know you want to!). Of course, I was a little nervous. I pictured them probing my mouth with a sharp hooked instrument, maybe ripping a few teeth out of my skull, and then telling me with a look of disappointment that they would have to open my chest and go up through my esophagus in order to reach my damaged roots.

Then I ran away. Far, far away.

Rock out with your drill out!
I actually went through with it, and when all was said and done, they told me I would need to have three wisdom teeth extracted and that I had three cavities … my first ever. Not bad!

Remember kids: More than a decade without a dentist visit, combined with years of gluttonous consumption of Hot Tamales and avoiding floss like a Czechoslovakian prostitute and you, too, can keep a relatively disease-free mouth.

(Actually … don’t ever listen to me. Ever.)

I’d never had any drilling done before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. For my cleanings I had only dealt with the hygienists. But for the fillings they brought out the main man, Dr. Scott.

I think they keep him behind a curtain until he’s ready to operate. He’s like the headliner, the ultimate rock star. Dr. Scott came out, mask on, made a little small talk, and went right to work. The guy drilled teeth like he was walking the dog, whistling, glancing occasionally at the passersby who walked by the open room.

He even whistled along to the music playing softly in the background, courtesy of the Mix 95.1. My cavity-filling soundtrack went something like this:

1. “Do You Believe in Love,” Huey Lewis and the News

2. “Billie Jean,” Michael Jackson

3. “Burnin’ for You,” Blue Öyster Cult

4. “Clumsy,” Fergie (not funny)

5. Something by Foreigner

The procedure was done before I knew it … I felt a little ripped off, and I told Dr. Scott that maybe he should drill a couple more teeth. I was still quite numb after leaving, and I think I might have scared a few people when I asked them politely to punch me in the face.

All you need is love I’m starting to get all sentimental about leaving Chico. Every time I see the guitarist for Vext Intent at a show, I want to walk up and give him a big hug and say, “I really am an unreadable crap journalist! I love you, man!”

It’s been a strange couple of weeks for sure. I’m just happy to see that before I make my departure, a couple of downtown staples will be up and running again. I just walked into the new downtown music store Headz-Up (Get it?! It’s a head shop!), formerly The Underground. It’s under new management, and the kind clerk assured that the new proprietors are younger and more in touch with all things cool than the previous ones.

Headz-Up looks like a smaller version of The Underground, with a selection of used and new CDs, records, posters, other forms of packaged rebellion and, of course, the naughty room.

It’s been at its new Third Street location for a few weeks, but I was surprised there was little fanfare to go along with the opening of the only music store (other than Melody, of course) in Chico. I wish them the best … it’s not easy these days.

But that’s not all! Dino’s, formerly Team Players, is going to open soon under new management as The Dugout in that classic space below Lost On Main. Look for it soon, at least by Saturday, Sept. 27, when Meredith J. Cooper will hold a fundraising pool tournament for her bid to become Big Brothers Big Sisters’ Big Celebrity.

She’s going up against deejay Tony Cox, Blue Santa (huh?) and KFM’s Wheezal Dog, who I just saw down two Heinekens at once at a recent comedy show. Awesome, dawg!

Oh, it brings a tear to the eye; but I’m saving the really sappy stuff for next week. Be prepared.

Uno más, amigos mios