"You can't handle the tooth!"

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be procrastinators, lest they end up as nothing more than, uh, big babies.

My pride swallowed, I must admit that I am one of them.

I'm not proud to say it, but I've been a little lax when it comes to visiting the dentist. A person is supposed to go see the molar doc every six months, but I must have heard that wrong. Until a couple of months a go, I hadn't been in six years.

Or more. I really can't remember.

Well, I be payin' fer it now. This coming Wednesday, I'll be visiting an oral surgeon for some yanky panky. Two of my unbeloved teeth will be shown the doorhandle.

All this after several recent visits to the dental chair to have fillings put in. The two teeth targeted for execution are wisdom teeth, so it's not like I'll miss 'em.

But that doesn't mean I'm heading for the surgery wearing a silly grin. It's bound to be painful and all that, which makes me very unlike the character in Little Shop of Horrors (played to goofy perfection by Bill Murray in the movie version) who continually goes to the dentist because he's into the torture of it all.

Call me a big baby, but I think I'll be enjoying the medication more.

"Uh, excuse me Miss Clarkson, but you're blocking the sun..."

There's been no basement work for the last week or so. For my Mississauga blog-neighbour (she knows who she is), pictures will be posted shortly.

Now, a few words of eternal wisdom, or some such nonsense:

** I watched the Daytona 500 on Sunday, including the incredibly long NFL-esque pre-race show. I've decided that NASCAR is pretty cool, although if the good 'ol boy bigwigs ever invite Kelly Clarkson to sing again, they may have to change the circuit's name to N-ASS-CAR. Even Tony Stewart's ego was lost in the shadow of Kelly's ginormous pooper.

** While we're on the subject of the posterior, Dr. Gregory House is such a big asshole he should have been a proctologist.

** Tim Hardaway has been awarded a place in the Guinness Book of World Records as the world's tallest bigot. It's sad to think that so many people used to look up to him.

** I wonder how Jack Bauer's going to celebrate his next Father's Day.

** So Britney Spears dumped her man, flashed her bits 'n pieces and shaved her head, thus providing proof to conspiracy theorists everywhere that K-Fed was the normal one in that relationship. Raise your hand if you saw that one coming. Now put it down, you liar!

** Speaking of former blondes, the latest on Anna Nicole Smith is that three different coroners are claiming to have done the autopsy.

Ba-dum-bum.

Now Entering The Hard Hat Zone...

Change is good... except when too much of it is in one pocket. Kinda makes you walk lopsided.

Okay, obligatory silliness out of the way, now I can concentrate on things less jocular. Or more jocular.

Wait, I've got that wrong. It should be more or less, not the other way around.

Ahem.

So, why am I here, in new (not so) lush surroundings? Because it just sort of felt right. It was time for a different look and feel. Besides, I need to recharge my batteries and that was hard to do over there.

This page is all about relaxation, or rather, future relaxation. I am currently in the process of renovating the basement. The cold, dank spot under the main floor boards is being replaced with something cleaner, warmer and much more cinematic.

Two words: HOME THEATRE.

Readers of my previous mumblings will know that I am a big fan of movies, which is further proven with the continued swelling of my DVD collection. I was running out of room for the discs, plus I got tired of watching them on a tube barely bigger than a clock radio.

So... the basement.

Walls are constructed, drywall is almost finished. The room is about 18 by 10 feet with a recessed cutout in the wall big enough to hold, oh I don't know, say a 42-inch plasma television.

Which was purchased in December, by the way. The fact that it is still in the box is a minor embarrassment, but then I'm sure people can find more expensive door stops if they look hard enough. Um, eBay, perhaps?

The room will also be the new home of my office, complete with a multimedia compatible computer, which will see its first birthday in about four months. I've wired the joint so that the audio and video from the computer runs to the other side of the room, unseen, to be connected to the television and the surround sound receiver (yet to be purchased. Pour moi, the age of the VCR is mercifully over.

As for this page, I will ramble on about the status of the theatre in progress. I will also talk about some of my favourite DVDs. And, since I can't totally escape my previous bloglife, I might even sneak in the odd snide comment about all those poor celebutantes and their penchant for not being able to open the drawer in their dressers that hold the cleanest panties a gal has never worn.

Sigh. I guess I'll always have Paris.