Frodo, Keeper of the Ring

Tuesday, May 1, 2007

If I Die in Tennessee, Send My Body Back COD
Mood:

spacey
Topic: "Doohan's Delight" (3)
One way to make Frodo angry is to tell him that your interests only include "Non-Fiction." Frodo places his hands behind his back and paces all about when someone tells him they only read biographies, history, and science. The creative power of the mind is responsible for music, poetry, dreams, stories around the campfire, tall tales, and fiction. Without that which is omitted by some there would be no Peter Pan, no Juliet, no Casey, no Medusa, perhaps no Frodo, and even, arguably, no Adam or Eve. How much poorer, dear reader, would our lives be?

Frodo loves to dream about things the way they might have been. The future according to Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, Bones, and Scotty, where diversity is part of a "Federation," is a stark contrast to the divisive country in which we currently live, and the divided world that frames its' existence. Perhaps, thinks Frodo, the unknown could be the great adventure that approximates that one actual shining moment in July, 1969, when all the world stopped, and watched, as one of us stepped onto the lunar surface. What a grand and wonderful future would lie in front of those who follow us.

They will get there without Scotty, but perhaps they will meet up with him again. This week, a private service sent a retrievable rocket into space in order to deposit the ashes of more than 200 Earthlings who sought eternal rest in man's final frontier, The remains of the real honest-to-goodness astronaut, Gordon Cooper, traveled with those of James Doohan, the erstwhile Chief Engineer of the Starship Enterprise, to ever search the heavens.

It would be disingenuous of Frodo to conclude his words here with the most famous of lines from "Star Trek." If Frodo were writing an end to the adventure series, a piece of fiction, he would have George W. Bush absorbed into the Borg. Of course, he's probably already there.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:29 PM EDT

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Monday, April 30, 2007

He Got The Action, He Got The Notion
Mood:

cheeky
Topic: "Eye Opener" (3)
Frodo could see him sitting atop the street light attached to the telephone pole at the end of the cul-de-sac. With the dawn's early light behind him, the mockingbird was going through his paces. He mimicked everything from a robin to a whippoorwill, and he got louder the more he irritated the sleep-deprived Hobbit. Despite the joys of a visit to Sam's home, Frodo spent many hours plotting the demise of this bird from Hell. Frodo fears now that, despite the passage of time, the creature has arisen from the grave to follow and again torment the Hobbit.

Cardinals are among the most striking of all the avian visitors to the Shire. Apparently, the Shire sits right along the territorial imperative of a number of males, for the flashing red is something visible from three or four directions simultaneously. All of that makes for pleasant observations about the feeders and water dishes scattered throughout the gardens. The males are in constant disagreement about which feeder, or which female, is rightful property. Frodo enjoys the action.

Comes the dawn, and one oversexed descendant of a Velociraptor has decided that getting an early start is the best way to prove himself to the adoring female throng. For the past week, he perches in the camellia bush in Frodo's front yard, immediately below the open bedroom window, and has commenced his own version of the "Hawaiian Wedding Song." He does so just early enough to waken Frodo and to prevent him from falling back asleep before the cursed alarm signals time to again commence scaling Mount Doom. Frodo knows that it is some sort of conspiracy, and that he is being laughed at.

There are times when Mother Nature is really a bitch. Frodo wishes he knew what Bilbo had done with the Red Ryder BB-rifle he got some years ago at Christmas. Then again, perhaps he could coach Mr. Beau Neau to set an appropriate ambush and secure himself the feline equivalent of Thanksgiving Dinner. To merely crouch behind the windowsill and softly curse at "Casanova Cardinal" falls far short of the response that such inflammatory action demands.

Frodo fears, arising early some morning, that he will look out and see something flashing past his window in the wind, and it will be a mockingbird, wearing red pajamas. The mockingbird will mimic a pileated woodpecker.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:01 PM EDT

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Saturday, April 28, 2007

South of The Border Down Mexico Way
Mood:

accident prone
Topic: "Georgia on my Mind"(3)
Dementia is something humans seem to know a lot more about these days, simply because it seems to be everywhere. Longer lives, and dumber politicians, make it a topic of conversation almost everywhere you go. It is not restricted to humans however, so Hobbits and other inhabitants of the Shire are also susceptible. The tale this evening dear reader, is of how it affects Georgia.

This chihuahua mix was introduced to you some time ago. Sam rescued her during a hospice volunteer episode when no one seemed to want the last possession of an old man, one which he had called "Baby." When she was admitted to membership in the Shire, the name was changed to protect the innocent and hence "Georgia" was welcomed by all, Smaller than Mr. Beau Neau, she was not viewed as a threat by any member of the cast. Despite the lack of vision in one eye, advanced age, crooked teeth, and limited auditory ability (or attention), it was clear thaat the routine in the Shire was the happiest times of her life. Frodo was fond of saying that "Every day is Christmas for Georgia," and he was right on the beam.

Accidents now seem to occur almost daily. Sam watches nervously for the aimless wandering in circles that seems to precede the inevitable squat and flow on the kitchen floor. The other inhabitants of the Shire, including Sydney the cockatiel, seem to recognize the faux pas and run for cover, lest they, too, fall prey to Sam's displeasure. Sam is almost at wit's end, and reflexively spouts displeasure at the performance of what could indeed be an "illegal alien" in the Shire.

Frodo has pointed out to Sam that returning Georgia to a location south of the American border is infeasible. Punishment for one who is merely trying to make her way as best she can in a big, cruel world serves little purpose, other than to satisfy the more demonic parts of the psyche.
The proposed solution is to confine Georgia to the exterior gardens of the Shire during the day with sufficient leash to allow her to sleep peacefully in the shade, and to wander about without strangling herself.

There are, it seems, solutions to every problem. Coming up with something that works may take a little time, and there will probably be a little suffering along the way, but blind old dogs aren't much different from people who don't speak the same language.

Georgia is asleep in her bed now, snoring in what seems to be Spanish. Her ribs are beginning to show through her mottled coat, reflecting the fact that age withers weight from the torso as systems begin to break down. When she awakes she will todder about for quite some minutes as she orients herself from the bedroom down to the kitchen then, hopefully, downstairs and out the dog-door into the gardens. Frodo thinks of the words from one of the earliest of Beatle songs. It goes, ". . .my independence seems to vanish in the haze. . .," and so it does.

That doesn't mean that her dignity goes with her independence. The gardens of the Shire are most enjoyable at this time of year, so Georgia can look forward to pleasant surroundings. She may whine when she realizes that she is not in the immediate vicinity of her fellow residents, but frequent visits from Fiona are inevitable, and Frodo will play the tickle-me game called "boom-boom" with her every evening. He may also serenade her with his best rendition of "La Bamba." According to Sam, that should be enough to make her laugh, since everybody else does.

Everybody wants to be a comedian.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:41 PM EDT

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Friday, April 27, 2007

That Long Black Cloud is Comin' Down
Mood:

on fire
Topic: "OkefenokeeArtichokee"(3)

Before Dwight Eisenhower and the public works project which dwarfed anything ever cooked up by Franklin Roosevelt, America's highways were little more than by-ways. The two exceptions, most probably, were the now famous "getting your kicks" on Route 66 cross-country, and US 1 which ran from Maine to Florida. Although much of both routes still exist, they are either the "path least traveled by," or they are little different from any of the main roads that bi-sect every small town or suburb. Frodo takes special pleasure in the opportunity to travel, however briefly, on one or the other. Except, of course, at this moment.

US 1 passes through Ware County, Georgia, home to the mammoth Okefenokee Swamp made nationally famous as the homeplace of Pogo, Albert, and friends. From the nearby towns of Waycross and Folkston, it is not difficult to gain acces to the Park and to embark on an expedition fitted to ones' style and/or durability. The Swamp can be open water, it can be slowly drifting canals between wooded islands, or it can be open "prairie." The prairie is actually peat floating atop the water, thick enough that it can support the weight of a grown Hobbit (although each step feels as if one is walking on a waterbed). Slicing through the prairie are canoe trails alternatively used most often by alligators seeking food or companionship.

Frodo and Legolas have, but not often enough, followed these trails in search of what they could see, and they have never been disappointed. The flora and the fauna are diverse, different, and plentiful. The alligators are, no matter what your persuasion, the most impressive of all to be seen. Lying on a bank or mound of dirt the grey skin dries to a plastic sheen, and the aura of improbable reality strikes even the trained eye. Swimming alongside the canoe of the Hobbit however, the alligator erases all of that doubt expeditiously. Watching an alligator stalk a wading bird or small mammal is an experience that brings all to a silent, if not terrifying, moment of stark balance in the natural world.

For the past two weeks, fire has ravaged the Okefenokee. More than 62,000 acres of timber, brush, and plant life have been seared in the droughth-inspired inferno. 16 miles of US 1 have been closed to all vehicular traffic so that emergency officials could protect the forest lands adjacent to the park, and the houses of the surrounding communities. With a continuing dearth of rainfall, it is likely that the fire will continue as it is well beyond the first of June. Smoke, rising high enough to be subject to currents aloft, clouds the skies as far North as Atlanta and Chattanooga.

Frodo has noticed, on several mornings of late, the presence of smoke about the Shire. At first he was duly alarmed, and nearly called for the Firemen of the Shire to rally. His inaction proved the wiser course, and soon the winds carried the smoke further North.

There was a time. so Frodo has been told, that when men in motorcars approached fires burning near a road they were subject to the needs of the emergency personnel. Interstate Highways, in so many ways, have changed eventualities. Frodo likes to think that there are still men in motorcars on US 1 who obligingly pull their motorcars off the road and wiliingly take rake and shovel to help build a fire break. Although fire is merely a part of nature's plan to fulfill the need to spread seeds, allow sunlight to penetrate, and ruefully thin the weak, it is man's foe as well as his tool.

Perhaps Frodo looks skyward as others have done for tens of thousands of years. A pleading in his voice, he asks for help.

Come Fall, Frodo and Sam will travel South from the Shire, and they will turn their motorcar off the Interstate long enough to traverse US 1 in Ware County. There is an airboat there that skims along the open waters thrusting artificial wind through the thinning hair on the head of the Hobbit. Frodo would really like to take Sam for a ride. He would prefer that they not have to join a bucket brigade.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:04 PM EDT

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Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Wishin' And Hopin', Thinkin' And Prayin'
Mood:

party time!
Topic: "Weddin' Down South" (3)
Frodo was doing his absolute best to appear nonplussed. He shook hands with each gentleman who came by, hugged most of the ladies, and bowed respectfully to everyone who introduced themselves to him that day. It was then that he realized that his boxer shorts were on backward. How, he thought to himself, could that have happened? Trying to clear his mind from this obvious faux pas, he tamped a Pall Mall from the pack, and promptly lit the filter end of the cigarette.

Presbyterian churches all appear to have been built with the same bricks used in Colonial Williamsburg. Although Frodo had never paid any attention whatsoever to the architectural aspects of any church subsequent to his year-long tour of Houses of Worship from the Medieval Period in Germany, he did think it appropriate to look about and try to remember as much as he could about this day. Given the fact that the "Scarlett O'Hara," the "Purple Passion," the "Harvey Wallbanger," and their associates from the night before were still being absorbed into Frodo's bloodstream, it was an accomplishment that he could structure consequential thoughts of any tangible magnitude.

Russell Frost was there. Frodo would never see his roommate from the College of the Shire again. All these years, and cancer still kills.

Randy Dorsey was there. For a black man who had never been south of Alexandria, it was a great tribute to Frodo that he stood for him in Tennessee on that day. The night before, Randy had hesitated to step onto the balcony of the motel without shielding himself behind one of the paler-skinned participants. It also had not helped that the lady who conducted the rehersal had continued to call him "Andy."

Frodo's father was there, as his Best Man. Certainly an easy choice. Frodo's father had never before tasted an alcoholic beverage in Frodo's presence, but a glass of champagne must go down easy when your son gets married.

Legolas was there, the handsomest of the Fellowship. To this day they communicate over the miles in ways unexplained, and in the closest of bonds. Minutes together, though years apart, are as if they had seen each other but hours before.

The next morning, at the airport, as they prepared to depart for the City of Orleans, they saw the Dean of Women from the College of the Shire. Frodo walked away from his new bride and approached the hawk-nosed hag who had never missed an opportunity to give Frodo grief. Frodo greeted the Warlock by pointing to his new bride, and announcing that he had spent the last night with her in the Holiday Inn. The fact that it was perfectly legal and proper must have slipped his memory.

Frodo still thinks she was actually Barbara Bush.

And that's the way it was, April 25, 1970. The best day.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:00 PM EDT

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Monday, April 23, 2007

Don't Give Your Heart to Anyone
Mood:

lyrical
Topic: "Lonely Avenue" (3)

Ahmet Ertegun produced recording sessions. Ben E. King was the lead singer for a group known as "The Drifters." Just as King stepped to the microphone to begin recording "Save the Last Dance for Me," Ertegun tells King the story behind the writer of the song, a man named Doc Pomus. King's eyes moistened, and he fought tears as he sang the song, and for the first time understood what the lyrics conveyed.

". . .Just remember who's takin' you home, and in whose arms you're gonna be. . ."

Polio is a word not heard much anymore, but it was well-known to a generation of young people afraid to even swim in a public pool, for fear that the rest of their lives would be spent in an "iron lung." Crippled by polio, Doc Pomus used crutches and, always overweight, ended his life in the wheelchair that served him the night that Ben E. King recorded his song. Pomus had written the song from the memory of his wedding day when he watched his brother Raoul whirl his new bride across the dance floor.

". . .While we're apart, don't give your heart to anyone. . ."

Like his contemporary, Sam Cooke, Pomus had a gift for making songs out of the things that his eyes had seen. As a teenager the young white man could lay out smooth, undulating blues that won him frequent gigs at black clubs in every borough of New York. Accompanied by pianist Mort Schuman, Pomus cranked out his first hit "Teenager in Love" for Dion and the Belmonts.

". . .And when we touch, I love you oh so much. . ."

Pomus, who was born Jerome Felder, died in 1991, after writing many of the songs to which Frodo danced while Pomus merely dreamed of dancing. The life is chronicled in the newly-published "Lonely Avenue: The Unlikely Life & Times of Doc Pomus" (by Alex Halberstadt, DaCapo Press).

In April of 1953, Bilbo was presented with an opportunity to protect the halfling Frodo against polio. At Franklin Sherman Elementary School, Dr. Richard Mulvaney was performing the first innoculations of the Salk Vaccine. Frodo protested, claiming that the vaccine was a "test" and that it might make him sick (it also might hurt). Bilbo would hear none of it, and Frodo was deigned to participate. Frodo, dear reader, was invited back to Franklin Sherman Elementary School by the March of Dimes for the 50th anniversary of the victory led by the "Polio Pioneers."

Bilbo was, and remains, as it relates to the care and feeding of halflings, very wise. The truth be known, the shot didn't really hurt much either.

Ben E. King gave a great performance when he learned the truth behind the lyrics. Maybe Frodo did some good, too.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:50 PM EDT

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Sunday, April 22, 2007

Carry On My Wayward Son, There Will Be Peace When You Are Gone
Mood:

chillin'
Topic: "TW3" (3)

"That Was the Week That Was" was an old television show in the United States, and it was the by-product of creative minds of the BBC. Frodo thought of the show as he casually observed the trend of the times while he vegetated in the land of shuffleboard and pomegranate joice. In that spirit, and without meaning to offer either overkill or roadkill dear reader, let us simply consider the words of the Hobbit.

Senator John McCain (R-AZ) is a man whom Frodo has long admired. His service to his country, his personal and professional integrity, and his history of speaking up when speaking up was not an easy thing to do, are qualities which justified serious consideration for the world's highest elective office. Frodo also likes both the Beach Boys and their one-time hit "Barbara Ann," but that does not mean that a convergence in failed humor has done anything to change Frodo's mind that McCain is now only a tired, old man. It may be true that elderly military men do not die, but that would be better than making a complete ass of oneself. Contributors to the McCain campaign should demand a refund.

Attorney General Alberto Gonzales (Boob-TX) and his entire professional career were completely enshrined in the oft-repeated, "Senator, I cannot recall," phrase made infamous by former President Ronald Reagan. Frodo notes that Reagan, when he found the occasion to use those words was already exhibiting signs of Alzheimer's. Gonzales, on the other hand, was demonstrating his command of the management style made famous by that Harvard-educated MBA, George W. Maslow.

Paul Wolfowitz (Bizarro-?) stopped licking his comb long enough to bring his love affair to public scrutiny. Given the details, and the images that it brings to the mind of Frodo, it is a story that Frodo truly feels meets the criteria of obscenity under Supreme Court scrutiny. To the feminine gender who partake of Frodo's tales, Frodo can only ask "Could you imagine? Yech!" This academic, who set behavioral science back more than any person not carrying the title of "Pope," has been playing world banker ever since rational thought appeared, however briefly, within the padded walls of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Now we find that he exercised his considerable influence to get his personal squeeze a job that pays even more than the welfare payments made to the Secretary of State.

Academics provide an appropriate segue into the horror that befell Virginia's State-sponsored school of agriculture and football. Frodo has been screaming at television screens for more than a week to simply get an answer or two to what he feels are very legitimate questions. First off, what was a 23 and-a-half-year-old student doing as an undergraduate in the first place, and why would anyone study ENGLISH at Virginia Tech (which has produced erudite off-spring named Vick, who also quarterbacked the Hokies)? Of even greater substance is Frodo's query as to the GPA of the subject. How can a guy not participate in class, submit assignements which reflect severe psychosis, and be passing his courses? Were there professors who simply passed this kid off to the next colleague in order to get rid of him? Nikki Giovanni has not been asked the right questions.

Finally dear reader, considering all that has taken place since last we visited, the Middle East is the appropriate place to discuss endings. Frodo has thought, long and hard, about history and how it has been overlooked by those who have brought all of us to a precipice. The Greeks, under Alexander and the Romans some few centuries later, performed well-documented forays into the geographical "fault line" described by Mr. Allawi in his new book. The Holy Crusaders, in the next milennium, were followed in the twentieth century by both the British and the Russians. All of these "empires," if you will, are historical interlopers into a region of the world that remembers them only as ocupying forces who had to be, and were, discharged. Doesn't it seem to you, dear reader, that a truly wise person could look at the American Experience there as simply one more notch on the tablets of history. At some point in time, the general consensus of all those who even find this period of interest will merely be "What could they have been thinking?"

In the case of George W. Bush, the operative word might be "drinking."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 5:57 AM EDT

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Saturday, April 14, 2007

Wonderin' What Dress to Wear Now
Mood:

happy
Topic: "Promises Made" (3)
"There, but for the Grace of God, go I." It would be hard for Frodo to believe that anyone, dear reader, who reads his lines, would be unfamiliar with these words. Stephen Hawking, perhaps one of the most profound minds in any Age of Man, is captured in a body racked by a nervous system that is inoperative. He faces a fate that first became part of the public discourse when Lou Gehrig declared himself "the luckiest man in the world." Frodo's father died similarly.

Frodo's father was one of five siblings, three of whom developed the same disease. Frodo's family was subsequently part of a much larger study by one of the great medical institutions in all the world, in order to determine a treatment, or cure, for this hideous fate. There is, according to the WALL STREET JOURNAL's report of the study, a "genetic predisposition" in 18 European-derived families to the occurence of this monster. It should be noted that Stem Cell research is an integral part of the effort to overcome this plague.

If there was ever any doubt about the depth of Frodo's dislike for George W. Bush in your mind, dear reader, at least now you understand that it is more than philosophical. It is personal.

Frodo's father was first struck in the throat, and quickly lost the ability to communicate. Most victims are first struck in the outer extremities, the affliction working from there to spread its' paralysis into the throat and respiratory system. Frodo's father did not carry the disease a long time, and when he died, he still could walk and use all his great but dwindling strength.

In the last of days, Frodo had the opportunity to say the things that needed saying. He knew that his Father worried about Bilbo and the survival of one who would be left with very little. Frodo assured his father that he would not let him down, that he would do as he had been taught, and provide for Bilbo in the days to come. Frodo's father had a small pad by the bed, with a pencil, and he struggled, mightily, to write responses to questions. Generally, the result was unintelligible.

Frodo talked for a while, then he looked directly into his father's eyes and asked, "Are you worried?" Immediately, he reached for the pad, and began to struggle with the pencil. When he handed the scribble back to Frodo, it read, simply, "No."

Looking at that piece of paper all these years later, Frodo prepares to depart in a few hours for his annual visit to Bilbo, on this, the occasion of the 89th birthday celebration. Frodo has been thinking, a lot, about how much he dreads this visit. Bilbo continues to live alone, and is fully capable of meeting all the needs and wants that day-to-day life requires. Bilbo however, exhibits more and more of the aggressive traits which seem to characterize those who approach the dimming of the light. They "rage, rage against the light," and Bilbo is increasingly less enjoyable as a companion.

Frodo knows that it is the Ring. His constant foe, that must be overcome; yet knowing the enemy is only half the fight. Frodo has done very well, and he believes that his father would be proud of what he has managed to do, so far. The challenges are greatest though as Frodo comes close to Gollum, inside Mount Doom itself. He must not falter. Promises made must be delivered. Challenges are expected, and hardships must be overcome.

Frodo may re-read an old favorite, "Lonesome Dove," by Larry McMurtry. Woodrow, with all his flaws, brought Gus home.

There may be a few days between this and when next Frodo's tales continue.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 4:10 AM EDT

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Friday, April 13, 2007

Crystal Ball On The Table
Mood:

bright
Topic: "Better Man" (3)
Frodo has always had a special affection, if not admiration, for the truly solid citizen. The pulling guard who makes one-fiftieth of what the running back makes, but without whom there would be no running back. The police officer who works his shift, mows his lawn, and still finds time to volunteer for those special days at school telling classmates of his son what he does for a living. The Social Security Representative who listens, patiently, to person-after-person complain, yet handles each person as if they were truly a "client." There is a special place in Heaven for those who just do their job; Frodo laments that the need for money has changed the motivations of far too many.

David Gergen, to Frodo, is such a person. He has worked for four different Presidential Administrations; different Political Parties, with very different policies. Seemingly, he is the guy who helps put together the "message," particularly when nobody else seems capable of explaining just what the hell is happening. The rest of the time he appears on television as a paid observer of government behavior. Frodo, while punching the remote, always stops when David Gergen is talking, no matter what channel or subject. He is thoughtful, sensitive, honest, and has earned Frodo's trust.

He looks like the guy who works behind the meat counter at Publix. He talks like the guy who explains the difference between an annuity and a defined benefits plan. He dresses like the guy who passes the collection plate down the aisle every Sunday. He listens like the college professor who takes your response and presents another thoughtful question. He is the next-door neighbor who returns your garbage can back down the driveway once the truck has passed.

He is not Snoopy Dog Doo (Frodo's special moniker for Brother Broaddus). He is not "Pacman" Jones. He is not Karl Rove. He is not Paul Wolfowitz.

He has never humiliated someone else in public. He does not shout down a differing opinion while participating in a media forum. He just acts and sounds like a guy Frodo would like to know.

Occasionally now, Frodo will stop and just talk for a minute about those people we seem to never really talk about. Johnny Carson used to bring out actors whom we had all seen time-and-again, like Dub Taylor, but whose name was lost as the credits rolled swiftly toward the lighting of the theater. Frodo is proud that he first has picked David Gergen, and he hopes that someday, when Mr. Gergen "googles" his own name, that he takes note of Frodo's heart-felt admiration, nay respect, for David Gergen, American.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:43 PM EDT

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Thursday, April 12, 2007

I'm Just Tired And Bored With Myself
Mood:

not sure
Topic: "Trouble Sleepin'" (3)
Every Hobbit comes upon a time when inner questions seem more important than they do the other twenty three hours and fity-nine minutes of the day. Frodo finds that these times are best when they occur before he goes to bed. Random thoughts become obsessions and every position becomes less comfortable than the three previous times it seemed to offer the best return route to slumber. Technology has provided Frodo with a choice that is beyond the scope of the book beside the bed on the night stand for moments such as these.

Of all the conceptual states-of-being, friendship alone defies the logical definition for Frodo. He simply does not know what it is, or why it exists as it does. Dear reader, you have heard the question before, as to why one is a "friend" and another merely an "acquaintance." He has been thinking about it a lot of late.

On a grand scale, Frodo has been thinking about Don Imus. Frodo always found him amusing, rebellious, appreciative of expression and effort; plus he wore his hair long and had a cool cowboy hat. He seemed to have friends in every walk of life. Politicians, singers, journalists, athletes, executives alike seemed to be around to enjoy the "I-Man," to solicit his support, and to pay him homage. Whatever the reason for Imus crossing a line of sorts, it has been fascinating, if not painful, to watch who and when they stood up to be heard. Frodo has concluded that Don Imus does not have many friends. He has a lot of acquaintances.

Personally, Frodo knows many people from the business world. Together, there are many with whom he has forged long and productive relationships. They call each other "friend," and they talk about things other than business, from time-to-time. Frodo finds however, that the loyalty he perceived is akin to an old paper cup. Acquaintances simply shift to a new cup when the old one begins to leak. Excuses are made about chance occurrences, and promises are made about the future. Frodo is wise enough to never attempt to make out a deposit slip at the bank based on such a promise.

Bilbo turns 89 years old next week, giving Frodo and Sam the opportunity to visit the high desert and to celebrate the long life of Bilbo. Bilbo has gotten strangely antagonistic to many of the oldest and dearest of friends, and accusations have been made which are both inexplicable and hurtful. Years of kindness and generosity, when friendships were deep and important, have turned into merely passing words with "acquaintances."

The Ring, and the power it holds, is a narcotic to those who dare to place it upon the finger. Simplistically, Frodo could lay great blame on the evil that it emotes to those in its' wake. There is more however, and that is what concerns Frodo the most. That is why he sits before a keyboard, typing, and wishing that the answers he once found in the twisting smokey sculpture of a cigarette would come now as easily as they did in those days. Don Imus probably feels much the same.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 3:52 AM EDT

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