Dear Journal: Okay, so I was farting around with the idea of writing a book. I mean seriously folks; life is one of the best pallets or canvases that artists can ever receive. Life is full of twists and turns that eventually lead up to drama or action – the two coolest feelings to not only write about but also to read. Who the fuck wants to read stuff like: Chapter 1 Today I woke up. I rolled back the sheets, relieved a small amount of flatus, went into the bathroom to relieve more flatus and then urinate. Uh, yeah, hi welcome back to non boring REALITY! I mean don’t get me wrong here; some people find that the relief of flatus is a very important thing. I once heard from a wise person that those who don’t fart are just bitches because it’s all bottled up inside of them making them uncomfortable. It’s great and all to alleviate some of the torture that built up flatus can culture but there’s a time and a place for everything. (Leave me alone!) (This is a real time journal – I am writing this entry in my laptop in my basement and I’ve just witnessed a spider drop from the ceiling onto my floor. I’m not really afraid of them but we have a mutual agreement – I don’t like you and you don’t like me so let’s stay that way and keep clear of each other. So yeah, that means that I’m closing the lid of my laptop and walking very casually upstairs hoping that the fucking thing won’t like follow me or some shit like that.) (Okay, now I’m safe and secure in my office/bedroom with the convenience of broadband.) So I bet you’re thinking about what this entry is truly about. Is it about flatus or is it about relieving tension in general at the precise moment in time? I’ll let you decide that one. I could tell you but then what happens if I’m suddenly one famous intellectual writer that just died and people find my writing so intriguing that it becomes studied in every school across America? Think about that for a minute. All of the “famous” writers, poets, and artists that are studied in any facet during any school year all have one thing in common – mystery. Where’s the fun in guessing or formulating theories as to the relevance or importance of a work of art if the artist lays everything out for you? Today was seemingly uneventful. Well, I take that back. I had a pretty good day. Today was Helen Ginsburg’s 91st birthday. Congratulations Helen! Happy Birthday to You! I was thinking of not going with Anton to Teitel today but something inside said that the trip would be worth it. Just for your reference, Helen just so happens to be one of the most pleasant persons that I have ever encountered. She ranks with Aunt Minnie for two reasons: 1) she is really, really sweet and 2) she reminds me of Aunt Minnie. Speaking of going and visiting people at Teitel, I had a lovely conversation with Wendy, the Building Administrator of Teitel Jewish Apartments of Oak Park, Michigan. Normally I wouldn’t even think of committing such an act as libel, but I guess I can make a minor exception. (Did you believe that because if you did do I have the coolest bridge to sell to you!) Anyways, so she comes up to me. I’m sitting with Anton at his table in the dining room. She says, “What are you doing here?” to me with a semi testy tone. “Today is Helen’s 91st birthday and I came to visit with her.” I replied. “Well, it looks like you’re visiting with Anton, not Helen.” She contorted. Being the well mannered young man that I am, I simply nodded my head in agreement with the asinine notions she was verbalizing. Her end comment was, “Let’s not make a habit of this.” Okay lady, let’s get one fucking thing straight here; YOU DO NOT OWN THE FUCKING BUILDING. Okay? No, uh yeah just shut your fucking mouth with that monotone masculine wanna-be voice and listen to what I have to say. Let’s start with the obvious. I am a free, American adult with Constitutional rights protected by not only the Constitution but by the Bill of Rights as well. You are imposing on my right to freedom, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness (if memory serves me correctly, thank you Mrs. Blowers.) I came to the establishment that you just so happen to work at to visit with people that not only enjoy my company but also need somebody to talk to. I’m not saying that I just go to be a listening post; what I’m saying is that when I converse with these people I find myself happier and learning history as it is best displayed. And yes, I was sitting at Anton’s table. For all you know I could’ve been waiting for another resident to come to dinner. Like Helen (showcase Helen) who usually shows up around 5:00 PM. Or maybe I was waiting for David? Go figure – when you go to visit a large group of people you can’t possibly manage to equally sort out quality time and demand the attention of your company. Helen 1087 (as she’s referred to in the building) was busy eating. One would hope that after 91 years on Earth one would have ascertained the courtesy of not talking with your mouth full. And better yet, how many people do you know that go to a large gathering for a birthday party and have one person “hogging” the birthday person all night long? Uh, duh! You just don’t have that happening. It’s all about sharing and being polite. Besides, what the fuck have I done to you to get your damn panties up in a bundle? Did I say something wrong? Did I comb my hair the “incorrect” way? Or is it the fact that I boost moral and happiness levels of the residents I interact with better than any prescription anti-depressant manufactured and you don’t? Seriously, what is the bamboo under your nails? I’m not hindering Anton in his ability to work. In fact I think at the absolute most with Anton on a friend type basis on time 20 minutes at the end of his work day. I’m too damn busy chit chatting with the residents. When I’m talking with them I kind of get this little mental thing going on here; who the fuck is Anton? And do you mind, I’m talking/listening here! Okay, I don’t want to point out any body in particular but seeing as though this is a personal journal entry that probably will never be viewed by any of the parties involved, I’ll talk about an elderly gentleman Jerry. Jerry is a Caucasian male in excess of 65 years of age. As of the summer of 2003, Jerry has been going to dialysis 3 times a week at 4 hours a visit. That’s 12 hours a week on a machine. Not only is it painful in that they have to keep sticking you with needles in order for the machine to extract the blood for purification but it’s also a major inconvenience. So not only is he receiving a, in my opinion, painful treatment to overcome a medical disorder, he’s not receiving adequate (once again, in my opinion) human attention. We are social creatures. If we don’t get to interact with others we tend to become detached with reality slowing slipping away from society. I can recollect a conversation that come to pass between Jerry and I just shortly after Christmas of 2003. I asked him how Christmas day had gone for him. He said, “Terrible.” Nobody called, nobody came over to visit, nobody sent a card or a gift, and worst of all not even his own children saw it right to call their father on Christmas day to find out what he was up to. Yeah so what he’s Jewish. You don’t have to be 100% Christian to enjoy the spirit that Christmas brings over the population. It’s a time of giving and well being. Even the grumpiest person is cheered by the presence of Christmas. So if that feeling is there, prevalent and strong why didn’t his kids call him up to say, “Hey pop, how’re you doing? You want anything from the market when I go later on this afternoon?” Come on man, be real! Okay, so here we have Jerry. He really seems to enjoy somebody sitting down with him for a few minutes and talking with him. But then we have Bessie, another great woman who also likes a sharp young man to listen to her as well. Ooh, Georgette avais un preference pour parler avec un francophone aussi. Helen (the showcase Helen) will listen to your point of view after she becomes winded from speaking hers whether you wanted it in the first place or not. David is there to swap intellectual thoughts. Paul likes to talk about sports. Nina likes to be … bizarre. We can’t forget øàëüíàÿ ñòàðàÿ ðóññêàÿ æåíùèíà (the crazy old Russian woman) with the dark hair that loves to act like she is 4 and giggles when you say hello (in Russian of course.) They all have their own unique story to tell but have little to no people to tell that story to. I honestly would love to stay and chat for a longer period of time but my fresh clean bed is so enticing that I just so happen to want to close the lid of my precious laptop and crawl up under the snuggly warm sheets. Yes, journal writing is a requirement for Mrs. Fry’s class however I do enjoy making the entries for personal use as well. So what I’m going to do is save one copy (unedited and full of content) in a special place (it wouldn’t be a secret if I told you where), post one copy with minor editing on my journal webpage server, and save one highly edited for content entry in a folder that will later be printed for review by Mrs. Fry. I also plan on doing this every night if possible, but if that proves unsuccessful, then I’ll try and do it at a minimum of 3 times a week. So until our next session, adieu mon amis! Sincerely Yours, Mr. Dustin T. McCauley Future Doctor of Pharmacology & Internal Medicine