Mood:  cheeky

Last evening, the Ramblin' Wreck of Georgia Tech confronted the Academy d' Air Force in the Independence Bowl.  Frodo was struck, first of all, by the fact that he hadn't seen so many white guys on a football team since Ronald Reagan played George Gipp.  Having visited Shreveport, Louisiana, on several occasions, Frodo was quite concerned about how all the players from Atlanta's Technical School would be greeted by the local residents, who seem to believe that Ronald Reagan is still alive.

Frodo learned last week that four of the student-athletes from Georgia Tech were dropped from the roster due to failing grades in class.  As if that were not ominous enough, three more players were held out of play during the first half for a curfew violation two days before the game.

A curfew violation!  In Shreveport?  What time, asked Frodo, was curfew, 7:30PM?  For there is, by Frodo's reckoning, nothing to do, especially if you happen to be black, like the Georgia Tech players, in Shreveport.  By all that is truly fair, the players should have gotten recognition for their creativity.

Just before the game was to start, the "special operations" guys from the Air Force Academy paraded to mid-field in order to demonstrate the winged effectiveness of the school mascot, an honest-to-goodness falcon.  One of the Special Ops guys removed the hood from the head of the falcon, and released the leather thong from around his foot and launched him into his air-borne routine.  Frodo happened to be paying attention, and noted that, rather than return to his handler, the bird flew part way around the football stadium and disappeared over the far wall.  The handlers did everything, by the book, in trying to get their escapee to return, but he was no longer visible to man or camera.  That sucker was long gone.

What, Frodo asks, would you do if somebody dragged you to Shreveport in December and told you it was your reward for being a good boy?  According to press reports, the falcon struck up an acquaintance with a number of pigeons in downtown Shreveport.  Given the time of year, he obviously had something on his mind other than lunch.

Frodo intends to follow susequent events in Shreveport over the next couple of months.  Come Spring, there are liable to be some mighty fast pigeons diving from high altitudes in search of another set of turkeys from Atlanta.

Air Force Academy 14, Georgia Tech 7. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 5:43 PM EST

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Mood:  on fire

What follows is an actual entry in the Opinion Section (once known as "Letters to the Editor") of the ATLANTA JOURNAL-CONSTITUTION of December 26, 2010.  Frodo's response follows thereafter.

"At last, a column by Cynthia Tucker that is not filled with her spewing hatred of the GOP; ranting about racism, and/or protecting illegal immigrants. . .As a rule (in her liberal opinion), the Republican Party, tea party, and conservatives can do nothing right, and for many of us, her diatribes get really old.  Why does she use such big words that most of us need to look up in Webster's to even know what they mean?  Cynthia, who are you trying to impress?  I for one would much rather you write columns the caliber of this piece--without the show-off words, and your usual vitriol (one of your words, not mine)."--Sheryl Danner, Norcross 

Yeah Cynthia, somebody might get the idea that Georgians aren't willing to accept second-best after all, if you keep using big words that Sheryl (from Gwinnett County, no less) can't understand.  After all, a national statewide educational ranking that has not risen above 49th in over a decade (including the District of Columbia) should require that you "dumb down" to the level of your readers.  Frodo would like to personally suggest a few alternatives to help you properly address readers like Sheryl.  Frodo is sure that some of his friends will be glad to help.

How about cretin?  Well, that does assume mental illness, so probably not totally appropriate.  Moron?  That does assume a potential mental age between eight and twelve, and the possibility of routine work under adult supervision, so it is better, but still not perfect.  How about dimwit?  Webster would define that as one who is mentally slow or stupid, so that's pretty close, don't you think?  It might also impress Sheryl, since you are definitely trying to impress somebody, that you turned to Webster, in order to look up big words.  As he thinks about it, Frodo has come up with an even better suggestion for classifying Sheryl; why don't we just address her as a Neanderthal?

Sheryl, try page 564 of the Seventh New Collegiate, column two. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 7:53 PM EST

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Mood:  special

Today the exhibition season ended.  Spring training is entirely behind us, because, and maybe for the first time in more years than any of us care to admit, we have a President of the United States.

Maybe it takes two years for any man (or woman) to absorb and adjust to the responsibility of the job.  Obviously, there are some who may be just as lost eight years later as the day they first mispronounced "nuclear."  The meld between vision and action is not the result of a Klingon physical ceremony, rather it comes, over time, most often quite painfully.  Thus we have seen the maturation of Barack Obama, the President of the United States.

Funny it is, thinks Frodo, that tonight the conversational references to John McCain, Sarah Palin, Mitch McConnell, or others of that ilk do nothing more than further trivialize their importance.  We have a Presient who can act with dignity and honor to his commitments, and to his demonstrated desire to bring our people together.

Most of all, fellow Americans, no one doubts that we have got a President.

Let the games begin.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:06 PM EST

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Mood:  suave

My Dearest Scarlett;

   My, my, how time does fly.  It seems like only yesterday when all those would-be suitors gathered at Twelve Oaks, never to know that Ashley Wilkes, a gift you could not have, was your desire.  Many of those would fall amongst the 620,000 lost in the insanity which began 150 years ago this very evening.  Oh my dear, how you lost yourself in the swirling romance of men in uniform, and talk of glory, glory, glory.

   I grieve still over the loss of our dear Bonnie, and your noble father, John O'Hara.  If the number of those lost was told in modern terms, more than 6 million souls were surrendered to the folly of arms against the Union.  The fact that it began in my native Charleston is too much for even me to consider, knowing the foolishness of men who fought for a way of lfe that had already gone windward.

   Perhaps, in times to come, men will no longer strive to enslave some in order to obtain greater wealth, but I have my doubts.  For as surely as there are young men whose eyes are blinded by the rush of arms, young women will stand and cheer as they go marching off to war.  Except for you Scarlett, for we both know that it is your precious Ashley for whom you wait, while the blessed Melanie suffers an undeserved fate.  Aye, poetry it is, the treachery of those who mourn by day, while the bier passes their way, for it is in their guile that time doth pass, until we are no more among things that last.

   My ship waits in the harbor, so I must go, if not to win a war, at least to prolong it.  Such is the role I play, and you, my dear, are the only winner amongst us all.

   Yours,

   Captain Butler, CSA    

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:43 PM EST

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Mood:  special

Frodo remembers, once in a while, something from his past which has rooted itself into what he now knows as his persona.  He remembers hearing a "Bible story" about a bunch of church officials meeting Jesus outside the Temple, near where the "offering box" was located.  Together they watched as the supplicants offered their gifts as they entered.  Most of them, as the story went, were well-dressed and obviously pretty well-off, since their gifts were very generous.  That is with the exception of one lady, who had no fine garments, and whose offering consisted of but a few coins which were apparently all that she had.

Jesus turned to the church officials and told them to take note of the fact that the lady had given more than any of the others who entered therein.  He told them that she had given all that she had, and that such a sacrifice was far greater than the large amounts tendered by those with more to give.

This coming Saturday, Frodo and the Men of Gondor will gather again before the Mammon of modern retail, with their small red kettle and the bells of the Salvation Army.  The volunteers will receive a new and very special gift this year which is a direct segue from the story-line above. 

Proximity allowed Frodo and Sam some years ago to drive near Mordor in order to visit with and to meet the one now known as Merry, the proud.  The visit between internet correspondents fulfilled all the good wishes of new friends.  Learned was much about the parties thereto, and the things that were important, one-to-another.  Merry seemed most interested in the good acts of the Men of Gondor, and particularly in the ringing of the bells aside the small red kettle.  Frodo doubts not that among the years that followed, Merry would drop coins into a red kettle and tell the volunteer that the submission was "for Frodo," thereby startling and confusing good-hearted people who knew not of what she spoke.

This year, Frodo has received a check for $50 from his fellow warrior in the Fellowship.  The request being that Frodo deposit it in the little red kettle for her so that she could share in the joy of the gift with her friend.

Social Security Disability payments offer barely enough to meet the challenges of daily need.  The fact that anyone, solely dependent on such, can scrimp and save enough, over an entire year, in order to accumulate enough for such a gift is as amazing as it is awesome.

Frodo has turned to the Men of Gondor with this story, and reiterated the parable of she who has given beyond all others.  Together, as volunteers working on behalf of the Salvation Army, we offer the heartfelt "Thank You" and "Merry Christmas" to she known as Merry, of the Fellowship.

Dale Hajost      Roger Green      George Gfroerer      G. Craig Baker

Rod Pope         Abe Wong          Phil Brooks              Eric Lawrence

Joe Kyle           George Hornbein  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:44 PM EST

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Mood:  vegas lucky

Two forces are converging in the skies above our homeland at the very same time, thinks Frodo.  Government is responding to the will of those who bothered to vote during the off-year elections, and Business is developing new ways to increase profits.  Frodo has been smitten by one example from the private sector, and is today prepared to submit his own plan for the economic recovery of Middle Earth.  Let us begin with what is happening, right now.

The Just Born Candy Company of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, whose products include Peanut Chews, Peeps, Mike and Ike's, Teenie Beanie, and Hot Tamales, devised a plan to incentivize, both positively and negatively, their sales staff.  Management told the two dozen sales people that, if they met their cumulative sales goals for the fiscal year just ended, they would each receive a vacation in Hawaii.  On the other hand, they said, much to the bemusement of the sales staff, should the cumulative sales goals not be met, the sales staff would receive a vacation in the tundra of the Arctic.

Ha, ha, ho, ho, they thought.

The sales staff exceeded prior year accomplishments by 2%, unfortunately the goal was to exceed the prior year by 4%.

Goodbye Maui, Hello Fargo.

The 19-story Radisson Inn, the tallest building in Fargo, is tonight the vacation home of the the 24-person sales staff of the Just Born Candy Company of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.  Last evening, they attended the All-U-Can Eat Spaghetti Dinner held every Monday Night, at the VFW.  Today, they attempted to tour two local wineries, but their progress was hindered by the 2 and one-half feet of snow on the ground.  The temperature on Maui is currently 78 degrees.

Management announced to the sales staff this evening that next year's choices would be Maui, if they met the new goals, or, in the other event, in Rapid City, South Dakota.

Who says management isn't responsive to the needs of working people?

Frodo began this treatise talking about two forces at work, so he offers the potential, dear reader, to something similar to the newly-elected House of Representatives of the United States.  Should you guys and gals succeed at reducing the deficit, bringing an end to the War in Afghanistan, and returning our nation to full employment, then each of you will get to go to Hawaii in order to search for the birth certificate of President Obama.  On the other hand however, should you fail to reduce the deficit by even just a smidgen, or to reduce troop levels in our latest unnecessary foreign entanglement, or to put everybody that wants a job in a job, then you guys and gals, every last damn one of ya, gets two weeks in Wasilla (second prize is a full month), next December.

You had better start hoping this global-warming stuff is for real.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:43 PM EST

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Mood:  cheeky

Frodo has taken great liberties in his descriptions of various and assundry residents of American States like Georgia, South Carolina, Alabama, West Virginia, and of course the Mexican State of Texas.  That fact does not over emphasize the comparative nincompoopery of said locations, but Frodo readily admits that it is easy to overlook comparative stupidity in other locations when these make it so easy.  Let us tonight include Minnesota.

Minnesota, the land of lakes by the thousdands, or some such, was the home of Hubert Humphrey, the "Happy Warrior" who had the unfortunate fate of being the President in charge of Vice under Lyndon Johnson.  Humphrey, as some may recall and others will eventually learn, ran for President when Johnson decided that his old ticker wasn't up to it for another term.  Humphrey found himself as an opponent of the Vietnam War who was part of an Administration charged with carrying out the War to some sort of conclusion (see "Afghanistan," in Wikipedia).  Unable to establish himself on firm footing in anyone's mind, he lost the election to Richard Nixon (see "Tricky Dick," in Wikipedia).  To that point, Humphrey was the only person Frodo had ever met who had actually been to Minnesota, much less lived there.

Of course, Frodo got to be quite intimate with Mary Richards, Rhoda, Suellen, Lou (see "Mr. Grant," in Wikipedia), Ted, and Frodo's favorite, Carlton the Doorman, nearly every Saturday evening for any number of years.  Minnesota didn't look so bad if you had a girlfriend, with great legs, tossing her beret into the air every time you tuned her in, or turned yourself on. 

Since those days, Frodo has been familiarized with two other Minnesotans.  One, named Tim Pawlenty, looks like an accountant, or what Frodo has always imagined an accountant should look like.  The other, named Michelle Bachmann, sounds like the driver of one of those little Volkswagens that used to appear in the rings of Barnum & Bailey with 10 other passengers wearing floppy shoes and red noses.  Everyone else Frodo might associate with Minnesota is actually from someplace else (see "Brett Favre" in Wikipedia, but those under 18 should not be allowed to view the video portions thereof).

Everything that Frodo knows about Minnesota reflects incompetence.  They had this great big bridge on the only big road that seemed to carry any volume of motorcars to collapse a few years back.  A lot of cars actually fell into the water, which destroyed the myth that Minnesota has but two seasons, Winter and the Fourth of July.  Frodo never understood why Governor Pawlenty never just sort of walked under the bridge and took a look around some time when he didn't have a lot of governing to do  (see "most of the time" in Wikipedia)  That event has now been followed by the collapse of this here tarpaulin that they had stretched across the roof of their football stadium.  It seems that they had a whole mess of electric fans pointed skyward which were keeping the tarpaulin aloft from the field of play thereunder.  Frodo would've thought that a smart Congressperson would've asked the question about what might have happened to the roof (see "tarpaulin," in Wikipedia) if the power ever went out.

Even in West Virginia, somebody would've figured that one out.  Not so, in Minnesota (see "dumb shits," in Wikipedia). 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:28 PM EST

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Mood:  smelly

In the area behind the Shire there is a wilderness fed by the flotsam of garden cuttings,  sedimentary subterranean discoveries, and cat litter (well, ya gotta put it someplace).  Vines, fallen seeds, and whatever may blow in from the west gather there, and a eastern deciduous barrier to the outside offers special protection to the gardens of the Shire.  Mr. Beau Neau McKitty patrols the fence as if he were Simba incarnate, and what lies beyond is his personal HDTV.  This past year, Frodo was hard pressed to manage that which fell beyond this fence, so it is far less attractive than in days past, or to come.   The impact has been a marked increase in the squirrel populace.

Frodo has, and is very successful with, a Hav-a-Hart trap with which, as he has explained before, he is able to relocate these tree rats to more appropriate surroundings (he particularly favors the football field of the High School of the Shire, from which mildly enraged squirrels take great sport in pursuing individual members of the marching band at practice).  Because Frodo did not perform at his traditional peak levels of performance in this endeavor, there are far too many squirrels in the Shire, and his bird feeders are the site of frequent acts of thievery.

Frodo knows that the nests of the squirrel are built to withstand the cold, as well as a nursing point for the soon-to-be-delivered seasonal progeny.  It would be cruel for Frodo to utilize the trap at this time of year.  Frodo has, in the past, also utilized slingshots, stones, and tennis balls, among other thrown objects, in order to disperse the vigilantes from the bird feeders.  Recently however, he came across a new weapon quite by accident, and he is utilizing it as his answer to chemical warfare.

The boomerang he found is an ancient tool, something that aborigines used for thousands of years in order to dominate an entire continent.  To Frodo however, it is a dangerous weapon.  He can't seem to guarantee that it will turn in the direction intended, or that it will return anywhere within the same county from which it was launched.  The squirrels seem amused, if not wary.

Today, with Fiona in tow, Frodo took a shot or two with the boomerang at the culprits beyond the fence.  While searching for his errant WMD, Frodo noted several young squirrels concentrated in a certain treetop high above a huge pile of leaves recently gathered there by the industrious Hobbit.  As Frodo neared their perceived safety zone, he noted the first leapt from a tree limb into the pile of leaves, soon followed by one after the other until all had soft landed into the remnants of maple, elm, hickory, and dogwood,  Then, and Frodo has no reason to exaggerate, the little buggers each climbed back up the same tree, and again leapt into the pile of leaves.

The little thieves were playing the same game that Frodo himself had played for decades.  They were having a blast, for they weren't yet wise enough to immediately give up the game and seek shelter. 

Frodo looked at Fiona, and Fiona looked at Frodo.  Fiona ran when Frodo grabbed a handful of leaves and prepared to pop her right in the kisser with them.  Then Fiona chased Frodo as he jumped feet-first into the pile of leaves.  The squirrels sat in their tree and barked at Frodo for interrupting their game. 

Eventually, Fiona and Frodo recouped the errant boomerang just outside the giant leafpile, and they headed back into the Shire.  There is a chill in the air now, and the eve calls for two fingers of beverage, and a good book.  Boomerang practice has been called for the morrow. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 4:09 PM EST

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Mood:  vegas lucky

Frodo, avocationally and as a businessman, always looking to make a buck, goes through a lot of information with nary a look askance.  Two pieces of real estate caught his attention this week however, and he fantasized about being the "new" owner.  The first is a multi-million dollar mansion on New York's Staten Island, a place that seems anathema to the warm-blooded Hobbit, for sure.

How would you, dear reader, feel about living in the house portrayed in the movie as the home of the Coreleone Family?  That's right boys and girls, for a paltry three million, you can begin your own expedition to uncover the remains of Abe Vigoda's character, Tessio.  See the very room where Marlon Brando received the pledge of loyalty from Luca Brazzi.  Thrill to the spirits of Michael, Tom, Fredo (no relation), and Sonny as they eat pizza and plan for revenge against the other Families.  Most of all, find yourself dancing among the tomato vines in the backyard, where the inimitable Don fell that tragic day.

If you act now, you might even also get a Popeil Pocket Fisherman.

The other piece of real estate is almost on the other side of our great nation, and it has been reduced in price almost $100,000 to $69,500 in fairly recent events.  The 1.4 acre estate has neither electricity nor plumbing, and the only dwelling is now on display in the Newseum as part of the Smithsonian in Washington.   The property is completely fenced, and a prominent display of the acronym "FBI" is observable to the causal passersby.

The "Unabomber" himself pounded on the keys of a typewriter at this location near Lincoln, Montana.  Perhaps giving proof to the old saying that if one were to place an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters together that, eventually, they would produce all of the great books of the world, Ted Kazincsky did his best to prove that not all madness is confined in the Republicant Party.  Sometimes there are people who are just plain crazy.

Imagine what you might surmise about anyone acquiring this as an investment?  Say, isn't that Newt over there?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 12:07 PM EST

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Mood:  irritated

67 years and a few days ago, Ships' Cook 3rd Class Doris Miller was a casualty realized upon the sinking of the escort carrier Liscome Bay in the area then known as the Gilbert Islands.  Since that day, the War has ended, the Gilberts became the Kiribati Republic, and Cuba Gooding, Jr. portrayed Miller in a movie entitled "Pearl Harbor."  Not much else has changed.

Despite the fact that "Dorie" Miller abandoned his battle station (carrying the dead below decks) on the USS West Virginia on December 7th, 1941, in order to replace the fallen who had manned a .50 cal. machine gun, upon which he had never been trained, he fired continuously at the enemy for a quarter hour until he was void of ammunition.  He was ordered to abandon ship at that point.  Miller was subsequently awarded the Navy Cross by Admiral Chester Nimitz, personally, who remarked that he was the "first of his race" to receive such recognition in the Pacific Fleet.

Well, duh!  Since the "Land of the free and the home of the brave" had not yet stumbled across the wisdom that the best fighters don't necessarily have to be white, Miller, and all those like him, were prevented from integrated service with their fellow citizens in defense of their country.  Not until September of 1945 did President Harry Truman assimilate the results of the "survey" conducted to adjudge the issue of "service by Negroes in the military" and ended segregation in their ranks.  It deserves special mention that, at that time, 63%, almost two out of every three people, favored a continuation of segregation in the military.

Sound familiar?

Frodo would share a foxhole with Doris Miller, but he doesn't wish to be on the same planet with John McCain.  Perhaps Joe Scarborough, of all people, said it best when, after viewing the comments of the Senator to Secretary Gates and Admiral Mullen, stated that "John McCain is now the old guy in the neighborhood who chases people off of his front lawn."  McCain was quick to point out that 60% of the active troops in the USMC were opposed to ending "don't ask, don't tell." 

60%?  Do tell.  Almost two out of every three.

Perhaps, thinks Frodo, another Admiral will soon place a Navy Cross on the chest of another young sailor, recognizing that person as another heroic first.   Frodo wonders what John McCain would do if he found out that sailor was also the offspring of an illegal alien?  Frodo supposes that those who graded McCain as merely fourth from the bottom of his class at Annapolis were pretty good judges of character and aptitude.

Finally, Frodo notes that Doris Miller was born in 1919 in a place in Texas, called Waco.  It merely proves the adage that if enough people are born in a specific place, any place, then, eventually, at least one of them will turn out to be worth a damn.   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 1:40 PM EST

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