You know the drill

I switched dentists recently, from a guy in Revere to a woman in Malden. Before either of them I had a grad student at the BU dental school. I'd returned to East Boston from Maine, where I'd had dental implant work done that totaled $8,000. The cost and the duration -- about a year -- of that work were more painful than the physical discomfort. I went to BU because the prices are lower, and I was assigned a student named Kevin, with whom I had a wonderful rapport over the course of a year or so.

When Kevin graduated I decided to move back into the world of professional dentists, and I looked online and found someone nearby. I was his patient for not quite a year, but I actually saw him for only a brief period of time. He was always rushing in and out of the room, obviously tending to other patients. Even when he had to fill a cavity he did it in a hurry, and I felt as though I had little opportunity to actually talk to him. So recently I decided to find a dentist who moves at a more relaxed pace -- and who actually listens to me.

Maybe this is foolish, but when I am someone's patient, I like that person to talk to me, to know me and -- yes, I have to admit -- to laugh at my jokes. Is that strange? I tend to babble on and to make humorous remarks when on an exam table or in a dentist chair or an optometrist's chair. In fact, my eye doctor and I have a wonderful conversation whenever I see her. I've remained her patient for more than a decade despite her relocating twice, and she was my eye doctor when I lived in Maine for two years.

I want the same from my dentist, and the woman in Malden listens to me and laughs at my often self-deprecating jokes (as I am terrified of the dentist office -- especially the implement I refer to as "the pointy thing" the hygienist uses during cleanings). I'm happy to have found a dentist I feel comfortable with. Some friends laughed when I told them my criteria, but it works for me.

Finding Unity in Maine

Boston.com has an interesting story about several Amish families moving into the small Maine town of Unity, which is 90 miles or so northeast of Portland. Central Maine is beautiful, rugged, generally undeveloped and often struggling economically. The Amish have been able to find some relatively inexpensive land and neighbors that admire their lifestyle.

I've been to Unity to attend the Common Ground Country Fair, an annual event that celebrates organic farming and rural living in general. It's an interesting event, with music and food and cool exhibits.

I'm also intrigued by the Amish. I'm not down with their hardcore religious beliefs and the strict patriarchy they usually observe, but there is a great deal to be said for living more simply and closer to the earth. (Disclaimer in advance of sneers: Yes, I own a car, PC, laptop, cell phone, etc.)

Big fun at Little League

The all-stars from Peabody Western Little League play their first game tonight in South Williamsport, Penn., as part of this year's Little League World Series. It's an exciting time for the kids and their fans.

Back in 2005, when I was a sports reporter in southern Maine, I went to the LLWS to cover the team from Westbrook, a bunch of scrappy, scraggly looking guys that captured their city's hearts with unlikely heroics all along the road to winning the New England championship.

It's an eight-hour drive from southern Maine to central Pennsylvania, but my employer -- Current Publishing -- decided it'd be worth it to send two reporters and a photographer to cover the games. We found a cheap motel on the outskirts and stayed for, I think, three days. Westbrook lost their first two games, but bounced back to win one before heading home, eliminated before the final rounds.

I was immediately impressed by the degree to which Little League Baseball does not try to rip anyone off. There is no charge to see any of the games or to park. Refreshments and T-shirts were reasonably priced. Where else in America do you see that? There certainly are questions to ask about putting pressure on these kids -- the games are televised on ESPN -- but the national organization seems to behave quite admirably when most everyone else would be making every dollar they could from such an event.

The press building offered space to work and Internet connections. Plus, there were cold cuts and beverages spread out for lunch every day and hot food for dinner. I spoke briefly with both Gary Thorne and Tony Gwynn, who were calling the games for ESPN. We sent stories and photos back for our Westbrook newspaper, the American Journal, and when we returned we put together a dynamite special section on the team.

A week later, the boys from Westbrook were invited to see a Red Sox game at Fenway Park. I called the Sox front office and got press credentials for me and my photographer, and we drove down to cover the evening. I followed the players onto the field and into the home dugout, where they sat before gametime. Then they were escorted out to left field and into the Green Monster, where the players were allowed to sign their names with a black Sharpie on the grungy inside walls. The last player out turned and handed me the marker, and I thought, "What not?" and signed "EASTIE JIM" in big letters.

When the players were led into the stands, I was able to get into the press box with my pass, where I saw a few reporters watching the game and typing on laptops. Globe columnist Dan Shaughnessy was the only one I recognized. Before the action began I went over to the press dining room and ate for free. It was pretty sweet. The Westbrook players were called back onto the field to a huge round of applause and they stood next the the Sox fielders as the Star-Spangled Banner was played. It must have been the highlight of their lives.

So I'm grateful to the guys from Westbrook, who I followed around for a couple weeks and because of whom I got to do a some cool things. Good luck to Peabody Western -- which, by the way, has a player names Matt Correale. Not sure if he's related to me, but it's possible.

Snow park

I lived, for two years, in Portland, Maine, and I was at first confused regarding the city's policies on snow removal -- but now I think that Boston should adopt at least one of them.

The law that stunned me during the first storm in the winter of 2004-05 is that there is no street parking in the area in which I lived -- the peninsula -- during snow emergencies. None at all.

Of course, I shook my head and said, "What am I supposed to do with my car?" and when I found out that certain places -- lots attached to schools and other city-owned properties -- were available to park I said, "That's crazy. They must fill up right away."

What I found was that I never had trouble getting a spot in the lot closest to my apartment, and though the walk -- about a quarter-mile and usually in the midst of falling snow -- was a bit of a chore, the up-side easily offset it: The streets were plowed to the curb, and when the storm ended and the emergency was lifted, everybody could park as normal on the street.

Now this, I'm sure, would be impossible for Boston to execute because we are a city of nearly 600,000 and Portland's population is 64,000. There would not be enough places to park cars during storms to make this feasible. Also, Portland's regulation only applied to the central neighborhoods, not the outlying areas.

However, there was another city policy that I think should be implemented in Boston. In Portland street-cleaning parking regulations are in place year-round. When there is snow on the ground the sweepers are left in the garages and city workers remove the snow with plows, backhoes and pick-up trucks. In one week's time all of the streets are cleared of snow so parking is back to normal. We could do the same here.