Mood:  d'oh

Frodo was fascinated to learn, some time ago, that hurricanes begin with the proper placement of something as discreet as a single grain of sand, about which air begins to flow.  Faster and faster, that which had been brought up from the Saharan surface becomes the vortex which accumulates moisture and sufficient winds to virtually destroy human habitation half-a-world-away.  Fascination turns to anxiety however, when Frodo learns that NASA satellites prove that great billowing clouds of dust carry harmful minerals, industrial pollutants, bacteria, fungi, and viruses in their wake.  The result being that these dust clouds are possible culprits in the transcontinental movement of disease.

Meningitis, Silicosis, Influenza, SARS, Hoof-and-Mouth Disease, and Asthma were thought to die when exposed to ultraviolet radiation and extreme temperatures on these long flights, but the fact that African locusts have survived the journey disproves that assumption.  Dale Griffith, a former microbiologist with the US Geological Survey said recently that ". . .nothing will change regarding either African or Asian dust until we have a catastrophe such as a large-scale avian flu, West Nile virus, or some other deadly outbreak that cannot be explained away by the usual suspects."  Griffith goes on to complain that absolutely no one, anywhere, is doing anything at all about it.

The impact of Man on his Planet, and the impact of the Planet on Man, is evolutionary.  It changes, that we know, and on that we can all agree, thinks Frodo.  The changes that occur are the stuff of science, and compose everything from temperatures to rainfall, and from the utility of the internal combustion engine to the ability of some locations to support human existence.  It is much, much more than the simplistic concern over "global warming," or the utilitarian complaint that no such proof exists of such an occurrence.  Science will provide the answers if Man has the wherewithal to support an academic assault on the problems before us all, Man and Hobbit.

An International Geophysical Year (IGY) is a worthwhile suggestion to emanate from, for example, one of the candidates for President of the United States.  A concentrated effort by all the world to marshal its scientific capacity in developing an energy resource to replace fossil fuels.  An intense investigation of communicable disease, source and transmission, in every corner of our globe.  A coordinated analysis of the forces, natural and artificial, over which intelligent life has some measure of control, and the means to confront.  Committing resources, worldwide, and not singling out political goals, is the framework that prevents a Kyoto-style logjam.  The last time that an International Geophysical Year was applied, the result included putting weather satellites into orbit, thereby giving Man the capacity to see the dust in the wind.

This time, an International Geophysical Year may help him to prevent becoming just that.   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 12:58 PM EST

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Mood:  not sure

Whether in the course of human or natural events, Frodo is humbled by the balance.  Some men are born to be warriors, while others are farmers.  Still other men know not the difference between a pitchfork and a bayonet.  In the Gardens of the Shire there are hawks and there are songbirds; there are earthworms, and there are moles.  Indeed, there are things which grow and blossom whose very names may not yet be known to those who are supposed to know.  They are however, there for a reason.

Not.

There is absolutely no reason on the face of this small blue planet for the yellow pine tree to exist.  Its soft wood produces an inferior cut of lumber, and its sap is so poor in quality that even the turpentine produced by the black pine is unworthy of processing in this lamentable botanic creation.  In fact, it is the yellow pine which most frequently splits and falls during inclement weather, doing damage to traffic and to homestead.  Mulch (the cheapest one can buy) and pressed lumber are the only by-products of this denizen of the forest which have any commercial value, and, in truth, no one would miss these products if they weren't there at all.  Frodo is down to but four of these monstrosities within the confines of the Shire, and they are in no location to portend a threat to anything held dear.

Yellow pines make Frodo think about other things he can do without.  Yellow Jackets, the yellow-and-black bee-like insect that tunnel in the Gardens of the Shire, and almost any other inconvenient location in Middle Earth, is a constant threat to man and beast.  When disturbed, the swarm is swift, painful, and occasionally deadly.  Frodo is no fan of the Yellow Jacket, and he has absolutely no idea what it is that Adam must have done to piss God off so badly that he made these disgusting and valueless creatures.

Which brings Frodo around to "Evangelicals."  Frodo was born one time, and according to Bilbo's frequent discourse on the subject, that one time was more than enough.  Concerned parents and a developing curiosity brought Frodo to a confrontation with many questions of value, and the accumulation of information, and perhaps even a bit of wisdom, as God intended, created the Hobbit.  So why would Frodo need to be, in the parlance, "born again?"  There is no new epiphany if Frodo has merely paid attention along the way, so what, he asks, would Frodo have in common with someone who felt as if he, or she, had to start all over again in some sort of more personal relationship with the Supreme?  This is a question which does not keep Frodo up at night.  It merely makes him wish that wonks of this nature would follow the Yellow Jacket back into the hole of ignominy.

The stream of consciousness now brings us back to something almost as worthless as a Yellow Pine.  That, for the new reader, would be any person, living or dead, who claims to be a Texan.  It includes anyone with a bumper sticker that reads "Don't Mess With Texas."  In Frodo's humble opinion, had the United States merely lost the War with Mexico more than 165 years ago, we would today have a perfect nation.  Every problem in America today can be traced back to some sort of screw-up by somebody from Texas.  Funny it is, that no Texan is useful for any purpose other than mulch or pressed lumber.  Then again, those are still products for which we have no true need. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 3:50 PM EST

Updated: Saturday, February 16, 2008 3:56 PM EST

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Mood:  don't ask

Antonin Scalia, 71, is brain dead.

In an interview with BBC Radio 4 this week, Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia declared that the Constitution's ban on cruel and unusual punishment "is referring to punishment for crime," not actions in the course of interrogation.  In an astounding application of purported logic, Scalia added that "you can't come in smugly and with great self-satisfaction say 'Oh, it's torture, and therefore it's no good.'  You would not apply that in some real-life situations."  The implication followed that given the nature of the threat, then the severity of the pain inflicted could be justified, as long as it was not punishment for a crime already committed.

Senator John McCain (R-AZ) was a POW for more than five years.  He was tortured by his North Vietnamese captors, and bears physical deformity to this day from the severity of his treatment.  In Scalia's twisted mind, the North Vietnamese acted appropriately in their treatment of McCain, until such time as they formally convicted him of crimes against the North Vietnamese people.  It was evidently okay, says the septugenarian Supreme Court Justice, to take action, including "waterboarding," against someone such as McCain representing a potential terroristic threat to the peace and well-being of a sovereign state.  It would be a violation of law however, to continue the treatment once McCain was convicted of a crime.

The United States of America has been holding some pretty bad guys in Guantanamo, and to this moment, without trial.  In Scalia's mind, as long as these guys are held without trial, for however long that may be, then there are no ground rules for their treatment.  Washington D.C. barrister David Remes, who has argued against Scalia in the past, stated "He was brushing aside principles of international and domestic law that have long governed the treatrment of captives.  He was treating difficult issues as easy.  This is disturbing."

Frodo almost agrees with barrister Remes.  Actually, it is more than disturbing, it is insanity.  Frodo wonders how Senator McCain feels knowing that at least part of the time his North Vietnamese captors were acting legally, if not humanely, according to the type of Supreme Court Justice McCain feels he would appoint should he win election to the Presidency.

It should be noted that McCain is a year older than Scalia.  Perhaps if he still had his sense of hearing, he could respond to the Madman in Black.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:31 PM EST

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Mood:  cool

Despite possession of one of the most distinctive of voices, all he has to do is stand there, and to lift his eyes beyond yours.  Perhaps he sees what we do not.  There is an attraction that goes beyond the physical, perhaps into the metaphysical, that defies simple description, and requires Frodo to look deep into himself in order to understand what it is that fills his own eyes with moisture.

Standing crowds cheer as he saunters about the stage, and those who share that platform appear as if, they, too, are caught up in the magic that fills the air.  It is an electric moment, magnified by the toothiest grin in all the world.  He laughs, and we laugh with him.  He knows that he is the first of his kind, and that years of injustice are peeled away in his honor.  We all seem to covet a little participation in a truly seminal event.

The very first beagle to ever win the Westminster Dog Show is named Uno.

 What?  You anticipated something else?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:47 AM EST

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Mood:  chillin'

In almost everything Frodo reads these days, there seems to be a political conflict between secularists-and- the religious, as if there is something distinguishing one from another.  In Pakistan and  Afghanistan, as well as in the United States, there are discernible sides being chosen, and in too many cases violence ensues.  Everywhere in Middle Earth there is some sort of competition about what exactly is the relationship between those who walk the land of Middle Earth, and those who soar above it.  Everyone, save Frodo, seems to have an opinion.

Frodo happens to think that it is one of the most personal of matters, and he has absolutely no interest in what anyone happens to believe.  When asked, Frodo ignores the question, and responds with the words to a song he remembers from his earliest of days.  It had to do with skin color, children, and the fact that Jesus loved all of them.  He adds that there must not have been any gay people when that song was written.  Generally, he feels his point is made and that leaves lots of opportunity for common discourse, which gives Frodo the opportunity to determine whether or not he intends to ascribe any credibility to this individual on any subject.

There have been many instances in his life where Frodo sought professional assistance for one need or another.  Frodo has a long-term relationship with a dentist, for example, and it is unlikely that Frodo would ever give any credence to a pastor on dental matters.  Similarly, there have been times when somebody trained in dealing with a matter of faith went a whole lot further than Frodo's dentist.  The following is one such instance in Frodo's life.

After the College of the Shire, Frodo went to study in the City of Orleans.  Erringly, Frodo was considering becoming an academic, but soon enough he recognized that teaching without having done anything didn't impress Frodo very much.  Frodo lived in a "suite' with five other male graduate students.  One of them studied Drama, another History, another Art History, and after Frodo (and some guy who was never quite sober), there was "Father Ed."  Father Ed Murphy was a priest from Chicago.  As memory serves, he was on some sort of special sabbatical that freed him from his pastoral duties thus allowing him to pursue a PhD, but Frodo is unable to remember what it was that Father Ed was studying.

Father Ed roomed with the guy studying Art History (whom Frodo felt reasonably confident had special concerns about the Book of Leviticus).  Frodo remembers that the two would go to a certain bar almost every evening, listen to "Hey Jude," smoke cigarettes, and talk about a lot of stuff in which Frodo had only a passing interest.  Accompanying them one evening, Frodo was surprised to learn that Father Ed's honest-to-goodness brother had been the Floor Leader for Senator Eugene McCarthy at the Democratic National Convention in 1968.  As much as Frodo tried, he could never get Father Ed to discourse too much on such a fascinating subject.  Father Ed knew that his time "on the outside" was short, and he was looking to do as much fun stuff as he could.

Then, one gray day it happened.  Frodo got a letter from Sam which he picked up at the P.O on his way to a course in "International Politics."  In the letter, Sam informed him that Johhny Jenkins had been killed in Vietnam.  Frodo doesn't remember anything about that class, except that he left his best jacket on the back of his chair, and he never saw it again.  He was totally and completely distraught, and he didn't have any idea what to do, to say, or even to think.

Frodo knocked on the door of Father Ed's room.  It was probably difficult to determine who was more surprised, but Frodo sat down and explained what had just happened, and that was all Father Ed needed.  In one of the truly gracious and sensitive moments in all his life, a Man of Faith asked no questions of Frodo about what he was, or where he went, or what he thought.  He simply talked about the mysteries, and the fact that bad things do happen to good people, and that it is a part of life as much as is birth itself.  Frodo will never forget the solace he felt, and now, as we approach the fortieth anniversary of that day, Frodo thinks of the Word.

Frodo could certainly "google" Father Ed Murphy, and he is sure he would find out what has happened to him since that day when they said their final good-bye.  Frodo has not done so, nor will he.  It was meant, on that day, for them to be together, and Frodo learned that a guiding hand will be there when he asks for it.      

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:00 PM EST

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Mood:  hug me

Peter Neesley lived in a far-off land called Michigan.  Like most young men, he was many complicated things, but not least among his credentials was his love of strays.  He told his family that his most recent acquisitions were named Mama, a black labrador mix, and Boris, her white-and-brown spotted puppy.  One of Mama's other puppies had been killed by a car, so Neesley and his friends built a dogouse to shelter all of the remaining family members.  Although he was far away from home, his family knew that he was keeping his family in his heart by tending to those who needed his help.

On Christmas morning past, the Neesley family was devastated to learn that Sergeant Peter Neesley was another victim of the War that was enacted to prevent War. 

Among the e-mails and photographs in the Neesley household were depictions of Mama and Boris, with the words that when he came home in July, he was going to bring them, somehow, home with him to Michigan.

The two dogs were picked up in Baghdad this week by a "rapid response manager" for the Utah-based Best Friends Animal Society.  Gryphon Holdings LLC, an American-owned airline, flew the dogs from Iraq to Kuwait.  A veterinarian with the Iraqi Society for Animals vaccinated the dogs and arranged for their health certificates allowing travel to the United States.  This past Thursday, the dogs were greeted at Dulles National Airport by Justin Harlem, an aide to Senator Carl Levin (D-MH).  Yesterday, Mama and Boris arrived at the Grosse Pointe Farm that will, now and forever, be their home, with Peter.

Carey Neesley, Peter's sister, knelt on the wet pavement and embraced Mama.  It appeared as if they both were crying.  "This is so awesome," said Carey, "Peter always had such a strong sense of family and protecting those who cannot protect themselves."

It is not enough, thought Frodo, to simply leave this story where it is.  So much more need be said about that which was borne by those who acted to do "the right thing."  Frodo, personally, asks to express his gratitude and appreciation to all those who helped bring a very real part of this young man home.  Five more young men died yesterday, proof, supposes Frodo, that "the surge is working."  Lest we forget, dear reader; lest we forget.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:32 AM EST

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Mood:  don't ask

"Reverend Governor Mister Huckabee, a question if I may?"

"Uh-oh.  Is that who I think it is?"

"Yes Reverend Governor Mister, it is I, Frodo, Star Reporter of the SHIRE TIMES & CHRONICLE."

"Aren't you the one that made toast of my friend Fred Thompson at one of these news briefings?"

"Reverend Governor Mister, as the saying goes about the heat in the kitchen, . . ."

"I understand.  I assume you have a question for me?"

"Yes Reverend Governor Mister, during the days leading up to the Florida Primary you stated that something specific should be done to expand the local economy.  Can you recall that from your memory bank and perhaps apply that to the larger national economy.  I can't seem to find where you've repeated that suggestion since.  You know, it had to do with I-95?"

"Uh, well, yes.  I made the point that because of all the natural disasters striking Florida that housing values were dropping, and that insurance problems, and infrastructure needs meant that insufficient resources had been devoted to those concerns.  The result being that traffic delays were increased, thereby even further hurting local businesses."

"Oh yeah, thanks, that was it.  So what is it that you proposed to do?"

"The best way to reduce traffic is to create more access for automobiles, thereby lessening the concentration of traffic.  Does that answer your question?"

"No Reverend Governor Mister Huckabee, I believe you specifically suggested that Interstate 95 be widened by two lanes, and that the result would be less traffic backlog, and a concomitant increase in business in the local economy.  Can you tell us how widening of I-95 would help the local economy?  Are you suggesting that we could help the national economy if we widened I-95 by say, 10 lanes?"

"Well, we do have some other people here who would like to ask questions. . ."

"What would be gained by widening the damn road?"

"I think, if we remain calm, we would like to study the suggestion to see if it would reduce traffic congestion and make driving into downtown Miami more palatable for shoppers."

"Tell me Reverend Governor Mister, do you still eat squirrel?"

"I believe that hunting is a constitutionally protected right under the Second Amendment. . ."

"I read too, Reverend Governor Mister, but you are the one who told the story of how you used to heat-and-eat squirrel in a popcorn popper during your college days.  What I asked is if you still eat squirrel?  If so, how do you fix them?  Do you boil them, or do you prefer fried?"

"Squirrel has been a staple in Arkansas going back to pioneer days, and many of our States' residents consume these tasty. . ."

"Rodents?"

"I believe squirrels are so classified. . ."

"By Science?"

"Are you now changing subjects on me?"

"Reverend Governor Mister, I could do this all day.  Or are you ready to break for lunch?  I'm wondering if all this discussion about food has made you hungry?"

"An excellent suggestion Mr. Frodo."

"Until the next time."

Reverend Governor Mister Huckabee tugged at his shorts as he walked off the stage, and he whispered to Chuck Norris, who glared at Frodo.   Frodo smiled and held up his copy of "Elmer Gantry."

"Do you think you could get him to autograph this for me, Chuckles?" 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:54 PM EST

Updated: Thursday, February 7, 2008 8:58 PM EST

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Mood:  hungry

A noble lady died today, just one week from her 95th birthday.  Frodo grieves not, however, simply because her memories were long ago stolen from her, and her once regal bearing had been lost to time.  Alma, sister of Frodo's father, and last of her siblings, leaves a legacy of two daughters and innumerable grandchildren.  For most, such an inheritance would be both both enviable and sufficient  for Middle Earth.  Frodo however will mark her passing and dub her as he will always remember her.  She was Alma, Queen of Caramel Cake.

No pillow was as soft as the white cake which blossomed from the bottom of that pan.  The creamy caramel color covering that which could be snowfall beneath, carried an aroma which, for want of a more descriptive word, seduced the salivary glands.  A heaping helping of hospitality, served with a glass of whole milk, around a 50's Era kitchen table is a picture that even Norman Rockwell could not capture.  Only in the eye that is encapsulated in Frodo's mind will there always be a work of art as fine as a Lladro ceramic, of Alma, and her heavenly creation.

There will be other Caramel Cakes in Frodo's future, of that he is sure.  This night though, Frodo likes to believe that his Dad will be visiting with his Sister, and that he is enjoying time with the Queen of Caramel Cake, and sampling her greatest product.  What, pray tell, could Heaven have been like without Caramel Cake?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:51 PM EST

Updated: Wednesday, February 6, 2008 9:16 PM EST

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Mood:  blue

"Young man, could you help me for a moment please?"

Frodo turned to a man in a wheelchair.  He had a blanket across his lap, a sweater about his shoulders, a fedora covered his head, and, the oddest thing, a cigarette holder in his hand.

"Yes, sir, I suppose not all city streets are totally adapted to ramps for the disabled are they?"

"Apparently not," he snorted.

Frodo pushed the ancient wheelchair up over the curb, and started to walk away as he sought  the continuance of his quest.

"Thank you, young man, and may I say that you appear somewhat familiar to me.  Are me acquainted?"

Frodo had had the same thought. 

"My name is Frodo Sir, and I am from the Shire.  Downtown Atlanta is not far, but it is also a great distance in many respects and I am not here often."

"Well, my name is Franklin.  Have you ever been to Warm Springs?"

"Indeed I have.  It is truly a lovely place.  Is that your home?"

Franklin nodded and smiled at Frodo.  "Well what brings you to this place that is 'not far, but also a great distance,' Mr. Frodo?"

Pausing, Frodo looked into the eyes of Franklin, and wondered if he should simply bid the stranger adieu, or to share his quest with one who may think him  stranger than most.

"I read something in this morning's paper which upset me Sir, and I decided that I had to do something to help right a wrong.  It required that I come downtown and offer some assistance to a worthy cause."

"Oh, would you mind sharing with me what it is that has so upset one on 'Super Sunday'?," he smiled.

"The bodies of four apparently homeless people were found in various spots around Atlanta yesterday.  I read that all of them were over 50 years of age, none had been identified, and that it appears that each death was coincidentally weather-related."

Franklin simply stared at Frodo.  He no longer smiled, and he said "What, Mr. Frodo, is it that you propose we do?"

Frodo was a little startled by the use of the word "we," but he responded directly, "The Atlanta Task Force for the Homeless" was referred to in the paper and they seek out such people, and bring them in for shelter and food.  I looked them up in the telephone book (404-589-0636), and decided I could come down and bring them a check."  Frodo continued, "The Executive Director there was pretty upset when she heard what had happened, and she remarked about how difficult it is to deal with some of their 'clients' who are psychotic or simply afraid and don't know what to do.  She said that once the decedents are identified, it is likely that at least one would be a Veteran."

Franklin looked at the Hobbit, and seemed to be trying to form words of his own.  "It is so hard for me to help."

"You, sir," began Frodo, now recognizing exactly with whom he was speaking, " have done your share.  It was you that taught Frodo to believe that in this country no one should starve, or freeze, in the lonely darkness.  This is why government exists; to protect the smallest and the weakest.  I am just doing what I can."

"God Bless you, Mr. Frodo.  It is what I tried to ensure."

"God Bless you, Mr. Roosevelt.  Frodo will do better to make sure that we don't let you down again."

When Frodo looked back, the man in the wheelchair had turned the corner and was gone.   Frodo turned his collar to the cold, and knew that he would soon be that much closer to the destruction of the Ring.  The "Greatest Generation" had done their part.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 2:57 PM EST

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Mood:  suave

"Writer's Block" is not an uncommon affliction.  Frodo has always been of the mind set that all one must do is to simply begin to write, and that the normal flow of language will create a path that beckons one to follow.  Dorothy, in all likelihood, thus found a yellow brick road, and Frost found that two paths in a yellow wood increased his possibilities.  Frodo's fear is that he will begin to repeat himself, and that his reader's eyes will glaze, amidst the knowledge that they have already been there, and done that.  That would be a death knell for Frodo.

There once was a leopard frog.  The story was that his life was forfeit for the purpose of science.  In truth, he was excess, left over after all the others' pieces had been removed and examined.  It was to be his fate to follow, in toto, to a place of discard.  An exuberant, and certainly immature, friend of Frodo, brought his remains back from class in an orange juice bottle, quart-sized.  Since it was Friday, and classes at the College of the Shire would be held in abeyance for several decades of hours, it was time to commence the ingestion of alcohol, which is a mixture of both ritual and necessity when all the world is only a few credit hours from the front door.  Soon another necessity brought the suggestion that Frodo and his friends conduct their own sceientific experiment with that which was at hand, or in an orange juice jar.

That frog swam in a jar of mixed urine for an entire scholastic year.

Not long ago, Frodo and one of the most important nephrologists in all of Middle Earth sat amid an enthralled audience as they recounted what happened in those final days that Spring.  With but hours to go before they scattered to the four winds, an upraised pillow swung back away and across the shoulder of Frodo's friend, and in an uncanny slow motion event which is clearly in the minds of all who were crowded in that room on that day, the frog found his escape scooting lifelessly and vengeful across the artificial flooring.  In an instant, only Frodo's friend was in the company of the frog.  Wordlessly, and with all due haste, he commenced a clean-up, and complete scouring with disinfectant of all the general area.

Science, it seems, is but a progression of failed experiments.

The memory of Frodo's friend is as precise as is that of Frodo.  Despite the juvenile circumstances, it brought unsustainable laughter to those who marveled that either Frodo, or his friend, had indeed lived long enough to recant this tale, and to let others judge if all of life is meant to be serious. 

If that were true, there would never have been a Frodo.

Thus endeth "writer's block."  Until the next.  Sleep well dear friend, and dream of the next adventure of the Hobbit, who pauses but a moment as he prepares to toss the Ring into the fires below.    

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:07 PM EST

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