Mood:  blue

The Shire lies just a few miles from the town square in Marietta, Georgia.  On several occasions, as Frodo slowed his pace in order to take note of people, flowers, buildings, or some other distraction, he would look around to see if someone looked like Joanne Woodward.  This is her hometown.  She is very much on Frodo's mind this day, as is Robert Redford, and Tom Cruise, and the countless hundreds who appeared in movies with her husband, and Frodo's hero, Paul Newman.

83 years is a long time in human terms, particularly when it encompasses depressions, and wars, and assassinations, freedom marches, impeachments, civil liberties, and, yes, salad dressing.  Great wealth and fame were not the achievements of his lifetime, at least in his mind, in appearance if not in fact.  Paul Newman stood for human dignity, and he did so in both personal appearance and with a checkbook.  Frodo is very much saddened that the results of the next Presidential Election will not include a vote entered by Paul Newman.  Frodo is sure that it would have meant something very special.

Scott Joplin, remember him?  The score for "The Sting," in which Newman and Redford, scalawags that they were, took revenge on Robert Shaw for the murder of their friend, Luther, who just happened to be black.  How about the drunken Boston lawyer, Frank, who took on the entire Catholic Church in order to right a wrongful innocent death by an incompetent surgeon.  Along the way, Frank regained his life, but he lost his heart.  Ah, but dear, dear reader, how can you forget Butch and Sundance, riding the bicycle, robbing the train, leaping the leap, all while B. J. Thomas crooned about "nothin' worryin' me?"

Frodo is more than a day older today.  In the spirit of it all, and with sympathy for Ms. Woodward, Frodo and Sam will have spaghetti tonight.  The jar of meat sauce to be used bears the smiling face of a great actor, a fine gentle man, and someone Frodo would like to have been, if for just a day.  

All of the profit on the "Newman's Own" products went to, and will go to, charity.  A class act, all the way.  Exit, stage left.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 2:10 PM EDT

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Mood:  not sure

There must have been an instance when a hunter stared deep into the embers, while all about him slumbered.  Perhaps he had not found prey, or even signs thereof, and the winds had already started to blow, colder and colder.  There might even have been pains in his legs and shoulder, keeping him from throwing his spear as straight or as powerfully as he had done for so many seasons.  In the darkness he can hear the coughing of a small, too small, child, or the labored breathing of she who has been his constant companion since that first night together.  Perhaps even a cave wolf approaches closer to the warmth of the fire,  to exchange the companionship shared by providers, no matter the species.  Words were not necessary then, nor are they now.

When sleep ends, without explanation, it portends fear, generally of the unknown.  Time passes so quickly when success becomes the norm, thinks Frodo this night, for he has great difficulty separating one pleasant day from another, but the storms of the morrow weigh heavily upon his brow.  Mount Doom looms, and Frodo knows that all for which he has labored is threatened by things which he cannot control.  He stares into the blueness of the electronic marvel before him, just as the hunter separated flame from ash.

The wealth of nations, as Adam Smith so eloquently composed, is in the pattern that followed from the hunter, and led, eventually, to Frodo.  What once could be gutted and dried for later consumption by the hunter and those who depended upon him, later became something which was a mere representation of that which had true consumable value.  Despite the utility, new dangers lurked about, threatening the holder, his safety, and the very existence of those who depended upon him.  He, too, found instances where a fireplace called in the dark of night.

Now there is Frodo, the proud possessor of friends and fealty, standing agape at systems which swallow resources in an instant, leaving the hunter wondering what might happen when the beans are counted in marketplaces half-a-world-away.  The worries fall upon him just as they did a thousand campfires ago.  The representation becomes as Shakespeare reminded us, noting that all which has changed is the actors themselves, while the stage itself remains as it has always been.

Frodo and friends will wander back into the darkness, in hopes that these words have expunged one small demon.  Until the morrow, dear reader.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 3:40 AM EDT

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Mood:  rushed

Several months ago the round mound of unreknown who serves as Governor in the State of Georgia proved beyond all doubt that he was a bombastic clod, when he announced that he would conduct a prayer meeting on the steps of the State Capitol seeking relief from the continuing drought.  It did not rain.  The drought continues.

Subsequent to the spate of hurricanes in the Gulf of Mexico, suffering has spread into new circles of disfavor by the Almighty.  More than 750,000 Americans are still without electric power, for example.  What makes this a personal problem for Frodo is that the shutdown of two oil refineries in Texas (where else?) has resulted in an insufficient supply of petrol for motorcars throughout the Southeast.  The greed of the Republican-dominated States has been reflected in the "rush" on every gas station in the Carolinas, Florida, Tennessee, and Georgia.  There is no gas in virtually any location, and as soon as a tanker arrives at a set of pumps anywhere, long lines of motorcars queue up to hoard all that is made available.  Predictions are that it may take up to three weeks to rectify the shortages.  Frodo has sufficient petrol in his motorcar to travel exactly 31 miles.

Governor Sonny Perdue has requested a variance from current Federal air quality guidelines in order to bring poor quality, polluting petrol into the pumps.  Tonight we learned that his request has been granted.

Perhaps Sonny decided that a prayer meeting on the Capitol steps might not be such a hot idea, given his track record with the Big Guy/Gal (pick one).  Frodo however, thinks differently.  The gasbag would seem adequately cast as a prayerful requestor for more gas. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:41 PM EDT

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Mood:  crushed out

Mr. Beau Neau McKitty was thrilled that, once again, Frodo and Sam had returned to the Shire.  Despite their obvious need to clear the fog which had seemed to settle on their everyday existence, Beau Neau remained convinced that he could provide the answer to every problem or care.  As soon as Frodo opened the door leading into the Gardens of the Shire, and with a burst of speed worthy of any Jamaican sprinter, Beau Neau was through the dog-door in order to commence his search for an appropriate homecoming gift.

The next morning found Frodo before the mirror, in preparation for his daily conflict at Mount Doom.  Shaving, Frodo determined many years ago, is best performed in the buff, after the shower, and before he assembles his chain mail and his armor.  It was as this ritual took place that Frodo noted a low moan from the hallway.  The moan was repeated several times, to Frodo's consternation, since Sam continued to slumber, and the sound definitely required analysis.

Frodo stepped into the hallway to observe Beau Neau in possession of one wounded, and greatly threatened, chipmunk (name unknown).  Frodo attempted to pluck the chipmunk from Beau Neau's grasp, lifting the helpless creature by his tail pinched between his thumb and forefinger.  Beau Neau batted the rescue attempt from Frodo's grasp, and Frodo assumed the worst.  Surprisingly, the stunned chipmunk still exhibited life signs, so Frodo acted with speed and surprise.  Carrying the chipmunk by his tail, Frodo took off for the basement door, two floors below, watrching carefully to ensure that the rescue attempt not be squelched by an errant nip from the would-be rescuee.

Frodo noted little movement from the hindquarters of the chipmunk, thereby causing him to fear that, despite his heroic effort, little would be accomplished.  Frodo burst through the basement door, and started to place the chipmunk in a secure hiding place when he realized that it was cooler this morning than it had been in many moons.  The coolness was exacerbated by the fact that Frodo was flashing a moon at the entire population of the Shire. 

Oh well, at least it was for a good cause, and with the noblest of intentions.

Frodo pulled the basement door closed behind him as Beau Neau came charging downstairs in hot pursuit.  The shocked feline seemed unable to absorb the reason for Frodo's attempt to subvert his gift-giving to Sam.  Frodo was in no mood to debate the subject.  Frodo returned to his shaving, and Sam spoke up from slumbertown seeking some explanation for the disruption of a nights' rest.  Sam remains fortunate that Frodo had no corpus delecti to drop into sleepwear.  Especially since Sam was overheard to say, "Oh good kitty, thank you for your present."

Frodo is beginning to believe that the cat is a Republican. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:58 PM EDT

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Mood:  lucky

Frodo is no fan of traffic.  On more than one occasion, while in his motorcar, he has been passed by another driver exceeding the speed limits while conducting non-driving-related activity.  He has seen a gentleman brushing his teeth, a lady applying mascara and eye-make-up, and tens of thousands talking on telephones; all of this mind you at elevated mileage per hour.  Frodo grows increasingly wary of what appears in front of him while traveling the lanes about the Shire.  Frodo, however, has nothing on Mr. Jim Litz, of Missoula, Montana, who reminds us all about keeping our eyes on the road.

Mr. Litz is a Middle School Teacher, and while pedaling away on his bicycle at near break-neck speed, the open lane in front of him was suddenly occupied by a pedestrian.  With less than 10 feet separating the two parties there was little that Litz could do except to hold on for dear life.  Describing the scene later, Litz indicated that he "T-boned" the pedestrian black bear and flipped the bicycle over the bear and landed head first.  Both parties to the accident were startled, given, perhaps, to the fact that neither one had a history of traffic misdemeanors.  Mr. Litz was the only one wearing a helmet, according to the accident report filed with the local police.

Mr. Litz stated that the accident cracked his helmet, and he received "scratches" on his back.  The other participant seemed none the worse for wear, but fled the scene before officers could arrive.  Although not verified as we go to press, it is likely that the bear will be charged with "failure to yield the right-of-way," and with "leaving the scene of an accident."

If Frodo had been the police officer-in-charge, he would've let the bear off with a warning.  Frodo also would've initiated an investigation into what exactly a Middle School Teacher at the "Target Range Middle School" teaches; or what he smokes.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 3:16 PM EDT

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Mood:  on fire

Richard Milhous Nixon was an uninspiring man.  When Nixon was nominated to become the Republican candidate for President  the second time around, his selectee for Vice-President was a virtually unknown Governor from an incredibly small State.  Politically undistinguished nationally, Spiro Ted Agnew of Maryland used his communication skills as a "surrogate" for the verbally-challenged Nixon.  It did not take long for Agnew to charge into the "liberal media" with phrases like "Nattering nabobs of negativism," seeking to change the battle from one of issues, to one of personalities.  Hubert Humphrey was the first victim, and the United States of America came next.

Agnew was challenged by a predisposition to illegal activity.  The absence of ethics by a sitting Vice President of the United States helped to create a Consitutional crisis of epic proportion.  Frodo, and the entire Brotherhood remains grateful to this day to Gerald Ford and others who acted in behalf of their country, first.

Tonight, a chill ran up Frodo's spine, as memories came rushing back to a time, again, where issues were ignored by some, in favor of personalities.  Another Vice Presidential candidate showed herself to be something less than what was advertised.  The symbolism is pretty apparent to Frodo.  Change, you say?  Hardly.

Frodo called the local "community organizer" and offered to do something more than to simply send a check, to attach a bumper sticker, or to put a sign in front of the Shire.  Frodo remembered the fervor and the devotion of the one he calls "Falzone for America," and this time, Frodo promised to do something more.  The Ring will only be destroyed if Frodo picks up the phone and calls, and calls.  Maybe it will be the Hobbit on your front porch, dear reader.  Please answer.

Because the world depends on us.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:16 PM EDT

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Mood:  sad

The thing that amazes Frodo most of all is that, as far as he now knows, he never met a single person who had died on the 11th Day of September, 2001.  Despite his many trips into New York and Washington, and his many business contacts with people in the financial and military worlds, not one single casualty was an acquaintance of the Hobbit.  It should be added that for some strange reason, Frodo feels ashamed.  

How fitting, thinks Frodo, that his title this evening is Elvis Presley, singing about "Kentucky Rain."  When Elvis died, Frodo left his youth behind, but it was the events of the 11th Day of September that suddenly brought Frodo into a confrontation with the final third of his own existence.  He has found himself raging, as Dylan Thomas might have said, "against the light," as if he might, indeed, not go gently into that good night. 

Now, more than ever, Frodo is concerned about principle.  Reluctant to mask the truth for any reason, and unwilling to accept inequity, he finds himself increasingly torn by the fires of a generation soon to disappear forever.  Hard work, and sacrifice, cannot erase the trivialities which characterize the final breaths of those who shaped and formed he who is the Hobbit.  Frodo, every day it seems, laments the loss of civility in their lives, and promises, once again, that he shall not do the same.

How ironic it is that Frodo thinks about the 11th Day of September, and wishes that something so vile, so horrendous, could have been the vessel that served the end for those who now suffer, in heart and mind.  It would have been quicker, and less brutal.  It would have given Frodo something to cry about.

Crying is not all bad.    

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:13 PM EDT

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Frodo, not unlike most of us, is very fond of certain words and phrases, for they often appear in his writings and in his words.  "Independently inventing the wheel," is a phrase he often uses to demonstrate the arrogance of those who seem to feel that they are unique in all the world.  Frodo, on the other hand, happens to believe that there is no problem confronting man or Hobbit which appears for the first time today.  Somewhere, at some time in the more than 10,000 years of upright bipedal locomotion, it has all happened before.  That, of course, gives rise to the saying, "He who does not learn from history is bound to repeat it."

In Spain, the government has submitted a plan to fight soaring unemployment (now at 6.1% in the US of A) by shutting the door on foreign workers.  The Labor Minister announced this week that the number of work visas granted abroad to workers eager to get low-skill jobs in Spain will "get close to zero."  Critics argue that the plan is "mean-spirited and futile."  Frodo kept looking to see what words of wisdom some Spanish Lou Dobbs might potentially offer to the controversy.  Amid the silence, Frodo did note that Spain borders only Portugal and France, with Morocco staring across the Pillars of Hercules into Europe.  Frodo assumes therefore that Moroccco is the source of the Spanish problem.

Frodo wonders what the Spanish word for "wetback" is, when applied to African emigres.  If, as most conservatives would note, the government simply refused to legally recognize tempoary workers, then there would have to be a prescription for the subsequent problems to follow.  Following in the current American tradition, the Spaniards will probably build a wall, and issue firearms to any citizen demanding the right to defend home and hearth from the infidels. 

What is inherent in the Spanish situation is the fact that, since the legislation only addresses "low-skill" jobs, then it must imply that there are "Two Spains."  There is a Spain which basks in the good life of a civilized and fruitful society, and there is another Spain in which society fails to deliver on the promise of a happy and productive existence.  There is, quite likely, a barrister somewhere in Spain who speaks of this, while seeking a potential political career.  He is probably under observation by the Spanish-language version of the "National Enquirer."

There are, of course, many parallels to be drawn in this analogy, and it could very easily be compared to present situations in Great Britain (Turks), Germany (Eastern Europeans), or even China (Sunni Muslims).  To add even greater perspective, it is not obstreperous to examine the flow of Chinese into the American West and Arabs into the American South, all for the purpose of constructing railroad beds during the 19th century.

These parallels ought to be providing our leadership with some greater insight into the peaceful reconciliation of problems in today's world.  Simply because what we face to day doesn't differ much from that which happened in other places, at other times.

The problem with the past eight years was that nobody took the time, or suffered the indignation, to ask questions.  The cowboys in charge were "afraid" to stop and ask directions.

Now what is the difference between a "maverick" and a "cowboy?"  Despite "Brokeback Mountain," the answer is not "lipstick."  Note, dear reader, that the similarity between the two is much greater than the differences.  Neither is noted for operating logically, rather it is as if they were inventing the wheel, for the first time.   Let us hope that history does not condemn us to a repetition of the circumstances which have brought us to the very caverns of Mount Doom. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 4:31 PM EDT

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Mood:  don't ask

Todd Cruz, age 53, died yestereday.  Todd Cruz was a professional baseball player who happened to be a member of the Baltimore Orioles on their championship team in 1983.  Frodo knows because he was a big fan, at the time, of the team they defeated in the World Series, the Philadelphia Phillies.

Tom had lived in Baltimore his whole life, and was even more of a sports fan than his friend, Frodo.  The two friends bet on everything, and reveled in Pyrrhic victories which caused the other to buy the beer, or crack the crabs.  When there was no game, they tested each other in trivia from games past.  Frodo fondly remembers upsetting his friend when he could name each of the four Baltimore pitchers who won 20 or more games in the same season, the only time in the entire history of the game that such has occurred. (Answer below for anyone stricken with a need to know; Frodo will be disappointed by any reader from the gentler sex who is unable to name the one who was a model for underwear at the time).

When Frodo lost the bet on the 1983 World Series, he had to go to Baltimore and purchase a plateful of steamed crabs (Note:  steamed, not boiled).  Sharing the crabs, even in a losing cause was, well, not to be forgotten. While there, his friend gave him a Baltimore Orioles "World Champion" Tee Shirt.  Frodo still has that shirt, although it reflects the hard use of a quarter century.

Tom died several years ago.  Frodo always figured it was a combination of Carling Black Label Beer, Kool cigarettes, and steamed crabs.  Frodo realized as he thought of his old friend, that he can no longer remember his last name.  Sometimes we let the important stuff just slip away, don't we?

(Trivia Answer:  Dave McNally, Pat Dobson, Mike Cuellar, and Jim Palmer).

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:30 PM EDT

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Mood:  happy

Frodo and Sam enjoyed the time in the City of Orleans.  There has always been an ambience to living on the edge, with little regard for what may come tomorrow.  Frodo came to know people who opened a "Christmas Club" at the local bank which they used for the purpose of purchasing beads and other "throws" during Mardi Gras.  Never giving a thought to putting something away for the proverbial "rainy day," all of their creative energy was ushered into celebrations, be they of life, or of death.  Frodo and Sam were captivated by the good times, and the bacchanalian aspect of a Hobbit's time and place.

Frodo had little experience of a maritime nature, so when he discovered an advertisement for a 10 foot styrofoam sailboat, distributed by the manufacturers of "Kool" cigarettes, he imagined himself learning to sail on one of the many bodies of water surrounding his residence in the City of Orleans.  Oftentimes he subsequently saw himself as a young Kennedyesque figure, with wind-blown hair and a smile into the sunlight.  In all, the boat turned out to be a pretty good investment, because Frodo did learn to sail, and he devoted many hours and reaped worlds of pleasure, which was what life was supposed to be in the "Big Easy."

Eventually, the purveyors of Mount Doom called Frodo to another assignment in a far-off place.  While there, he was held as a prisoner-of-war (and John McCain thought he had it rough, have you, dear reader, ever been to Philadelphia?).  Sam remained behind for a period of time, taking care of certain business interests, and Frodo's sailboat sat, tethered to the back door, with no one to guide her bow to the wind.  That is, until an alien object captured the proper barometric pressure and developed a meterological happening. 

Hurricanes are something that wise people take seriously.  One out of ten may actually threaten life and limb, so many people, particularly those who give little thought to the morrow, do not pay them proper homage.  Sam is not such an individual.  Sam was very concerned about what to do in the event that the coming storm should strike with no Frodo at home.  Sam used the telecommunications channel to correspond with the enslaved insurgent in Philadelphia, seeking guidance in the event of high water, and the need to seek safer clime.  Frodo, unwisely as he now recalls, pointed out to Sam that there was a sailboat in the backyard, and it would be a good idea for Sam to tie the boat by rope through the second-story window.

"The second story," screamed Sam.  "You want me, and two canines, to clamber out a window into a styrofoam boat, and to just fly magically to some mountaintop in Tennessee?"

Frodo, as noted previously, quickly realized the folly of his suggestion.  Sam's position was that Frodo should get his butt back by nightfall, in his motorcar, and transport all that was precious in his life, with or without time off for good behavior, even if he had to scale a prison wall. 

Frodo noted the wisdom of Sam's position.

Fortunately, the hurricane shifted far to the West, and struck the coast of Texas, thereby presenting no danger to any civilized life form.

Shortly thereafter Frodo returned to the City of Orleans to combine Sam, Prissy and Gumbo (canine associates of that era), and requisite provisions into a single family unit again.  The "Kool" sailboat was still tethered to the back door, and the chapter in Frodo's life that neglected responsibility came to an end as the motorcar crossed the I-10 Bridge.   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:30 PM EDT

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