Penn State reflections as football season approaches

With all that's being going on in the world, be it locally, nationally, even personally, one thing that completely escaped my notice was the fact that we're now less than a month away from Penn State football—the time of year that I most yearn for . . . well, one of them, if you count opening day for the Nationals (which was a real letdown this year, due to the weather).

Lately, though, I've been mentally assessing my role with regard to Penn State, and I find myself at a loss. It's been three years since I stepped down from the board of directors of DC's Penn State alumni chapter. My actual membership in said chapter expired at the end of 2008, and I've been looking back on my time as an active chapter member (a really active chapter member for a while, chairing two committees in 2007), and part of me wonders how so much time has passed . . . how so much of my youth has passed, because it feels like almost a thousand centuries ago that I was regularly editing the chapter newsletter, attending the Social Committee meetings, setting up and attending happy hours, watching the games at the viewing sites, reporting in at board meetings. I've been giving some thought lately to rejoining the chapter, though part of me feels like I've outgrown it, even though I'll always bleed blue and white.

It doesn't help, either, that I won't be going to the games again anytime soon. At the end of last year, my father did what was unthinkable in years past, but I feel is perfectly rational and logical now—he gave up his season tickets, in response to the STEP program . . . a program which, I feel, is little more than a blatant money-grab by the university under the guise of "fairness" to people pursuing season tickets. As a 30+ year season-ticket holder, my father was understandably upset by the dramatic uptick in ticket price, and gave up his seats as a result. I don't blame him one bit for this move; I would have done the same if I were in his shoes. But deep down, part of me is somewhat relived that he did so, because Penn State football Saturdays in Happy Valley have become more intense in the last several years, wearing even me out. Part of me will always yearn for a visit to Happy Valley to see a game some warm September Saturday, and I'll of course miss the great tailgates with family and friends. But since I have Big Ten Network at home now, I'll be able to watch all the games from the comfort of my couch, which is perfectly all right with me.

I don't know . . . am I just getting old? Are all these old Penn State traditions losing their luster for me after all these years? Or will I feel the blue and white course through my veins each fall, and all throughout the year as we promote Penn State pride in the nation's capital? Time will only tell.

But I take comfort in one thing, though: with Nora being an Ohio State fan, who's equally devoted to her Buckeyes like I am to my Nittany Lions, I can always look forward to the Penn State-Ohio State game each year, because we make it as fun and enjoyable as we can for each other, no matter who wins the day.

Reflections on 15 years

This past weekend, I had the opportunity to partake in my 15-year high school class reunion, and I must say, it was a fantastic experience!

For a number of years, I've remained friends with a handful of former classmates, and naturally have fallen out of touch with many others. But through the magic of Facebook (sarcasm not intended, even though the term is often loaded with it), I've been able to reconnect with a lot of former classmates, and this past Saturday afforded me the opportunity to do so in person.

The reunion was held at Appalachian Brewing Company (more popularly known as "ABC") in Harrisburg, PA, and for the better part of the evening, we had the upstairs to ourselves (even though what looked like a wedding reception was being held in the next room). For three hours, I worked the room like I rarely do, talking and catching up with many old friends and classmates, essentially getting to know them all over again—though as adults, not as middle or high school students.

What struck me as amazing about this reunion was that all the things that made high school, well, high school, were conspicuously absent. Gone were the cliques, the arrogance, the snottiness, and all the associated doucebaggery that makes high school so childish. That night, we simply related to each other as human beings, and it made the associations so much more refreshing. As one person noted, 15 years was a good enough wait-time after graduation to hold this, because five years would have been too soon, 10 years would have been on the fence, but 15 years was just right.

Out of my graduating class of 127 (give or take), I'd say maybe a quarter showed up. Naturally I was saddened that so many people I looked forward to seeing didn't make it, but hopefully they'll attend in the future. But I'm nevertheless grateful to have had the opportunity to catch up with old friends, and I thank the organizer for making this reunion happen.

UDA Class of 1996
(Photo by Jer Strausser, used with his wife's permission)

Beautiful music (IV), and reflections

I first discovered Beethoven when I was 16. I watched the Bela Legosi-Boris Karlof movie The Black Cat, which prominently featured the famous "heartbeat" second movement of Beethoven's Symphony No. 7. From there it was all downhill for me, because by the time I was 19, I had become intimately familiar with almost all of Beethoven's musical output.

Out of all of Beethoven's music, though, my very favorite piece isn't a symphony or a concerto or any major composition. Rather, it's a movement from one of his late string quartets: the String Quartet in A minor, Op. 132, third movement.

I really can't describe in words what this piece of music means to me—how deeply personal, deeply cherished, and how deeply connected I feel to its spirit. I think, at its core, this music provides a window into a very unique time in my life, because for me it symbolizes my youthful transition from boyhood into manhood. Why do I say this? Because when I first discovered this piece, I was only a few short months away from graduating high school and immediately moving onto college. And as anyone who's been to high school knows, that's a tough transition to make, because you're simultaneously excited and yearning to shake off the dust of your hometown and venture out on your own, yet scared shitless to leave behind the comfortable, familiar life you've made for yourself at home among friends and family.

At least that's how it was for me.

And when I listen to this piece of music, I can honestly see back in time 12 and a half years, to a much younger and untried version of myself—a time where I'm not 31 years old but 18, where I'm facing a future that's both exciting and uncertain. If I close my eyes and listen to this music, I can see with unbelievable clarity the bulletin board and desk in my first dorm room at McElwain Hall in June of 1996. I can see myself standing in the back yard of my parents' house in E-ville one May afternoon and thinking that I'd soon be leaving this all behind. I can see myself walking along Pollock Road one foggy, solitary summer morning en route to English 015. I can see and smell 271 Willard, the classroom where I had my first college courses that freshman summer. I can see myself driving to Wiconisco late one May afternoon to pick up prom flowers from Red's Greenhouse. I can see myself walking with some summer friends back from Pattee Library one July evening, with my friend Westy trying to coax a squirrel out of the bushes. I can see myself walking through Kern Building with these same summer friends, looking for some squash equipment to rent. And laugh if you will, but I can even remember the youthful heartbreaks I was feeling at the time. :)

When I listen to this music, I honestly feel like I'm being granted a second viewing of a small part of my life. Just a small portion out of a much longer journey, but one that firmly embodies transition for me—transition that I was feeling on so many levels.

From just a musical standpoint, too, I don't think I've ever listened to a piece of music that spoke to me as much as this slow movement does. Not just for the recollections it calls to mind, but for how deeply personal and intimate this music is. It's some of the saddest music I've ever heard, but still some of the most quietly grateful. And in the end, that's the feeling this music leaves me with—gratitude, for not only the ability to remember a unique time in my life, but my gratitude for having lived it once.

And now, without further ado, I invite you to listen along with me . . . and reflect.

First half of the movement

Second half of the movement