Dental Chicken Soup for the Senior Soul

So, I almost totally ripped off the title for this story from a former classmate, an award-winning sports columnist, and possibly a league leading candidate for Former Longtime ago Friend of the Year (his choice, not mine.) And, maybe in this time of artificial intelligence, felons running for president, and ethics reduced to rumor status, I just got sucked in.

But I’m not a victim. I am totally accountable with the full understanding that my title sucks, compared to the one I almost plagiarized. And I’ll confess, I’m still ripping off the form of one of my all-time fave revolving articles. And what’s wrong with a freakin homage between classmates?

Scott was my first and only writing mentor, he helped me with the first two pieces I wrote for local rags. The Temple City Chamber journalistic leaders knew talent when they saw it, in the form of my pro-Trojan Saturday letters to Sports Viewpoint and the LA Times.

The first story returned with copious red ink and a CAPITALIZED handwritten and underlined commentary that read, “Tell a story and make a point or make a point and tell a story!” The second review arrived with the same message, but prefaced with, “What do you not understand about…” And then, I’d like to think my editor/mentor/friend ran out of ink.

I could’ve suffered irreparable ego damage, had I not recovered from 20 years of the same freakin thing (times a hundred), inflicted by dental school clinical instructors with not that many friends and no discernable sense of humor.

But here’s the thing, some of the events that have transpired since the sale of my dental practice (I don’t say retired) have been disturbing. In my mind’s eye “retired” looks like an LA Dodger going down on strikes and trudging back to the dugout with head down, shoulders slumped, and no one wanting to make eye contact- kind of like me and our morning huddle right after returning from Covid-19. So why not air out some grievances and share some observations?

The day after I signed the practice sales agreement, I got a bill from Southern California Edison (SCE) for $13,184.28. And silly me thought SCE was congratulating me for 46 years of good customership. So much for optimism. I filed a complaint with the California Public Utilities Commission (CPUC.)

Well, I fought the CPUC ALJ (who might’ve had ADD) but SCE won. The powers that “weren’t” stopped billing me a few days after we closed for four months because of the pandemic; they never called, they didn’t write, text, or even do a drive-by. SCE figured they’d done enough sending the bill to the wrong email address for TWO years. C'est la vie.

My former Office Manager and I are starting a business, training dental assistants; we started dealing with the California Secretary of State about a year ago. I don’t know about you, but I had no idea that California was on Hawaiian Daylight Savings Time. Invitations for the grand opening are on hold (I hope we don’t have to wait until USC Football can spell “Defense.”)

The PAC-12 , Bill Walton and Willie Mays died. Bill was one in several million and my USC alma mater is now one of eighteen in the Big 10. When I was a kid, I thought Willie played centerfield wearing a cape and a cap that was more like an after-burner.

And I get nostalgic thinking about all those Rose Bowl games when Midwest hospitality extended all the way to hometown Pasadena, with Trojan wins and Michigan/Ohio visitors still happy and fascinated to see the sun and a few palm trees. Sucks when all good things must one day end.

And I don’t know about you, but I’ve noticed, while walking the land within Pasadena’s Madison Heights (just like Kwai Chang Caine in Kung Fu), oncoming early Gen Z pedestrians often have two thumbs on the phone and/or two eyes focused a thousand yards straight ahead.

I loved providing Invisalign care almost as much as taking down a tub of chocolate chip gelato, but I once heard a CFO bigshot for a company I know recommend starting cases with no money down. And I’ll confess that Cal Worthington and his dog Spot remain all-time sales heroes, but with a lab fee of two grand and no money down? USC Marshall School of Business, is stuff like healthy cash flow still a business thing? Please advise.

These days, on the occasion when I must make a phone call, I’m compelled to apologize for not texting.

Seriously, with the advent of AI (not Allen Iverson), I’m having some doubts. It’s one thing to impersonate Tom Cruise and author poems about the Lakers in a minute, but the captions on Instagram seem slow to climb outta the shadows of an artificial intelligence based on fear of books.

Why doesn’t Colin Kaepernick get a second chance? One punch for kneeling, right?

And even worse than being constantly interrupted with ads while I’m trying to find out if anyone liked my before/after Invisalign reel, it’s beyond frustrating when you use all the advances in no eyeball-to-eyeball communication technology and still can’t find news that the Los Angles Angels of Anaheim have fired their billboard owner or if Justice Clarence Thomas asked a question today, or if Mario Lopez was caught red-handed smiling and showing teeth at the same time. Frustrating!!!

So we’ll soon be losing Charles, Kenny, Shaq, and Ernie. Why not a similar fate for clear aligners with no attachments or any future Tom Brady roasts, commercials, or criminal background checks?

If you believe in playing-the-victim leadership at any level, please get off my self-sustaining lawn.

My ears and nose have grown to epic proportions. Even my feet are longer. But given the circumstances, I’m beyond grateful that being away from practicing dentistry for two years has kept me from shrinking in height by no more than one inch.

When I next travel cross country, will people from Mississippi still think I’m wearing dentures because I have a mouthful of straight white teeth? This is a question dental practice sellers ponder.

If I see you at the Reingage Team Retreat, or the study club, or even Howlin’ Ray’s chicken joint and you go all thumbs on your iPhone while not blinking and looking kind of like Mario Lopez in a roomful of dentists, I’ll know you read Jack’s Corner (for at least 5 seconds.) Thank you.

I don’t know about y’all, but I feel better; I hope you do too. And if you read the San Francisco Chronicle, are a Mark Keppel Aztec, or occasionally find some recovery time and smiling endorphins on the sports page, read the great Scott Ostler.

And most importantly, keep on fighting on.