Last one out of Michigan, shut off the lights.

UAW and GM just can't all get along.

And the state government's set to shutdown October 1 because of a gigantic budget deficit.

Oh, that's right--I could play safety for the Lions.

Wheee!

Offer your congrats here!

1. To Franklin Jennings, who is now, in the words of Long Duc Dong, "mellied" and back from the honeymoon. It's all a breeze from here.

Congrats to the Bride and lucky groom!

2. To James Fellrath, whose lovely bride is going in for a scheduled c-section today. Apologies to Jen for crushing her in the fantasy football league game last week. No, there is no crying in FF, and no mercy--not even for ladies in a family way.

The new child will join the handsome Duncan in speaking like a pirate, being experts in soccer, getting bekilted, using words like "laddie," scarfing haggis and generally being the most Scottish folk ever surnamed Fellrath.

Congrats, and hope all goes well. We expect--nay, demand!--pictures of the child and soon.

Yeah. Why fight it?

You am what you is.

Attention, Domers.

No gloating here--just pure relief. College footballdom won't be talking much about the Wolverines this week. I think, my brothers and sisters, that Hunk might be dead on this year. I ended the game not ecstatic, but puzzled. Passing on our usual tradition of talking about Michigan wins right after the game, Dad and I didn't even discuss it until Sunday. Frankly, we have no idea what it says about the Maize and Blue.

Wonder of wonders, the Lions overcame boneheaded plays and one inexcusable coaching blunder to win in OT. Again, we don't know much about this team yet, except that (1) it has more guts than previous editions, and (2) it will go into a death spiral if Kitna gets sidelined. Way to arrange for a quality backup there, Mr. Front Office Guy Whose Name I Tire of Saying. Speaking of Kitna--he just might might might be the leader the team has been looking for these past few decades.

And my other princess turned three today.

Rachel on her birthday:

Boo on her first Easter:

And just this summer, staring out of the window of her Papa's car:




Love you, sweet pea.

Whoa.

What happened here?

Something tells me the CCD program she attended during her genuinely-Catholic days had ample supplies of glitter and markers.

Carl Olson finds a Newsweek interview of another person who asserts she's a Catholic priest(ess).

Jessica Rowley strikes me as a very pleasant person with a genuine thirst for aspects of holiness. She is a lot happier than the cohort of lemon-eating sisters striking a blow against patriarchy, kyriarchy and good sense. Moreover, she--unlike those determined to call themselves Catholic--admits that she is no longer a member of the Church.

So, a tall finger of fellowship to Newsweek for the title. Then again

A woman who left Catholicism is ordained to serve an offshoot church that claims it has a Catholic priesthood. Not surprisingly, the Catholic hierarchy does not have a lot to say about it because the episcopate can't comment on every Catholic who leaves the Church, but obviously cannot approve

doesn't fit the printing template very well. In fact, such a story doesn't get published.

However, like the unpleasantly-ordained who still call themselves communing Catholics, she privileges the zeitgeist and displays a feather-soft spirituality. For example: you will search in vain for references to discipleship in the interview.

Once again, it's the Church of the Perpetual Hello and Welcome. And they're bleeding to death everywhere you find them, regardless of the title they currently have on the sign out front.

I hope the ECC enjoys its instant of fame. I wouldn't care to bet on the odds of the communion making it to 2040.

Ummmm...firearm deer season doesn't start until November 15. And you can't use a 7.62mm round for hunting in Wayne County anyway...


Yikes.


Lebanese Muslim medical student arrested in Dearborn park toting a loaded AK-47, dressed in camo. Personal website's a Hezbo love feast. Last uploaded picture (day of the incident) says "The Start of My Personal Jihad (In The U.S.)"


Hard to find the "spiritual struggle" angle on this one.


My best guess: from the timing of everything (arrival back from Lebanon, the gun purchase, the clothing, the post and the nature of the arrest), he couldn't go through with it. Thanks be to God.

Hey! Get some beer... . And some cleaning products.

OK, I couldn't pass on this one--Chris Johnson lighting up the foggy, plaintive demideity of The Episcopal Church.

There's that dreaming god of hers again. I think I know why so many people leave the Episcopal Church for Rome, Constantinople or Geneva and it has nothing to do with doctrine. It has to do with the fact that in those three traditions, God actually does something once in a while. Kate's stoner deity just sits around all day, gets baked, listens to Pink Floyd and wishes that somebody somewhere would do something about all the problems of the world. And bring him some Doritos.

RTWT.

And bonus points for whoever identifies the film from which the post title is taken.

Blogkeeping.

Kathy Shaidle has new digs. Be warned, however: despite the title, there's a decided and stunning shift in tone and emphasis, with posts about feng shui, fashion tips, and (!) making your own pillow shams. Despite this, I'm happy to update the blogroll. Soon.

Longtime commenter Franklin Jennings is getting himself hitched this weekend (using the Extraordinary Form), and Jim Cork hosted the bachelor party. Congratulations and welcome to the world of the Much More Responsible, Franklin!

I owe a friend some overdue (English understatement) assistance, and work is bonkers of late, so--wait for it--posting will be sparse.

However, look for the review of this on the weekend. Early comment: the best so far.



Despite my vow, I'll probably watch bits of what has been dubbed the "Cripple Fight" between Michigan and ND this Saturday. Heck, I watched the Lions last Sunday.

And, by all means, laugh it up, anti-Wolverines. Two words for next year: Les Miles.

Tally ho!

The British thwart metrification. Score one for the foot, pound and gallon.