Mood:  on fire

It is extremely difficult to be funny when it is hot.

The greatest Southern writers were sometimes narrators, and sometimes participants.  They were often gothic, but mostly populist.  Occasionally they were entirely asexual, but usually they reflected every kind of sexuality in one form or another.  With the partial exception of the works penned by Mr. Clemens, the characters wore seersucker suits or cotton dresses, drank bourbon on the rocks or lemonade, smoked, and sweated a great deal.  Mr. Clemens of course, wore a seersucker suit, drank bourbon, smoked, and probably sweated while he wrote of Brother Huckleberry and tramps abroad.  The tales produced by Southern writers were dramatic and involved, but rarely amusing.  Mr. Clemens, it is noted, wrote much of his work in Connecticut and in travel status.

To the best of his knowledge, Frodo has no latent sexual issues.  Frodo's relationships with his mother and his father have been traditional and unspectacular.  Frodo's personal appetites tend to chocolate, peanuts, and root beer (albeit in a frozen mug).  The result for Frodo's tales is that with these traditonal gaps sealed, and the record-setting temperatures coupled with expected levels of humidity, there is only sweat.  Bead-like, it falls upon wooden floors and lies there until a passerby decides that it needs to be removed from view.  It is very, very hard to be funny when the only thing one can produce is detritus.

On the morrow, after the Braves game of course, Frodo will sit in the gazebo and begin his gift book, "In Search of Willie Morris," and whenever he stops to contemplate a page past, he'll perform the annual task of fan design.  Revivals and funerals alike at this time of year require and inspire ornate as well as practical fans.  Anything pliable can be used to direct a breath of air toward those who endure days that remain in memory and experience long thereafter.  Days such as these do not inspire humor or creativity, just that which is necessary.  Frodo's words are proof, it is hard to be funny when it's this hot.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:15 PM EDT

Updated: Sunday, August 5, 2007 12:04 AM EDT

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Mood:  chatty

Joe Biden has no chance to be the next President of the United States.  The "nattering nabobs" who grace the black-and-white project him as a screen test for the position of Secretary of State in a sane and competent Presidential Administration.  Frodo would have no problem with that eventuality.  Although Frodo has always looked back upon the Senate Judiciary Hearings relative to the appointment of Clarence Thomas to the Supreme Court as one of the  truly comic moments, and Joe Biden's participation as borderline schizophrenic, he has great admiration for Biden's incisive awareness of the Middle East and its role on our small blue planet.  That is why Frodo pored over Biden's words earlier this week.

Who is responsible?  Joe Biden was saying that he felt supreme frustration over the fact that no one in the Executive Branch was willing to accept any responsibility for anything.  Nearly everyone, on every side of the issue, from whatever angle, concludes that the Pre-Emptive War has been conducted poorly.  By whom, asks Frodo?  Surely no one is alleging that the young men and women doing the fighting and the dying are not doing a good job.  If not them, then the next possibility is the military leadership.  Have our West Point graduates been as ineffective as the British during the American Revolution, unable to deal with "freedom fighters" with muskets fired from behind trees?  From top-to-bottom the conclusion seems to be that they just weren't alloted enough men and proper equipment to meet the challenge.  So, the military is not to blame, assumes Frodo.

Those who advocated, and called for, a military struggle in order to introduce democratic principles into the Middle East appear on talk shows to argue that the objectives were sound, but the execution was poor.  Bill Kristol, Richard Perle, Paul Wolfowitz, Douglas Feith, are adamant that the War was just, that it serves the purpose of the United States, and that it is the only course of action that ensures our national survival.  They were right, they conclude, so therefore they are not to blame for the present internecine struggle.

The Incomparable Moron could not recall any mistakes he had made when so queried by Tim Russert.  The Secretary of State, the unaccomplished Ms. Rice, said that "thousands" of mistakes had been made, but once it became necessary to remove her foot from her mouth, she declined to be specific about the identification of the errors and who exactly committed any of them?   Cautious references to Donald Rumsfeld, Paul Bremer, George Tenet, Tommy Franks appear as miasma in conversation from White House staffers, but nobody says "this guy" did this, or didn't do that.  Nobody, and Frodo means nobody, says anything about anybody who is anything other than out of the present line of decision-making.

What grinds Frodo's butt is that when anyone points a finger, it is immediately bitten off by someone prepared to defend the pointee.  Those who advocate the impeachment, for example, of the Vice President of the United States are seen as far-leftie members of "MoveOn. org," who have no credible evidence other than their inherent dislike of Mr. Cheney.  Then the charges are answered by the "obfuscation" of attention-shifting assertions, and a new line of questioning by the befuddled.  In the end, no one is responsible.  This whole mess just happened.  That is, it could have been avoided if Bill Clinton hadn't lied to the Grand Jury about a blow job.

Dear reader, it happened because you weren't angry enough.  It happened because it wasn't your kids, brothers, husbands, going off to War.  It happened because we elected political leaders who knew how to campaign, and we accepted their inabilities.  Frodo will not conclude however with the over-used mantra that the enemy is us, he will simply tell you that the Atlanta Braves had a 9-5 lead in the top of the 9th inning last night, and gave up a grand slam home run to an unknown player from Houston.  They lost the game, although they fought back brilliantly, in the 14th inning, 12-11.  They lost because they figured they couldn't.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:16 AM EDT

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Mood:  smelly

Once upon a time, on a dark and stormy night, an opossum fully intimidated Mick, the Wonder Dog.  The memory of all those pointy teeth has had an impact on his continuing subsequent behavior.  It was not surprising therefore, when naught but an upraised nose and a wayward glance from afar took place while Frodo was retrieving the morning paper.  The object in the middle of the lane was obviously the detritus from a newpaper delivery person whose task at hand took precedence over his steering, and resulted in the corpus delicti of an unfortunate opossum.  Frodo had promises to keep, but fully intended to properly dispose of the remains upon his return from Mount Doom.

Tom Bombadil is a good neighbor.  Departing his residence just before Frodo, he noted the remains and planned also to take obvious action when the eve brought his return to the lane afront the Shire.  Therein lies this brief tale.

Tom arrived home and noted the corpse was still present in the middle of the lane.  He fetched his shovel and retreated to the plains just beyond the Gardens of the Shire to prepare a proper final resting spot for the unfortunate victim of Henry Ford's folly.

During this period, Frodo returned to the Shire and likewise noted that the task remained undone.  Frodo fetched his shovel and a plastic garbage bag.  Frodo scooped the remains into the bag, sealed it, and deposited it into the refuse can which was scheduled for pickup on the morrow.

A bit later, while Frodo enjoyed the product of Master Brewers in Wisconsin, the telephone rang and it was a very confused Tom Bombadil.  He inquired of Frodo if he had noted the presence of an opossum in the lane afronting the Shire earlier in the day.  When Frodo stated that he had, it was clear that Tom was both relieved and in awe.  He told Frodo of what he had observed and done, and noted that the game playing opossum had gone to great lengths to disappear into the Gardens of the Shire.

If Frodo had been a truly evil Hobbit, he would have parlayed Tom's confusion into a prolonged act of comedy.  Instead he had Tom meet him back at the burial spot, and he carried the sealed bag with him.  Together they returned nature's creation to its beginning.  Mick, the Wonder Dog, accompanied them and observed the entire affair.  When all was done, he sauntered over to the spot and promptly lifted his leg.  The lesson, perhaps, being that justice delayed tastes just as sweet.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:10 PM EDT

Updated: Tuesday, July 31, 2007 11:12 PM EDT

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Mood:  on fire

Before Frodo has a heart attack, he would like to very briefly summarize a few facts, dear reader.  Please do not assume that he doubts either your intelligence or your attention to recent history, for it remains evident that some others must have such doubts.  What follows in paragraph number two is what we know, and in paragraph number three is what we are being told.  Paragraph number three, in Frodo's humble opinion, is presented as if the facts of paragraph number two are not significant, and have no value in deciding upon a future course of action.  That is what is making Frodo so very angry.

Saddam Hussein was a Sunni. The Sunni sect (if you will accept that term for the sake of simplicity) represented approximately 20% of the population of Iraq at the time the Pre-Emptive War began.  The Sunnis, under Saddam Hussein, controlled the government of Iraq, and the Shiite sect, representing roughly 65% of the population of Iraq, had little influence in either policy or iimplementation under the dictator Hussein.  The Kurds accounted for the majority of the remaining population, and nearly all of them were located in the same geographical area bordering Turkey.  The Sunni government aligned itself with other predominantly Arab states in the region who were controlled by Sunnis.  The Sunni government waged war against the predominantly Shiite state of Iran, and was no close ally of any state, Arab or no, which was predominantly Shiite.  With the coming of the Pre-Emptive War, the Sunni government of Iraq fell, and it was replaced by a predominatly majority Shiite government, now under the leadership of Prime Minister Nouri-al-Maliki (a Shiite).  Insurgencies developed, predominantly sectarian in nature, and both Sunnis and Shiites were armed into  militia groups which struggled for power.  Shiite clerics on one side, Sunni tribal leaders on the other, and Coalition troops, with some level of government roops in-between.  This we know to be true, and it is the situation from which the "Petraeus report" has been developing. 

General Petraeus has been having some level of relational intercourse with Prime Minister al-Maliki.  The General has been reporting that Sunni Tribal Leaders have grown so disaffected with "al Qaeda" that even those who have participated in the insurgency against the Coalition, are being armed in order to fight against "al Qaeda."  Prime Minister al-Maliki looks at it a little differently, being a Shiite, he is very concerned that the Coalition is therefore re-arming the very same guys who ran the government under Saddam Hussein, and who subjugated the Shiite majority.  The Prime Minister has also noted that promised deliveries of arms and equipment to the predominantly Shiite Iraqi police force are  way behind schedule.  The fraying relationship reflects Petraeus' efforts to combat "al Qaeda," and al-Maliki's belief that all he is doing is re-arming the prior despots (except of course, for the late Mr. Hussein).  The Prime Minister, it is rumored, may demand that General Petraeus be removed.

The imbecilic position, dear reader, is that we are indeed giving guns and weaponry to the very guys whom we disarmed and fired.  Now, because we see the enemy as "al Qaeda" and we are no longer concerned with non-existent WMD's, we are in effect, telling the 65% of the Iraqi people who were under the thumb of the Sunnis that they have nothing to fear if they all pull together.

And the Shiites are saying, "Yeah, right, those infidels are going to work with us after we kicked them out of power, killed their leader, and basically allowed the Americans to turn out the lights, turn off the water, close the sewers, and blow up two-thirds of our homeland."

And the Sunnis are saying, "We'll be baaack." 

The Iranian mullahs are planning a new religious holiday, the one in which they unite both Iran and Iraq under one theocratic government.

Al Qaeda, on the other hand, is working on some surprises for the Pakistanis.

Isn't it just about time for the Incomparable Moron to take his August vacation, cuttin' brush, doin' hard work, there in Crawford?

Petraeus?  Wasn't there a guy in Greek Mythology with a name like that?  You know, he flew too close to the Sun and the wax holding his wings together melted.

'Nuff said, Frodo needs a Gelusil.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:23 PM EDT

Updated: Sunday, July 29, 2007 9:11 PM EDT

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Mood:  not sure

Others noticed it and subtly brought it to the attention of Supervisor Frodo.  The Mooman had a problem, and it was getting worse.  Frodo sat down with him and discussed the issue, perhaps more as a friend than as an employer, but the Mooman admitted to a problem with alcohol.  He made all of the promises, and used all of the words Frodo expected to hear.  No one, least of all Frodo, believed him for a nanosecond.

Mooman had been an engineering graduate of Georgia Tech who also had a flair for music.  His rock-and-roll band evidently had a level of success, and appeared behind several prominent performers of the era.  Tales of "Mama Cass," and raucous behavior filled many hours of conversation, and Frodo always felt that Mooman was talking of the times when his problem began.  For he married, and had young boys, whose demands were for a sedentary lifestyle and regular paychecks.  Mooman forsook his dreams in order to get a "real job," but he took his problem along with him.

Frodo and Sam had great affection for the Mooman and his family, and days and nights at "Lake Lovey" were treated as normal respite from the toil of Mount Doom.  His fellow workers also had affection for the Mooman, but none realized that they were being used, until it became obvious.  Soon, Mooman began to leave work early, and his associates were instructed to be evasive if his wife should call.  He regaled them with stories of "Big Red," the couch who beckoned him to afternoon siestas when he should be at work.  He made them laugh when he called late one afternoon to warn them of an impending snowstorm, only to call back several minutes later to acknowledge that he'd been watching a cable station from Chicago.  Drunks are like that, they win your trust with humor.

Eventually Mooman's wife came to Frodo seeking his assistance.  Mooman's family had sought the services of a professional psychologist, and had decided that an "intervention" was a necessary course of action.  Because of Mooman's relationship with Frodo, and the discussions that they had had, they asked Frodo to participate.  In order to help them, and his friend, Frodo agreed to do something he had never done before.

The surprise confrontation began with no subtlety whatsoever, and it went all downhill from there, for Frodo.  Although the "intervention" ended exactly as the family wanted, Mooman denied ever having told Frodo that he had a drinking problem.  When Mooman left the room that day, he was admitted into a rehab program and he would never say another word to Frodo.  He took his materials with him and abandoned his position.  Not long afterwards, Mooman's wife filed for divorce, and the Mooman would attempt an entirely new life, virtually all alone.

Sometime later an old friend called to tell Frodo that the Mooman was dead.  Frodo immediately called Mooman's former family just as they were returning from his funeral. Frodo was too late to even tell the Mooman good-bye.  They told Frodo that Mooman had fallen off of the proverbial wagon, and was found with a half-empty half-gallon bottle of scotch next to his body.  His heart gave out as he was swigging directly from the bottle.

Frodo doesn't think of those days often, and that is why he writes of them today.  He still feels dirty, and used.  His experience with "intervention" showed that although the short-term objective was achieved, the preconceived ideas of the family added Frodo as credibility and justification for what they had already decided upon.  Frodo did his friend no service, and it is a process in which Frodo never again will choose to participate.

All Frodo did was put an end to the music.  He will not make that mistake again.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 2:35 PM EDT

Updated: Saturday, July 28, 2007 3:13 PM EDT

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Mood:  crushed out

When Frodo lost a friend, and eulogized him, there appeared a response from an unknown other who also suffered in that loss.  The miracle that transmits words between those who may never meet became the vehicle which brought shared thoughts and friendship to Frodo and she who chose to remain unknown.  It is only fitting that  gallantry and courage be recognized within the Fellowship, so Frodo takes great pride in naming Eowyn, Lady of Rohan.

Lord Tolkien introduced her as "fearless" and "high-hearted," which speaks well for one determined to wrest the Ring from Sauron.  Lord Tolkien was wise, and Frodo is privileged to have another warriors' sword by his side. 

Besides, anybody from the cradle of Little League Baseball has to be pretty cool. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:21 PM EDT

Updated: Thursday, July 26, 2007 10:31 PM EDT

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Mood:  celebratory

Among Frodo's earliest memories of the black-and-white were the commercials for Wilkins Coffee.  A young man and a fuzzy band of puppets would shoot cannons and explode fireworks while marketing the merits of this adult product to people just growing comfortable with commercials in the living room.  Frodo had no way of knowing that Mr. Jim Henson with Ernie, Rowlf, Kermit, and more than 300 other characters would become such an integral part of his life.

"Sesame Street," and later "The Muppet Movie" and  "The Muppet TV Show," found Frodo staring into the reflective light with a song on his lips and joy in his heart.  In 1978, Jim Henson brought Kermit (dare we say, the Wonder Frog) to Atlanta for the grand opening of the Center for Puppetry Arts at 18th and Spring Streets in midtown Atlanta.  Henson was a frequent contributor, and often displayed his works there.  After his death, his family was planning to construct a "Muppet Library" to house their father's creations and friends when they learned that the Atlanta Center had outgrown its space, and was planning to either expand or relocate.  Negotiations commenced, and today it was announced that the 10,000 square foot "Jim Henson Wing" will be added to the building and be opened to the public in 2012.

Frodo is in line for tickets.  If you are nice, boys and girls, Frodo will get a ticket for you too.  Even though it is five years into the future, the saving grace is that it gives Frodo plenty of time to memorize all of the words to "The Rainbow Connection," and to then sing them with Kermit, the Cookie Monster, Miss Piggy, Bert, the Swedish Chef. . .

Frodo and Kermit, together again, it doesn't get any better than that.  Frodo wonders if they will serve Wilkins Coffee? 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:17 PM EDT

Updated: Wednesday, July 25, 2007 8:40 PM EDT

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Mood:  mischievious

General Petraeus received today the approved outline for his report. The Incomparable Moron announced that "Al Kreider" had reconstituted himself in Iraq and was confronting us there in order to destroy us and our way of life. In fact, "Al Kreider" is preparing to follow us back to our homes if we fail to confront and defeat him in Iraq.   Complete and total victory must be achieved in Iraq, and it may take several more years at present or stronger troop levels to achieve that victory.

Frodo started to change channels.  Suddenly, he had an epiphany and decided that it might be worth listening just a wee bit more.  Once again, the Incomparable Moron started in on "Al Kreider," so Frodo decided to put his computer to work.  It turns out, according to the googling methodology, that "Al Kreider" owns the next ranch in Crawford, Texas.  Mr. Kreider, it seems, has evidently been a major irritant to his next-door neighbors.  Mr. Kreider has just completed building a new ranch house, modeled after the newly-constructed US Embassy in Baghdad, utilizing Mexican day laborers, and costing far less than the $1 Billion the Incomparable Moron had "earmarked" for his Pyramid, er, we mean Embassy.

Mr. Kreider is evidently not the outdoorsy-type, because he has allowed brush to grow willy-nilly all over his property.  It is likely that he doesn't even own a chainsaw.  This is of course a bone of contention in a land without zoning restrictions.

This means that although Frodo may not have been the first to discover that the Incomparable Moron fails to comprehend whom we are fighting or why, he has indeed discovered the fact that he thinks he's fighting his next-door neighbor, "Al Kreider."  Frodo is just so very grateful that Mr. Kreider has not sold his property to anyone named "Hips Bullock" or anyone named "Chenise Armey."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:28 PM EDT

Updated: Tuesday, July 24, 2007 9:29 PM EDT

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Mood:  hug me

Weekends in the Shire have a discipline somewhat different than the days when Frodo must toil upward on Mount Doom.  After breakfast, Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, join Frodo for a game of soccer in the schoolyard abutting the Shire.  Once the soccer game is concluded, Frodo bounces a tennis ball off the concrete facing of the school, and Mick, the Wonder Dog, supplants Michael Jordan and Michael Johnson as the premier jumper and sprinter in all the world as he hurdles himself in pursuit of the lime-green treasure.  Fiona merely scans the horizon, looking for trouble. 

After an appropriate rest period, while Frodo accomplishes assignments for which he receives gratuitous compensation, there is a hopeful staring desire for a leisurely walkabout all the lands surrounding the Shire.  Sultry summer Shire days drain the aging Mick, the Wonder Dog, more than Frodo wants to admit, and Frodo finds many excuses this time of year to not push his friend.  Mick, the Wonder Dog, naturally lacks endurance, but he will not be denied the opportunity to check the canine telegraph when the weather is overcast and it is a bit cooler than a fortnight ago.

The walk gives Frodo an opportunity to supervise all the construction projects, landscape alterations, raucous housepets, and the greetings which characterize the anonymous persons who wave at the Hobbit and his friends.  Perhaps it is the hat that Frodo purchased at the "Alligator Farm" in  St. Augustine, Florida, some years ago, which Frodo feels gives him the ambiance of "Crocodile Dundee."  More likely, it is the unlikely triumvirate themselves, for the charming Fiona, who resembles a miniature chocolate labrador retriever, and the gregarious Mick, the Wonder Dog, who is an unmistakeable working dog, are usually pulling hard on Frodo to get his two legs on a par with their eight.  That is, until either one catches or feints an interest in some odor attached to almost anything, and it has been thoroughly investigated and answered in urine.  At such a point, Frodo has ample opportunity to take note of the world around him.

Cloudy days seem to detract from the aromas of the Shire.  Even the magnolias seem sterile, and tarrying too long anyplace is answered by the presence of tiger mosquitos, who have arisen in abundance with recent thundershowers in the Shire.  Blackberries are mostly all picked over, by man and beast, and even Frodo has been able to assemble several quarts for Sam's gifted blackberry cobblers.  The high trees of the Shire are nesting spots for the soaring predators who ride winds in search of careless squirrels or thoughtless songbirds, and they whistle to each other when there are no other sounds to be heard.

Suddenly, Fiona bolts from the brush and is on her way with Frodo and Mick, the Wonder Dog, making every effort to re-establish the normal gait for the walkabout.   It takes a minute or two for everyone to come disentangled from the leash that binds them as one, and to stride normally.  Motorcars pass hither and yon and nearly everyone has a friendly wave for the Musketeers.

They must, indeed, be handsome travelers.  Frodo will long remember moments such as these, and wishes they would never end. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 4:36 PM EDT

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Mood:  caffeinated

The Secretary of the Department of Homeland Insecurity who, if dear reader will forgive the derogatory nature of a physical reference, looks like "Walking Death," reflected upon his "gut" feeling that a terrorist strike is imminent.  Frodo, who would look terribly out of place dressed in black and carrying a scythe, has not been able to shake the fact that the Month of August stares in the face of Middle Earth, and that it portends all sorts of danger signals.  It is the four-week period of time predating the issuance of the "Petraeus Report," that begins to bear a historical reference akin to the "Zimmerman Note" or the "Dreyfus Affair."  Merely listing the variables is illustrative.

The Incomparable Moron entered office with the predisposed notion that he could retreat to "the ranch" in Crawford, and stay for the entire month of August.  After all, that was what he always did when he could "cut brush" and do other "hard work," while his superior staff carried out his plan.

The Congress of the United States traditionally fails to convene so that the Members can return to their home districts, go on junkets, campaign, raise money, spend time with their families, or "cut brush" and do other "hard work."   

The Iraqi Parliament, modeled after their American cousins, also intends to shut down for the month of August.  Temperatures are expected to reach a sizzling level somewhere in the neighborhood of ten degrees cooler than either Phoenix or Las Vegas.  Afraid that their purple thumbs might run, the Shiites need a cooler location, perhaps in Syria or Iran, in which to plot their "stragedy" for the pending departure of all those who need to "cut brush," or do other "hard work."

It was during the month of August, 2001, that the Bush Administration, while the Incomparable Moron was on vacation, failed to note the significance of any of the National Intelligence Estimates which were issued.

It was in August, 1914, when sectarian violence culminated in the conflagrations which united to become the First World War.

Frodo could go on too long for the attention span fostered by Internet blogging, but the point is made.  Chertoff, like a blind man, throwing enough rocks, will sooner or later hit an elephant with one. 

Frodo thinks it wise to raise the threat level beyond pink (beware of gay marriage), and to recognize that if the "enemy" really wanted to do some damage, then just prior to the "Petraeus Report" would be prime time.  If Frodo were Osama bin Laden, he'd like nothing better than to convince even the 29% that the Administration had no clue at all.  What then, would be "Plan C?"  Sauron will reap what he has sown. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:41 PM EDT

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