Haters, Merry PSU Christmas

I haven't blogged in almost a year. I don't know why I bother. But I bother now. By now everyone who has or has not been under a rock has heard about the Sandusky scandal and read about the fallout at Penn State. I'm lucky in that I'm outside the state and don't have to put up with rude comments or Sandusky jokes on a daily basis from PSU haters (i.e., Pitt fans). But I have my fair share here in the Souf'. (South, south).

I was sitting at work, working along, ok, working as much as I could, and was periodically checking into the PSU live tweets coming out of the initial hearings on Tim Curley, former Athletic Director and former VP Gary Schultz (technically head of campus security). Mike McQueary, the assistant coach who at the time of the 2002 incidents was a grad assistant, is the only witness to Sandusky's madness.

I was relaying how I was following the tweets today, and how McQueary's testimony today is the key - could make or break the perjury charges for Curley and Schultz, and could clear or damn what Paterno has already said. Simple as that.

My coworker immediately launched into how "Paterno was the most despicable person in all of this mess."

I was stunned. Stunned that someone believed this way? Yes, a little. Stunned that still, people are continuing to villify Paterno above Sandusky, the child predator? Yes. Stunned that someone well educated and media savvy in the communications business said this? Yes, in a way. Stunned that someone would shed basic human etiquette and knowing full well that I care about this university, say something like that - that he knew would make a coworker upset or distressed? Yes.

I'm not saying Paterno is an angel here. He's at fault just like McQueary, Curley, Schultz, even Spanier. They didn't do enough. Hindsight is 50- 50. We're all armchair quarterbacks on this case. This isn't an easy case, though, about absolutes - it's about degrees. Not degrees of separation; degrees of action versus inaction.

I'm still struggling to understand why people aren't directing the full force of their anger at Sandusky who is the "alleged" pedophile here. Or at McQueary, who was the actual witness but didn't get the child out of the situation or contact university or town police right away, and may have changed his story. But instead choose the figurehead, who, as we're hearing today, may not have heard explicit explanations of what McQueary heard or saw.

Paterno himself said "I didn't do enough." Does that make him the most despicable in this case? In my mind, no. Frustrating? Bewildering? Yes.

The coworker and I traded some tense yet courteous words about who knew what and who did or didn't do what. He even went as far as to quote and bring up Barry Switzer, who recently said "Joe had to have known what was going on," which is then when I slipped and said that Switzer "was an uneducated douchebag" - not my most professional moment. Joe may not have known what was going on before that day in 2002 when McQueary came to his house to tell him in hushed tones. Did Joe Pa clearly know AFTER that day in 2002? It's STILL unclear. One thing's for sure - Switzer wouldn't know anything because he's clearly NOT part of the Penn State football program or in any kind of position to know.

For about 5 minutes this went on until it was clear we had reached an impasse: he's a biased Penn State Hater and I'm a biased Penn State Alum. And nothing's going to be resolved.

All I could do was acknowledge that we wouldn't agree, and and then sit and seethe silently while I attempted to work for an hour or so, plotting my revenge against him with a silent but deadly fart bomb the next time I ate Mexican in the cafeteria. (Don't think I won't, either). I bit my tongue, and about an hour later it was better. But somehow, I don't think it's over, not for a long shot, nor do I think it's the last time this will happen with this person or others.

Trying to stay classy, Penn State, while I defend you, but it's hard.

Vroom, Vroom...Let's Try This Again

Haven't blogged in a year.

I tried. Really, I did. Then I got busy. I'm still just as crazy busy but have been inspired by recent blogs and the fact that my job is less creative and more strategic than it's been. So. I'm dusting off the writing skills.

I'm rusty.

Speaking of rusty, so's my car. Well, my husband's car, a 2002 Diesel Jetta. With red paint that's peeling off. You'd think that a car that's only 9 years old would hold up better...but then again, it's 9.

My nephew is 9 but his skin isn't peeling off.

I digress.

My first car was a 1981 Diesel Rabbit. Free. Also red. But this one had red paint that was oxidizing, so if you brushed up against it, you'd turn red. And it would vibrate if you drove over 50 mph, and would send diesel smoke out of the exhaust if you went over 60.

Rabbit had no air conditioning, which made the 1 hour commute home from Baltimore to the Pennsylvania line so pleasant.

Imagine driving a vibrating Rabbit (stop laughing!) down the beltway with the hatch open and removing all of your professional work clothes except for shorts and a sports bra so you could survive the 95 degree heat.

Stop it, really. You men are SICK.

I got really excited when I got my new car. It was a 1985 Diesel Jetta. I was stepping up in the world! It had 4 doors! Didn't vibrate unless you went over 65 mph! And it had AC, oh, holy of holies, praise Jesus!

The best thing about it was a Convertible Repellent. If I was getting tailgated by yet another bimbo blonde in a convertible on the Baltimore Beltway (yes, it happened pretty frequently), all I'd have to do was tap the gas with my foot and it would send a plume of diesel smoke straight out, making Jenny Wonder Tits hack and gag. Try that for a selling point, VW.

Later, I gave up control of Blue Jetta to the hubby when we got married. Because I got the next new car, awww yeahh.... a 1990 champagne tan Diesel Jetta.

I was moving up in the world, with upholstered seats and all. No leaks. Just a headliner that would droop from time to time, meaning I had to keep pins and glue and duct tape in the car at all times.

That was not a fun weekend when the hubby and I decided to rip out then reglue the headliner. It worked for about a week. Then the glue melted in the Virginia sun, and bubbles and pockets began to sag again, hitting me in the head when I drove the car. And smelled funny. The worst was when a glob of glue touched my hair and I went into work with it. I felt like Mary in Something About Mary except that it was glue and not ... but anyway, glue in the hair isn't easy to get out.

By my estimation, we had used VWs for a full 8 years until the week from hell. Both the 85 and 90 Jettas broke down the same week. The cost to fix both would have been more than they both were worth.We fixed the 90, lost the 85. I was over it. Diesels are dirty, smoky and loud. The number of repairs were too countless to remember. The multiple times one of us had been stranded with a dead battery or broken part just wasn't worth it anymore.

So we bought a brand new 2002... Diesel Jetta. Oh yes. Red. No oxidation. Grey interior. Side airbags. No smoke from the rear. A stereo that worked. Cupholder in the armrest. New car smell, and not dirty gym shoes and moldy carpet smell.

The first time I had it - and I had to wait 2 days to wrangle it away - all I wanted to do was test it. Drive it. I hit the highway. 60. No vibrating or smoke. 65. Same. 70. Wow, no vibrating but a little loud. 75. Ok. What could I do in this thing? 80? 85? 90? YES. No worries. Me thinking of a Diesel Turbo Jetta as a sports car.

I treated it like a baby. Washed it, waxed it, cleaned it. Used special products. Parked it away from other bad cars in the lot. Yeah, I'd become that girl.

Full circle. 9 years later. New becomes old and it's time to look again. My kids don't fit in the back seat of the Jetta anymore, and it no longer has a grey interior. It's grey with sand and coffee stains. We need new tires, new windshield and a paint job. The cost we'd have to put into it might not be worth it and we certainly wouldn't get it back if we sold it.

I usually drive my 2004 Toyota 4Runner. The other day I took the Jetta out to run some errands. Flipped on the radio (nice, because the one in the 4Runner is dead), checked the cupholder armrest (nice! 85 cents!), and cranked the ac. As I blew the dust off the dash, I wondered what it could do. And if it would fall apart trying.

Highway. 65. 70. No worries. 75. No vibrating, no smoke. 80? Yes. Let's push it.
Cake on the radio. "Reluctantly crouched at the starting line..." 85. "Engines pumping.." 90. It's still got it! It's still GOT IT! I spun in and out of slower, sportier cars, not a care or kid in the car. Past the new trucks, past new minivans. Stares of wonder and amazement. Handled beautifully around corners and turns, just like it used to. Screeched into the driveway kicking up a few rocks to the surprise of my neighbor's teenage son, who actually turned around and looked.

Needless to say, I've made an appointment for new tires, a new windshield and a paint job.