Mood:  suave

This week, Frodo was reminded of a tale he penned November 29, 2005, about a young man named Mehamed Gomez.  If you have the time, and/or the interest, it is a pleasant trip back via GOOGLE to read the story, knowing that almost exactly six years later the young man would GOOGLE his own name, and find the story which Frodo had written about him.  Frodo was refreshed learning that the young man had come across "two paths in a yellow wood," and that he had taken the one least traveled by.  Frodo hopes that it will make all the ddifference.

The miracle of the Internet had helped Frodo to fashion that vignette which he had felt might promote a tug of a heartstring or two.  Thinking about others is something that Frodo has noted as a disappearing fact in the lives of those who inhabit Middle Earth.  He became philosophical in that regard when he heard the plethora of statistical data documenting the steadily increasing gulf between rich and poor.  It strikes him hardest when he learns that the land encompassing the Shire is the site of the greatest disparity of all.

The nattering nabobs occasionally strike at the truth, as if there are indeed an infinite number of monkeys typing from infinite keyboards in order to produce all of the great works, and Frodo heard one say that the self-indulgence we experience is what characterizes our lack of apparent concern when exposed to the suffering of others.  Frodo, too, falls subject thereto.

He leaves on the morrow, with Sam and Mick, the Wonder Dog, for an opulent celebration, in the sort of idyllic setting which tempts almost all.  He will not take his PC, and shurely there will be an even greater absence of print journalism.  There will be the black-and-white, but Frodo knows that the surf, sand, guided fishing, sea treats and hardbounds will dominate the days which introduce his entry to the midnight hours of human existence.  He looks forward to walks with his canine friend, who has never seen salt water.  He will bend and uproot shells with Sam, and he will tune out the mindless rhetoric which adds to his discomfort on Mount Doom.

There is guilt. 

There is also the memory of Clarence Carter, the Tams, and the melodic interplay which helps to clear the fog.  Frodo is looking for a dance floor, self-indulgent it may be. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 3:28 PM EDT

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Mood:  crushed out

The story has been told of Lovey, the border collie who adopted Frodo and Sam and thereby re-defined the role of one "just like a child."  She was an adult, and was the dog that should come into the life of everyone.  Secured from the local animal shelter, the requirement was that she be spayed, and if there was ever a dog from whom one would want a puppy, well, that should explain itself.

Frodo and Sam made the decision as Lovey gracefully aged that they would adopt a puppy and let Lovey be the surrogate mother, teacher, and counselor.  Fiona was but six weeks old, and this "runt of the litter," was everything anticipated, and more.  She was so full of energy that she was wearing Lovey down, and the Hobbits quickly determined a need for a playmate.  Thus entered Mick, the Wonder Dog, born 15 years ago on Mother's Day.  Immediately Lovey sensed that this is he who would replace her, and she warmed quickly to the task at hand.  Although Fiona was totally disinterested in being trained to do anything, she was an "alpha" personality, and Mick, the Wonder Dog, accepted his position in rank.

Lovey passed away with the light still in her eyes, and Mick, the Wonder Dog, became Frodo's companion.  Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, became fast friends however, and shared in all the adventures of good friends enjoying life with friends and family.

Time is given to us, and when it grows short, it is difficult to appreciate its wonder.  The loss of Fiona occurred as Mick, the Wonder Dog, was diagnosed with a stage two cancer.  At the same time, Dr. Porsches (the veterinarian who owns two motorcars because of Frodo) felt the need to remove eleven of the teeth of Mick, the Wonder Dog.  It was a very trying time for all, but surely thought Frodo, it would be toughest on he who had never spent a single day as an "alpha."

Although Sam remains broken-hearted over the passing of Fiona, there is a determination to not seek out the gifts of the "puppy angel," until such time as the Hobbits are convinced that nothing threaten the role of the "alpha," known as Mick, the Wonder Dog.  Amazing it is that he seems to be adjusting a little bit everyday, and uses his time wisely and appropriately.

In days now past Mick, the Wonder Dog, would capture a tennis ball bounced off a brick wall at the apogee and turn 180 degrees in mid-air to land facing Frodo and pacing to return the ball for another toss, and more after that.  After his surgery the routine was abandoned, and most physical games were forgotten amid the miasma of sheer ssurvival.

Today, the weather has turned cooler, and the need for Frodo's companion to spend all of his daytime hours on an air-conditioning vent is not required.  There was a bit of a spring in his step, as he sought out aromas on the wind and looked for activity in the underbrush.  Frodo saw it first, an errant tennis ball, just sitting there, waiting.

Frodo picked up the tennis ball and began to bounce it on the driveway, soon his friend noted the activity, and it was as if a light had been switched on as a canine grin and flashing eyes awakened from slumber.  Frodo gently bounced the ball off the wall of the house and Mick, the Wonder Dog, let it bounce twice, and he grabbed it without straining the pull of gravity.  He turned to Frodo, and dropped the ball for a repeat of serve.  All told, the game probably lasted three or four minutes, but it was two friends, with laughing eyes, making the best use of time available.

Mick, the Wonder Dog, carried the ball in his mouth back into the Shire itself, to show Sam, and to give Sam the honor of bouncing the ball about the kitchen.

He sleeps now, at the foot of the Hobbit, and he listens to the magical clatter of he Hobbit reflecting back on a day that was just plain perfect, both for the Hobbits, and for an alpha dog.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:15 PM EDT

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Mood:  special

Frodo announced this past week that his wounds had taken a great toll, and that he would soon end this phase of his daily climb up Mount Doom, and that said action would take place by the end of the year.  Today, the President of the United States of America announced that the War in Iraq was over, and that all of our troops would be returning home by the end of the year.

Well damn, had he known that, Frodo would've landed a jet on an aircraft-carrier and announced  "Mission Accomplished," if that's what it would have taken to bring everyone home to Middle Earth, and not through Dover.

Frodo is having great difficulty in walking a straight line between his long-directed hostility toward those who made this foreign policy disaster a reality, and his desire to say something funny, to lighten the mood, if you will.  Recognizing the futility therein, he accidentally learned of a new book, or whatever one calls something on an IBook (whatever that is), called "Ten Letters," written by a Washington Post reporter Eli Saslow (which Frodo will pronounce as if someone had asked him to not talk quite so fast). 

"Ten Letters," is written about the ten letters that the President has selected from the roughly 20,000 pieces of correspondence received daily addressed to the President from just everyday folks, who find some reason to write to him, be it for assistance, an opinion, or just because they are worried about his hair turning gray.  Saslow says, slowly, that the President often responds in a handwritten letter and, in some cases, he has even sent personal checks, simply because somebody needed a helping hand.

No kiddin'

What an absolutely cool idea.  It makes Frodo remember Johnny Carson, and his annual opening of letters addressed to Santa Claus at The North Pole which the much-maligned USPS decided to forward to him to read.  There was always a letter from a kid, with not much beyond a big heart, who asked Santa for something for his sick Momma, or the kids across the hall who didn't have a Dad.

Frodo wonders what the President might do, if Frodo sent him a check in order to supplement his largesse or to spread some assistance just a little bit wider?  Frodo would trust his President to exercise his judgment, and maybe he could help those kids, you know, the ones "across the hall."

Stay tuned.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:37 PM EDT

Updated: Friday, October 21, 2011 9:53 PM EDT

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Mood:  sharp

Disdain is probably an appropriate word to describe Frodo's feelings whenever a political candidate starts talking about the "Founding Fathers."  In recent days John Quincy Adams, the 6th President, has been identified by one weak-minded twit as a contemporary of Adams, Jefferson, Washington, Franklin, Madison, Henry, Hamilton, and yes, even Aaron Burr.  What really begins to grind his butt is when one of the current escapees from a Psych Ward talks about what the FF (as we will identify them for future reference) believed or how they behaved.

Nearly every educated voter is aware of the fact that Thomas Jefferson was not only a slave owner, but he found special pleasures therein.  Few know however, that Jefferson also arranged for a chamber to be constructed to a depth of 16 feet below the newly-constructed "White House" in order to store his wine collection.  Franklin, Hamilton, and Burr, at the very least each made Bill Clinton's shenanigans seem mild, as they cuckolded in every direction, and in nearly every position.  

It would probably be disputed by nearly each of those who would be President that the newly-enacted Constitution was under constant threat of change, since nearly every political figure of the time thought the document to be imperfect and imprecise.  The current set of pretenders have already found instances appropriate to the allegation that the FF were devout Christians and that seeking God's wishes for a Christian Nation was the end-plan by the time of the coming election.  It is difficult to even imply Christianity given the writings of the individual FF, and most certainly the Deism of Jefferson suggests that the Constitutional references to an active Supreme Being  are inconsistent, at best.

It is not Frodo's intent to besmirch the good works and the sacrifice of those who risked "sacred life, honour, and fortune."  It is his point that we, dear reader, tend to somehow impose our values on the facts as they took place.  This leads him to the point of what follows herein, and what that is will be quoted to the end of this piece, and Frodo will offer no additional commentary.  Frodo will merely suggest that each read and consider, taking into consideration events taking place in Middle Earth as we speak.  Understand we must that the problems we face have been confronted before and most likely, to be confronted again by those who learn not.

"In 1785, when Jefferson was Ambassador to France, he wrote James Madison a revealing letter from the royal palace of Fontainebleau, where the king and queen were enjoying the hunting season.  Jefferson told Madison how, while strolling in the countryside, he had met a ragged woman who had two children to feed and no bread.  Jefferson described the vast acreage of the king's demesne and told Madison he thought the grossly unequal distribution of property that prevailed in aristocratic Europe was a curse.  They must see to it that it never happened in America.  The earth was given as 'a common stock for men to labour & live," Jefferson declared.  The future happiness of America depended on giving as many people as possible at least 'a little portion' of land.  "The small landholders,' Jefferson wrote, 'are the most precious part of a state.'" --from "Duel, Alexander Hamilton, Aaron Burr and The Future of America," written by Thomas Fleming, 1999.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:26 PM EDT

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Mood:  crushed out

Frodo was again asked "the" question.  Again, he was appreciative, flattered, and dismissive.  Frodo might enjoy helping run a campaign, for somebody else, but he would be less effective than his friend "Falzone for America."  Frodo might also compose a lot of good arguments to help support the best candidate in almost any electoral contest, but Merry of the Fellowship is a professional and would grab the jugular of the lesser opponent and rip it out of the physical body.  It is not that Frodo lacks leadership skills or the qualifications to meet such a challenge, it's just, well, he likes talking to himself.

Frodo, understand this dear reader, is no Tom Eagleton.  Frodo likes sitting atop a keyboard and telling it what he wants it to say in response.  Sometimes, he has found, he comes up with some pretty solid stuff, and that comes without having any idea where he was going when he started to type.  If Frodo were not tone deaf, he could aver that he composes, musically, and that the lyrics come tied to a tune, or vice-versa.  Frodo imagines, for example, that Pete Seeger knew what the words were going to be, and that he placed the music with the flowers picked by young girls, every one.  Frodo does something similar, and that is why a few words from the artistry of this generation open the mind of the reader herein.

It has been argued that Frodo does not have the courage (he will not argue if the word "money' is used instead) exhibited by those who do run, even if they are buffoons.  One said, specifically, that all of Frodo's "big words" become "just talk," if he does not stand up for the working man, or those who fall well below the 1% level that so many young people reference these days.

Doris Kearns Goodwin has, to Frodo's knowledge, never held political office.  Neither have Robert Frost nor Thomas Friedman, but who among us has failed to stop, and to listen, to what each has to say?  Frodo should be so fortunate to command the respect that the words that emanate from those keyboards elicit.  That is what Frodo wants, to make the reader do whatever he wants, to laugh, to cry, to think, and to come back time and again.

Besides, he could only run for re-election once, then he'd have to get a job.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 7:51 PM EDT

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Mood:  d'oh

Herman, or as Sarah Palin has said "Herbert," Cain would be flabbergasted to know that the identical pronunciation of his economic reform plan (9-9-9) into German is translated as "No-no-no."  Frodo took a few minutes out of a busy day in order to actually read some of this tripe, and he has to admit that it is even more bizarre than Cain himself. 

For those who have been on Neptune, or Kandahar, for the past week or so, they may have missed Cain's accelerating commentary on a tax reform package that consists of 9% corporate taxes, 9% individual income taxes, and 9% federal sales taxes.  Cain alleges that an employee of Wells Fargo in Ohio has assured him that the plan is viable.  The first problem noted is that it does not produce enough revenue to meet current demand.

That is an easily dealt with problem if one simply removes both Social Security and Medicare from the current federal budget, which is exactly what Cain suggests.  He adds that churches, state & local governments, volunteers, etc. should have the responsibility for meeting these needs, and that how they would accomplish this would be a testimonial to the exceptionalism of Americans.  Frodo notes that it would also require Divine Intervention.

The second problem deals with fairness.  We know now that Warren Buffet paid federal income taxes at a rate of 16.9% last year, and that under the 9-9-9 plan his taxes, and those of all who report under the vaunted "top 1%" total, would pay but 9%.  The 40% or so of Americans who make too little to provide for their families, and who now pay no federal income tax at all, would pay 9% of their gross income (since all deductions would be eliminated).  The result being that the onus shifts, truly, to the poor and the middle-class, while the wealthiest Americans get a pronounced tax cut.  Imagine, dear reader, a person living now on Social Security Disability, who would lose the income, and then be taxed on any largesse shown by their Church or friends.

Frodo stopped reading.  It is, as he has heard from Joe Scarborough (among others) that this guy Cain meets the true definition of "cowboy."  He is just making this crap up as he herds the cattle to slaughter. 

Notice how the most bizarre always seem to publish a book just about the time they go "rogue" or visit with a financial representative from a bank that received a TARP bailout?  Note also that it was Little Ricky's wife who said this evening, "Anybody who buys into 9-9-9 needs to call 9-1-1."

Amen, sister, amen.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:12 PM EDT

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Mood:  quizzical

In the time before time, Willard was the name of a TV weatherman who also masquaraded as a clown.  He became the foremost characterization of Ray Kroc, who needed an icon for his hamburgers and french fries.  Not long thereafter, "Willard" was the agnomen of a diabolical black rat who turned on cinema leadership after developing an appetite for human flesh.  Finally, there has come a politician, seemingly running an endless campaign to dispose of his inheritances, who also bears the moniker.  Search as he can, Frodo is unable to recall another instance of the name "Willard" during the tenure of Middle Earth.  Perhaps because the three are a clown, a rat, and a politician the logical assumption has become that prospective parents may do better by choosing something tamer than that which is shortened to "Mitt."

Frodo has this mental picture of the potential candidate for the Republicant nomination, wearing a pair of white shoes, white socks, white slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a white cardigan sweater, which bears a large blue monogram of the letter "W."  Showing all 162 of his pearly whites, he dances to the choreographed ditty which goes "Lean to the left, Lean to the right, Stand up, Sit down, Fight, fight, fight!"  This frog is a cheerleader, and nothing more.

The rat was a leader of other rats.

The clown laughed constantly, even though he may never have gotten the weather forecast correct.

Perhaps it is just as well that there are so few named "Willard," because complimentary characterizations thereof are few and far between.  Let us be grateful that our cheerleader doesn't commence with "Push 'em back, push 'em back, harder, harder. . ." in his own commentary on the collapse of our middle class-sciety.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 7:43 PM EDT

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Mood:  chillin'

An "Arab Spring" has given way to an "American Autumn."  Frodo infers that the predictable, if not observable, disappointment that follows a popular "coup d'etat" is indistinguishable from an aggregation of dreamers waiting in line at McDonald's in order to use the bathroom.  The fall of Hosni Mubarak now yields internecine conflict between Muslims and Coptic Christians, and Frodo foresees similarly the inevitable collapse of the tent cities that house those writing songs and carrying signs, "that voices never share."

Freedom is not inexpensive.  Access to freedom has been enhanced by information, or social media as some would call it.  What is not conveyed is how human beings deal with disappointment; disappointment in both the speed and the quality of reform.  What happens today in Cairo is sure to be repeated, in the near term, in all the lands that ring the Mediterranean.  What few realize is, that on a matter of scale, the same thing is taking place wherever there are people without jobs, frustrated by class favoritism, without the fiscal resources to join the "1%".

Eric "Eddie" Cantor has to be the reincarnation of Marie Antoinette.  To hear a politician refer to these people in tent cities as a "mob," is not far afield from a salutation as a "cult."  There is no evidence of rocks or Molotov cocktails in the air, which is not to argue that such will always be the case.  There is a need however to get in the face of those who have dominated the distribution of wealth, and to awaken them to the fact that the people of the tent cities are not terribly different from those who today seek to end the life of Qadaffi. 

Michael Bloomberg is an excellent Mayor of New York City, and he is as pragmatic as they come these days.  He feels, strongly, that all of this will just "go away" when the weather turns colder, and moisture is in the air.  Frodo is not so sure.  To go home, with no job and no prospects, is not what "American exceptionalism" conveys.  It is Frodo's belief that increasing adversity threatens the pastoral umbrage that most take of those who sit in tent cities and disavow "greed" and any or all of the deadly sins.  Making love, this time, is not an alternative.

Somebody is going to do something stupid.  It happened to "bonus marchers," it happened to "freedom riders," and it happened in Chicago, when the chant became "The whole world is watching."  The whole world, it seems, is caught up in the broken promises, and the unimaginable avarice of those who felt that they could get away with it. 

Indeed, as the seasons change, as change they must, the promise of Spring now confronts the harsh reality of Winter.  The Ring has not been destroyed, and the threat to Middle Earth is as it was in the beginning of the book.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 7:26 PM EDT

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Mood:  vegas lucky

Frodo's barefooted feet were cold every single day for eight weeks.  Miserable enough was he that he pledged never to complain about hot, humid, and dry ever again, and fearful he became that he would break said promise.  Cool it was this day in the Shire, and Frodo was not the only one busily preparing for the coming end to the finest days of sky so blue.  Mostly it was the birds who will stay with Frodo in the months to come, but the transients, the squirrels, and the chipmonkeys watched the Hobbit trim, plant, and harvest.  Taking notes they were, remembering where the bright red berries would remain and the location of water and seed would be endless.

There is much in the Shire to please John Locke.  For there is a Social Contract that unites the diversity that will share each other in companionship, no matter their origin.  Perhaps it was in a setting like this that the great thinker first noted the need for sharing skills and resources, and he then applied that to the world of Man.  

Mick, the Wonder Dog, watches Frodo and drifts off into a nap when the breeze lightens and aromas grow still.  Fiona would have taken a position with physical contact upon the most comfortable appendage of the Hobbit, but alas, those days are gone (although there is the strangest sensation causing Frodo's foot to tingle).  Frodo does not mind sitting alone in the Gardens of the Shire, for Mick, the Wonder Dog, will siddenly wake up and realize that he has been absent without leave, and rush, as he can, to Frodo and seek forgiveness.  Such moments are appreciated beyond description.

Frodo has made a life's decision about the days to come.  His life is seasonal too, and he recognizes that he has wearied of the daily tasks that have consumed his resources.  In order to better serve Middle Earth, and to assure the destruction of the Ring, he needs to marshal the time, as Gandalf so wisely counseled him, to best use that which is given him.  Soon the telephone will grow silent, and those who sought the Hobbit for purposes other than that which serve but them will have to find another.  It will be an expansion of life's adventure, and it may drive Sam to drink.

Change, as the Hobbit says so often, is good.  Steve Jobs proved that, if one paid close attention to his words at Stanford.  It is time to step from one line, into another, and to do one's best to keep the feeders full and all the promises intact.  John Locke, methinks, would be proud of Frodo.     

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 7:51 PM EDT

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Mood:  irritated

Robert Jeffress, Senior Pastor of the First Baptist Church of Dallas, Texas, with more than 10,000 cretins in his pews every Sunday, is an asshole.

Frodo feels relatively secure in this opinion not simply because Jeffress lives in the ugliest city in America.  Frodo's fatigue with the megaplex of Dallas itself does not rival his disdain for the entirely artificial geographical collection of cow manure and fossil fuels which is the base for the northernmost territory of Mexico.  Texas is the point at which God places the tube when he feels the need to give the world an enema.  Frodo now knows that Brother Jeffress is not even allowed to hold the tube, for fear that because he himself is an asshole that God may get confused and insert the tube in Jeffress mouth.

It is the latter fact that partially explains why Brother Jeffress has taken it upon himself to distinguish the faith exhibited by Mitt Romney as that of a "cult."  Brother Jeffress, who identifies himself as "evangelical," would probably subscribe to the same credo as those who marched as soldiers going to war with the phrase "Gott mit uns."  The unanswered question to be asked would be if he were clad in either black or brown?

Frodo has known a number of people who happened to be Mormons.  Generally, he found them to be hard-working, devout, family-oriented, in great physical shape, and the kind of people he would welcome should they move into the grounds of the Shire.  Respecting their beliefs has nothing to do with any interest in content; remember, says Frodo, that was an argument put forth by those who performed the Spanish Inquisition.  Perhaps they, also, were evangelicals.

Frodo finds it hard to fathom that a needle-nosed lemur like Jeffress receives any credibility whatsoever based on the argument that every one of the 16,000,000 Southern Baptists is viewed more favorably by our Maker than is Mitt Romney, or any of the others who identifies himself as Mormon.   The last guy making such an argument had something to do with the words "Arbeit macht frei."

Frodo is willing to bet that Jeffress favorite singer is Hank Williams, Jr.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:46 PM EDT

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