Mood:  on fire

Frodo has indicated on numerous occasions that the entire premise of the Pre-Emptive War was based on poor analysis. Forsaking all reference to science, the theoreticians of the "New American Century" totally ignored the behavioral variables which negatively impacted on their desired course of action. Taking their flawed logic to a willing audience produced what many have referred to as the "greatest American Foreign Policy blunder." Frodo desires to spend a few moments this evening similarly projecting the outcome.

Sunni and Shiite Arabs have battled for nearly 1500 years over which interpretation of the Islamic progeniture is correct. The struggle has often been bitter and violent.  It has never ended, it has only experienced lulls. That is variable number one.

With the end of World War II, the Ottoman Empire suffered for its' support of the defeated Germans. The Empire found itself nestled into what we now know as Turkey, and the imperial outskirts became the newly-enfranchised Arab and Persian states, one of which was dubbed "Iraq."  There are no Iraqi peoples.   That is variable number two.

The British assumed responsibility for the implementation of this "New British Century," and promptly embarked upon a process of training the Arabs to defend and govern themselves, under a model designed by, and for the benefit of, the British Empire.  These stalwart scions of colonialism failed to assess the religious influences present in these newly-drawn and strangely shaped little countries.  Absent governmental institutions, it was religious and dictatorial influences which assumed eventual control throughout the region.  That is variable number three.

Taking these three variables, recognizing that they in no way represent all of the potential factors which will come into play in the days before us, it is logical to build a sentence or two just based on the facts.  Such a sentence may read thusly; "Religious institutional leadership will emerge over the governmental institutions and violence will continue as homogenous groups draw closer together."

Given the sentence just composed dear reader, let us summarize what will happen when the American military presence follows in the footsteps of the British, the Russians, and the Crusaders.  The Shiite militias will unite to bring down the "Iraqi Government," and the Sunni minority will be subjected to the next Holocaust.  Iran and Iraq, Persian and Arab, will bring pressure against Sunni-dominated states like Saudi Arabia and Egypt.  A balance-of-power will be achieved only by armed conflict and its' threat.  The result will assumedly produce economic disruption in all of the world's industrialized nations.

Frodo is certainly brash in this pronouncement, even if the logic is based on behavioral variables, which represents a little bit of science.    What is frightening is that there are those, equally brash, who base their pronouncements on the wind.  What makes anyone think that there will be no bloodbath if American troops stay in Iraq one more day, or forty more years?  The bloodbath is coming, and it will be religious, not political, and that is what makes all of the cost, all of the human waste, so very tragic.  It is waste. 

How does George W. Bush sleep at night?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:34 PM EDT

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Mood:  lucky

Sometimes, reality deals Frodo a breath of loneliness.  A friend, an inspiring person, someone to be admired, a part of Frodo, is no more.  The loss of Galadriel is but the latest example, but doesn't it confuse you, dear reader, that Frodo felt better being alone than with those who could comfort his wound?  In fact, Frodo knew that only if he was alone could he properly tell his friend good-bye.  What follows in the morrow is that for which he has prepared.

Frodo went fishing, with Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog.  Sam stayed behind in the Shire.  Boromir and all of those directly connected to the light that was Galadriel prepare for the guests who come to pay their respects.  Frodo would only "be in the way," so he went fishing.

Frodo was trying a new lure, and it seemed to work well.  He landed several fish for inspection by his canine companions before they were released back to the depths from which they had been so unceremoniously plucked.  The lure has multiple sets of barbed hooks, thereby increasing the likelihood that the fish would not only have hooks in his mouth, but would be snagged on another part of his anatomy.  What has always bothered Frodo about such arrangements is that removal of several hooks may do permanent damage, necessitating the demise of the fish, and his subsequent consumption by the man who watches Frodo's place when Frodo is back in the Shire.  This time however, Frodo noted his own sensitivity and patient caution in the handling of his catch, as if he were treating each as an individual, with a soul, perhaps. 

The creatures are lovely, with necessary locomotive, digestive, protective, and respiratory functions camouflaged into a mixture of pale green and white designs handsomely wrought as if by Gauguin or Titian.  Great care had been placed in this product, and it was only appropriate that Frodo take a few extra minutes to ensure the smooth transfer from captivity to freedom.  Each time, the freed one would instantaneously revive and beat a hasty retreat, showing only a flash of tail to Frodo.  What did Frodo expect?  That the fish would turn and flash a smile of gratitude?  No, Frodo knew better, and this is perhaps why the time alone was appropriate. 

Frodo got to say good-bye to Galadriel, knowing that it is best to take one's time and send a captive soul to freedom with sensitivity and respect.   Frodo does not expect to see his friend turn and wave good-bye, but he will think of her often; when his heart is gay and the waves  on Lake Lovey are gentle in the breeze of Spring.  What follows on the morrow is for Boromir, and how one warrior stands by when another is unable to fight on.  This is, perhaps, just a bit of what friendship is, isn't it?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:32 PM EDT

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Mood:  hungry

The old Reading Terminal in Philadelphia, now a center for commuter trains to the Pennsylvania suburbs, now includes a Farmer's Market. Amish, from the counties around Lancaster, bring produce, handmade items, and baked goods directly to the consumer. Frodo, in earlier days, would spent countless lunch hour diversions from Mount Doom looking, talking, listening, smelling, and tasting.  One day, while lusting after the baked goods, with a special emphasis on peanut butter cookies, he noted a familiar product; that which he had always known as a "Red Velvet Cake." Frodo entered into a discussion with a young lady half his age who convincingly argued that this was an Amish creation.  Frodo had never really thought about it, he always just assumed it was something Bilbo had discovered in a cookbook.

Frodo previously discussed "buttermilk drops," and his introduction to that delicacy in the City of Orleans.  His all-time favorite culinary creation however, is mentioned in his bio, and has been the subject of but a single query in these many postings.  Frodo's curiosity about a southern writer, who happens to have grandchildren, was piqued when she mentioned that she, too, loves "caramel cake."

Caramel cake was first presented to Frodo by his Father's last surviving sister, the grand Alma, who spread a sugary, ready-to-die-for caramel covering over a white cake in a pan.  The pan was probably a foot-and-a-half long,  about a foot wide, and maybe three inches deep.  She lived most of her life in West Virginia, and today exists in a facility designed for those without memory.  She always made a caramel cake for Frodo's birthday.

After Frodo moved far away, Bilbo took over the assignment of caramel cake for Frodo, and Frodo swears that it was almost as good as that created by the grand Alma.  Now Bilbo fixes things for Bilbo, and special treats for others occur only occasionally.  Sam has all the talent and creative skill of the grand Alma, and the caramel cake which sporadically appears is no doubt touched by the Hand of God.

Sigh.  Long time until the old birthday rolls around again.  Frodo wonders if that lady in Mississippi would maybe like to split a caramel cake with her new-found friend?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:35 PM EDT

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Mood:  suave

"Mr President, my name is Mr. Frodo, my title is Chancellor of the Exchequer, and I am here at the suggestion of Mrs. Bush."

"So, what am I doing with the guy who used to run a grocery store?'

"Sir?"

"Well, you said you were the ex-chancellor at the checkout."  The President snickers.

"No Sir, that means that I am assigned the task of ensuring propriety at State Affairs.  For the White House Dinner, it is my responsibility to assist you with your, how do I say it?  Your manners, Sir."

"Laura, what's this about my manners?  Where is that woman?"

"Sir, no one is impugning your behavior, it is just that there are certain requirements which mean a great deal to the British people, and to make you aware of them would prevent anything implied as discourtesy, if you will."

"Well, I owe 'The Poodle' a great deal for helpin' me out in Irack, so I certainly don't want to do anything that might cause him a problem."

"Very good Sir, that's the spirit.  Now let's begin with the tails on your tuxedo, shall we?"

"Okay, what's to know?"

"Sir, when seating yourself at the table, you should carefully place each tail to the side of your chair.  Sitting on the tails will wrinkle them, or make them stick out at funny angles."

"Well we couldn't have that, could we?"

"Ah Sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Frodo?"

"Don't wipe your mouth with  the tails, Sir.  Use your napkin.  It is so much more appropriate."

"Let me ask about all these forks and knives and spoons.  I never have been sure about what to do after the salad fork.  That is the one on the outside, isn't it?"

"Oh yes Sir, that's quite correct.  However Sir, I strongly suggest that you not pick your teeth with the tines of your fork."

"Listen here Mr. Frodo.  I'm from Texas, and we do understand manners.  What I know is that you don't use a toothpick at the table. . ."

"That is correct Sir.  Very good, but a gentleman will deftly use his napkin as opposed to a fork."

"The napkin again, huh?  Anything else you can use it for?"

"Uh Sir, I do not suggest that your blow your nose into your napkin.  The Queen would find that to be quite offensive."

"Well, now that we've covered the napkin, and the utensils, and I know the boys serving the dinner will do just fine, exactly how do I handle pushin' back from the table, and gracefully makin' my exit?"

"For God sake, do not fart at the table."

"Well you better let Rove and Cheney in on that one."

"Are you serious?"

"Listen here Mr. Frodo, I need to know if all you English boys got sissified by being in those boarding schools together?"

"Sir?"

"Well, we used to always say that the whole British Empire came crashin' down because the boys was all a bangin' other boys, if you know what I mean?"

"Sir!"

"Well, except for ole Churchill, of course.  Then there's Liz's boy Charles, shoot, givin' his story, he'd fit right in with ole Newt and Rudy.  I mean with Diana and everything."

"Sir, I strongly suggest that these are not proper items for discussion with Her Majesty during dinner."

"Shoot boy, I know that.  My Dad told me he thought the old girl was going to pass out when he asked her if she'd ever had a real man."

"He did what?"

"Well, don't worry.  I won't do anything worse than old Gerry Ford."

"I'm afraid to ask."

"He busted his zipper takin' a leak just before the Queen and Phil showed up. . . Hey, somebody get some water, this here Hobbit fella just fainted!"

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:45 PM EDT

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Mood:  a-ok

Frodo, Legolas, Pippin, and Tom Bombadil all enjoyed doing things out-of-doors, given that both the mountains and the beach were within a few hours by motorcar.  The River of the Potomac bisected both destinations, so the adventurers had frequent opportunity to canoe or hike, sun or swim, in a variety of settings.  What united them in all these endeavors was a new-found pleasure in fishing.  Rainy days were spent in sporting goods stores searching for lures more tempting than those owned by others in the Fellowship.  Exploratory visits to farm ponds and the fish ladder at Little Falls of the Potomac filled warm weather days no matter what time of year.  It remains a puzzle to Frodo that little Janet Perry and Cheryl Burke and Barbie Howard and Patsy Wetzel all seemed to tolerate the mutual lack of attention.  Some of the opportunities lost make Frodo shake his head to this day.

It was the dead of summer, and the heat and humidity made it perfectly clear why the British Empire had declared foreign service in this end of the Shire as worthy of "tropical duty pay."  Rain was infrequent, and the flow of water was lazy, if not stagnant, almost everywhere.  To the Fellowship it was merely a challenge which allowed them to wade into areas that were usually torrent rapids, and to venture much further up river than at any other time of year.  These locations included those where a smallmouth bass could lie in wait under a rock and grab a wayward minnow with little effort, then drift back into the same hole.  It was locations such as these that the Fellowship sought early that morning.

Frodo's motorcar was parked on the Virginia side, at the end of an unpaved road that looked down a rock escarpment to the lazy river below.   It was an easy slide down into the water, and an easier dog paddle to the checkerboard of rocks that would be their route to the lair of the virgin smallmouth bass upstream.  For long periods of time, the quartet would leap from rock-to-rock, interrupted only by hopeful casts of "Tiny Lucky 13" or "River Runt" into a quiet pool.  Laughter and horseplay, the cacophony of hormones which cement friendships for a lifetime grew silent only when a red-tailed hawk would circle overhead, and all stopped to watch, in awe.

Occasionally a canoe or a kayak would flash by heading downstream, and a friendly wave would yield a covetous remark about from one-or-the-other about having their own, some day.  As the day wore on, more and more time was spent in pursuit of the catch-and-release prey.  Frodo's memory tells him that they caught many, mostly small, but enough to make them travel on-and-on-and-on.  When finally the adventurers made solemn eye contact, each knowing that it was past time to head back, there was a unified realization that they were tired, and a long way from Frodo's motorcar.

It was already growing dark when they found the wooden construction pallet caught between two multi-ton boulders.  By the time they were able to free it, and launch it into the middle flow of the summer river, the sun had set, and the sounds of the night were all about.  With one arm thrown onto the pallet, clutching fishing rod and gear therein, each of them paddled with the free arm and kicked and walked with both feet.  Banging about off sharpened boulders and narrow aisles of water is difficult work, but considerably safer than leaping from rock-to-rock in the dark.

Pippin had a date with Barbie for which he was beaucoup late, and he lamented the eventuality until the rest could stand it no more.  Tom Bombadil was totally absorbed in the natural world, and commented from time-to-time about a snake hanging on a tree limb, or some bright-eyed creature glaring from the shoreline at the preposterous craft trying to proceed downriver.  Frodo and Legolas, soldiers that they were, paddled and kicked, paddled and kicked.  Legolas, by far, was the strongest, and it took every ounce of Frodo's strength to keep the craft from drifting too far to his side.  Frodo grew weary, perhaps mopreso thaan he realized.

At last they reached the base of the escarpment, and Frodo realized how steep it was and that he was now in water over his head.  Frodo and Legolas kicked and held the craft in position so that Pippen and Tom Bombadil could scramble up the cliff.  In so doing, the rocks became wet and muddy, making the scramble up more difficult for those now scrambling out and up.  With Pippen and Tom holding the craft in place from shore, Legolas started up, just as Frodo lost his grip and began to sink beneath the surface of the tepid river.  He was exhausted, and had little energy left to pull himself from his peril.

Frodo felt a pull from above and as his head rose above the surface, he realized that Legolas had him by his long mane of blond hair and was pulling him into the arms of all his friends.

Legolas' daughter, Erica, will graduate from Emory University this coming Saturday with a degree in Fine Arts.  She would probably laugh at hearing this story, improbable it would seem to her that her father could get a grip on the head of hair she knows to be so thin and sparse. 

Friendship is something Frodo has never been able to explain.  He's just glad it is.     

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:36 PM EDT

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Mood:  loud

The Democratic Party in the United States of America is celebrating an early Christmas.  Frodo, perhaps as a reward for having been good little boys and girls, has delivered ten "Ken" dolls to the office address of Mr. Howard Dean.  These symbols of American hegemony characteristically have no voice; therefore, they don't say anything.  These symbols of American intolerance characteristically have no movement; therefore, they don't do anything.  These symbols of American hypocrisy characteristically have no human qualities; therefore, they don't represent anything.  Frodo has loosened Gollum's grip on the Ring, and the end of Mordor is at hand.

The first "Ken" doll, named Huckleberry, has lost about 100 pounds, unfortunately, most of it was in brain cells.  Mick, the Wonder Dog, has greater potential for the highest elective office in all of Middle Earth than does this walking advertisement for teeth brightener.

The second "Ken" doll, named Pall, is ineligible for the Presidential post because he is a Liberian.  He was allowed to participate in the debate because he is from Texas, and he would have gone home crying if that mean, old John McCain had chased him all the way back from the "Gates of Hell."

Which brings us, via segue, to the third "Ken" doll, named McCan't, because he wanted to be in Jamestown greeting the Queen, again.  In fact, he was there when the first Elizabeth was on the throne.  He is the only candidate who was there when Ronald Reagan was born.  In fact, he still refers to his Republican hero, Herbert Hoover, as "Junior."

The fourth "Ken" doll, named "Brokeback," protests very loudly against the "gay and lesbian lifestyle," and we all know about those who "doth protest too much," don't we? 

The fifth "Ken" doll, named "Goosey-loosey," has organized all of the barnyard into a single location so that if the fox attacks again, then it won't be so difficult to tabulate all the damages.  Both of his first two wives, and their offspring, have offered to hold him down while the farmer chops off his head.

The sixth "Ken" doll, named "Tubby" neglected to mention his participation in the "mismanaged" administration, and advocated a management policy which directly conflicted with the Bill of Rights (for which he apologized the next morning).  He is the "Ken" doll who looks most like Jimmy Hoffa.

The seventh "Ken" doll, named "Tanqueray,"  is so dubbed mainly because one would have to be pretty liquored up to advocate anything this yahoo had to say.  Following in the long-time success of the Berlin Wall, he wants to separate the US of A from all of the rest of the world by masonry, if not by  lack of knowledge.  Frodo assumes he believes that putting one's head in the sand is an appropriate course of action when confronted by questions to which his fifth-grade education provided no answers.

The eighth "Ken" doll, named "Gary," has the same name as the criminal executed in Utah some years ago ("The Executioner's Song" was the book title).  He is DOA.  He is supposedly qualified because he once cut taxes in Virginia, the State which contributed "macaca" to the English language a few months ago.  He used his personal savings from the tax cut to buy an automatic weapon.

Again with a segue, the ninth "Ken" doll, named "Hummer," believes that anyone not holding a duly-authorized and issued identity card should be immediately executed, unless, of course, they were anti-abortion, then they should be elevated to consideration for the next vacancy on the Supreme Court.  Even Arnold was gagging whenever this hodad opened his mouth.

This brings us to the tenth little "Ken" doll, named "Hominy," simply because he is a pure corn product.  Had he been a contestant on one of those old TV game shows from the 1950's, the whole world would have immediately cried "Payola."  The only thing that separates him from the public projection of Sen. John Kerry (D-MA) is that he wouldn't know a "Swift Boat" if it grounded itself in the "Big Dig."

So, boys and girls, that concludes Frodo's assessment of "The Gang That Cannot be Elected."  Play with each of your dolls while you can.  Frodo is looking forward to what follows.  Want to bet that the next two we see will be the ultimate divider, and the acting District Attorney who can't seem to keep the help from one-season-to-the-next.  Frodo wants "Arthur" back where he belongs.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:48 AM EDT

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Mood:  hug me

The gallant Braves have suffered a number of injuries over the past several days, including both of their catchers.  This necessitated action by team management, which produced one of the most interesting statistics in Major League Baseball History.  Young Mr. Saltalamacchia was called up from the Richmond Minor League affiliate, and inserted into last night's starting lineup.  He became the player with the longest last name in the history of the game, causing quite a bit of consternation Froldo feels, by young Mr. Spooneybarger who lost his claim to the title by a single consonant.

Playing left field for the gallant Braves in their contest against the Phillies from Philythedelphia, or something to that effect (since it is north of the Mason-Dixon line, Frodo does not see the relevance in the details), was a young man named Willie C. Harris.  Given gallant Braves managements' predisposition to signing players from within the viewing and listening parameters of television and radio broadcasts, it was not surprising that Mr. Harris is from Cairo (pron. Kare-O), Georgia.  For the uninitiated, Cairo's high school sports team name is the "Syrup Makers," referring to the fact that this is the town in which that syrup which your Mama spread all over your pancakes is manufactured.  Mr. Harris is the second player in Major League history to come from the town of Cairo; the other being a young man named Robinson, Jackie Robinson (shaken, not stirred). 

Mr. Harris, who just happens to be black, was all atwitter over his opportunity to play for the team which was his favorite growing up in small-town Georgia.  Frodo was particularly pleased to see Mr. Harris line a single over the first baseman's glove in the bottom of the eighth inning to drive in the eventual winning run.  Then, in the bottom of the ninth, Mr. Harris made a diving catch in left field to preserve the victory for the gallant Braves.  For those feats, he was named "Player of the Game."

The Georgia State Legislature was reccently confronted with a proposal to apologize for the legitimacy of slavery.  The proposal did not come up for a vote, and Frodo notes that many legislators did not see the relevance for an act in which they, personally, had no participatory interest. 

There is no doubt in Frodo's mind that Mr. Harris was fully aware of the fact that he was not the first ballplayer from Cairo to make it to the Big Leagues.  Frodo knows that Mr. Harris has special feelings for the man who endured and achieved so that he could have the opportunity to be cheered by fans of the gallant Braves.  That, of course, includes all the Members of the Georgia State Legislature.

Much has changed in Middle Earth, and the land that Frodo calls home has come far from the days of ignorance and blood.  Dishonesty is what keeps most from admitting to the horrors of those times, and the damage to innocent lives.  Wittingly or not, all participated, and all share the blame.

Frodo has no compunction about an apology.  He heard the words of his grandfather, and he even told "jokes" that made fun of other people.  For that he is truly shamed.  He apologizes to Willie C. Harris, and to all the others who may or may not take note of these words.

You da man, Willie C, you da man.  Play ball.    

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:04 PM EDT

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