I got my braces taken off Wednesday.

This was a fantastic day for me, since I had them for three years. It’s also the kind of moment that makes you feel like you’re almost ready to graduate the sixth grade.

Having braces does, for the most part, suck. Personally, I was upset because they didn’t even do anything cool like set metal detectors off.

I did have one kid come up to me and say, ‘Yo’ man, nice grill.’ I said, ‘Oh, no, I don’t really grill. I’m more of a microwave last night’s Ramen kinda guy.’ He said, ‘No, I mean, nice grill’ and pointed to my teeth.

This was the first time I had ever heard of this. Some people (and by some people, I mean people with way too much money) apparently have jewelry for their teeth.

Many of you may think I am a backwoods redneck for not knowing what a grill is.

Many of you would be right. As one of the eight people at Syracuse who listens to country because we’re from the sticks (we should really start a club), you’ll have to excuse me for not knowing this.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised about grills. People who have grills are, by and large, the same people who wear chains around their shoulders. The first time I saw that, I thought, ‘He get his truck stuck in the mud or what?’

In any case, the braces are now off. This would make for a great week, except for a souvenir I picked up from a celebration trip to the woods.

I now have poison ivy. I hate poison ivy.

The rash is annoying in and of itself, but I can almost tolerate that. What is really annoying is how everyone feels the need to channel Dr. Seuss when they find out you have it. ‘Leaves of three, let it be.’

I try to be polite to these people, but it is hard sometimes. If you were one of those to offer such sage advice in the past two weeks, I would like to take a moment to apologize.

I don’t really hope you die. An agonizing paper cut will suffice.Poison ivy does have a saving grace, though: hot water.

Hot water poured directly on poison ivy is almost as good as sex. Hell, it might be better than sex. The hotter, the better. In fact, there may come a time when you hear I have been admitted to the burn unit with third degree burns mumbling ‘it was worth it.’

I did eventually go to the doctor about it.

Anybody who knows me knows this is a big step for me. I am not a fan of the doctor’s. This is because to the average person, I appear to be your standard ridiculously good-looking, charming bald man.

To a doctor, however, I am nothing more than a pincushion with legs.

The entire American Medical Association seems to have a running bet to find out who can withdraw the most fluid from me. On my last visit, I informed the doctor of my theory and politely requested that I be allowed to abstain from the contest.

She and the nurse laughed hysterically, then got a bigger needle.

Holden Fenner is a junior in the School of Information Studies. He misses the days when ‘shroomin” meant you got bigger. Ah, Mario.He can be reached at htfenner@syr.edu.

Published on October 15, 2008 at 12:00 pm