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Only some of us come off like stars
There is no redeeming value to this post. Be warned.
I get my teeth from my father rather than my mother, meaning I've still never had a cavity as opposed to fillings in every tooth with occasional crowns by the time I was twenty, but I grind them badly enough that a few years ago I bit into a nectarine and cracked a half-circle out of one of my front teeth. It was traumatizing; I believe I responded by making a playlist about monsters and going to bed with the complete works of an obscure Polish playwright. So I wear a nightguard, which I dislike, but it keeps me from needing more of my bite filled in with composite; that was an even more demoralizing experience. My teeth are a lot blunter now than they used to be.
I dropped the nightguard down the toilet this morning. I didn't even fumble it: it popped out of my mouth with more than the expected force and made a straight shot down the porcelain, one of those nightmare bits of comedy you couldn't restage if you were trying. I don't think of myself as the sort of person who exclaims in moments of crisis, but somebody was certainly wailing, "Oh, God, I don't even know how that happened!" I had been awake for maybe five minutes, if by awake you mean I was on my feet and at least one of my eyes was open. It was not a good introduction to the day.
And there are worse problems to have, okay, I can name you half a dozen without even starting in on terminal illness, but I am already feeling financially fragile—my gift to the friend whose wedding I'm attending this upcoming weekend in Maryland is that I'll be there at all—and not at my best and I don't like breaking things. And all of my dreams last night were nightmares. Usually, the one bright side to that state is that when you finally wake up, things haven't gotten worse.
So tonight I am supposed to see Alex Cox's Revengers Tragedy (2002) at the Harvard Film Archive with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rushthatspeaks and some other people, and if it's raining too heavily for a group outing, I'm still going to the movie, because it's either that or kill something myself. But I'd rather just be going because I like post-apocalyptic blood all over the stage. And Christopher Eccleston.
I get my teeth from my father rather than my mother, meaning I've still never had a cavity as opposed to fillings in every tooth with occasional crowns by the time I was twenty, but I grind them badly enough that a few years ago I bit into a nectarine and cracked a half-circle out of one of my front teeth. It was traumatizing; I believe I responded by making a playlist about monsters and going to bed with the complete works of an obscure Polish playwright. So I wear a nightguard, which I dislike, but it keeps me from needing more of my bite filled in with composite; that was an even more demoralizing experience. My teeth are a lot blunter now than they used to be.
I dropped the nightguard down the toilet this morning. I didn't even fumble it: it popped out of my mouth with more than the expected force and made a straight shot down the porcelain, one of those nightmare bits of comedy you couldn't restage if you were trying. I don't think of myself as the sort of person who exclaims in moments of crisis, but somebody was certainly wailing, "Oh, God, I don't even know how that happened!" I had been awake for maybe five minutes, if by awake you mean I was on my feet and at least one of my eyes was open. It was not a good introduction to the day.
And there are worse problems to have, okay, I can name you half a dozen without even starting in on terminal illness, but I am already feeling financially fragile—my gift to the friend whose wedding I'm attending this upcoming weekend in Maryland is that I'll be there at all—and not at my best and I don't like breaking things. And all of my dreams last night were nightmares. Usually, the one bright side to that state is that when you finally wake up, things haven't gotten worse.
So tonight I am supposed to see Alex Cox's Revengers Tragedy (2002) at the Harvard Film Archive with
rushthatspeaks and some other people, and if it's raining too heavily for a group outing, I'm still going to the movie, because it's either that or kill something myself. But I'd rather just be going because I like post-apocalyptic blood all over the stage. And Christopher Eccleston.
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Hopefully the amount of bloodletting that the Revenger's Tragedy invokes will slake your need to kill something yourself, since I don't fancy what the results of that might look like.
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Thank you. It just isn't helping that "Er, lost it down the john" sounds like an incredibly irresponsible reason for needing a replacement.
Hopefully the amount of bloodletting that the Revenger's Tragedy invokes will slake your need to kill something yourself, since I don't fancy what the results of that might look like.
It is true that if I promised to be at a wedding, I should make sure not to spend that weekend in jail.
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It does beat "I sent it to the Will It Blend? people to see what they could do with it." as a reason why you don't have it.
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It is an amazingly wonderful film.
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I saw it at Yale on bootleg British video; I've been hoping for years I'd catch it on the big screen. I loved it then.
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It did, in fact, make me feel better.
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Indeed.
Teeth really strike to a deep level of vulnerability.
*hugs*
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Mine are reasonably well-behaved except when they remind me how much stress I'm still under.
Thanks.
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I am kind of counting on that.
Renée who directed The Lady's Not for Burning (I'd use her livejournal handle if I knew it) said The Revenger's Tragedy was the only other play she was still thinking about directing. I don't think I have any ability to make that happen, but I'd so go and see it if it did.
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Sorry to hear about your nightguard!
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I have very fond memories of it!
Sorry to hear about your nightguard!
Thanks. It just feels incredibly stupid. And stupid and expensive are a bad combination.
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I never quite made that connection.
Thank you, I think.
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The Revengers Tragedy sounds like a much better choice than killing yourself. Admittedly, there's self-interest in my judgment as I'd miss you if you were gone. But even subtracting out the self-interest, I think it's definitely the better choice.
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Heh. Appreciated. I will point out that—for once—I was contemplating homicide.
This could be a sign of improvement!
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Thanks. Mine is—was—somewhat chunkier and more retainer-like, but I did notice that it was actually chewing away. It didn't reassure me.
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II hope Revengers Tragedy cheers you up. You need a bit of brilliantly exhilarating tragedy after that curtain-raiser of depressing farce.
Nine
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The film is black, black comedy, but it was great.
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*hugs* over the nightguard.
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We saw it in a 35 mm print from Cox's own collection, with burned-in French subtitles. I'd never seen it in a theater before; see above to
*hugs* over the nightguard.
Thanks.
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For what it's worth, and I hope you don't mind my making the suggestion, one friend of mine tells me she uses an athletic mouthguard, which are much cheaper than the dental ones.* I've been intending to try it myself, as my own is nearly worn out but I don't want to spend the money for a new one, but I haven't done yet, so I can't speak to whether it actually works from personal experience or not. Still, it might be worth looking at them, I suppose. I hope that's not completely unhelpful to you.
I'm sorry for the nightmares as well, and I hope tonight will be a better one.
I hope the group outing has worked out, and I hope in any event that you've seen the film and that it's made you feel better, at least a little bit.
I'd like to see it sometime, myself--the concept of a Jacobean play made into a post-apocalyptic film appeals to me. I'd rather hope you've not felt the need to go killing anything yourself, because that tends to be illegal and even when it's not it's generally messy.
*The ones she's talking about, I gather, are the non-customised ones sold in sporting goods stores. For that matter, I think they used to be sold in drug stores, at least when I was a child.
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It works brilliantly. Portions of the dialogue are translated into contemporary Liverpool slang. And the one substantial alteration to the plot—to make the antihero's sister an active participant in the revenge as opposed to a piece in the game—I approve of wholeheartedly; Carla Henry's Castiza is awesome.
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...to make the antihero's sister an active participant in the revenge as opposed to a piece in the game...
That does sound an appropriate alteration. I'll keep my eye out for a chance to see it.
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Interesting. The ones I remember seeing were just sort of massive clunky things that I don't think had any boiling for semi-customisation at all. I really ought to at least go look at what's available.
I didn't even know there WERE fully customized ones.
I was told I had a tooth grinding problem and that I needed one made for me at some point when I still had dental insurance, which, as I think on it, is really a ridiculously long time ago.
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Also, health b.s. and money b.s. never make for good bedfellows. And yes, I count dental matters as health issues, even ones decidedly not posing an immediate emergency.
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*hugs* appreciated. Thank you. I should probably indicate to the internet at large that I haven't chucked myself off a bridge or gone on a Jacobean killing spree; I saw the dentist this morning.