The Nittany Turkey

Primarily about Penn State football, this is a tale told by idiots, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

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Season Eight Idol Finalist Overview

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With Nero fiddling in Washington, this Mouse turns to watching Rome burn. Being too disgusted by the corrupt institution there calling itself a congress, and a president who seems oblivious to what the country really needs, it’s time once again for this blog to crank up its American Idol bullshit! A little comic relief is in store, for a change.

We’re down to the final thirteen contestants. How the hell did it become thirteen? I thought it was supposed to be twelve. This year has been confusing to this Mouse. Humans seem to want to change things all the time. We mice just do four things: eat, sleep, get laid, and die. But we do them well. Humans, I guess, are more complex. They want to keep changing things. But I mousegress.

Thirteen finalists in this, the eighth season of American Idol, aspire to join the ranks of the motley crue [sic] of past winners. Let’s see if I can remember them all. Kelly Clarkson, Ruben Studdard, Carrie Underwood, Taylor Hicks, Jordin Sparks, David Cook (the guy with the built-in yarmulke) , and who else? That’s only six. Let me look it up. Oh, yeah. I missed Fantasia Barrino in Season 3. Never liked her.

Anyhow, the thirteen hopefuls this year are: Adam Lambert, Alexis Grace, Allison Iraheta, Anoop Desai, Danny Gokey, Jasmine Murray, Jorge Nuñez, Kris Allen, Lil Rounds, Matt Giraud, Megan Joy, Michael Sarver, and Scott MacIntyre. They range in age from 16 to 27. ??? ???? ?? ?????? There are five girls, seven boys, and one about whom I’m not completely sure. We even have a blind guy. Throw in an Indian, a Puerto Rican, and an oil rig roughneck, and you’ll conclude that the Idol folks certainly got an eclectic bunch together this year!

That one would be Adam Lambert, who somebody described as a cross between Freddie Mercury and Prince. Although that union might have been plausible, this mouse doubts that it would have produced any offspring.

We have four significant hotties this year, from this Mouse’s perspective. I knocked Allison out of contention for the favorite Season Eight hottie, not because she’s only 16, but because she ain’t my type.(Yeah, I know she is a redhead, but she doesn’t do anything for me.) I much prefer Alexis’ mousy look. Jasmine is only 16, but she has a winning smile. Lil is just plain sexy, but this Mouse is going to have a great deal of difficulty choosing between the two blondes: the aforementioned Alexis Grace and the superhot Megan Joy. Megan has tattoos all the way up her right arm straight to her damn shoulder. I objected to that last year with Amy Carlson, but it sure as hell looks good on Megan. The other blonde, Alexis, is a little girl with a huge voice. ???? ????? I would be surprised if she didn’t go very far this year (if she can stay on pitch).

Of the guys, I bet Adam goes the farthest. He is bound to be a teen and tween favorite because of his looks, and he handles himself well on stage. Jorge’s sincerity, spirit, and handsome smile will serve him well. There’s something for everybody in this rogues’ gallery. If you like blue collar types, Michael Sarver, who works on an oil rig, should make you happy. ???? ????? Scott MacIntyre is the blind guy—I have three relatives who live it his house (see how they run?) – and he can play and sing well. He’s developed a following through the auditions and elimination rounds.

So, we’re almost done with the long build-up. I hope we get down to the final eight quickly, so we can really start cooking. Of course, they are milking this thing as much as they can.

Which Stage Have We Reached?

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I live under The Nittany Turkey’s sofa, and I watch his big screen TV, when I’m not eating the crumbs generated by his football parties. Just like the rest of you, I have lots of opinions.

I have kept my opinions inside for a while because I have been well fed—for a mouse, not unlike American voters, this is Priority Number One. Unlike lots of American voters, I work hard for my meager penance, and never expect that I will be fed just because I merely exist. Thus, if I had a vote—and someday elections might be crooked enough that mice get the right to vote—I would not vote for whoever offers me the biggest handout. I would vote for the long-term security and viability of the republic. But I digress. I need to spew a few of my musinations here, because football season is over, and I’m back to lean and mean again.

Let me give you a quote, which you may humanate over at your leisure.

A democracy cannot exist as a permanent form of government. It can only exist until the voters discover that they can vote themselves largesse from the public treasury. From that moment on, the majority always votes for the candidates promising the most benefits from the public treasury with the result that a democracy always collapses over loose fiscal policy, always followed by a dictatorship. The average age of the world’s greatest civilizations has been 200 years. These nations have progressed through this sequence: ‘From bondage to spiritual faith; From spiritual faith to great courage; From courage to liberty; From liberty to abundance; From abundance to selfishness; From selfishness to apathy; From apathy to dependence; From dependence back into bondage.

Lest you think I’ve been drinking the MUScatel and I invented these thoughts mouself, the quote is attributable to Lord Woodhouselee, Alexander Fraser Tytler,  a Scottish historian/professor who wrote several books in the late 1700s and early 1800s.

Think about that in our present context. Where do you think we are? Can anyone dispute the notion that fiscal policy has been loose, no matter which party has maintained control of Congress? Let’s look beyond partisanship to the greater good of this wonderfully abundant nation we’ve all enjoyed all our lives. Catering to a handout seeking majority is a sure path to ruin. Can we afford to ignore Tytler’s treatise?

Most likely, Tytler was discussing the progression of Athenian society, but I see similarities in Rome, too.

It would be short sighted and ignorant not to think about these words in our present situation. The voters have obviously discovered that they can vote themselves largess from the public treasury. No question about that. With only modest greasing of their palms, those voters can be maintained in the camp of those who would doom us to an oppressive future.

Those voters who do not easily fall into that category are now being subjected to the politics of fear: If you don’t go along with this huge, extravagant, pork-laden, so-called stimulus bill, we’ll all die broke tomorrow!

This society lacks the character to endure pain without falling apart at the seams. Thus, our politicians take the path of least resistance: borrowing money to pay off those who vote for them, knowing that these loans will have to be paid back with considerable interest long after they have feathered their personal nests. The voting public goes along with this scam, of course, because the alternative is onerous. We no longer seem to want to work hard and suffer pain for the sake of subsequent generations as our ancestors did; instead, we easily select the option of inducing pain and suffering on future generations so we can feel good today. We no longer view this as the land of opportunity where hard work can yield great fortunes; we view it as the land of handouts where slacking off is lavishly compensated at the expense of productivity.

To this mouse, this all seems ass-backward.


Adventures in Bereavement: Part one in a series

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I lost my dad a few months ago. After suffering two exhausting bouts of pneumonia in a year, he died at the age of 94. He was in Hospice House those last two weeks of his life, his wife and three daughters (I’m the youngest kid) around him. He knew we loved him and we knew he loved us; maybe at the end of life, that’s what really counts.

I’ve read lots of articles and books on grief. My life partner published a memoir about the loss of his wife of 42 years. He says some wise and profound things on the subject. But while there are similarities, everyone’s experiences with a death of a loved one are different. I’d like to write about a few of mine. Why in this forum and not in a personal journal? I guess because I would like to share what I’m feeling inside. One thing I’ve learned: grief is a lonely experience. No matter the support around you or others who have suffered the same loss, when it comes to mourning, you are pretty much on your own.

If reading this makes you uncomfortable–tough. Don’t read it then. It’s amazing the number of people whose personal motto seems to be, Out of Sight, Out of Mind.

That being said, I can understand the discomfort. Sometimes when friends, both casual and close, have expressed their sympathies to me about my father, I can barely murmur a quiet, “thank you,” and move on to another subject. It’s not so much because I’m uncomfortable as it is the feelings are too deep to be articulated. Death renders us speechless in more ways than one. It’s just too damn BIG.

Big. Yeah, I’ve thought about this a lot. Every daughter is a little girl inside when her dad dies. A girl’s father is the most powerful person in the world to her until she grows up and understands we’re all fallible. Well, I knew this intellectually, but when my dad left this world that little girl raised up inside me, stunned. The thought that her daddy, still all-powerful in her eyes, could succumb was just not possible. I know. Not rational. But that four-year old kid in me doesn’t understand logic and reason and probably never will no matter how much my 53 year old adult self argues with her.

Well, if death doesn’t humble you, what will? And to be honest, I’m still too much in shock to feel humble. I knew that my father was dying. I nursed him for a month at his bedside. I proclaimed to my partner that I was “ready” for him to let go. But I didn’t get the finality of it. And I sure wasn’t ready for it. That’s another thing I’m learning about death–it’s about as final as it gets.

I knew I would feel sad when my dad died. But I wasn’t buy xanax 2mg expecting to feel so damn angry and irritable at a moment’s notice. I’m really not sure what I’m angry about. I guess just the fact that people have to die to begin with. It’s all so absurd–we’re here, then poof, we’re gone.

Since I work in retail and deal with the public, my tolerance level for human idiocy gets a workout pretty often. Lately, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to hold my tongue with customers. For example, the middle-aged and slightly drunk woman I just dealt with (I’m writing from work) who wanted a book she had heard about from a friend who “really knows how to pick em.”

Okay, what’s the name of the book?

I don’t know. Something “surge.”

What’s the book about?

I don’t know but I really want it. It’s supposed to be great and I want a good book. And my friend knows how to pick em.

Well, is it fiction? Nonfiction…

I think nonfiction. Surge…

I do some research on the internet and come up with a number of titles about the surge in the war in Iraq. Could this be what she is looking for?

Well, that sounds familiar. Try this–“shoals.” Type in shoals!

Okaaaay. And of course “shoals,” gets us no closer to identifying the book and I’m starting to lose the thin veneer of patience I walk around with these days. What is it with these people who want you to find a book but can’t tell you its title, author, or even subject matter? The amazing thing is, most of the time, I can find the desired book with bits and pieces of information I’m able to glean from the clueless customer (I’m good), but not in this case. The woman is nuts and she’s driving me that way, fast.

Waitwaitwait. I know! It’s “The Seasons,” something…something seasons, seasons something.

Hmmm, there are only, oh, a few thousand books or so with the word “seasons” in the title.

Are you sure you don’t recall what the books is about?

Nooooo…just that it’s supposed to be really, really good. My friend knows how to pick em. Never mind. Look up Infidel. That is a great book. I want that one! I have about four copies of it.

Huh?

We don’t have the book. Well, that’s okay. She has about four copies of it already. Now what about “seasons…shoal…surge.”

But I’ve had enough. I tell her that I need more information. She says she’ll talk to her friend who knows how to pick em and get back with me. On her way out the door, I hear her confide to her boyfriend, “I didn’t think they’d be able to find it.” Lady, that is the most perceptive thing you’ve probably said all day.

Tolerance. I need more of it these days. Since my dad died, it’s been in short supply.

To be continued.