The Nittany Turkey

Primarily about Penn State football, this is a tale told by idiots, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

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Bada Blah

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For those of you who, like this Turkey, anticipated a smashing finale to one of the great series ever created for television, The Sopranos, Sunday night’s final episode was a limp disappointment.

All the speculation, including my wacked out scenario, about whether Tony would live or die, go to prison or remain a free man, or whether his psychiatrist would turn state’s evidence, went for naught. Few issues were resolved by this episode; everything was left hanging.

Well, except for old Phil Leotardo. Thanks to a tip from dat friendly FBI agent, who was mysteriously portrayed having problems with his gun-packing, law enforcement wife, Tony’s boys got to Phil. ??? ????? Just to give us one final, unforgettable whacking, Phil had his brains blown out at point blank range in a Long Island gas station, after which his SUV containing his two bawling infant grandchildren rolled over his head—a great, big, freakin’, graphical, metaphorical bada bing! for all that creator David Chase has tried to portray about da mob: cold hearted violence, cruelty, and distorted familial relationships.

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Bada Bing!

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So, the grand series finale of The Sopranos is about to happen and the dedicated viewing public awaits it with bated anticipation. The big question: Will Tony get whacked?

The great war, created over a long-standing dispute between Mafia family leaders Phil Leotardo and Tony Soprano and exacerbated by some recent machinations over asbestos removal racketeering and assorted inter-family violence, pits the Brooklyn family headed by Phil against the New Jersey family headed by our hero, Tony. Phil, having decided that the situation is completely untenable, has ordered a hit on Tony and his top lieutenants.

In last Sunday’s episode, Phil’s guys got to Tony’s brudder-in-lawr and to Tony’s right-hand man, Silvio. The brudder-in-lawr was slain in a hobby shop while buying a toy train. Sil (whose actor, Stephen Van Zandt has been known to play guitar with Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band as “Little Stevie”) got his in a car. He’s currently unconscious and not expected to recover. All dis has sent Tony and his remaining henchmen to da mattresses. They are hiding out until this thing is over.

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My Cross to Bear

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Jesus - Medieval VersionTurkey and I have engaged in quite a bit of pontificating recently about health care, doctors, and their maddening practices (or lack thereof). Today I introduce a new topic into the discussion, one that isn’t necessarily about doctors or their practices but one which cannot be ignored. In this case, “the clinic,” as I shall call it, serves as the backdrop for some of the most inappropriate and arrogant work behavior I have ever encountered.

First I want to make clear—a private business owner can do whatever he/she wants with his business (within the law). I understand that. So please don’t bombard me with arguments reiterating this. The right of the employer is a priori. But the thrust of this blog will be about the appropriateness of exploiting certain philosophies and beliefs in the workplace. In this specific case, I am talking about religion.

The staff members I work with are all of the Christian persuasion. How do I know this? It’s not hard. I overhear them talking about their churches, pastors, and biblical names of their newborns, ad nauseam. Not long after I began work there the owner of the practice remarked that while it was tough for him to have faith that his employees would correctly perform their job, he had no doubt that “Moses parted the Red Sea. ????? ???? ?????? ” (He later acknowledged he had a slight control issue, but that’s another matter.)

At first, I didn’t allow all this holy talk to bother me. I liked the job, and for the most part, the people. The patients are all pretty nice, but lately I noticed they all share a similar quality. One day a pleasant young woman asked me if I had met ___________ at church. Uh, no. It then struck me that most of the patients go to the same churches as the clinic’s owners. I began to realize I was surrounded.

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