An Invitation from The Professor

In a former life, I was a graduate student. I had virtually no life outside of my studies, and then I dropped out. And THEN I got back on the road to recovery, and FUN! The only part of graduate school that I even thought of missing was the friendships that—while, thankfully, were not lost permanently—did go MIA for a bit, for the simple fact that I no longer saw the people who put some happy memories into an otherwise intolerable year of mind-cramping, brain-warping STUDY-STUDY-STUDY on a daily basis.

You know who you are.

One of these friends was The Professor. Well, actually, I was a bit stunned when I heard from The Professor that he was, indeed, an actual professor, because in my memory, he's still the incredibly musically-literate, foul-mouthed, chick-magnet who kept many thousands of dollars' worth of baseball cards on the shelf in his bachelor-pad's closet ... the guy who—though he was appalled that I'd never seen it before—organized a field trip to the midnight showing of Pink Floyd's "The Wall" at the theater near campus and also organized the smuggling in of beer for the event (at least I'd had SOME experience in THAT arena) ... the man who told the most hilarious story about creating a giant snow penis (complete with accompanying adornment of the testicular variety) on the hood of his car in high school ...

Well, in short, when I knew him as a mere graduate student, The Professor had all the intellect you'd think a professor SHOULD have, but was so much fun that you couldn't quite imagine him in the roll. (All you totally fun academic-types who read this blog—or, who I imagine read this blog, because of course you have sooooo much time on your hands—should not take offense, as I base my statements about the fun factor of professors on those I observed during my brief tenure as a graduate student, NOT on YOU. YOU'RE different. I'm sure of it.)

And yet, over a decade later, when I happened to be visiting friends in the same town in which The Professor now resides and we arranged a brief get-together, there he was: an actual member of the university elite! It wasn't as hard to get used to the idea as I would've thought it was back when we were both graduate-college peons. And it wasn't hard to fall back into conversation, albeit a less invective-filled discourse, and elegantly expanded upon by his lovely wife.

We had e-mailed only briefly and occasionally over the intervening years, and although the messages were often generally frivolous, they were underwritten with sincere interest and I always enjoyed them. I likewise enjoyed seeing The Professor again, and meeting Mrs. Professor, who had in common with her husband both brilliance and musical talent; the centerpiece of their living room was a beautiful grand piano.

After our reunion, we comfortably returned to our occasional e-mails. And then ... I received an unexpected invitation from The Professor. Although he had never ceased his mockery of my musical taste, he apparently still retained just a hint of hope that I could be Saved ... and he invited me to his composition recital, where he and his wife would both be performing.

I was a bit stunned with how much I regretted that I could not attend (The Professor had, unfortunately for me, scheduled his performance on my birthday, which had already been spoken for by my daughter, who clearly outranks ANYone in even the most illustrious heights of academia) so I suppose there IS more to the musical world than mere heavy metal (yeah, and you heard it here FIRST).

But how cool was THAT? To be invited to hear an old friend perform LIVE music? The only thing that would be better is actually being able to go. I hope I'll get another opportunity to hear The Professor (and Mrs. Professor) play together ... break a leg, guys!!!

Or whatever the musician's corollary to that theatrical well-wishing might be!