I am now just over a week into my three-and-a-half-week vacation, and although insomnia and sleep apnea seem to be setting in as nasty biproducts of my schedule during the semester (the latter is an issue for which I really should seek medical attention), it is a pleasure to be able to roll over, see that it's 9:30 a.m., and not have to panic for fear that I have overslept my alarm by two hours. Instead, I can settle back into my covers, roll back to the other side of the bed, and enjoy another hour or 90 minutes of blissful slumber.
One fact that I have learned about myself this semester and in the ensuing time off is that, as much as I long for a moment's rest when I'm shuttling between the university's campus and my office for the third time in a given day, knowing that I'm facing three more hours of forced concentration before I can let my mind spool down for a few minutes, I ultimately feel better about myself when I am occupied and directed. Vacation time makes me happy and rested (if not fat and drunk, since it's the holidays and I tend to do far more eating and drinking this time of year than I should), but life's adventure makes me even happier--whether it's shuttling between work and school or between continents--and so, I try to occupy even my precious days off with some form of directed activity, my favorite of which is travel.
Therefore, in three days (it is now Monday, and I am taking off on Thursday), I'll be leaving on a 10-day youth tour of Israel, a land that is dear to me both as a Jew and as a lover of history, and I will be traveling with 34 other restless young souls, none of whom I've met before, and each of whom is presumably making this journey for different reasons and searching for different truths (or perhaps just looking to get away for awhile).
This will not be my first trip to the "Holy Land," but it is nonetheless somewhat by design that I decided to make the return journey at this particular time and under these particular circumstances. The tour that I am taking is an educational trip that is subsidized by an endowment that funds an organization called "Birthright Israel." This organization--and the endowment that fuels it--exists for the sole purpose of allowing Jewish youth between the ages of 18 and 26 the the opportunity to experience Israel in an organized, educational setting. The more zealous of the faith probably see this as a means to lure Jewish youth to Israel to stay. I see it as a gift of culture--one that so many of this generation either take for granted or of which they do not realize that they are a part. This is not meant as criticism of my generation, as I have always taken great pride in the peer group to which I belong. It is simply an observation that Jewish youth seem to be moving further from Judaism, which from a purely religious standpoint (ie., belief in God), is understandable, but from a cultural one, is a shame.
I do not consider myself religious. I do not know whether or not I believe in God as God is described in our religious texts. I do not follow the dietary laws of Judaism, nor do I keep the sabbath, nor was I confirmed (although I was Bar Mitzvah'd), nor do I date Jewish women, nor will I likely marry one. Most observant Jews would call me a "bad Jew," although I prefer to see myself as merely secular.
That being said--and perhaps this is hypocritical--I consider myself deeply committed to maintaining Judaism as a culture and as a value system, to raising my children as Jews (and to their becoming Bar or Bat Mitzvahs), and, when the time comes to begin building a family, to making sure that the Jewish traditions in which I was raised are an integral part that family's identity. While I am still unsure as to whether or not I believe in God, I am still Jewish to the core and identify strongly with the deep history and complex culture that comprise this distinction.
There are 20 million Jews alive today (the vast majority of whom live in the U.S.). There are a billion Catholics, almost a billion Muslims, hundreds of millions of Hindus, and hundreds of millions of Christians of other denominations. Of the so-called "major religions," Judaism is the closest to extinction, and as a result, I feel a very personal responsibility not to be a part of that march to oblivion that I fear we are taking as a people.
As a result--and because I am getting older and closer to the necessary determination of the exact nature of the role that Judaism will play in my life and that of my children--I believe that this is the time to go back to Israel, to spend this time with other young secular Jews, and to reconnect with the culture and the history that I feel so committed to helping maintain.
The trip itself should be a blast--35 college kids and young professionals trekking through Jerusalem, the Golan Heights, the Negev Desert, swimming the Dead Sea and the Jordan River, and spending New Year's Eve in Tel Aviv. We will be spending time with Israeli soldiers and near the Palestinian territories discussing the region's volatile political situation with members of the Israeli Arab community. Some fellow travelers will be significantly younger than I am, which I hope does not diminish their appreciation for the opportunity that we have to bond as Jews, but also as young people on an adventure.
As I've traveled and met people around the world, I have come to realize that the success of any journey depends on the companions with whom we share it. Cultural and personal searching aside, it is my hope that the sense of companionship is strong among this group and that each of us finds at least a bit of what we are looking for.
Stay tuned...
Monday, December 24, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
A Quarter Century, Division Champions, and Other Minutiae
I wish I had more to report and more interesting anecdotes to share, but my mind is still recovering from the recently completed semester, and I am bereft of bright ideas for blog postings. I'm going to wait another week to post about my plans for my upcoming three-week vacation (!), and so, I will use this opportunity to catch up with reports of recent developments and debauchery over the past weekend.
Football Interlude
I am proud, however, to start with the Buccaneers NFC South Division Title Edition of the weekly Football Interlude. The joy of victory was tempered only by the fact that it was won against an Atlanta Falcons team that has not only lost its Pro Bowl quarterback to a two-year prison sentence for animal cruelty, but one that also saw its head coach unceremoniously bolt literally in the middle of the night for a job as head coach at the University of Arkansas, leaving the Falcons literally headless and leaderless for the final three games of the season.
Now, there has always been a measure of bad blood between the Falcons and Buccaneers, perhaps because they were almost certainly the worst teams in the league between the years 1984 and 1998 (when Atlanta made its first and only Super Bowl appearance, a lopsided defeat at the hands of John Elway's Denver Broncos). In 2002, the divisions were re-aligned, and the Bucs and Falcons were now slated to play two annual editions of the "Battle of I-75". There is no love lost between these teams or their fans, and although the Bucs have dominated the series, there is enough animosity to make even the most meaningless of meetings between the two somewhat interesting (you never know who will be ejected for throwing punches, who will spit in the face of an official, who will try to tackle the opposing coach, etc.).
This time around, however, it was difficult to feel much more than sympathy for fans of a team that has essentially abandoned them this year. My good friend in New York jokingly suggested that the Atlanta Falcons organization issue refunds to season ticket holders, and while this is as likely as the last-place squad making the playoffs, Atlanta's fans deserve far better than that with which their team has disrespected them this year. As a result, I will say that I feel for you, Falcons fans. You deserve more, and I have no doubt that, if your ownership demonstrates even an ounce of professionalism this off-season, you will be back on track after a good draft and a fresh start.
That being said, it was an absolute pleasure to watch the Bucs unceremoniously dismantle the Falcons 37-3, a score which included the Bucs' first-ever kickoff return for a touchdown (courtesy of Michael Spurlock), and cruise to their third Division Championship since 2002. Jon Gruden has patched together a ragtag group of has-beens, never-weres, old men, and unproven youngsters and has likely saved his job by quietly guiding them to the playoffs the year after a dismal 4-12 finish.
The Big 2-5
Tomorrow is my 25th birthday, which I'm told is the last "big" birthday before 30. As a result, I decided to have a "big" birthday party this past weekend, and despite the first real blizzard of the season and the fact that everybody else was holding their holiday parties that same evening, the turnout was great, and I'm humbled that those who took the time to slog through the driving snow just to spend some time celebrating with my friends and I.
The evening began with dinner at my PhD cohort's favorite hangout, after which the more intrepid among us trekked to an upscale lounge, where we had reserved our own booth, complete with our own liter of Jack Daniel's and caraffs of the appropriate mixers. There, we proceded to drink, drink, dance, and be merry (and drink some more). I saw some old faces and some new, and after a time, all began to run together in a whiskey-induced haze. The evening's end, sadly, is only an alcoholic blur to me now. Perhaps my liver is beginning to raise the white flag, or my body is simply telling me that it is time to mature a bit. Whichever it is, I do know that I spent some time worshipping at the porcelain alter before collapsing into bed and waking up--lightheaded and dehydrated--just in time to watch the football game.
Tonight, despite the events of the weekend, one of my close friends and I are going out on the town again, although the evening will be decidedly more tame (with the quantities imbibed a bit more measured than they were on Saturday). I am taking tomorrow--my actual birthday--off of work, and I am determined to have a pleasant, productive, clear-headed day.
All of this leads me to wonder why I continue to follow a tradition that, while nice for a child, seems almost unnecessary now. Granted, I am beyond grateful for my wonderful family and terriffic friends, all of whom have always gone above and beyond the call of duty in making my birthdays special.
When I was a kid, there was nothing I anticipated more than my birthday. It was like Christmas, Hanukkah, New Year's, and summer vacation combined into one magnificent, joy-filled 24 hours. My parents always made a production of it, and I always felt like a little king. This is one of the many aspects of my childhood that I cherish--the fact that, be it on the occasion of a birthday, the last day of a school year successfully completed, or simply a moment when my world needed brightening, I always and without exception felt loved.
Sometimes, I feel as though I am loved by those I care about more than I deserve to be, but that is likely an insecurity of my own construction.
Now, the whole birthday thing seems a bit silly to me. After all, I'm just a working stiff like everyone else. Where kids need love and nurturing and reinforcement of the notion that they are great and sweet and have the world at their fingertips, adulthood, by contrast, carries with it a certain innate resignation to the fact that we must all pull our weight, that we are not as unique as our parents told us we were, and that the next generation always holds more promise than our own (this last one, I actually do not personally believe, but I will include it as a general rule, to which I guess I am an exception).
This is probably digging too deeply into the issue. I will continue to celebrate my birthday, to accept gifts, and to feel awkward when this one seemingly arbitrary square on the calendar rolls around. I love celebrating other people's birthdays, but as I've gotten older, I feel increasingly strange when other people celebrate mine. Perhaps, like a falling tolerance for alcohol and a rising need for stability, this is simply one of the many side effects of growing up.
Football Interlude
I am proud, however, to start with the Buccaneers NFC South Division Title Edition of the weekly Football Interlude. The joy of victory was tempered only by the fact that it was won against an Atlanta Falcons team that has not only lost its Pro Bowl quarterback to a two-year prison sentence for animal cruelty, but one that also saw its head coach unceremoniously bolt literally in the middle of the night for a job as head coach at the University of Arkansas, leaving the Falcons literally headless and leaderless for the final three games of the season.
Now, there has always been a measure of bad blood between the Falcons and Buccaneers, perhaps because they were almost certainly the worst teams in the league between the years 1984 and 1998 (when Atlanta made its first and only Super Bowl appearance, a lopsided defeat at the hands of John Elway's Denver Broncos). In 2002, the divisions were re-aligned, and the Bucs and Falcons were now slated to play two annual editions of the "Battle of I-75". There is no love lost between these teams or their fans, and although the Bucs have dominated the series, there is enough animosity to make even the most meaningless of meetings between the two somewhat interesting (you never know who will be ejected for throwing punches, who will spit in the face of an official, who will try to tackle the opposing coach, etc.).
This time around, however, it was difficult to feel much more than sympathy for fans of a team that has essentially abandoned them this year. My good friend in New York jokingly suggested that the Atlanta Falcons organization issue refunds to season ticket holders, and while this is as likely as the last-place squad making the playoffs, Atlanta's fans deserve far better than that with which their team has disrespected them this year. As a result, I will say that I feel for you, Falcons fans. You deserve more, and I have no doubt that, if your ownership demonstrates even an ounce of professionalism this off-season, you will be back on track after a good draft and a fresh start.
That being said, it was an absolute pleasure to watch the Bucs unceremoniously dismantle the Falcons 37-3, a score which included the Bucs' first-ever kickoff return for a touchdown (courtesy of Michael Spurlock), and cruise to their third Division Championship since 2002. Jon Gruden has patched together a ragtag group of has-beens, never-weres, old men, and unproven youngsters and has likely saved his job by quietly guiding them to the playoffs the year after a dismal 4-12 finish.
The Big 2-5
Tomorrow is my 25th birthday, which I'm told is the last "big" birthday before 30. As a result, I decided to have a "big" birthday party this past weekend, and despite the first real blizzard of the season and the fact that everybody else was holding their holiday parties that same evening, the turnout was great, and I'm humbled that those who took the time to slog through the driving snow just to spend some time celebrating with my friends and I.
The evening began with dinner at my PhD cohort's favorite hangout, after which the more intrepid among us trekked to an upscale lounge, where we had reserved our own booth, complete with our own liter of Jack Daniel's and caraffs of the appropriate mixers. There, we proceded to drink, drink, dance, and be merry (and drink some more). I saw some old faces and some new, and after a time, all began to run together in a whiskey-induced haze. The evening's end, sadly, is only an alcoholic blur to me now. Perhaps my liver is beginning to raise the white flag, or my body is simply telling me that it is time to mature a bit. Whichever it is, I do know that I spent some time worshipping at the porcelain alter before collapsing into bed and waking up--lightheaded and dehydrated--just in time to watch the football game.
Tonight, despite the events of the weekend, one of my close friends and I are going out on the town again, although the evening will be decidedly more tame (with the quantities imbibed a bit more measured than they were on Saturday). I am taking tomorrow--my actual birthday--off of work, and I am determined to have a pleasant, productive, clear-headed day.
All of this leads me to wonder why I continue to follow a tradition that, while nice for a child, seems almost unnecessary now. Granted, I am beyond grateful for my wonderful family and terriffic friends, all of whom have always gone above and beyond the call of duty in making my birthdays special.
When I was a kid, there was nothing I anticipated more than my birthday. It was like Christmas, Hanukkah, New Year's, and summer vacation combined into one magnificent, joy-filled 24 hours. My parents always made a production of it, and I always felt like a little king. This is one of the many aspects of my childhood that I cherish--the fact that, be it on the occasion of a birthday, the last day of a school year successfully completed, or simply a moment when my world needed brightening, I always and without exception felt loved.
Sometimes, I feel as though I am loved by those I care about more than I deserve to be, but that is likely an insecurity of my own construction.
Now, the whole birthday thing seems a bit silly to me. After all, I'm just a working stiff like everyone else. Where kids need love and nurturing and reinforcement of the notion that they are great and sweet and have the world at their fingertips, adulthood, by contrast, carries with it a certain innate resignation to the fact that we must all pull our weight, that we are not as unique as our parents told us we were, and that the next generation always holds more promise than our own (this last one, I actually do not personally believe, but I will include it as a general rule, to which I guess I am an exception).
This is probably digging too deeply into the issue. I will continue to celebrate my birthday, to accept gifts, and to feel awkward when this one seemingly arbitrary square on the calendar rolls around. I love celebrating other people's birthdays, but as I've gotten older, I feel increasingly strange when other people celebrate mine. Perhaps, like a falling tolerance for alcohol and a rising need for stability, this is simply one of the many side effects of growing up.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Football Interlude: Houston, We Have a Problem
The Buccaneers' "division title express" experienced a minor derailment on Sunday with Tampa Bay's unexpected loss in convincing fashion to what had appeared on paper to be a significantly inferior Houston Texans squad. While backup QB Luke McCown had looked scrappy and durable against New Orleans, he looked scared in Houston--uncomfortable in the pocket and unable to get rid of the ball.
The Carolina Panthers did their part by dutifully losing to Jacksonville, but the division title celebration in Tampa was delayed--hopefully temporarily--by the Saints' victimization of the hapless, headless Atlanta Falcons on Monday Night Football.
This would have been a fairly inconsequential (though disappointing) defeat for the Bucs if it weren't for the fact that, with a win, they would have moved ahead of the Seattle Seahawks for the third seed in the NFC and closer to a first-round date with the toothless Vikings or Cardinals, instead of the now-likely meeting with the dangerous New York Giants.
Ultimately, the team brought this upon themselves. The defense seemed blase at best, the offense could not find its rhythm, and special teams might as well have stayed on the team bus. All phases broke down in what amounted to a puzzling loss to a mediocre (at best) foe, and aside from seeding implications, this debacle will surely create much fodder for criticism from the sports journalism community--a group which tends to overlook and underrate the Bucs, even on good weeks.
Mercifully, Jeff Garcia will be back under center this Sunday when the team takes on Atlanta and, hopefully, celebrates an NFC South Division Championship.
The Carolina Panthers did their part by dutifully losing to Jacksonville, but the division title celebration in Tampa was delayed--hopefully temporarily--by the Saints' victimization of the hapless, headless Atlanta Falcons on Monday Night Football.
This would have been a fairly inconsequential (though disappointing) defeat for the Bucs if it weren't for the fact that, with a win, they would have moved ahead of the Seattle Seahawks for the third seed in the NFC and closer to a first-round date with the toothless Vikings or Cardinals, instead of the now-likely meeting with the dangerous New York Giants.
Ultimately, the team brought this upon themselves. The defense seemed blase at best, the offense could not find its rhythm, and special teams might as well have stayed on the team bus. All phases broke down in what amounted to a puzzling loss to a mediocre (at best) foe, and aside from seeding implications, this debacle will surely create much fodder for criticism from the sports journalism community--a group which tends to overlook and underrate the Bucs, even on good weeks.
Mercifully, Jeff Garcia will be back under center this Sunday when the team takes on Atlanta and, hopefully, celebrates an NFC South Division Championship.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
In the Bag
It's a seasonably cold Saturday night in my Midwestern hometown. I've got ELO's "Mr. Blue Sky" blasting from my computer's speakers, and it's an appropriate theme for this particular evening, as I have finished all of my obligations and papers--two 18-pagers--and, aside for one final class meeting on Monday night, can consider the first semester of my PhD program complete--in the bag. I still have 26 exams to grade by midweek, but teaching is a pleasure, not a chore, and I am feeling little pressure nor concern about my ability to complete this small task.
While I will detail my plans for the winter holidays in my next post (or perhaps in the one after that), I just finished watching a program that has me thinking about that which we can accomplish during our ride on this merry-go-round.
It seems inconsequential, given the seriousness of events occurring in world affairs, but I believe that there is nothing frivolous about setting lofty goals and working to the very best of your ability to achieve them. Tim Tebow, the quarterback of the University of Florida Gators, just won the Heisman Trophy, and with his parents, coaches, and mentors on hand for the occasion, likely lived a moment that had played across his mind's stage since he first threw a football in his backyard, or on the Pop Warner field, or at the playground. Here is a young man standing before the Gods of his occupation--past Heisman winners, Super Bowl champions, collegiate superstars, and fellow student athletes--who at age 20, his personal journey just beginning, has nonetheless reached the pinnacle of his craft, or at least the highest possible point reachable by somebody of his limited experience.
These are the reasons why we toil, fail, pick ourselves out of the dirt, grin in the face of impossibility, and soldier on into uncertainty--these moments when, for an instant, we can collect ourselves, gaze around us, and admire the path we've trodden. Greater obstacles may lie ahead, but it is in these instances when we can let down our guard for just a heartbeat and revel in the warmth of accomplishment.
As I have previously asserted, education is important to me, yet I was never somebody for whom academic achievement came naturally. While some are gifted with natural ability, I have needed to claw my way toward my personal goals, many of which are academic in nature, and difficult though the path has been, it has been rewarding and sweet and a route that I would never eschew for any amount of natural talent.
When I was 15 years old, a sophomore in high school, and just beginning to dream of college, I was required to meet with my guidance counselor to discuss plans for after graduation. One of my required tasks was to compile a list of around ten colleges that I could use as targets and as motivation for success over the course of my final two years. My list included a wide range of fairly distinguished schools--academic stretches, to be sure, but in my mind not impossible to obtain with a bit of finesse and drive.
So there I sat, in the library, with my parents and my guidance counselor, and she furrowed her brow as she silently read through my list of target institutions. When she was finished, she paused for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts, and then looked at me with a pity that has etched itself permanently into my mind's photo album.
"I admire your motivation," she began sympathetically, "but..."
Wait for it...
"You're just not the type of student who is usually competitive for these types of schools."
I don't remember exactly what my reaction was to her assertion, other than to feel a fire begin to burn so hot under my rump that, once I left that chair in that library, I don't recall glancing back once over the course of the next two years.
While I must leave the details of the quest for another post (I'm already beyond fashionably late for my cousin's holiday party), my final list of college applications--despite the early skepticism of my guidance counselor--looked strikingly like that first list of target schools, with a few "safeties" thrown in for the sake of prudence.
In the end, I didn't need them.
When I knocked on my counselor's door in the spring of my senior year, I had in hand acceptance letters from several of the schools to which I had been discouraged from applying. Four years--and another set of lessons learned and challenges accepted--later, I was admitted for my master's degree to one of the schools that had denied me as an undergrad.
Two years after that, I've completed my first semester of a PhD program, and as I was discussing with a similarly perseverant friend yesterday, it is gratifying to know that, despite the fact that more challenges lie ahead than behind, that fire still burns as white-hot as it did the day I was told that this path would not be possible.
It seems a cliche, but there is no truer notion than that which states that failure is simply the concrete that builds the foundation for success. Tim Tebow threw his share of interceptions, was passed by his share of college recruiters, waited patiently in the shadows of older, more experienced quarterbacks who may not have been as hungry or as patient as he. Now, he stands at the pinnacle of his chosen calling, celebrated today by those who questioned him yesterday.
We can all stand in that place--every single one of us. We all have wings, and even if some of us have more humble, tattered wings than others, they are functional nonetheless; they are ours, and they will serve us well if we allow ourselves to use them.
Until next time, smooth gliding...
While I will detail my plans for the winter holidays in my next post (or perhaps in the one after that), I just finished watching a program that has me thinking about that which we can accomplish during our ride on this merry-go-round.
It seems inconsequential, given the seriousness of events occurring in world affairs, but I believe that there is nothing frivolous about setting lofty goals and working to the very best of your ability to achieve them. Tim Tebow, the quarterback of the University of Florida Gators, just won the Heisman Trophy, and with his parents, coaches, and mentors on hand for the occasion, likely lived a moment that had played across his mind's stage since he first threw a football in his backyard, or on the Pop Warner field, or at the playground. Here is a young man standing before the Gods of his occupation--past Heisman winners, Super Bowl champions, collegiate superstars, and fellow student athletes--who at age 20, his personal journey just beginning, has nonetheless reached the pinnacle of his craft, or at least the highest possible point reachable by somebody of his limited experience.
These are the reasons why we toil, fail, pick ourselves out of the dirt, grin in the face of impossibility, and soldier on into uncertainty--these moments when, for an instant, we can collect ourselves, gaze around us, and admire the path we've trodden. Greater obstacles may lie ahead, but it is in these instances when we can let down our guard for just a heartbeat and revel in the warmth of accomplishment.
As I have previously asserted, education is important to me, yet I was never somebody for whom academic achievement came naturally. While some are gifted with natural ability, I have needed to claw my way toward my personal goals, many of which are academic in nature, and difficult though the path has been, it has been rewarding and sweet and a route that I would never eschew for any amount of natural talent.
When I was 15 years old, a sophomore in high school, and just beginning to dream of college, I was required to meet with my guidance counselor to discuss plans for after graduation. One of my required tasks was to compile a list of around ten colleges that I could use as targets and as motivation for success over the course of my final two years. My list included a wide range of fairly distinguished schools--academic stretches, to be sure, but in my mind not impossible to obtain with a bit of finesse and drive.
So there I sat, in the library, with my parents and my guidance counselor, and she furrowed her brow as she silently read through my list of target institutions. When she was finished, she paused for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts, and then looked at me with a pity that has etched itself permanently into my mind's photo album.
"I admire your motivation," she began sympathetically, "but..."
Wait for it...
"You're just not the type of student who is usually competitive for these types of schools."
I don't remember exactly what my reaction was to her assertion, other than to feel a fire begin to burn so hot under my rump that, once I left that chair in that library, I don't recall glancing back once over the course of the next two years.
While I must leave the details of the quest for another post (I'm already beyond fashionably late for my cousin's holiday party), my final list of college applications--despite the early skepticism of my guidance counselor--looked strikingly like that first list of target schools, with a few "safeties" thrown in for the sake of prudence.
In the end, I didn't need them.
When I knocked on my counselor's door in the spring of my senior year, I had in hand acceptance letters from several of the schools to which I had been discouraged from applying. Four years--and another set of lessons learned and challenges accepted--later, I was admitted for my master's degree to one of the schools that had denied me as an undergrad.
Two years after that, I've completed my first semester of a PhD program, and as I was discussing with a similarly perseverant friend yesterday, it is gratifying to know that, despite the fact that more challenges lie ahead than behind, that fire still burns as white-hot as it did the day I was told that this path would not be possible.
It seems a cliche, but there is no truer notion than that which states that failure is simply the concrete that builds the foundation for success. Tim Tebow threw his share of interceptions, was passed by his share of college recruiters, waited patiently in the shadows of older, more experienced quarterbacks who may not have been as hungry or as patient as he. Now, he stands at the pinnacle of his chosen calling, celebrated today by those who questioned him yesterday.
We can all stand in that place--every single one of us. We all have wings, and even if some of us have more humble, tattered wings than others, they are functional nonetheless; they are ours, and they will serve us well if we allow ourselves to use them.
Until next time, smooth gliding...
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Crunch Time
This post will have to be short, as I'm at work and have a multitude of tasks to complete before I remove my corporate hat and don my academic one at 4:00 this afternoon. I wanted to address why I have been largely absent--or at least have made myself scarce--from the blogosphere for the past couple of weeks.
While most jobs spool down to mere catch-up mode this time of year, the Powers that Be, along with our clients, have decided that this is the best possible time to ratchet up their expectations of our organization and its ability to troubleshoot, problem solve, produce, and hand-hold. This, on top of the two 20-page papers through which I'm still slogging (both of which are due in six days) and the suddenly increasing demands of my students--who are beginning to realize that they cannot sleep through my class and still earn a satisfactory grade--has rendered me not only close to comatose due to lack of sleep, but also unable to indulge in the activities that I love, such as writing (blogging) for pleasure, spending time with friends, and napping.
I hope to be temporarily back to form by next week, although I will be leaving the country in mid-December for a short while, but I will leave that as a topic for my next post. I also saw a surprisingly phenomenal concert on Saturday night, but alas, that review must also wait for another day.
For now, I leave you with the latest Football Interlude:
The Bucs are humming along at 8-4, having defeated the threatening Saints in New Orleans on Sunday, despite the absence of MVP quarterback Jeff Garcia. Backup Luke McCown substituted amply--even heroically--and our defensive playmakers took advantage of the Saints' coaching miscues to secure a victory and a commanding 3-game division lead over New Orleans and the Carolina Panthers with just four games remaining. The numbers don't lie--the Buccaneers can clinch the division title this weekend with a win at lackluster Houston and a little help from their friends in New Orleans and Carolina.
Big Ten Update: Ohio State is playing LSU (Should have been Hawaii in this game, but again--a topic for another time) for the National Championship. Although my allegiance lies squarely with the Northwestern Wildcats, I will honor certain family ties to OSU. Go Buckeyes!
While most jobs spool down to mere catch-up mode this time of year, the Powers that Be, along with our clients, have decided that this is the best possible time to ratchet up their expectations of our organization and its ability to troubleshoot, problem solve, produce, and hand-hold. This, on top of the two 20-page papers through which I'm still slogging (both of which are due in six days) and the suddenly increasing demands of my students--who are beginning to realize that they cannot sleep through my class and still earn a satisfactory grade--has rendered me not only close to comatose due to lack of sleep, but also unable to indulge in the activities that I love, such as writing (blogging) for pleasure, spending time with friends, and napping.
I hope to be temporarily back to form by next week, although I will be leaving the country in mid-December for a short while, but I will leave that as a topic for my next post. I also saw a surprisingly phenomenal concert on Saturday night, but alas, that review must also wait for another day.
For now, I leave you with the latest Football Interlude:
The Bucs are humming along at 8-4, having defeated the threatening Saints in New Orleans on Sunday, despite the absence of MVP quarterback Jeff Garcia. Backup Luke McCown substituted amply--even heroically--and our defensive playmakers took advantage of the Saints' coaching miscues to secure a victory and a commanding 3-game division lead over New Orleans and the Carolina Panthers with just four games remaining. The numbers don't lie--the Buccaneers can clinch the division title this weekend with a win at lackluster Houston and a little help from their friends in New Orleans and Carolina.
Big Ten Update: Ohio State is playing LSU (Should have been Hawaii in this game, but again--a topic for another time) for the National Championship. Although my allegiance lies squarely with the Northwestern Wildcats, I will honor certain family ties to OSU. Go Buckeyes!
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