Mood:  caffeinated

"Let's turn back," said Frodo, "to those thrilling days of yesteryear."

It will soon be eight years, and much has changed.  Not unlike many of us, Frodo has been reflecting upon the history of those days, and their impact on the day at hand.  The span of time between January 20th, 2001, and the Inaugural of George W. Bush as the 43rd President of the United States, to the events of the 11th day of September was just about a week short of eight months.  During that time, the President had spoken to the nation on televison, and had declared that an extension of federal funding for stem cell research would be prohibited.  Not unlike the major workings of the government itself, he also found time to vacation for the entire month of August.  Rumblings about Social Security Privatization, and tyrannical regimes in other parts of the world were in preparatory abeyance.  Tax rebates for the unwary, and tax cuts for the wealthy were in fact.

On the 12th day of September, with dust and debris all about, and shock on all our minds, questions were being raised.  It does not matter who was asking or who was answering, for the responses were identical. 

It was not his fault.

He had not been President long enough.

The prior Administration had been distracted and failed to dispose of the problem in its infancy.

The Intelligence apparatus failed.

The security of the nation had been weakened in the budget cutbacks initiated by his predecessor.

Too much freedom had been extended to the republic thereby threatening the safety of us all.

Yada, yada, yada.  Joe Scarborough, Karl Rove, Mary Matalin, Peter Jennings, Hillary Clinton, Donald Rumsfeld, Colin Powell, Dennis Hastert, Rudy Guiliani, Tom Daschle, Kaye Bailey Hutchinson, Clarence Thomas, George Allen, Chuck Norris, and you, dear reader, and if not you, certainly someone in your family, utttered one, if not all of the reasons why it wasn't his fault.

After September 12th it became his mantra.

In just about a month, it will be eight years.  The Bush Administration is a fading memory, pleasing few.  The new President is being hoisted with his own mantra nearly a full month ahead of the grace period granted his predecessor.  At this point, in the midst of an opposition continuing the displeasure of election defeat, President Obama has had his nationality, his loyalty, and his integrity questioned by those who feel that he is responsible for all their perceived ills.  Few, if any, repeat the arguments spoken on behalf of his predecessor, although consideration thereto need be uttered.

The prior Administration had eight years to deal with a pending economic tsunami, but their intelligence apparatus failed.  The deregulation of the banking system alone made all of us vulnerable to machinations we couldn't even define.  A monetary deficit, unparalleled in scope, the product of wars of choice and unseemly tax cuts, hinders the necessary capital expenditures which any recession places on society.  The threat is just as grave as it was eight years ago, albeit in very different ways.

Frodo wonders why one guy didn't feel any blame at all on September 12th, and another guy is blamed for everything from swine flu to Mrs. O'Leary's cow?  If there were any fairness in life or politics, nobody would blame Barack Obama for anything that has happened or been initiated prior to September 12th, 2009.

What gives Frodo so much hope, and so much confidence, is the fact that, unlike his predecessor, Barack Obama has learned not to take it personally, and to accept criticism as input.  Not unlike the Corporate CEO demonized during this period of economic challenge, Obama knows that his direct involvement at a premature moment is the error of the unwary.  Wisdom guides him to amass the input into a democratic product, which he can then stand and present as something truly American.

Think Frodo is overly optimistic?  Listen to Rush Limbaugh (for five minutes, if you can breathe through your mouth that long), and hear him lament that which is bound to come.

Frodo would love to see that happen on September the 12th, when our nation finally casts its lonely eyes on Joe DiMaggio.  If it happens the next day, so be it.  Frodo doesn't want to have any more dates to memorize.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:21 PM EDT

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Mood:  bright

Frodo once heard an actor define the "Self-made man as a horrible example of unskilled labor," something he has never forgotten.  Bill Gates, who never finished his degree program at Harvard, and went on to become, for a time being anyway, the "richest man in the world," is an example of a self-made man who seemingly defied the definition.  Gates, who founded MICROSOFT, just happened to have a technical disposition as well as a working knowledge of circuits and causal relationships which made the rigors of academia just a bit excessive.  Other examples speak for themselves.

Rush Limbaugh dropped out of Southeast Missouri State University. 

Sean Hannity dropped out of Adelphi University, and, for good measure, NYU.

Glenn Beck, after graduation from high school, started to work in radio stations (thereby negating the efficacy of even attempting to matriculate).

Bill O'Reilly graduated from Marist College, received a Master's (Broadcast Journalism) from Boston University, and a Master's in Public Administration from Harvard. 

Considering the public record, Frodo concludes that enrolling at Harvard is not a bad thing, but graduation is to be avoided.   By the same token, marginal high-school or college students who join the Radio Club should be encouraged to enlist in the military.  A mouth, it seems, without discipline or enlightenment, is nothing more than a terrible vessel of waste.         

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:28 PM EDT

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Mood:  irritated

Troup County surrounds West Point Lake, and is only about an hour south of the Atlanta airport on the Alabama State line.  This past November 16th, an unidentified deer hunter, herein referred to as "Rufus" for the sake of simplicity, was sitting in a "tree stand" waiting for Bambi's Dad to wander into his sights.  A "tree stand," for the uniniated, is a chair, with a safety belt, which these bulbous athletes use to rest their tired feet, and to camouflage as much of their torso as possible.  In this case, Rufus was about to be confronted with the only thing that fell outside his realm of preparation, i.e. a decision.

"Puma concolor" properly identifies a subspecies of the American Mountain Lion known as the "Florida Panther."  There are fewer than 120 of these creatures still alive on our small, blue planet, predominantly because of the ancestors of the intrepid Rufus.  What Rufus saw beneath him that day proved to be a 140 pound, four-year-old male, who had wandered over 650 miles from the last remaining territorial expanse of these endangered creatures, presumably in search of his own home.  We know all of these facts because of the autopsy performed on the panther by veterinarians at the Southeastern Cooperative Wildlife Disease Study at the University of Georgia.

Frodo recognizes that a 140 pound panther does present a certain level of threat, but to a fat guy in a tree, with a high-powered rifle?  That's right sports fans, our good ole boy Rufus didn't know what it was, so the only thing to do was to kill it. 

Frodo is hopeful that Rufus is not in anyway involved in the current unrest in the discourse about Health Insurance Reform.  We can't be sure however, since what wildlife law enforcers have refused to do is identify Rufus, much less charge him with any crime whatsoever.  To, Frodo, it is worth noting that it wasn't all that long ago that no charges would've been filed against someone like Rufus who might've shot at a black man, who probably weighed more than 140 pounds, and could probably climb a tree.

The victims get equal justice in Georgia, despite the written word in the book of laws.    

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:00 PM EDT

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Mood:  lyrical

Frodo thinks a lot about music, and how much it means to the world around him.  Although he would never be caught dead walking around with some sort of personal music machine, he does have his places and his times where music fills the air.  Driving in his motorcar, when a Scott Shannon broadcast has faded from clarity, provides him with an opportunity to catch up on CD's composed by friends and artists alike.  

Sam's dear friend Allen, a taxidriver in Edinborough, whose dream is to someday sing with Kenny Rogers, sends compilations of concerts recorded in castles strong.  Somehow, Frodo never thought about the Scots-Irish heritage in reverse, and how much it seems to move those tough guys whose ancestors had no love for anything like a British Invasion.  

Patsy and Joe were friends at the College of the Shire whose entire romance flourished as they danced to the music, and now they compile an annual masterpiece which is valued throughout the known world.  For more than twenty-five years they send precious friends a CD with songs not presented to the general public within the scope of aging memory.  Every tune is as fresh as if it were dripping from the lips of Otis, and his band, who made John Belushi scream "Toga, Toga."

There are, of course, theme productions, and single artist compilations, usually purchased at deep discount, which rarely age well.  It matters not to Frodo, for even Buck Owens can stir a TV memory with friends, playing karaoke and drinking beer, at the top of their lungs, before jungles and yellow men took them away, forever.  Disco music can be dangerous while driving, but the aging John Travolta sparks great amusement from those who peer in the window labeled "Obama-Biden" and see the white boy grin back.

If Frodo were a Congressperson, planning to spend the next several days speaking to his constituents about Health Care Reform, he thinks he would bring a sound system with him.  It is an adage that music soothes the savage beast; even, he imagines, cows and turkeys.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:07 PM EDT

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Mood:  cheeky

Frodo was deeply engrossed in the news of the day, and almost missed an apparent off-hand comment from the former Governor of Alaska.  Sarah Palin announced that there was no truth to the rumor that she and Todd were contemplating divorce.  Now Frodo is no authority on matters of this nature, but he learned a long time ago that a denial by a politician of something contemplated by absolutely no one generally precedes an event of some magnitude.  As he raised his eyes toward the black-and-white, the picture was changing to images of the masculine symbol of mighty Mother Russia.  It was another series of shots of Putin, bare-chested again, and his tensed "pecs", on horseback, and on display.

How could Frodo have missed the signs?

Sarah said that Putin was flying over all of the time, and that she was watching from her front porch.  Now, here he is, for the second time, in something like GQ, strutting his stuff.

Does the Appalachian Trail run from South Carolina through Alaska to Siberia?

Sarah resigns her position as Groovenator of Alaska, closing out her responsibilities with a rambling love poem that could be best scored with the music from a balalaika (and the irrepressible William Shatner doing his best Rod McKuen imitation).  She then fails to show up for her scheduled appearance to honor Ronald Reagan (which is not much different from the Pope missing Easter Sunday entirely). 

Hey, isn't that the same guy ticketed on the next Alaskan Airlines plane that sat up all night outside John Edwards' hotel room for the National Enquirer?

Inquiring minds want to know (wink) (wink). 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:14 PM EDT

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Mood:  d'oh

The following conversation was monitored by employees of the United States Department of Justice, authorized under the Patriot Act, and protected by the Memos of John Yoo.  Sergeant Frodo Baggins presiding.

"How ya been Dick?"

"Just fine.  Are you calling to tell me that you've changed your mind about Scooter?"

"No Dick."

(click)

(redial)  "Listen to me just a minute will ya, I've got something that'll really catch your house on fire."

"Whose idea was it?"

"Mine."

(click)

(redial)  "Dadgum it, this'll give you a chance to go one up on Gore, Clinton, and Obama, all at the same time."

"Hmm.  I'm listening."

"I want you, the former Vice President, to go to North Korea as my, the former President, as my Special Emissary."

(click)

(redial)  "Lissen here, this is the one thing you can do to get your approval ratings back above mine."

"Are you drinking again?"

"Dick, I want to put you on one of them unmarked passenger jets, free of any pre-flight security checks, carrying your favorite thirty-aught-six, and to blast that little pecker to Hell when he walks up to greet you in Pyongyang."

"Let me get this straight.  You want me to kill Jong Dong Ill or whatever his name is right there on the tarmac?"

"That's right.  But here comes the best part, then one of the flyboys, who's been back there keepin' the engine runnin', unfurls my old 'Mission Accomplished' banner from the tail of the plane.  You waddle back on board and the plane taxis right out of North Korean airspace before anybody realizes what's happened."

"I am absolutely stunned."

"Oh, oh, I almost forgot, and on the plane will be the entire cast of 'Fox and Friends' who will broadcast live over the South China Sea, interviewing the Man who kept his country safe.  In fact, ole Glenn Beck hisself will be there to shed a tear as he salutes the end of another part of the 'Axis of Evil'."

"Why wouldn't you do this yourself?"

"Dang Dick, you know you're a better shot than me, and besides you'd have a hoot shootin' at something other than quail or drunken barristers."

"What do you think the (gasp) President would say or do once I landed back in the States?"

"Who said anything about returning to Obamaland?"

"Where would I go then?"

"Ole Brother Rick Perry and me've already arranged that, we'd bring you right here to Texas for the announcement of our Secession."

"Texas is going to secede?"

"You mean we haven't already?"

Transmission interrupted. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:37 PM EDT

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Mood:  smelly

Doorbell Ringing.

"Hello, who is it?"

"Candygram."

That is the way the skit would begin, Jane Curtin would then open the door to Chevy Chase in a shark suit while the theme music from "Jaws" played in the background.  Frodo smiled as he thought about the scene on the porch at the home of Ms. Lucia Whalen this past Friday.  He wondered if the delivery person realized the significance of the task at hand, or if it was simply one more stop to make before returning to hearth and home. 

Frodo believes that the dozen red roses, and a simple handwritten apology, wasn't something out of the ordinary for any florist.  The fact that it was sent from Dr. Henry Louis Gates, Jr. to the lady who called 911 while observing a forced entry into the house down the street made it a rather "special delivery."

It also gave Frodo solace, knowing that, despite all our differences, and our rants and our raves, some of us do indeed have class.  

What will Glenn Beck have to say? 

Probably?

How about, "Candygram."  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:16 PM EDT

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Mood:  lazy

The day after Labor Day still stands there, for Frodo, as the end of green grass memory.  School began, and barefoot sprints were replaced by organized races on asphalt until Mrs. West, or Mrs. Kettler, or Mrs. Sibert, or Mrs. Armstrong demanded that Frodo open a book to Chapter 4.  For days to come, his eyes would drift beyond the open windows ushering some semblance of respiration to he who sat behind the foul-smelling Jimmy Dailey.  It was far too early to give up the ghost of summer, and make practical use of the confined exercises of mathematics and earth science.  It remains a mystery to Frodo how the month of August has since disappeared from the calendar, and brought those who follow the Hobbit into a classroom a full month early.

"Spring Break" now appears in elementary schools, and it signals the commencement of a family trip to the beach.  Such trips were unknown to he who saw no ocean until the day after his Senior Prom.  Schools were closed on Good Friday and Easter Monday, but this long weekend was usually devoted to church and family picnics, accompanied by major league baseball on the radio.  The fortunate few gathered on vacant red dirt diamonds in the schoolyard and played with five or six on a team, until the absence of light demanded that they seek shelter.  Far better days they were than sunburns on the Gulf Coast.

Some time ago, Frodo did some whitewater rafting on the Chatuge (remember "Deliverance'?), in August, and his band of adventurers were few in number for this very popular activity in the Appalachian region.  Frodo was informed by his guide, that the fact that "the schoolyear" now includes August has drastically affected the prosperity of those who plan and lead such activity.  Ever since that day, Frodo has thought about how, if not why, Middle Earth has felt it necessary to consume August, and to make it just another February.  Frodo knows well that an additional month of staring out those windows would have turned him to a life of crime.

Labor Day is still a month away, yet Frodo thinks about the passage of another summer when he finds himself sedentary and indoors.  Soon the buses will be aligned in the School of the Shire, and innumerable "no-neck monsters" (see Tennessee Williams) will be driven into corrals and imprisoned pending slaughter.  It will be as if summer never existed, and that August was merely an invention of fantasy in the mind of one small Hobbit.    

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:30 PM EDT

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Mood:  lucky

Frodo has always noticed Passion Flowers.  The wildflower, supposedly named for a resemblance to "The Cross" (which Frodo finds to be specious, at best) grows on a vine throughout much of the Appalachian region.  Beside the purple and white flower itself, a green fruit, about the size of a lemon, appears and is said to be a taste treat for certain species of monkey (please note the paucity of wild monkey in the area, once again making Frodo question the veracity of the informants).  Ever since Frodo removed most of the (blech) yellow pine trees from the Shire, he has allowed the vines of the Passion Flower to flow rampantly over the mulch and the low-lying bushes and tree limbs.  He has done so, not only because of his fascination with the flowers but because of the balance in Nature that becomes so easily visible.

Frittalaria are a species of butterfly.  Smaller than a Monarch or an Admiral, they are predominantly a bright orange in color, with little spots of black on the top of their wingspread.  They flutter mightily, and are visible, in one sub-form or another, almost everywhere in Middle Earth, except for that part of Northern Mexico known as Texas (which is an alternative explanation for Frodo's kind feelings toward these visitors to his garden).  Standing atop his front porch, Frodo can see the first of the bouncing butterflies in the Gardens of the Shire, and begins to peer into the undergrowth for the beginning of the miracle.

Passion Flowers are not the only host for Frittalaria, but they must be the favorite.  Right now there begins an abundance of caterpillars, all orange and black with the ugliest looking spikes all over, crawling upon the vines, denuding the plant down to the stringiest of garden detritus.  Once the deforestation is complete, these ugly caterpillars attach themselves nearby, thus bringing the transformation to a crescendo.  For it was a generation of Frittalaria that spread the pollen of the Passion Flower while consuming the nectar, allowing a season of plants to flourish, and providing food for the caterpillars anext.

The story of the Frittalaria is something that Frodo pieced together from his own observations, and a follow-up self-study in a butterfly book purchased at a yard sale.  The soon-to-be explosion of orange in his front yard will draw the attention of even casual passersby.  In a way, Frodo supposes, he has done something to foster, rather than fool, Mother nature. 

Not a bad way to start a new day.   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:27 AM EDT

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Mood:  surprised

Today, Frodo feels a little bit like a Cop in Cambridge.  With the absolute best of intentions, and thinking that he was doing the right thing, he ended up in a brine jar.  As a point of reference only, before we begin this nights tale, let us take note of the fact that Frodo, personally, is rated among the top 1% by all the credit rating agencies.  It reflects both a sense of accomplishment, and a sense of pride, to the industrious nature of our Hobbit friend.

Some months ago, Sam convinced Frodo that the residence in the Shire required some repairs and upgrades.  Despite the collapse of Frodo's business income, sufficient capital remained in savings to take advantage of the favorable offers gathered by Sam.  After much analysis, Sam selected a contractor who would perform certain services, and who would necessarily sub-contract some tasks in order to complete the contract.  Frodo observed as workers came and went, noting that many were Hispanic, and that progress seemed to be satisfactory.

When the work was completed, Sam paid the contractor in full and the Hobbits commenced their enjoyment in the refurbishments made to the Shire.  A few days later, one of the Hispanic employees of a sub-contractor knocked on Frodo's door, and told Frodo and Sam that he had not been paid by the sub-contractor.  In the presence of the Hispanic employee of the sub-contractor, Sam placed a telephone call to the contractor to alert him to the fact that one of his sub-contractors had evidently not fulfilled his obligation to his workers.  Sam And Frodo explained to the sub-contractor that they had fulfilled their responsibility, but would continue to follow up, simply to be fair to a hard-working guy who seemed to be the innocent victim of circumstances beyond his control.  Both Sam and Frodo were offended by the fact that the poor guy at the bottom of the food-chain was suffering because the money was not flowing as promised.

Several months passed, and nothing else was heard.  Yesterday, Sam called Frodo at Mount Doom, very upset, to tell him that a legal document had arrived in the mail, addressed to Sam and Frodo, informing them that a "mechanic's lien" had been filed with the County by the Hispanic employee of the sub-contractor against their residence in the Shire.  The letter was delivered through the US Mail in a hand-addressed envelope from said guy at the bottom of the food chain.

Frodo and Sam swung into action and Sam raised the roof with both the contractor and the sub-contractor.  At this point in time, it is now known that the Hispanic employee of the sub-contractor was paid, but that he felt it was insufficcient to meet the actual expense he incurred.  The sub-contractor alleges that the employee has not had sufficient work in the interim, and is using this avenue in order to garner enough money to "feed his family."  In short, the contractor is taking an Insurance Bond to the County in order to have the "mechanic's lien" negated, documenting in Court that Frodo and Sam have paid their debt, and that their residence should be removed from the onerous lien.  It will be required of Frodo that he monitor the credit rating agencies in order to assure himself that there is no negative impact on his sterling credit standing.

During the course, Frodo found himself using invective that was ethnically prejudicial.  He realized also that he was in the comparable position of the landholder who had been accused of mistreatment of those who worked in his behalf while harvesting his cotton.  He was, also, not unlike the Cop who thought he was doing his job, and that race was the furtherest thing from his mind when he busted that Harvard Professor for Disorderly Conduct.  Frodo also realized that the "little guy" was just doing everything he could to "feed his family."

Frodo does not often show the conservative stripe that runs along the seams of his trousers.  Tonight however, if that little jerk walked by the Shire, he'd better watch out for the motorcar that is bearing down on him from behind.  Frodo has also learned that he, and his public reputation, is completely vulnerable to the unscrupulous, and that he must increase his wary ways, and sacrifice his instinctive trust in fellow inhabitants of Middle Earth.  Frodo, it seems, was the one who truly acted "stupidly."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:08 PM EDT

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