Mood:  quizzical

"Sometimes I sits and watches.  Sometimes I just sits."--author unknown. 

Many years ago, Frodo was in one of those elongated sessions whose functional purpose was to develop the professional skills of the Hobbit.  Amid a tour of the administrative records available in Jefferson County, Alabama, Frodo happened upon the gentleman whose responsibility was the local penal system.  The gentleman happened to be the brother of the recently-dismissed Manager of the Atlanta Braves Baseball Team.  It was an interesting and star-crossed discussion between two baseball fans, which ended with an invitation to Frodo and his companions (none of whom were Members of the Ring) to tour the Birmingham Jail.  Given that training sessions lasting more than 55 minutes generally suck beyond all comprehension, the invitation was readily accepted.

Frodo had probably never seen so many black people compressed into one building in his entire life, before or since.  Depression and angst deepened in the Hobbit as he listened to the cheerful warbling of his new-found friend who exulted in the sparkling clean facility housing those whose actions mandated confinement.  Frodo had little to say, and dropped back to the further reaches of the touring group.

Eventually, the entire group was brought into a single large room, with a line of individual cells against the rear wall.  One of the empty cells was smaller than all the rest, and it was apparent that it was designed for a single occupant.  When all were gathered therein, Frodo, now being far-removed from the tour guide, was standing in front of the single-occupant cell.  The Tour Guide waited untill all was quiet, then proudly announced that Frodo was standing in front of the cell that had housed Martin Luther King.  He asked if anyone would like to share in that experience.

Frodo pulled the door opened, entered the cell, and sat down on the metallic floor.  Frodo recalls only the peeling paint, and the rust-colored undercoat.  The structure was cool to the touch.  The Tour Guide slammed the door shut, and everyone laughed.  Except Frodo.  Frodo closed his eyes and let his thoughts broadcast a feature film into his memory.  When the door was opened again, Frodo just sat there, etching a few moments into his soul. 

When the tour was completed, Frodo thanked his host, and walked out into the sunshine.

The Men of Gondor joined Frodo yesterday, a day that seemingly symbolizes quiet reflection, in a tour of the home into which Martin Luther King was borne.  Sitting on Auburn Avenue, the home cost King's father $3500 when it was purchased and the property yet remains owned by his survivors.  All of the nearby homes are owned by the US Park Service, have been restored to their historic grandeur, and are held as rental housing with the Park Service as landlord.  Those few blocks look, as much as possible, just like they did when young Martin was formative.

After lunching at nearby "Thelma's" on ribs and black-eyed peas, cornbread, and sweet tea, Frodo noted the omipresent panhandlers and homeless up and down Auburn Avenue.  Every corner, except those in the museum and restored areas, was crowded with black faces, gaunt and drawn.   Each seemed to have his (or her) own approach to a potential target like Frodo.  The object being to engage him in conversation, make eye contact, and then secure some "spare change."

Driving back to Mount Doom in his motorcar, Frodo thought only of how crowded that single jail cell in his memory now seems to have become.  There was no sunshine, just a gray sky, and a roadsign pointing to "75 North," toward home. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:18 AM EDT

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Mood:  accident prone

Frodo is not one for serials.  Readers, to paraphrase Forrest Gump, are never sure what they're going to get when they click on the appropriate links to the Hobbit.  Except this time.

The Hobbit is increasingly concerned about events in another part of the world, again.  This, perhaps because of clamor in the media about all sorts of domestic issues, is not receiving enough careful analysis by the inhabitants of Middle Earth.  Frodo believes that the "heavy lifting" on healthcare reform is done, and that what remains is implementation.  Not to discount the importance of the issue, but Frodo, as explained a bit below, thinks another worm from the flick "Tremors" is in pursuit of the protagonists of truth and justice.

Reports this morning of 90 more Afghan deaths, 40 of whom are civilians, by "coalition" efforts underscore Frodo's concern.  Frodo knows, dear reader, that you know that there are 58,000 (give or take) American troops in Afghanistan right now.  Frodo also knows that you know, dear reader, that there is a very distinct probability that these numbers will increase significantly in days to come.  What Frodo also believes however, dear reader, is that you didn't know that there are 72,000 American mercenaries, also, in Afghanistan, at this very moment.  These are "employees" of firms with familiar sounding names, e.g. Halliburton, Blackwater, et al.

Anticipating your mental questioning, know that these "employees" are not subject to the terms of the Geneva Convention.  What's more, there is no distinct definition as to their duties and responsibilities.  That means that they can use deadly force if there is a perception of threat to life or property, and that their conduct is often intermingled, in the minds of the Afghani civilian population, with that of the regular Armed Forces.  The "employee" of Blackwater who sprays a truck with an automatic weapon is not viewed as an "employee," he is viewed as an American.  Perhaps it is better to refer to him as an "Ugly American." 

The reference above to a great narrative that is now more than forty years old is intentional.  The fact that there are more "employees" in Afghanistan than there are American soldiers should make everyone stop and ask the questions that are now running through your head, dear reader. 

Frodo is a believer in the fact that War should be expensive.  War should drain national wealth, it should cost many lives, it should produce immeasurable suffering.  For Frodo believes that the only way that History has shown the successful prevention of War is by the exposure of its terrible potential result.  It is a bad idea to seek to make War cost-effective by, for example, out-sourcing the responsibility for War to an "employee."  There is no room for "the best and the brightest" graduates of MBA School in the decision-making process leading to War.

We've been there, done that.   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:28 AM EDT

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Mood:  loud

Alexander the Great conquered the known world by the time he was 33 years of age.  Scrounging for a little perspective, Frodo noted that his forward progress was halted by the nickel defense utilized by the Camels of Afghanistan.

Crucified between his 33rd and 34th years, Jesus of Nazareth and his Band of Reknown arranged concerts and sent thank-you notes to their fans in Ephesus, Rome, and other campuses throughout the world as they knew it.  There is no record of any performance in Kabul.

Frodo read the James Michener book "Caravans" several years ago, and has subsequently paid homage to the writer who describes exactly how it has come to be that certain locations on our small, blue planet are so truly desolate.  It should be noted that he also wrote "Texas," which proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that he therefore was not required to write a book entitled "Hell."  This book was enough to convince Frodo that the Khyber Pass would not be included in his popularly-defined "bucket list."

What this little discussion does reflect is Frodo's increasing concern over the presence of Hobbits, Riders of Rohan, Dwarves, and Men of Gondor in a place that even Jesus didn't think was worth any of his 33 years.  Frodo is even more concerned that the greatest military leader of almost any age had his butt kicked by guys who looked much then as they do today.  The difference being that now they have RPG's and IED's (Frodo hopes that he has not confused his acronyms and erroneously described something inter-uterine).

It is easy to accept that the pursuit of mindless Orcs is a challenge which remains from the mishandling of the Incomparable Moron and his Puppeteer from Transylvania.  There is however, little evidence that the dissenters from the Koran remain in Afghanistan.  Those getting killed do include an awful lot of people who haven't done anything to anybody.  So what in the blazes are we doing there?  Why does Frodo spend time scanning the obtuaries to see if some kid he knows has just been blown to pieces?

If Frodo is wrong, then he errs on the side of the good guys.  He'd prefer not to see his healthcare dollars consumed by the Veterans Administration. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:18 PM EDT

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Mood:  down

Iva Ikuko Toguri developed an existing American import business, which continues some 61 years after she last went on trial for treason.  "Tokyo Rose" was the moniker given to the voices that drifted across lines of battle separating the "Greatest Generation" from the homeland they defended.  History has proven that there was no single voice dubbed "Tokyo Rose," in fact, the title itself was created by the soldiers who were subject to the broadcasts from behind enemy lines.  After the War, Toguri admitted to being "Tokyo Rose" in order to receive food and consumer products from reporters and military investigators (perhaps adding credence to the fact that one will admit to almost anything if enough pressure is applied).

Frodo has long contemplated the impact of radio on the psyche of those who spent countless hours listening to it.  Frodo has commented often on his long trips by motorcar, in the dead of night, listening to "John R" and "Jerry" .  It was the music that drew Frodo, but it was the romance of faraway places with strange sounding names that kept him tuned in.  Similarly, it was 78 RPM records in English played to lonesome boys in trenches halfway around the world that made an audience for "Tokyo Rose."  Today however, there is no music at all.

Frodo commits about 10 minutes a week to the airings of Rush Limbaugh.  Over the past couple of years, Frodo has come to believe that a goodly number of the call-ins to Limbaugh come either from those at work who travel by car and use their cellphone, or are "shut-in" for any number of reasons.  The universe that responds to the verbal diatribe have rejected the call of music during mid-day, and instead seek to voice the frustrations which accompany daylight hours.  Frodo does not seek to carry this theory to all of "talk radio," only to the Limbaugh audience to which he has paid attention.

Frustration is a breeding ground for outrageous behavior.  A simple germ of veracity, wrapped in the preposterous, is the formula used by Limbaugh to extend his influence.  Although he plays no music, he offers the entertainment that comes with the self-righteousness to which all are susceptible.  Who among us, dear reader, doesn't occasionally feel "put upon" by elements of our world, beyond our control?  This, argues Frodo, is not a great deal of different from the Hobbit dreaming of kisses in the dark or a soldier boy who wanted to go home and make babies.  It is "those guys" who make it difficult for us in radioland, and Rush Limbaugh keeps reminding people that they lost a sale, or have arthritis, and he alone understands their pain.

Tokyo Rush.  Call a spade a spade.  Pass it on.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:48 AM EDT

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Mood:  cool

All of Middle Earth is looking back tonight, in hopes of moving forward in days to come.  Sad it is that some events are overshadowed when eras collide, and choices are made, that are much bigger than whatever channel one watches on the black-and-white.  Frodo planned, as a result, to walk away from his gallant Braves in order to listen to the impossible dream, then to take note, dear reader, of something you probably never knew, but now may never forget.

The Beach Boys, not unlike many performers, were constantly approached by total strangers who just happened to be aspiring songwriters, having composed, coincidentally, the next major chart-buster for the chroniclers of the little deuce coupe.  One of those actual approaching aspirants went on to ignominy, rather than songwriting, his name was Charles Manson.

For reasons such as the above, it is understandingly very difficult for performers to meet each other in a casual setting.  After many attempts, and a long period of time, 44 years ago this evening, the most influential artists in all the world met, for the first time, informally, in the Los Angeles suburb of Bel Air.

The young men from Liverpool ducked down so that their motorcar could pass safely through the throng of young ladies gathered outside the gates of the rented California mansion.  When the group entered the room where he was, they noticed the musical instruments scattered all about, and after greetings were shared they sat down and mutually wondered what would come next.  Elvis finally said to John, "Well, if all you're going to do is stare at me, I think I'll go to bed."

After George returned from a little smoke around the pool, Elvis picked up a guitar, perched upon a bar stool, and started to strum a song making its round of poular radio of the day.  Paul remarked, "Hey, he's one of my favorites."

"Mine too," said Elvis, and after randomly securing scattered instruments, the Beatles joined in a jam session commencing with a rendition of "Mohair Sam," recorded by Charlie Rich.

"Charlie Rich?  You mean the guy who sang 'The Most Beautiful Girl,' 'Behind Closed Doors,' and had that bizzaro hair-do," queried Frodo?

Elvis Presley and the Beatles, perhaps the greatest assemblage of performing artists in the Post-War World, gathered together in friendship for the first time 44 years ago this evening, and they played and sang a Charlie Rich song together.

If that don't beat all.

Just a damn good thing they didn't watch Hee-Haw.

"Well-who is the hippie that's happenin' all over our town?  Tearin' up chicks with the message that he lays down.  Who is the coolest guy, what is, what am?  That's fast-talkin'-slow walkin'-good lookin' Mohair Sam. . ."

(1975 performance available on YouTube)

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:54 PM EDT

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Mood:  hug me

In jest, if not in truth, Frodo and Sam have always responded to inquiries about Fiona's parentage as "she is a minature Chocolate Lab."  Satisfying some, but mystifying most, that the twenty-nine pound brown mound of reknown is of a breed that until that point in time was unknown, has given special interest to those who go beyond in order to learn her name.  Children, especially little girls, immediately relate to her as the Princess from Shreck ("the most beautiful girl in the world") and would be disappointed to find out that the name emanates from a PBS disc jockey.  Some things in childhood are best left unsaid.

Fiona is clearly Sam's dog, however adventure beckons with Frodo, and weekends, either at Lake Lovey or in the Shire, are spent in close proximity to the leader of the pack.  Two weekends ago, Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, rode in the back seat of Frodo's motorcar in order to explore the Appalachian stronghold sans the presence of Sam.  Unbeknownst to Frodo until his return to the Shire, Fiona picked up some sort of infection, or bite, and spent the next several days biting on her own butt.  The resulting loss of hair and discoloration gave Frodo and Sam great concern, but the trusty associates at the Shire Veterinary Clinic were prompt to respond with a planned course of treatment.

When Frodo returned from his labors that day at Mount Doom, he was greeted by Fiona wearing one of those Elizabethan-style plastic funnels around her neck.  Frodo's first words to Sam were "Error Will Robinson, Error," for he surely assumed that the very determined canine would make short work of this alien contraption.  All knowingly, he observed as she bumped into chairs, plants, Mr. Beau Neau McKitty, and almost everything in the planned trajectory of her travels about the Shire.  Surely, he felt, this monstrosity will be in pieces when Frodo awakened the next morning, or so he thought.

Just before retiring each evening, Frodo takes Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, outside for the last urinary dispatch before bed.  Usually, Fiona goes directly to the lowest-mounted of the bird feeders in the Gardens of the Shire, in order to check on alien life forms attempting felonious activity.  The result generally being that once alerted the mouse, or mice, who have broken into the "squirrel-proof" feeders, flee ahead of Fiona and her efforts at the restoration of justice.  This time, however, something unique happened when Fiona snapped at the targeted mouse, and found that the escaping miscreant was trapped within the geographic scope of the collar, and the snapping molars of Fiona, the Merciless.

Frodo was stunned to watch sweet, little Fiona swing the mouse violently about in her jaws, and then to spit the lifeless carcass at the feet of Frodo.   Frodo had never before gazed into the countenance of one so similar in attitude to Attila the Hun.

Before the week of collar-wearing treatment was concluded, the corpus delicti count had reached three, and a probable temporary depletion of the vermin population was evident to even the casual observer.  Fiona had exhibited absolutely no problems in adapting to her new coiffure.

The collar has now been removed, and life is returning to normal, along with the fur all around Fiona's butt.  Fiona lies by Frodo's feet as he types these lines (she has always enjoyed being in the room while Frodo "chases the mouse").  Her feet kick in dreams, her nose twitches, and she shakes her head to-and-fro.  

Scratch one mouse at Heaven's Door.   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:22 PM EDT

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Mood:  a-ok

"President Obama Sir, we have a problem."

"A problem, you say?  I'm not sure we can limit our challenges to the singular Press Secretary Frodo."

"Sir, this guy Winfield Scott, as Commanding General of the Army, is a dinosaur.  There is no way we can meet the challenges of the latter-half of the 19th Century with him in charge of the Armed Forces."

"Well Frodo, if you'll recall, the cornerstone of my election campaign was the issue of change.  General Scott has served his country well, but I'm kind of leaning to this guy McClellan to replace him."

"McClellan?  Are you crazy?  That guy is the closest thing to Caesar's Cassius."

"He does have a 'lean and hungry' look, doesn't he?"

"Sir, he's a back-stabber, who uses words like 'bi-partisan' while he rips your heart out from behind."

"Well what about Ambrose Burnside?  He's a patrician, and those prominent 'sideburns' bring attention as soon as he enters a room."

"Yeah, but he is as dumb as a stump, and is probably better off working on a farm in Crawford, Texas."

"Where?"

"Never mind.  How about 'Fighting Joe' Hooker?  As they say, 'he takes no prisoners,' and he will quickly win the trust of the soldiers themselves."

"I just keep coming back to McClellan."

"Lord God Almighty, anybody but McClellan.  How about George Meade?" 

"I'm afraid we could hand him certain victory, and he'd stop to water his horse."

"Well, no arguments there.  You could try Henry Halleck."

"Halleck?  He could be in that job for three years before his secretary would recognize him."

"Ha, that's good.  You know, you could take a turn on the kids Sheridan or Sherman?"

"Well, you mentioned the problem there.  Neither one of them are barely prepared for anything beyond one Army, much less all of them.  I just wonder if McClellan isn't capable of growing into the job?"

"Sir, I'm telling you, that guy is a snake, and he will end up challenging you and your authority as leader of the free states."

"You know, maybe we need to get back once again to what we said we were going to do, and make a complete change."

"Sir, I'm telling you, doing nothing is not an alternative.  Winfield Scott can't handle it, and relying on somebody like McClellan to follow your orders would destroy all of your political capital with your supporters, and God knows we've lost almost all of them already.  In fact, some of the newspapers are reporting that you might not win re-election."

"I didn't take this job to stay in it the rest of my life."

"I know Sir, but my point is that people are questioning your ability to lead, particularly in this, the greatest potential crisis of confidence our young country has ever faced."

"Frodo, I know all of that.  I fully intend to live up to my committments, and one of those was to try and end the violence, the enmity that exists between North and South.  I may stumble a time or two, particularly with a General like McClellan, but, hopefully, the principles outlined by our fledgling democracy in our blessed Constitution and Declaration of Independence will temper the ill will that divides our nation."

"Sir, that's why I'm here."

"I, too, Mr. Frodo."

"Excuse me Sir, I have a problem to take up with General Scott before you meet with him."

"Oh, and what is that?"

"I'm not sure, it has something to do with one of our Generals who has been drinking on the job."

"Ha.  Sounds like he may be the only one with a shred of sense."   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 3:23 PM EDT

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Mood:  mischievious

Frodo feels no sorrow noting the passing of one who lived a bit longer than 96 years.  He was struck however by his immediate recognition of the man's words, if not his name.  The retired actor and TV announcer, Ed Reimers, died at his daughter's home in Saratoga Springs, New York, on Sunday.  For 22 years, starting in 1957, Reimers was best remembered for his words on behalf of his employer, "You're in good hands with Allstate."

What tickled Frodo's fantasy however were the obituary-like references to his other assignments as the voice of something well-known during Frodo's Hobbithood.   It seems that Reimers also served as the announcer for the black-and white Western "Maverick" which made James Garner its star.  Frodo chuckled when reminded that Reimers also served as the announcer for the TV Game Show "Do You Trust Your Wife?"

Hmmm, "Maverick," "Do You Trust Your Wife?," and "You're in good hands with Allstate."  Sounds like the rudimentary construction of sentences in the South Carolina Governor's Mansion, doesn't it?  Or maybe once upon a time in Alaska?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:17 PM EDT

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Mood:  crushed out

This will be, perhaps, for those familiar, the last mention of these protagonists in this epic.  Galadriel is no more, and not until she had passed was there a grandchild.  Boromir was never able to be alone, and the divorced pastor's wife became his new companion, too soon, for some.

The son of Boromir & Galadriel is a philsopher, and his contacts with those outside his sphere are few.  His concepts of sympathy and understanding fall prey to rational discourse on empiricism, and leave him in the loneliness that his father could never accept.  It is his choice, and a world in which he is happy.

The daughter was born to rolls of baby fat and "orangeish" red hair.  Frodo feared that she would be an ugly duckling for all her days, but she became the graceful swan with an angelic smile and an appreciation for Frodo's prose, even deeper than that of her mother.  The daughter grew in latest of years from antagonist to the best of friendships with the declining Galadriel.  Therein lies the tragedy of this tale, and the probable end thereto.

The divorcee contacted Boromir after the death of Galadriel, and less then three months later they met and discussed the pages in their respective lives, and how new chapters seemed blank.  Not too long thereafter Frodo learned that it was the intent of Boromir and the Divorcee to wed.  The daughter of Boromir and Galadriel was furious, and nothing that Boromir could say would assuage the pain.  The immediate response being that Boromir was forbidden to ever see the grandchild, named for the gentle Galadriel.  

Now, more than a year has passed, and last month Boromir and the divorcee were wed in another kingdom, far from the Shire.  A reception was held in a very nice establishment not far from the Shire for the newlyweds this past eve, and Frodo, led by an ephemeral Sam, grasped the hand of his friend and hugged him as two old warriors are prone to do.  Then he was introduced to the divorcee.

Frodo thought of his own mother.  She was not the "sex kitten" he had anticipated, she was actually almost dowdy, and she spent more time talking about her days at Yale Divinity, than she did in affairs of the heart.  Frodo, and Sam, in discussion after, both realized that there had been a dual human need for the sameness of relationship, as opposed to arousal, and that that had brought two people together, escaping loneliness and fearing a repeat of pubescent frustration.

Frodo remains frustrated and disappointed in the daughter of Boromir & Galadriel, for her failure to attend the reception, or to accept any reasoning discussion from any of the numerous guests who told Frodo of their sad experience in attempting to do so.  Her pain, her grief, is so great, that she cannot find forgiveness; she will not even try.

Many years ago, when Boromir had violated the trust to love and honor, it was Frodo, alone, who spoke not to his friend, but waited for him to come and to talk.  When that finally did happen, it cemented their bond as "brothers," and gave Galadriel great comfort in the support they shared with the Hobbits.  No others shared that trust from both Boromir & Galadriel.

Now, Frodo would like to approach the daughter of Boromir & Galadriel, and to shake her until her sense returned.  He must, however, do as he did before, and to wait until asked.  His silent prayer this day is that the day does come, and that Frodo can talk, without crying.  Some events in human terms go beyond the pale, but, Frodo supposes, that is why there is a heart located where there could just as easily be a second brain. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 2:57 PM EDT

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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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