Mood:  smelly

In the area behind the Shire there is a wilderness fed by the flotsam of garden cuttings,  sedimentary subterranean discoveries, and cat litter (well, ya gotta put it someplace).  Vines, fallen seeds, and whatever may blow in from the west gather there, and a eastern deciduous barrier to the outside offers special protection to the gardens of the Shire.  Mr. Beau Neau McKitty patrols the fence as if he were Simba incarnate, and what lies beyond is his personal HDTV.  This past year, Frodo was hard pressed to manage that which fell beyond this fence, so it is far less attractive than in days past, or to come.   The impact has been a marked increase in the squirrel populace.

Frodo has, and is very successful with, a Hav-a-Hart trap with which, as he has explained before, he is able to relocate these tree rats to more appropriate surroundings (he particularly favors the football field of the High School of the Shire, from which mildly enraged squirrels take great sport in pursuing individual members of the marching band at practice).  Because Frodo did not perform at his traditional peak levels of performance in this endeavor, there are far too many squirrels in the Shire, and his bird feeders are the site of frequent acts of thievery.

Frodo knows that the nests of the squirrel are built to withstand the cold, as well as a nursing point for the soon-to-be-delivered seasonal progeny.  It would be cruel for Frodo to utilize the trap at this time of year.  Frodo has, in the past, also utilized slingshots, stones, and tennis balls, among other thrown objects, in order to disperse the vigilantes from the bird feeders.  Recently however, he came across a new weapon quite by accident, and he is utilizing it as his answer to chemical warfare.

The boomerang he found is an ancient tool, something that aborigines used for thousands of years in order to dominate an entire continent.  To Frodo however, it is a dangerous weapon.  He can't seem to guarantee that it will turn in the direction intended, or that it will return anywhere within the same county from which it was launched.  The squirrels seem amused, if not wary.

Today, with Fiona in tow, Frodo took a shot or two with the boomerang at the culprits beyond the fence.  While searching for his errant WMD, Frodo noted several young squirrels concentrated in a certain treetop high above a huge pile of leaves recently gathered there by the industrious Hobbit.  As Frodo neared their perceived safety zone, he noted the first leapt from a tree limb into the pile of leaves, soon followed by one after the other until all had soft landed into the remnants of maple, elm, hickory, and dogwood,  Then, and Frodo has no reason to exaggerate, the little buggers each climbed back up the same tree, and again leapt into the pile of leaves.

The little thieves were playing the same game that Frodo himself had played for decades.  They were having a blast, for they weren't yet wise enough to immediately give up the game and seek shelter. 

Frodo looked at Fiona, and Fiona looked at Frodo.  Fiona ran when Frodo grabbed a handful of leaves and prepared to pop her right in the kisser with them.  Then Fiona chased Frodo as he jumped feet-first into the pile of leaves.  The squirrels sat in their tree and barked at Frodo for interrupting their game. 

Eventually, Fiona and Frodo recouped the errant boomerang just outside the giant leafpile, and they headed back into the Shire.  There is a chill in the air now, and the eve calls for two fingers of beverage, and a good book.  Boomerang practice has been called for the morrow. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 4:09 PM EST

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Mood:  vegas lucky

Frodo, avocationally and as a businessman, always looking to make a buck, goes through a lot of information with nary a look askance.  Two pieces of real estate caught his attention this week however, and he fantasized about being the "new" owner.  The first is a multi-million dollar mansion on New York's Staten Island, a place that seems anathema to the warm-blooded Hobbit, for sure.

How would you, dear reader, feel about living in the house portrayed in the movie as the home of the Coreleone Family?  That's right boys and girls, for a paltry three million, you can begin your own expedition to uncover the remains of Abe Vigoda's character, Tessio.  See the very room where Marlon Brando received the pledge of loyalty from Luca Brazzi.  Thrill to the spirits of Michael, Tom, Fredo (no relation), and Sonny as they eat pizza and plan for revenge against the other Families.  Most of all, find yourself dancing among the tomato vines in the backyard, where the inimitable Don fell that tragic day.

If you act now, you might even also get a Popeil Pocket Fisherman.

The other piece of real estate is almost on the other side of our great nation, and it has been reduced in price almost $100,000 to $69,500 in fairly recent events.  The 1.4 acre estate has neither electricity nor plumbing, and the only dwelling is now on display in the Newseum as part of the Smithsonian in Washington.   The property is completely fenced, and a prominent display of the acronym "FBI" is observable to the causal passersby.

The "Unabomber" himself pounded on the keys of a typewriter at this location near Lincoln, Montana.  Perhaps giving proof to the old saying that if one were to place an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters together that, eventually, they would produce all of the great books of the world, Ted Kazincsky did his best to prove that not all madness is confined in the Republicant Party.  Sometimes there are people who are just plain crazy.

Imagine what you might surmise about anyone acquiring this as an investment?  Say, isn't that Newt over there?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 12:07 PM EST

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Mood:  irritated

67 years and a few days ago, Ships' Cook 3rd Class Doris Miller was a casualty realized upon the sinking of the escort carrier Liscome Bay in the area then known as the Gilbert Islands.  Since that day, the War has ended, the Gilberts became the Kiribati Republic, and Cuba Gooding, Jr. portrayed Miller in a movie entitled "Pearl Harbor."  Not much else has changed.

Despite the fact that "Dorie" Miller abandoned his battle station (carrying the dead below decks) on the USS West Virginia on December 7th, 1941, in order to replace the fallen who had manned a .50 cal. machine gun, upon which he had never been trained, he fired continuously at the enemy for a quarter hour until he was void of ammunition.  He was ordered to abandon ship at that point.  Miller was subsequently awarded the Navy Cross by Admiral Chester Nimitz, personally, who remarked that he was the "first of his race" to receive such recognition in the Pacific Fleet.

Well, duh!  Since the "Land of the free and the home of the brave" had not yet stumbled across the wisdom that the best fighters don't necessarily have to be white, Miller, and all those like him, were prevented from integrated service with their fellow citizens in defense of their country.  Not until September of 1945 did President Harry Truman assimilate the results of the "survey" conducted to adjudge the issue of "service by Negroes in the military" and ended segregation in their ranks.  It deserves special mention that, at that time, 63%, almost two out of every three people, favored a continuation of segregation in the military.

Sound familiar?

Frodo would share a foxhole with Doris Miller, but he doesn't wish to be on the same planet with John McCain.  Perhaps Joe Scarborough, of all people, said it best when, after viewing the comments of the Senator to Secretary Gates and Admiral Mullen, stated that "John McCain is now the old guy in the neighborhood who chases people off of his front lawn."  McCain was quick to point out that 60% of the active troops in the USMC were opposed to ending "don't ask, don't tell." 

60%?  Do tell.  Almost two out of every three.

Perhaps, thinks Frodo, another Admiral will soon place a Navy Cross on the chest of another young sailor, recognizing that person as another heroic first.   Frodo wonders what John McCain would do if he found out that sailor was also the offspring of an illegal alien?  Frodo supposes that those who graded McCain as merely fourth from the bottom of his class at Annapolis were pretty good judges of character and aptitude.

Finally, Frodo notes that Doris Miller was born in 1919 in a place in Texas, called Waco.  It merely proves the adage that if enough people are born in a specific place, any place, then, eventually, at least one of them will turn out to be worth a damn.   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 1:40 PM EST

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Mood:  hug me

Changes in life occur like turning on a dime, so says Frodo.  He believes that the games we play are but a microcosm of the lives we lead, and that disappointment, fumbles, and plain bad calls take place without notice.  None of us are immune, and that includes the Hobbits and Mick, the Wonder Dog, among all the other residents of the Shire.

Mick, the Wonder Dog, did not bark at all between Sunday and Tuesday.  It became obvious on Sunday evening that we had a "Houston" problem, and that the threat probability was greater than our immediate capacity to cure the cause.  It started when he laid down next to Frodo and looked up with confused and worried eyes.  He wandered in to be with Sam, and stood in the middle of the room, unable to comprehend what was happening, nor to communicate with anyone.  As the evening wore on, and his ambulatory capacity decreased rapidly, the Hobbits feared that the end was very near.

Frodo sat on the floor, holding his little brother, and stroking his fur even while his own legs cramped underneath.  Frodo carried him outside to assist in normal relief, and then up to the bedroom to hold and comfort the Wonder Dog, so that no journey would commence, alone.  There was little sleep that evening for the Hobbits, and tears cascaded unimpeded from both sides of the bed.

Long-time companion Fiona had sensed the danger first, having spent much of the early evening bathing the forehead, treating the affliction in the only way she knew how.  She laid by the bed, on the floor, watching, throughout the night.  Mick, the Wonder Dog, struggled on the blankets, getting too warm on one side, and requiring assistance in order to turn his arthritic bones and regulate his body temperature.  At last he got the message to Frodo that he, too, wanted down on the floor, trying to get things to some level of normalcy.  Frodo kept his fingers moving, all night long, on the neck of his little brother, fearing that he may never again have the opportunity.

He was there in the morn, when Frodo had to prepare for appointments on Mount Doom.  Frodo took him out, and watched over him as he tried to evacuate, like normal.  Sam prepared a special breakfast, which he ate, ravenously, like normal.  He was still weak, hardly able to walk, but his fearful eyes met Frodo's on several occasions, telling him that they were both very frightened.  Doctor Porsches is off on Monday and Tuesday, so the Hobbits decided that Sam would monitor throughout the day, and that a trip to an unfamiliar veterinarian while being held in lonesome observation wouild be the worst thing they could do for a member of their little family.  Sam called every hour or so to let Frodo know what he needed to know.

When Frodo pulled into the garage in his motorcar on Monday evening, the Wonder Dog paced swiftly to him and placed his ample nose into the crotch of the Hobbit.  It was as if, and probably it was that the two cried together.  Sam followed quickly behind telling Frodo that Mick, the Wonder Dog, lay by the front door, like normal, waiting for Frodo, and that once he saw Frodo's motorcar, he cried, and ambled out on his own.

That evening and into the night, the Wonder Dog tried, more and more it seemed, to begin returning things to normal.  He remained weak, but he ate, as if there were to be no tomorrow.  He bedded where he always bedded, and his habits began to return to the schedule which had guided his entire existence.

Most unusual of all was the behavior of Sydney, the cockatiel, who remains high above the fray on the floor of the Shire due to the presence of Beau Neau.  Sydney has alternated between screams from above his cage to walkabouts on the floor next to his big friend (who often chases Beau Neau).  Sydney has not visited the floor, other than to occasionally drink out of a dog bowl, in many years.  To do so now documents his awareness and the perceived need for him to offer whatever assistance or comfort available.  The presence of the cat was immaterial.

It is Wednesday evening now, and with every passing moment, life in the Shire more closely resembles what things were like before they turned on a dime.  Oh kisses last longer now, and Frodo doubts that he will ever take even a moment with his little brother for granted again.  He does not even mind an outburst of barking at the "invisible rabbits" who venture too close to the front door of the Shire, like normal.

It will be nice to sleep a full night, knowing, like normal. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:23 PM EST

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Mood:  celebratory

When things go poorly in Texas, Frodo finds reason to celebrate.  The Texas Rangers choked in the World Series, against Nancy Pelosi's San Francisco Giants.  The Dallas Cowboys are in last place in the NFC East, and they have yet to play either of the two scheduled games with Michael Vick and the Philadelphia Eagles (with God's help, the Cowboys may actually have the worst record in all of professional football this season).  The University of Texas Shorthorns lost to Texas A&M, and almost everybody else they played this season.  Now, however, comes the best news of all, the seemingly resilient money-laundering activities of former Congressman Tom DeLay have yielded a guilty verdict and a sentencing possibility which could put the star-dancing exterminator in prison for the rest of his life.  Frodo would pay real money to see what the future holds in prison for an alumnus from "Dancing With the Stars."

Now, if only Dick Armey and Bill Archer could get their just desserts. 

Imagine, dear reader, a row of cells at a Federal Prison facility (not on an outsourcing contract) with Archer, Armey, and Delay, followed by the seceding Governor, Rick Perry.  Joe Barton, the BP apologist and soon-to-be milkman to special interests in the energy activities of the House of Representatives, would hold down a suite of cells for all his cohorts.  Willy Gomert, the halfwit clown scraped off the bottom of a cow hoof somewhere near Whacko (that is how you pronounce Waco, isn't it?), would be the trusty responsible for doling out gruel to the other prisoners.  What a wonderful mental picture of possibilities.

The skies above the Shire are sapphire-blue, and the last flights of sandhill cranes honk their route to the swamplands of southern Georgia.  The detritus of the last growing season has mostly fallen, and gathered where visitors to the Shire can huddle for warmth throughout the deep frosts to come.  Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, lay in sun patches as they follow the Hobbit from task-to-task.  Sam, dressed in the finest of fashion, toodles about in Frodo's motorcar, in search of holiday treasures and treats for Shiremates.  Football games from throughout the land are near, and the black-and-white is tuned to those of greatest interest to the Hobbit.

This is one of those days that should never end.  Perfect it would be if there is news to come of thunderstorms and tornados in Texas.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 12:06 PM EST

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Mood:  hug me

"Then Peace Will Guide The Planets And Love Will Fill The Stars..."

Frodo was slightly irritated that his appointment in Probate Court was the victim of mass scheduling.  He was there at 9:30, as he had been directed, but so were others, and that meant, if experience is any kind of guide, that good ole Mr. Frodo would be called last.

Oh well, thought Frodo, it appears that all of the persons associated in the front of the courtroom were part of the same case.  "Perhaps," said he to himself, "it is an opportunity to prepare opening remarks."  His mood changed however, and he decided to pay attention to what was taking place before his eyes.

The young girl was damaged beyond repair, and her grandparents were beseeching the Court to appoint them as Guardians.  The father, according to testimony, had never seen the teenaged product of his manufacture, and the mother (offspring of the appellants) was purportedly trying desperately to support herself, and had neither the resources nor the talent to raise a developmentally-challenged child.

The grandmother spoke forthrightly, and convincingly.  The attorney supported the plea, and the judge asked the grandfather if he wished to add to the testimony.  He deferrred to his wife, and he ran his fingers through the carefully combed hair of the girl at whom he smiled.  Frodo saw a lifetime of hard work gently absorbing another challenge as if it were something much more than simple responsibility.  There was a goodness to those eyes, and Frodo couldn't help but hope that young girl understood.

The judge was wise, and the decision was right.  Then, the subject of the hearing felt compelled to loudly express her concern about leaving the courtroom.  Gently, oh so gently, the new guardians sought to ease the concern and guide their charge peacefully away.  Apologies were expressed, but shushed away by authority, and everyone was allowed to take their time.  As the grandfather passed by Frodo, he received a thumbs up, and a victory smile.  The smile was returned, and the eyes spoke for themselves. 

"It Is The Dawning of The Age of Aquarius. . ."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:04 PM EST

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Mood:  sad

Frodo's father was like a lot of fathers-to-be, then and now.  He had to bring things home.  Why he did is something that Frodo grapples with from time-to-time; did he see the items as potentially valuable or were they rememberances of the experience?  Perhaps the answer lies in the boxes and albums filled with photographs in Frodo's own closets of the Shire?  Perhaps not.

Frodo was told that it was an "Italian Army Rifle," and that it was used by paratroopers, which explained its relatively small size and light weight, only 8.8 pounds in all.  It was liberated from a warehouse, where it lay amongst hundreds of identical mates, long after the Italians had surrendered.  Frodo never attempted to fire the gun, but for some inexplicable reason he had cleaned and greased the weapon many times and, even today, it almost looks as shiny as the day it was first issued for assignment to one, now, long unknown.

Frodo often wondered if it was valuable, and he occasionally brought it out for a visitor to identify or comment upon.  He learned about the ammunition, but little else, until Taylor, he who wed the sister of Sam, took a close look and asked Frodo if he had ever held history before.  Frodo was speechless and unknowing, as he was told that the most famous mate of this very rifle had been sold, by mail order, for less than $13, and had been discovered lying on the floor of a building known as the Texas School Book Depository on a tragic November day in 1963.

Frodo's gun has the original bayonet.  The historical mate has a separate scope through which Lee Harvey Oswald sighted his target.  Frodo, again and again, has tested, and proven, that the rifle could be accurately fired three times within five seconds. 

It is not difficult to use the communication miracles at our disposal to pull up a picture, and to read the history of those who built the company that supplied the rifle that fired the bullets that killed a President.  Frodo's father never knew the coincidental facts of the mate to the gun he brought home for a son yet to be borne.  Frodo thinks often of how much life may have changed had Frodo's father brought home two rifles.  Perhaps not.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:26 PM EST

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Mood:  sharp

Frodo has been playing a little mind game with himself, nothing sensual, but certainly timely.  You can play too, boys and girls, right here in the neighborhood.  All you have to do to start is to make a list of people, half a dozen or so would be fine, all of whom you are sure make more than $250,000 annually.  Then, you need to determine how many of them meet the definition of a "small businessperson," and who have American citizens in their employ.  That's right, what we're doing is testing the Republicant litany that these are the people who would suffer if the "Bush Tax Cuts" were not extended.  The premise being that these "small business persons" would have to reduce job growth thus accentuating the decline in our economy.

Frodo 's list is not giving much credence to the minions of Mitch the Marauder.  Frodo has identified Lindsay Lohan, Brittany Spears, Rush Limbaugh, Randy Moss, John Smoltz, and John McCain as people he can identify who earn more than $250,000 annually.  Unfortunately, Frodo is unable to identify the "small businesses" that any of them sponsor.  Hmmm, in these cases, it simply seems that the withholding on their "performances" would be increased, and that there would be no discernible impact on employment.  Rather, it seems that many of these people would be contributiung a bit more to reduce the cumulative national debt.

Perhaps, dear reader, it might actually be more helpful to our government if we all simply built a list like Frodo has done, and submit it to the Director of the Office of Management and Budget, Washington, DC.  After all, it might allow the government to plan better if they recognized that there are a lot of peoiple out there who could pay a whole lot more, and that the argument about hurting "small businesses" is specious, at best.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:05 PM EST

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Mood:  quizzical

"Professor Galbraith?"

"Yes Mr. Frodo."

"In our reading for this lecture, you've suggested that we start with Adam Smith.  Isn't that a little hollow for those of us here at Harvard who are bound for Goldman,Sachs or UBS?"

"Why would you perceive Adam Smith to be 'hollow', Mr. Frodo?"

"Perhaps 'relevant' is a better word."

"Ah relevance is it, that which guides the graduate student in his quest for fulfillment, or in the case of the Business School, money."

Titter, titter from the audience.

"Well Sir, how does Adam Smith have anything to do with the economic crisis which haunts the entire world?"

"Mr. Frodo, did you take note of the Initial Public Offering of General Motors this morning?"

"Oh, indeed I did Sir.  It opened at $30 per share and reached as high as $34 before settling back a bit by the closing bell."

"So?"

"So good.  If the revival of GM, from the 'stimulus' continues to progress, then GM can repay the governmental largesse, plus interest."

"At what point?"

"At about $51 per share."

"That'll take a while, won't it?"

"Sure."

"Then what does that say about the wealth of our nation, if you will?"

Frodo say nuttin'.

"Let me ask you, Mr. Frodo, about Ford Motor Company."

"I was afraid you were going in this direction."

"How did Ford respond to the governmental largesse?"

"They didn't accept any assistance at all."

"So?"

"They have weathered the storms relatively well, and are paying their taxes on time as a result of a steady profit."

"What does that say about the wealth of our nation?"

Frodo say nuttin'.

"Now turn the issue around, Mr. Frodo, and ask yourself, since both approaches apparently worked to the betterment of the wealth of our nation, was governmental largesse the best course or should the free market have been left to determine who survives?"

"Sir, I find it hard to accept that letting GM fail would have been to the betterment of our nation.  All those people would have lost jobs, and the recession would have been even deeper."

"Unless, of course, the demand stayed where it was, and Ford started hiring people to make cars in their name."

Frodo say nuttin'.

"The point is Mr. Frodo, that an 'adult conversation' can take place when people recognize that there is 'more than one way to skin a cat,' and that the true wealth of our nation is treating our disagreements as dialogue, and not as ideologue."

A door opens in the rear of the lecture hall, and the errant entrant stumbles toward a vacant chair.

"Ah Mr. Boehner, so happy you could join us, out for a smoke?"

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:15 PM EST

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Mood:  party time!

Frodo never understood why any enterprising entrepreneur failed to assemble enough land and to construct a model "Tara" prior to the 1996 Olympiad in Atlanta.  Frankly, it was what the world wanted to see in Atlanta, and the tourists would have paid any price to carry each other up a winding staircase or to wrap themselves in green window dressing.  Frodo has supposed that it is likely that good things just happen in Atlanta, because it is increasingly clear that what is planned grows abyssmally more simplistic with each passing day.

Bernie Marcus, half of the dynamic duo who created "Home Depot" apparently has too much money and too little sound judgment.  His generosity produced the Atlanta Aquarium, billed as the largest in the world, which contains beluga whales and whale sharks on exhibition.  Of course, the fact that many of these gargantuans have mysteriously passed on to that big fish pond in the sky is rarely discussed in polite circles.  To Frodo's chagrin it is noted that there are aquaria, although admittedly smaller, in almost ever city in America.  They even have one in Chattanooga, known until now for only the presence of a Choo-Choo converted into a fast-food eatery.

Not to be outdone, even if by his own lack of creativity, Marcus has put forth an idea dubbed the "Atlanta Eye," which is defined as a 45-story Ferris wheel.  Marcus, it seems, got the idea while on a recent trip to London, which already has its own "London Eye."  Doen't this guy have an original thought in his head?  After all, "Home Depot" is just a hardware store, but without customer service.

Frodo has decided to put on his thinking cap, and suggest to the "leadership" of Atlanta that it might really be a good idea to install a big, old carnival ride in downtown Atlanta, but it would be even better if it was one of the attractions other than the Ferris wheel.

Picture the "Tunnel of Love" or the "Tilt-A-Whirl," with certain modifications, for example.  A spinning Tilt-A-Whirl would have puke a-flyin' from elevations ranging from ground-level to the very heights of 191 Peachtree.  A Tunnel of Love, staffed with inhabitants of Atlanta's downtown bridges and exit ramps, would not only provide jobs for the chronically unemployed, but would lessen the libido of the riders, for a long, long time.  Nobody would argue against a smaller birth-rate.

It is only fitting that the true Capital of the South should lead, rather than follow, into the latter stages of the twenty-first century. 

It could be the first step in the creation of a whole new entertainment complex.  We'll call it "Maddox Land."     

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:20 PM EST

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