the lost weekend

If one accepts the premise that a successful day is one in which an individual (or couple) spends absolutely no time on the floor of the bathroom, then Steve's and my Thanksgiving was an Epic Failure. Indeed, if one gives oneself a point for every hour not spent on the bathroom floor, our collective score for the weekend would have been about negative sixteen. While on the one hand I pretty conclusively cracked the code to avoiding overindulging on our national holiday of gluttony (this is also a useful tool if you've ever struggled with your sincerity in begging for the end of days), on the other I desperately wish I could tell you that our misery was a direct result of overindulgence and gluttony. But it wasn't. I'm guessing the more likely suspect was e. coli or some other nasty, easily communicable infectious disease that effectively made the thought of turkey repugnant and severely limited my capacity for pie. Ultimately we payed it forward and left the microbes in Michigan in enough time to come home with a cooler full of leftovers, but we also returned with a rather empty feeling that was the duel result of our inability to ingest food and the fact that we were kind of cheated out of a relaxing vacation.

In other news I got a "job" for next semester. I say it's a "job" because all it really is is the local community college "paying" me to adjunct for them, but nevertheless, it is employment if one chooses to be truly technical about the whole thing. And as I've learned over the last year, with a degree like mine, beggars truly cannot be choosers. I am genuinely excited to get back to teaching, although I was really hoping my near or below minimum wage days were behind me. And that, I suppose, is all I will say about that.

Well I'm tired now. I may be over the worst of the illness, but it still doesn't take much. I think it might be time for a little snooze and a peanut butter cookie that Trader Joe's has cleverly disguised as a healthy whole grain snack bar.

legacy

As a former resident of State College, Pennsylvania and an avid (one might almost say fanatical) football fan, I've obviously been deeply preoccupied with the recent scandal. (For a concise summary of these events, I direct you to the Will Cooley Fan Club.) I've come to very few conclusions; indeed, I think it is primarily questions that have come to light. I do, however, have some thoughts.

They should have canceled the football game this week. I think a call to end the season is extreme, and I would love as much as anyone for the Big Ten to redeem itself on and off the field. But it's not about that. Nor should such a move have been seen as punitive--against a team that bears no responsibility for this situation nor even against the student body, members of whom managed to make an unbearably difficult situation even worse. (I desperately hope that Nebraska's athletic director's call for increased security to ensure the safety of its fans and players is unnecessary, but, even if they go so far as to administer breathalizer tests at the gate, I share his fear.) But time to reflect is necessary, particularly given the height of the emotions over so many aspects of this situation, and I think this is all the more true given the fact that football is so central to State College's identity. I think taking some time to decide what Penn State stands for outside of what Joe Paterno stands for (and indeed what he claims to stand for) is the only way to move forward.

I reserve judgement on Mike McQueary, the graduate assistant and now receivers coach who witnessed Sandusky raping a ten year old child. Obviously he could and should have done more. But the central issue in every aspect of this case is the disparity of power between individuals: not just between Sandusky and his victims, but between witnesses (there was a janitor who witnessed a similar incident who was equally hesitant to break the chain of command) and the people to whom they reported. The issue of power is also pivotal in the decision not to include the police. We may never know who, ultimately, had the last word on whether this investigation would move forward; I suspect the former leaders of Penn State will soon be eagerly throwing each other under the bus, with the result that anything resembling objective truth on this issue will be obscured. However, I do have a question that I hope will be answered as this case goes to trial: this indictment was two years in the making--why? Why did it take so long to level charges, and what kind of evidence was Tom Corbett (then state attorney general and now governor) amassing, and was it worth the risk of Sandusky remaining at large? I understand that these are very serious allegations, and the victims deserve to not have Sandusky set free on a mistake or a technicality, but I suspect there is more to this case and its cover up that we haven't yet seen.

Finally, I think that the primary question need not be how could this have happened? The answer is simple: there are truly horrible people who do truly horrible things. This may smack of cynicism, but it's true. I think the real question is why? Why did this happen? Why the closing of ranks? The deliberate ignorance? The University law unto itself? One might suggest that this is what we get for deifying sports icons (there was an eerily posthumous--even beatified--quality to the revery surrounding Paterno, even as he was still coaching), and there's probably some truth to this, although, despite all his actions and inactions, I believe Paterno loves Penn State. One could also say that this was a simple matter of greed or pride; we've made major universities into institutions like every other, where money begets power and power begets hubris. I suspect that Paterno and the other top leadership at the university (not unlike the Catholic Church) believed that their alternate, self-serving morality was potent enough to supersede that of the outside world. But neither of these explanations accounts for the full story. Which leads me to, yet again, wonder what's left and whether we'll ever truly know why these men failed so deeply.

reflections on turning thirty

I know some of you are older than I am, so I'll try to keep the whining to a minimum, but somehow without any effort on my part, I have become very, VERY old. My half marathon a few weeks back was a complete success--and not just because it was my last race in the 25-29 age bracket. But I went to the doctor for a physical and a flu shot last week and had the unsettling experience of the doctor being younger than me. I mean, there's the off chance she was exactly the same age, but she mentioned that her training only took six years (to my eight), so doing the maths, puts her between 0 and 2 years younger. She also mentioned that she has a brother who's still in college with an undeclared major (just like my Bruizer) so there was alarming parity there as well. It was weird.

On the whole though, I seem to be doing fairly well on the "goals before I turn 30" front. When I first started grad school I made a promise to myself that if I hadn't finished by the time I turned 30, a PhD just wasn't in the cards. So check. And that's pretty much it. I've never been a particularly goal oriented person, which I guess makes them easy to fulfill. (I'm saving "career" for 40 since that's obviously not going to happen in the next fifteen hours.) I also did my marathon, which wasn't really on a timeline, but nevertheless a success. I haven't invented any breakfast cereals or had sex while playing frogger, but I'm more or less married, and happily so. All that's left is a technicality and a bit of dancing and maybe the sacrifice of a goat. We don't have a house yet, but I hate our apartment enough that we're truly committed to finding a place, so it's likely we'll be in a better home by the end of 30. So here I am: slower and fatter and more educated than I was a year ago, with no particular fear of dying alone and comically crappy living arrangements. I guess on the whole, not too bad.