Mood:  hug me

Some of the following, for some, will be somehat familiar, but all need to know that Tom Bombadil is a good man.  It was on a drive to the coast that the half-beagle, half-dachshund was discovered in the median of the endless highway.  Infested with ticks, and suffering a deformed foot, the less obvious heartworms were potentially fatal.  It was a kind act of generosity that this big and gentle man picked up the small dog, and brought her home from the road to Savannah.

Savannah prospered as the years passed, alongside her ancient friend named Canaan, and she grew especially fond of Fiona, her next-door neighbor in the Shire.  Just when it seemed that all her troubles where behind her, Savannah awoke one morning, and was unable to walk.  Tom Bombadil learned that this affliction is not uncommon in the long and low, and that, over time, it might heal itself.  In the interim, he had a small chariot fashioned for the queen, who adapted to the refreshed mobility with vigor.  So much so that Tom Bombadil often found her hundreds of yards away in the playground in the School of the Shire, visiting with the curious.  Tom Bombadil noted that many of the concerned and curious were, pardon the expression, "babes," and a new symbiosis was discovered for the formerly-married Tom Bombadil.

Tom Bombadil was suffering financial setbacks which have continued to this very moment.  He never, ever, let that detract from his concern on behalf of Savannah.  With Sam's counsel, he sought the advice of an acupuncturist, and took Savannah in for treatment with regularity.  Over time, the treatments proved helpful.  However, unfortunately, the muscles had atrophied so greatly that she simply lacked the muscular structure to return to normalcy.  As more time passed, Savannah took it all in stride, since she had learned to perform "wheelies," and had climbed Kennesaw Mountain, with only minor assistance.  Tom Bombadil learned to carry her outside whenever nature called, and to assist her in the disposition of waste.  Again, it seemed as if her distress was at an end.

Cancer is as threatening to the canine as it is to the Hobbit.  Tumors became as obvious beneath the skin, as did those which pushed outward and ruptured.  The veterinarian told Tom Bombadil that he now estimated her to be "just about 19 years old."  Despite the magnitude, it also meant that further treatment was beyond the call to good judgment.

Sam was distraught.  Savannah had a special place in her heart for anyone who would deliver cookies on command, like Sam.  Sam thought it especially cruel that such a good and loving owner would be coming home to an empty house, amid the distress of mortgage payments lagging behind and multiple jobs offering little assistance.   

Tom Bombadil sought advice from Frodo.  Frodo, experienced in such matters, told him that a good, deep grave would be therapeutic, as if it were one more gift he could offer to his companion, and helped Tom select a spot near the flowers surrounding the bird bath.  Frodo noted, yesterday, that Tom started to dig, although it had been Frodo's intent that Tom do so afterwards, rather than in preparation.

Today was the topical.  Frodo came home, and Sam stood with him as they peered across the fence.  The mound of dirt was still there, and the grave was empty.  Tom was nowhere to be seen.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:53 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  spacey

In the days before the 1996 Olympic Summer Games in Atlanta, there was a substantial effort by the city fathers to at least appear prepared for the onslaught of visitors from around the world.  Frodo knew that, in the end, something would happen to portray the local populace as rubes.  Not least of these was the telephone call received in the domestic call center from a gentleman in New Mexico who wished to purchase tickets for the track & field events.  The customer service personage was polite, but forceful, directing the caller back to the international call center, since he was calling from a foreign country, New Mexico.  We all know exactly how foreign New Mexico is to anyone from Georgia.

Frodo is relieved to report that his residence in the Shire has now been outdone by residents in the great State of Utah.  It happened just the other day when Craig Jessop, Principal of Rocky Mountain Junior High School in West Haven, sent young Gavin McFarland, age 14, home early.  Principal Jessop it seemed, was concerned about the kilt that Master McFarland had worn, two days in a row, as a prop for an art project.  Principal Jessop felt that his clothing could be misconstrued as "cross-dressing."

Frodo watched "Braveheart" again the other night, and he can attest to the fact that Mel Gibson demonstrated to all the world, except perhaps West Haven Utah, that Scots definitely had balls.  Frodo wonders if Principal Jessop's career before school administration was with Ticketron?  Surely there can't be two people ifrom the greatest country in the history of Man to actually be so damn dumb (Persons representing minority party status excepted, of course)?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:16 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  bright

Frodo has previously written about recurrent dreams from his days at the College of the Shire.  Without explanation, he may still awaken convinced that he is three credits short of graduation.  It is rare however that Frodo determines to take pen in hand (or keyboard en lap) in order to communicate something important as if he were an academician-in-training.  He has felt that way ever since he finished reading "Charlie Wilson's War" by George Crile, then watched the movie by the same title, starring Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts, and the incredibly talented Philip Seymour Hoffman.  Add in the Diaspora of Nancy Pelosi, and Frodo feels that he must structure a few syllables in order to put some perspective on the stumbling Speaker of the House of Representatives.

"Charlie Wilson's War" is a book that should indeed be read by everyone.  Unfortunately, George W. Bush will be among the most prominent of those unable to find time to assimilate the factual presentation of how the United States came to provide the means for the mujahideen to defeat the Soviet Army and to set the stage for our present unpleasantness following in their footsteps.  Throughout his reading, Frodo was struck by the precision shown by the author as he defined the relationship between the elected officials, usually former Rep Charles Wilson (D-TX), and the federal employess (usually from the Clandestine Services of the CIA).

The relationship between the Members of Congress and CIA employees has a sharp surge of relevance due to the cross-hairs fixed on Ms. Pelosi, and her own feeble attempts to put things into context.   In the book it is clearly and definitively established that the "briefings" provided to Members of Congress are far afield from what most people seem to think.  For the most part, the briefings are "one-on-one" and differ in both tone and content, depending on who does the briefing, and who is being briefed.  Charlie Wilson, for example, built a relationship of trust with the CIA employee giving him a briefing, and the CIA employee (Gust Avrakotos, in real life) found himself dealing with a Congressional benefactor who was not only knowledgeable about Afghanistan, but was serious about doing something important.  These two guys went toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose, on specific points, and the briefings must have been amazing.  They, in fact, determined policy together, and they therefore probably broke the law.

Imagine however, if Gust developed "Swine Flu," and was home sick for several days when he was supposed to be briefing Wilson.  Whoever would have replaced him would have been much more circumspect, and certainly less "sharing," if you will, about the items on hand.  Remember dear reader, this was not a committee hearing, and there is no official record about the briefing, only the "notes" entered into "the file" by the CIA employee.   The employee, regardless of responsibility is classified as a government "bureaucrat," evaluated and compensated in exactly the same manner as your local IRS Auditor, Customs Inspector, or Social Security Benefits Analyst.  They are employees of the Executive Branch of Government, and their "briefings" of Members of Congress are a courtesy, with the subject matter limited at the direction of the Administration.

It is likely, in Frodo's mind, and pulling from his own experience, that Ms. Pelosi was, by benefit of office, receiving briefings from CIA employees.  Despite her rank in the Congress, she probably had a lesser degree of interest in these specific issues, as presented, than would someone, like Charlie Wilson, who was living, breathing, drinking every bit of information he could get.  Charlie Wilson would have determined immediately, had the situations changed, that the CIA was doing some really heavy stuff in attempting to elicit information from detainees.  Ms. Pelosi, with all due respect, had all sorts of other things on her mind, domestic and foreign, and simply didn't pick up on the severity of the issue.   Therein lies the "mea culpa" of Nancy Pelosi.

Frodo doesn't think the CIA lied, in this instance.  They just didn't answer the questions that had not been asked.  Frodo, as a "bureaucrat" would have done exactly the same thing, unless, of course, he felt it imperative to share classified information outside the limits of the law.  Had he done so, Frodo would still be in jail.  Had Ms. Pelosi been so alerted, John Kerry may have been elected President in 2004 (and gasp, John Edwards). 

Therein lies the lesson.  Class dismissed.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 4:49 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  vegas lucky

There is a stretch of road that intersects from the west with Interstate 75 at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville.  Since it bypasses the local airport, the cognomen quite naturally evolved into "Airport Highway."  It always struck the transient Frodo suspiciously that nearly all of the available real estate alongside the Airline Highway has been devoted to automobile dealerships.  That, dear reader, is probably one more piece of Americana that is about to face a significant alteration .

What replaces the vacant showrooms?  Does this stretch of road now become "Hamburger Highway," offering the McDonald's Corporation the opportunity to get your business, coming or going?  What about the people named Chuck Clancy or Greg Baranco?  Do salesman simply go and find something else to sell, maybe offering you cash for your golden rings, thereby becoming the "Pawnshop Parkway."  What will the local governments do to offset the loss in sales and property taxes from businesses that no longer exist?  Will entrepreneurs and start-up companies emerge to start over again, simply because there is no one to hire them, offering a potential "Millionaires' Multiplex?"

In "Dances With Wolves, " Kevin Costner comes into contact with a noble people who ask themselves great questions.  They want to know how their lives will change.  They are confronted by a lessening of the precious resources which have sustained them since their fathers were young men, and they fear that "Buffalo Boulevard" will soon become an empty path.  They debate their choices, and they smoke the sacred pipe so that what they do will be ensconced with the blessings of the spirits.

Frodo wonders if Chief Dan George is still alive?  What about the noble actor who appeared in that great environmental message with a tear in his eye as he looked out over a factory belching smoke above the wide plains?  Frodo supposes they are gone now.  He will probably think about them a great deal more, and certainly when next he drives the "Airline Highway."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:28 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  on fire

"You do what you say you're going to do, that's the example you set," so said the firebrand Frodo.  "After all," he continued, "the entire premise has been 'transparency,' so that all the Citizens of Middle Earth will be able to see and hear the truth; so that they can be informed as well as wise."

"Mr. Frodo, there are an awful lot of people who think that the President is acting wisely, even if he is changing his mind.  After all. . ."

"What are you saying?," screamed Frodo, "How can anyone argue that a bunch of stupid pictures are a threat to anyone else?"

"Well Mr. Frodo, our soldiers overseas. . ."

"Our soldiers?  You moron," said the usually taciturn Hobbit, "the only danger pictures present are self-inflicted wounds to very lonely enlisted men, and women too, I guess."

"Sir, are you saying. . ."

"I'm saying that releasing all of the photographs will allow everyone to judge for themselves," said the red-faced hero of Mount Doom.  "A silicon-additive to a rather plain exterior worked with Pamela Anderson, but for Carrie Prejean, the product is neither offensive nor titillating.  The President should release all of the pictures."

"Uh, Sir, I think you. . ."

"You can think anything you want," spoke the crusading liberal, "but the only way to maintain the public trust is to keep your commitments.  The loss of a single beauty pageant title is no reason to give the opposition an avenue of attack against the new Administration." 

"This has nothing to do with Miss USA. . ."

"That's correct, it is a much more important issue," proffered the jurisprudent one, "going back to the Supreme Court definition of obscenity. . ."

"Sir, it is about Abu Ghraib!"

Just then a familiar refrain is heard by all those witnessing the dialogue between Frodo and Sir Robert of Gibbs, it went "Da-da-da-dot-dot-dotta-dot-dot-dot," and Frodo spoke.  "Excuse me, that's my cell."

"Yo Merry, can I get back with you?  I'm here with. . .Oh, you know that?. . .You're watching us now, you say."

A pregnant pause ensues.

"Gotcha, the pictures they're talking about aren't the nude photos of Miss California USA, but of a bunch of "Madrassah Monties" being abused by military personnel as well as mercenaries from the Land of Cheney.  I see.  Thanks, Merry.  Back atcha."

"Never mind," said Frodo to the embattled Sir Robert of Gibbs, "but in case you hadn't noticed, my cellphone plays 'Dixie'."

Gibbs' cellphone rang.  "Yes Sir.  I'll let him know you were watching."  Frodo shuffled his feet under the gaze of Helen Thomas.  "Yes Sir," added Gibbs, "an excellent suggestion."  He hung up and smirked.

"Mr. Frodo," said Gibbs, "the President would like you to join him on Air Force One for a flight to Phoenix."  Frodo was stunned.  "Yes, he thinks you deserve the honorary degree from a school that accepts 92% of all applicants for admission."

Frodo promised himself, once again, to stop taking himself so seriously. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:06 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  not sure

Frodo is not naive.  He did, however, grow up believing that the world was a lot like the topic Gary Cooper film.  It was not until some outside force interrupted peace and tranquility with mortal danger that the musket was removed from its spot above the fireplace mantel.  Once the threat was vanquished, there would be plenty of time to consider the response, and to seek forgiveness for the violence that ensued.  What mattered was that the musket would be returned to the same spot above the mantel, and that the victory would be remembered as much for its cost, as for its reward.

Frodo laments the loss of Gary Cooper.  The community is not the same, tolerating behavior and response which gives rise to violence as opposed to an unalterable avoidance.  It thus became acceptable for the community to strike first, believing that the soldiers camped down by the river were soon to do the same, and that "turning the other cheek" would be fatal.  The words shared in the Meeting House no longer guide the community.

Anthony Perkins, in his first film, found himself justifying acts which were taken to reduce the potential of future threats to the community.  Despite the community resolve to follow the values upon which each and every homestead had been constructed, unspeakable, nay, inhumane, acts were tolerated, as necessary.  Many, many days would pass before any would again stand in the Meeting House to decry the fact that violence was initiated without regard to the very canons of community.  Acts of violence had been tolerated, even against those unable to defend themselves.

Frodo grew up believing that all Americans were like Gary Cooper and his family, and that all of us shared in that community.  When Gary took that musket down, he did so with the intent of destroying that which first struck, but only after he had exhausted every peaceful means of resolution.  When the fighting was over, the vanquished were treated and offered the opportunity to become a part of the better community.  The Meeting House then became the community forum for forgiveness, compassion, and salvation.

Frodo wearies of talk about torture.  Justification and denial of responsibility are characteristic responses to violence and cruelty.  For those who justify acts of violence there is no mention of "doing unto others."  For those who deny responsibility for violence and cruelty, there is an uncanny reflection of Pontius Pilate and a bowl of water. 

Funny it is that there is no reference by any of these to the values of the Meeting House.  The reference is only to saving lives.  Souls, Frodo supposes, are something we lost when Gary Cooper died.          

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:00 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  party time!

Occasionally Frodo will get sucked into something and will find that he is unable to get out.   It used to happen to him when he wore the wrong kind of shoes after a big rainstorm, and walked among the puddles.  These days however, Frodo actually begins to pay attention to something he swore would be of no interest whatsoever.  The result can be just as unpleasant as the view of your shoe stuck in the mud from the vantage point of a socking foot hovering nervously above.

Diane Sawyer has always been a little "too, too" for Frodo.  When first he heard the broadcaster talk about her younger days growing up in Kentucky, all Frodo could think of was a fashionable hat, a mint julep, and a bunch of "silly boys" trying to impress her on Derby Day.  Her days in the Nixon White House, and her subsequent appearances as a journalist left Frodo convinced that the most successful results in affirmative action always involve who looks the best.   

That was why Frodo became suspicious when he noted Ms. Sawyer in the Eastern Kentucky coalfields talking about Appalachia.  Ms. Sawyer was apparently purporting to understand why some people fail to rise above their situations in life.  Frodo thought he was going to puke.  Despite his fervor for opportunity and a helping hand, Frodo gets a wee bit defensive when the unknowing enter into insoluble circumstances and generalize about "what needs to be done."  He began to pay attention with the potential intent of blasting the bitch entirely out of her side-saddle with words like these.

It was then that she started to talk about "Mountain Dew."

Pepsi-Cola is the manufacturer of a soft drink with the highest sugar content among all such beverages.  Imbibing "Mountain Dew," is not dissimilar to the inhaling of "Kool" cigarettes, which is among those highest in levels of nicotine.  It is addictive, in its own manner, and the "market share" it enjoys in the Appalachian areas of Kentucky, West Virginia, Virginia, and Ohio is formidable.  At the same time, Frodo learned from Ms. Sawyer, in the same area, among the same people, the instances of tooth decay, dental disease, and tooth loss is the highest in the nation.

Frodo started to think about people he has known who live or lived in Appalachia.  Long has he considered dietary deficiency a prime reason for the inordinate obeseity of the populace therein, and a preference for beer over other beverages was always an assumption he made about adults.  To his shame, Frodo had not looked hard enough at the problem, and had failed to see that the sweet taste of "Mountain Dew" was replacing the protective saliva from the teeth of children.

There is a plastic bottle of "Mountain Dew" in nearly every refrigerator in West Virginia.  The empties litter the roadsides, and every convenience store has the light green liquid up front and center in the cooler.  The "sugar high" is a great pick-me-up on the way home from school, or while you're cruising around looking for girls.  "Mountain Dew" is the same branding as "Budweiser" to those looking for social acceptance.  The fact that so few take time to brush their teeth after drinking the crap tells the tale.

"Caveat emptor?"  How about selective marketing?

Frodo owes a debt and an apology to Diane Sawyer, but he also asks her what the hell she's going to do about it? 

Frodo has stopped drinking that crap, and he fully intends to communicate to Mr. Pepsi himself.  He won't make the mistake of blaming Pepsi for all the ills that befall those a rung or two down on the social ladder, but every hand needing help needs to know that being toothless doesn't do much for your chances at a better job.        

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:02 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  special

The following was inspired by a news item shown this evening by CBS Evening News.  Frodo expresses his gratitude for the opportunity to share some of this story.

Lieutenant William Brennan, of New Jersey, lost both his legs and slipped into an apparently irreversible coma while serving his country.  For months on end the young man's steel-blue eyes seemed to penetrate nothingness, and only artifical support guaranteed respiration.  In all candor, the medical staff at Walter Reed as well as the Lieutenant's Mom & Dad were concluding that his life had truly ended when that bomb exploded beneath him.  That did not mean that anybody was ready to give up, but the inevitable decision seemed, truly, inevitable.

Since the Lieutenant served in the 101st Airborne, it was only logical that commanding officers, past and present, came by frequently to express their support.  One of these, a certain David Petraeus, arrived in full uniform, with four stars on each of his shoulders.  Despite the glitter, and the encouraging words spoken at the bedside, Petraeus prepared to leave that evening feeling that he would not again see his comrade-in-arms. 

As Petraeus stepped away, something, perhaps deep in his own memory, made him stop and turn around.  He walked back to Brennan's bedside and loudly vocalized an old Cherokee Indian word, "Currahee."  Almost immediately, there was movement, as the young soldier began to thrash about.  He was responding.  It didn't take long for medical personnel and the Lieutenant's family to gather about his bed, as his body awoke from its' long nightmare.

Last week, almost a year later, Lieutenant William Brennan, 101st Airborne Division, US Army, was honored by his installation in the New Jersey State Hall of Fame.  General David Petraeus introduced the soldier to the throng, as he made his own way, on his artificial legs, to the podium.  At the urging of the General, the entire throng welcomed him with a long, and loud, "Currahee."

For the uninitiated, the 101st Airborne trains in Georgia, and a mountaintop, named Currahee, sits amid the obstacle courses and training facilities.  Running to the top of Currahee, and back, perhaps repeatedly, is drill-punishment for all those who serve in the 101st Airborne.  It is a word that each of them know, for it is the verbal bind between them, not unlike the "Semper Fi" of their brother Marines.

It was "Currahee" that stirred the unconscious of Lieutenant Brennan, and only one of his "Band of Brothers" would ever sense what it might mean to his comrade.

In the Cherokee language, "Currahee" means "To stand alone."

Frodo suddenly feels the need to step out under a star-filled sky, alone, and to count a few blessings.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:00 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  surprised

Edward James Olmos played a SCOTUS nominee, Hispanic no less.  Jimmy Smits played a one-term minority Congressman who runs for POTUS.  Alan Alda, the major opponent for the POTUS position, accepts the invitation to serve as Secretary of State in the new administration.  Allison Janney, Rob Lowe, Bradley Whitford, John Spencer all appear as characters who bear resemblances to Rahm Emanuel and Joe Biden, among others in the world as we now know it, dear reader.  The confluence of a fictional West Wing, and the adventures of a cheeseburger-eating community organizer raised in Hawaii bring new consideration to Frodo's belief that it is life, not art, which is the imitator.  

Several episodic creations of the fiction dealt with events surrounding the kidnapping of one of President Josiah Bartlett's daughters.  Several others dealt with an attempted assassination.  Unauthorized disclosure of state secrets brought the wrath of the President down on one of his most loyal staffers.  Frodo also readily recalls problems with the Vice President, trips into the heartland to confront the issue of ethanol as an alternative energy source, and a guy named Toby who arranged a military funeral for a homeless ex-Marine.  Admittedly, not all fiction, as these instances illustrate, results in factual life events on our small, blue planet, but it is extremely difficult to ignore circumstances which do follow upon the dreams.

Frodo embarked upon his quest to destroy the Ring because of what had been written by Lord Tolkien.  The creation, if that is indeed a proper term, was based upon a work that many felt was descriptive of Hitler's rise to power.  Lord Tolkien disputed that opinion, and Frodo subsequently interpreted what he had read to correspond neatly with the "books" of the Bible, and the disciples, and the return of the king, et al.  Aaron Sorkin's characters, and those who followed in real life, are just as vivid.  Perhaps it was this drama which inspired some to work so hard to bring change to our own Middle Earth.  In any event, Frodo is very, very grateful that, at least for one shining moment, Camelot. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:14 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink

Mood:  rushed

Frodo is used to a Sunday newspaper that takes all day to read, and lets him feel like he has a window to subject matter not necessarily a part of everyday conversation.  He enjoys learning about his computer, the birds in his backyard, new books, faraway destinations, the opinions of people who've actually been somewhere or done something, and why a 50-to-one shot wins the Derby.  It is Frodo's lament that the economics dictate a dimunition in the quality as well as the quantity of that offering these days, but nowhere does the lemming-like style of media management get more sickening than when the wind blows a little harder from the west.

All three major networks will interrupt the Sunday Evening News for the local weather simultaneously.  For the past month or so, it seems to occur every Sunday evening, and Frodo flips the channel only to be confronted by the exact same "doppler radar" presented either by the same guy who has done so since Thomas Edison lit him up, or by the newest resident of Atlanta who happens to have at least a 44-inch bust.  It goes without saying that CNN, MSNBC, and Faux are on auto-pilot and running re-runs of insipid interviews of dull people by interviewers trained at a school found only on matchbook covers.  Why, pray tell, asks Frodo, don't the three local national affiliates simply pool their resources and alternate "breaking news" about weather systems blowing in from Alabama that are making pretzels out of manufactured housing?

This evening, the storms started a little early.  One network was showing a basketball play-off game.  Another network was airing a play-off hockey match.  The other guys were showing a bunch of other guys playing golf.  Strange it was, thought Frodo, that none of the national media affiliates thought it important to do much more than run those ridiculously unintelligible "runners" across the bottom of the screens in order to warn all residents of Gunther County, Alabama, that hail may fall somewhere until about 10:15.  Such was the process until we reached the magic hour of national news.

What, exactly, is doppler radar?  Frodo notes a similarity with the X-ray machines they used to have in shoe stores that identified the mystery of ill-fitting Florsheims and concomitantly radiated a shrinking potential upon Frodo's genitalia. 

Frodo is looking to the West.  There are thunderclouds approaching, and that probaably means that Frodo's satellite TV system is about to report that it is searching for a signal.

The signal will probably be from doppler radar.

Andy Rooney, eat your heart out. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:32 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink