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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The Turkey Returns

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He’s back, after a near-death experience.

This blog has been comatose, for which I apologize. ???? ????? I’m here to explain why and what we intend to do about it.

Until recently, I had been involved in negotiations for the sale of the nittanyturkey.com domain, this blog, and all of its past content. Those negotiations have broken down, and this Turkey is happy. The price was reasonable for the buyer, and it was flattering to me that someone thought my work was worth five figures. ?????? ?????? However, eventually, I felt that the Nittany Turkey was worth far more to me than it was to the purchaser.

Not only were they wanting all the rights to the domain name, the blog, and its contents, but also they understandably wanted me to curtail my use of the name Nittany Turkey, in Twitter, Facebook, and wherever. However, from my perspective, I am the Nittany Turkey, and have been since I developed the concept in the 1980s.

Furthermore, I was to refrain from using any of the content that I had produced through the years. You all know how much I love to reach back and pat myself on the back (occasionally) or kick myself in the butt (frequently). Who else could possibly produce the Official Turkey Poop Predictions?

I wanted to write, but I did not feel the need to write if my work was going to appear in another form or disappear completely; hence, the hiatus.

For me, writing is enjoyable and therapeutic. ????? ?????? I need a vehicle where I can express my thoughts and share them with like-minded individuals, as well as those with contrasting views. Facebook is fine for bitching about the travails of daily life, re-posting articles from elsewhere as conversation fodder, and getting into political arguments, but I still need a place of my own I can call home and write whatever the hell I please. (Having been “unfriended” recently with great ceremony on Facebook over some of my finer sarcasm by someone whom I thought was a friend underscores that need, but I digress.)  To establish a new blog, traveling through all the stages between infancy and adulthood would require a significantly outlay of time, energy, frustration, and last and probably least, money.

It is time that is the real issue — not in the sense of pecuniary compensation for its expenditure, but instead its quality as the universal equalizer. It is the one thing of which nothing and no one short of miracle cures and assassins can give us more or less. We all have what we have. At my age, I have far less of it than I had when I was 25, when I would have undoubtedly jumped at the offer to buy the blog. It just did not make sense to me to start over.

This sounds a bit egocentric, and indeed it is. I and the Nittany Turkey are intertwined like gray paint and navy ships. Given all that has happened at Penn State over the past year or so, I’m doing my share to provide some constancy in a rapidly changing Lionosphere. While I’m not narcissistic enough to think that the world would shun the Nittany Turkey if I were not at its helm or would miss it if it did not exist, making believe that those notions are at least somewhat true is what keeps me going on.

In addition to my focus on Penn State football, which is almost upon us once again, we have an important presidential election coming up, and the sitting White House is pulling out all stops to maintain its power. In the resurrected personage of the Mouse Who Ate Xanax, I will undoubtedly be writing about that and other political issues as we march on to the November showdown. Other popular topics of the past, such as Medicare and the AARP will be reprised in these pages from time to time as well, and I’ll devote more time to humor, which we all need to get through this hectic postmodern life of ours. Who knows? Maybe I’ll do another “What I Did on My Summer Vacation” series, starring the Cupcake. (I’d like to take her to visit some colleges this summer, between her junior and senior years in high school.)

I thank you all for your patience during my lengthy hiatus. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise after all of the sordid and tragic events of the fall and winter at Penn State. I do miss Joe, and I still believe that Beaver Stadium should bear his name as well as Colonel Beaver’s. We’ll no doubt be talking about that, too.

Redhead Gets Hers

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Those of you (both of you) who have been following The Nittany Turkey for a long time know that an anonymous writer called “The Redhead” pops in here occasionally to spew her vivacious verbiage—as opposed to gregarious garbiage, which is what the Mouse and I spew—when she feels the need. Apparently, she’s decided that she’ll be feeling the need more often, and with greater specificity toward some of the issues directly affecting her and her circle of friends, for she has created a new blog of her own called Trails of the City.

The Redhead, whose hair has not been red for several years, now calls herself “pmrunner.” I should speculate on the meaning of that name, because—well, just because. She is a runner, so that part is obvious. She does marathons and half-marathons, so that could be the “M”. So, how about “perky marathon runner”? Nahhhh. That’s inane. If she ever heard me applying the term “perky” to her, I am certain that she would give me the tongue lashing I deserved. What, then? I thought about it some more and then, it finally struck me: “post-menopausal runner”. That’s got to be it. I mean, what else could it be?

If you haven’t experienced the prose of The Redhead (aka pmrunner), please give it a try. Although she has a Larry King obsession, that should soon abate as Larry fades into post-retirement obscurity in the fall. And, hey, don’t even mention Tom Cruise to her unless a barf bag is available. However, for the most part she writes about life experiences with which most of us can identify, with a wryly humorous touch and a dash of quasi-sarcastic cynicism. Here’s an example of something she wrote a while back about one of the top five things she despises dealing with medical issues:

Male gynecologists. Sorry, but I’m pretty sexist on this point. We still live in an era when male gynecologists think it’s okay to treat women’s hormonal issues with Valium and Xanax. Face it. You want to be a GYN because it’s the only true way you can act out your fantasies of domination over the female form and get paid big bucks to do it (other than direct porn films). If you want to be a doctor and you like dark, cavernous spaces, go to dental school.

This Turkey is not a professionally licensed gynecologist, just a hobbyist, but if the reader is a male gynecologist, he now knows what this possible ex-patient thinks of him, in no uncertain terms.

In her first post at her new location, pmrunner gives us this tidbit:

I had owned a Honda Civic for more years than I care to admit and after three summers of driving around with a broken a/c, I knew it was time  for a trade-in. After scores of tests drives, it came down to going with another zippy little semi-sports car or a smallish  sedan. The smaller car was peppy and a blast to drive. The sedan, well, it wasn’t that it was a bad ride, in fact, it was excellent. But it was so cushy and comfortable, so…old.  Now I clearly understood the irrational need for the new Mustang/BMW M3/Porsche 911. It wasn’t about the car. It was about reassuring yourself that you weren’t, pardon the pun, further along life’s highway.

Uh-huh. I have an M3. My license plate reads “M3 GEEZR”. ‘Nuf said.

If you want to check out The Redhead’s corpus of work on this site, just select “Redhead’s Reality Rants” from the drop-down Category menu at right. Please be certain to visit her new site, Trails of the City, too. It is a work in progress, but you’ll love the stories. Someday she might even finish the Larry King saga!

Red, best of luck in your new venture, and you know your rants are always welcome here, too!