…at the top of the People Art page. It’s a redo of my wife, because I didn’t like the previous one. This one I can live with, now that it’s met with her approval.
As “hundreds of thousands” (according to LifeNews) participated in the March For Life in Washington, D.C., today, Obama also marked the occasion by issuing a statement “celebrating” the Supreme Court’s landmark decision. Here’s the statement he meant to make:
Today, as we reflect on the 41st anniversary of the Supreme Court decision in Roe v. Wade, we recommit ourselves to the decision’s guiding principle: that every woman should be able to make her own choices about her body and her health, since a baby in the womb is very much like a poisoned appendix. We reaffirm our steadfast commitment to protecting a woman’s access to safe, affordable fetal extermination, and her constitutional right to privately decide to have her unborn baby murdered in a publicly accessible clinic. And we resolve to reduce the number of unintended pregnancies resulting from freely chosen and fully intended sexual intercourse by forcing people who find the means to this end morally objectionable to pay for it through their insurance premiums and tax dollars; to support maternal health always and child health occasionally; and to continue to build safe and healthy communities for some of our children, and unsafe and lethal death facilities for others. Because this is a country where everyone deserves the same freedom and opportunities to fulfill their dreams, except for the unwanted, unborn parasite, who probably doesn’t dream anyway.
And here’s the statement he actually made.
[Update]: In contrast to our Christian president’s take, Lydia McGrew at W4 sees it quite differently:
So today, though I’ve told it before, I told it again to my younger daughters–the answer to the question, “What is Roe v. Wade?” lest they forget.
We must go on telling that sad, dark story from our nation’s living history year after year, for it is sharply relevant. We must tell it again and again, that out of that darkness a fire might be lit in hearts, especially young hearts, a fire of love and a burning desire for justice for the unborn and the unloved, the aged and the infirm, all those whom our culture despises and our law demeans as disposable. Never mind the results we see or do not see before our eyes. Let us light that fire now, in even one heart, that it may burn through the night into a future when the morning shall dawn and the shadows flee away.
I’ve heard that unemployment is down around 7% now, but that this figure doesn’t account for those who have dropped out of the job market, who have quit looking for work, in other words, and that the number of such is not insignificant. If they were counted (again, so I’ve heard) the percentage would jump to around 10% or even higher.
I don’t know how people quit looking for work. By that I mean I don’t know how they survive. (I also mean that if I got thrown out of work and decided not to look for any, the vengeance of the Queen of the Industrious, Prosperous and Stable Home – known also as my wife – whose rule tolerates no shiftless men in her orbit, would fall upon me with a terrible and swift finality.) But somehow, survive they do.
Went to Mass yesterday. One of the hymns (at the offeratory, I think) was the traditional “Good Christian Men Rejoice,” except that the title – announced by the cantor and as printed in the program – had been bowdlerized to “Good Christian Friends Rejoice.” I could not bring myself to join in on a song I’ve been singing from childhood. My mood clouded and did not lift for the remainder of the service. It’s interesting that such a thing can so royally piss me off. I suppose I ought to be angry at myself for failing to keep my thoughts focused on the essentials; I suppose I ought to accept this sort of bowing down to a trend with an indulgent smile, even though we’re supposed to be bowing to something else. But I can’t.
sung by Frederica von Stade
I’ve heard you can make money doing this for certain online business interests, but unfortunately the Catholic Church doesn’t consider itself a business (shutup, you Whore of Babylon types) and doesn’t pay people to take its surveys. Besides, I don’t expect money for helping out my Church. And it does want my help. I know, because a friend, desiring my participation, sent me the link, which took me here, to the Archdiocese of Atlanta, whose head of state and chairman of the – sorry – Archbishop, is the Most Reverend Wilton D. Gregory. I don’t know anything about him, hailing as I do from Florida, but that he sincerely wants my help is evident from the salutation:
My brothers and sisters in Christ,
That includes me.
Regarding the subject of my previous post:
No sooner is it up than actress Maria Bello decides to tell the world that she is “dating a woman.” The two events are not connected.
In The New York Times she tells the story of the day she informed her son of this…um, what’s the word for it?…new state of affairs. The son is 12. Surely, one supposes, he was deeply shocked and offended, at least until after an expected period of adjustment, you know, like after a divorce, which usually hurts kids badly at first but in time they learn to accept because we all know how resilient kids are.
The kid’s response?
He looked at me for what seemed like an eternity and then broke into a huge, warm smile. “Mom, love is love, whatever you are,” he said with wisdom beyond his years.
During the course of her rationalizations, Miss Bello does a riff on the word “partner.” By the time she’s done with it, the word doesn’t mean much anymore. She has lots of partners, only some of whom she has had sex with. Sex turns out to be unimportant to the partner concept, so I don’t understand why she has sex with any of them at all, even though the sex she had with her ex-husband was the only sex that issued in a son, to whom she now must explain why she is having sex with a woman, who will not be giving her any sons or daughters to whom she must explain why things so obvious have to be so complicated.
If you have a partner, you might have sex with him or her. It doesn’t really matter, because under the ‘partner concept’ – ruled by the ‘love is love’ doctrine – love is sexless. It is necessary that we keep repeating this to ourselves in order to publicly ordain sex between homosexuals in the form of marriage, even though the sex isn’t really important because love is love.
I think Miss Bello spends so much time on the word ‘partner’ to avoid having to struggle with more traditional arrangements like ‘husband’ and ‘wife.’ We’re all partners now. Miss Bello concludes:
So I would like to consider myself a “whatever”… Whomever I love, however I love them, whether they sleep in my bed or not, or whether I do homework with them or share a child with them, “love is love.” And I love our modern family.
Maybe, in the end, a modern family is just a more honest family.
Which reminds me. There’s a program on the TV called “Modern Family.” I have never watched it, and now I never will.
(Yes, it’s a day late.)
One of the more frequent effusions masquerading as an argument in support of gay marriage is that “the government shouldn’t be able to tell people whom they can love.” (Which, even in the days of anti-miscegenation laws, the government never did. It only told people of different races that they couldn’t marry.)
The argument continues: “After all, love is love.” There the argument ends, the foe vanquished by its concomitant breadth and brevity. As I say it’s not really an argument but a sentimental gloss worthy of a Hallmark card. I have seen it leaking from the pens of professional writers, who have nothing in their power of expression over what I encounter in freshman and sophomore compositions. ‘Love is love’ does not readily offer itself to complex or elegant reformulation. It pretty much must stand as it is. And yet it is so obviously and flatly false that I wonder why anyone bothers to utter it.
…will resume eventually. I’m very taken up with work obligations right now.
Sorry to get started so early. Heard it on the radio while driving down the interstate.