Mood:  happy

Frodo and Sam enjoyed the time in the City of Orleans.  There has always been an ambience to living on the edge, with little regard for what may come tomorrow.  Frodo came to know people who opened a "Christmas Club" at the local bank which they used for the purpose of purchasing beads and other "throws" during Mardi Gras.  Never giving a thought to putting something away for the proverbial "rainy day," all of their creative energy was ushered into celebrations, be they of life, or of death.  Frodo and Sam were captivated by the good times, and the bacchanalian aspect of a Hobbit's time and place.

Frodo had little experience of a maritime nature, so when he discovered an advertisement for a 10 foot styrofoam sailboat, distributed by the manufacturers of "Kool" cigarettes, he imagined himself learning to sail on one of the many bodies of water surrounding his residence in the City of Orleans.  Oftentimes he subsequently saw himself as a young Kennedyesque figure, with wind-blown hair and a smile into the sunlight.  In all, the boat turned out to be a pretty good investment, because Frodo did learn to sail, and he devoted many hours and reaped worlds of pleasure, which was what life was supposed to be in the "Big Easy."

Eventually, the purveyors of Mount Doom called Frodo to another assignment in a far-off place.  While there, he was held as a prisoner-of-war (and John McCain thought he had it rough, have you, dear reader, ever been to Philadelphia?).  Sam remained behind for a period of time, taking care of certain business interests, and Frodo's sailboat sat, tethered to the back door, with no one to guide her bow to the wind.  That is, until an alien object captured the proper barometric pressure and developed a meterological happening. 

Hurricanes are something that wise people take seriously.  One out of ten may actually threaten life and limb, so many people, particularly those who give little thought to the morrow, do not pay them proper homage.  Sam is not such an individual.  Sam was very concerned about what to do in the event that the coming storm should strike with no Frodo at home.  Sam used the telecommunications channel to correspond with the enslaved insurgent in Philadelphia, seeking guidance in the event of high water, and the need to seek safer clime.  Frodo, unwisely as he now recalls, pointed out to Sam that there was a sailboat in the backyard, and it would be a good idea for Sam to tie the boat by rope through the second-story window.

"The second story," screamed Sam.  "You want me, and two canines, to clamber out a window into a styrofoam boat, and to just fly magically to some mountaintop in Tennessee?"

Frodo, as noted previously, quickly realized the folly of his suggestion.  Sam's position was that Frodo should get his butt back by nightfall, in his motorcar, and transport all that was precious in his life, with or without time off for good behavior, even if he had to scale a prison wall. 

Frodo noted the wisdom of Sam's position.

Fortunately, the hurricane shifted far to the West, and struck the coast of Texas, thereby presenting no danger to any civilized life form.

Shortly thereafter Frodo returned to the City of Orleans to combine Sam, Prissy and Gumbo (canine associates of that era), and requisite provisions into a single family unit again.  The "Kool" sailboat was still tethered to the back door, and the chapter in Frodo's life that neglected responsibility came to an end as the motorcar crossed the I-10 Bridge.   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:30 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  incredulous

George Preston Marshall was the owner of a team in the newly-formed National Football League.  Washington, D.C., home of the "Redskins" was also the southernmost location of any franchise in the league, and in the early days of professional sports in America realistically reflected the land as it was.  When Marshall died, his Last Will and Testament included a paragraph declaring that no subsequent owner of the Redskins could employ a "Negro" as a player.  It was not until the late All-American Ernie Davis of Syracuse was drafted that any "Negro" was ever associated with the "Redskins."  Davis was promptly traded to the Cleveland "Browns" in exchange for "Lightning Leroy Jackson" and the great sidekick to Jim Brown, Bobby Mitchell.  These were the first men, "Negroes" if you will, to play professional football and be telecast on the black-and-white medium into homes in Virginia, Florida, Georgia, Texas, and other points southern.  The "Redskins" were the last team to employ a "Negro" as a player. 

Bobby Mitchell is today an executive for the Washington "Redskins."  Lightning Leroy's whereabouts are not presently known to Frodo.  Ernie Davis tragically died of leukemia before he ever played a game.

Frodo has gotten on this point for a less than obvious reason.  Tonight, Senator Barack Obama (D-IL) will accept the nomination of the Democratic Party to be the next President of the United States.  If successful in his quest, he will be the first person of African descent, a "Negro," to be selected to preside over any western nation.  The acceptance, and his subsequent speech, will take place in Denver, Colorado, home of the Denver "Broncos," a competing franchise in the National Football League.  It was against the Denver "Broncos" that a graduate of Grambling State College and University named Doug Williams led the Washington "Redskins" to a commanding victory in the Super Bowl.  Williams became the first "Negro" to quarterback a National Football League team to victory in a Super Bowl.   The touchdown passes completed, and the total yardage remain as all-time records in a Super Bowl.

Tonight, in Denver, Barack Obama becomes Doug Williams.  His mere presence means something to every inhabitant of Middle Earth.  The fact that he will take center stage, and lead his team to victory, will mean something that historians will chronicle and dissect long after the dust has settled.  Just as Williams survived the onslaught of the "Orange Crush" defense, so will Obama avoid the "Red State" blitz.

Frodo removes the Ring from his finger, and magically appears, running downfield like Gary Clark, wide open, as Aragorn unleashes a long pass in his direction.

"Hail to the Redskins."  God Bless America.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:14 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

Mood:  special

Neil Diamond starts one of his most famous songs with "a hot August night," and then he warbles into the traveling salvation show of "Brother Love."  Americans, Frodo supposes, have always enjoyed being stirred up by somebody capable of winding their stems, and this night was no exception.  As Frodo and Sam sat before the black-and-white together, contemplating the fewest of days before the final confrontation with Sauron, the stage was set for the last grand entry of American nobility.  Frodo stood, for one minute and fifteen seconds, saying nothing, simply waiting for the applause to end.  Pity it is, that it must.

Bruce Springsteen has always had a habit of wrapping unforgettable words around unintelligible lyrics, and if we weren't "dancing in the dark," then we "walked the streets of Philadelphia."  More than anything else though, United States Senator Edward M. Kennedy (D-MA) can be characterized in Springsteens' "running against the wind."  The time for populist reform always seemed to be a tide that met Kennedy head-on, and his battles, with an amazing number of victories, were classical studies in political cooperation.  Reviled by many, for apparent cause, he did not let any of that deter him from the principles which guided his brothers before him.

Frodo always looked upon Senator Kennedy and his family as bearers of the "gold star."  He, indeed, received much.  He also lost a hell of a lot.  Middle Earth is richer because of the path he trod.  It has made all the difference.  Frodo pays homage to the "gold star."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:18 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  surprised

It was innocent enough, all the speculation taking place, but Frodo has to honestly admit that he had absolutely no idea that a Democrat was the Congressional Representative for "Barney" Bush and his fellow residents at America's answer to Abu Ghraib.  Representaive Chet Edwards was identified yesterday as a contender for the Vice Presidency because of his long-standing and superior performance, and Frodo nearly popped an aorta.  To imagine that Frodo would be theoretically forced to choose between John McCain and Mitt Romney paired against someone from a town called Whacko, in Texas, would simply fall beyond the scope of credibility. 

Perhaps the Hillary Clinton supporters weren't so far off-base after all.

Countless hours in front of the black-and-white left Frodo with nothing more than a promise that he would eventually receive a text message on his cellular telephone.  As the night wore on, Frodo found himself pacing back-and-forth hoping that reason would prevail, and that Barack Obama would select someone, anyone, who would not automatically be excluded from Frodo's consideration.  As the Texan John Nance Garner once said, the job of Vice President is not worth a "warm bucket of spit."  Frodo happens to believe that about any and all Texans.

Frodo began to consider the cost of building a wall.

Suddenly Frodo sprang up, peering at the digital clock.  He had slept, and had missed his text message.  When the black-and-white came into focus he noted the news anchor holding up one of those scummy New York tabloids which read "It's Joe."

There is a God.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:21 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (2) | Permalink

Mood:  silly

"Senator McCain, Town-Hall Meeting Attendee Frodo here, how are you this evening?"

"Good, I'm glad to here that Sir.  You know at your age you need to be careful, and as we all know, it seems like most people seem to die in close proximity to their birthday.  Your birthday is coming up in about a week, isn't it?"

"Well Senator, all of that aside, I guess we can't let this evening pass without asking about those seven houses, with an approximate value of $14M, that you couldn't seem to ennumerate for that reporter from Politico.Com."

"Yessir, I cetainly agree, reporters do tend to dwell on the less important issues.  In any event Sir, I'm sure that the audience out there in TV land would like to know more than what they have heard from those worthless media types.  Sir, how many of those houses are located in either Ohio, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Michigan, Indiana, New Hampshire, Georgia, Missouri, North Carolina, or Iowa?"

"Okay, if you would have your staff get back to us on that, it would be appreciated.  You know that many of the voters in those "swing states" might find it curious that you seek their votes and portray yourself as one of them, when you pay property taxes in seven states, but in none of theirs, don't you Sir?"

"Oh, sure, I understand.  It is understandable that one of those houses does need to be in Arizona, whom you represent in the Senate, and another has to be in the DC Suburbs of Virginia, but I'm curious about the place in San Diego, as well as the getaway in the Hamptons?"

"Yessir, that makes perfect sense, but haven't you thought about picking up a couple of pieces of property that are in foreclosure?  I mean, wow, you can really get some good deals in places like North Dakota, or South Carolina."

"Oh yeah, good point, it might look bad for you to take advantage of economic events brought about by a Republican Presidency, Congress, and a Right-leaning Judiciary, wouldn't it?"

"Well Senator, thank you very much for explaining why you have trouble even counting how many houses you own.  And while you're at it, could you explain to me how those scanners work in the grocery store?"

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:03 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  celebratory

Frodo is a frequent visitor at The Book Exchange in Marietta, GA.  He mentions this not as a "plug" in behalf of a small, but growing, business, although he is enamored of the pluck shown by the owner, but because it is the source of his personal pledge to read at least one book by everybody.  From Tom Clancy to Victor Hugo, Frodo mixes mood and opportunity in order to select used copies at greatly reduced prices.

Frodo is keenly aware of the fact that, like Sam, he could go to the extensive and impressive public library system and select books for free.  However, Frodo doesn't like being put on waiting lists, or waiting in line while some overweight Republican commences a discussion about the latest book on Oprah's reading list.  Frodo does not care about Oprah's reading list.  Frodo knows what he wants when he sees it, and planning has little attraction to a Hobbit wrestling with Gollum.

As stated previously, Frodo admires the ownership of the little used-book store.  The owner has regular visitations by authors, albeit most of them are ladies who write books that would make Frodo blush.  She also has read a lot of books which Frodo has not, and she is not sanguine about an opinion or two noting that some authors write like others, and Frodo "might like" this-or-that author.  Recently, Sam paid a visit to the shop and happened to mention Frodo to the owner.  Since Frodo had never introduced himself by name, the owner struggled trying to imagine exactly which of her customers would actually be a Hobbit.  Before Sam departed, Sam made a comment in support of Barack Obama, and was informed by the owner that she would be serving as a "hostess" again at the Democratic Convention.  For the second time, she would travel to the Democratic Convention and serve as a "guide" to press and politico alike.  She told Sam that she and a friend had rented a small house in Denver, and that they were calling it their "Obama Cabana."

Frodo made a point of driopping by during his lunch hour the next day.  As he stood at the cash register he remarked about the upcoming visit to Denver.  The startled owner tried desperately to figure out how this customer had any idea about her personal plans, and it was not until he remarked about Sam that she put two-and-two together.  Frodo, as he exited, again wished her well, and told her to wear a "white carnation" so that Frodo could have all the Hobbits watch for the owner of The Book Exchange.  It was her tactical error to laugh and to tell Frodo that she painted her toenails like "little American flags" while on duty at events such as the Convention.

So, dear reader, look for the smiling lady with the short blonde haircut, with toenails painted like "little American Flags," and amaze your friends by telling them that she owns a bookstore frequented by the Hobbit himself.

Do you think she might knock 5% off Frodo's next purchase?  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:32 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  lazy

So, asks Frodo, is this guy Phelps the greatest athlete in the world?  Actually, says Frodo to himself, that is not terribly different from asking if George W. Bush is truly the worst of all Presidents.  The distinction between the two questions is that we all know the answer to the latter.  Mr. Phelps, ever since he decided to accept this assignment, has drawn the admiration, if not the adulation, of the host-Chinese, the American Basketball Team, and every mother who ever inflated water wings for a toddler.  The achievement behind eight gold medals won by a single individual needs only to be compared to the fact that Phelps has won more medals than all but eight countries competing in this years' Olympiad.  Still, Frodo thinks back to moments not forgotten when Carl Lewis, Michael Johnson, Edwin Moses, Althea Gibson or Wilma Rudolph won medals that did not involve either a Speedo or water temperatures.

There will always be reminders of great individual events, involving a Jesse Owens, or an Ice Hockey Team pulling off an improbable upset.  Frodo remembers a nameless marathoner entering the stadium in Mexico City, stumbling, falling, but desperately trying to finish, and the whole world watching as the human body began to separate itself from the determination of the human mind.  The will, if you will, is the story behind the story in moments such as these.  That is why Frodo watches, and listens.

Many years ago, Frodo introduced a black man to a potential employer.  The job was in America, the employer was Asian.  When the employer decided not to hire the young man, he tried to explain his thinking to Frodo, and he said something like this:  "Mr. Frodo, he is black, and I am yellow.  It is difficult for me to say that it may seem strange to our customers that he would call as our representative.  I know it is wrong.  It is only business."

Frodo thought of that as he watched the crowds around Kobe Bryant, all wanting his autograph, his picture, to touch him.  Every business in the world would love to have Kobe Bryant endorse their product.  It would seem as if things have really changed on our small, blue planet, haven't they?  So it would seem.

Frodo votes for Jim Thorpe.  Look it up dear reader, he was indeed the "greatest athlete in the world," (1912 in Stockholm) but they took his medals away.  Using the same rules today, Kobe Bryant would be stripped of his medal, too.  Rules, like swimwear, change over time.  Better it was, thinks Frodo, when the athletes did not cloak themselves at all.

Probably got a little chilly though.   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:36 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  chillin'

A return to the Shire eventually leads all inhabitants to the same conclusion; there is no place like home.  Frodo sits in his gazebo, too enthralled by the activity to fully concentrate on the book in his lap.  It is Goldfinch season, and the tuxedoed males crest the cone flowers in search of their favorite seeds.  The orange hue of the Frittalaria in its' final stage of life floats from one passion flower to the next.  Yearling squirrels invade every feeder, despite the engineering mechanisms designed to thwart their assault.  Ruby-throat Hummingbirds flash from venues beyond detection, in pursuit of any intruder seeking to compete for the precious contents of the glass containers.  Through all of this the domesticated companions of Frodo sit, and take notes.

Beau Neau's tail flicks right, then left, then right again, as if he were keeping time with Mozart.  He concentrates on every movement by visitors to the Shire, seemingly unaware that he, too, is being observed.  Mick, the Wonder Dog, long ago determined that the highlight of his day is the instruction to "Get the Kitty," just before all the lights are dimmed and doors are made fast.  Mick, the Wonder Dog, pants in anticipation of this evenings' order.  Frodo cannot help but add a little mischief to the scenery.

When Frodo barks his command, all is set in motion and the mostly black dog strikes out in hot pursuit of his all-white rival.  Having been otherwise occupied, Beau Neau is briefly unprepared, and streaks out in an unfortunate direction.  Leaping the green plastic structure, and landing amidst, Beau Neau is suddenly reminded that the "Mr. Turtle Pool" is filled with water and corn oil (when placed upon the surface of the pool, the corn oil discourages the development of mosquito larvae).  With no more splash than that of an Olympic diver, Beau Neau rises back from the surface of the water and combines his sprint for the dog-door with an occasional irritating-shake of a paw.  Mick, the Wonder Dog, continues the chase until he reaches the door, and can turn back to Frodo with a look of operational satisfaction.

Squirrels bark from their lofts.  Blue Jays and Towhees replace the previous visitors to the bird feeders, and a lone Robin splashes in his bath.  Mick, the Wonder Dog, is inside, atop the transom which normally blows cooling air into the home shared by Frodo and Sam.  Beau Neau slithers back into the position he maintained before he was so rudely interrupted.  His tail now seems to move more methodically, perhaps, thought Frodo, he was now imagining something by Strauss.  Despite all the travail and the strife of days just passed, Frodo returned to his book, and all was right with the world.  If only it would last.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:17 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  happy

Frodo's travels seem to present him with an inordinate number of opportunities to share a story or two.  Stella Thompson is a homemaker whose parentage happens to be Irish, Mexican, Apache, and Navajo.  Growing up near White Sands, New Mexico, Stella seemed to be the product of families who were traditionally prolific.  The story she shared with Frodo has to do with her Grandmother's 90th birthday, which took place during Stella's 14th year.

Stella's grandmother, a full-blooded Navajo was partially deaf but could communicate, at least to some extent in both Spanish and in Sign Language.  Unfortunately, her ability to communicate in her native tongue was an exercise in futility.  Aside from that, she did experience some additional difficulty in clear enunciation, such as her continued reference to her favorite TV star, John Wayne, as "Wayne Johnson."  It was this worship of her cowboy-vs-indian hero, which made her desire for an autographed picture of "Wayne Johnson" even more surprising.

That must have been exactly the reaction of the Hollywood Press Agent who received a letter, from Stella's uncle, which included a hand-written letter from Stella's grandmother.  The Press Agent sent it on to John Wayne, and asked him for an opinion.  Wayne asked if some time might be made available in his production schedule, and a visit to New Mexico was set in motion.

Stella's uncle was running a little late, so John Wayne arrived first at the home shared by Stella, and most of her family.  When John Wayne knocked on the door, even though she thought he looked familiar, Stella demanded to know "Who are you, and what do you want?"  Wayne tried to introduce himself, but was being rebuffed by an overly-protective 14 year-old when her uncle finally arrived and was able to bring the movie star into the home of his biggest fan.  "Wayne Johnson" brought a birthday card, a birthday cake, and a large, framed, autographed picture, which was then placed on top of a TV set for all time.  For two hours they talked, mostly in Spanish, and ate birthday cake.

Each year thereafter, on her birthday, Stella's grandmother received a birthday card from "Wayne Johnson."  The cards arrived like clockwork for 23 more years.  For as long as he lived thereafter, Frodo wants to believe that "the Duke" sent a birthday kiss, air-mail. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:04 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (2) | Permalink

Mood:  on fire

There are times when it seems as if the grand writer of the news is following Frodo around, asking him to write tomorrow's headline.  The admissions of former Senator John Edwards (D-NC) follow on the heels of Frodo's inquiry into the fidelity of Senator John McCain (R-AZ) on this very screen, less than twenty-four hours ago.  Frodo should not be surprised by anything that a barrister-turned-politician has ever done, much less by what might someday be done.  These characters attract groupies, and they don't know how to handle them until they find that the snaps on the bra have come loose.  It is at that point that things become glandular, as opposed to rational, and the question truly become, "What would this candidate do if the telephone rang at 3 AM?"

John Edwards would hide in the Men's Room.  He should count himself fortunate that Senator Larry Craig (R-ID) is not waiting for him in the next stall.

Frodo harbors increasing disdain for professional athletes.  Despite the fact that nearly all of them are younger, wealthier, and more talented than Frodo has been on even his best day, most are dumber than dishwater.  Frodo believes that if one were to count the number of "y'knows" verbalized during any interview of a professional athlete that the frequency would exceed the ability to enumerate absent electronic imaging.  That aside, Frodo believes that professional athletes have learned how to deal with the Lewinsky/Hunter/Flowers types who rest on their knees with satisfaction on their faces.  Wilt Chamberlain, the late, great. professional basketball center publicly alleged that, during his 50+ years on this small, blue planet, he had sexual relations with 20,000 women.

Frodo has always had difficulty with that figure, but he admires it.  He might feel better about any politician who explained his indiscretions in the same manner. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:45 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (2) | Permalink