Wednesday, September 9, 2015

After Earning a Minor of Philosophy at Michigan State University, Wilbo Wanders the World Like a Cynical Philosopher or Even Socrates, Looking for a Pure Conversation.

While at Michigan State University, I took a wander through the philosophy department, racking up enough credits to earn a minor in philosophy. Now that minor plus two dollars buys me a cup of coffee every time at Tim Horton's, located at Henry and Norton Street in Muskegon. But seriously folks! There's real power in all those philosophy books my professors had me read. I have a friend who has a reputation as a minor, liberal Catholic theologian and I've never won an argument with him.

I have remembered my thought leaders who taught better than I was prepared to receive. One professor referred to himself in the third person as "Wilkinson". He taught Existentialism, and so he would say, "Wilkinson" has to reflect upon "Wilkinson" in order to be in Good Faith. I had a hard time writing the final paper and he upbraided me. "Write five pages about nothingness, add five more about facticity and take a swipe at the idea of bad faith". And I did and Wilkinson found that Wilkinson wanted to give me an A.

Another professor required a manifestation of our learnings, and so we offered hugs on the steps of the Michigan State Union while he played mandolin. We were shut down by union management before offering a single hug and before he could finish a song. That professor was pissed we gave in so easily rather than risk an encounter with the campus police. 

A professor of logic scored my final with a blink of the eye, a perfect score, and then proceeded to talk philosophy to me in the hallway until noon. It was an Eight in the morning class. I was flattered he wanted to rap with me and wanted me to take more classes. However, I had pulled an all nighter thanks to my room's supply of caffeine capsules. Around noon he looked at his watch and excused himself to meet a luncheon companion. 

He would always wave to me throughout the next year when he zipped on by in his Red Triumph.
 — at Drip Drop Drink.

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