Mood:  hug me

It is no secret that the Shire has been victimized by juvenile hispanic weather systems for many months.  Frodo's motorcars no longer sparkle like the morning dew, and budding azaleas have no more promise than the boxwoods which never bloom.  This is, however, the wettest time of the year, and early season thunderstorms do rumble through with increasing frequency.  Nature has a clarion call for the coming Spring, and her violent light-show portends freight-train like descriptions from every trailer park between Nebraska and Florida.  The inhabitants of the Shire are not immune to the ominous barometric pressure fluctuations which alter their behavior.

Fiona, hereby dubbed as fearless, exceeds 70 years in non-canine measurement.  In all that time, she has never seemed to notice that thunder rolls and lightning flashes, that is, until this year.  Now, when storms threaten, be they mid-afternoon or midnight, she ambles into the downstairs and out the dog-door to first stand under the porch and observe Nature and her handiwork.  She waddles then out into the storm in order to lie beneath her favorite bush in the gardens of the Shire.  Here she is soaked by falling rain, but appears secure in the knowledge that she can see what the hell is going on from friendly turf.

Frodo long ago noted that there is a weather trench that blows on a northeasterly track just to the west of the Shire.  In recent years, Frodo has noted an increased tendency for the devil-filled whirlwinds to travel outside the trench and traverse even closer to the Shire.  Perhaps Fiona, the Fearless, has noted the same.

Frodo has spared no expense in removing the dreaded yellow pine trees from the Gardens of the Shire.  There are few threats, other than a direct hit, which should be of concern to the residents of the Shire.  Frodo and Sam have marked secure locations, near the dog-door, on the bottom floor, where all would gather whenever the sirens cry warning.  The spot is close to the bush where Fiona, the Fearless, has staked her claim.

Science sometimes merely confirms the obvious.  

There is an old saying in the political circles of those who are drenched by Potomac Fever.  "If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog."  Sage advice dear reader, sage advice.    

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:59 PM EST

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Mood:  chatty

"Mr. Frodo, I'm here from the Obama campaign."

"Yes young man, I've been expecting you.  Your telephone call this morning sounded very urgent.  What can I do for you?"

"Well Sir, as you may have noted, Senator Obama got sort of derailed on his way to the Democratic nomination last night."

"Yes, I think I heard something about that.  But what does that have to do with me, a mere Hobbit?"

"Well Sir, the Senator has been following your writings, and he asked several of us for input on how Mr. Frodo might combat some of the negative ads being used by the opposition.  I merely suggested that we ask you for your opinion.  So here I am."

"I see, so are you here asking in generalities or is there something specific?

"Well Sir, in particular, the Senator was really miffed about that ad which dealt with a telephone call at three AM, which suggested that Senator Obama would not be able to handle an emergency situation."

"First off, young man, Senator Obama is aware that there was absolutely nothing original about that ad?  In fact, it was basically plagiarized from ads run in earlier elections by both Democrats and Republicans."

"Yes Sir, we were familiar with the theme, and if you'll remember, we did try a strong response almost immediately."

"Yes my boy, I saw that.  In a word, it sucked."

"Sir?  We actually thought it was pretty good."

"My boy, go back and tell your boss to contract for two ads.  One directed at Senator Clinton, the other at Senator McCain."

"Okay, but why two different ones?"

Frodo smiled.  "For Senator Clinton, start things out exactly as shown previously, you can even use the same dialogue up to the point of 'Who do you want answering the phone at Three A.M.?' and then comes the clincher."

"Sir?"

"The next line should be, 'Hello, this is Bill.'"

"Hah (sounding a bit like Chris Matthews), I get it.  That would be great.  But what about McCain?"

"My boy, that's even easier.  Just let the phone keep ringing, and when the question is asked, turn up the background noise to hear the most godawful snoring ever broadcast during the family hour."

"Mr. Frodo, if things work out the way we hope, would you consider a position in the Obama Administration?"

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:21 PM EST

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Mood:  down

March fourth is the one day of the year that is a verbal command to go forward.  How appropriate, writes Frodo, that the Republican Party will tomorrow announce that the oldest man to ever be nominated for the Presidency by a major political party will appear in the Rose Garden with the worst President in our national experience.  Even now, the Republicans are unable to accept the symbolism of missing the train, if only by a single day.  John McCain is an unacceptable leadership alternative, despite the fact that he is the direct political descendant of the current officeholder.  Their relationship merely proves that not all Neanderthals disappeared during the Ice Age.

John McCain served his country well, forty years ago.  He has absolutely no qualifications that justify a leadership role in economic matters.  He has absolutely no inspirational appeal when he stumbles about a dais, holding a microphone as if it were a Good Humor Bar, and likens the uninformed throng before him as if they were close and personal acquaintances.  He appeals to the total lack of common sense that permeates those who supported George W. Bush, twice, and have, as yet, neglected to wipe the drool from their mouths.

Frodo has faced Orcs on many occasions.  Sauron's final supporter has been identified and stands before the Fellowship of the Ring at the Black Gate.  Despite all the differences that exist between the peoples of Middle Earth, and the conflicts for leadership therein, all good men know that now is the time to destroy the Ring.  John McCain must lose. 

Merry, Eowyn, Legolas, Boromir, the fallen Galadriel all stand with shield and sword to rally behind Aragorn, as Sam and Frodo overcome Gollum at the brink of Mount Doom.  It is a mortal struggle that ensues, that which borders hope with ignorance.  Sauron will gird his general and send him into the fray.  It will not be easy, but it must be done.

John McCain must be defeated, totally.  The Ring will be no more.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:04 PM EST

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Methodists are not traditionally heroic people, at least Frodo can't seem to zero in on a single self-proclaimed Methodist who has ever done anything which would merit Medal of Honor consideration.  There was a Minister's daughter however who once volunteered to expand Frodo's horizons in ways that only a Minister's daughter could, but Frodo felt the offer might be more self-satisfying than courageous.  His declination of her favors expanded his anticipation.

Although John Wesley is a widely-recognized name in Methodism, Frodo does not seem to recall any instance where he slew dragons in the name of Faith.  The first names with whom Frodo became acquainted as notable, or cool, in Methodism, were General JEB Stuart and R. J. Reynolds.  It is particularly interesting to note that both JEB Stuart and R. J. Reynolds were both kicked out of the "College of the Shire" (Frodo's alma mater) for the same reason; public drunkenness.  Upon learning of this historical fact, Frodo did his absolute best to follow in the footsteps of greatness.  Despite the concentrated efforts of questionable entrepreneurial manufacturers as well as predominant corporate entities, Frodo somehow avoided a forced retreat from this bastion of learning and values.

JEB Stuart's history is easily researched, and is better addressed in another forum.  R.J. Reynolds, the founder of the tobacco empire, is another story, and this truism is the basis of the tears of laughter to follow. 

R.J Reynolds never forgave the College of the Shire for kicking him out, so he swore revenge.  Some years later, the corporate giant started buying and selling companies (which seems to be an activity which dominates the interests of corporate giants, of all types).  R.J. purchased the Norfolk & Western Railway, among other companies.  Perhaps it was merely coincidental, but the next thing that seemed to happen was the construction of a main line of the Norfolk & Western right through the middle of the campus at the College of the Shire.  It remains there to this day, and the hours between sunset and sunrise seem to be the busiest for this merchant carrier.

Frodo recalls many hours where his silence was broken by the lonesome whistle of a freight train.  Frodo developed a special affection for the songs of Hank Williams, and a loathing for the revenge enjoyed by R. J. Reynolds. 

Our story occurred during the height of the Vietnam War.  Frodo and his friends eventually noted that the Norfolk & Western was carrying Merchants of Death.  Tanks, armored personnel carriers, artillery pieces, and other weapons of war were on flat-beds, and they came through the College of the Shire in the middle of the night.  When friends began to die, in a war in which democracy was on the wrong side, Frodo could not stand idly by, nor could Russell Frost. 

Russell and Frodo, with the assistance of a few others, fashioned breechcloths, made headbands, and painted their faces.  Changing the "green" light to "red" on a railroad track was not beyond the technical competence of any pre-med or engineering student.  Together the band portrayed the last Indian raid in the Commonwealth of Virginia.  Using rubber-tipped arrows, this gallant band rained terror from the skies upon the engineers, brakemen, and other employees of R.J. Reynolds who were transporting the weapons of war.

Not unlike the Red Men of yore, they knew that all they could do was delay the moments of destruction.  The train pulled on after less than thirty minutes under fire.  The employees of R.J. Reynolds voiced their displeasure with the "Commie Pinkos," and commerce drove them on to Fort Benning, and destinations beyond.  Only then would people be injured, and die.

Frodo likes to think that R.J. Reynolds would have admired the spunk of Frodo and Russell.  Frodo would have invited him to share a drink.

Russell Frost died from Cancer of the Thymus Gland.  Frodo had to look it up, since he didn't know that he had such a gland, or that he might fall because of it.  The Russell Frost Memorial Scholarship at the College of the Shire not only recognizes those who dream about a better world, but those who happen to have a little fun along the way.     

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:10 PM EST

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Mood:  celebratory

Bill Cosby can think, and speak, and mimic millions of children.  Frodo is sure that as he has aged, Cosby becomes equally adept at the thought, speech, and behavior patterns of befuddled adults.  One of his routines that comes to Frodo's mind is the story of a cherub named Jeffrey who ran amuck on an airplane.  With seeming parental indifference throughout the flight, Jeffrey announced to each and every passenger, repeatedy, that his name was Jeffrey, and that he was "foe years old."  Cosby won the hearts and minds of his fellow passengers when he took affirmative action and awakened the little monster who fell asleep, finally, just before the plane landed.

Noting the topic above, with the addition of the number "foe" next to it dear reader, Frodo commences this his fourth year in dialogue with those of us who share his proclivity for music, laughter, and occasional outrage.  His title this evening are words penned by Pete Seeger, a man of peace, whose life's dream has been for all the world to sing along, albeit in perfect harmony.  Frodo has been honored to, on two occasions, shake the hand of this true and gentle man.

Bill Cosby and Pete Seeger are fitting reference points this night.  One who makes Frodo laugh, and one with whom he sings along.  The comedian has been charged with racial insensitivity, and the singer with being a Communist.  Frankly, Frodo enjoys the message as much as he admires the messengers.  That, perhaps, best addresses the context of letting our little lights shine.

Everyday.

Frodo has been offered an award.  It is not something he sought, nor is it something he feels is necessary.  He said to one observer that if "One gives enough money, sooner or later somebody is going to give you something to put on a wall."  He added, "If one expects more than that, they will only be disappointed." 

Frodo Baggins picked up a sword, and carries the Ring, because it needed doing.   Scholarships named for people with whom Frodo laughed and sang were the right thing to commence, and their growth is the true reward.  Frodo remembers the love and affection he shared with friends long gone, and has seen actual evidence that their names offer a little light, and hope, to the darkness of adolesence. 

Laughter, music, and a little progress being made.  Things don't get much better. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:37 PM EST

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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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