Today I'd just like to share an anecdote about life echoing macabre art. When I first started dating my girlfriend back in high school (yeah, I'm talking Way Back), I quickly grew enamored with her smile. She had such an amazing set of teeth: tiny, pearly white, perfectly aligned. I joked with her that my fascination reminded me of a short story I had recently read for my English class--a ghoulish Edgar Allan Poe tale in which a disturbed narrator fixates monomaniacally on his cousin/fiance's dental attributes. I never actually mentioned the title of the story, though, and didn't think much more about it--until the first time I drove my girlfriend home from school. That's when I found out (and was freaked out by the discovery) that the street she lived on bore the same name as Poe's toothy title character:
Berenice.
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