Frodo, Keeper of the Ring

Monday, January 9, 2012

When You Get Lost Between The Moon And New York City
Mood:

spacey
Topic: "Pius Baloney I" (7)

"Mister Frodo, is today the day when you've been granted an audience with the new Pope?"

"No, it's tomorrow after, of course, the College of Cardinals meet and vote on a new Father of the Holy See."

"I see."

"The puffs of white smoke will rise toward Heaven when the leadership has decided who will ascend to the papal throne, and then after the first Papal Bull is issued, the Holy Father will extend audiences."

"No bull?"

"Actually, the bull will just be hitting the fan. It is then that the Koch Brothers and the Investment Bankers of Bain & Company from Mordor will be first in line to receive the papal blessing, and to place their orders for service during the term of the favored candidate Pius Baloney I."

"So where do you fit amid this list of the powerful and the productive?"

"Frodo has a gift to bring."

"A gift? What could Frodo possibly lay before a King?"

"A Ring."

"You mean, THE Ring?"

"Of course. After all, if the leading contender Pius Baloney I did indeed say that it was not his life's ambition to succeed to the throne, then he would be a worhy keeper of the Ring, in order to prevent the Koch Brothers and the Investrment Bankers of Bain & Company from Mordor taking over Middle Earth."

"Mr. Frodo, what has come over you? Have you failed to note that all of the contenders for the papal throne are flawed, including Pius Baloney I? Each of the contenders have proven unworthy, and especially Pius Baloney I. That is why it is so important that you continue to stand as you have, for Aragorn."

"Of course that is how Frodo feels, but how can he be expected to suffer the burden of the Ring, when he sees that many amid the lands of Middle Earth actually draw pleasure and favor from he who is Pius Baloney I, and his competitors? Perhaps they deserve Pius Baloney I."

"Mister Frodo, do not lose heart. You know, as do I, that Pius Baloney I will be seen as he is, traversing the Vatican without garments of any kind. The Riders of Rohan, the Men of Gondor, the Elves, the Dwarves, and a world of Hobbits will again stand with you before the Black Gate, for Aragorn."

"Orcs are many, and we are few."

"Look Mr. Frodo, the heavens are sent a message of black smoke. That means that no decision is this day reached, and that we still have time to save ourselves from Pius Baloney I."

"Then we will fight on dear Sam, and Frodo will see that the Ring does not fall into the evil hands of the Koch Brothers and the Investment Bankers of Bain and Company from Mordor. There will be no victory for Pius Baloney I this day."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 2:19 PM EST

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Sunday, January 8, 2012

Take It To The Limit, One More Time
Mood:

accident prone
Topic: "Ending Sams Patience"(7)

The house in the Shire sits upon a hill. The gardens of the Shire slope downward from the rear, and that which was once known as a "deck" is now a full-fledged Florida Room. Hobbits and their guests sit amid the canopy of the Dogwoods, bare at this time of year.

Sydney is the rarely-discussed avian who makes his home in the Shire. During warmer weather, Sydney sits for hours just inches away from freedom, calling to those who speak languages not totally alien. When Hobbits abound, and it is a tad warmer, Sydney will alight on the shoulder of Sam, and occasionally Frodo, and participate in conversation or eat potato chips which can be partially dispensed to canines beneath.

Such was the setting a few days ago when Sydney, with his back turned to the gardens of the Shire, sat atop the shoulder of Sam noting not that stealth was the weapon of a potential enemy. It rose as a dark shadow, visible from a singular ocular point to Hobbits facing the gardens. The immature Coopers (or Red-Tail, one cannot be too sure) hit the glass-enclosed screens with both talons drawn. Bouncing off, the startled predator struck a second time, leaving a small rip in the screens protecting the glass. At this point he sought a second breath on a limb less than a yard from the hand of Frodo. The Hobbits were agog, and Sydney, the target, never knew how little separated him from an unwilling participation in snack-time at Hawk Haven.

In the days that followed, Sydney has been going through a bit of a personality change. Perhaps it is the fact that Frodo seems to be in the environs more than in the past. It could be that the shortness of the days has disassembled his internal clockings. Then again, it could be the more frequent naps taken by his companion Mick, the Wonder Dog, that causes him to worry about life in the Shire. Whatever, the result is the continuous shriek of a bird that needs the "Bird Whisperer."

Sam has suggested giving Sydney his freedom, knowing full well that "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose" (which makes Frodo wonder about what exactly JJ meant)?

Sam has also suggested giving Sydney to some sort of cockatiel rescue group.

Noted amid all of this is the fact that the shrieking is giving Sam pause, and only the assurance is offered that there will be no domesticated avian contingent in the next generation of residents in the Shire. The possibility does exist, given Sam's current state of mind, that Sydney will spend more time in the Florida Room in order to become fully aware of the dangerous path he treads.

Few it is, thinks Frodo, who realize just how damn lucky we be. Be glad Sam is on our side.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:47 PM EST

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Thursday, January 5, 2012

Kodachrome
Mood:

don't ask
Topic: "Say Cheese"(7)

The past three years have witnessed the closing of 68 banks in the State of Georgia, more than any other. Since states such as New York, California, Texas, and Florida are among those which are far larger than Georgia, academic questions are just as important as those which bear legal standing. The resultant loss of jobs in Georgia is somewhat greater than 5400. The fiscal loss to taxpayers, in fairness, is lessened by the fact that the FDIC is a self-insurance tool financed by banks themselves.

At its zenith, the company founded in Rochester, New York, by a man named George Eastman, employed 145,000 people in the manufacture of chemicals and film products. Today, Eastman Kodak employs but 19,000 people, and the stock sells for less than a roll of film. Most of the retirees will suffer significant reductions to the health and wellness benefits they earned through years of service. Major facilities in places like Tennessee and Texas have already been sold off, or re-structured. Bankruptcy is imminent.

This "restructuring" brings Frodo to his point. Not unimportant it is that closing 68 companies in Georgia loses 5400 jobs, while closing just one in New York nets losses of about 126,000. However, it is important to note that some of these losses are mandated by stupidity, rather than by technology.

Remember the name, dear reader, "RJR Nabisco"? The result of huge merger and acquisition activity by corporate management and investment bankers (shudder), this "cigarette company," needed capital in order to develop a nictoine-free cigarette. The easiest route to obtain enough capital was to buy another company, fix it up (as one might do with a foreclosed house these days), and sell it. The way one "fixes up" an acquired company is to get rid of all the employees, and sell the assets to somebody who will re-staff the company with cheaper, if not foreign, labor. That explains why a "cigarette company" bought a "cookie company," that is, to get cash, and to hell with the workers (and the cookies).

Frodo thinks it is important for people to know that one Willard Romney was such a performer during his years at Bain & Company (an investment bank). He amassed net worth of approximately $157 million, making him the wealthiest single individual to ever run for the American Presidency.

Note that nobody ever produced a nicotineless cigarette. Thousands of people lost jobs, and Willard got rich, "working in the real world."

For once in his life Newt Gingrich is right. Romney is a liar, and worse.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 7:54 PM EST

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Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Big Girls Don't Cry
Mood:

celebratory
Topic: "Michelle, my Belle"(7)

Frodo rarely wastes two swipes of the artist's brush in a title and a topic of similar reference, however the magnitude of the return of the Hobbit to the cathode ray tube requires something akin to fireworks across the skies. How else to emphasize an accountant's reference to "Obamacare" eleven times during the course of a concession speech? Rather than congratulate each of the seven male contenders who out-polled her, in her "Home State" no less, or to wish each of them well if not endorse one above the others, the "non-pol;itician" who has "represented" Minnesota for five completed terms left her class at the front door, again.

In the entire history of our small blue planet, no "Accountant" has ever been in a leadership position of any kind, except as one in charge of other accountants. No accountant has ever been President. No Accountant has been Secretary of State. No Accountant has been Commissioner of the National Football Leage. No Accountant has won an Academy Award. No Accountant has ever walked on the Moon.

Curiously, the so-called "universities" named after or by Jerry Falwell, Oral Roberts, or Bob Jones (among others) produce an awful lot of accountants. Michelle Bachman matriculated therein. Perhaps, as Frodo surmises, that is because accounting is taught in absolutes, and that is characteristic of these students. There are debits, or there are credits. There is no gray, or anything in between. God either said it, or he didn't. There is nothing to be interpreted.

It is a good day when one with such a simple view of life slips back into the irrelevance of accounting. One more step is taken toward the crest of Mount Doom.

It would've been a perfect day if the proverbial white woman with a stick up her butt hadn't tried to dance, again.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 7:37 PM EST

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Saturday, December 17, 2011

Ir's Been The Ruin Of Many a Poor Boy, God I Know I'm One
Mood:

not sure
Topic: "He Ate the Olive!"(7)

When the time came for the Hobbit to become a member of Sigma Eta Xenophon at the College of the Shire, he had absolutely no idea what to expect from the process known as "pledging." He knew only that these were those with whom he wished to associate himself, and he was pleased and proud to be so affiliated. It did not take long however, for those in his "pledge class" to jointly agree that there were certain boundaries across which they would not proceed. That fact, above all others, is what unites them to this very day; it was not what they did, it was what they promised each other not to do.

After many sleepless nights, the primordial drumbeat of "Oompah, Oompah, Oompah-pa-pa" was a welcome refrain from the "Assume the position, Pledge." Wearing only an athletic supporter, the Hobbit bounced foot-to-foot around what had to be a 50-pound block of ice, upon which there rested but a single olive. He was instructed, as had been so many before, and others to follow, to stop dancing roundabout when the chanting halted, and to square himself over the block of ice so that both cheeks would surround the olive. If he were successful in securing the olive, then he would be excused in order to observe the efforts of his fellow pledges, one-by-one. If unsuccessful, he would have to eat the olive.

What neither the Hobbit nor his fellow pledges could know was that his brothers-to-be would switch the olive, since it was virtually impossible for any pledge shaped even remotely akin to a human being to hold the olive in the area between cheeks.

Frodo could have rested upon that block of ice for hours on end. The heat, rising from his scarred buttocks, melted away, and the chunk of ice was but a fraction of its prior self under the futile effort he expended in order to secure the olive. Laugh he did, when he realized the chicanery of his brothers-to-be.

Then came he of the lean and lanky build who, upon learning of the expectations of the feat, set upon the futile task of securing the olive amid the skinniest cheeks imaginable. Even with the "Oompah" chant proceeding at a fever pitch, he realized that there was no purpose served by a task so far beyond reality that he picked up the olive and tossed it aloft. Immediately, the room went silent, and as if in slow motion, the roomful of young men watched as the real olive was caught in his mouth and allowed to slide down the throat of the pledge into a gullet transformed by history.

Despite the passing of a half-century, "the" pledge is known to, and remembered, by all. Known he is to God and observers as "he who swallowed the olive." The serious questions asked about the wisdom, or lack thereof, which some feel important to the process of maturation, are remembered, even if not practiced, by men who serve you this day dear reader, as physician, teacher, apostle, and in a manner that leaves you grateful for having crossed their path. Read you the obituary, some day, of one identified as "he who swallowed the olive," and know that each of us has done something stupid, but that laughing about it is what makes the memorial process so much richer than simply singing songs and memorizing Chaucer's greatest lines.

Oompah, Oompah, Oompah-pa-pa. Perhaps chanting, and olives, are the items which bring us back, from time-to-time, to the roots of our very being. Perhaps that is what scares us. Perhaps.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:33 PM EST

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Thursday, December 15, 2011

And The Times Will Be Our Time, And The Grass Won't Pay No Mind
Mood:

special
Topic: "Not a Bang,a Whimper"(7)

"How can a day which marks the end of a war be anything other than special?" asked Frodo.

Frodo thought a lot today about a young man once named Jesus Fonseca, who was born in Mexico but grew up near the Shire, and who died from a sniper's bullet somewhere in the arid rain forests of Iraq. Frodo neither knew his name nor heard the story of his short life, but the printed obituary was an open invitation for anyone, if not everyone, to attend and pay their respects. Frodo felt it was his place to be there, and to share in the grief of Pvt. Fonseca's friends and family, going hime.

George W. Bush was not there, nor was Dick Cheney. Paul Wolfowitz must've had something else important to do that day, Rumsfeld and Rice were probably working on a revised strategic policy or something similar. Phil Gingrey, Saxby Chambliss, and Johnny Isaakson, the Congressional representatives, Frodo's sure, must've sent their regrets, too.

Frodo stood next to the Honor Guard, a black woman of magnificent composure and grace. She alone saw the tear in the eye of the Hobbit. Jesus Fonseca was just a baby.

The next day, Jesus Fonseca's remains were caissoned to a little village in the country of his birth. The country for which he died sort of waved good-bye as he passed through on his final journey.

Tomorrow, there will be arguments about a continuing resolution, how to pay for a tax cut, and which of the contestants are ahead in elections to come. No one, save Frodo, will long remember Jesus Fonseca, and the fact that a mere baby died in support of a nation that wants to deport everydody who doesn't fill out the proper forms or speak without an accent. Fitting it is, that in broken Spanish, Frodo mouths the words "Vaya con Dios Jesus Fonseca, muchas gracias."

Welcome home.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:19 PM EST

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Wednesday, December 14, 2011

You've Got Your Troubles, I've Got Mine
Mood:

sharp
Topic: "3:10 to Yuma" (7)

It is purely happenstance when Frodo finds himself with the opportunity to stand amid hustle and bustle and count noses, or is that smell roses? No matter, because he will long remember what it is like to look around, in the world's busiest airport, and to just say "Hello" to passersby. When eyes don't meet, he takes note of the physique, the eyes, the clothing, and tries to wonder what it is that worries this person. Are these truly the 99% that everyone seems to be talking about, or has Frodo accidentally found himself shrouded by the world's wealthiest. Truly, the parking lots are all filled, and every seat in every aircraft is accounted for, so who are all these people, and where are they going?

Asking them is not practical. The last time he tried that approach was in his fifth year, when he stood outside the windows named Woodward & Lothrop and watched the trains travel between the puppets on 14th Street. People watched Frodo, and they smiled. They asked him questions, and he replied. "Santa is going bring me a train." Frodo was kind of hoping that one of today's passersby would respond to his greeting with what they wanted for Christmas, too.

Frodo learned today that six members of the family named Walton have a combined net worth that is greater than 30% of all the roughly 300 million people who live in the US of A. Six people. Six people who have more money than almost 100 million of their fellow countrymen. And those six sell things for which the almost 100 million give money, in return, which goes back to the six people. Frodo, as he thinks about it, thinks he understands what is on the mind of all the people who walked by him this day, and who said nothing. Frodo thinks he understands what it is that worries these people, the 99% if you will.

They were expecting cake.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 7:53 PM EST

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Monday, December 12, 2011

Gonna Use My Arms, Gonna Use My Legs
Mood:

crushed out
Topic: "Gidget Goes Gondor"(7)

Sir Isaac Newton (of apple fame), remarked that "for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction" to define one of the principles of physics. Frodo is a subscriber to the fact that most such laws translate nicely into human events. In this case, for example, some human behavior impacted others and the entire mood of the day was changed.

The Men of Gondor give of their time each year in order to "ring the bell" for the Salvation Army in front of a mega-Walmart on one Saturday in December. The event was scheduled as usual long ahead of time, so that adequate coverage would take place throughout the daylight hours. Time and responsibility this year however, interjected themselves and suddenly there were not enough hands to meet the demand.

Frodo was distraught. Gandalf told him, long ago, that his greatest challenge would be to best use the time that is given to him. He was prepared to work from early morn if it would be necessary, simply because the cause is so important. It would be the best use of his time, and certainly of the others who were able to join him as scheduled.

"I'll help you, Mr. Frodo," piped Sam from outside the window. "I can bundle up nice and warm, and if you will allow me to share time with you, I'll see if I can't be as strong and brave as any of the Men of Gondor." Frodo smiled at the thought of Samwise greeting and winning the hearts of gentle passersby. "It is a date," he said, and this past Saturday it was Frodo and Sam, together, on behalf of the good people at the Salvation Army.

"Do you want to ring the bell?", queried Sam to the little Hispanic girl, who slipped a dollar bill into the slot atop the kettle. "Oh, look at this one coming up here." "How are you?" "Can you put those coins in all by yourself?" "Wow, you must really do good in school", said Sam, chattering to the smallest of faces. To those bigger in size, Sam sparkled with compliments and blessings for their generosity. Throughout the early afternoon the Hobbits did their best to spread a little joy, and collect a few farthings in difficult times for so many. "Merry Christmas" was mouthed a thousand times beyond the milennium to all who passed.

These moments were "the best of times." Gandalf would be very proud of both Frodo and, most especially, Samwise.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 7:51 PM EST

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Sunday, December 11, 2011

Is She Really Going Out With Him?
Mood:

don't ask
Topic: "Callista, an Albino?"(7)

Frodo believes in intellectual assassination; attacking someone because they have the cognitive attributes of a salamander, daresay we a newt? For the most part, Frodo operates from a certain level on the high ground, for the most part. Standards such as these do not apply to the only presidential aspirant who is more than 100 pounds overweight, nor do they apply to the macabre accomplice who seemingly searches for hemoglobin in the audience. Frodo believes that Mr. and Mrs. Gingrich (current version) maintain a library of movies and books based on tales of gluttony and the existence of a creature introduced by Anne Rice as "Lestat."

Imagine the caloric intake of the Newtster. It was once stated that he was a fan of ice cream and beer, evidently during the same sitting at the same time. Perhaps he is a devotee of something akin to Ben & Jerry's Budweiser? Given his obvious disregard for his health much less his appearance, it befuddles Frodo that no member of the "mainstream media" has publicly queried him about his "fitness" to serve in the most stressful position in all the world? Given the performances of the "Keystone Kandidates," it surprises him not that any of those mental midgets or their handlers have had the wherewithal to ask for his weight, blood pressure or blood sugar. Especially since none of them appear to live a life of total disregard for what they eat.

Callista frightens Frodo. There is no indication of movement in any of her capillaries, and the pale countenance with the piercing dark eyes makes Frodo grab for his crucifix and to place mirrors in every room. Coincidentally, Frodo notes that the green grocer in the Shire seems to have run out of garlic. Noted it is that among those associates who resigned from the Gingrich campaign last June, nearly all complained about the role that Callista played, and presumably the fact that she was not available during daylight hours.

Perhaps the sorry slate of candidates proffered by the Republicants are merely victims of a little surreptitious blood-letting? What say you George Will?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 7:37 PM EST

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Saturday, December 3, 2011

Deep In December, Our Hearts Will Remember
Mood:

cool
Topic: "Unbroken Circle" (7)

Occasionally, there comes a day in December when the winds are gentle and the skies are brilliant in blue. A pair of Cooper's Hawks perch in tandem between the warming of eggs and the search for food. Where Frodo has stacked detritus from the Spring that was the Shire, they stand silently in search of rodents preparing for the days to come when life itself hinges on the simplicity of warmth and food. Frodo lays his rake aside, and watches the watchers. It is time well spent.

Christmas lights are more numerous than in recent years, although the exhibits are not nearly as ornate as the days when the citizens of Middle Earth seemed to worry more about things long since forgotten. Delivery trucks and postal personnel are at the peak of efficiency and every customer seems pleased and patient. Empty houses stand as sentinels reminding all that there is a price to be paid for dreams gone awry, even on a warm afternoon, deep in December.

Mick, the Wonder Dog, catches the scent of his neighbor to the South, who asks Frodo every day about the spirits of his aged friend. Rassa, the young German Shepherd who lives to the East, crosses the street under the consent of her owner, and she touches noses with he who takes each day as it comes, and revels in the kindness of those who watch him parade with Frodo down the streets of the Shire, wishing that such walks would never end. Frodo knows, as do his neighbors in the Shire, that the morrow, or the day after, will bring more northerly breezes.

Today however, the bird feeders are under preventive assault, and Frodo is only too glad to fill each and every one.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:19 PM EST

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