Mood:  loud

Frodo made a suggestion to another member of the Fellowship the other day, and was promptly notified that his ideas are just that, his.  Frankly, Frodo had been hoping to entice a dialogue about the changing faces, and figures, of politics in America.  What better way to start than to get feminine input to commence the construction of verbs, nouns, and adjectives that will surely flow toward the male of any species who attempts to explain why women are responsible for the pending collapse of the American form of government?

Frodo also notes that it is hot outside, and that his exhausting week at Mount Doom is far from over.  That, dear reader, is his defense for not taking the time to document his findings, and thereby explain away the assault on his facts which is sure to follow.

100 years ago there weren't any women in politics.  Most women, it seems, were clad in garb resembling the tents today worn by those who fly in-and-out of Heathrow daily from Saudi Arabia in order to shop at Harrod's.  Frodo vaguely recalls that the first woman elected to the United States Senate, for example, was the widow of the incumbent from Arkansas who had the temerity to die in office without leaving a planned succession.  She, whose name escapes Frodo, as does nearly everything else he ever recalls about Arkansas, became the first of the "weaker" sex to win a direct election into that formerly august body.

When Frodo was much smaller, he recalls the name Margaret Chase Smith, from Maine, who was a Republican, but who, amazingly, seemed to have both a functioning mind and a beating heart (Frodo remembers a single long-stemmed rose lying across the Senate desk once used by John Fitzgerald Kennedy that awful day in November, long ago).  Today, to get  to the point after that little soiree back in time, there are two women, both directly elected to the Senate, who represent the State of Maine.  It is, almost, as if someone has discovered a way to clone the genetic code and produce politicians without any representation of sexual contact whatsoever.

A brief century has passed and now there are two, or is it three yet, female members of the Supreme Court.  The Speaker of the House for the first time is a female (although Frodo must confess that he has assigned an occasional reference to Newt Gingrich as a potential for exclusion from the military because of the existence of 'don't ask, don't tell').  Both Senators from California, one from Louisiana, one from Missouri, one from Washington, one from Minnesota, and two or three more up there in those States not necessarily important to Frodo's continuing dialogue, are also female.  Add in 'Congresspersons' from New York, California, Florida, Minnesota, and one or two from Tennessee, Texas, and assorted vagabond States, and one begins to wonder if the presence of testosterone isn't programmed into the 'death panels' wherein lie the remains of past representatives.

Now, let us consider the position of Guvnah.  After the infamous half-assed performance of Sarah Palin (Sleazebaggers please note that Frodo's reference is to the incumbent having served one-half of her elected term before getting bored or discovering that she would really have to read a book or do real work), Frodo has taken note of Arizona, South Carolina, Michigan, and New Hampshire, among others probably but, frankly, Frodo is getting a little bored himself.  Now (gasp) the reactionary homeland of Georgia has something named Karen Handel atilt with a windmill named Nathan Deal for the Republican nomination to replace the inimitable "Sonny" Perdue.

ASIDE:  Perdue bears an uncanny likeness to the character named "Curly" in the "Three Stooges," and Frodo cannot help but be reminded of "Larry" when he watches Handel parade about a podium.  The Lieutenant Governor, Casey Cagle, completes the triumvirate.

What Frodo truly fears is that the girls all get together, and come on down (sounds vaguely like an old game show, doesn't it?) to help their "sister" overcome the evil Roy Barnes.  A damned "slumber party," no less.  Imagine Sarah in her nightie, and Michele fixing s'mores, while the feminine Maharajah of South Carolina does her best to entertain a visitor from the Appalachian Trail who thought she would be spending a quality evening with the predecessor thereto.

Frodo has to back off an earlier comment whence he took a cheap shot at Arkansas.  True it is that Frodo never thought he would ever miss Wilbur Mills.  Ole Wilbur knew where women belonged, and he had his ways and means.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:27 PM EDT

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Mood:  energetic

Amid his bureaucracy phase, Frodo often joined with his comrades in a mockery of the world in which they lived.  The Harvard Law of Behavior, for example, was often used to describe their joint efforts to make life better for the American taxpayer ("Under carefully controlled laboratory conditions, human beings behave as they damn well please").  The Hobbit felt fully justified applying his considerable creative abilities to such a worthwhile task.  That explains, he supposes, his affinity for the the Newtonian Law of Government, which states that "Work expands to fill the time available for its conclusion."

All of this becomes particularly relevant now that the WASHINGTON POST has finally done something to make people remember that it is still published and delivered daily.  Frodo must admit that he misses Ben Bradlee and still gets chills when Hal Holbrook smokes a cigarette with Bob Redford while Dustin Hoffman follows the money.  When the POST gets something right, it really gets it right, and today, Frodo is cheering for his old friend.

Frodo has referred to the Department of Homeland Obscurity with disdain since first the megalith was dumped on the taxpaying public by the dynamic duo of Cheney and Bush, or is that Abbott and Costello?  The largest civilian agency in the History of Man combined everything from the Secret Service to the Federal Emergency Management folks into a plethora of unrelated, uncontrolled, bells, whistles, and quarterly reports on progress toward equal employment opportunity.  Each report was, of course, first addressed to an Assistant Regional Director under the aegis of the Interim Assistant Commissioner for Operations.  Frodo knows, because he was one, an Assistant Program Manager, on detail from his permanent responsibility as a District Director.

What that means is that Frodo could catch a bus home at 3:30 and nobody would miss him.

Imagine, if you will, what it must be like to take the wisdom of the "9-11 Commission," and produce an intelligence function that makes the word "redundancy" seem almost as pithy as the word "transparency?"  People actually get paid for dreaming up these words, and then devoting their entire work effort to their implementation in manuals and transmittals which no one ever reads, ahead of time.  This obfuscation of responsibility was exactly what Cheney and Bush produced, despite their assertions to the contrary.  The WASHINGTON POST came out in print today with its study of the ineffectiveness of the American Intelligence effort, which had taken them two years to conclude that we are less safe now, simply because we have an unbridled monster collating, but not integrating.

Frodo was hopeful when Lawrence O'Donnell interviewed Richard Clark, who has become the Master of "I Told You So."  Cark, however, seems to have gone over to the Dark Side, because he recommends an "Independent Commission" to cut through the fat and streamline the effort. 

Groan.

Frodo remembers the other homily which guided him in his passage through the endless hallways to the third "morning meeting."  If he recalls close enough, it seemed to whisper "This, too, shall pass."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:35 PM EDT

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Mood:  lucky

Two notes of Explanation:

Farid Tan is from Singapore, and he is the President of a Bank.  Farid and Frodo became acquainted during the course of business, and maintain an easygoing, but respectful dialogue.  Farid is a Muslim, and he prays five times each day.  If he has one personal goal, it would be to own a franchise of Starbuck's.

Bilbo is dying.  She who begat Frodo requires oxygen twenty-four hours per day, every day.  The demand approaches its zenith, and that which would follow for the sake of sheer survival would involve a ventilator.  Bilbo has formally requested that such a course of action not be taken.  Somewhere in the span of one-to-six months, the presence of carbon dioxide in her system will be dominant, and she will decline, rapidly.  Until that time, she will probably fall under hospice care in her assisted living residence.  Frodo and Sam are nearby, and Bilbo enjoys three meals per day, the gallant Braves on her black-and-white, and telephone calls from people she will not see again, as far as we know.

"Mr. Frodo, this is Farid.  How is your Mom?"

"She is 92 years old, so each and every day is an adventure.  Thank you for asking, for she is doing as well as we could expect, if not more."

"We do what we must do.  Do we not?"

"Indeed, we do."

"I will remember her in my prayers this afternoon, and in the days that follow."

"Thank you.  She will be very pleased to hear that.  I don't believe that a prayer to Allah in her name is something which she has known before.  It will be a fine gift."

"Do not worry about our business needs.  They will be here for us at another time."

"Thank you."

"Salaam Alaikam Mr. Frodo, and Bilbo."

"Salaam Alaikam Mr. Tan." 

Middle Earth is a wondrous place.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 4:58 PM EDT

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Mood:  amorous

"The gentleman from the Shire shall speak for eight minutes."

"Thank you Madam Speaker.  I ask permission of the Chair to revise and extend my remarks."

"Let it be so, you may proceed Congressman Frodo."

"Madam Speaker," began the Hobbit, "I note with increasing alarm the frivolous issue addressed by those who challenge the citizenship status of the President of the United States.  The clearly-defined rebuttal of all these allegations has been ignored by several on the, shall we say, lunatic fringe, for many days.  Despite the certification by the State of Hawaii and its political officials, on both sides of the aisle, and the historical record posted at the time in the local newspaper, these ideological foes of the President continue to harangue and defy the evidence.  There has been little harm done since a vast majority of the citizenry recognizes these bubbabutts for what they truly are.  That is changed however, with the public remarks of a United States Senator who, despite his own public foibles, remarked this week that legal action to challenge the citizenship of the duly-elected President had merit."

"Senator David Vitter (R-LA), a publicly-admitted adulterer, who has steadfastly refused to step down from his position despite his Sin, has chosen to give a level of credence to the Sleaze Bag proponents of the continuing falsehood.  This, in spite of the fact that he is not the product of birth on American soil."

"Point of Order.  Will the gentleman yield to a question?," asked the Minority Leader, Congressman Bonehead (R-KY).

"For a question, yes."

"Your statement that Senator Vitter is not a citizen is a preposterous charge."

"That is not a question."

"Then may I ask from whence your information comes to substantiate such an allegation?"

"From his wife."

Congressman Bonehead was aghast, and clearly did not know what to say.

"Congressman," said Frodo, "you will be facinated to learn that Senator Vitter was conceived in a petri dish."

"A petri dish, you say?"

"Madam Speaker, I note that the Congressman had not been recognized, and request that my available time be extended to reflect this improper interruption."

"So granted, Mr. Frodo," said the beaming Ms. Pelosi (D-CA).

"Senator Vitter, for the sake of all appearances is obviously not a fully-conceived product of the normal birth process.  In fact, the available evidence points to the fact that he is truly the biggest shrimp in the US Senate.  His wife, publicly wronged, and forced to wear leopard skin to the public admission of infidelity, has provided this office with slide evidence of the chemical process performed by medical students on the island of Grenada."

"Will the gentleman yield?", asked Congressman Cannot (R-VA).

"For what purpose?"

"To clarify the point of the gentleman's observation, if you will."

"I yield 30 seconds to the gentleman from Virginia."

"Sir, the Constitution does not require that Members of either body of the Congress. . ."

"Point taken and noted.  However, the point is offered that it should be clearly established that others in this body, or those who may wish to serve in this body, sometimes protest simply to hide their own "shorts," if that term may be applied to Senator Vitter, and others."

"Sir, if I may finish, do you allege that there are others whose citizenship needs to be verified?"

"Congressman, how about the Republican candidate for the Senate seat presently held by Mr. Bunning?"

"Rand Paul?"

"Born in Mexico.  In fact, had he been born thirty minutes later, his birth would've taken place in the United States, and he would've been a citizen at birth."

"Madam Speaker. . .I. . ."

"Listen Cannot, have you ever seen his mother?  Don't make a fool of yourself without hearing from his old man, Ronaldo."

The entire chamber was drawn to the crack of the Second Amendment.

The bullet of his .45 failed to penetrate the folds of kinetic energy surrounding the head of Congressman Joe Barton.

"Madam Speaker, I yield the remainder of my time."

"Thank you Mr. Frodo, is there a doctor in the House?  I mean one that can read, Congressman Broun (R-GA)." 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:15 PM EDT

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Mood:  irritated

Upon the death of his father, Frodo first told Bilbo that his wish was that when Bilbo's time comes, Bilbo would leave exactly .05 cents.  Frodo wished then, and has never stopped hoping that Bilbo would enjoy the time available, and not worry about what is left behind.  Frodo has repeated, and repeated, and repeated, but the issue keeps coming up and biting him in the butt.  Now there is a different twist, and Frodo fights to avoid problems.

Frodo's father was a combat veteran of World War II.  The Veteran's Administration, so Frodo discovered quite by accident, has a benefit available to eligible widows of combat veterans to off-set the cost of a home care or assisted living situation.  The benefit, for those with less than a gazillion dollars, can be as much as $1,056 monthly.  Since Bilbo's savings and monthly Social Security benefits are entirely devoted to her assisted living facility, there is an end-date in sight for the dispersal of everything, including the aforementioned .05.  The grand a month from the VA would take the 92-year-old Bilbo onto a new level of things to worry about.  It would also give Frodo a few more minutes of sound sleep.

Frodo anticipated that there would be a lot of paperwork, so he sought out the Georgia Veterans Office, a State agency, to soften his approach to the Federal behemoth.  He obtained all of the necessary forms, and got everything filled out, and reviewed, within a short distance from the Shire, and with no interminable lines awaiting.  Even better, the State agency filed Frodo's forms for him.  Frodo was actually thinking of writing Georgia's Governor a congratulatory letter, and thereby publicly admitting that he may not be a complete and total failure in office, after all.

Frodo should not have been either surprised or non-plussed when a package arrived within 10 days, ta da, requesting more forms.  What bothered him however was that they appeared to be a virtual repeat of the documents already submitted.  A careful reading of the instructions was in order, and Frodo found that he was going to spend almost two hours indeed, answering all of the questions previously answered, save one.  There was a question regarding the "type" of marriage ceremony.

Frodo has the original marriage certificate, so certified in Winchester, Virginia, on the 5th of October 1943.  The actual document does not identify if the marriage was "tribal," or  "common law," or "ceremonial," or "other."  The light shone on Frodo's countenance as he comprehended the subtlety of this new request.  Frodo thought about asking Bilbo, but he would probably hear that there were no gay people during World War II.  The longer Frodo tarries over the, as yet, unanswered question, the angrier he becomes.  He knows, first and foremost, that he will have to answer, forthrightly, just what response is required, or his application will return to the absolute bottom of the pile.  That will do Bilbo no good at all.

But it pisses Frodo to the max.  Did the Congress of the United States, who created the benefit, intend or even consider not paying benefit in the name of a deceased combat veteran who was gay?  Maybe they did, but if Bilbo is correct about the absence of a gay population, they probably didn't.  The benefit itself is short-term assistance to golden generationers quickly slipping into the long goodnight, and some ideological bullfrog has seen fit to make sure that no queers need apply.  It is a good thing that the same determination is not made to determine who is buried in a military cemetery, like Arlington.

Holy mackerel!  You don't suppose?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:16 PM EDT

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Mood:  hug me

"Emergency" is one of those words that fails to connote true meaning, at least to Frodo.  It is closer to "Stop" or "Problem" than it is to "Danger" or "Fire."  An "emergency situation" can refer to a shortage of lettuce in a salad bar, as well as a life-threatening natural disaster.  If Frodo were King of the World, he would require that every word would have but one meaning despite the confusion that might be caused by the use of polish by anyone who happened to be Polish.

Fiona was named for the host of an NPR broadcast entitled "Thistle and Shamrock," Ms. Fiona Richie.  This factoid disputes Frodo's claim to thousands of youngsters who have grown up with the presence of Shrek (or is it Shreck?) that Fiona was truly "the most beautiful girl in the world," as identified in the movie.  It has always been a conversation starter with a new generation for Frodo, and continuously wins Fiona new friends, and lots of nice pets on the head.

Fiona seemed to be squinting, if not blinking her eyes when she stepped into the sunlight.  Despite the reasonableness thereto, it was something noted by Frodo.  A day or so later, he further noted the prence of waste matter in one eye.  He brought it to the attention of Samwise, who wisely suggested a quick visit to Dr. Porsche (referring to the motorcars driven by the veterinarian and financed by the Hobbit) to remove any foreign objects or minor infection.

Sam called Frodo at Mount Doom to inform him that Fiona was to be treated at the "Emergency" Clinic after her examination at the office of Dr. Porsche.  It was his preliminary prognosis that Fiona was suffering from glaucoma.  Sam was cool, and Frodo wore a similar, if not false, veil.  The "Emergency" Clinic practitioner, according to Sam, was a graduate of Tuskeegee, and she seemed both capable and authoritative.  She confirmed the diagnosis as glaucoma, and informed Sam, who informed Frodo, that it was an "Emergency" and that Fiona required immediate surgery.  Treatment otherwise would not be effective in this instance, and Fiona's vision was at risk.

The doctor called a few minutes ago to inform Frodo that Fiona had come through the hour-and-a-half surgery famously.  Frodo thanked her for her sensitivity, her knowledge, and her skill.  She seemed a bit taken aback, and told Frodo that Fiona had been an "excellent patient." 

Mick, the Wonder Dog, has been upset all evening.  He lies at Frodo's feet and silently stares at his friend, asking where Fiona is and wondering who will play soccer with he and Frodo in the morn.  Beau Neau McKitty wanders in and out of every room in the abode upon the Shire, looking to find where Fiona is hiding.  He has entered Frodo's computer room 8 times in the past half-hour.

Frodo and Sam, along with Mick, the Wonder Dog, will rescue Fiona at 10:00 tomorrow morning.  On the way home, Frodo will examine the plastic Elizabethan collar to which Fiona will be sentenced for a couple of weeks, and he will listen as she recants everything that happened during Frodo's absence.  Frodo is sure the dialogue will include a new definition to the word "Emergency."  Frodo, it seems, will have to think up another word to take its place.  Fiona rules.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:50 PM EDT

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Mood:  cheeky

Frodo is plagued by lookalikes; not Frodo lookalikes, but those who look like somebody whom Frodo knows.  Perhaps it is the eyes, or the cheekbone, or an ankle, but, especially with the fairer sex, Frodo lives in constant fear that he will come across someone he once "knew," and blow the recognition, big time.

The young lady was named Brenda, and it was only their third date.  Frodo, honestly, dragged her into an ice cream parlor after a football game.  It was very crowded, but Frodo found a couple he knew occupying a four-person booth, and he hustled his date into the bench across from the occupants.  He glided smoothly through their names and then stumbled badly when he introduced Brenda (note that Frodo has never forgotten that name since) as "a friend of mine."  That night remains in Frodo's memory as one of those in which he did "without." 

Frodo has been struggling with the appearance of Sarah Palin.  She reminds him of somebody.  It has caused the Hobbit great consternation, for he has dreaded, perhaps, the possibility that he once "knew" Sarah Palin.  The thought has made him take several apparently unnecessary showers. 

This evening, Frodo has resolved the lookalike crisis, and is prepared to face the BP oil spill, the War in Afghanistan, the national debt, and the jobs crunch.  Frodo knows who Sarah Palin resembles, and he is sure that he has never come into contact with either.

She is Paula Jones.

Frodo will bet former President Clinton has to take two showers.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:48 PM EDT

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Mood:  party time!

In those early years, it was Frodo and Legolas, representing the urban, and Smeagol and Denethor spawned from the open spaces to the West.  On this particular Fourth of July, Legolas was ensconced in the pubescent hormonal rapture, and had no interest in separating himself from his partner of the moment.  The Hobbit entourage was then but three, conjuring magical plans to disperse their unfulfilled energies, and soon Frodo found himself outnumbered by his chums.  The two-to-one vote was to observe the Fourth of July Celebration at the Lincoln Memorial, the most magnificent fireworks display in all the lands of Middle Earth, but something that Frodo had seen several times before.  Frodo kept cajoling his associates that there was beer to drink, and that time was wasting.

Denethor was from Utah, and he knew much of wild rivers and frantic runs between huge boulders, things which Frodo enjoyed hearing about but had never imagined as reality.  Frodo was aghast when Smeagol suggested the use of Denethor's canoe as a transit object into the middle of the wide Potomac, a peaceful spot to watch the fireworks undisturbed by those lacking imagination.  Besides, said Smeagol, a case of beer would be a welcome addition, and would automatically placate Frodo.  Frodo argued with futility that he had no experience in a canoe, and might get them all sent to Davy Jones Locker, or at least knock the beer overboard.

His comrades finally convinced him that their superior skills would offset the flaws in Frodo's participation.  "Besides," said Denethor, "you'll get in the middle, and there is no way you could tip us over."

Frodo saw the flaw in the plan when they pulled up next to the Columbia Island Marina in order to launch the canoe.  It seemed that every owner of a yacht, or whatever one might call something large and white with motors aroar, that floated upon the river that night was placed directly in the path of Frodo and his companions.  As the canoe slid into the water, with Frodo as passenger, while Denethor and Smeagol provided the intial thrust on behalf of the engineless vehicle, Frodo noted the wake from every passing ocean liner.  Frodo kept his hands upon the bug spray, the jackets, and the beer, while his friends leaped into the canoe.

Things were going amazingly well until Smeagol attempted to cast himself into the pilot's position in front of Frodo, and Frodo's slight lean of assistance to the left turned out to be a miscalculation, at best.  In the subsequent attempt to assist Smeagol back into the canoe, Frodo again adjusted position without informing the remaining crew.  Now Frodo was all alone, with no paddle.

It should come as no surprise that neither Smeagol nor Denethor ever again invited Frodo when they went canoeing.  They were not amused at Frodo's effort to put things into true perspective when he noted that "at least he'd saved the beer."

As is his usual practice this Fouth of July, Frodo will grudgingly watch an inferior fireworks display while he recalls the majesty of the lights above the Washington Monument.  He will smile, and think of friends, long gone, who still curse the clumsy Hobbit for their unwanted dunking.  He knows they still laugh about him, but you know what? 

At least he saved the beer.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 6:07 PM EDT

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Mood:  mischievious

Today began the "third quarter," generally regarded as a critical period of time for business and government.  Frodo, however, is feeling rather perky this evening, and using the model set forth by Matthew Broderick in that great movie where he played war games with the defense system of the United States, Frodo has decided to play a "war game."  You can play along boys and girls.  In fact, you may want to notify your friends and have them play along, too.

The game begins.

Frodo presupposes that, despite the treachery of British Petroleum, the worst customer service offered by any corporate entity belongs solely to the communications megalith, COMCAST.  If, dear reader, you have never dealt with the mindless gnomes in their Philadelphia headquarters, then you truly have no idea of what is indeed the worst designed and the most ineptly managed assemblage ever in that which we call Middle Earth.  Ask anyone who has ever had to deal with the promises unkept, the orders misplaced, the refunds not received, or the interminable periods wending one's way through "telephone prompts," only to end up back where the conflagration initially commenced.

Given that, Frodo will demonstrate.  COMCAST claims that they provide "customer service," 24/7.  If you should find yourself unable to sleep some morning, say arouind 2:30, and your black-and-white is full of infomercials, then Frodo suggests you dial toll-free (404-266-2278 in Georgia, or your area code and the letters COMCAST).  You will be asked to supply a telephone number in order to better "identify" your account.  Frodo suggests using the telephone number of your Member of Congress (in Frodo's case, it is "Tom Price," the mustachioed little nose-picker).  You will be impressed by the bubbly little searching sound in the background as the digitalized message system absorbs your full attention, but only after establishing that you are not an "illegal."  An account number request can be met by any combination of sixteen (16) numbers.

After a quasi-reasonable period of time, one finds oneself directed to respond to increasingly specific choices about the motivation which first drove the caller to seek assistance.  If any combination of choices selected does not add up to ordering, and paying for, new service, then the caller is informed that "unusually high traffic" prevents service at this time, and thereby follows summary judgment that another call should be attempted, "at a later time."  After thirty or forty attempts, the caller, as in the case of the Hobbit, is usually prepared to accept defeat.

Frodo thought that an appropriate piece of correspondence to the COO would salve his wounds.  He found however, that everyone he knows who has ever dealt similarly with this organization, which shares his citizenship, has also written to the CEO, CFO, Board Chairman, without response.  Frodo concludes that COMCAST is in collusion with the United States Postal Service.

Frodo invites all, dear reader, to submit their own examples of bad customer service, but, as in this game, back it up with rules of engagement or be prepared to declare that COMCAST has "the worst service in the world."

With appropriate apologies.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:11 PM EDT

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Mood:  bright

It is very, very difficult to keep a "stiff upper lip," when you keep getting your butt kicked was Frodo's message to his fellow Hobbits.  "From Mordor to Gondor," he said, "there is nothing but bad news, and," he added, "it's too hot to be outside for very long.  Then, even if you are able to tarry a moment, the wet Spring has fostered a generation of tiger mosquitos that are both vicious and persistent.  They remind me of Republicants from Texas."

On top of all that, the gallant Braves just got swept by the scandalous White Stockings from Chicago.

Frodo has been thinking a lot about the economy, as if he were the only one.  In his business dealings, the Hobbit is often asked if things are getting better.  His standard rersponse has been that "Today is better than yesterday.  Yesterday was better than last week.  Last week was sure as Hell better than a year-and-a-half-ago."  This generally draws a snicker or two, and either a nod in agreement or a wish that the message would receive quick attention at the ear of the Big Guy.  Truth be told, this is, indeed, what Frodo believes.

However, Frodo recognizes the truthiness in the words of the opposition, and is therefore using that criticism as the base for his submission to higher powers on how to defend against a recession which resembles a large ice cream cone (a double dip, if Frodo's attempt at humor is too far afield).  Given it is that 48% of the population of Middle Earth pays any taxes at all.  Our increasingly accumulating debt reflects the fact that wealthy real estate developers, for example, are able to use a complex tax code in order to legitimately avoid their fair share of our national need.  It is also true that fewer and fewer on the low-to-medium income levels contribute nothing, except their charming presence, to the investment that our nation needs in order to avoid that which has befallen less viable nations all over Middle Earth.

At the crux of our problem is the bank.  The bank has found that the loans they made to real estate developers no longer reflect the value of the collateral.  The $10 Million the bank loaned to the real estate developer to build a shopping center assumed that the real estate developer would be able to lease all of the space to grocery stores, and other convenient retail businesses.  Since consumer spending is down because of job losses and so on, many of those businesses closed, and they have not been replaced, despite the best efforts of the real estate developer.  This has meant that the real estate developer has been unable to repay his loan to the bank.   The bank has then been left with the choice of calling the loan, and trying to seil the loan (at a big discount to those big bad guys from Wharton on the Street named Wall), or to re-negotiate the deal with the real estate developer.  The result being that the bank loses money, and either fails, as have more than 38 in Georgia alone during the past year, or it simply licks its wounds and stops lending money until market condidtions improve.

The snowball does not stop easily.

Every body has a simple answer to the problems at hand.  Unfortunately, nobody agrees with anyone else's solutions.  Raising taxes.  Eliminating the Income Tax.  Selling more Government Bonds.  "Drill, Baby, Drill," and other homilies, are the suggestions of those who enjoy hearing the sound of their own voice among the cacophony of talking heads and scarecrows accompanying Dorothy back to Kansas.  That, dear reader, is why Frodo has drawn his own plan for your consideration and amusement.

To appease those who believe in swift action by the Government, Frodo supposes that we should immediately institute a complete and total freeze on bank lending to support the construction of any and all shopping centers, apartment buildings, office towers, or condominiums.  Do we really need another shopping center?  Anywhere?  So why are we complaining about being unable to get a loan to build another something we don't need?

To appease the economists, Frodo suggests that incentives be established for the construction and development of any "green energy" project which produces and stores its own facility of non-fossilized fuel.  The "energy developer" (who was probably once a "real estate developer") will have a marketable product which he/she could sell to anyone who had an interest (say, like a county who can light all of their schools with energy gathered from windmills, the construction of which had been financed by the bank).  He might also make money; taxable money.

Who says that snowballs cannot run uphill?

When we get our draggy asses out of these doldrums, it will be because of thoughts that look forward, like Frodo has tried to do.

Ring, ring, ring.

"Hello?"

"THE Steven Jobs?"

"Yessir.  Frodo will give you all the time in the world.  Would you mind if we walked up Mount Doom while we talk?"

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:47 PM EDT

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