I went to the dentist this morning, for Part II of II in the Saga of the Crown. (Mundane, yes, but a million other blogger monkeys at a million other keyboards are talking about Liberia and Saddam, so why bother?) I have a young, pleasant dentist with an unidentifiable (Eastern?) European accent and the unfortunate name of "Buts." (Pronounced "beauts.") I chose this dental practice based on proximity but it turned out to be a good bet. I paid $200 less than Rick paid for a crown in Boston several years ago, and $100 less than my family pays in New Jersey, and I don't feel like a lab rat like I would at the UCLA Dental School (which offered me a grand additional savings of $75 to be a student project).

The decor of this dentists' office isn't nearly as slick as my old place in Cambridge, and certainly not everyone there has comfy corporate insurance. The walls are wood paneled like something in a suburban den, which goes strangely with the acoustic ceiling with flourescent lights that you'd usually see in schools. I don't know whether to reach for the remote or throw a pencil into the ceiling.

They had the radio on, and both the dentist and the assistant periodically sang along, or hummed along, or did that hum/sing combo you do when you don't quite know all the words.

This city isn't so bad.