Mood:  cheeky

Stan Sulak stood no more than 5'6" and in his suit-and-tie weighed no more than 145 pounds.  He was far from an imposing figure as he wheeled through inner-city neighborhoods in Chicago in his egg shell white, un-air-conditioned, Ford motorcar with US Government plates in the summer of 1969.  Newly authorized IRS employees were usually assigned "low-dollar" investigations on the assumption that if he (or she) screwed something up, then it would have very little consequence.  Revenue Officer Sulak, on the job just three months, was assigned an inventory of "Federal Beer Stamp" investigations.

The "Federal Beer Stamp" was required to be posted in any location that sold either beer or wine.  The stamp cost $24, and it was good for one year.  Should a stamp not be re-newed, and the applicant not respond to correspondence, then someone such as Sulak would be discharged to investigate, and to secure a renewal, collect the fee, and the resultant late-filing penalties and interest.

Sulak pulled up to the curb in a section of Southside Chicago where there were a number of bars.  Several of his investigations were along this particular street, so he parked and planned to walk door-to-door.  His shirt and suit pants were soaked clean through (air conditioning in a government motorcar was considered a 'luxury item' and was not permitted), so he left the passenger's side front window down an inch or so when he locked the motorcar.  He assembled the necessary paperwork and put the respective investigations in street address numerical order.  He walked to the door of the first establishment, noting that the name of the establishment was the "BPP of America," and entered. 

As his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, he noted a number of individuals about the bar room silently staring at him.  Over the bar he noted the sign identifying the "Black Panther Party National Headquarters."  It should be noted at this point, dear reader, that Mr. Sulak  was unlikely to be identified upon first glance as a potential new recruit.  Sulak walked to the bar, climbed upon a stool, and asked to speak to the manager.  Actually, by all appearances the scene probably called for him to order a cherry limeade, with a straw.

A very large, and dark-complexioned, gentleman at the bar stood across from Sulak and so identified himself.  Utilizing some invective that escaped Sulak's immediate recognition, the manager inquired as to his identity and purpose.  Sulak carefully reached into his suit coat breast pocket and exhibited his Internal Revenue Service credentials, and said "I am Revenue Officer Stan Sulak with the Chicago District of the Internal Revenue Service, and I need to see your Federal Beer Stamp, please."

"My what?," said the astounded bar tender.

"Your Federal Beer Stamp.  It is about the size of a business envelope, and is required to be posted adjacent to the cash register in any establishment selling beer or wine."

A smile crept across the incredulous expression on the face of the bartender, "Well, looks like I happen to have misplaced my 'Federal Beer Stamp,' so am I to assume that some little white-assed midget is here to cuff me and take me 'downtown'?"  Laughter emanated from every throat in the room, except for Revenue Officer Sulak, who only smiled.

"No Sir, my mission is to secure a renewal of your Federal Beer Stamp, and to collect the fee, late-filing penalties, and of course, interest."

"Oh, of course, interest.  And exactly how much will all of this cost me?"

"Well, sir, the stamp costs $24, the penalty is 25% of the tax, and interest compounds at 6%.  The total as of today will be $30.66."

The bartender's mouth fell slightly ajar and he simply stared at Sulak for several moments.  No one spoke.

"You mean to tell me the US of A has sent a white-ass midget into the headquarters of the Black Panther Party to harass its members over thirty damn dollars?"

"And 66 cents," said Sulak.

The laughter continued unabated throughout the rest of Sulak's time in the bar.  Tears were shed by every person in the place while Sulak sweated over the blanks on the application and the completion of the receipt.  When finished, he adjusted his tie, slid off the stool, thanked his host, and exited gracefully onto the street outside.

Adjusting to the sunlight, he heard the lock on the door behind him engage.  It was then that he noticed his egg shell white, un-air-conditioned, Ford motorcar, with US Government plates, had had its tires replaced by cinder blocks.  Noting that the only telephone booth in sight was obviously inoperative, and that there were a paucity of apparently concerned citizens about, Sulak decided that his best course was to, as inconspicuously as possible, walk the 36 blocks back to his office.

Arriving at that location a little after five o'clock, Sulak found that the door was locked.  Being a relatively new employee, he had not been issued a key.

Frodo recounts the Saga of Stan Sulak for two reasons.  It is appropriate to recognize that there are a lot of Stan Sulak's who serve their country under often difficult circumstances.  For Frodo however, this story carried the lesson that one should always have an "exit strategy" when embarking upon any enterprise.

It is too, too bad that many more senior government officials today never got to know Stan Sulak.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:41 AM EDT

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Mood:  special

The Men of Gondor gathered on a Friday in September, 2001, in order to discuss the events of that Tuesday, and to measure the seeming impact on the trails which lay ahead.  Frodo positioned himself at the end of the table, so that he could pay specific attention to what was spoken.  He was disappointed by how poorly thought-out, if not irrelevant, most of the words seemed to be as they related to the continuum of time and history.  When his turn came, Frodo pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket, and ironed it on the table with his palm.  Frodo spoke softly.

"A little more than two years before Frodo's birth, a man from Indiana,  whose profession it was to issue battlefield dispatches from the global conflagration, verbally captured the horror and the detritus that remained in the days after the Allied Invasion of Europe commenced.  The words that follow here were from those dispatches read by actor Tom Hanks ("Saving Private Ryan") at the recent dedication of the D-Day Museum in New Orleans.  Frodo would ask the Men of Gondor (and you, dear reader) to close eyes and to imagine walking with Frodo as we trail the author along  a strip of sand in Normandy on July 16th, 1944.  Let us see what he saw."

 "I took a walk along the historic coast of Normandy in the country of France.

 It was a lovely day for strolling along the seashore.

 Men were sleeping on the sand, some of them sleeping forever.

 Men were floating in the water, but they didn't know they were in the water, for they were dead. . .

 I walked for a mile and a half along the water's edge of our many-miled invasion beach.

 You wanted to walk slowly, for the detail on that beach was infinite.

 The wreckage was vast and startling.

 The awful waste and destruction of war, even aside from the loss of human life, has always been one of its outstanding features to those who are in it.

 Anything and everything is expendable.

 And we did expend on our beachhead in Normandy during those first few hours. . .

 Men and equipment were flowing from England in such a gigantic stream that it made the waste on the beachhead seem like nothing at all, really nothing at all. . .

 But there is another and more human litter.

 This is the strewn personal gear, gear that will never be needed again, of those who fought and died to give us our entrance into Europe. . .

 Here are socks and shoe polish, sewing kits, diaries, Bibles, and hand grenades.

 Here are the latest letters from home, with the address on each one neatly razored out-one of the security precautions enforced before the boys embarked.

 I picked up a Bible with a soldier's name in it, and put it in my jacket.

 I carried it a half mile or so and then put it back down on the beach.

 I don't know why I picked it up,

 or why I put it back down."

Ernie Pyle was felled by a sniper but a few weeks later on an island in the Pacific.  He is buried in the "Punchbowl Cemetery" near Honolulu.

Frodo does not know why these words gave him solace on that day, nor does he know why they do so now. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:35 PM EDT

Updated: Tuesday, September 11, 2007 10:13 PM EDT

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Mood:  hug me

Frodo stood with his impatient associates at the rear gate, all staring at the obstacle in their path.  A box turtle was uniquely positioned so that his shell prevented the gate from opening, and Frodo could not readily figure out how to end this stalemate.  Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, looked to Frodo to solve this problem quickly, for there was tennis ball to be played, and soon the morning shadows would fall prey to the late summer sun.

Frodo's fingers managed to push the turtle back enough for Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, to fly through to the grassland beyond while Frodo tarried to examine this uninvited, but not unwelcome, visitor to the Shire.  After making sure that the sealed Humvee was without damage, Frodo placed him in a secure spot underneath a hedge, and out of the line of fire from the canines who would return and perhaps decide that a new chew toy had been made available.

Later that day, Frodo noted that the turtle was still in the same location.  Head held erect, he seemed to be studying the flora in his vicinity.  The next day he remained in virtually the same spot, although facing in a leeward direction.  The following day there was movement of less than a meter, and the direction placed his head into the wind, signaling perhaps that the inevitable vagabond was about to disappear.  Sure enough, the visitor was nowhere to be found the next day, although Frodo examined roundabout for any sign.

Frodo was in the eleventh grade when he read "The Grapes of Wrath," and true it is that few words have had the impact on the Hobbit to rival the collection wrought by John Steinbeck.  Frodo can still see, to this day, the blue mimeograph that asked him the question about what the turtle represented as it crossed the road amidst the traffic that threatened his progress.  Frodo thinks of that turtle often, and wonders if such visitors to the Shire today come to remind him that no one promised him a rose garden.  If however, on his travels, he comes upon one, he may have the luxury to visit.

The task atop Mount Doom, dangerous unto itself, is fraught with peril; so noted by Tom Joad and the Hobbit.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:33 PM EDT

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Mood:  d'oh

What ever happened to Colin Powell?  Frodo was thinking about the military strategist and former Secretary of State just the other day, and wondered why he wasn't the one charged with the responsibility for assessing the progress of "Plan B" in Iraq?  After all, having also served as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and participated in the decision-making process to the pre-emptive War in the first place, would seemingly make him better qualified than anyone in all of Middle Earth.  Instead, an Ivy Leaguer (Frodo wonders if he was a "Legacy" at Princeton?) with rumored political aspirations, whose name was entirely unknown outside of military circles when the debacle began, gets the job. 

Is it because Colin Powell is black?

Could it be that a white guy from Texas might not want to once again hand a "sales job" to a black guy?  Particularly one whose credibility was damaged by the incorrect assessments handed him prior to the American invasion of Iraq.  Is it possible that Petraeus was specifically chosen because his vocational bias would be more acceptable in this effort to delay the American withdrawal to those predominantly white males who make up the "core" of the Republican Party?  The Incomparable Moron has consistently referred to the "commanders on the ground" (which begs the question, where else would they be?) as those whose judgments guide his decisions.  He has neglected to complete the sentence however, since such counsel is adhered to only when it seemingly complies with his predispositions.

There is such an air of predictability to what will emanate from the "Petraeus Report," that the political efforts of the rational opposition to rally their own set of conflicting and contradictory reports adds to the obfuscation of the facts.  The strategic effort to confuse the public, and to "sell" them on a particular policy, will tie the hands of the Congressional opponents to the flawed policy of the "surge."   Despite the limited vision of Senator McCain, and those who allege that the "surge" is working, the fact remains that the peoples in the land called Iraq do not want us there; they see us as occupiers.   To this day our soldiers do not know who it is that is shooting at them.  With the passage of time, all that we know is that the shooters hit their targets with increasing frequency.   General Petraeus might as well be teaching target practice.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 12:13 PM EDT

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Mood:  energetic

There are times, as an athlete, when one can do no wrong.  For whatever reason there are moments when every fly ball will be caught, every jump shot will hit nothing but net, every pass sticks to outstretched fingers.  Simply knowing that one will not fail is beyond explanation.  Fleeting though such moments may be, sit-ups and wind sprints seem like a measly investment against such reward.  Frodo had experiences such as these, so he understands and appreciates watching others enjoy their moment.

John Smoltz, a "gallant Brave," is 40 years old,  and at the virtual end of the physical capacity to play professional baseball.  In this year when disappointment permeates the accomplishments of his team-mates, Smoltz has pitched well.  Last night, confronted by the inferior opposition from Washington, Smoltz made his "slider" seem as if it were slowly rolling across a tabletop before falling straight down to earth.  The befuddled batters from the District of Columbia swung weakly at where the ball had been, and stared at the emptiness called for the third strike, time-after-time.  Despite all his success, Smoltz had never pitched a "no-hitter," but by the end of the fourth inning, everyone was anticipating the opportunity for the master of the pitching mound.

Smoltz struck out 10 Washington batters through seven innings, and had thrown the ball 109 times to his catcher, and still he had allowed no safely hit ball to fall.  He also had a head cold, and his magnificent strength was ebbing, noticeably, when the last batter was out in the seventh.

The first hitter in the eighth inning was not a star, but he was a good hitter.  He "fouled off" several pitches from Smoltz, knowing that Smoltz was weakening.  Finally, a pitch failed to fall as crisply as its predecessors and the fortunate Washington player slashed the horsehide-covered sphere into right field in front of the frenetic charge of Jeff Francoeur. 

The silence was broken by the slow march of the Manager, Bobby Cox, to the mound.  He took the ball from Smoltz, patted his shoulder, and sent the exhausted pitcher back to the dugout.  It goes without saying that the fans stood and cheered the gallant effort as Smoltz walked slowly off the field, with a moment to be shared in his memory for the remainder of his days.  When Smoltz has his last moment on this earth, he will wish that it could be watching his last pitch elude the swing of the batter and hearing the great umpire yell, "Strike Three."  Frodo knows.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:36 AM EDT

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Mood:  lazy

Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert, respective stars of "The Daily Show" and "The Colbert Report," will both be returning from two weeks of re-runs next Monday, and are they going to be miffed.  Not only did the White House arrange for Alberto to resign while they were on vacation, but Senator Larry Craig, the publication of "Dead Certain," and a half-dozen Iraq progress reports (Frodo asks forgiveness for using the words "Iraq" and "progress" in the same sentence) reached the public eye.  Frodo, often tempted by conspiracy theories, senses that this particular spate of bizarre events were accumulated for release while the premier satirists of political America were out-of-town.  The good news is that Frodo has full faith and confidence in their ability to make up for lost time.

While thinking about clowns, Frodo was reminded that Fred Thompson will announce his candidacy for the GOP nomination before Stewart and Colbert return to the air waves on Monday next.  The single best piece of news, outside of a rare victory by Frodo's "gallant Braves" this afternoon, is the fact that Jack will take over for Fred as District Attorney on "Law and Order."  Sam Waterston is an accomplished actor, who made Frodo believe that he fell into a pile of skeletal material in Cambodia.  He also left Frodo with an ache in his heart when Jill died in an automobile accident, and Lenny Briscoe joined him in the bar.  Some actors have that gift.

Fred Thompson lobbied for abortion rights.  Didn't know that, did you, dear reader?  Before he won the Senate seat of James Sasser (D-TN), Thompson got paid a lot of money to exert influence on politicians for a number of issues which will appear problematical when brought forth during a political campaign.  Frodo knows this because he listened to the slimy weasel Dick Morris, who worked on Thompson's first Senate run, disclose these facts to Bill O'Reilly on Faux News (Frodo listens to some of this crap and passes the information on to the Stewart and Colbert).  Should Thompson eliminate the rest of the lightweights contending for the GOP nod,  his "trophy wife" will have to hire a Nicaraguan Death Squad to eliminate all the groupies who sullied their blue dresses in pursuit of her hubby.  The Christian Ecumenical Community is about to experience a spiritual hernia, and Frodo is sure that many will soon be asking themselves "WWJD?"

What would Jerry do?  (And there's another topic for conspiracy theorists, who whacked Falwell?).

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:00 PM EDT

Updated: Wednesday, September 5, 2007 9:38 PM EDT

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Mood:  crushed out

Minneapolis is as close to sterile as urban life in America can ever hope to become.  It is hard to imagine that there is any minority group larger than that of those born in Canada.  Diversity is something that comes into the discussion when one considers visiting the "twin city" of St. Paul.  So why should anyone be surprised that the world's greatest collection of overweight, predominantly male, lily-white, mostly retired, sexual deviants choose Minneapolis for the site of the Republican National Convention?

Frodo has been listening to the speculation regarding Senator Larry Craig  (R-Idaho) (who just happens to be overweight, male, white, almost retired, and of questionable sexual appetite) with some modicum of attention.  Wouldn't it be "amusing" for Senator Craig to attend the Convention, flying in we suspect from Boise, and to be caught on camera passing through the airport in Minneapolis, and find it necessary to use the Men's room? 

Minneapolis was also the scene of the tragic bridge collapse which ended the lives of 13 people just a few short days ago.  Perhaps our suddenly fiscally-concerned President will comment on the state of domestic spending for the relatives of those who died on a public thoroughfare?  Frodo is not sure that such a speech will "fill the coffers" of those responsible for funding the gala affairs of Republicans in Minnesota.

Frodo now understands why Republicans look back at Ronald Reagan with such reverence.   When he screwed up, it wasn't on purpose. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:20 PM EDT

Updated: Tuesday, September 4, 2007 10:54 PM EDT

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Mood:  incredulous

Occasionally, Frodo will see something in a newspaper which immediately makes him think of you, dear reader.  All it seemingly takes is one sentence for him to recognize, as if he were Lou Costello, that he has been handed a straight line by Bud Abbott, and that a comic wisecrack immediately follows.  As you glance over the details of the news event that follows, see if you, dear reader, can't come up with the pregnant line.

Thomas W. Weeks of Atlanta, 40, Pastor of the Global Destiny Church in Duluth, Georgia, was arrested last week and subsequently indicted for assault and battery on his estranged wife, Juanita Bynum, a national evangelist.  It should be noted that Duluth is in Gwinnett County, home of both the "Runaway Bride" and  "the Bank Robbery Bimbos."  Weeks, it seems, had recently been served with court papers indicating that his church was $50,355 in arrears on back rent.  At the same time, Weeks owed more than $48,000 to an advertising firm for failing to maintain payments on a billboard purchased to advertise his ministry.  This past June, Weeks was evicted from his multi-million dollar home, and his Bentley motorcar has not been seen in the area for several weeks.

The ATLANTA JOURNAL-CONSTITUTION reports "money problems may have been what sparked the alleged attack."  Well, duh; no Pulitizer for journalistic insight this year fellas!

In any event, after meeting with Bynum to discuss the "personal business," Weeks allegedly, in the parking lot in front of a downtown hotel, "beat, choked, and stomped Bynum into the ground" and threatened to kill her.

Although he pleaded not guilty to the charges, this past Sunday, Weeks stood before his congregation and issued a public apology for his conduct.  Now dear reader, here comes your big chance.  What do you think he said? (Scroll down after a short pause)

Correctamundo.  "The Devil Made Me Do It."

Oh Flip, how Frodo misses you and "Killer." 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:35 AM EDT

Updated: Saturday, September 1, 2007 12:05 PM EDT

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Mood:  d'oh

Frodo once knew a man who purchased a home in the suburbs, and encumbered himself with a 30-year fixed-rate mortgage on $18,000.  The same man never possessed a credit card; paying cash or writing a check for every single transaction in his life.   Frodo has several credit cards, although he pays the entire balance due each and every month.  Frodo has also financed and re-financed his home in the Shire in order to take advantage of dropping interest rates.  It should be added that he has borrowed against the value of the house on two occasions in order to satisfy very sizable expenses, but paid off the resultant second mortgages shortly thereafter.  The man mentioned in the first sentence of this paragraph thought Frodo was a spendthrift and that he ran risks far too reminiscent of those who neglected margin calls in 1929.  By that time in his life, he was an old man.

Frodo stood in front of a subdivision near the Shire noting the advertising sign out front.  The sign reads, "Priced in the $900's."  Frodo has tried, on several occasions to compute the monthly payment on a traditional 30-year fixed-rate mortgage, with 10% down, at current rates for such a piece of property.  Small beads of sweat form all along his declining hairline.

Adjustable rate mortgages were the avenue that allowed Frodo to purchase his first piece of real property, so he comprehends the transition to mortgage products which offer opportunity to the first-time buyer.  Reflecting his upbringing, Frodo converted that loan to a fixed-rate at a lower rate some years into that transaction.  The problem, and what has given Frodo night sweats for some time, are the "products" which have given buyers access who never purchase equity, but only pay interest on the loan amount.  There are many buyers who gamble that the value of the property would continue to grow, and that this inflation in value would allow them to someday sell the property at a price far above the loan amount.  That is sort of like the guys who didn't expect their margins to be called in October of 1929, or so it seems to Frodo.

The number of foreclosed properties is skyrocketing all across Middle Earth.  The mortgages on those properties were almost always sold to another company in a "package" with many other loans that carried a combined face value in the tens of millions, and beyond.  When the values of the properties no longer increased, and the borrower was unable to keep up the payments, then the purchaser of the loans lost some really big money.  These purchasers needed cash to meet their obligations, and to prevent them from dumping these packages at any cost.  Really big investors were then circling over the carcasses and could infuse cash by "investing" in the company holding the packages.

Frodo thinks often of a book he once read called "The Octopus," written by Sinclair Lewis.

Frodo is very much an advocate of free enterprise, of investment in good and growing companies, and in the ideas of those who are searching for new and better ways of doing everything.  He is, however, not stupid.  Like the old man who thought him a spendthrift, Frodo learned that the process rarely works for those blinded by greed and an unwillingness to start with a two-bedroom, one bath "starter" in a settled neighborhood.

That piece of property mentioned in the first paragraph, which was originally a two-bedroom starter, mortgaged by Frodo's father in 1953 and sold in 1969, recently sold again for $7 Million.  Had he not already passed, Frodo's father would have had a heart attack.       

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:34 PM EDT

Updated: Thursday, August 30, 2007 9:27 PM EDT

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Mood:  cool

Commissioner Rice approached the microphone, cleared her throat, and stated thusly, "The Atlanta Falcons have announced a trade with the Justice Department of the United States.  Michael Vick will be the new Attorney General and Alberto Gonzales (also known as 'Da Judge') will quarterback the Falcons in their Pre-Season Game this evening against the Cincinnati Bengals."  Congressmen Phillip Gingrey (R-GA) and Thomas Price (R-GA) stood behind the Commissioner holding the respective sleeves of a Falcons Jersey with the Number "7" and the name "Gonzales" prominently displayed for all to see (Gingrey, it should be noted, was standing on Price's foot as he attempted to wrest possession of the jersey from the dimunitive Price). 

At the same time, Interim Acting White House Special Assistant for Legislative Affairs John McCain was announcing that Vick was selected for this critical assignment because he is the only person assured to remain in position for the next 12 to 18 months.  In addition, Vick also announced today that he had "found Jesus," thereby qualifying him for executive responsibilities (It was later noted that "Jesus" coincidentally was the moniker given to a pit bull who had escaped from the "BadNewz" Kennels several months ago).

The Owner of the Falcons, Arthur Blank, chose to purchase the Atlanta Falcons when he and his partner, Bernie Marcus, sold their joint venture, Home Depot (Marcus spent his money building the world's largest mausoleum for dead and dying rare fish, known as 'The Georgia Aquarium').  Blank had provided Vick with the largest contract ever awarded to a professional football player.  When questioned by reporters, Blank stated only that Gonzales would be offered a contract significantly less than that which Vick had signed.  When asked his opinion, Gonzales stated that he could not recall any discussion of that nature.  Blank looked wistfully at the Aquarium building, perhaps wishing that he and Bernie had reversed roles.

As might be expected, on the first play from scrimmage, Gonzales forgot what play had been called, and fumbled.

Vick announced that all US Attorneys in Virginia were being fired

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:43 PM EDT

Updated: Monday, August 27, 2007 10:15 PM EDT

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