Passing on the Wisdom of Professor Corey

Many years ago when my son was about to enter the University of Rochester and before we became estranged, I took him to see a screening of Plan Nine from Outer Space which also included a seminar from the world's foremost authority, Professor Irwin Corey.

I thought this intellectual voyage would orient him to the next level of learning.

The Professor made his usual sartorial statement; a shabby tuxedojacket, a apir of too short black pants and a pair of beat up high top black sneakers; a delicate juxtaposition of whimsy, functionality, non symmetry and casual comfort...the epitome of elegance, sophistication, collision and formality. The beat up sneakers represented the duality of nature and the interplay of convention/ rebellion, I guess.. 

His tuxedo jacket was once the epitome of elegance, sophistication, and all things formal. It's a garment typically associated with grand events, black-tie affairs, and prestigious gatherings. It exudes a sense of style and refinement or at least it might have before all the kegs. I understand that after the seminar the Professor made his way to Nick Tahou's on West Main and devoured a garbage plate.

On the other hand/foot,  his battered sneakers,  were the embodiment of casualness and practicality. They were meant for leisurely strolls, athletic pursuits, and everyday comfort. 

By combining these seemingly contrasting elements, Corey embraced the duality of life itself—the interplay between seriousness and lightheartedness, tradition and innovation, convention and rebellion intended to accentuate the Professor's blend of absurdity, wisdom and nonsense or something like that while cutting down on the overhead of production costs.

I had the honor of asking the Professor a question. I took the microphone from the host and addressed Corey. I was a little intimidated about transacting with a man of such exponential wisdom.

"Thank you Professor for this opportunity. To be or not to be....."

The professor cut in; "Now that's what I call a fookin question. Let me elaborate. Ah, the quandary of existence! Should we endure the hardships and challenges that life presents, or should we rise up against them, wielding the dull tools and pointless spears of our determination and will? This question, strikes at the heart of the human experience, challenging us to examine the purpose and meaning of our being. To simplify, I will ask another question. Should we just get another beer or keep screwing around.

And leave us not forget the next few lines.

'To die, to sleep, No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heartache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished'. Oh yeah,the allure of rest and release from the burdens and constipations of of life! The contemplation of death as a soothing slumber, an escape from the pains and tribulations that accompany our mortal existence. And yet, in this final slumber, what dreams may come? The mystery lingers, and we are left to ponder.

I related my dreams to a quack who posed as a psychiatrist and was later arrested for attempting to eat his office with a spoon. He gave me an ink blot test. He said I had a filthy mind but I reminded him that he was the pervert with the sick pictures.

Let me tell you a little secret. Life's meaning is like a banana peel—elusive, slippery, and prone to causing unexpected falls. Furthermore, it's like a rubber chicken sitting on a whoopee cushion...it's a fowl gag that makes a lot of funny noises yet doesn't smell as bad as it sounds.

What was the question again."

Even though I'm using quotation marks, I paraphrase. It was a long time ago. I have no idea how to punctuate this experience.

I gave the mike back to the emcee.

The professor thanked me for my question whatever it was and went on to the next seeker of truth a gigantic man with tiny hands who was wearing a "party till you puke tee shirt."

I remember this night in a bittersweet way. I haven't spoken to my son in almost twenty five years. He zigged and I zagged. I have a grandson that I've never met. Perhaps, my son has told my grandson about the evening which has to pass for any semblance of wisdom that I might have or could have or should have passed on to the young lad myself.

Maybe he'll read this but I doubt it.