I haven't consulted a doctor in three years. Time to get a few things straightened out.
Chair - Andrew I. Schafer, M.D.
Weill Cornell Medical College
Department of Medicine
525 East 68th Street, Box 130
New York, NY 10065
Dear Dr. Schafer,
Lately I've had several questions about my growing body that I cannot find answers to. Unfortunately, I don't have health insurance, so I cannot speak with a doctor in the regular manner. Perhaps when President Obama makes everything free I can go get a check-up. In the meantime, would you mind steering me in the right direction? I know I can count on you because you teach people how to become doctors. You're like a thousand doctors all rolled up into one super-doctor.
First of all, I've always wondered, how does my body know what's up and what's down? My cells don't have eyeballs, so when they are growing into skin or bone or liver spots, how do they know which way to grow? Why don't I have hair growing down into my muscle and bones sticking out of my torso? Does my body have a sense of direction I'm not aware of? If I'm not mistaken, shouldn't every part of me be growing outward in every possible direction, resulting in an amalgam-ous blob of tissue and teeth? Is that what would happen if you raised a baby in outer space?
Second, I'd like to know how I can be sure that I'm seeing the right colors. Think about it. You don't know what I'm seeing with my eyes. What if my blue sky looked green to you? It would always look blue to me, because when I was a toddler my mother told me that the sky is what blue looks like – but it could look like my brown to her! Unless we can stick each others' eyes into our own sockets and go walking around awhile, how do we know we're all seeing the same colors? It's a total crapshoot! If you apply this brain twister to issues of race I think you could solve a lot of problems in this country.
Thirdly, I can see my girlfriend's eyeball right now, even though she's asleep next to me on the couch. It's terrifying. It's like staring into the eye of death, except death is breathing and twitching and jerking around whenever I make a loud noise. Is there anyway to keep her eyelids closed during sleep? I feel as though I'm living with some kind of corpse-robot. Something about it is very inhuman and unsettling. Like when you read about dead bodies moving in their coffins. Oh, God, it's looking at me now.
Anyway, thanks for anytime you can give to my questions. The human body is so amazing, and sometimes I just can't believe how complicated it can be. It's a good thing we have men like you researching and leading us into a healthier future. Oh no, it's looking at me again! I'm just going to wake her up.
Waiting Patiently,
The Correspondent
Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
A Letter To the Former Mayor
Joe Kernan used to be the Mayor of the town I grew up in. I have held a small grudge against him for the last 18 years.
Joe Kernan
110 E Pokagon Street
South Bend, IN 46617
Dear Mr. Mayor,
It’s a pleasure to write to you, sir, who served both the city of South Bend and the state of Indiana so well for so many years. I grew up in South Bend, and I remember wondering if anybody ever even bothered running against you for city mayor. This was back when I was a very little kid, though, and did not yet know about the South Bend Democratic machine. When I later went to Ohio for college, I wondered why nobody celebrated Dyngus Day!
Anyway, the reason I’m writing you today has to do with those bygone days of the early 1990s. You see, Mr. Mayor, we’ve actually met before. It’s true! When I was in the second grade at Booth Tarkington Elementary School, I went with Mrs. Gladura and the rest of my classmates downtown on a field trip to see you. We went up just before lunch time and all sat on the floor around your big desk to listen to you tell us all about running South Bend. I remember you said you went to Notre Dame, and Mrs. Gladura made sure to mention your time served in Vietnam, so that we all knew what a service you had done for our country. Thank you very much, by the way!
Now, everything was going great up until the very end. The trip was ending, and everyone began to file out of your office. I, however, hung behind, because I was determined to talk to you and make you like me (I am a youngest child, and thus very attention-hungry). As it was 1990, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles had a popular Saturday morning cartoon, and I was a fan. Deciding to use the crude vernacular of the turtle Michelangelo, I confidently walked up to you and, smiling widely, proclaimed that, “This was a totally bodacious trip!”
Let me explain something. First, even though I was only eight, I was already very smart and manipulative. Did I think the field trip was totally bodacious? No, that was hyperbole. I was exaggerating to get your attention. Also, did I ever actually talk like that? No, in fact, I knew I sounded like an idiot, but I also knew you’d think it was cute. Remember, youngest child.
To continue, what happened next has haunted me for years. Beaming at my high review, you called your secretary into the office. Then you asked me to do it again. I was stunned! Sheepishly, I mumbled that it was a totally bodacious trip. No, you said, do it like you did before! Oh, how tiny I felt! Hoisted by my own petard, I was now reduced to performing my cheap act in front of your friends and coworkers! I swallowed my pride, though, and put on a grin once more. “This was a totally bodacious trip!” I chirped. I still shudder at the words…
Anyway, I just felt it was time to tell you. I don’t expect you to apologize (although it might be nice). I learned a powerful lesson that day, about never selling yourself out just to be liked. Also, we went to McDonald’s afterwards, so all in all it was a pretty good field trip.
Sincerely Yours,
The Correspondent
Joe Kernan
110 E Pokagon Street
South Bend, IN 46617
Dear Mr. Mayor,
It’s a pleasure to write to you, sir, who served both the city of South Bend and the state of Indiana so well for so many years. I grew up in South Bend, and I remember wondering if anybody ever even bothered running against you for city mayor. This was back when I was a very little kid, though, and did not yet know about the South Bend Democratic machine. When I later went to Ohio for college, I wondered why nobody celebrated Dyngus Day!
Anyway, the reason I’m writing you today has to do with those bygone days of the early 1990s. You see, Mr. Mayor, we’ve actually met before. It’s true! When I was in the second grade at Booth Tarkington Elementary School, I went with Mrs. Gladura and the rest of my classmates downtown on a field trip to see you. We went up just before lunch time and all sat on the floor around your big desk to listen to you tell us all about running South Bend. I remember you said you went to Notre Dame, and Mrs. Gladura made sure to mention your time served in Vietnam, so that we all knew what a service you had done for our country. Thank you very much, by the way!
Now, everything was going great up until the very end. The trip was ending, and everyone began to file out of your office. I, however, hung behind, because I was determined to talk to you and make you like me (I am a youngest child, and thus very attention-hungry). As it was 1990, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles had a popular Saturday morning cartoon, and I was a fan. Deciding to use the crude vernacular of the turtle Michelangelo, I confidently walked up to you and, smiling widely, proclaimed that, “This was a totally bodacious trip!”
Let me explain something. First, even though I was only eight, I was already very smart and manipulative. Did I think the field trip was totally bodacious? No, that was hyperbole. I was exaggerating to get your attention. Also, did I ever actually talk like that? No, in fact, I knew I sounded like an idiot, but I also knew you’d think it was cute. Remember, youngest child.
To continue, what happened next has haunted me for years. Beaming at my high review, you called your secretary into the office. Then you asked me to do it again. I was stunned! Sheepishly, I mumbled that it was a totally bodacious trip. No, you said, do it like you did before! Oh, how tiny I felt! Hoisted by my own petard, I was now reduced to performing my cheap act in front of your friends and coworkers! I swallowed my pride, though, and put on a grin once more. “This was a totally bodacious trip!” I chirped. I still shudder at the words…
Anyway, I just felt it was time to tell you. I don’t expect you to apologize (although it might be nice). I learned a powerful lesson that day, about never selling yourself out just to be liked. Also, we went to McDonald’s afterwards, so all in all it was a pretty good field trip.
Sincerely Yours,
The Correspondent
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
Posts
