I’ve mentioned recently that I’ve always hated my teeth. For the past week or so, though, a couple of my teeth have been hating me right back. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. My teeth are in surprisingly good shape considering their lousy alignment. It’s my gums that are a total mess, largely due to the way my teeth are misarranged.

Wendi called to make an appointment with our usual dentist and was surprised to find that there was an opening this very day. Lucky me, wot? I was expecting it to be a quick exam followed by another appointment during which some work would get done.

Oh, no. Doctor Packham took one look at the infected area and said, “Why don’t we just take care of that right now?” An hour, several anaesthetic injections and a fair dose of discomfort later, I’m cured. And in a growing amount of pain. (C’mon, Vicodin!) It’s funny that my teeth and gums are hurting like hell but my upper lip still won’t obey simple instructions. Well, not “funny ha ha” like a night at Harvey’s Comedy Club would be…

Did I mention that tonight we’re all supposed to go to Harvey’s? Mari and Doug, Lilith and Geoffrey, Wendi and I. If the painkillers kick in and I regain control of my face in time, I will go. I’m going to be uncomfortable anyway, I might as well have a good laugh in the process. Besides, we put too much effort into inviting all our friends to bail out at the last minute just because I’m feeling a bit tender.

The word you’re looking for is “masochist.” Thanks.

I may not beat Mari to this, but it’s worth a shot.

So the six of us did all manage to see the show at Harvey’s tonight. I had enough chemicals in me to stave off pain in addition to addling my little grey cells. After slurping down our $3.00 glasses of ice (with a bit of Sprite for flavoring), Wendi and I waited with Mari, Doug, Lilith and Geoffrey for the chance to be seated right next to the exit door and close enough to the stage to guarantee being picked on at least once during the show.

Lucky me. The first comic, James P. Connolly, was one of those who enjoys interacting with audience members, and there must’ve been something about me that appealed to his sense of… well, I’m not sure what it was exactly, though “sadism” comes to mind.

“What’s your name?”
“Carl.” (I wasn’t about to say “Care-Ell,” now was I?)
“Nope. For the rest of the evening you shall be… d’Artagnan.”
“Ooookay.”
(later…)
“What do you do for a living, d’Artagnan?”
“Computer stuff.”
“Stuff? You don’t have a job, do you?”
“Yes I do.”
“Okay. You get up, get dressed, eat breakfast, head out the front door and go… where?”
“To a place with lots of computers.”

Yes, I know. I could have talked up the fact that I work in radio. Much comedic mileage in there, for certain. I blame my stupidity on the Vicodin. At least, that’s my convenient excuse for today.

Anyway, he came back to me (as it were) about a half dozen more times during his set, usually in reference to how someone else was cooler than me. Or for something like this:

“…there’s one thing every guy wants from a woman. What is that, d’Artagnan?”
“Only one thing?”
“C’mon, what’s the one thing you want from a woman?”
“Love.”
“You are a spineless wuss!”
” (shrug) “

Truth be told, it was quite a bit of fun. My only regret is that my brain wasn’t awake enough to try to throw the guy any curve balls to see what he’d do. He was certainly clever enough.

My friends… my dear, dear friends… had quite a ball as I gamely fielded jabs and questions from Mr. Connolly. Mari insists that I’m no longer Her Internet Hero or Lil’s Number One (Internet) Fanboy.

I am now… d’Artagnan.

Please note that there are precisely six people on the planet to whom I will actually respond if called this, one of whom I’ll probably never meet again (thanks, James P. Connolly). If you are not one of those six people, don’t bother trying out my new nickname. I will ignore you. Nothing personal, you understand, it’s just that you had to be there.
Harvey’s Comedy Club