American Fez

'Imagine you're an astronaut experiencing significant gravitational force during blast-off,' I told myself while almost horizontal in the dentist's chair, my poor face exhibiting a ridiculous rictus grin. 'Per ardua ad astra,' as they say in sky pilot circles. Being called from the waiting room certainly felt like exiting Earth's atmosphere; and entering this surgical room a good approximation of climbing into some NASA rocket's capsule.  Now, after the novocaine, I'm drifting in outer space between hitherto unknown nebulas and hazy stars. That overhead lamp has become double moons, quickly eclipsed by a Martian warlord wearing mint-green scrubs, who approaches with his science-fiction tools of tooth and gum torture.  But I am Captain Fez, trained to withstand any pain in the known Universe, even a root canal like the one that made Flash Gordon cry.  Meanwhile, in another stratosphere, strands of silvery dental floss are sucked into a Black Hole that...

Sometimes I feel like an old library book: a musty hardback that has lost its dust-cover, with yellowed pages and coffee stains, and a few confusing sentences underlined in ballpoint pen. There's an abandoned bookmark inserted at chapter twelve, as far as most readers get before giving up. After all, the hero is not that engaging, never mind actually heroic. The plot is pretty much non-existent and you know who is the murderer is when you're only about halfway through. So it's more of a Why Would Anyone Bother rather than Whodunnit type of mystery. Last borrowed in 1975 according to the librarian's stamp, apparently by mistake. Still, even though it's just a predictable novel about nothing in particular, at least it's a book. And it's better than feeling like the local supermarket circular, with which many citizens I see out on the street must secretly identify. Stare into their eyes and you will see 'on-sale' coupons for fruit flavored cans of soda....

As the leaves make their final farewells to the trees, I also bid adieu to Cedar Street. I was watching the world from my window when I made the decision to depart. There has to be a room with a better view than this, I told myself; a superior rectangle of world somewhere else that's more inspiring that this present portrait of quotidian ennui.  Perhaps it was just the net curtain irritating my face again, but I knew it was time to move on. Just take a look for yourself: Commuter traffic struggles over the speed bumps in the street. The mailman shuffles down the sidewalk with his burden of unwanted consumer catalogs and credit card bills. Screaming children are dragged to school by exhausted parents. A homeless man collapses on the curb wondering where it all went wrong. All the neighborhood front and back yards have been paved over, so the early bird can catch no worm, fluttering aimlessly from wire to wire instead. And in the nooks and crannies of the cul-de-sac, a stray dog that...

I never understood why the protagonist in 'Eat, Pray, Love' traveled to three different countries to sample food, transcendence, and romance. Elizabeth Gilbert could easily have experienced all three in Naples and saved on her airfare.  After all, Napoli, besides being the home of pizza, is also a city of many fascinating churches and Sophia Loren. Its centro storico is quite different than the lungomare or the affluent neighborhood of Chiaia, so Elizabeth could at least feel like she was visiting three different environments despite remaining within the confines of the capital of Campania. But I would never presume to find fault with the logic of an international bestseller (although such editorial changes would certainly have reduced the budget of the movie adaptation). In fact, with enough ITA Airways air miles, a smart person could Eat, Pray, Love for free in Napoli. Well, the pizza would be about ten euros or so. Entering the Duomo is free but you'd surely leave a do...

You may notice the appearance of American Fez has changed. It is not as debonair as it once was; it's dressed down now and not as polished or well-groomed as previously. All its former 'sprezzatura' has been eliminated in favor of simple, utilitarian presentation. Suffice it say, the American Fez is no longer turning heads at Design Central. In fact, this poor blog would probably be unceremoniously ejected from Design Central and its membership card ripped into tiny pieces. This unfortunate tate of affairs occurs because I've been forced to switch blogging platforms from fashion-conscious Typepad to sweatpant-clad Blogger. So not only have I been required to swap my glad rags for plain old rags, I've also had to mess around with the so-called Domain Mapping (which is like trying to learn to tie your shoelaces with your teeth). Consequently, I'm not ever sure if loyal readers can even find me and my nonsense anymore. So if you are legacy reader from bygone days...

Life is a supermarket featuring maze-like aisles stocked with a variety of different experiences: some fresh and organic, many often frozen TV dinners, and a lot canned in gooey syrup. You'll need help getting what you want down from the top shelf, and you'll find yourself put in the awkward position of asking a sullen stranger with a name tag if there's more of it stored out back. Don't forget your discount coupons and loyalty cards when you go shopping. And it's best to make a list before you visit, although that's impossible unless you've been reincarnated. So how did you end up pushing the shopping cart with the broken wheel? Difficult to maneuver and causing obstructions in the personal care section. Perhaps you should have just taken a basket instead? After all, you only came in to pick up a few things. The basics. At least that's what you told yourself. So much for the Ten Items Or Less lane idea. Ah well, you'll just have to wait in the long...