Mood:  a-ok

Today, he took an unscheduled walk through Plot 60 of Arlington National Cemetery.  It was the first time in History that an American President walked through the tombstones in this hallowed ground.  These were the young men and women, at his feet, who rest from their service in Iraq or Afghanistan.  Surely, thought Frodo, he must be thinking of his earlier words, his promise, on this his first Veterans Day as the most important man in all the world.

From a distance, the cameras caught him approaching casually dressed young men who stood by a freshly-flowered grave.  When they looked up to see who approached, one immediately saluted and he received a salute in return.  There was a hand placed on a shoulder and words, silently offered and shared.  It is resoundingly flippant to refer to something so sacred as a "Kodak moment," but it is a picture that the Hobbit will retain in his frontal lobe for the days that remain to him.

A few moments ago the reports commenced that the President, not Obama, not even Barack Hussein Obama, but the President, announced that he was rejecting all of the military options submitted to him for action in Afghanistan.  It will be some time before we sift through all of the process so far, or even fully comprehend what this means for the course of action in days to come.

Frodo knows only how he feels, and, tonight, his heart soars like the hawk. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:57 PM EST

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Mood:  down

There is something very ominous in a sunrise which blazes across the horizon, giving life to a poor seaman's poetry.  Frodo knew that Hurricane Ida was entering the Gulf of Mexico as he scanned the headlines of his morning newspaper, and he was well aware of the fact that the Shire has already experienced 200% of its annual total rainfall.  The morrow will dawn without notice, since the circular weather patterns will again bring heavy rainfall to a saturated ecosystem in time for the morning rush hour.

It is enough to try the soul of a Hobbit, but it will pass as merely inconvenience amid other worries.  The advance information is that the President will probably announce, in a very few weeks, the deployment of tens of thousands of American troops to Afghanistan.  It is rumored, and rumors before bad news are generally prophetic, that there will be as many as 100,000 American troops in Afghanistan for many, many months to come.  Frodo is despondent, worried, and wishing that he could see anything which would make him feel otherwise.

The reporting is that all of the President's military advisers have counseled him to the direction which will soon become policy.  Frodo, in all candor, does not give a great deal of credence to military advisers, and America's history since the end of World War II supports Frodo's skepticism.  Soldiers, and Frodo speaks bluntly, are like accountants.  They perform a valuable service, we could not exist without them, but there has never been an accountant who could lead a nation for anything longer than a monthly reporting cycle.  So, too, goes it with soldiers, whose prowess on the battlefield ends when the white flag is raised and the enemy lays down his arms.  There is no place in these times for a MacArthuresque rule of a tribal society or an insurgent populace. 

There are rumblings in the distance and perhaps it is merely thunder, but Frodo fears the Four Horsemen are passing.  What trails behind will not go unnoticed, nor unforgiven.  Mankind again squanders his promise on the scabbard, and Frodo fears that the Ring was merely hidden, not destroyed. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:01 PM EST

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Mood:  spacey

Frodo wanted to be an astronaut.  Frodo wanted to be an astronaut, not like every little one wants to be a cowboy, or a fireman, or a psychologist (a la Niles Crane), but when he was older, Frodo wanted to be an astronaut.  The greatest obstacle to the achievement of this goal was his complete and utter ineptitude in anything touching on science or technology.  So Frodo determined that what NASA truly required was someone who could describe the wonders of the extraterrestrial from the platform of space, and who better than the smallest of all the wordsmiths in Middle Earth?

Frodo learned that Walter Cronkite had the same dream, and that he went so far as to actually propose his role in space exploration to powerful people in Houston, Washington, and beyond.  Frodo consoled himself that if Uncle Walter was unable to accompany Schirra, White, Conrad, or even Laika into Earth Orbit, then his failed dream was a surety.  Frodo decided therefore, that he would be a critic of any who attempted to take keyboard in hand and to describe the indescribable.  Frodo was never seriously challenged.

James Michener's "Space," may have been the worst of the magnificent writer's creations.  It was a pithy story, wrapped around success and tragedy on the dark side of the Moon, and the reader was left knowing even less than his imagination dared invent.  Frodo cannot recall any mind's picture even of a blast off, with requisite thunder and lightning of superhuman proportions.  Frodo ignored the book and never recommended it to anyone.

Thomas Wolfe's "The Right Stuff," was less about the magnificence of the universal environment than it was a chronicle of the sexploits of those whom Frodo idolized.  Frodo will always remember that he has to separate Ed Harris from his amazing physical resemblance to John Glenn.  Beyond that, the only other recollection of merit is of the sandy discomfort which accompanies sex on the beach.

The Hubble Telescope has filled Frodo's cranium with spectaculary gassy creations of color, reminding him of the opening introduction to Walt Disney on Sunday evenings in his youth.  Frodo thought that his personal fantasies could use these pictures as a backdrop that would have to sate the dreams of one who still wished to glance back at the small, blue planet, from God's right hand.   That was the case until he was introduced to Chris Jones.

In the book, "Too Far From Home," Jones wrote the following descriptive paragraph, which Frodo uses as praise for one who has done better than even Frodo ever imagined could be done about anything so limitless in scope and so breathtaking in imagery.

"And in that moment, just when it seemed as though their men would make it safely into space after all, something switched over in the wives.  Suddenly, the spectacle outweighed the sensation, and their worry was replaced with a kind of wonder.  By the time the shuttle had traveled 27 miles straight up, twisting ever so gently on its way to finding its orbit, and its solid rocket boosters had been jettisoned on the heels of a telltale flare, the wives gasped not out of fear, but from awe.  They were no longer seven women standing on a rooftop watching their husbands ride fire.  Instead, they had joined the tens of thousands collected along Florida's coast that big starry night, feeling subsumed, insignificant, as though there were no greater cause than to follow this beautiful light with their wet eyes on its way to the end of the earth."

Frodo can only add, "Go baby; go baby, go."  Words like these remind us, dear reader, that we can do anything.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:10 PM EST

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Mood:  lucky

Georgia Public Television was re-broadcasting "The Appalachians" the other evening, and Frodo happened to catch the opening segment for the first time.  He learned that in any one acre of this wonderland, there is a greater variety of plant species than exists in all of Europe.  That was all it took for the Hobbit to begin packing the motorcar for a weekend trip to Lake Lovey.  Mick, the Wonder Dog, and Fiona voted in support of the Administration proposal.

There is very little which has not been said already about scarlet, magenta, and purple mountains majesties.  Frodo will be happy if the trails are dry enough to support him without the sucking sound of shoe-removing pools of muck.  It is trout season, so the woods should be full of unhunted critters fattening themselves on white acorns, of which this year has produced a banner crop.  A safari or two into that habitat should provide the Canines of the Shire with sufficient activity to ensure their soft snoring all the way home on Sunday.

Another factoid secured from his viewing on GPTV explains one of the mysteries of Frodo's life.  It seems that there are only two species of Tulip Poplar trees on all of the small, blue planet.  Both species are found in two very dissimilar locations, one of which is the Appalachian region of North America.  The other, strangely enough, is in the southeastern extremes of that land which we now know as China.  Science teaches us that some 300,000,000 years ago, these two locations were adjoined as part of a much larger continental land mass.  When they separated in something resembling continental drift, each portion carried Tulip Poplars with them.

Wow, that means that Frodo has been admiring the same trees that his friend Abe Wong walked amongst when in his homeland, and perhaps explains why Abe is so comfortable living near the Shire.

It might also explain Frodo's affinity for Moo Goo Gai Pan and a Tsing Tao. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:00 PM EST

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Mood:  cheeky

Foreign policy, healthcare, financial regulations, with so many governmental institutions subject to current reform efforts it seems rather quixotic for the Hobbit to advocate something more.  However, Frodo feels that it is an opportune time to address the legal responsibility for the willful practice of, as Steven Colbert has said, "truthiness."  Frodo advocates that any individual who knowingly and purposefully fails to tell the truth in any forum which may be broadcast over public airways, either live or on replay, is subject to prosecution.

Now Frodo realizes, dear reader, that this probably means the cessation of all operations by Faux News.  It might also mean a lot of vacant air time presently occupied by people with names like Limburger, Orally, Heck, or Vanity.  It would not however, eliminate access to those who are merely stupid, e. g. the former occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue who started two wars, doubled the national debt, and nominated Harriet Miers to the Supreme Court.  It does, after all, behoove us to remember how far we have come in just the past eight months. 

The overriding benefit of Frodo's proposed legislation would be to his peace of mind.  Presently, the Hobbit goes into a cataleptic fit every time that he sees, or hears, Liz Cheney.  Disgusting as it is that a wimp like her Old Man. who has turned tail from every challenge ever placed before him (check "Military Service Records, Former Vice Presidents of the USA"), leaves it to his vocally defiant offspring to defend his legacy, it is indeed patently criminal that anyone would consistently deny documented evidence and broadcast "untruthiness" over the public airwaves.  Liz Cheney, for example, has denied that her Father ever verbally linked the late Mr. Saddam Hussein to the conspiracy that produced the events of September 11, 2001.  It is hard to believe that she has never seen "Meet the Press," even if it is not produced by Roger Ailes or Rupert Murdock.  The "truthiness" thereof is available for repeat viewing on everything from YouTube to Marvel Comics.

Frodo went over the edge yesterday when the corpulent little banshee attacked the presence of the President of the United States at Dover Air Force Base.  Even Craphammer and George Won't kept their silence, knowing that all of us were shamed by the perpetual absence of her Father and the sorry excuse of a man whose bedtime came before the planes landed throughout that incompetent Administration.  It would be a public service to cast Ms. Cheney Apologista into a cell at Guantanamo for her lack of "truthiness," and to watch the other inmates gag.  Frodo imagines that most of them would volunteer to be water-boarded as opposed to listening to another syllable from this round mound of clown.

To quote from "Through the Looking Glass," Frodo says "Off With Her Head!"    

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:48 AM EDT

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Mood:  celebratory

The telephone call comes every year, and it always begins the same way.  By now, Frodo actually believes that he has some memory of that Wednesday morning at 10:55 AM, when Bilbo birthed a baby.  Frodo is able to respond with understanding when Bilbo remembers exactly every excruciating detail.  Were Frodo Jewish, there is no doubt that this would enable the commencement of a lifetime of guilt.  For the hobbit however, it is a good moment, one which he will truly miss the first time that that damned telephone fails to ring.

Bilbo was determined that opportunity would be there for Frodo, and that only he could put limits on his potential.  There were frequent discussions between Frodo's parents about moving to a place with better schools, and greater diversity in those with whom he would associate as he grew.  Bilbo was determined not to accept "second-best" for any of her children, regardless of sacrifice or cost.  The goals were set very high, and Frodo knew early on that he would always be just below that which was expected.

Frodo's closest friends were always thrown up at him as examples.  Legolas was the athlete, and Gimli received no grade that fell below the highest; and Frodo's best days were merely routine for his friends.  Frodo tried harder and harder, and in the years that followed he could truly say that his limitations were his own, reflecting not at all upon a lack of resources or on luck itself.  Still, he felt removed from Bilbo and his father, and he was never sure when to seek assistance.

Bilbo has been alone for many years now, and just recently was forced to leave her home in the warmth of the Arizona sun.  Frodo is selling the house for Bilbo, and Bilbo knows depression beyond her wildest imagination.  Age has colored many of her relationships, and many avoid contact because of a tendency to become argumentative, or insulting.  It is a set of experiences Frodo wishes on no other, including even Dick Cheney.

Today, when the telephone rang, it was a conversation of times past, and it was good.  There were neither words in anger, nor discussions of grievance.  Rather, it was a dialogue about the cold hands of Doctor Porterfield and the blue blanket used to wrap her first-born.  Frodo looked at the clock in his office, noting that it was exactly 10:55 AM.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:26 PM EDT

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Mood:  special

Frodo has never been to the State of Washington, most probably because he never really knew anybody there and it seems to be a little out-of-his-way.  That will change.

Michael Dahl is one of the eight young men laid to rest in the cemetery in Fort Lewis this day.  He is one of the twenty six members of the Fifth Striker Brigade who have fallen in combat since July.  Speaking on his behalf was his Grandfather, Mr. Buddy Dahl, a former Marine and Vietnam-Era Veteran, who slumped slightly as he stared into the camera.  It could have been a mirror for Frodo.

"I swore when I left Laos that I would never cry for a dead soldier again.  It doesn't work."

Sam reached for Frodo's hand, as he sobbed openly for a boy he will never know, and a contemporary who thought that all the horror was behind him.  What could be worse than those damn bagpipes playing a dirge for the little boy you once bounced on your knee?  What else could make you question the very existence of a just and noble Maker?  What will every night for the rest of your life be like, when all you can do is lie abed, with his face staring back at you?  Damn it, damn it to Hell.

Buddy Dahl, once a Marine in Laos, amid the 56,000 who lie now with his Grandson, thought that Heaven was his due because of his time served in Hell.  Frodo thinks he knows what is in that warrior's heart this night, and he weeps for he who suffers so.

Mr. President, then-Senator John Fitzgerald Kennedy, in response to a question, once said that "the islands of Quemoy and Matsu are not worth the bleached bones of a single American soldier."  Mr. President, eight boys were buried at Fort Lewis today, eight. 

Mr. President, Frodo believes with every fiber of his being that you understand the depth of his heartbreak.  Frodo believes that you will, too, look into the mirror that is the eyes of Mr. Buddy Dahl, once a Marine in Laos, and bring an end, by any available means, to this torment. 

When Frodo visits the grave stone marked "Dahl," he imagines that a former Marine in Laos will probably be there on that day, like he will be on each and every day remaining to him.  Damn it Sir, damn it.      

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:01 PM EDT

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Mood:  not sure

The World Series starts tomorrow.  The National Football League just completed the 7th of its 16 game regular season, and the New Orleans Saints are undefeated.  The Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets lead the Atlantic Coast Conference in football, with weakling Wake Forest next on the dinner plate.  The College Basketball season will be starting in a few weeks, with the top Freshman in all the land to grace the court at the "Thriller Dome."  Frodo has had a number of distractions, and he, quite frankly, wrapped himself up in the web of Shelob and "vegged out" for a few days.  Every once in a while, even a Hobbit needs to shut his mouth and listen to the utterances of others, and if he does so while watching Jonathan Dwyer make touchdowns, then all the better.

Frodo learned that Jean Sasson has completed her latest book on being feminine in the Middle East.  This gutsy author, who physically reminds Frodo of Dolly Parton, is not the world's greatest writer, but she exhibits unbelievable courage and creativity in her subject matter.  Her new book is written from the actual perspective of the first wife of a man named Osama bin Laden.  Frodo is sure he will read the book when opportunity avails itself, but he has already asorbed a great deal from the press releases and Jay Leno.  For example, Mrs. bin Laden, who has not seen her husband in almost forty years, is also the first cousin of her husband.

Frodo did not know that they were from Texas (which explains the first cousin relationship for all those dear readers still on drugs or missing that first cup of coffee).

Frodo also learned that the sister of Fidel Castro had been on the payroll of the CIA ever since the first weeks after the overthrow of Cuban Dictator Fulgencio Batista.  She alleges that the deal was for information, by one who opposed Communism, and that the CIA promised not to seek to harm either Fidel or Raul on information she shared with them.

Frodo had not been previously aware of a single agreement honored by George H. W. Bush, Stansfield Turner, George Tenet, or any other former Director of the CIA.  Frodo vaguely remembers something about an explosive cigar, or was that Monica Lewinsky?

Legolas came to visit Frodo and Sam, accompanied by his companion Elf, and the two ancient warriors plotted their next assault on Mount Doom.  That is, until Legolas reverted to childhood and ordered a bowl of chili at a nearby Krystal Drive-in.   Frodo supposed that the end was near for his storied friend, and Legolas certainly wished that it were so.  Legolas survived however, and has subsequently canceled his scheduled colonoscopy until such time as any remnant settles within his gastrointestinal infrastructure.  Stimulus funds will not be required.

Mick, the Wonder Dog, for all those who have asked, awaits the results of tests.  He seems to bark more often now, as if he is trying to check his own hearing.  He wonders, surely, why Frodo leaves the leash on so much longer when they go afoot beyond the Shire.  Like all dogs, he loves the Fall, and watching Frodo rake is one of the greatest of pleasures.  Best of all is the game "Drop the Poop," which always takes place in the spot most recently-raked. 

Speaking of "Drop the Poop," has anyone noticed that Sarah Palin failed to endorse the Republican Party candidate in the 23rd District of New York?  She opted instead for the "Conservative" candidate.  Frodo wonders if this is the revival of the Bull Moose Party?

Frodo missed you, too.  Tomorrow will be a little more on point.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:40 PM EDT

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Mood:  hug me

The veterinarian of the Shire, who owns two Porsches predominantly due to his professional relationship with Frodo and Sam, first told Frodo that his new dog, named Mick, would be a Wonder Dog.  He who is mostly Australian Shepherd, and partially Border Collie, will "leap like Michael Jordan, and run like Michael Johnson" said the purveyor of Porsches.  Frodo noted his words, and his envy, but it is the loving eyes and the toothy grin that make Frodo's fingers linger behind both ears for as long as both can stand the attention.

Frodo began to notice breaks in routine when Mick, the Wonder Dog, had his back to Frodo.  No matter how loudly Frodo would call, his friend would seemingly ignore him unless they made eye contact.  Soon, Sam noted the same, and when the next scheduled visit to Dr. Porsches took place, inquired about testing to see if Mick, the Wonder Dog, was losing his hearing.  "Well, we can send him off to Auburn University, pay them $1000, and have them tell us they think he's going deaf," is what the good doctor advised.  Unfortunately, he seemed to also have other things on his mind. 

Frodo's thirteen year old accomplice seems to have a chemical imbalance which requires greater analysis.  Cushing's Disease is a pretty serious kidney problem no matter the placement on the mammalian wing of the evolutionary tree.  In order to determine the reason for the chemical imbalance, and to determine treatment for any potential problems, the collection of a sample from the very first daily urination by the subject under study is required.  That requires, of course, that Frodo, in the pre-dawn darkness, must place a plastic container under the tweeter of a deaf dog who enjoys spreading his morning relief over six or seven separate locations, but most often on the wild holly bushes in the darkness of the Shire.

Amusing as the mental picture may be, it is serious stuff, and Frodo will stay especially close to his friend on the morrow.  It is hard not to dwell on the inevitable, so Mick, the Wonder Dog, looks plaintively at his best friend in the whole world, and is grateful for a few extra minutes of ear scratching.

There is a picture of Frodo and Mick, the Wonder Dog, which is Frodo's favorite picture.  It is the one he will some day use to silently mark the passing of his friend in this location on the worldwide marvel.  May said picture be a long time comin', for there are holly bushes still unchristened and at least one more spot behind those ears to need  a scratchin'.   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:18 PM EDT

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Mood:  celebratory

Nine years ago this very month Frodo and Sam were traveling the Romantic Road.  Included in this festive "fahrt" (which is the German word for "trip") was an excursion into Oktoberfest in Munich.  With several Mardi Gras' under their belts, this would leave the Hobbits with only "Carnival" in Rio to ensure their attendance at each of the greatest parties in all the world (and make the planned Olympiad in Brazil even more potentially exciting).  Unfortunately for the Hobbits, it appeared that Oktoberfest would be a wash-out, since it had been raining for a day or two before their arrival and it was raining to beat the band as they entered the fairgrounds in Munich.

What the Hobbits didn't know was that there were dozens of warehouse-like buildings, each sponsored by a different maker of beverages, and the real party was inside each and every one of these structures.  By chance, the Hobbits, with traveling companions behind, wandered door-to-door until they found one with enough free space to admit them, and they were welcomed under the banner which read "Lowenbrau."  Inside, more than 5,000 young people, from all over the world, were squished together like sardines, as they drank from huge mugs of beer, and individually marveled at the goings-on about them.  In the middle of the building stood a stage, and Frodo pointed Sam in that direction as musicians gathered in order to commence a performance which Frodo rationally assumed was going to be a whole lot of "oompahpahing."  Boy, was Frodo ever wrong on this one.

Within seconds the Hobbits recognized the tune to one of the classic soul songs of all time, and as they began to sing they were accompanied by the whole crowd, in English, singing "Hey Baby, I Wanna Know-Oh, If You'll Be My Girl."  Not a single oom-pah was heard that entire night, and Frodo became convinced that world peace was at hand.

One year later the War in Afghanistan was underway.  Unfortunately, the Hobbit had neglected to observe any Islamic Jihadists amongst the crowd in Munich that night.  Oh well, Frodo supposes, they probably wouldn't have known the words anyway.

In keeping with his predisposition to pass along a few partisan facoids with his personal narratives, Frodo notes, dear reader, that in October of 1990, before the horror that was the incompetent Administration of the Incomparable Moron, one could purchase $1 worth of goods and services in Europe for exactly 85 cents, American.  Today, had Frodo and Sam repeated their journey, the rate of exchange would be a bit different.  The same $1 worth of goods and services, today, would cost the Hobbits $1.36, American. 

The math behind this simple statistic carries the entire future of the civilized world.  Suddenly, Frodo does not feel like singing.  If things fail to change and the decline in the value of the dollar continues as it has over the past nine years, there will be no young people from all over the world drinking beer and singing in Munich.  And that will not be the only change to affect us all, every one. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:30 PM EDT

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