That's funny--I don't *feel* like Saint Joseph.

In fact, the comparison is pretty much Ludicrous City, next stop.

But that didn't stop our DRE from press-ganging Elizabeth, Heather and me to be the Holy Family in our parish's Nativity Play.

Let's see--I have a beard...and far more importantly, an infant.

Dale III heard about the possibility of being one of the angels and wanted to know if he could be in "the sword fight." It took a second, until I confirmed he was referring to the Archangel Michael expelling Satan from heaven.

I mean, Dude. Wrong scene, wrong book, and waaay too Michael Bay-ish for our restrained suburban congregants.

I don't think I'm one of those parents yet.

But my son scored his first youth flag football points ever on a two-point conversion attempt during the 'Skins victory over the Buccaneers. A professional photographer caught the scene, and persuaded me to part with hard earned cash for a permanent keepsake.



Frankly, him doing anything productive in a skill position role is slightly suspicious, given that his paternal genetics would suggest a "Hulk SMASH!" role on the defensive line, perhaps linebacker, at best. The pigskin is to be swatted at or fallen on, not carried.

Must get it from his mom's side.

Thank you for letting me borrow the Sponger for a while.

The Rev. John Shelby Spong simply couldn't care less about the Catholic provision for the Anglicans.

Which is why he wrote 400 words about it and called people who disagree with his secular hard leftist worldview segregationists and whatnot.

Both of these church leaders seem to me to be lost in the fog of antiquity. For that reason it matters little to me or to most of the world that they continue to play their ecclesiastical kindergarten games. I am quite simply not interested in this debate.

Untruer words were never spoken. *Sure* you don't care, John. I mean, *everyone* cranks out 400 words about something they could care less about, flinging the schoolyard insults all the while.

Don't worry, though--I have every confidence you'll be called for comment when the Episcopalians consecrate a Playstation as Bishop. Then you can wax flatulent about how the "truly enlightened" jettisoned such "obsolete" notions as "organicentrism" *ages* ago...

Ten years, far, far more good than bad.

Thanks, sweetheart, for saying "yes," and then "I do."

Was 1999 all that long ago?

Time to find something "tin" that doesn't suggest "foil" in the same breath.

Two barrels, one report.

Fr. Philip Powell, as is his inimitable Dominican habit (rimshot!), notes something significant about the announcement that Anglicans are getting a glidepath to entry into the Church:

That belly churning howl you heard last night in the US was the collective wailing of the English/Welsh Catholic bishops as Papa Benny ground their lib noses under his bright red shoes. What a satisfying crunch that was, is, and will be forever and forever. Amen.

That is the flip side, and strikes me as the unspoken, and deliberate, second impact from this announcement--namely, a boot to the collective backside of the British Catholic episcopate. As bad as things can be in the U.S., they have been immeasurably worse in England and Wales since the closing of the Second Vatican Council. Imagine an episcopate of Mahonys and Weaklands from Land's End to the River Tweed, and that's pretty much Catholic Britain, with a handful of exceptions. It would take decades of patient episcopal replacement to change the conditions on the ground there. Unless, of course, you were able to do something like inject a brand new ecclesial structure into the mix, independent of the local bishops, along with tens of thousands of newly-minted Catholics with zero patience for bureaucratic prog-speak.

That might tilt the playing field in a landslide hurry.

Under the circumstances, it seems likely to have been goal 1b all along.

Just my tuppence.

Anybody want to buy a house?

"The Detroit metro area now has the dubious distinction of having the lowest home prices in the country. Prices have dropped 51.7% to a median of $50,000. They're expected to fall another 9.1% and then stabilize."

A *median* of $50,000.

We should have stayed in that apartment, hon.

Nah, not really. It's nice to say you own a home. We've built something together, have a lot of good memories, and we've met a many good friends and neighbors. Can't put a price tag on that.

But we can put a price tag on the home. And it's a lot smaller than the mortgage statement...

Elizabeth Christina, October 14-15, 2009.

She just keeps getting cuter--watch the transformation over her first two days.

After 12 hours, a not-quite-successful external version, and a misplaced left arm...

Elizabeth Christina Price made her earthly debut at 8:51pm tonight, via c-section. She's 6 lbs, 9 oz and 19 inches long. And beautiful all over.

Pictures later, when the bleary goes away.

Thanks for the prayers and good wishes.

In the immortal words of Bullwinkle...

This time for sure!

We are going in this morning. Elizabeth will be born today, the only question being the same way as her sisters and brothers or via c-section.

If I could trouble you for prayers/thoughts that she has flipped back out of breech...well, we'd appreciate them.

This could be it.

Heather's experiencing a lot of contractions. We're sending the kids over to the neighbors and are high-tailing it to the hospital.

Pansy Moss could use your prayers and financial help.

She has seven children and a husband who is in desperate need of swift, harsh correction.

Note the Paypal donation button. If you don't like Paypal, ask Peony for information on how to mail something.

Grandma Jo died a couple of hours ago.

It will sink in later.

Yeah. This is pretty much how Heather and I started out.

It's lonely here on Skullcrusher Mountain.

Update--for your delectation, the lyrics:

Welcome to my secret lair on Skullcrusher Mountain
I hope that you've enjoyed your stay so far
I see you've met my assistant Scarface
His appearance is quite disturbing
But I assure you he's harmless enough
He's a sweetheart, calls me master
And he has a way of finding pretty things and bringing them to me

I'm so into you
But I'm way too smart for you
Even my henchmen think I'm crazy
I'm not surprised that you agree
If you could find some way to be
A little bit less afraid of me
You'd see the voices that control me from inside my head
Say I shouldn't kill you yet

I made this half-pony half-monkey monster to please you
But I get the feeling that you don't like it
What's with all the screaming?
You like monkeys, you like ponies
Maybe you don't like monsters so much
Maybe I used too many monkeys
Isn't it enough to know that I ruined a pony making a gift for you?

I'm so into you
But I'm way too smart for you
Even my henchmen think I'm crazy
I'm not surprised that you agree
If you could find some way to be
A little bit less afraid of me
You'd see the voices that control me from inside my head
Say I shouldn't kill you yet

Picture the two of us alone inside my golden submarine
While up above the waves my doomsday squad ignites the atmosphere
And all the fools who live their foolish lives may find it quite explosive
But it won't mean half as much to me if I don't have you here

You know it isn't easy living here on Skullcrusher Mountain
Maybe you could cut me just a little slack
Would it kill you to be civil?
I've been patient, I've been gracious
And this mountain is covered with wolves
Hear them howling, my hungry children
Maybe you should stay and have another drink and think about me and you

I'm so into you
But I'm way too smart for you
Even my henchmen think I'm crazy
I'm not surprised that you agree
If you could find some way to be
A little bit less afraid of me
You'd see the voices that control me from inside my head
Say I shouldn't kill you yet
I shouldn't kill you yet
I shouldn't kill you yet

No joy.

Heather came home yesterday. Elizabeth shares a name with the Queen, so she's intent on making a stately, royal entrance.

Only with a lot more screaming, viscera and meconium.

No later than October 14, though.

To be (born) or not to be...

...that is the question.

We drove to the hospital last night to begin the induction process. The initial ultrasound revealed that Elizabeth was being very uncooperative: she has shifted from a head-down position into breech mode. Thus, they won't begin induction without proof that she's shifted back. That's possible, but far from a given. If she hasn't shifted this morning, they'll probably send Heather home, as the circumstances don't warrant a c-section.

I guess we'll see.

Because it's one of my favorite sports moments ever, that's why.

I stumbled across this interesting Youtube find--an alternate call of several of the great moments of the Miracle on Ice. The play-by-play was done by Curt Chaplin, a reporter for ABC Radio who covered the game from a camera stand. The tape had been lost and was just rediscovered in the last few years. It's very well done, and quite stirring as Chaplin gets caught up in the moment. His description of the Soviet team standing on the blue line after the game ended was professional, but about as close as one can get to "neener, neener, neener" without crossing the line.

Enjoy!

A moral question for the blog mind.

What are the circumstances under which a patient can, consistent with Catholic teaching, refuse to be fed intravenously?

Take as given that, unlike the Terri Schiavo matter, the patient in question is in full possession of mental faculties.

Citation of authoritative documents is not just welcome, but encouraged.

Discuss.

Webb v. Polanski.

Think Tyson v. Spinks.

Winner: Jack Webb, KO in the first round.



Thanks to Donald McClarey for this find.

Communism is not healthy for children or other living things.

The management of the Empire State Building offers a tribute to a profoundly evil regime.

Communism: Wow!

The ChiComs have racked up a body count that would have made Tamerlane blanch.

Buy this, read, and re-read until it either sinks in or your guttering excuse for an "intellect" gives up the ghost. In any event, it's hard to make stupid comments while reading. Even if your lips are moving.

And if for some reason you don't give a rat's ass about the people, note well that China is doing what all communist regimes have done, namely, a superb job of making a desert of itself. Not to mention the neat trick of changing rainfall patterns through air pollution.

Contra noted blithering idiot Tom "Red China is Really Green!" Friedman.

[As an aside, Friedman's choice of Sputnik is ironic, given that China is rapidly heading the way of Soviet Russia, in economic and demographic terms. The Chinese just do a better job of selling the stats. Actually, Sputnik is a clear case study in how not to respond to potential threats--all of the screaming and yelling about the orbiting transistor radio/erector set ended up with a pointless race to the moon. Which has done what exactly? Don't get me wrong--I love the story of the American space program, but we haven't done a lot with it lately--it's kinda like owning a vintage Corvette you take out of the garage for a couple of weeks in July.]