Mood:  crushed out

Frodo has begun the annual exercise which requires that books, records, receipts, and SWAG be properly assembled.  Reference materials go on one edge of the table, and that is what garners his attention at this moment.  Something he reads however, causes him to push back from the table and to consider the impact on a grander scale.

The entrepreneurial Mr. Frodo has funded his own plan for retirement (which will henceforth be identified herein as the "R" word).  Frodo knew that once he reached age 59.5 he could, note could, begin to draw from his R plan.  He had failed to note however, that he must, note must, begin to draw from his R plan at age 70.5.  The reason that certain rules exist in the Internal Revenue Code is permanently lost to the miasma of the legislative process.  But, Frodo knows, there must be a reason for there to be a requirement that withdrawals commence by this point in the life of the Great American Taxpayer.

Surely, thinks Frodo, the wise and good representatives of the American people, who know and understand the hard work of our people, deemed age 70.5 as the point at which everyone has earned the right to rest and relax.  R begins at age 70.5.

John McCain is 71 years of age, and he would be 72 when he takes office, if elected to the Presidency.  No President has ever entered office so late in life.  Given the actuarial tables that exist relative to lifespan in America today, it is not only unlikely, but against all odds that John McCain would survive two full-terms.  Frodo notes that at the same time John McCain would receive $400,000 per year to serve as President (arguably the toughest job in the world), he would also be drawing from his own R Fund.  Why?  Because it was meant that old men should retire, and not fumble around behind talk show hosts and call everybody "my friends."

Ronald Reagan, until now the oldest to ever serve as President, turned the argument around on his Democratic opponent Walter Mondale.  Reagan commented during a debate that he did not believe that "age" was a factor, and therefore he would not raise the relative youth and inexperience of his opponent.  Everyone laughed.

Nobody should be laughing now.  John McCain did not decide to spend 5.5 years of his life being confined and tortured.  It happened however, and that cruel treatment has quite likely further subtracted from the time available to him.  All political references to "change" and the "old way" of doing things aside, it is a serious point that should dominate consideration for this gentleman's fitness for such rigorous duty.

Nobody every said that things were ever going to be fair or easy.  Senator McCain, it is time to plant some flowers, while you still have the opportunity to smell them.  To view the status quo as simply one more challenge in your life is an admirable concept, but it is truly an uncharacteristic disservice to your country to give less than your best. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:10 PM EST

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Mood:  vegas lucky

"Governor Bredesen, this is Governor Perdue."

"Governor Perdue, this is Governor Bredesen."

"Gentlemen, I'm Referee Frodo."

"Governor Perdue, since you're the Visitor, you will get to call the coin flip.  Gentlemen this side with the Peach Tree will be 'Heads' and the side with the Coonskin Cap will be 'Tails.'  Governor Perdue, call 'Heads' or 'Tails' while the coin is in the air."

"Heads."

"Thank you Governor Perdue, and the coin has come up 'Heads.'  Do you wish to go on offense in District Court or do you defer until the Appeals Court?"

"The Great State of Georgia will litigate."

"Thank you Governor Perdue.  Governor Bredesen, you have the choice of defenses."

"The Great State of Tennessee opts for 'Regular and Customary Use'."

"Thank you Governor Bredesen, please stand here with your back to the Nickajack Reservoir.  You, Governor Perdue, face him with your back to the Wall.  Good luck gentlemen, now let's do it."

"Governor Perdue, Samwise here with WATR.  How do you plan to open your attack against the faulty survey and to obtain clear title to the land bordered by the middle of the Tennessee River?"

"Samwise, we intend to flood the zone with signage, and to convince the defenders that the water truly belongs to Georgia.  We will wear them down."

"Good luck to you Governor."

"Governor Bredesen, how do you intend to defend the charge of the Georgians that access to the water is theirs by virtue of the survey line originally granted by Congress?"

"Well Sam, we're not gonna let them 'water board' us.  This has been Tennessee property for over two hundred years, and if it was truly theirs, why didn't they try to get it before?"

"And good luck to you Governor."

"Well Readers, there you see the layout for this 'Battle of the Titans'.  You can hear the Tennessee Fans cheering 'We're Number one,' while the Georgia Fans respond with 'Bull----, Bull----'.  The results at the end of the District Court will be followed by the Appeal, and if the combatants are still not separated, the Supreme Court will make sure that there is no tie.  'Kissing your sister' will not be the result of this contest here today." 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:16 PM EST

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Mood:  cheeky

Frodo is particularly cheeky when some of his more bizarre postulates apparently document the validity of his thesis.  Such is the case that follows.

Readers will recall the "Runaway Bride," the Bank Robbery Bimbos," and other recent events making national news which all seem to occur in Gwinnett County, Georgia.  Located just Northeast of Metropolitan Atlanta, this domicile for white, overweight, conservative Republican refugees from frozen suburbs is a center for controversial human behavior.  Named for a non-descript, almost universally anonymous, signer of the Declaration of Independence, Gwinnett County deserves the derision heaped upon its residents.  Until recently, Gwinnett County was the largest governmental territory in all of the United States of America without any form of public transportation.  Frodo alleges that when one has no public transportation, then one need not worry about "them" coming into your neighborhood.  Gwinnett County also consistently re-elects John Linder (R-GA) to Congress, who is, of course, known as the "Father" of the "Flat Tax." 

In Frodo's opinion, the only thing that separates Gwinnett County from the other denizens of dementia, aka the great State of Texas, is that the F-150 is the preferred model of pick-up truck parked in each and every driveway as a precondition to residence.

Lisa Lynette Clark, 39, was released from Metro State Prison Friday, on the same day that 1000 copies of her biographical publication "Betrayed: The True Life Story of Lisa Lynette Clark," became available.  Two years ago, Lisa Clark became a household name when her marriage to a 15-year-old boy made the rounds of news shows, and brought well-deserved attention to Georgia's quaint laws on the "institution of marriage" (does this sound like a familiar campaign issue to you, too?).  Upon release dear reader, can you even vaguely imagine her first destination?

McDonald's.

From that gastronomical experience, she reported to a probation office, and answered a few questions from reporters.  As a convicted "sex offender," e.g. child molestation, statutory rape, and enticing a child for indecent purposes, Clark also carries a new title upon her return to public life.  She is now also known as "Mom."  The baby, born in jail, was placed in a foster home, where he still lives, with a friend of her family.  The "father," whose name has never been released because he is the victim of a "sexual assault," now lives in (you're gonna love this) Texas.  It is important, if not downright unbelievably insane, to note that Clark and the "father" were legally wed on the day before she was arrested.

As you exhale dear reader, Frodo can answer your question.  Yes, a convicted sex offender is married to the victim, and they are the parents of a child, and preasumably, they will obtain custody.

Frodo will be surprised if there is much of a run on this new addition to American literature, but he simply had to recite a few lines for your entertainment.  Noting her initial attraction to the (lover/husband/victim/co-conspirator, pick no more than two), Clark writes "He was buff with a six pack of abs, cut pecks and big arms. . .".  

Buff?

Also quoted from the book is part of a letter she wrote to the (lover/husband/victim/co-conspirator) which reads "I know we have made some mistakes, but I know we have what it takes.  You are my best friend.  Until we meet again, I love you baby, so much."

Frankly, thought Frodo, those words could come from the Farewell Address to be delivered by George W. Bush.

Oh, and Frodo almost forgot to mention this.  Guess where the happy couple plan to reside? 

Gwinnett County.   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:08 AM EST

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Mood:  chatty

Curiosity may not be a feline asset, but Frodo has never been shy about asking questions, especially relative to something that has previously caught his interest.  Challenged by a daunting amount of material whose perusal was required vocationally, and a constant stream of print media coupled with all of the wisdom of the world in book format, Frodo found himself adrift in the volume of it all.  The Evelyn Wood course for "reading dynamics," (aka speed reading) magically appeared before him one day, and he decided to investigate.  Without casting any aspersions upon the quality of the product, Frodo came away from the introduction with a reaction similar to his very first visit to a used-car lot. 

Later that day, Frodo decided to visit the Training Officer in his early megalithic model of Mount Doom to see, perhaps, if there might be some information about improving his reading skills.  It might be added that the Training Officer was also a physical-fitness advocate, and any excuse to have her lean over one's shoulder was certain to improve Frodo's circulatory flow.  Frodo found that not only were there coursebooks available for his personal research , but there was a course, taught by his employer as an employee enhancement.  The Training officer was also identified as the Instructor in said course.

"Well," thought Frodo, "self-improvement is good."  Frodo checked out the coursebook, and signed up to take the next scheduled classroom training.  Frodo set aside all the rest of his reading, and devoured the textbook.  He also regularly dropped by the Training Office in order to check on the plans for the soon-to-be-conducted class, and to admire the view.  What was astounding is that Frodo really got into this speed-reading stuff, simply because it commenced with a few pieces of scientific data which caught his attention.

The eye "reads" only when it is still.  As one's eye moves up or down, side-to-side, it absorbs nothing.  The skill of speed-reading is to minimize the number of times that one's eye is still per line of print, and to assimilate as many words as possible therein.  The student is taught to concentrate on the middle of each line of print, and to widen the zone of vision to encompass the entire line.  Then to move quickly down the center of the page to the next line.  That contrasts with looking at each line in three or four glances.  The speed of reading follows, and the eye, because it is moving once per line, as opposed to multiple times per line, is using less energy, and the reader's eyes become less tired.   The science of it all dictates that the number of words "read" is limited by the number of times that the eye focuses on a central spot and remains still.

Frodo was startled by the revelation.  He recognized that the phenomenal numbers in advertising for "reading dynamics" were obviously inflated beyond the physical.  He rushed to the Training office in order to discuss this outrage with the Training Officer.  Frodo was surprised to find that she was on "extended leave," but that she had left a note for Frodo.  In the note, she apologized for her absence, and explained that she and her boyfriend had decided on a whim to get married and had already left on their honeymoon.

Rats.

The note went on to request that Frodo "teach" the course in her absence.  As she noted, Frodo had already absorbed the course material,  and was an accomplished classroom instructor himself.  It would be a great favor and, suffice it to say, be a nice wedding present.

Humbug.

Professor Frodo had 33 students.  Many of them were very well-known people and had very responsible positions in Middle Earth.   Surprisingly, it went very well.  When the course evaluations came back, Frodo was roundly congratulated by all the participants.  Subsequently, Frodo was offered the opportunity to take over the newly-vacant position of Training Officer.  The incumbent would not be returning to work.  He turned it down.

His heart just wasn't in it. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 1:14 PM EST

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Mood:  energetic

Professional Baseball has always had a structure.  First, there was the "Rookie League," then a progression of Classes D, C, B, A, AA, and AAA before an aspiring professional athlete got his (at the time) shot at the Majors.  Players, under the rules of Frodo's youth, were the property of the Major League team that first signed them to a contract.  Not unlike chattel, players were traded, or sold, from one organization to another.  Wealthier teams could buy, or trade for, talented players from smaller-market teams, while those less wealthy teams had to rely heavily on the flow of developing players from the Minor Leagues, as they were called.

All of the above nice-to-know trivia is the backdrop for the tale that today is told by the Hobbit.  The Washington Senators were, for decades, the worst team in all of Major-League Baseball.  The vaudeville joke was that the team was just like George Washington himself, i.e. "First in War, First in Peace, and last in the American League."  Clark and Howard Griffith, the father-and-son owners of the Senators were notorious skinflints, and their team always had the lowest team payroll in the League.  In order to save money, and to find better players, the Griffiths hired Joe Cambria to "scout" baseball players in the Caribbean countries.  Rightfully, the Griffiths figured that there were talented athletes, and baseball was a big participant game in that part of the world, who would jump, cheaply, for the opportunity to play in the Major Leagues.  Thus began the importation of players from countries such as Venezuela, Mexico, the Dominican Republic, and Cuba.

Frodo was a devoted baseball fan.  Players such as Harmon Killebrew, Frank Howard, Roy Sievers, Bob Allison, Chuck Hinton, Earl Battey were some of the really good players who languished on the losing seasons of the Washington Senators.  They were supplemented by Camilio Pascual, Zoilo Versalles, Pedro Ramos, and almost, a young Cuban named Fidel Castro.

THE Fidel Castro was not a poor farm boy, rather, he was the heir of an upper middle-class family in Cuba, who just happened to enjoy baseball almost as much as Frodo.  Castro was probably very excited when he got the opportunity to "try-out" in front of Senor Joe Cambria, who had come to Cuba in search of the next generation of players to wear the uniform of Frodo's favorite team.  Frodo can only imagine what it must have been like, for Cambria's written notes on Castro's performance, forever etched in world history, are both brief and succinct.

"Strictly Class D material."

For his contrarian readers, Frodo would simply add that had Castro been offered a contract by the Washington Senators, he would have, by progression of subsequent team movements, probably become the property of the Texas Rangers.  The Texas Rangers were, not long ago, partially owned by George W. Bush.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:28 AM EST

Updated: Tuesday, February 19, 2008 9:43 AM EST

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Mood:  party time!

Gandalf long ago counseled Frodo to learn the ways of the lands outside the Shire.  Gandalf knew that Frodo would need to rely on what he knew when the time came to enter Mordor, and to scale Mount Doom.  Frodo has written of his voyage into East Germany, and the unforgettable bus trip up "the Berlin corridor."  The tale this evening is of the trip back, and how Frodo first tried to apply what he had learned about the peoples of Gondor, Rohan, and Cirith Ungol.

The sun had set and all the travellers were weary.  The clubs and the taverns of West Berlin had both refreshed and spent the energy of the Americans.  The tours and the propaganda on the other side of "Checkpoint Charlie" had sullied the festive mood, and most were contemplating the mental anguish of a first approach to Evil.  Frodo, not yet known to Samwise, nuzzled with one of his fellow vagabonds.  The Germans, who occupied most of the bus, were gathered in the rear and were treating the drive as if it were merely the culmination of a brief vacation.  Soon, they began to sing.

German drinking songs draw participants easily, and the Americans, including the Hobbit, joined in when they knew the proper words.  The festive air drew the dissonance from all, and anon the memory of the Evil fell further and further behind.  When at last a pause fell upon the throng, one of the Germans called out, "How about some American drinking songs?"

Frodo and his nuzzling companion looked at each other, and soon all of the Americans shared an equally blank stare.  What to do, "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall?"  All came to the conclusion that there are no American drinking songs, and for the briefest of moments, all were equally distraught.  Suggestions came forth from every angle.  "Dixie."  "Hound Dog."  "My Girl (Frodo thought that suggestion might get him past first base)." "Rock of Ages." (?)  It was apparent that the diversity of the Americans meant that no one knew the same songs, and that our silence reflected poorly on our national character.  To be humiliated, by Germans, was too much to bear.

He was from the Midwest someplace, and when he stood up and shared his basso profundo of "On Wisconsin," all of the Americans could at least join in the chorus.  The little guy from "Little Italy" then commenced with "Hail, hail, to old Notre Dame."  Frodo started, in typical off-key, "I'm a Ramblin' Wreck from Georgia Tech," and then the Germans caught on and joined in with the best phonetical version that "Fighting Bob LaFollete" would have ever heard of the Wisconsin fight song when the Americans commenced a second go-round of the songs drawing the greatest applause.  By the time that the lights of the bus station were at hand, the travellers had shared all that they could, and had unanimously had great fun crossing a cultural border.

Frodo has always wondered if the Germans sang any American songs to serenade their more recent travelling companions.  Many times has he brought smiles to Sam and others of the Fellowship when he sings "In Munchen steht ein Hofbrau Haus. . ."  Imagine a group of Frenchmen trying to follow "Boomer Sooner," in German.    

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:50 PM EST

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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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