Root Canal Quotes

dating you would be like a series of unnecessary root canals interspersed with occasional makeout sessions.

Love is the grand prize and the garbage heap. Love is a spiritual root canal and the only thing that makes life worth living. Love is a little taste of always and a big bite of nothing. And love is everything in between these extremes.

Look, we are dealing with the possibility of an army of demons. I don’t know about you guys, but those words are right up there with ‘root canal’ and ‘school on Saturdays’ in terms of things that terrify me.

This is how we go on: one day at a time, one meal at a time, one pain at a time, one breath at a time. Dentists go on one root-canal at a time; boat-builders go on one hull at a time. If you write books, you go on one page at a time. We turn from all we know and all we fear. We study catalogues, watch football games, choose Sprint over AT&T. We count the birds in the sky and will not turn from the window when we hear the footsteps behind us as something comes up the hall; we say yes, I agree that clouds often look like other things - fish and unicorns and men on horseback - but they are really only clouds. Even when the lightening flashes inside them we say they are only clouds and turn our attention to the next meal, the next pain, the next breath, the next page. This is how we go on.

Tie me up, please..." Chantal said. They looked above at some vines and roots hanging down from the grassy area above the depression in the canal they were standing in. She was in his hands—he had to comply. A little bit of kink was one of the most delicious of erotic pleasures. Catholic school girls were often the horniest—Brett could hardly contain his elation.

Look, you’re right. Maybe I don’t like you the way someone should like you. I don’t like you in the call-you-and-read-you-a-poem-every-night-before-you-go-to-bed way. I’m crazy, okay? Sometimes I think, like, God, she’s superhot and smart and kind of pretentious but the pretentiousness just makes me kind of want her, and then other times I think it’s an amazingly bad idea, that dating you would be like a series of unnecessary root canals interspersed with occasional makeout sessions.

A monochrome Jackson Pollock," Jane says, and then tells Tiny, "We gotta bolt. This band is like a root canal sans painkiller".

Successful investors … must possess an interest in the process. It’s no different from carpentry, gardening, or parenting. If money management is not enjoyable, then a lousy job inevitably results, and, unfortunately, most people enjoy finance about as much as they do root canal work.

Perhaps we should explore some other options before swanning off to Ireland,” Dad said, pushing his glasses up. “After all, Sophie, you’ve been through quite the ordeal.” “I’ll nap on the plane. Look, we are dealing with the possibility of an army of demons. I don’t know about you guys, but those words are right up there with ‘root canal’ and ‘school on Saturdays’ in terms of things that terrify me. Were already three weeks behind. We don’t have time to just sit here and explore options or read more books or listen to more half-assed prophecies from this jerk,” I said, pointing to Torin. He made a gesture that I think was the old-timey version of flipping me off. “So, yeah,” I continued. “Maybe this is a totally stupid idea. But if there’s even a chance one of us can get into the underworld, then we have to take it.” “Okay, I do like you,” Finley said, flashing me a grin.

L'Avventura,' Dad said, 'has the sort of ellipsis ending most American audiences would rather undergo a root canal than be left with, not only because they loathe anything left to the imagination-we're talking about the country that invented spandex-but also because they are a confident, self-assured nation. They know Family. They know Right from Wrong. They know God-many of them attest to daily chats with the man. And the idea that none of us can truly know anything at all-not the lives of our friends or family, not even ourselves-is a thought they'd rather be shot in the arm with their own semi-automatic rifle than face head-on. Personally, I think there's something terrific about not knowing, relinquishing man's feeble attempt to control. When you throw up your hands, say, "Who knows?" you can get on with the sheer gift of being alive.

Face of an angel, body of a Greek god, personality of a root canal.

I have no interest in looking at all of that shit written down. I would rather have a root canal. In 1705.

Working with your ex-husband was almost as much fun as a double root canal. Without anesthesia. Doing it in front of television cameras was four impacted wisdom teeth thrown in.

I remembered the last time I put this thing into my eye it was more painful than watching old political speeches while listening to the “Macarena” and having a root canal performed by an angry, clumsy chimp.

Our marvelous electronic devices can seduce us into believing we are hard at work, but we are merely sending and receiving insignificant messages, while the real work goes undone, day after day, week after week, year after year. Real thinking and grappling hurt like hell. That’s why so many people avoid it like a root canal.

He was shaking his head as he read some of the words that were written in the pie sections of the wheel; Meat Snatch, Gash and Stitch, Jaws of Life, Tongue Twister, Enema of Horror, Nailed, Dissection, Musical Hair Patches, Eye Deflation, Intestinal Jump Rope, Cooked Until Dripping, Spoon of Pain, Needle Works, Ball Squats, Cut and Rip, Two Headed Cock, Bone Collector, Joint Screws, Fused, Human Tesla Coil, Barbed Wired, Shit Faced, Root and Rod, Colon Blow, Skin Deep, Boiling Nuts, Sewn, Muscle Stimulator, Urethra Tug-o-war, Crack a Cap, Tendon Rubber Bands, Weenie Roast, Musical Extremities, Root Canal, Needle Mania, Tattooed Wall Art, Rod and Prod, Slice and Dice, Sex Change and Torched Beyond Recognition. I

Mom dropped a bomb three years ago when she announced that she was leaving my dad to live in Cancun with her massage therapist, Pedro. Ever since then, when it came to me and guys, Dad was less than thrilled. He (on many occasions) has declared that he would rather experience a root canal with no anesthesia than see me date a high school boy. Or any boy. Ever.

...the story of colonial-era America, rerun across an infinite frontier...All of which was fine, until the day you needed root-canal dentistry. Or your e-book reader broke down. Or you worried whether your kids were ever going to learn anything more than how to plough a field or trap a rabbit. Or you got sick of the mosquitoes. Or, damn it, you just wanted to go shopping.

It's kind of freaky to send your picture over the Internet to someone you don't really know and then have to sit waiting for their judgement on how you look. Maybe that's why my aunt Penny, who got divorced two years ago, hates online dating so much. Mom's always nagging her to go back on Match.com but Aunt Penny says she'd rather have root canal work - without anesthetic.

The Vedic people stopped interbreeding with the earlier local population and began to talk of purity only when they no longer needed women from outside their community as wives, because they now had enough girl-children whose early mixed roots, they decided, did not matter. And the British came up with their racist notions of not mixing with Indians only after the Suez Canal opened and there were fast steamships bringing white British women to India in search of British husbands. Purity is a convenient political myth floated by the powerful to justify brutal apartheid.

The money changers sat on benches on a busy bridge over the Grand Canal, so they were called banchieri, which translates as “bench-sitters,” and which is the root of our words banker and bank.

This fear that we might regress to our childhood roles- me the golden child, Brett the repobate- was a fire that nothing could put out entirely. At least you didn't have a shitty childhood, she would say whenever something bad happens to me in adulthood, as though I had no right to complained if I had to get a root canal done not because I was mom's favorite growing up. What Brett never understood was that mom preferred me because she could control me, and that made for a shitty childhood in its own right. I was the yes daughter, and for the record what that got me wasn't love. What that got me was a lowering limbo bar, until I couldn't bend any beeper. So I Snapped.

This is how we go on: one day at a time, one meal at a time, one pain at a time, one breath at a time. Dentists go on one root-canal at a time; boat-builders go on one hull at a time. If you write books, you go on one page at a time. We turn from all we know and all we fear. We study catalogues, watch football games, choose Sprint over AT&T. We count the birds in the sky and will not turn from the window when we hear the footsteps behind us as something comes up the hall; we say yes, I agree that clouds often look like other things—fish and unicorns and men on horseback—but they are really only clouds. Even when the lightning flashes inside them we say they are only clouds and turn our attention to the next meal, the next pain, the next breath, the next page. This is how we go on.

Do you know what it means to be discontented? It is very difficult to understand discontent, because most of us canalize discontent in a certain direction and thereby smother it. That is, our only concern is to establish ourselves in a secure position with well-established interests and prestige, so as not to be disturbed. It happens in homes and in schools too. The teachers don't want to be disturbed, and that is why they follow the old routine; because the moment one is really discontented and begins to inquire, to question, there is bound to be disturbance. But it is only through real discontent that one has initiative. Do you know what initiative is? You have initiative when you initiate or start something without being prompted. It need not be anything very great or extraordinary - that may come later; but there is the spark of initiative when you plant a tree on your own, when you are spontaneously kind, when you smile at a man who is carrying a heavy load, when you remove a stone from the path, or pat an animal along the way. That is a small beginning of the tremendous initiative you must have if you are to know this extraordinary thing called creativeness. Creativeness has its roots in the initiative which comes into being only when there is deep discontent.

Ms. Mori offered me her cheek to kiss and Sonny offered me his hand to shake. He showed me the door and I slid home through the cool sheets of night and into my own bed, Bon asleep and hovering above me in his rack. I closed my eyes and, after a spell of darkness, floated on my mattress across a black river to the foreign country that needed no passport to visit. Of its many gnomic features and shady denizens I now recall only one, my mind wiped clean except for this fatal fingerprint, an ancient kapok tree that was my final resting place and on whose arthritic bark I laid my cheek. I was almost asleep within my sleep when I gradually understood that the knot of gnarled wood on which my ear rested was actually an ear itself, curled and stiff, the wax of its auditory history encrusted in the green moss of its twisted canal. Half of the kapok tree towered above me, half was invisible below me in the rooted earth, and when I looked up I saw not just one ear but many ears swelling from the bark of its thick trunk, hundreds of ears listening and having listened to things I could not hear, the sight of those ears so horrible it hurled me back into the black river. I woke drenched and gasping, clutching the sides of my head. Only after I kicked off the damp sheets and looked under the pillow could I lie down again, trembling. My heart still beat with the force of a savage drummer, but at least my bed was not littered with amputated ears.

When he struck the icy water, he feared his heart might stop. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the force of the river was terrifying, flowing fast and hard as an avalanche. The noise was deafening even beneath the water, but with fear also came a kind of giddy vindication. He’d been right. The Voice of God. There was always truth in legend. Kaz had spent enough time building his own myth to know. He’d wondered where the water that fed the Ice Court’s moat and fountains came from, why the river gorge was so very deep and wide. As soon as Nina had described the drüskelle initiation ritual, he’d known: The Fjerdan stronghold hadn’t been built around a great tree but around a spring. Djel, the wellspring, who fed the seas and rains, and the roots of the sacred ash. Water had a voice. It was something every canal rat knew, anyone who had slept beneath a bridge or weathered a winter storm in an overturned boat—water could speak with the voice of a lover, a long-lost brother, even a god.

undergoing anaesthetic-free root canal treatment at the hands of a drunk, Parkinson’s Disease-suffering dentist, for instance. Would have been a treat compared with this agony of bristling, embarrassed silence.

working for your daed every day was like going to the dentist to get a root canal.

Although root canals are typically performed on adults, they may also be recommended for children (in order to “keep the spacing” for when the permanent teeth come in later). They are dangerous, however, and have been linked to cancer, among other issues[18]. Removing the tooth if it cannot be saved is preferable.

Mandy stammered. “I’ve never been to a town council meeting.” “No reason you should. They’re kind of like root canals.” Jake straightened a tie that didn’t need straightening. “You don’t go in for one unless you really need to.

Pike dug his index finger into the soft tissue beneath the man’s collarbone where twenty-six individual nerves joined into the brachial plexus. The supraclavicular nerve, which carried information into the spinal cord, ran close to the skin at that point, following a groove in the bone. When Pike crushed the nerve bundle hard into the bone, the entire brachial plexus fired a pain signal not unlike that from a root canal without novocaine.

Their conversation was like root canal without anaesthesia.

. . . when my family headed out west, like any birth canal Rochester was forgotten.

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Set foot in his classroom, and you’ll see that he hasn’t quite given up on these dreams. True to his compulsive nature and eclectic taste, he punctuates his courses with entertaining routines to keep his students engaged, playing four songs at the start of each class and tossing candy bars to the first students who shout out the correct answers to music trivia. This is how a poster of a rapper ended up on his wall. “If you want to engage your audience, if you really want to grab their attention, you have to know the world they live in, the music they listen to, the movies they watch,” he explains. “To most of these kids, accounting is like a root canal. But when they hear me quote Usher or Cee Lo Green, they say to themselves, ‘Whoa, did that fat old white-haired guy just say what I thought he said?’ And then you’ve got ’em.

Hannah could hear Andrea panting as she started the engine and pulled away from the curb into the swirling blanket of white snow that awaited them. “What are you doing back there?” “Panting. It slows down labor. I’m just glad Norman’s here with me.” “Why?” “I know dentists take some of the same classes doctors do. And so I was hoping that . . . do you know how to deliver a baby, Norman?” There was a long silence from the backseat and then Norman chuckled. “I think I can handle it. It can’t be all that different from a root canal.

He bows to the two of us, and when he speaks, his voice fills the room, far louder and more booming than a voice should be before noon. “I intend to ride the estate today, if you two would like to join me.” I open my mouth to give him a quick, No thanks, I’d rather pull out my own hair, but Emily beats me to it. “How kind of you to offer! We would love to.” Huh? I can’t figure out why Emily doesn’t hate Alex. He’s a jerk and he’s done nothing to help her out of her engagement. And now she’s volunteering to hang out with him? An excuse…I need some kind of excuse to get out of this. Alex walks to the window and looks out, offering a rather flattering view of the back of his riding pants. “Did you enjoy the dance last evening?” Is he making small talk? That’s a first. “Yes, very much so,” Emily says. “It was delightful.” I nod. “Yeah. I guess so.” I won’t say I had fun because I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. I don’t want him to know dancing with him was the most exciting part of my evening and the most agonizingly long half hour of my life. Alex looks at me for a long silent moment. You’d think he’d bring up the big “lady” versus “miss” debacle. Or just that we’d danced. But he doesn’t. “Yes, I rather enjoyed myself as well,” he says. Seriously, what does that mean? I was the only girl he danced with. The entire night. Is he trying to tell me something? Ha. Right. He probably means that it was all sorts of fun to insult me. And that’s when Emily starts rubbing her temple. She sets her needlepoint down and frowns, massaging in circular motions on the side of her face. Oh, no, she’s not-- “Dear cousin, I am coming down with a headache. Perhaps you and Rebecca ought to ride without me.” I get a twinge when I hear Rebecca. Every day it feels more like we’re friends--and more like I’m betraying her. And then she turns to me, knowing Alex can’t see her, and winks. “Oh, no, I--” I start to say, because I suddenly realize what she’s trying to do. This can not happen. A horseback ride alone with Alex? No thank you! But Alex cuts in before I can stop her. “Yes, I would not have you overexerting yourself. We shall check on you when we return.” Okay, this is not how I want to spend my afternoon. Alone with Alex? I’d rather get a root canal. But…maybe it’s my chance to talk to him about Emily. Maybe he doesn’t know about Trent. Emily said Trent was wealthy, right? He’s not titled, but he has money. If Alex knew about him…maybe he would get Emily off the hook with Denworth. Maybe that’s why Emily is trying to arrange for me to spend time with Alex. She so owes me after this. I can do this. I can hang out with him for a couple hours--long enough to talk him into helping us. Emily jumps up from her chair far too quickly for someone with a headache and leaves the room before I can do anything. I rub my eyes. It’s going to be a long afternoon.

Alone with Alex? I’d rather get a root canal.

Like the pear tree, our whole body is sonified. Hearing is not only an aural sensation. In my ear canals bundles floats enclosed in a few drops of ocean water. Rooted in a cell surface, each bundle turns flickers of high and low pressure into nerve signals. The bundles translate fibrillating fluid into electric charge, thence to the brain. Cranium is a dish and a drum, mouth is a wet horn, throat and spine are passageways from the lower body. Torso is pumpkin, half seedy gut, half hollow lung gourd…hearing is modulated by tongue taste, emotion, foot soles, hairs on a skin. What we perceive is the conclusion of our body conversing within a purring, stridulating world.

Karl Marx, observing this disruption in the middle decades of the nineteenth century, could not accept the English evolutionary explanation for the emergence of capitalism. He believed that coercion had been absolutely necessary in effecting this transformation. Marx traced that force to a new class of men who coalesced around their shared interest in production, particularly their need to organize laboring men and women in new work patterns. Separating poor people from the tools and farm plots that conferred independence, according to Marx, became paramount in the capitalists’ grand plan.6 He also stressed the accumulation of capital as a first step in moving away from traditional economic ways. I don’t agree. As Europe’s cathedrals indicate, there was sufficient money to produce great buildings and many other structures like roads, canals, windmills, irrigation systems, and wharves. The accumulation of cultural capital, especially the know-how and desire to innovate in productive ways, proved more decisive in capitalism’s history. And it could come from a duke who took the time to figure out how to exploit the coal on his property or a farmer who scaled back his leisure time in order to build fences against invasive animals. What factory work made much more obvious than the tenant farmer-landlord relationship was the fact that the owner of the factory profited from each worker’s labor. The sale of factory goods paid a meager wage to the laborers and handsome returns to the owners. Employers extracted the surplus value of labor, as Marx called it, and accumulated money for further ventures that would skim off more of the wealth that laborers created but didn’t get to keep. These relations of workers and employers to production created the class relations in capitalist society. The carriers of these novel practices, Marx said, were outsiders—men detached from the mores of their traditional societies—propelled forward by their narrow self-interest. With the cohesion of shared political goals, the capitalists challenged the established order and precipitated the class conflict that for Marx operated as the engine of change. Implicit in Marx’s argument is that the market worked to the exclusive advantage of capitalists. In the early twentieth century another astute philosopher, Max Weber, assessed the grand theories of Smith and Marx and found both of them wanting in one crucial feature: They gave attitudes to men and women that they couldn’t possibly have had before capitalist practices arrived. Weber asked how the values, habits, and modes of reasoning that were essential to progressive economic advance ever rooted themselves in the soil of premodern Europe characterized by other life rhythms and a moral vocabulary different in every respect. This inquiry had scarcely troubled English economists or historians before Weber because they operated on the assumption that human nature made men (little was said of women) natural bargainers and restless self-improvers, eager to be productive when productivity

The excavation of graves has also provided evidence of early dentistry in the region. At least eleven drilled molar crowns have been recorded on nine individuals[8]. The drilled crowns were found on both men and women. One individual had three drilled crowns while another had the same crown drilled twice. When archaeologists tried to re-enact the antique procedure, they found that a bow drill tipped with flint head can drill such holes in the enamel in less than one minute. Dentists today use the same procedure, better known as the root canal procedure, to relieve pain in a rotten tooth. Of course, now we don’t have to go through the excruciating pain, thanks to anaesthesia and mechanised drills.

I said I'm an exceedingly boring person ... I don't really think that. I think I'm a sort of weird composite of thrill-seeking heedlessness and crippling hyperanxiety—I mean, I've taken LSD before a root canal, but I'm equally capable of calling the police and are hospitals if my wife is even five minutes late coming home from a pedicure, so ...

She wanted to “catch up” with Brady Taylor about as much as she wanted a Pap smear and a root canal. On the same day.

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And with that, my mother was off and running. Hard to believe that once schmoozing was as painful to her as multiple root canals. But when you had to do something, you had to do it. And eventually, if you were lucky, you did it well

The real work of startups is about as sexy and fun as a root canal and about as natural as a jolly rancher. Founding

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Where does seeking opportunity end and trafficking begin?” “That’s your department,” he replied casually. “Where does a cavity end and a root canal begin? Patients never want a root canal.” Rivka started to laugh. “I guess they don’t, and no one wants to believe that they’ve volunteered to be a slave.

Social and emotional conditions can pack a wallop like physical ones since psychological pain draws on many of the same neural networks as physical pain (Eisenberger and Lieberman 2004); this is why getting rejected can feel as bad as a root canal. Even just anticipating a challenging event

It’s interesting that no one cares very much about women doing anything “naturally” until it involves them being in excruciating pain. No one ever asks a man if he’s having a “natural root canal.” No one ever asks if a man is having a “natural vasectomy.” GET THE EPIDURAL.

I thought about what it meant to no longer have parents. There was no longer anyone who always knew my whereabouts. No one to tell when I was leaving town, no one to call when I got home. There was no one to ask for advice (Should I get the travel insurance/anesthesia with my root canal/cheese on my Whopper?). People who don’t have parents—even shitty ones—don’t have anyone to corroborate their earliest memories, call them on their bullshit, care, or even notice, if they are royally screwing up their lives. Before I had someone to blame for my missteps. Now the buck stopped with me.

The summer sun glowed on the white clapboards, which were in desperate need of a coat of paint. The air was sweet with the scents of salt water and a jumble of untended rosebushes in riotous bloom along one side of the house. The garden was vivid with greenery, though it seemed all the plants had grown into a tangled mass. Rich, well-dug black soil showed here and there. I looked over my shoulder and saw an aging apple orchard at the end of an empty field and beyond it an enticing glimpse of sapphire water. "Is that Hood Canal?" Will followed my gaze. "Yes!" He jumped down from the porch and started back to the garden gate. "Let's go see it." My sandals weren't the best shoes for tramping through the long grass of the field or for navigating the root-choked earth beneath the apple trees. I had to slip-slide my way down the cut in the bank to the gravelly beach beside the canal. There was no wind, and the smooth water glistened like satin.

I need to use the restroom," Sherry says. She looks at Annika. "Would you like to come with me?" "No," Annika says, grimacing and using the same tone you'd use to turn down an elective root canal. Sherry looks at her in confusion. "No?" Annika pauses. Removes the napkin from her lap and smiles. "Actually, yes. I should probably go now, too." I keep my expression blank, but inside I'm laughing. Annika's honest response to what is essentially one of the most common female conventions is priceless, but she says it so sweetly- without a trace of sarcasm- that I may be the only one who realizes she didn't arbitrarily change her mind. It just took her a few extra seconds to shuffle through her brain for the appropriate social response. No wonder she was so tired after I took her to my company dinner. It must be exhausting, and it makes me feel extra protective of her.

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Baartman is often seen to symbolize the sexist and racist ways that Black women’s bodies and sexuality are perceived. Big Black bottoms have become synonymous with sex. Black female artists like Nicki Minaj are chastised for showcasing their considerable backsides in service for their own ends. Or they are disrespected: on a 2011 episode of Live with Regis and Kelly, Regis Philbin reached out and patted Minaj’s behind without her consent.8 Meanwhile, Black male artists—including Nelly, whose infamous “Tip Drill” video showed the artist swiping a credit card down the crack of a Black woman’s behind—and White female artists such as Lily Allen, who sings, in “Hard Out Here,” “Don’t need to shake my ass, cause I’ve got a brain” while flanked by Black women shaking their asses, are defended in the name of art … or irony … or … just lighten up. And nonfamous women and girls who happen to walk around in Black bodies every day? Cheryl Contee of Jack & Jill Politics asked five fellow panelists—Black women all—at a 2011 Netroots Nation conference whether they had ever been mistaken for prostitutes. Every hand on the panel went up. Her encounter, Contee says, happened as she left a dentist’s office with her mother following a root canal, looking “deeply unsexy.”9

can’t waste any on fucking bananas before I’ve even had coffee. Next thing I know you’ll say good morning or ask me how I am and I’ll have to kill myself.” “How are you and good morning are not intrusive, asshole!” “How are you is the root canal of small talk and good morning should be shot,” he said, and turned on his heel to go get dressed, taking his coffee with him.

Anyway. Maybe you should talk to him.” “Good idea.” Lance would rather have a root canal.

here are some steps to identify and track code that should be reviewed carefully: Tagging user stories for security features or business workflows which handle money or sensitive data. Grepping source code for calls to dangerous function calls like crypto functions. Scanning code review comments (if you are using a collaborative code review tool like Gerrit). Tracking code check-in to identify code that is changed often: code with a high rate of churn tends to have more defects. Reviewing bug reports and static analysis to identify problem areas in code: code with a history of bugs, or code that has high complexity and low automated test coverage. Looking out for code that has recently undergone large-scale “root canal” refactoring. While day-to-day, in-phase refactoring can do a lot to simplify code and make it easier to understand and safer to change, major refactoring or redesign work can accidentally change the trust model of an application and introduce regressions.

Being on the receiving end of that would be like getting a root canal for your vagina.

Physical affection ranked somewhere between being on hold with the cable company and getting a root canal.

In Venice, money changers had started storing gold for people in the fourteenth century—and lending that gold out to other people. The money changers sat on benches on a busy bridge over the Grand Canal, so they were called banchieri, which translates as “bench-sitters,” and which is the root of our words banker and bank.

Japanese paranoia stemmed partly from xenophobia rooted in racism. This combination wasn’t peculiar to Japan, as the Nazis were demonstrating in Germany. In the United States, the 1924 Exclusion Act remained in force, prohibiting all immigration from Asia. Some Western states didn’t think the Exclusion Act went far enough, because it hadn’t gotten rid of the Japanese who had immigrated before the United States slammed the door. Xenophobes argued that these immigrants were now breeding more Japanese, who were recognized, outrageously, as American citizens under the Fourteenth Amendment. Farmers in California and Arizona were especially hostile. Even before the Exclusion Act, these states had passed Alien Land Laws severely restricting the property rights of Japanese. Then in 1934 a group of farmers in Arizona’s Salt River Valley began agitating to kick Japanese farmers out, alleging that they had flooded into the region and were depriving farmland from deserving whites who were already hurting from the Depression. They also demanded that white landowners stop leasing acreage to Japanese farmers. The white farmers and their supporters held rallies and parades, blaring their message of exclusion. In the fall of that year, night riders began a campaign of terrorism. They dynamited irrigation canals used by Japanese farmers and threw dynamite bombs at their homes and barns. The leaders of the Japanese community tried to point out that only 700 Japanese lived in the valley and most had been there for more than twenty years. Three hundred fifty of them were American citizens, and only 125 worked in agriculture, mostly for American farmers. Facts made no impression on the white farmers’ racist resentments. Some local officials exploited the bigotry for political gain. The Japanese government protested all this. Hull didn’t want a few farmers to cause an international incident and pushed the governor of Arizona to fix the problem. The governor blamed the terrorism on communist agitators. Dynamite bombs continued to explode on Japanese farms through the fall of 1934. The local and state police maintained a perfect record—not a single arrest. In early February 1935 the Arizona legislature began considering a bill that would forbid Japanese immigrants from owning or leasing land. If they managed to grow anything, it could be confiscated. Any white farmer who leased to a Japanese would be abetting a crime. (Japan had similar laws against foreigners owning farmland.) American leaders and newspapers quickly condemned the proposed law as shameful, but farmers in Arizona remained enthusiastic. Japanese papers covered the controversy as well. One fascist group, wearing uniforms featuring skulls and waving a big skull flag, protested several times at the US embassy in Tokyo. Patriotic societies began pressuring Hirota to stand up for Japan’s honor. He and Japan’s representatives in Washington asked the American government to do something. Arizona politicians got word that if the bill passed, millions of dollars in New Deal money might go elsewhere. Nevertheless, on March 19 the Arizona senate passed the bill. On March 21 the state house of representatives, inspired more by fears of evaporating federal aid than by racial tolerance, let the bill die. The incident left a bad taste all around.

The most common sites of spinal canal stenosis in the lower lumbar region are L4–L5 and L5–S1. There is no cord to be impinged at these levels, as the spinal cord usually ends at L1, thus the nerve roots only are impinged. Lumbar spine stenosis may result in radicular pain, neurogenic claudication, or both

Everybody who climbs inside my tow truck has a story to tell. Most of the time, I’m as interested in listening to them as I am performing my own root canal.

The domestication of grain was accompanied by an equally radical innovation in the preparation of food: the invention of bread. In an endless variety of forms, from the unleavened wheat or barley of the Near East to the corn tortillas of the Mexicans and the yeast-risen bread of later cultures, bread has been up to now the center of every diet. No other form of food is so acceptable, so transportable, or so universal. "Give us this day our daily bread" became a universal prayer, and so venerated was this food, as the very flesh of God, that to cut it with a knife is still, in some cultures, a sacrilege. Daily bread brought a security in the food supply that had never before been possible. Despite seasonal fluctuations in yield due to floods or droughts, the cultivation of grains made man assured of his daily nourishment, provided he worked steadily and consecutively, as he had never been certain of the supply of game or his luck in killing it. With bread and oil, bread and butter, or bread and bacon, neolithic cultures had the backbone of a balanced diet, rich in energy, needing only fresh garden produce to be entirely adequate. With this security, it was possible to look ahead and plan ahead with confidence. Except in the tropical areas, where soil regeneration was not mastered, groups could now remain rooted in one spot, surrounded by fields under permanent cultivation, slowly making improvements in the landscape, digging ditches and irrigation canals, making terraces, planting trees, which later generations would be grateful for. Capital accumulation begins at this point: the end of hand-to-mouth living. With the domestication of grains, the future became predictable as never before; and the cultivator not merely sought to retain the ancestral past, but to expand all his present possibilities: once the daily bread was assured, those wider migrations and transplantations of men, which made the country town and the city possible, speedily followed.

Maria’s sweet voice filled the silence. “Well, she’s pleasant.” I chuckled at the sarcasm dripping from her comment. “Yeah, if you find a root canal pleasant, then she’s a gem.

What if the longer we don’t deal with the memories we are haunted by, the more these memories, like long-ignored cavities, become not only painfully sensitive, but require root canal?

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While giving birth is one of the most natural functions of all animals, the way humans do it has deviated substantially from the way Mother Nature intended—particularly in the United States, where pregnancy and birth are treated like a disease. It’s dealt with in sterile hospital rooms. Mothers are hooked up with intravenous lines and set up in the strangest positions, which are designed more for the doctor’s view and access than the mother’s comfort and birthing process. Too many women are induced, which often leads to C-sections that would not have been necessary if the natural process of labor had been respected and allowed to proceed without disruption. A baby in the womb is sterile, but when passing through the birth canal, it is exposed to bacteria, mouth first. These bacteria are supposed to colonize the gut, nature’s first vaccination of sorts. This does not happen during a C-Section.

Charlene Beaumont didn’t like shopping for clothes, even with no upper limit on spending. It simply wasn’t her thing. She preferred shooting handguns at indoor ranges over trying to pick the right colors for shoes, belts, and purses. And trying on a swimsuit? Forget it. She’d rather have a root canal without anesthetic.

I loved him like I loved a root canal: something painful but necessary. Like life was more painful without him.