Happy Thanksgiving!

You are all on notice

First off, I would like to thank all of you from the bottom of my heart for the many gifts you have given me. Life would have been really tough without your generosity - I wouldn't have a crib, I wouldn't have bedroom furniture, I wouldn't have clothes, I wouldn't have diapers, I wouldn't have a swing, and I wouldn't have a stroller. The list goes on. So thank you, everyone.

BUT.

I received a package in the mail today. It was from my Aunt Mary Beth and Uncle Don, and my cousins Lauren and Michael. Presents are pretty old hat by now, but I could tell that this was something special. So I screamed until my dad opened it.

What did they send me, you ask? Well, see for yourself:

That's right. They sent me a dinosaur! A GIANT FREAKING DINOSAUR!!! I'm trying to decide on a name as we speak. Right now, it's a toss-up between Rageclaw, Beastgore, and Bailey II. Regardless of my dinosaur's name, I am sure we will enjoy many an evening trampling unsuspecting toddlers and burning down their jungle gyms. I applaud the creativity displayed by Uncle Don and Aunt Mary Beth and I hope that you all take note. If you view gift-giving as contest like I do, Uncle Don and Aunt Mary Beth hold an enormous lead on the rest of you. But it's nothing you can't make up come Christmas time.

I am very excited about Thanksgiving

As I understand it, this holiday consists of an entire day of eating and watching football. Count me in! I know I've complained before about how I'm not allowed to have solid food. But surely an exception will be made for this, the most wonderful of second tier holidays. After all, I spent a good portion of last night helping dad make the turkey brine. In fact, I was the one who suggested that he throw a little Scotch in the mixture for good measure.

You're going to let me eat some of the turkey, right? Right?

Dad? Mom?

*crickets chirping*

Oh come on! How can you say no to this face?

OK. You want to play hardball. I have news for the both of you. YOU ARE IN FOR A LONG NIGHT. If you don't agree to give me some turkey tomorrow, I will make sure that I'm up every 15 minutes tonight. And I won't make any of those cute whimpers that I've been limiting myself to lately. I will scream so loud that CPS will be knocking down your door. I will channel Linda Blair and projectile vomit all over my room and anyone who sets foot in it. I can make the next 36 hours of your lives miserable if I want to.

But I don't have to.

You can stop it. Just give me some turkey and no one will get hurt. You hear me? Just. Give. Me. Some. Turkey.

The state of Notre Dame Football

I have to apologize to all of you. I meant to share my thoughts about the state of Notre Dame Football on Saturday night. But I just couldn't. Especially with my parents stuffing a bottle in my face every time I cried. They just didn't get it. I wasn't crying because I was hungry. I was crying because I felt like this:

I won't bore you with an argument about how you can trace the current crisis to the incompetency of Fr. Edward Malloy and his 'aspirational peer' nonsense or how the hiring of Ty Willingham set the program back a decade. I won't parse the arguments for and against the firing of Charlie Weis. That's been done on other websites ad nauseam. I will, however, tell you about my proposed solution and how I arrived at it.

Saturday was a rough day for me. I slept. I ate. I slept some more. I ate some more. Then, Dad woke me up to watch the Notre Dame/Syracuse atrocity at 2:30. Then I slept. When I woke up at around midnight, I didn't shriek at my parents like I normally do. Instead, I put on my thinking face (see below) and decided to do some real problem solving.

And guess what? Within minutes, I came up with a solution to the current football crisis we face. Jack Swarbrick better listen up. In fact, maybe he should hire me. I'm sure he can come up with some clever way to avoid all those child labor laws. Anyway, here it is:

Have the goverment bail the team out! Under this proposal, the government would "purchase" all of the team's losses to get those losses off of Notre Dame's books. The resulting undefeated season would result in a berth in the BCS title game where Notre Dame would surely lose to Oklahoma or Alabama. The government would purchase this loss as well, so Notre Dame would not only receive a multi-million dollar payday as a result of playing in a BCS bowl, they would also have their 12th national championship. These funds, coupled with the profit from the government's purchase of the losses, would be re-invested in the Notre Dame football team and provide the stimulus needed for enhanced on-field production next season. Of course, the government wouldn't just buy the losses -- it would take a stake in Notre Dame football. The government would establish a watchdog program that prevents Charlie Weis from (i) going for it on 4th and 9 from his own 30 yard line; (ii) running anything out of the Wildcat formation; (iii) running fake screens; (iv) allowing Jimmy Clausen to throw ill-advised passes; and (v) name-dropping. It would also force him to (i) hire a real offensive coordinator; (ii) develop a run game; (iii) play James Aldridge and Robert Hughes; and (iv) teach his team to field on-sides kicks.

Now I know what you're thinking. You probably have two big questions. Well, I've got two big answers.

1. What is the government going to do with all of the losses it purchases from Notre Dame?

We can't really quantify the value of these losses. It is completely possible that other teams might place a premium on exchanging their own losses for Notre Dame's losses. Michigan for example. I'm sure that Michigan would gladly pay a good deal of cash to exchange its loss to Toledo for Notre Dame's loss to, say, Pittsburgh.

2. Why do I, as a taxpayer, want to bail out an institution that has largely created its own problems?

Get out of my country, you hippy.

My Christmas Demands

I know, I know. It's not even Thanksgiving yet. But it's cold outside and when I'm all bundled up (see right), I can't help but let my thoughts drift to Christmas and all the great stuff that goes along with it: candy canes, snowmen, financial distress, stockings, and giant inflatable reindeer on motorcycles. Of course, the most important thing about Christmas is gifts. Being that I'm so young, there is an awful lot that I don't own. I plan on using Christmas to remedy that problem. In fact, I've already penned a demand letter to that fat man and his midget slaves in the North Pole. I figure the earlier I send it, the earlier the midgets can get to work on my stuff. So, without further adieu, I present to you my 2008 Christmas Demands:

• Toys! And none of this educational crap that my parents are trying to push on me. I know my ABCs, I know my multiplication tables. I don't need an anthropomorphic cow to tell me that D comes before E! I need an anthropomorphic cow that dances and sings Styx songs when I press a button. I need something that breaks easily so mom and dad will have to run out and buy me a replacement every few weeks. You get the picture?
• A chainsaw. Look, I know a zombie apocalypse is probably not very likely and chance are slim to none that I'll ever get any real use out of this baby. But hey, maybe.
• Neck muscles. I am sick of my head flopping all around everytime someone picks me up. First of all, you are supposed to SUPPORT MY HEAD when you pick me up. I am not to be tossed about like some rag doll. Really, you people sicken me.
• Solid food. I would kill for a burger or a rack of ribs right now. This milk stuff is fine, but I need a real meal -- I need to eat something that used to have a face soon or I'm going to go crazy!

My bookie better pay up!

Since I've been born, people have been giving me all manner of gifts. Stuffed animals, toys, clothes, books. You name it, I got it. And what did I do with all of this stuff? I did what any red-blooded American would do. I pawned it all and put the cash on the Steelers to beat the Chargers last weekend. This was a no-brainer, mostly because Philip Rivers (pictured above) is the Chargers' QB and he is worthless. As I'm sure you've heard by now, the final score of the game was 11-10 and the line was -4 in favor of Pittsburgh. The Steelers won but didn't cover. Normally, I'd just go along my merry way and find some other stuff to pawn for next week's games, but this is a unique situation. You see, with less than five seconds left in the game, the Chargers made a desperate attempt for a last second TD and Troy Polamalu, being the Polynesian god that he is, intercepted a lateral and returned it for a touchdown. That would have made the score 17-10. The Steelers would have covered and I would have been PAID. But then, in what the NFL has since called a 'mistake', the refs overturned the play and the final score was 11-10.

And now my bookie won't pay up. He says that rules are rules and just keeps wishing me better luck next time. Well, I got news for you, Lenny. There ain't gonna be a next time unless you pay up. You hear me, you brain-dead schmuck?! YOU. WILL. PAY. ME. If you don't, then guess what? You'll be seeing this face everywhere you go:

I'm going to be on you like spit-up on my burping cloth. You won't be able to go anywhere in this town without seeing me in your rear-view mirror. I will haunt you. Do you hear me? You will not get a moment's rest until you PAY ME what is MINE. Oh, you think I'm kidding? Go ahead outside and look at your car.

That's right. I torched your ride. Don't test me, Lenny. It's not worth it.

Notre Dame vs. Navy: My Thoughts

Yesterday, Notre Dame beat Navy 27-21. I know it was a win, but I'm still not happy. Clausen is playing like garbage and our offensive line is best described as sieve-like. I meant to write about this yesterday, but I just didn't think I could reduce my thoughts to a tangible medium of expression. My many attempts resulted in multiple pieces that could be published on ESPN.com, but none were even close to blog-worthy. And then it hit me! Maybe what I was struggling to capture with the written word was better suited to be a stream-of-consciousness performance piece. And, unsurprisingly, I was right. So, without further exposition, here is my unadulterated reaction to yesterday's Notre Dame/Navy game:

LOBSTER ATTACK!!!!!!!!!

Tonight was my first Friday night at home. I was looking forward to a nice relaxing evening. Maybe watch a little Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader, maybe play a little Jenga. But then lobsters showed up at our house! They were ostensibly for Uncle Rick's birthday. Before I could figure out what was going on, they escaped and wreaked havoc in our kitchen.

And the worst part? Like braying fools, my family stood there laughing the whole time while these disgusting creatures attacked my doggy. It isn't funny, Uncle Rick. Seriously, what are these people thinking? We're not running a branch of Japanese Bug Fights out of our kitchen (that I'm aware of).

With Bailey so frightened that she wouldn't come out from under the table, I knew it was time to take matters into my own hands. Someone had to take care of business and that someone was me. It was a long and brutal battle, but my cat-like reflexes and my encyclopedic knowledge of Dragon Style Kung Fu (which focuses mainly on powerful, short range attacks, as is common among southern Chinese styles of kung fu, and features leg work characterized by a zig-zag motion that mimics the imagined movement of the mythical Chinese dragon) gave me a decided advantage over the lobsters. Of course, they had the numbers advantage. But it's like Kellen Winslow says, I'm a soldier. But unlike Kellen Winslow, I actually can back up my talk (see below):

On Cormac McCarthy

Occasionally, I'll use this blog to trumpet stuff I like. I may review my favorite bottle or my favorite stuffed animal or books or I may even review my parents' performance thus far (right now, they're earning a solid B+). So my first topic of discussion is my favorite writer -- Cormac McCarthy. Long before that sow Oprah Winfrey (above) made him a household name, I was telling everyone I knew that they needed to read a book, any book, by Cormac McCarthy. Why, you might ask, would a baby enjoy Cormac McCarthy? After all, there are no pictures, no pop-ups, and it seems that McCarthy doesn't particularly care for babies (see Blood Meridian and The Road). You'd be correct to point all of these things out. But since I'm not really allowed to watch TV (except for football), I have to find my entertainment elsewhere. I'll be the first to admit he's difficult. It took me three tries before I could finish Blood Meridian, but the effort was worth it. Right now, I'm just finishing up Cities of the Plain, the last book in the Border Trilogy. After that, I may take a little break from his novels and maybe check out some of the new stuff people bought me when I was born. First up is Quiet Loud by Leslie Patricelli. I don't know much about this book, but the title is definitely intriguing. Don't bother searching the New York Times archives -- it doesn't look like Michiko Kakutani has reviewed it yet. I'll be sure to post my own review once I finish it.

In other news, my parents dressed me like this yesterday:

Although it was pretty comfortable and I fell asleep almost immediately, I'm not going to forget how ridiculous I looked. If they keep pulling these kinds of stunts, I just might end up sticking them in one of those crooked nursing homes when the time is right. You know, the ones where the orderlies steal your stuff.

I cannot be stopped

So I was supposed to go home on Saturday afternoon.  I was excited because that meant no more nurses poking and prodding at me and no more apothecaries applying their leeches to me. Instead, the "doctor" told me I had "jaundice" and decided to keep me an extra night.  Of course, I saw through this ploy immediately.  They were attempting to isolate and study me so they could then replicate me (for military purposes, I assume).  Before I knew it, they had blindfolded me and imprisoned me in a blue cage (see above).  Of course, no cage can hold me, especially when I have this guy on my side:

I distracted the doctors with my Christopher Walken impression:

while my dad took out the security guards and wired the place to blow.

It was tight, but I made my escape with only seconds to spare:

So now I'm home and as happy as can be.  I didn't realize we'd have such a big television or that my bed would be so comfortable.  And the best thing about home?  Nary a hippy in sight.

Meeting the family

Now, I'm not one to brag. But I'm pretty awesome. I was born at 3:03 PM today and I was way better than any of the other babies in the nursery. They all cried like banshees and I stared at them like the fools they were. I wondered what the heck these idiots were crying about. Then it hit me. They're jealous of how great my family is and ashamed of how much their family stinks! I guess I would cry too if I was in their position. So to rub it in their little mewling faces even more, here's how my first hour or so of life went.

First, I was born.

Things were off to a good start. I mastered breathing in no time and I didn't cry at all. After that, I met Mom. I was really impressed with her and I didn't think anyone would top her in terms of poise, intelligence, and charisma.

But then I met dad. And I glimpsed the very face of perfection. It was like God decided to combine the good looks of Paul Newman and Tom Brady with the wit of Jonathan Swift and Kurt Vonnegut. Not to mention the pure cool of Mike "Stroker Ace" Cooley.

Then we hung out as family for a minute before I met some of the grandparents.

So I guess I understand why the other babies were crying. Their families were terrible compared to mine. If I had to sum this all up in a series of two pictures, the first being the other babies' families and the second being mine, I guess this is as good a representation as any:

vs.

I .... have .... ARRIVED!

TALE OF THE TAPE:

Name: Lucy Elizabeth Perry

Hometown: Indianapolis, Indiana

Weight: 8 lbs, 7 oz.

Height: 22.5 inches

Hair: Brown

Reach: 8 inches

Weaknesses: unknown

Tomorrow is the big day!

I'm gonna be honest. I'm kind of nervous. And, frankly, I'm a bit suspicious. What's this nonsense I hear about 'breathing'? And 'eating'? And 'talking'? You'd think they'd've stuck an instruction manual in here with me. Lord knows I haven't had much else to do over the last nine months. I could have read that thing cover to cover at least four or five times and I would have come out good to go. But no. I've got to learn on the fly for some reason. All of this adds up to one thing:

My First Election Day

I won't be able to vote until at least 2026, but I think I'm getting the hang of this politics stuff. You take your opponent's position, mischaracterize it using scare words like "socialist" or "George W. Bush", and then you make vague statements about why you are better suited for the position.

Just yesterday, John McCain came to Indianapolis and had the following to say:

"Barack Obama wants to be the 'Redistributor-in-Chief', I want to be the Commander-in-chief!"

"Barack Obama wants to punish the successful, I want to make everyone successful."

"Barack Obama wants to serve you your pizza cold, I want to serve it to you hot. And made to order!"

And then I saw a Barack Obama commercial where ominous music plays and it shows George W. Bush and John McCain laughing together in someone's rearview mirror. I wasn't entirely clear on what he was trying to say, but I'm pretty sure it boiled down to "John McCain and George W. Bush want to kill you."

With all this in mind, I'd like to throw my hat into the ring for the 2044 presidential election. I'm undecided on my running mate, but I'm leaning towards Aloysius Snuffleupagus. I realize that this might be a controversial choice given his position that police officers should be allowed to shoot fleeing suspects and his well-documented disdain for Eastern Europe, but I think Snuffy is a guy you want on your side in a fight. Plus, I could put a saddle on him and ride him wherever I want to go. If everyone owned a Snuffleupagus to ride, it would go a long way to reducing our dependence on foreign oil. See what I did there? I just gave you a sneak peak at my energy policy.

Quadruple Overtime

Even though I'm being born on Wednesday, I'm not too happy. Notre Dame lost to Pittsburgh yesterday in quadruple overtime and that's enough to sour anyone's mood. As soon as that game went to overtime, I knew the outcome would hinge on Brandon Walker. Of course, he teased us by making three field goals in OT, but he ended up channeling his inner Jim Sanson and missing wide left in the fourth OT. Thanks to Mr. Walker, I'm not sure I want to be born this week. Who would want to be born into the world so soon after ND lost not only to Pitt, but a Dave Wannstedt-coached Pitt? I may just hold on until after ND carpet bombs Boston College next Saturday. I envision that game going something like this: