Can anyone tell me???

So this week there’s been a lot of conversation about the administration’s new plans for Iraq. A “surge” is what they call it. According to Condi, this isn’t an “escalation” it’s an “augmentation” of our effort…what beautiful word play. 20,000 more troops and a few billion more dollars to achieve “victory in Iraq,” but it’s not an escalation because our goals remain the same. Now…this line of bs is enough to make my blood boil in and of itself, but my real question is this: What does the phrase “victory in Iraq” mean? I know the party line, victory is achieved when Iraq can govern and defend itself. But who really believes this can happen at this point…or at any point in the next 10 year or so? We’ve created a perpetual battleground. Our foes will continue to funnel money and bodies into Iraq so long as we maintain a presence there, but if we leave, the country, and possibly the region, completely goes to shit. So, again, what does victory look like? Is it a matter of cutting our losses, or is there something more to be had? I won’t pretend to know the answers, I just feel the need to ask the questions. The one thing I do believe, we can’t do it alone, and the only ones who hold enough of a stake in the region to make a real difference…well, we’re not talking to them right now.

Quote of the Day

During a meeting with members of the House Armed Services Committee yesterday, Defense Secretary Robert Gates confessed to the panel that he was "no expert on Iraq", going as far as to say that he was "no expert on military matters" in general.

Hmmm... something about that confession seems really puzzling to me. The guy has 26 years of experience in intelligence, with both the CIA and National Security Council. He's been a pretty high ranking official for quite some time. Yet, during all of those years, he never picked up a smidge of military expertice, let alone a much better grasp on the situation in Iraq than what's held by the American public. Wouldn't it have been a better move by Dubya, considering the current state of affairs in Iraq and the rest of the world, to tap a real expert on all things Iraqi or even all thing military to lead the D.O.D? I'm not doubting Gates' experience, but one would think that if the president was serious about winning the war, if "winning" is even a legitimate option anymore, that he would've gone the way of someone with a little more military intelligence.

Or maybe, just maybe, you'd think that Bush would've pressured his nominee to beef up his knowledge of Iraq before allowing him to take over at the Pentagon. Oh wait, that's right, Gates had that chance when he was a member of the James Baker's Iraq Study Group. I guess that several month long crash course didn't really do much.

Talk about faith...

If you haven't been there already, check out this discussion out on the Playground. Right my alley.

Plug-and-Play Diplomats

Dubya made some interesting moves this week, a shake-up, if you will. Seems that Negroponte will soon be Condi’s number two replaced by a yet-to-be-named crony. Our illustrious ambassador to Iraq looks to be moving into Bolton’s old post at the UN. The administrations two top generals are also stepping down and being replaced. I don’t know much about diplomacy and I don’t know much about politics, but it seems to me that experience really doesn’t matter. It seems to me that qualifications for the job don’t really matter. It looks like the decision has been made by this administration that diplomats and generals are simply plug-and-play. It’s like that game with the ball under one of the three cups…where will the dip end up? You did it here, you can do it there. We’ll just pluck you from this post, drop you in that. It’s not a demotion, it just is what it is…I don’t know, but it just doesn’t make sense to me.

Thanks Bill

An era in the history of Pittsburgh sports has come to an end. And as a die-hard yinzer (read: Steeler fan) through and through, I've got to admit I'm deeply, deeply saddened by it. After 15 great, yet sometimes rocky, years as the head coach of the Steelers, 11 winning records, 2 AFC titles, and a Vince Lombardi Trophy, Bill Cowher has decided to resign, hoping to retreat to North Carolina to spend more time with his wife and 3 daughters.

Perhaps more than any other sports team in the nation, the Steelers franchise is their city, is Pittsburgh, personified. Hardworking, blue collar, tough, resilient, proud yet incredibly humble: the Steelers and the Rooney family, like the working class people of the city, cherish those traits like none other. And in his 15 years as head coach Bill Cowher, the jaw-jutting native son who succeeded a legend in former coach Chuck Noll, has typified the organization and the city. He's been a tough, hardworking teacher and coach. Like the city of Pittsburgh, which has tried for years to pull itself out of the failures of industrialization, he's been resilient, enduring a number of losing seasons on the cusp of winning a Super Bowl Championship. He's been humble in the face of immense accomplishments, and even during losing campaigns, proud of the time and effort his players and assistants put in. Above all, Bill Cowher has been respected not only as a solid leader, but also as a man. Players attest that even though a fuming Cowher, with his trademark jaw out and spit flying from his mouth, was usually the first guy to be in your face after a mishap on the field, he was also almost always the first to slap your helmet after a job well done.

Coach Cowher has been the only head coach that I, and a host of other Steelers fans, have known. And while it's almost inevitible that Bill will one day seek another head coaching job in the NFL, I know that my fellow yinzers and I will always hold a special place in our black and gold hearts for him. Earlier today Cowher told members of the media, " You can take the people out of Pittsburgh, but you will never take the Pittsburgh out of the people. I'm one of you." Well Coach, no matter where you go, we'll always be damn glad to have you. Thanks for the memories.

I don't know...

I don’t know… I don’t know what life’s supposed to be or where I’m supposed to go. I don’t know where I’ll be in ten years, or even next year. I don’t know if I’m to be an MBA, a philosopher, a carpenter, a space cadet. I don’t really know why I’m blessed with such wonderful friends or why I’ve been so lucky to have the amazing experiences I’ve had. I don’t know how I got the fortunate lot in life that I did. I don’t know the right way to go about finding a job. I definitely don’t know the first thing about choosing a grad school. I don’t know if everyone has one love of their life or 50 million of them. I don’t know how to make money or if I want to make money. Hell, I don’t even know if the shit that I don’t know even matters. But that’s really not the point, is it? I mean, there’s a lot out there that I don’t know and never will know, but the important stuff is the stuff I have figured out…or at least I’m starting to figure out. I do know that there’s nothing more important than good friends and caring family and that I should never, ever do anything to alienate them. I do know that a cup of coffee matters in the morning and that sunshine usually makes you feel better, too. I do know that life’s an intermittent spattering of high points that we have to cherish…and the rest is filling the voids between, hopefully productively, playfully, and happily. The highpoints are weekends with good friends. The highpoints are sips of good wine or hearty beer. The high points are steak dinners and passing a piece with certain friends. The highpoints are festive holiday meals and nights in the hot tub with dad drinking beer. We have to fill the gaps between the good hugs, the cuddles and the passionate kisses…the gap between the great books and new ideas with real life. We fill the gaps with going to work, reading the mundane, catching the news, and office happy hours. The trick is to keep the gaps short and real life light and entertaining…that way you have some stories to tell your friends on those amazing weekends and evenings. That’s about all I know.

Happy New Year Folks!!!

See you all in 2007! Wish everyone a safe and happy night and all the best in the new year! Hopefully I'll have more interesting thoughts when it gets here...haha.

Holiday Thoughts

Being home for the holidays is always wonderful. It was an incredible long weekend with friends and family. Did a little drinking, a little hunting, a bit of story telling and a LOT of laughing, but I started off the weekend by reading these thoughts from Mama Philosopher and I felt compelled to pass them along:

Isn’t what we really need this time of year one more sweatshirt with Santa falling off his sleigh? The other day I was on hold to speak with someone at Sam’s Club to answer a question about a gift for my husband. The gentleman helping me had a distinct accent and so we spent a few minutes trying to understand each other. Finally, I was put on hold, or at least he thought I was on hold, but, actually, I was overhearing another poor sap talking to another Sam’s employee with another foreign accent trying to purchase that perfect gift. Finally, when I was put on hold, I spent another ten minutes listening to the most beautiful Christmas song about the babe Jesus. It was a moment in all the many moments that lead up to the celebration of our Savior’s birth. Not sure what the feeling was I was experiencing while listening to the song; sort of an eclectic mixture of emotions. Mostly what I felt was shame, guilt and longing.

The shame, I believe, came from the realization that somehow in all the preparations what I really spend the least time preparing is my heart. My heart knows what to do, my mind leads me astray somehow each holiday season. My hear feels heavier this time of year; the poor look poorer; the homes needing repairs somehow look even more needy. The stories I hear day in and day out in my practice as a counselor somehow seem sadder. My heart is trying to be heard. I do my giving tree bit. I don’t pass a bucket without dropping some bucks, and there have been times during the season when I give to my clients, anonymously of course, because God knows I wouldn’t want to be unethical or allow tem to know I have a heart at all. Always in the back of my mind during Thanksgiving and Christmas is this vision of me and mine working at a shelter or handing out food to the homeless. But somehow I know we would get there late ‘cause no one would want to get up, or it may intrude on my kids’ plans to party with their friends, or, God forbid, there might be a football game on at the same time.

The guilt I felt listening to the Christmas song while on hold probably has to do with the reality I choose to repeat year after year…the same routine of preparations. I bake the cookies even though we are overweight with high cholesterol and borderline diabetes. I buy the gifts even though all through the year I and those I love get what we need or want when we need or want it. My guilt is acknowledging it is not others, not my family keeping me from changing the way I prepare for Christmas, it is me and my need to keep it going. Nostalgia takes over and I obsess about doing it the way I did it last year and the year before and the year before that. My kids are not kids anymore; they are 19 and 23 and I still find myself counting to see if they both have the same number of gifts under the tree. Do I do this for them or me? This may be the important question. When it comes down to it, it is easier, less awkward, less risky to keep repeating what was done before than to try something new. I would risk seeing some disappointment in their faces if there were no gifts on Christmas morning. I would certainly hear a few whines if the food was not on the table. So the earthly needs would go unsatisfied. But if we did the things I dream of doing as a family, take an active role in providing for others, sharing our blessings…how satisfied our hearts would be.

The feeling of longing I felt listening to the story of the baby Jesus’ birth probably had something to do with hope someday I will have the courage to do it right. Someday I will listen more to my heart and less to my head. Someday I will choose to take the risk of disappointing family, abandoning tradition, and instead listen to the little voice inside of me. The little voice kept quiet for too long.

Note: This would have been longer but the timer on my oven sounded and I had to get another pan of cookies out before they burned. And the doorbell is ringing, maybe another box from QVC…

Happy Festivus!

Today, take the time to set up an alluminum pole(note: pole must be alluminum because of its high strength-to-weight ratio and must be undecorated because tinsel is really freaking distracting) in your living room, complain to all of your friends about how they've wronged you over the past year, and end the day with a wrestling extravaganza... and do it all in the name of Festivus, the holiday created the father of Seinfeld writer Daniel O'Keefe. The holiday, which gained fame in the Seinfeld episode "The Strike" about ten years ago could be just what this country's looking for this holiday season: a non-denominational, uncommercialized excuse to relax, drink, eat, and be jolly all while not stepping on anyone's toes.

So, instead of bickering about whether you should say Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy Hanukkah, or Merry Saturnalia let's all come together and celebrate the Miracles of Festivus.

A Little Christmas Cheer?

I was doing a little Christmas trivia research (by the way, it was, in the original anonymous printing, Donner and Blixem then Donder and Blitzen, and, finally, Donner and Blitzen...something to do with German vs. Dutch spellings, but no matter how you spell it they translate to Thunder and Lightening) when I came across this classic. Thought you might enjoy:

A Visit from Saint Nicholas
(In the Ernest Hemingway Manner)
by James Thurber
Issue of 1927-12-24
Posted 2003-12-15

This classic New Yorker holiday story, from 1927, appears in the anthology “Christmas at The New Yorker,” which was published by Random House.

It was the night before Christmas. The house was very quiet. No creatures were stirring in the house. There weren’t even any mice stirring. The stockings had been hung carefully by the chimney. The children hoped that Saint Nicholas would come and fill them.

The children were in their beds. Their beds were in the room next to ours. Mamma and I were in our beds. Mamma wore a kerchief. I had my cap on. I could hear the children moving. We didn’t move. We wanted the children to think we were asleep.

“Father,” the children said.

There was no answer. He’s there, all right, they thought.

“Father,” they said, and banged on their beds.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“We have visions of sugarplums,” the children said.

“Go to sleep,” said mamma.

“We can’t sleep,” said the children. They stopped talking, but I could hear them moving. They made sounds.

“Can you sleep?” asked the children.

“No,” I said.

“You ought to sleep.”

“I know. I ought to sleep.”

“Can we have some sugarplums?”

“You can’t have any sugarplums,” said mamma.

“We just asked you.”

There was a long silence. I could hear the children moving again.

“Is Saint Nicholas asleep?” asked the children.

“No,” mamma said. “Be quiet.”

“What the hell would he be asleep tonight for?” I asked.

“He might be,” the children said.

“He isn’t,” I said.

“Let’s try to sleep,” said mamma.

The house became quiet once more. I could hear the rustling noises the children made when they moved in their beds.

Out on the lawn a clatter arose. I got out of bed and went to the window. I opened the shutters; then I threw up the sash. The moon shone on the snow. The moon gave the lustre of mid-day to objects in the snow. There was a miniature sleigh in the snow, and eight tiny reindeer. A little man was driving them. He was lively and quick. He whistled and shouted at the reindeer and called them by their names. Their names were Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donder, and Blitzen.

He told them to dash away to the top of the porch, and then he told them to dash away to the top of the wall. They did. The sleigh was full of toys.

“Who is it?” mamma asked.

“Some guy,” I said. “A little guy.”

I pulled my head in out of the window and listened. I heard the reindeer on the roof. I could hear their hoofs pawing and prancing on the roof. “Shut the window,” said mamma. I stood still and listened.

“What do you hear?”

“Reindeer,” I said. I shut the window and walked about. It was cold. Mamma sat up in the bed and looked at me.

“How would they get on the roof?” mamma asked.

“They fly.”

“Get into bed. You’ll catch cold.”

Mamma lay down in bed. I didn’t get into bed. I kept walking around.

“What do you mean, they fly?” asked mamma.

“Just fly is all.”

Mamma turned away toward the wall. She didn’t say anything.

I went out into the room where the chimney was. The little man came down the chimney and stepped into the room. He was dressed all in fur. His clothes were covered with ashes and soot from the chimney. On his back was a pack like a peddler’s pack. There were toys in it. His cheeks and nose were red and he had dimples. His eyes twinkled. His mouth was little, like a bow, and his beard was very white. Between his teeth was a stumpy pipe. The smoke from the pipe encircled his head in a wreath. He laughed and his belly shook. It shook like a bowl of red jelly. I laughed. He winked his eye, then he gave a twist to his head. He didn’t say anything.

He turned to the chimney and filled the stockings and turned away from the chimney. Laying his finger aside his nose, he gave a nod. Then he went up the chimney. I went to the chimney and looked up. I saw him get into his sleigh. He whistled at his team and the team flew away. The team flew as lightly as thistledown. The driver called out, “Merry Christmas and good night.” I went back to bed.

“What was it?” asked mamma. “Saint Nicholas?” She smiled.

“Yeah,” I said.

She sighed and turned in the bed.

“I saw him,” I said.

“Sure.”

“I did see him.”

“Sure you saw him.” She turned farther toward the wall.

“Father,” said the children.

“There you go,” mamma said. “You and your flying reindeer.”

“Go to sleep,” I said.

“Can we see Saint Nicholas when he comes?” the children asked.

“You got to be asleep,” I said. “You got to be asleep when he comes. You can’t see him unless you’re unconscious.”

“Father knows,” mamma said.

I pulled the covers over my mouth. It was warm under the covers. As I went to sleep I wondered if mamma was right.

Quote of the Day

Yesterday, Oxymoronic Philosopher wrote of a War on Christianity. While the idea of a well planned, serious onslaught against Christianity and Christmas seems highly improbable, the notion that many right wing nutjobs, ranging from pundits to politicians, are seriously waging a war on Islam seems a whole-hell-of-a lot less far-fetched. And these guys aren't necessarily attacking the sort of radical Islam espoused by our real enemies (lest we forget who those guys are... you know, the ones who attacked us, the ones went after and blew our chances to get in Afghanistan). No, far from it. They're taking jabs at honest, hard-working Americans who choose to exercise their First Amendment right and practice the teachings of Muhammad.


Take Minn. Rep. Elect Keith Ellison, who, about a month ago, requested to be sworn in using the Quran. He's become the target of the right-wingers simply for staying steadfast in his beliefs, something Christian Conservatives seem to favor when it comes to members of their own flock but tend to oppose when it comes to followers of a different persuasion. The message seems clear: 'Christians, hold your beliefs no matter what. You're right, and there's no debatin' that. Never let the media, government, etc. challenge those beliefs. Everybody else: freedom of religion only applies to us. Screw you!'

So many members of the Conservative media have told Rep. Elect Ellison "screw you" that it's ridiculous. Remember back in November when CNN Headline News host Glenn Beck told Ellison, "what I feel like saying is, 'Sir, prove to me that you are not working with our enemies.'"? Comments like these aren't limited to idiots like Beck, though. Just a few days ago Virginia Congressman (yes, a congressman. an elected leader who's supposed to uphold the Constitution) Virgil Goode wrote a letter to his constituents about the need for a complete overhaul of the current immigration policy, which leads us to the long-awaited and much anticipated (work with me, people) return of my Quote of the Day.

In the letter Goode wrote, "When I raise my hand to take the oath on Swearing In Day, I will have the Bible in my other hand. I do not subscribe to using the Quran in any way.

"The Muslim representative from Minnesota was elected by the voters of that district and if American citizens don't wake up and adopt the Virgil Goode position on immigration there will likely be many more Muslims elected to office and demanding the use of the Quran... I fear that in the next century we will have many more Muslims in the United States if we do not adopt the strict immigration policies that I believe are necessary..."

Having the greeter at the local Wal-Mart say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas" is one thing. It's a petty argument for an so-called war that doesn't really exist. Having a U.S. Congressman, a guy who's supposed to defend the Bill of Rights in every situation, attack the Quran and essentially undermine the legitimacy of a Muslim-congressman is an entirely different thing. That, my friends, is a well-calculated war on a religion that has been overshadowed in the mainstream media.

A War on Christianity

Sitting at work this morning and an email indicator pops up in the bottom corner of the screen…I double click, and this is what I see:

Now I sit me down in school
Where praying is against the rule
For this great nation under God
Finds mention of Him very odd.

If Scripture now the class recites,
It violates the Bill of Rights.
And anytime my head I bow
Becomes a Federal matter now.

Our hair can be purple, orange or green,
That's no offense; it's a freedom scene.
The law is specific, the law is precise.
Prayers spoken aloud are a serious vice.

For praying in a public hall
Might offend someone with no faith at all.
In silence alone we must meditate,
God's name is prohibited by the state.

We're allowed to cuss and dress like freaks,
And pierce our noses, tongues and cheeks.
They've outlawed guns, but FIRST the Bible.
To quote the Good Book makes me liable.

We can elect a pregnant Senior Queen,
And the 'unwed daddy,' our Senior King.
It's "inappropriate" to teach right from wrong,
We're taught that such "judgments" do not belong.

We can get our condoms and birth controls,
Study witchcraft, vampires and totem poles.
But the Ten Commandments are not allowed,
No word of God must reach this crowd.

It's scary here I must confess,
When chaos reigns the school's a mess.
So, Lord, this silent plea I make:
Should I be shot; My soul please take!

Amen

Now, I’m not as crafty as SteveG, so I won’t put my own twist to this tale, but I do want to contemplate it for a just a moment. What got us to this point…where trite poems about the persecution of Christians intrude on our mailboxes on a daily basis? Is it that we have become so secular, so entrenched in reason, logic, and science that we are simply appalled by appeals to religion…by the prayers of others? Come on…if we’re living in a reality-based society where reason has defeated all comers, why are we still in an ill conceived war? Why is it that the majority still claims to be religious? Why is it that most charitable giving still comes from the low-income population and through religious channels? No, reason hasn’t won out on this one.

In fact, we’re dealing with just the opposite. The pressure against religion in public life is reactionary. It is a reaction on behalf of the religious minorities in the face of some of the greatest churchgoing and evangelizing that this nation has seen. It’s done in different ways now than in the past…with light shows, video screens, TV and radio broadcasts, but the Christians of this country are far from persecuted. The mechanisms have always been in place to remove the religious gestures from public life, but the impetus to do so was never there until the minority began to feel threatened. Then…the push from both sides began.

The question left unanswered, though…is this the solution we ought seek or is this yet another symptom of the continuing polarization of American society? Is it not just a reaction, but an overreaction that we see coming from both sides of this issue?

The Decision Is In...

No casino in Gettysburg:

Pa. gaming board awards 5 slots licenses in historic session

12/20/2006, 12:06 p.m. ET By MARC LEVY The Associated Press

HARRISBURG, Pa. (AP) — State gambling regulators on Wednesday awarded five slots licenses for casino projects in Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Bethlehem and the Pocono Mountains, while rejecting bids that included a proposal for a slots parlor near the historic Gettysburg battlefield.

The Pennsylvania Gaming Control Board awarded two Philadelphia licenses to groups led by billionaire developer Neil G. Bluhm and by Connecticut-based Mashantucket Pequot Tribal Nation. In Pittsburgh, the board awarded a license to Detroit-based casino developer Don H. Barden.

Las Vegas-based casino operator Las Vegas Sands Corp. won a license for a Bethlehem casino and businessman Louis A. DeNaples won one for a Pocono Mountain resort.

The gaming board can award as many as 11 permanent slots licenses, each allowing as many as 5,000 machines. Six licenses are earmarked for the state's horse-racing tracks, while 13 applicants competed for the remaining five stand-alone licenses.

Among the applications the board rejected were:

• a hotly contested proposal by a group led by Connecticut-based Silver Point Capital LP for a casino near the Gettysburg battlefield;

• an application by Donald Trump's Atlantic City, N.J.-based casino company for a casino in Philadelphia;

• a proposal by St. Louis-based casino operator Isle of Capri Casinos Inc. for a casino in Pittsburgh; Isle of Capri had promised to build a new $290 million arena for the Pittsburgh Penguins without using taxpayer money.

So far, two racetracks — Mohegan Sun at Pocono Downs and Philadelphia Park — already have opened slots parlors under conditional licenses, while racetracks in Chester and near Erie are expected to open slots parlors in the next two months.

Gov. Ed Rendell rejuvenated a 25-year drive to legalize casino-style gambling in Pennsylvania by promising that slots revenue would help reduce property taxes and revive the state's declining horse-racing industry. The law passed in 2004 authorized up to 61,000 slot machines at 14 sites.

The First Day

I, as I’m sure many do, often find myself thinking about my beliefs and convictions, both spiritual and intellectual, and how well the way I actually live my life coincides with them. I usually come to the conclusion that the overarching theme of my life displays well the beliefs I hold about the way a good life should be lived, but I’ll be damned if I’m not still a hypocrite the other 49% of the time.

One of the most outrageous examples of this disjunct in belief and practice surfaces every year between the Monday after Thanksgiving and mid-January. This is the time of year that I take to the woods in that most primal endeavor, that coming of age event of the Western PA youth…yes, my friends, the Oxymoron continues, I am a hunter. Though occasionally pursuing small game and birds, the Pennsylvania whitetail is my prey of choice. Grant it, I haven’t taken a deer in the last two years…I said I was a hunter, not a killer. Often the adventure is more about taking my gun for a long walk in the woods than anything else.

So what is it that draws me to this “sport?” I hesitate in daily life to squash a fly or step on a spider. I swerve to miss squirrels in the road and feel terrible when I step on the tail of my 15 year old cat. I despise causing harm or bringing pain upon anyone or anything…for the most part. But, for some reason, I can’t think of hunting in these terms. There are the common defenses, with which I agree, given by hunters and outdoorsmen: population control, crop protection, if we don’t kill them you’ll hit them with your car, there are so many deer that they will starve to death if not controlled. But there’s so much more to taking to the woods during this time of year. There’s a culture and a tradition built up around it that I am, quite simply, not ready to forego. This is one time of year when I make the entirely conscious decision to live in discord with my beliefs.

The tradition…it starts in September when the time comes to buy a license and send in applications for additional tags. The emails and phone calls start escalating. Who’s seeing deer where? Where’s the big buck this year? Where are you hunting? Should we move our stands? Have the regulations changed? Remember where they took that big one in the Valley last year? It builds and builds…my dad, my uncles, my closest friends all chatting it up over the coming season.

Then…Thanksgiving weekend. Some of the guys have already been out for archery; they’ve seen the deer and have tales of tails to tell. The night before the holiday is always a night out on the town talking with old friends, singing, telling stories, and reminiscing. Thanksgiving day is for football and feasting and drinking some beer. But then comes Black Friday; while many take to the malls my friends and I take to the woods. We clean our guns, prepare our gear, check all our treestands, blinds, and other spots. Make sure the paths are clear and shooting lanes open, then trek back to the cabin for a couple of beers. Sunday is the final preparation. Pile the gear in the basement, double check your ammo, make some sandwiches with the leftover turkey, and go buy a pair of gloves because you definitely lost yours from last year…oh, and batteries for the flashlight…how are they ALWAYS dead? Nobody really sleeps on Sunday night.

The serenity…the alarm wakes me at 4:30 AM. Breakfast and a cup of coffee with my dad, and we bitch about how the newspaper is never there on time on the First Day (we capitalize it in PA b/c it’s a holiday there). I glare out the window at the crisp, dark morning hoping for some snow that just won’t come. Pile on three layers of clothes…maybe four…and mom gets up to say, “Good luck!” Load the gear in the truck, grab your thermos of coffee hit the road.

In the woods before sunrise finding your way with a flashlight, the stands must have moved since Friday…honestly, where can they be…by the big pine, or was it that big pine? Small talk ceased when we left the truck, now it’s walking in silence. Finally, I’ve found my tree and climbed the stand…strapped myself in and loaded my gun. My walkie-talkie is still off and this is my favorite part of the day. Watching the sun slowly peek over the horizon, the pinks and oranges of the morning light flicker off the glistening branches of the winter trees. The woods start to come alive. Birds chirp. Turkeys fly from their perches like feather covered rocks falling from trees. Woodpeckers start about their day. I sit in silence…just watching, listening. It’s the perfect place to be a philosopher…to contemplate and meditate. I’ve written papers in the woods before, all in my head. Made life decisions there, too. Hours pass slowly but steadily. A rustle behind me, and I turn slowly thinking it may be a deer. Just some squirrels playing, chasing each other through the leaves. Damn do they get annoying after a while, always keeping you at nerves end. But then, distinctively, the sound of a deer…maybe two…moving through the woods. They’re swift and light on their feet, but still I can hear them coming…behind me. I wait…let them move closer, then slowly turn…so slowly. Out of the corner of my eye…she’s there…just a doe. What beautiful creatures…majestic…this is their wood, where they belong. She walks, then eats, then walks. I turn to get a better look, still moving gingerly. She hears me. She looks at me then looks away as I hold my breath. Then…unexplainably, she spooks. As she runs, I see her suitor. The powerful buck that had been just out of my field of view gives chase.

The adrenaline…my heart starts to pound profusely, breathing becomes sporadic as I raise my gun and find him in my scope. I can’t hold him there, my hands tremble. A DEEP SLOW BREATH…and they steady. He has enough points…find his front shoulder…slowly squeeze…

Aha…drag him back to the cabin and let the stories begin over a sandwich, a cup of coffee and a frozen candy bar. No sandwich is better than the one that’s been smashed under your thermos all morning. No cup of coffee tastes as good as the hot cup in the cold woods. And frozen Snickers are a gift from heaven.

No…I’m not ready to give this up. I can’t reconcile it with my beliefs or justify the killing of an animal with any intellectual or spiritual certainty. But…sometimes traditions are just that way. Sometimes the tradition consumes you and is simply inexplicable…and I like that…sometimes.

Applications: COMPLETE

FINALLY! I just sent of the final 3 packets of supplementary materials today and the ball is officially out of my court...for now. What a great feeling...knowing I've done what I can to this point and now have the constant weight I've been feeling for the last few months relieved. I ended up applying to seven grad programs pretty much across the spectrum. Six PhDs and one MA; a few large research institutes and a couple of smaller programs; from strong Continental programs to pluralistic/eclectic programs, to the highly analytic department at Pitt. It will be interesting/fun to see how this all plays out (not to mention a little nerve wracking). So everyone please keep your fingers, toes, eyes....and whatever else you got...crossed for me!

Lack of Posts

It's been a week since the blog's been updated, and even before that, postings were few and far between. For our readers (there are a few readers, right?... maybe?), I think this deserves an explanation.

While the Oxymoronic Philosopher has been busy with work and grad. school applications, I've been busy writing papers, studying for exams, and wrapping up my fall semester. Thus, as of late, posts have been sporadic and, to some degree, without much thought. We just haven't had the energy to put any real thought into writing anything, and that's sad. Hopefully at some point we'll get back to putting the time needed into maintaining a thoughtful, earnest blog. Until then, keep checking in from time to time, as I'm sure that random posts will continue to appear.

Happy Monday,
Ping

Charitable or Cheap?

So I was buying a new hoodie at a sporting goods chain the other day, and as I waited for my receipt, the cashier asked me if I wanted to donate to the American Red Cross. Noticing my indecision, the cashier politely said that donations could be as little as a dollar. After the immediate hesitation, I said that I would donate. And when asked how much, I quickly responded "a dollar."

Normally I wouldn't think twice about donating to a charity. Some pocket change, a dollar, or even more: I tend to give money to organizations when asked or on my own terms. However, this situation was weird for me. It seemed like I was bombarded by the question and really had no choice but to say yes. I was forced, or almost guilted, into donating-- not that that's necessarily a bad thing. It's probably a very good thing for the charities benefiting from such practices.

Then, once I made it clear that I was giving the minimum amount-- a dollar-- I couldn't help but feel like a cheapskate. There I was spending some forty bucks on a new hoodie, yet I couldn't shell out more than a dollar for the Red Cross? What's more is that I didn't even immediately decide to give anything. Was my early indecision just a result of the fact that I felt bombarded by the question?

Why do I feel so weird about this? I mean, I did make a donation. Was I charitable or was I just plain cheap?

Weekly Report Card

From the NFL to Capitol Hill, here's how the world the fared this week.

Last Sunday, my beloved Pittsburgh Steelers got a much-needed win, besting the New Olreans Saints 38-31. To this point in the NFL season, my Sundays, which were days of pure joy last season as the Steelers went on an improbable run to the Super Bowl, have been mired in the stench of defeat. It's been disgusting watching a battered Ben Roethlisberger, who was once hailed as the saviour of Pittsburgh football, look like a hapless, has-been type quarterback. And it's been even more disgusting watching the injury-ridden Steelers limp to a 2-6 record just a year removed from a Super Bowl Championship. Sunday's win, in which the Steelers didn't turn the ball over and reverted to a trusty, smashmouth, Steeler-esqe running game, was a much needed one for Roethisberger and the Steelers as well as for irate fans like me. Grade: B+


Tuesday, CNN's Glenn Beck put Representative-elect Keith Ellison, the first Muslim ever elected to Congress, in a really akward situation, saying, "I have been nervous about this interview with you, because what I feel like saying is, 'Sir, prove to me that you are not working with our enemies.' " Beck added: "I'm not accusing you of being an enemy, but that's the way I feel, and I think a lot of Americans will feel that way."Not only is Beck a complete idiot, but I also think (and hope) that he's grossly misrepresenting the feelings of most Americans. Grades (for Beck and CNN for allowing such trash to be aired): F

Wednesday, Republican Senate leadership elected Trent Lott as the Senate's new Minority Whip. Lest we forget that Lott is just four years removed from these comments at Strom Thurmond's 100th birthday party: "I want to say this about my state: When Strom Thurmond ran for president, we voted for him. We're proud of it. And if the rest of the country had followed our lead, we wouldn't have had all these problems over all these years, either." Great. You're proud that your state voted for a segregationist candidate in the 1948 election. What problems might Thurmond have cleared up? That terrible ruckus made over civil rights? Memo to Republican Senators: your party has enough problems, adding a racist to the ranks of your leadership cannot be a good thing. Grade: F

Thursday, MSNBC reported that Fox has agreed to an interview with O.J. Simpson about his new book, If I Did It. First, jeers to Simpsons, who is already creepy enough without writing a book about how he "would have" murdered his ex-wife and her boyfriend. Second, jeers to Fox and Judith Regan for giving O.J. airtime to plug the book, which was published . O.J. should be ashamed. More importantly, Fox should be ashamed. Oh, that's right, this is the same network that lets the likes of O'Reilly and Hannity act as newsmen. This is the same network that brought us quality TV with shows like "Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance". This network shows no shame. Grades: F

This Is Just Too Cool

Check out this computer interface of the future. I want one now!!! How cool is this thing?

A Touching Tribute and Other Post Election Ramblings

Last night, the Colbert Report put on a touching tribute (click the video called "Special Memories") to the Republican majority, reminiscing about some of the greatest leadership our country has ever seen. Ah, the good old days... nearly brought a tear to my eye.

Moving on, who else is happy that election season is over, if only for the fact that we don't have to be constantly bombarded with crappy TV ads for a few more years? If I had to watch Rick Santorum punch out a pro wrestler again, I think I'd lose it. It's great to see that Rick's attempts to get the pro wrestling fan vote weren't enough to save his Senate seat.

On a more serious not, I just read that George Allen is set to concede the Virgina senate race today, avoiding what could have been a really messy, ugly re-count. I'm pretty shocked by this, as I really thought that leading Republicans would go to great lengths to re-count those votes and somehow make up for the some 7,ooo votes Allen is currently trailing by. It's very unlike Republicans (hell, it's very unlike Democrats, as well) to simply give up a race that's as close as this one wihtout any sort of fight, dirty or not. Could this be a sign that these guys are more down and out than we thought? Did the Democratic defeat drain most of the energy out of the Republican party on a national level?

That's all for now, just thought I'd weigh in on some stuff that hasn't yet been hashed to death.