Mood:  on fire

Frodo has a few questions.  Why aren't we refusing to purchase British Petroleum products?  Who in the name of good sense agreed to a "cap" on damages to be paid by oil companies in the event of a catastrophic oil spill?  Why aren't the tides carrying all of this crap right onto the beaches of Texas?  Why haven't we, as a nation, set a deadline for British Petroleum to shut off the leak or to suffer the consequence of a government nationalization?  And whatever happened to Sarah Palin?

Does anyone doubt that nationalizing their multi-billion dollar profit might change their priorities?  Is there anyone who is satisfied with their planning, their response to the disaster, or even their attitude?  Frodo is suggesting that we give these executives 48 hours, and not a minute more.  All we have to do is declare a National Emergency, and do something similar to the actions taken by President Truman when he nationalized an entire industry.

Hasn't anyone considered a whole bunch of big fans, pointing west, right toward the Houston Ship Channel?  That place was so polluted by oil leaks for decades that the surface of the water burned continuously for months on end.  So why not send the problem right back to the tax-dodging, reactionary hypocrites with names like Hunt, Bush, and Graham who have been giving each other tax breaks and crippling any effort to regulate their own passage to Valhalla?

Why hasn't somebody printed a list of every member of Congress who ever voted to support a "cap" on oil company liability?  We've heard from Snarkowski, Republican of Alaska, and that Republican dork from Okiehomey named Incontinent, who have argued that failure to maintain such a "cap" would hurt "mom and pop" oil companies.  Holy Moley, and nobody, and Frodo means nobody, has stood up, undid a belt, turned around, and "mooned" either of them.   How blatant do they have to be?  They think, like Sarah Palin, that if they just recite enough words, we will get bored and go away.

Not Frodo.

Pass it around.  Don't buy BP.  Go to any other gasoline station.  Ride a bike.  Do anything, but don't give them a damn dime until they stop the leaks.

Don't buy BP.

Your life depends on it.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:20 PM EDT

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Mood:  amorous

Frodo seems to be the targeted recipient of an expanding marketing effort by organizations attempting to foster the sale of certain goods and services.  Erectile Dysfunction and the length of his penis seem to have gotten the attention of people totally unknown to the Hobbit (admittedly, his memory is not flawless in this regard).  To the best of Frodo's recollection however, neither of these have been subjects discussed by or with anyone since pre-pubesence.   What then do these guys know, and when did they find out about it?

First of all, Frodo, even without chemical additives, would immediately call a physician if he experienced more than four hours in a priaptic state.  Frodo has neither the knowledge nor the curiosity to attend to the experiences of the competition, living or dead.  If the intent of this sales effort is to encourage the Hobbit to purchase products which replace or supplement that which still comes to him naturally, although he has questions about who will need, much less feed, him once he turns 64, then Frodo can only conclude that Mark Penn is the genius behind this.  He is probably still pissed that Frodo failed to endorse Mrs. Clinton.

There is an old expression about showing me yours if I show you mine.  Frodo has applied this in jest to old friends, with spouses whom he has never met.  Exclusive of that, the only other instances in which this becomes an item of scrutiny is in the openness of the locker room.  Frodo, as the smallest of Hobbits was very sensitive to this joint exposure in his first appearances in this public forum.  Surely, in those days, Frodo would have spared no expense in the effort to improve his self-perceived competitive equality.  With the passage of time however, Frodo is more concerned about remembering to pack his flip-flops thereby lessening the potential for athlete's foot (not a STD, as best science has so far determined). 

Frodo believes these advertisements and their mailing lists come from the same companies who kept sending him postage stamps from Andorra when he was twelve years old.  He probably bought a few, and these guys figured to never let this sucker get away.  In the effort to intimidate those deluging him with such correspondence, Frodo may have used the pseudonym of a former gangster slain by the famed FBI Agent, Melvin Purvis.

There is an answer to every problem.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:27 PM EDT

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Mood:  smelly

Frodo has quite an imagination.  He now imagines himself as an Indian Warrior, standing helplessly as smallpox ravages his tribe, accepting the inevitable.  The analogy to a Hobbit peering upon the Gulf of Mexico, knowing that the petrochemical poisons come closer with every change of tide, weighs heavily on his mind.

The Indian Warrior is able to cradle a small head in his hands, and to offer some comfort to one who dies too young.  Frodo watches the best of us as they clean the wings and cage the surviving innocents for transit to land unsullied. 

The Indian Warrior will dance and pray to Manitou in a vain effort to halt the evil spirits that bring pestilence to those who committed no crime.  Frodo sees the untiring effort of fishermen, soldiers, inmates, among us all who seek to clear the surface waters while prayers pass to the wind.

The Indian Warrior will long ignore the pustules that develop on his own body, but he, too, will succumb to the irritation upon his skin.  His life's blood will soon ooze and fall in droplets beneath his feet.  Frodo can almost smell the burnt aroma of the tar that gathers on the hazmat suits which cannot be washed away.  It coats the land which was formed by the land, and carried to meet the tide beneath the feet of those labor in this spot.

Fresh in Frodo's memory is the tragedy that last struck the City of Orleans, when the suffering was greatest among those born of servitude and raised in the solace of their own.  For now it is that those of pale complexion, who reside in lands closed to those from outside, must bear the weight of an end to life as they have known it.  It is as if there is a balance therein, and scales level the catastrophe from one to another.

The Indian Warrior and the Hobbit are not alone.  Others, before, have walked on this good earth, and surely, others will follow.  It is Terrebonne Parish upon which the plague descends, the good earth.       

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:33 PM EDT

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Mood:  quizzical

Rare it is that Frodo fails to possess a dominant concern about the state of the world, and rarer still that his synapses are stifled by a malignant myeloma at every turn.  This is such a night, and Frodo pounds a keyboard as if he knew with what the next sentence will begin, and truthfully he has no clue.  With his Title as inspiration, Frodo will astound some, antagonize others, and perhaps say something that will help put something into focus for all of us.

Frodo does not know what his position is on immigration reform.  What he does know is that there are an awful lot of poor and hungry people in this world, and they all seem to want to leave where they are and to go somewhere where the opportunity for three square meals per day is enhanced.  Central Americans knock on the door, or tunnel under it, and head North.  Central Europeans pack themselves into automobiles similar to those once used by employees of Barnum & Bailey, and head North.  Middle Easterners utilize a combination of agrarian and pedestrian resources in order to arrive in geographical dispersions ending in "Stan," "Ance," or "Tain."  Central Africans die before they get there, or they are killed while sitting in tents, waiting to die.  Central Asians are victims of earthquakes, which explains why they smioke so many cigarettes.

With all this movement about our small, blue planet, it seems so illogical that we have no plan for handling the millions of people who have slipped across the borders of the United States.  Didn't we handle the millions of Africans so easily assimilated into our society, says Frodo, in a mere 291 years?  Ed. Note:  Frodo assumes that the beginning point is 1719, the "Red Letter Year" specified in his fourth-grade Virginia History Book.  Italians and the Irish became instant players in the growth of metropolitan establishments like Toledo, Las Vegas, and Newark.  And what about the Japanese?  We even provided them with free housing.

So why can't we accept the fact that these non-English speaking vagabonds are simply a repeat of the orange-pickers from Oklahoma who descended upon California in the 1930's?  The "Okies" didn't speak English either (Frodo defies any reader to translate "Boomer Sooner.")  In fact, the only people who seemed to get out of whack with Tom Joad and company were residents of a couple of Western States.  So maybe this makes the current unpleasantness their problem, and not Frodo's.

Besides, the residents of Arizona are all over 80 and have nothing else to bitch about (except the cost of caskets).

Not bad for not having a clue when this monstrosity commenced, eh what?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:49 PM EDT

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Mood:  blue

He was born on Mother's Day.  Our eyes met for the first time in the garage where he lived with his Mother, and one remaining sibling.  He walked up to Frodo and promptly sat down on his foot.  Sam said, "Well young man, it looks as if the decision has been made."

Frodo has been known to recommend movies, songs, books, but he has never before taken keyboard in hand in order to warn others away from something that he truly did enjoy.  The movie "Marley and Me" was viewed in the Shire last evening.  Frodo and Sam were joined by Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, in an assembly of eight eyes at various levels of intensity as the light shadows danced upon the screen.  Jennifer Aniston, late of the cognomen Pitt, was Frodo's initial interest in the flick, and her performance of Post-Partum Depression was too real to be accepted with comfort.  Alan Arkin and Kathleen Turner both supplied supporting roles, but Frodo was concentrating on the characters in the title.  Frodo noticed that Mick, the Wonder Dog, moved restleely as he watched the screen at the familiar foot of Frodo.

Perhaps it started with "Old Yeller," but every dog movie that contains the demise of the canine hero has been constructed around an act of violence.  Not so with "Marley and Me," and that is what made the movie special for last night's attendees.  The movie encompasses the writing career of the protagonist, and the dog who joined the happy newly-wed couple.  The story includes the birth of children, and reaches beyond the 40th birthday of the one who plays "Me."  Age is the enemy of relationships such as these, and it is that necessary, but humane, end, which brought sobs from Sam and an open look upon the soul of Frodo for all the world to see.

When the movie concluded, Frodo set about the nightly plan for liquid waste removal for the groggy Fiona, and Mick, the Wonder Dog.  Two tarried, as if they needed a few moments together, simply to let each other know that they felt the same way.  Both have some arthritis and dead sprints across the gardens are a thing of the past for them both.  The moment concluded only after he walked up to Frodo and respectfully sat down on his foot.

Frodo has had a little brother for thirteen years now, and in each of those days he has known just how important he is, and that there is one who appears to enjoy what he has to say.  He is, indeed, a wonder.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:00 PM EDT

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Mood:  on fire

The Georgia Legislature passed an ordinance in the early 1980's noting that an increase in the State Sales Tax added to the burden upon the poor.  The very regressive nature of a Sales Tax means that even an increase of a mere penny adds up to something akin to $26 for an individual making less than $20,000 annually.  The ordinance afforded a tax cut of $26 to those Georgia residents whose annual income did not exceed $20,000.  The Georgia Legislature in 2010 has eliminated that provision.  The reasoning, apparently, is that the continuing economic slowdown has forced the State to cut wherever possible in order to meet its constitutional mandate to balance the budget.

The Georgia Legislature in 2010 increased the Capital Gains Exclusion, and increased tax breaks for wealthy retirees who are residents of the State of Georgia.  For sure, these changes encourage those with resources available to spend their "golden years" in Georgia, and to continue investing.  These tax breaks are costly however, and in order to afford them, the Georgia State Legislature, in its infinite wisdom, reasoned that adding to the burden of those at or below any definition of the poverty level is a worthwhile strategy.

The difference between these legislative decisions turns on the fact that it was  Democrats who served as Governor and as the majority in the Legislature at that time.  Today, it is Republicans in the majority.

Perhaps it is true that Democrats sometimes go too far in their generosity and do not exercise adequate control on the expenditure of hard-earned tax dollars.  There are beaucoup examples which generate the opposition to fight tooth-and-nail against frivolous programs, and those whose objectives they deem not to be clearly-defined.  However, the elimination of a clear and distinct benefit to the impoverished goes beyond the pale.  $26, it seems to Frodo, who is admittedly not an expert in this field, would probably constitute one bag of groceries during the course of a year.

Frodo is trying very hard to lower the level of the discourse, as President Obama urges us all to do.  Taking a bag of groceries away from somebody who can ill afford it is, however, much more than Frodo can accept.  To all of his Republican friends in the State of Georgia, and especially to those whom you have elected to serve our State, Frodo simply avers that you suck.   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:14 AM EDT

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Mood:  don't ask

Frodo is not exactly sure when, and from whose lips, he first heard someone say that if one could simply remove everything that Man had done, then the World would again be perfect.  Frodo has spent a lifetime struggling against that assertion, and just when he thinks that he has documented evidence to the contrary, a group of clucks from Halliburton, or British Petroleum, or the State of Louisiana displace a hundred million gallons of fossilized carbon by-product upon the surface of our small blue planet, and that which is good, dies.

A dozen years ago, Frodo and Sam cruised from the Port of Orleans, down the Mississippi, to the Gulf of Mexico in order to visit selected ports of call in the Western Caribbean.  As they returned to native waters, Frodo stood  the better part of the night-time hours staring, aghast, at the beauty of the oil rigs which lit the skies with multi-colored brightness.  Like the trees of Christmas, the blues and the greens reflected off the orange and pink of the sunset and the rise that followed.  Frodo recalled stories of the improved fishing around the oil rigs, and he marvelled at the capacity of his ship's captain to navigate through the channels marked by these surface portions of structures standing more than three miles above the bottom of the ocean floor.  Frodo convinced himself that Man had taken that which was Nature"s own and used it, properly, for the good of all.

Frodo began to question his assessment when he heard the unwise preaching to the unknowing, and phrases like "drill baby, drill" resonated amidst the clapping and the cheers.  Was it not true, in spite of the best of governmental engineering, that a whole city was destroyed by the inability of Man to combat Nature's kinetic energies?  Has it not happened, time after time, that greed has entered into the most formidable of circumstances resulting in disasterous results?

What lies before our shores would never have been there if Man had not, a mere century ago, developed the internal-combustion engine.  Had Man satisfied himself with the speed of the wind or the force of falling waters, then he would never have needed to remove that which Nature had spent millions of years hiding from him.

If only Man had left things as he found them.   The price he pays will grow each and every day, as the magnitude of the disaster attacks his home, his sustenance, and his future.  All it takes is a match, in the wrong place, at the right time, whose ignition answers the promise of that which follows the Great Flood.

Frodo wil, take each day as it comes, and will do his part to ease the suffering which he has helped to create.   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:50 PM EDT

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Mood:  surprised

Frodo is not usually in the habit of accepting something as an absolute absent proof or anecdotal observation.  He doubted, for example, that the commode did indeed swirl backwards once one crosses the Equator.  Frodo learned the other day that he shared a minority opinion with a Justice of the Supreme Court, when the vote totaled 8-1.  What truly astounded him was that anyone could even allege that Frodo would agree with this character on anything.

The High Court struck down a Bush Era ban on the production of videos in which dog-fighting was exhibited as entertainment.  The appeal, which is defined as a "sexual fetish," results in graphic if not horrifying presentations of unimaginable cruelty.  Chief Justice Roberts, writing for the majority (why does that not surprise Frodo?), argued that the law went too far in restricting free speech. 

Frodo was surprised to learn that it was not Justice Sotomajor, nor Justice Ginsberg, nor even the retiring John Paul Stevens, who stated in dissent that the harm that animals suffer in dogfights was enough to sustain the law that the Court had decided to overturn.  It was Alito.

Frodo has long believed that Samuel Alito probably wears a brown shirt in his chambers, and that the music piped into the adjacent hallways is that of Wagner.  Frodo does not even like the way this Visigoth even combs his hair.  It has been Frodo's opinion that Samuel Alito, himself, fulfills the definition of obscenity, in that he has no redeeming social value.

Until now, that is.

Alito is a dog owner.  Frodo does not know anything about Alito's dog(s), but he recognizes that he/she/they are pretty lucky to have someone who cares about them so much, and is so very wise.  It is obviously a rare gift.

Frodo and Sam will be quiet for a few days, as they restrict Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, to Camp Kennel.  Sydney and Mr. Beau Neau McKitty will receive daily care-visits from Ms. Ellyn.  Frodo and Sam will walk some southern sand, and visit with people they have never met.  Frodo, for one, looks forward to transit through the town that spawned she who wrote "A Good Man is Hard to Find."  He hopes to sit at a table and listen to the crooning of Johnny Mercer creations by the one known as the Lady Chablis.  Together the Hobbits may even shuffle together, as they did, forty years ago.

If you see some barefooted Hobbits on the stoop of a country store, munching on a Moon Pie, stop and visit a spell.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:03 PM EDT

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Mood:  sharp

Frodo has, for a number of reasons, purposefully avoided predictions herein.  Even when he was completely confident that Barack Obama would be elected President of the Newnited States, he did not put that into words.  His academic training included an appreciation for the public moods that alter with the tide, the coming of Spring, fictitious assaults on naval vessels, and political leaders sleeping in at the local Motel 6.   Supporting himself in graduate school, Frodo saw first-hand that asking direct questions, under pressure, were deeper in feeling than theoretical castings.  It is, for example, better "science" to say, the day before an election, that one is going to vote for Candidate A than it is for a tax-paying voter to say, in February, that "taxes are too high."  

The Sleaze Bag Partyers have been an uninteresting phenomena in the political off-season.  The scientific measurement of just who these adherents happen to be is just becoming evident, as their numbers and influence begin to wane.  Although the actual nadir is speculative at this point, it is clear to Frodo that the oblivion they so richly deserve is in sight.  The puny attendance at sponsored demonstrations on the date of the filing deadline for income taxes is the objective demonstration of the demise of the latest wing of the "American Independent Party" (remember them?)

George Wallace, John Anderson, Ross Perot, and even Teddy Roosevelt (the Bull Moose Party) are all among the names we can associate, dear reader, with the "silent majority" or any of the other terms that have been amalgamated with the statistical offal which has been a presence among the American electorate.  Given that the almost 20% of the present electorate that identifies themselves with the Sleaze Bags, it is not surprising that more than 90% are opposed to Barack Obama.  Two-thirds watch Faux News, 40% are retirees, almost 70% normally identify themselves as Republican, and almost half are Southerners.  As Frodo has said before, we're talking about fat white guys who are facing life's end with little or no accomplishments.  That, in Frodo's opinion, is why you see so many in military-type-garb, because they never did anything else.

The Sleaze Bag Party is a production of Dick Armey, a fat white guy with no accomplishments himself, building on the Jim DeMint (also white, but dumber than he is fat) assertion that Barack Obama would face "Waterloo", assuming there was an Army to confront him.  The drafting of the "American Independent Party" into the Republican ranks was merely a media-applied effort to aver that the latest national election was uncharacteristic of the national mood.  In the verbiage of the Incomparable Moron, it was the "stragedy" of the Republicants to counter the populism of an enlightened leader.

Frodo counsels good friends to expect setbacks in the off-year elections.  It is the prevailing pattern, and it will happen, although Frodo feels strongly that Charlie Crawford and others are far from accurate in their prognostications. 

All of what Frodo has to say in this diatribe is based on the assumption that the Iranians do not have any ships in the Gulf of Tonkin.  Do not expect Frodo to offer additional instances of prediction within the next 940 postings.  He did so in this instance simply because Sam has been driving him crazy moaning about how bad things might become. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 12:38 PM EDT

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Mood:  spacey

When Frodo was among the smallest of Hobbits, his father built him a go-kart.  It had a 5 HP engine, oversized tires, and the only thing that kept it from flying was an absence of wings.  That realization caused Frodo's father to surreptitiously add a "governor" which resulted in a severe drop in the necessary speed of 7 miles per second in order to achieve earth orbit  Frodo finally figured out what had taken place without his knowledge, and has been resentful of anything reminding him of the mechanical device which ended his fun (albeit probably allowing him to achieve his twelfth birthday).

The Governor of the State of Georgia is a politician who would sell his wife into slavery in order to get votes on election day.  The complete absence of competence in his Administration defiles the ideals of self-government.  What bothers Frodo is that this nincompoop is merely the tip of the iceberg.  Let's take a seccond to survey the landscape of those who wear the mantel of "Governor" in our great land.

Rick Perry talks about secession.  Although Frodo would support the disappearance of the plague that is Texas, he finds it hard to believe that those who have served our nation in battle would feel that their sacrifices had been justified when their home state suddenly announces that it is no longer part of the US of A.

Arnold Schwarzenegger has compiled a budget deficit so enormous that Californians actually look, longingly, back at Gray Davis (that was his name, wasn't it?).

Whoever happens to be Governor of New York, and pardon Frodo for being a tad confused, is in bed with somebody else's wife as we speak (anybody want to bet against that statement given Spitzer and Patterson?).

South Carolina.  Enough said.

Virginia, however, "the Mother of Presidents" and "Virginia is for Lovers" notwithstanding, has reached the apogee of gubernatorial stupidity in rocket record time.  After assaulting the employment rights of those who happen to be gay or homosexual and suffer as employees of the Old Dominion, Bob McDonnell of the wind-dried tonsorial perfection, has entered the land of those who were against it before they were for it.  After declaring that "Confederate History" required a level of support equivalent to "Black History," but that neither required reference to the other, the "Governor" also decided, or seemed to be deciding, that those released from prison should submit an "essay" before winning back the right to vote.

Somehow, that struck some as somewhat similar to a "literacy test."  When this oversight was noted by the press, McDonnell announced that the "policy" had not yet been implemented, and was still deep in the incubation process.  Then the letters started arriving at the last-known-addresses of the thousands of former felons.

Frodo has pre-drafted his own essay.  Let's just say that "where the Sun don't shine" is a descriptive phrase that merits specific inclusion. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:33 PM EDT

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