Candy-corn-teeth and genetic engineering

CCteethopen In future we will consider ourselves gods.  We will harness the power of genetic engineering, cast caution to the wind and forge the body beautiful into the idealized form of our icons.  Every woman will be born with Natalie Portman’s nose, Anne Hathaway’s eyes, and Angelina’s lips.  Baby boy’s will be tooled to look like Ben Affleck, Brad Pitt and David Beckham–all at the whim of affluent parents. Most diseases will be cured or prevented, selecting height will be like choosing whether you want your happy meal small, medium or large.  Eyesight will be perfect or better than perfect…depending on the size of the expectant parent’s bank accounts. Scientists will push limits, making specialized cells bend to their wills.  Ears will be shaped to catch sound better and move independently for directional hearing.  Some decisions were made without thinking about the repercussions, one of which was to augment the length and texture of the taste buds at the tip of the tongue. The idea was to fashion the tip of the tongue into a toothbrush of sorts.  The taste buds were lengthened to give reach between teeth and they were made harder, more bristly for better cleaning action.  The news of this augmentation spread like wildfire and the procedure became more prevalent than circumcision during the 20th century.  Like a wave, almost the entire first generation being born after the creation of the procedure underwent the augmentation.  It was a roaring success!  The first batch of children developed tongue-brushes just as devised and when their teeth came in…they stayed beautifully white.  The very act of brushing one’s teeth was immediately habit forming.  Like the need to push on a loose tooth, one just naturally ran their tongue along and between their teeth.  A toothpick was a thing of the past. These children grew to young adults, their teeth brilliantly white as they became sexually active.  Beautiful Jennifer Garners hooking up with handsome Brad Pitts–all with the smiles of Tom Cruise and Julia Roberts.  Then it happened.  The first young man decided to perform oral on his girl and instead of hearing moans of delight, howls of pain ensued.  Men quite enjoyed the sensation but women were horribly disillusioned.  A reversal of fortune ended up happening. Sons born to poor families, who couldn’t afford the augmentation, became quite popular with these well-to-do women.  In fact, to make sure these women were looking at the real deal, they began neglecting their oral hygiene.  Flashing a smile, with a mouth full of candy-corn-teeth was sure to get you laid.  Although these women tended to marry within their socio-economic standing and keep poor-boy lovers, there was an increase in young men marrying up,  They knew this advantage would only last the generation, as a fix was already being developed, so they married into affluent families and had children to cement their places.  It was the one time in history that a mouth full of rotten teeth was an advantage for finding a mate.

I’m radioactive!

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Standing in the back aisle of the local Kmart, I came across a test kit for determining if your microwave is leaking.  My first thought was, holy crap…my microwave could be irradiating my beautiful single-wide trailer, with me and my miniature schnauzer included!  My second thought was, I wonder if I concentrate really hard if I can get this little tester to light right up.  Stay with me…this is how my mind works.

I picked the tester up, it had a shiny black surface, like vinyl.  The packaging showed an ominous radioactive symbol, a bright red, right in the middle of the area that now appeared black.  Apparently the tester detects the microwaves and the symbol appears, like magic…like finding a pure white, wooly caterpillar–foretelling of a long hard winter, but in this case sterility and bleeding gums.  Again, the idea of concentrating my mental energies on this tester, to bring the symbol out of the black depths had goose bumps running up my neck.

I clutched the tester in both hands, pinched between thumbs and pointer fingers, like someone reading a winning lottery ticket for the fifth time.  I concentrated on the area where the symbol should be, my eyes almost crossing.  I held it about six inches from my face.  Five seconds in and I swear I could see a ghost image of the symbol, like the lady of the lake rising from the depths–the sword represented my newfound psychic abilities. My pulse quickened.

If such a thing is possible…I concentrated harder, spurred on by the ghost image.  My eyes were slits and perspiration beaded on my forehead.  The faintest pink pulsed within the specter and what was once faint began to take form and showed clearly distinct lines.  My eyes widened as the symbol took full form–a phoenix from the ashes.  My heart pounded.  I glanced around to see if there was a witness.  I stood alone.  I frantically flipped the package over and read the small print.  What were the repercussions?

My eyes quickly scanning the fine print.  A bowl.  A bowl of water is placed in the microwave.  The water boils.  The boiling water creates heat.  Heat.  The tester measures heat.  Heat?!?  My fingers pinching the tester right where it’s affected by heat.  My shoulders slumped.  I was once again a normal citizen.  No longer a member of the mutant brotherhood.  I chuckled nervously to myself, wondering where this placed me on the MMPI.

Play Place

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It was Sunday, the day before my birthday, and I was hanging out with family at the local mall.  They have one of those play areas where everything is foam padded and there are little activities and things to climb on, all surrounded by a curved bench of seats, so that parents can either sit in the enclosure watching or outside and only have to keep an eye on the single entry point.

When we arrived my sister’s and my cousin’s children were eager to go play.  I sent my 12 year old son inside in, to keep an eye on them.  When my son entered, this cute little blonde girl who was probably about 8 years old, stopped trying to climb up on a hallucinogenic-inspired mushroom and shot him the meanest, dirtiest look I’d every seen on a kid that age, then as quickly as the look appeared it was gone and she was off playing.  It must’ve caught my son by surprise as well, as he glanced over his shoulder at me and gave me the “did you see that” look.  I shrugged my shoulders and he continued on into the fray.  According to my son, a little while later that same little girl ended up punching him in the back for no reason, as he was walking past her.  The little girl, being as small as she was, didn’t hurt him and he just ignored her.

Okay, before I get too far into the following events, I want to preface this with me priding myself on being a non-violent person, who had never been in an actual fight in my adult life.  You might call “bullshit” and bring up how I had taken up Brazilian Jujitsu for several months, but I would counter this with how BJJ could bring about the end of a confrontation without causing any real physical damage to your opponent through the use of submissions.  It’s for that reason alone that I found that style of martial arts so interesting.  I still hoped that I would never end up needing to use it and it served me more as a form of exercise.  Okay…back to the Play Place.

As us adults were sitting there carrying on our “adult” conversations, I picked up on the familiar growl of my niece, who liked to pretend she was a monster and try to scare me with her curled little hands looking like claws, her teeth bared, and the growl of a small breed dog, but which issued from her diaphragm on up.  This growl sounded like it was happening with regularity, and my mom, who is in retirement, went to go investigate.  I continued participating in the ongoing conversation, but when I heard the unfamiliar voice of some guy being cross with my mother–I was out of my seat and at her side in a fleeting moment.  I stood between her and this man, as I quickly surveyed the scene.  I could see my niece, crouched in front of her little brother, her arms spread in a protective radius around him, with her teeth bared and that same growl resonating from deep inside her.  There, two steps in front of her, was the same cute little blonde girl from earlier on.

“…I’m just saying that your daughter is no angel either.  She knocked her little brother down and yelled at him like it was his fault, and now she is just being protective of her little brother,” pleaded my mother.

“I don’t think there is any reason why my daughter should have to put up with that kind of behavior.  She’s in there to have fun and your child keeps growling at her and she needs to stop!”

His tone was sharper and he’d gone up an octave at this point.  I found myself sizing this guy up.  Like a scene from a vampire movie, I could almost see and hear the blood flowing through this guy’s carotid.  He had a scraggly goatee and some tattoos were visible on his forearms.  A  tough guy.  This realization didn’t scare me, but spurred on the flow of adrenaline.  Like my favorite superhero, Wolverine, I almost called this guy “bub’.

From the moment I stood up to this point only about three seconds had lapsed.  I looked him straight in the eyes, and with what I only can guess was a look of complete flat affect and the slightest curl of a psychotic smile, the words, “you need to control your tone,” seethed from between my teeth.

“Well…well, you guys aren’t listening to me!”

I could feel my nearly nonexistent smile begin to blossom, spreading across my face, but not touching my vacant eyes, “Oh, I’m listening.  I’m hanging on every word.”

I could see him deflating, the air let out of his sails, as he glanced back and forth between my mother and me.  He wasn’t dealing with just a petite AARP member.  He entered the play area, gathered up his daughters and made his way towards security, muttering his intentions as he walked past.

Security showed up and after a quick rundown of the events that unfolded, from the little girl’s hitting my son unprovoked, to my niece protecting her brother, we were told with a smile and a shrug, “Well, you have a nice day.”

I sat back down and experienced the full effect of the adrenaline dump, leaving me on the verge of tears.  I felt sick.  I hated how quickly I devolved into an animal, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation.  I had been no different than my niece, teeth bared and growling, becoming my mother’s protector.

I’ve told this story to a few friends and they always tell me that I’d done the right thing, that I should be proud and some level I think I am, but mostly I feel horrible.  I imposed my will on another human being, a sort of submission through intimidation.  I would never discourage my niece from protecting her little brother, and I will always come to my mother’s defense, so why do I feel so bad?  I wish I could go back in time, or meet this guy again, and educate him on the psychosocial interactions of children, how my niece’s posturing was purely defensive–a reaction to his daughter’s actions, that were perceived as offensive, and how children should be allowed to work out their differences on their own.  Not having the chance to rectify the situation, I’m left feeling empty, that somewhere out there another human being feels less of himself because of my actions.  I don’t take Brazilian Jujitsu anymore.