The ASK EZ Help Desk
A lot of you have written in lately with questions that you have but don't feel quite comfortable about asking that other dude, you know, Ez's namesake, the hoary Uncle Ezra over there at the Cornell cyber-helpline. Hell, I wouldn't ask some dude who looked like that anything personal either. He looks like either he just ate at the Ithaca Diner and he's not sure he can get to the john in time or his team just lost the finals. Either way Ezra Sr. doesn't exude loads of personality, does he? Come to think of it, you never see a picture of Ezra Cornell smiling. Imagine what meal times at Llenroc with a pater familias like that glowering at you across the dinner table every time you asked someone to pass the corn? Think about it.
Now, wouldn't you rather attend a university founded by this
guy? Come on, now, tell Ez it ain't so. Jerry Lewis University. Mr. Madcap himself. You could be one of Jerry's kids. Ok, Ez won't go there. Not that Jerry was all that funny, you know, in the Richard Pryor tradition. He was zany. And zaniness is sorely missed around CU.
But, back to your questions. Ez has had to be very selective and sort through the thousands of questions you've sent in for the ones he feels typifies the plight of Everyman.
First, Joe Q writes in, wondering why he can never get a parking space in Collegetown. Ok, you dumb shit, let Ez ask you why
you had to bring your blankin' car to a community that's only a couple of square miles from one end to the other? Frankly, Joe, you should drive the damn thing into the lake and see if you get extra credit for marine biology.
Next question, why is Rullof's brain sitting in a jar in Uris Hall? Ok, because they couldn't Jimmy Hendrix's? Good enough, Frank K?
Finally, Rachel R asks Ez if Frank Sinatra ever played for Slope Day? Quite honestly, Ez doesn't know, but it would be a lot of fun to imagine that he did. Singing "I Did it My Way" or 'When I was 17" up there on stage with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other. Frank was the essence of cool. Imagine Frank hanging out at the Chanticleer with his rat pack buddies, shooting pool. Or sitting outside of Simeon's, smoking a cigarette and drinking a scotch, surveying the scene with that seen it all before look of disdain, wondering out loud to Peter Lawford, "What kind of fuckin' stupid one horse town is this anyway?"
Comments invited at: ezrakidder@gmail.com - Peace, Ezra at 5:36 AM
