Flipping channels tonight I noticed that Coolio was on The Hollywood Squares. How the mighty have fallen. He wasn't even in the center square. That's reserved for Whoopi. Maybe it's because she has bigger dreds.

Speaking of the mighty falling, I've been particularly useless this week and I am loving it. I've just been fielding calls from recruiters and taking a few notes for two articles I have in the works. I had a particularly insane phone conversation with a woman with a strong foreign accent. She had to spell out her name, the name of the person I would be meeting, and the name of the company she represents, because her accent was just that thick.

I did, however, understand her when she said the word "NDA." I have signed so many fucking NDAs in my life, it's a wonder I'm allowed to ever speak. I mean, for Christ's sake, it's a content site, and they're looking for people to work on games and animations. What could they possibly be doing that's so secret? Is there anything they could be doing that could change the face of the web? Then again, maybe they know something I don't know.

(They can't be doing any worse than the folks at Pop. I was sort of excited when I heard about this site initially. I thought it could be something really cool. They have all these amazing people involved with it. Fucking Spielberg, man. Spielberg, love him or hate him, is a genius. Then again, they're probably just names attached, and they don't really have the time to focus on it. Still, you'd think they would be better businessmen, use their considerably potent pull, and get a bunch of hip celebrities involved. And they've produced nothing in nine months. Shit or get off the pot takes on a whole new meaning when there's $50 million involved. Tsk, tsk. You know what I could do with like, a grand?)

Also, I sent an invoice for a project I finished, did some tax paperwork; just general administrative shit that I've never had to do before, but comes along with being a freelancer. And today I went to the dentist for the second time in five days, and that's a trauma that warrants serious recovery time.

I hadn't been in two years. This is apparently quite common for people my age, my dental hygenist told me. She said that most people are pretty good through college, because they're still on their parent's insurance, so when they go home for vacations their parents will make appointments for them. After college, people get lazy or forget and go only when it's maybe a little too late. I love it when people share that kind of shit with me.

Anyway, I'm not what you would call a pro-active flosser, so when I went last week, I was a mess. The hygenist had to wipe blood off of my face at the end of it, and she told me I looked like a "war victim." Nice. And she only had time to do my top teeth in the first session, so I had to go back today for the bottom. I flossed the hell out of my teeth over the past few days, and while it still wasn't fun, I didn't walk out of there feeling like I needed therapy.

My hygenist and I bonded afterwards:

Pleasant Dental Hygenist: Did it seem better to you? It seemed better to me.

Me: I flossed three times a day for the past five days.

Pleasant Dental Hygenist: I think it worked.

Me: That was my strategy.

Pleasant Dental Hygenist: I'm so happy you've learned the value of flossing.

Me: Oh, I heard you loud and clear.

I think she was going to cry. It's probably on par with me getting a nice email from a reader; confirmation that what you are doing has some impact. She told me last week that sometimes people curse at her or say really mean things during painful sessions.

"Really? That's so mean," I said. "It's not your fault."

"You'd be surprised," she told me.

I had to get a filling though, as well, and while I consider myself an incredibly oral person (dare I say I have an oral fixation?), I don't want anything in my mouth unless I'm putting it there myself (and even then, you never know what you're in for).

None of that pain compares to the mild panic attack I had when I left the dentist's office, which is located in The Economist building in midtown. There were a bunch of people exiting for lunch at the same time, and they were young and well-groomed and talking about going to get salads. How much conversation does the topic of salads really warrant? Apparently, quite a bit.

They looked a lot like they worked in advertising, with their Banana Republic ensembles, shiny hair, and Hamptons tans. We're talking Upper East Side material here. There were more than a handful of them running around in my last office, and as I get older, I get less tolerant of them. I feel perfectly comfortable judging a book by it's cover, and I know I have absolutely nothing in common with them. I have tried before to communicate with these kinds of people, and have always failed.

As I walked behind them, this wave of fear came over me: What if I have to get a job (which, ultimately, I will) and I have to work with people like that again? What if I have to talk to them? What if I have to pretend to like them? What if I have to talk about salads? What will I do?

Clearly I'm not ready to go back to work yet.

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