Mood:  don't ask

The following relates to a 57-42 vote in the Arkansas House of Representatives on Wednesday.  That august body approved a bill allowing concealed handguns in churches.  The bill now goes to the State Senate (for true).

Occupying all of the pews on the right-hand side of the OK Baptist Church in Bonanza, Arkansas, were the followers of former Arkansas Governor, Michael Huckleberry.  The left-hand side of the wooden structure was populated by those who retained a certain fondness for the performances of former Governor Woodrow Jackson Clanton.  The Huckleberrys and the Clantons were similarly united in celebration nearly every Sunday in the largest house of worship in Bonanza.  Since nearly every person in town was named either Huckleberry or Clanton, there was little purpose in even counting those who gathered elsewhere.

This was a different Sunday however.  Years of disagreement regarding such issues as paternity, maternity, fraternity, and statolatry had spilled over from Saturday night into Sunday morning.  Fate it was that had determined this to be the same Sunday in which concealed handguns were first allowed in the churches of Bonanza.  At least that is how it was reported in the local newspaper, "The Bonanza Gold", published by the Cartwright family.

According to the newspaper, services opened that fateful Sunday morning with the OK Baptist Chorale singing "A Closer Walk With Thee."  More prophetic words could not have been chosen to chronicle what would follow.  One of the Huckleberrys apparently took offense at the stare put upon him by one of the Clantons, who was probably just trying to figure out if that was a banana in the pocket of Old Man Huckleberry, or what.  In any event, the Old Man removed all doubt by pulling a .44 Magnum out of said pocket and created an abdominal entry into the liver of the unidentified Clanton.  This sparked a certain amount of consternation among the assemblage, according to the newspaper.

"Wild Bill" Clanton was the first to respond.  His sons gathered about him and they simultaneously proceeded to pepper the Huckleberrys with hollowpointed bullets.  Witnesses in defense of the Clantons later testified that the "hollow points" were filled with a family "secret sauce" which was later used to flavor the chicken prepared for the afternoon church social.

The Huckleberrys retaliated under the leadership of "Ike" Huckleberry, who had, at one time, been the Pastor of that very congregation.  Ike produced an antique German Luger from underneath the orange armband he wore so well, and he took deadly aim at the posterior of "Mother" Clanton.  Mother Clanton was Secretary to the Town Mayor (who happened to attend the church on the other side of the tracks that run right through Bonanza to this very day).  Mother Clanton survived the assault despite the fact that Wild Bill seemed to be drawing fire from the Huckleberrys as he saddled up closer to Mother Clanton.

Once the gunfire ceased, probably resulting from a shortage of ammunition, since it was the first Sunday under the new law, the assemblage gathered out by the river, and cleaned their weapons.  The Pastor, having suffered a superficial wound, was not inclined to proceed with the usual dunkings and hallelujahs that fateful Sunday.  Once the chicken dinner was served, things got peaceable once more, although several of the Huckleberrys seemed somewhat disturbed by the aroma of the secret sauce adorning the chicken.

Monday mornings edition of "The Bonanza Gold" carried the byline of the cub reporter who witnessed much of the happenings that day.  The banner headline read "Gunfight at the OK Chorale."  The editorial page was dominated by the words of the publisher, Old Man Cartwright, who wrote that the truly righteous should put their true faith in God, not guns.

Frodo says, "Amen."    

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:46 PM EST

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Mood:  cheeky

Frodo is sensitive to criticism.  It is easy enough to find fault with almost anything, and criticism, whether of a novel or an appropriations bill, if constructively presented and received, offers great value to society.  The tail of the dog is that every once in a while, the critique requires specificity, and specificity usually requires an alternative to what is already on the table.

On this day, Frodo called the former Governor of Louisiana, the not-so-Honorable Edwin Edwards, who is occupying space in a fully-funded facility of the United States Government, in order to seek out his opinion of the financial stimulations underway by the current administration.  Edwards' high-roller status in Las Vegas is well-known, so Frodo felt that one who has proven to have no fear of losing a gamble would be an excellent critic of that upon which so much of our present national interest is hinged.

"Thank you for taking my call, Governor."

"It is my pleasure, Mr. Frodo.  Now, in exhange for what is it that you require?"

"Sir, I'm not sure I have anything to offer you, I have no gifts to bring (pa-rum-bum-bum-bum-bum), I thought you might simply enjoy someone seeking your opinion."

"Well, ask away, and we'll see what it might or might not be worth to you."

"Governor, the President has proposed a stimulation to the current worldwide recession, to the tune of about $800B, knowing, and even publicly offering, that should it fail, then his administration, and, in fact, the entire financial system of the free world may collapse.  What do you think about a gamble so similar to "letting it ride" while attempting to draw against an Inside Straight, if you will?"

"Well, first off Mr. Frodo, Ah do not accept your analogy, on something so very basically easy to resolve."

"Sir?"

"Mr. Frodo, this entire mess can be solved by striking, aggressively, at the very root of the problem.  You do know what that root is, don't you?"

"Well, most economists point to housing as the core problem, both as the source of the debt and the inability to set value."

"Ah agree with that Mr. Frodo.  So wouldn't it make sense to you, to ignore everything else, and eliminate that part of the problem?"

"And how would we do that?"

"Increase the demand for housing.  Fill up all of those foreclosed properties.  Sell every empty house to a new homebuyer.  Put all of your unemployed back to work building even more houses."

"Okay, but where is the demand going to come from?  Nobody has any money, and nobody can get a mortgage to buy a house that nobody knows what it is worth."

"Boy, oh boy.  How quickly y'all move from one problem-to-another without ever solving anything."

"So what are you telling us to do, Governor?"

"Damn boy, just open the borders."

"Sir?"

"Tear down that damn dumb wall y'all built on the southern border, and let all them Mexicans and Salvadorians come on in."

"You mean to open our borders to unlimited immigration?"

"Absolutely."

"But wouldn't that increase the chance of terrorism at home?"

"Could be."

"Aren't most of those people dirt poor?"

"Some are awfully rich."

"Like the drug cartels?"

"Could be.  But wouldn't all those people need housing?"

"Well, sure, but. . ."

"But nothing, they could get jobs just building houses for each other, and they'd create lots of new jobs for those here who are out of work."

"But, but who would pay them?"

"Boy, ya got two choices, either you, and all the rest of the taxpayers pay them, or you let the rich Mexicans and Salvadorians run their own capitalist enterprise.  No matter what, you'd have a whole bunch of new Americans who own their own home, and provide for their own families."

"Sir, I have to object.  We can't just let a whole bunch of criminals into the country willy-nilly."

"Boy, who do you think settled Australia?"

"Well, you have a point there."

"Don't you know that your whole darn country was made from people who ran away from debtors prisons, or worked off their passage to America by working as indentured servants?"

"Yeah, that is so."

"Well, then, what in the hell are you doing asking me about an inside straight when the first thing you should be doing is tearing down that stupid wall?"

"Governor, you are extremely persuasive.  You have given me something I need to think about."

"Give?  Son, we are now at the point where I tell you what I want for solving your problem."

"And what would that be?"

"There was a reall purty gal in one of those pictures on DEMWIT a couple of days ago.  How bout gettin' me her direct telephone number?"

Well, the President did ask each of us to help, didn't he?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:15 PM EST

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Mood:  a-ok

Detritus has been deposited in the Gardens of the Shire by cold daily winds for what seems like the longest of seasons.  Wet and rotting leaves find their way into every nook.  Even the industrious Hobbit has found good reason to let the swirl be, and to seek other tasks closer to the hearth.  Then, with little warning, the clime dawns sunny and warm for the first time in the New Year, and the luxury of first one day, leads then to the deeds undone upon the second.  It is then that Frodo finds the rising bulbs, hidden beneath winter's mask, and notes the first color on the forsythia.

The old rake seems aware of its task, and performs seemingly independent of the untested shoulders.  Soon the tarpaulin is piled high with that which covered all the Earth, and Frodo strains with the long pull to the hillside below.  Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, frolic for a moment, then realize that scattering more leaves is not a playtime agenda.  They need wait a while before joining the Hobbit on an excursion to inspect the activity in like-minded corners of the Shire.  For it is true that, despite all that is to be done, these first warm days are mostly occupied by uncovering what lies below, and an inspection of the possibilities.

The full moon that builds upon the day is dubbed "a raccoon moon," for reasons that Frodo knows not.  He has always suspicioned that it is an anniversary of the first sighting of a woodland creature.  It is one mystery easily solved he supposes, but Frodo is content with merely knowing that it is.  That which brings life back, and lessens the challenge of survival is something to be celebrated, not analyzed.  Soon the tasks at hand will be so voluminous that Frodo will bypass nearly all of his opportunities to free-lance, and maintenance will be his assignment.  Only the heat of the day will then bring him to pause and note that the detritus now warms a birthing salon, for coats of many colors.

May Frodo, and you, dear reader, enjoy your raccoon moon.  It will be a long time coming, again.  Look up and share the night sky with all those who thought enough about the world in which we live that they could help us chronicle this great gift.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:09 PM EST

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Mood:  on fire

Frodo is a capitalist.  Henry Ford, Andrew Carnegie, Steven Jobs may or may not be nice guys, but they each, individually, assumed the majority of the fiscal and the emotional risk in order to create and grow business opportunities for themselves, and for countless millions around the small blue planet.  Frodo recognizes that some succeed in spite of themselves, and others fall prey to simple bad luck.  What they have in common is that they tried, they worked hard, they worried, and they reaped from that which they had sown.  Frodo will never decry the wealth and accoutrements that accompany hard-won success, despite his empathy for those who fall along the sidelines.  For those who inherit wealth, Frodo has no interest, and he hopes that they are taxed at maximum rates.

Frodo is also, as discussed many times before, a behavioral scientist.  He recognizes that simple causal relationships cannot necessarily scientifically define human behavior.  It is, impossible, in Frodo's way of thinking to say, for example, that "if you give a person enough money, he will spend half of it, and save the rest."  There are simply too many "unknowns" to apply either history or predictive polling to test such an assumption.

The internecine struggle in the United States Senate over the President's Stimulus proposals has provided Frodo with input regarding the strengths of capitalism as well as the folly of human behavior.  Larry Kudlow, of CNBC, has been the object of some interest by Frodo, and after listening to parts of his show last night, Frodo is as mad as a hornet, and is prepared to tell that pompous derelict exactly why.

First off, Kudlow has never met a suit "off the rack."  He appears as if everything from his perfectly-knotted tie to his color-conscious shirt has been applied to his torso as if it were Saran Wrap.  Physically, absent the tonsorial applications, he could be a homeless guy on Peachtree Street.  There is absolutely nothing attractive about him, except the outer wrappings.  He is shrill, and he interrupts.  He makes Chris Matthews look attentive.

Last evening, Kudlow had a bevy of fiscal market experts at hand, nameless to be sure, discussing the impact of spending one's way out of a recession.  Among those receiving queries from the grand poobah of Brooks Brothers was some chickee with long brown, straight hair.  The hair was so long that it offered the possibility of toilet application in an emergency.  Kudlow was wandering off on a tangent, but he asked the chickee to whom a CEO owed his loyalty first, to his share-holders, or to his country?

Frodo could not believe the Ann Coulter-type response, i.e. "to his shareholders."

But what really pissed Frodo off was the fact that Kudlow absolutely imitated "de Tar Baby."  He say nuttin'.

Mr. Kudlow, how many CEO's are there in Arlington Cemetery?  Would it be proper for a CEO to request a deferment from military service in order to oversee an acquisition?  Are there any committments that truly take precedence over your country's call?  Do you really believe that Jeff Immelt owes a greater allegiance to those of us who own GE stock, than to his country?  

Mr. Kudlow, your extremely bad judgment; your tolerance of an  uninformed and irrational response by a nameless chickee with no mind whatsoever puts you on a special pedestal in the Frodo Hall of Fame.

Larry Kudlow, you are an Orc, but well-dressed, adds Frodo.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:38 AM EST

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Mood:  chatty

Frodo, in all seriousness, has little patience with scofflaws, and that is particularly so when it comes to the issue of taxation.  Frodo is, however, not of such an ideological mindset as are those whose entire political philosophy hinges on their personal tax liabilities.  Frodos' life experiences have included some unique exposure to the process of taxation, and he is one who truly believes that "Taxes are the price we pay for liberty."  His opinions and his knowledge are much better than most.

Frodo knows that every candidate for national political office, and every consequential national political appointee is screened for conformance with the tax laws of the United States.  The IRS receives a "Type X" request, which carries a mandatory 3-day response, for every potential candidate or nominee, resulting in certification of "fact-of-filing."  Within the process, the subject "taxpayer" suffers a review of returns to identify any questionable inclusions or exclusions.  At this point, information is shared with the appropriate State and/or Local tax authorities so that complete compliance is assured.  If there is indication of something which may be problematical, the appropriate notifications are made and the nomination may be terminated.  Additionally, a more comprehensive review may be ordered should substantial noncompliance be uncovered.

An example of how such information is used can be found as it relates to Eleanor Holmes Norton (D-District of Columbia).   According to information published in the WASHINGTON POST and other media, when first selected to serve as the non-voting Member of Congress, Mrs. Norton was found to have not filed District of Columbia Income Tax Returns for 12 years, consecutively.  Mrs. Norton and her spouse each claimed that they thought the other had taken the appropriate action.  The Nortons filed the delinquent returns, paid all applicable penalties and interest, and then filed for divorce.  Mrs. Norton remains as the District of Columbia's Member of Congress.  Mr. Norton has been lost to history.

Had it been up to Frodo, Eleanor Holmes Norton would never have served a single day as a Member of Congress.  The argument that two attorneys, which is what the Nortons both were by profession, would be unaware of their joint failure to file income tax returns flies beyond credibility, especially when it continued for 12 consecutive years.  She should have shared a cell, at least, with Martha Stewart.

Tom Daschle served in the Legislative branch, representing South Dakota, for approximately 30 years.  At some point in time, his rank elevated him to to allow certain additional benefits.  To wit, he gets a bigger office, he is allotted more funds for his staff, and so on.  Included in these increased benefits is the service of a government-owned motor car, and a driver.  Said benefits are not included as "income" to Mr. "public employee" Daschle under the Internal Revenue Code.

Not too terribly long ago, Mr. Daschle was defeated in a re-election bid by John Methune (R-SD).  As the law permits, the "civilian" Tom Daschle received several lucrative private industry employment opportunities.  One of the benefits he received from his new employer was, you guessed it, a motor car, and a driver.   Incredibly, the value of such service is treated as "income" to a "civilian" under the Internal Revenue Code.  The failure by Mr. Daschle to include the benefit as "income" in three consecutive tax returns became the crux of the need for him to belly up more than $140K in additional taxes, penalties, and interest.

Frodo does not look to offer excuses for anyone.  However, it could be argued that Mr. Daschle, if he prepared his own return, may simply have either been unaware of the taxability of something he'd had for years, as non-taxable, or he forgot about including it after so many years of not having to do so.  If Mr. Daschle, and this is certainly most likely, had someone else prepare his return, it is entirely conceivable that he failed to include the information about the car and driver to his tax preparer.

Frodo notes that it took quite a while for this information to come to the fore, which would indicate that the IRS discovered the problem only after going into Mr. Daschle's returns in depth.

The true point of this discussion lies in the complexity of the Internal Revenue Code.  Frodo does not endorse flat, fair, or national sales taxes of any size, shape, or proportion.  He does recognize however that what we have is a process that can end up causing any one of us significant embarrassment.  And if you are wondering what Frodo would have done had he the power to do so, he would have suggested to Mr. Daschle that he withdraw his name from nomination.  And he would have felt like shit for so doing.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:19 PM EST

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Mood:  accident prone

"Mr. President?"

"Yes, Special Advisor for Pre-Employment Vetting, Mr.  Frodo, what do you need?"

"I screwed up, Sir."

"In what way?"

"Sir, I was absolutely convinced that the former Democratic Leader of the United States Senate, a man with a thirty-year track record in public life, was an absolute 'slam-dunk' as our Secretary of Health & Human Services nominee.  I let you down.  I let the country down by not pursuing tax issues to the Nth degree.  I should have. . ."

"Mr. Frodo, we don't have time to look back and lament our mistakes.  We need to learn from them, to go on, and not to repeat them.  That includes you, as well as me."

"Thank you, Sir.  Do you have any thoughts for me as we begin considering other candidates?"

"Well, in the spirit of cooperation, why don't we continue to look across the aisle?  Bob Gates is terrific for the Defense Department, so why don't we look to the Secretary of Health & Human Services, at least on an interim basis, from the Bush 43 White House?"

"Okay.  Sir, I can't seem to recall who that was?"

"That's funny, neither can I?"

The President hits his Blackberry and texts Vice President Biden, "Joe, who was HHS Secretary under Bush?"

A courier brings a hand-written message to the President, "Mr. President, the guy's name escapes me.  It was a guy, wasn't it?"

"Oh this is ridiculous.  Somebody has to know. Can't we just GOOGLE something like 'Bush HHS Secretary'?"

"The computer system has crashed again, Mr. President."

"Again?"

"Mr. President, can't we just call the former President at his ranch?"

"What time is it?"

"Oh right, it's after 10, he's in bed for sure."

"Do ya think Laura would know?"

Silence.

"Where's Cheney?"

"Still at an undisclosed location we believe, Mr. President."

"Frodo, do you think Merry or Eowyn might know?  How about Annelle or Papamoka?  Sam?  Sam would know.  Sam knows everything."

"Mr. President, if any one of them knew, they have done everything since then in their power to forget."

"This is unbelievable.  Gone less than a month, and nobody can remember the name of a Cabinet Secretary responsible for everything from Social Security to Food Stamps."

"Uh, Mr. President?"

"What?"

"Food Stamps come under the Department of Agriculture."

"Is that right?"

"Just don't ask me to name him, either?" 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:05 PM EST

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Mood:  bright

Funny it is, thinks Frodo, how one thing sometimes leads to another.  Many moons ago, while watching an original telecast of the series "MASH," Frodo noted that all of the contingent in the 4077th was gathered together to watch an old movie, in black-and-white, called "My Darling Clementine."  The showing was interrupted time-and-again by the serious tasks at hand in the comedic series.  Frodo not only laughed, but he wondered about this, as one of those old movies that he had never seen.

You know how it is, dear reader, we all have some book that we have heard about all our lives, but never read.  We all have at least one movie we have never seen, and are almost ashamed to admit it.  To Frodo, Wyatt Earp had always been Hugh O'Brian "strong, courageous, and bold," and to entertain any pretender, even Henry Fonda, was almost a sacrilege.  Tonight, Frodo had an opportunity to right a wrong, and he took advantage of it.

Some time ago, while traveling with the Men of Gondor, Frodo had the good fortune to visit the house of one named Margaret Mitchell, the author of what is commonly regarded as the greatest American novel.  The docent informed Frodo that most scholars speculate that it was the real Doc Holliday of the Wyatt Earp sagas who was the inspiration for the character Rhett Butler.  Because Ms. Mitchell died, tragically, in a motorcar accident before truly divulging all of the facts, this has remained a speculative item in American literary circles.

In "My Darling Clementine," produced not long after "Gone With the Wind" was first aired, the character of Rhett Butler was portrayed by Victor Mature.  Clark Gable, of course, was the quintessential rogue from Charleston in the most famous of all American movies.  Frodo was struck by the similarity between the portrayals of Rhett Butler by Gable and Mature.  Not having seen "Clementine" before, because of his arrogance, Frodo was unaware of the mystery which both men brought to bear in the portrayal of Captain Butler.  Some good, Frodo supposes, can be said to come out of the Korean War, and Frodo's interest therein.

The movie may indeed be the best of the old westerns that did not include John Wayne.  There are sweeping panoramas, in black-and-white of course, and camera pull-backs which portend a disappearance of time and episode.  Despite the title, the musical score was almost in absentia however, leaving Frodo almost palatal as he swooned lest he be carried away in silence. 

Time well-spent, and now it is on to a book, which he will find in the library, unread, and perhaps it will divulge the secret of how Mr. Caulfield dealt with the issue of farting in church.  Once again, Frodo already had a character in mind, and did not feel it necessary to detract from his own self-image.  Be thankful dear reader, that Frodo selected the leadership of Lord Tolkien in these adventures, lest he close each presentation not giving a damn. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:41 PM EST

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Mood:  crushed out

Travel, to Frodo, is not only broadening, it is scintillating.  Witness his tale of his love affair with a land that knows its true beginnings.   It started on Frodo's very first jaunt across the waters, when his flight-time for a trans-Atlantic trek was a cumulative 17 hours, interrupted only by a single stop in Keflavik, Iceland.

The stewardesses, and there were quite a number of them, were stunning.  Unfortunately, Frodo couldn't tell one from another, since they were all blonde, shapely, and melted his hormones with piercing blue eyes.  Did Frodo mention that they were all shapely, and blonde?  Frodo didn't speak much Icelandic, but he was more than prepared to try a form of sign language.  There were lots of smiles, no takers, in that group.  "Alas," thought young Frodo, "the imagination supercedes reality, once again."

The two-hour lay-over in Keflavik was a great disappointment.  The barren landscape was exceeded only by the drab and lifeless airport waiting area.  Looking forward to a semester abroad, young Frodo promptly decided that Iceland did not match his needs, and that, most assuredly, would be satisfactorily dealt with by the more sophisticated charmers on the Continent itself.  He thought little more of Icelandic sagas.

Many years later, Sam had occasion to pass through Iceland, and returned to tell Frodo that much had changed.  Frodo reasonably concluded that Sam was lacking in "savoir faire," and had been taken in by the solitary aspects of a foreign land.  Sam, however, refused to concede, and insisted that on their next trip abroad, the travelers would spend a few days in Iceland.  Frodo did his best to plan an itinerary, but was limited to a few geysers, the supposed entrance in "The Journey to the Center of the Earth," and the Church where Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev met and discussed international relations.

Yawn.

The new and improved airport was full of young people, all of whom were blonde, and drinking, heavily.  Frodo noted the presence of all the stewardesses he remembered from his previous sojourn, so many years before.  None had aged a day, and Frodo saw one that he recognized almost everywhere.  It was as if Frodo and Sam had ventured into a yuppie paradise, with attractive, and apparently prosperous young socialites everywhere.

The uppermost of their few days on Iceland included a visit to the Rift Valley which separates the tectonic plates between Europe and North America, and a night-time bathing in the "Blue Lagoon."  Frodo learned that the entire nation is powered by the geothermal processes of super-heated water drawn from the earth's core, circulated through pipes, and returned again to repeat the cycle.  The Blue Lagoon is the end point, where temperatures reach the low 90's all the time, amid the volcanic minerals present in the soil which make this the world's pre-eminent spa.  Since it was October, Frodo and Sam were barely able to see each other through the fog,  but the "Northern Lights" shone overhead as if presented for their personal enjoyment.

Frodo also learned that the Icelanders have the greatest genetic-tracking model in the world.  It seems almost everyone can trace their ancestry back until at least the eleventh century AD.  Many readers, familiar with the name Leif Ericsson, may not know that the last name is a direct reference to Leif's Old Man, named Eric.  Nearly everyone in the entire nation has either "son" or "dottir" (Frodo assumes that an explanation for this syllable is not necessary) as an ending in their name.

More time has passed, and change has again come to Iceland.  Frodo and Sam have noted, with sincere alarm, the tragic impact of the worldwide economic collapse on the tiny nation that invested so heavily in "collateralized mortgage-backed securities."  The government has fallen, and the struggling Icelanders have accomplished something unique in their quest for a restorative future.  They elected an openly gay female prime minister.

To satisfy those currently wondering why Frodo has gone to such great lengths to describe this history-making event, readers should note a few facts about Johanna Sigurdardottir.  She is 66 years old, and is a former flight attendant for Icelandic Airways.

Did Frodo mention that she was shapely, and blonde? 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:20 PM EST

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Mood:  down

During the recent millennium, which in reality only lasted eight years, Frodo grew very weary of the assertions that it was the responsibility of government to defend the people, as if government carried no other function at all.  Frodo often averred that it was the responsibility of government to make sure that no American froze to death, or starved, in the dark.  Frodo believed that this was truly something with which all Americans agreed, but that only liberals could put into words.  Many Republicans, it seems, get very righteous, if not downright indignant, when forced to support a fellow countryman in any situation which cannot be otherwise classified as purely gratuitous.  The concept of welfare is cast upon their souls, and they retch.

Mr. Marvin E. Schur, of Bay City, Michigan, froze to death inside his home earlier this week.  Mr. Schur, a widower, had no children, and he was, until yesterday, 93 years old.  Mr. Schur, it seems, owed Bay City Electric Light & Power more than $1,000 in unpaid bills.  The Bay City Manager, Robert Belleman, said that a city utility worker had installed a "limiter" device to restrict the use of electricity at Mr. Schur's residence.  Such a device, it seems, blows out, like a fuse, if "consumption" rises above a certain level.  There is no indication that anyone explained the device, or how it operated, to Mr. Schur.

Remember, for the love of Pete, we're talking about Michigan, in January.

A neighbor discovered Mr. Schur's body on Monday.  Beside the body were each of the delinquent notices; paper-clipped to each was cash sufficient enough to satisfy each and every notice.  Mr. Schur had voluntarily surrendered his drivers license several years ago.  His telephone, designed for those with normal hearing, was useless.

Robert Belleman, in response to a reporter's question, said that the city policies would be reviewed, but he did not feel that the city had done anything wrong.  "I've said this before and some of my colleagues have said this:  Neighbors need to keep an eye on neighbors," said Belleman.

Born during the First World War, Marvin Schur survived that War, and several more.  He lived through the greatest Depression, and he saw man land on the moon.  He was, unfortunately, not able to survive the installation of a "limiter."  Timely payment did him in.  Poor, silly, old man.

Mr. Belleman, respectfully, you suck!

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:00 PM EST

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Mood:  hug me

Weekends in the Shire are often filled by ritual.  In modern times, that has included a game of soccer, followed by a game of tennis ball and, shortly thereafter, a walkabout.  Mick, the Wonder Dog, and Fiona ("the most beautiful girl in the world") participate with ageless Frodo, if, indeed, participate is the proper word.  There is an anxiety in brown-eyed creatures in early morn, and an expectation of ritual observance despite the clime.  That is why a Hobbit and two canine companions played in the rain this day.

Frodo knows that days such as these, despite the inconvenience of mud and wet, are to be savored.  There is gray about the muzzle of Mick, the Wonder Dog, and Princess Fiona limps noticeably, a fact which even a strong heart cannot hide.  In days past it was Lucky, Snooze, Sig, Prissy, Lovey, Gumbo, and Georgia who alternately led, then followed, the Hobbit on his merry rounds.  Rocky and Punkin,' the feline predecessors to Beau Neau McKitty, and both Peeper and Sydney from the airways, have been significant contributors to adventure and heartbreak.  A "family reunion" is an event that will occur only when Frodo eventually enters the proper gate, and tosses tennis balls from every cloud.

Frodo and Sam have often discussed the existence of a "puppy angel,"  omnipresent, when needed.  The existence of which was something that Frodo mentioned in conversation in recent days.  A friend, who recently lost employment, told Frodo that the most difficult of adjustments is that which comes with having nothing to do at 6:00 AM.  Frodo immediately interjected that a daily duty of his in the subject time period is the approximate correlation of urination and the first entry by the Wonder Dog into the gardens of the Shire.  His friend laughed, then began to consider the deeper meaning of Frodo's comments.

Frodo and companions will soon pursue the walkabout for this day.  Despite his protestations to the contrary, Frodo knows that Mick, the Wonder Dog, will take note of every fresh pile of poop deposited within the distance of a leash for the next hour or so.  Fiona will observe Mick, the Wonder Dog's inattention at such moments, and will bark an alarm in order to elicit a feverish response.  Mick, the Wonder Dog, never seems to catch on, for it is his sworn duty to ever defend his smaller friend, and he reacts thusly.  The annoyances are part of the joy, and that is one of the reasons why the contingent seems to enjoy their time together.  At least that is what smiles and long tongues tell Frodo.

Mick, the Wonder Dog, is a working dog by definition.  One such as he requires physical activity each and every day, and to do less is cruel.  Frodo knew that going in, and he has never regretted one second of the commitment.  The activity is good for Frodo, and never leaves him with idle time on his hands, for Mick, the Wonder Dog, does not compute a maximum amount of activity, then call it a day.  He is always ready to go.

Frodo cannot help but think about what comes next.  Sasha and Melia are all agog over their first puppy, while Sam has been rather outspoken in the avoidance of the future demands that an untrained producer of waste products requires.  Frodo knows only that he will always need someone to talk to who is as impressed with his musings as well as with his blather.  Such a companion is, indeed, a wonder. 

All things considered, it is another good day in the Shire.        

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 12:08 PM EST

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