Frodo, Keeper of the Ring

Thursday, February 8, 2007

Every Day Is a Windin' Road
Mood:

rushed
Topic: "What Schedule?" (2)
Frodo operates very well when everything takes place in its own time, and at designated rates of speed. Traffic jams on Interstate 75, cancelled lunch appointments, unannounced guests, and "emergencies" tend to increase anxiety levels in the halfling. Changes in plans, personal conflicts, and a seeming inability to deal in candor cause Frodo's hair to become thinner, and his waist to expand concomitantly. The incredible part is that it bothers Frodo, at all.

If Frodo had fallen to the Black Riders, all of these crises would remain for others to face. Still, much depends on Frodo and, by choice, he has taken responsibility for the destruction of the Ring.

This morning Frodo had to bypass his morning exercise and his intake of bulk. It was to the medical practitioner for check-ups which required no intake for a half-day before. His scheduled luncheon meeting was cancelled thirty minutes before it was to take place. The ability to work silently through that previously blocked period was disturbed by an unforseen and inexplicable problem with a motorcar. A previously resolved work product re-emerged with a minor, but time-consuming adjustment. Potential solutions to current problems arrived and required analysis. An obvious conclusion to one assignment was blocked by the inexperience of one of the participants, and Frodo did not have the time or the capacity to bring the matter to a close all alone. And then, a well-meaning compatriot provided Frodo with so much information that his computing machine began to reject valuable data.

Tomorrow morning it will be cold in the Shire. Frodo normally bypasses his morning jaunt with Mick, the Wonder Dog, when the weather threatens tightening tendons. Another luncheon will keep Frodo from his normal twice-a-week mid-day workout, and then he will have to attend a boring affair, with boring people, discussing boring subject-matter, all on a Friday afternoon with snow in the forecast for the ride home.

When Frodo was a half-halfling this story would end early in the morning with the plaintive wail, "Mom, I'm sick and I can't go to school today."

Growing older requires a whole new set of solutions to problems, and the worst part is that you have less time available for their proper implementation. For the uninitiated, that is one of Gandalf's greatest lessons to Frodo.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:24 PM EST

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Wednesday, February 7, 2007

Don't You Feel Like Cryin'
Mood:

d'oh
Topic: "Chassahowitzka" (2)
It seems just like yesterday, thought Frodo, when he sat in front of his television and watched the pilot in the Ultra-Light lift off and turn in a southerly direction. Behind the fragile craft, from the swampy wetlands of Wisconsin, rose 18 individuals following their perceived leader. For many days and nights the young Whooping Cranes would trail after the faux leader who would lead them on their first migration to their winter feeding grounds in Florida. Once this initial trip was completed, the young pilots could steer their own way back-and-forth with the change of seasons.

It is moments like this that make Frodo proud of the young scientists and naturalists who study, observe, test and act, for little money, and who take self-satisfaction in saving the work of God. It is certainly not comfortable to fly in an open air motorized glider through cold and often inclement weather. These are remarkable people, and they deserve much for what they accomplish.

A few days ago, a series of tornados tore through Central Florida, and the wilderness area known as Chassahowitzka felt the impact. 17 of the 18 young Whooping Cranes who had just completed their first migration to their winter feeding grounds were killed. Nature reclaimed that which belongs to her.

Frodo cannot help but grieve for those young people, and share their pain. "It is so strange," said Frodo, "that on the same day that five US Marines and 2 US Sailors were killed in the downing of another helicopter in Iraq, Frodo feels the loss of wild birds."

"Mr. Frodo," said Sam, "one Crane survived. Don't you think we should be glad for that, and that the lesson is that life goes on, despite the challenges laid before us?"

Frodo raised his head and said, "And for the young men and women who go up in helicopters and Ultra-Lights and come back safely unto Earth."

"Mr. Frodo," said Sam, "Why don't we suggest they name that Whooping Crane, say, 'Ichabod?'"

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:23 PM EST

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Monday, February 5, 2007

Kiss Me Once And Kiss Me Twice It's Been a Long, Long Time
Mood:

caffeinated
Topic: "Snazis" (2)

Frodo has always believed that the quickest way to cure what ails America is to physically reduce the number of attorneys by 65% before noon tomorrow. Frodo's prime example has been the political arena, where it seems that every failed practicing barrister is drawn to the public teat. For many years, Frodo believed that the composition of the representatives in government should better reflect the actual vocational make-up of the country. Let there be athletes in Congress, and businessmen, and teachers, and accountants, and even a cowboy or two. Frodo once felt that medical practitioners would also be welcome, but Bill Frist subsequently convinced him that we don't need any of those guys anywhere near authority.

Congressmen Tom Price and Phillip Gingrey, Republicans from adjoining districts in Georgia, have announced their support for Mitt Romney to be their Party's nominee for the Presidency in 2008. "Excuse me," said Frodo, "but isn't Romney a Mormon, and doesn't he have something or other to do with Massachusetts, the home of Teddy Kennedy?"

One might, indeed, wonder why two practicing surgeons, serving the people of the Northern counties of greater Atlanta would step forward to endorse the Mayor of Boston? What's wrong with Rudy Giuliani? What about John McCain? Why endorse a practitioner of a Faith which most Southerners consider bordering on Jim Jones and the Kool-Aid crew? Why pass over the guy who kept the nation's heart and soul in the palm of his hands during the 9-11 crisis? Why not give support to a military hero? Why Mitt Romney, of all people? Are these guys goofy?

Well yes, they are goofy. This is why Frodo has devised the term "Snazi," which roughly defines these "Surgical Nazis." These two purveyors of the mystical arts of obstetrics and tummy tucks are not brave enough to admit that they are merely covering their bald butts, for fear they might have to return to the non-political world of real work. Giuliani is pro-abortion rights, pro gay rights, he has been divorced twice, he is an adulterer who makes Newt Gingrich look like a choirboy, and he's probably related to somebody named Genovese or Corleone. Rudy will not get 37 Republican votes from the entire State of Georgia in the Presidential Election, even if his opponent was named Hillary.

McCain is old. McCain is older than Ronald Reagan, and Reagan had no recall of his last six years in office. McCain has also been out there kissing up to every Christian Coalition in the American South, to little advantage. Most of the "Kick 'em through the goalposts of Life, Baby Jesus" crowd believe that McCain doesn't really believe that he and Jerry Falwell are actually anything more than enemy soldiers sharing the same foxhole. Our voodoo Snazis also recognize that McCain has cast his credibility with the "surge" theory of George W. Armstrong Custer Bush, and that even these goofballs recognize the sheer stupidity of that position.

That leaves a Mormon Mayor of Boston. "Heck," says Gingrey, "let's just get him one of those flags I endorsed, and let him march around the Square in Marietta next Fourth of July."

"Suh," says Price, "how can you fail to endorse a Man who won't even soil his lips with caffeine? He practices good health. Good health means happy voters. That's the answer to 'Socialized Medicine.'"

"Aha," says Frodo, "Socialized Medicine."

Comes the light.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:24 PM EST

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Sunday, February 4, 2007

How Can People Be So Heartless
Mood:

accident prone
Topic: "Stupor Bowl Sunday"(2)
Promises, to Frodo, are delays; one "promises" to take action at a future date and time. Even in a Wedding vow, a promise is a committment to behavior which will be followed. Given that as a definition, Frodo is today plagued by a promise made, and not yet kept.

There is a worldwide conspiracy by people in foreign lands to bring down the United States of America. The first evidence is in the unfathomable number of e-mails offering wealth in exchange for personal data. Nearly every one of these offers is composed of syntax which borders on a fundamental misunderstanding of the English language. The most obvious piece of evidence however, if not the most dangerous, is found in every cardboard box containing a piece of furniture which must be assembled by the consumer. Whoever composes these instructions wishes no good fortune to the halfling armed with a Phillips-head screwdriver, a hammer, and an oddly-shaped one-of-a-kind tool.

Sam found a fully-assembled furniture "thingy" which was designed to replace a fully-functional and utilitarian set of bookshelves. Once the bookshelves were removed, and the unassembled "thingy" found its' way to the Shire, Frodo was assigned the task of assemblage. This being a somewhat familiar task, Frodo found himself surprisingly remarkably organized and mentally-prepared.

That situation changed quickly after the pieces were all removed and accounted for, and Frodo scanned the instructions. The drawings were totally inconsistent with Frodo's needs. The pictures were too small to be read without optical additions. The pictures did not distinguish "finished" from "unfinished." The pictures did not include a picture of the finished product itself.

The instructions did include a label for each piece in the package. The pieces themselves however, had no corresponding label. The instructions specified the use of dowels at certain locations, but the instructions did not detail which of the three sizes of dowels included in the package were to be used at any appropriate point. The instructions also reflected a syntax not unlike that associated with certain e-mails previously discussed herein.

Uh-oh, thought Frodo.

The above thought arose in Frodo's throat more than three weeks ago. Hence our discussion about "promises." There is leisure time today, and even Frodo cannot bring himself to spend one more minute absorbing Pre-Super Bowl hype. Frodo has run out of excuses for inaction.

In a few moments Frodo will move his motorcar from his garage, and spreak the assemblage on the garage floor in front of him. Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, will not venture into the area, despite their weekend desire to never waiver from Frodo's side, in case they miss something cool. They recognize the pattern, and prior behavior tantrums are fresh in their collective memory.

Be warned dear reader, even the scaling of Mount Doom required less than the will Frodo today exhibits. Should something break during the process, or should Frodo find a foreign-accented individual on the other end of the "helpline" ("available M-S from 8 until 5 PST"), it may not be suitable for those under 18 to be in the area of the Shire.

Frodo is also hereby notifying the manufacturer, be he foreign or domestic, of furniture "thingys" that, when next confronted by such a threat, Frodo will take pre-emptive action. These are indeed weapons of mass destruction, and the irrational George W. Bush which exists in all of us, to some extent, will take over, and Frodo will call up the National Guard.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:58 AM EST

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Saturday, February 3, 2007

And You Give Yourself Away, With or Without You
Mood:

smelly
Topic: "Small Gray Planet"(2)
For many years, after white men first arrived, the forests of the Shire became farmland. It was a meager existence, probably not much improved from that of the hunters and gatherers who left pieces of flint all about. The farms have now given way to houses, and schools, and shopping centers, and the value of the land now exceeds all that was earned off of it since the very beginnings of time. Frodo has seen much change.

When the school was built behind the Shire, the engineers decided that the land had to be lowered some thirty feet in order to establish a firm base for construction. One day, Frodo noted the farmer who sold the land for the school, and he had pulled a lawn chair out into the middle of the construction site, thereon smoking an unfiltered cigarette and observing the movements of the biggest bulldozers Frodo had ever seen. Frodo assumed that this was some sort of agrarian protest, and he shuffled on off to discuss the matter with the farmer, a veteran of the South Pacific during WWII.

The farmer pointed to the jagged edge of an apparent boulder, slowly being unearthed. He told Frodo that he was not out there in protest, but to contemplate a bit of revenge. The boulder, he noted, was in the main area of his annual plowing for over thirty years, and today it would be plucked from the earth, and no longer be of concern to the farmer, No more would he have to struggle, mule-and-plow, around that damned rock.

The rock stands today at the entrance to the school in the Shire, only a few feet from the spot it occupied for centuries. The farmer, whose name adorns the school, is no more. It would have been appropriate for his ashes to have been interred in that spot, so thinks Frodo.

Today, the hillside that grew back from farmland into pine forest is now being levelled; this time for upscale clustered homes and "green space." Frodo, Fiona, and Mick, the Wonder Dog, walked about the construction site, and looked for the hawk who nested annually in the tallest of trees thereabouts. Only blackbirds circled the winter sky. The farm pond that tempted Frodo to climb a fence after dark and cast a lure to Mr. Largemouth Bass has been drained. A single duck waddles about the muddy bottom, looking, Frodo supposes, for a final morsel in a lifetimes' feeding ground.

How green, thought Frodo, this Shire must once have been. Despite the comparative lushness of the Shire, it is distinctly the residence of human and halfling now, unlike, surely, what it was just 250 years ago.

In front of the Bank of the Shire there sits another great rock, saved from the construction of that edifice and exhibited for the curious. On that great rock there are spots where corn was ground into bread, and pieces of flint were sharpened, knife-like. There are also, for now, inexplicable designs and carvings.

Frodo thought about getting a lawn chair, smoking an unfiltered cigarette, and contemplating that rock. The parking lot was crowded however, and people would have thought that Frodo was crazy. Perhaps that, as scientists seem finally to acknowledge, is, indeed, the problem.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 5:15 PM EST

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Thursday, February 1, 2007

I Knew You When You Were Lonely
Mood:

d'oh
Topic: "Bring Back Ross" (2)
Ross Perot founded one of the first great service companies. His theory was that by hiring the brightest young people, liberal arts graduates included, and given the problems placed in front of them, they could figure out solutions. It was not a requirement that one be computer literate in his employ, but the best soon figured out that they had to be computer literate in order to get the job done. The company, when sold, made Ross the multi-millionaire he deserved to be. Frodo has always admired the ability of Ross Perot to motivate and lead in the American business world.

That does not preclude Frodo from the opinion that Perot is a bizarre and perhaps crazy, old coot. It does emphasize an issue which is part and parcel of the next 600 and some-odd days of discussion. That issue is experience.

Frodo was reminded today of Ross Perot's infamous run for the White House. When asked, during that campaign, about his experience for the "highest office in the land," having no political office experience at all, Perot responded that he had absolutely no concern about that whatsoever. In fact, he said, it was actually an advantage to his candidacy. Perot pointed out that he had absolutely no exposure to the creation of a $5 Trillion deficit.

Given that perspective, a political candidate such as Perot would today have had no involvement in a pre-emptive war based on incomplete information. Such a candidate would be absolved of any responsibility for the governmental inertia which allowed the events of September 11th to have even taken place. This candidate would have had no experience with the dissolution of constitutionally-guaranteed liberties in the name of "security."

Frodo believes that the greatest disqualifier for political office may actually be experience. What occurred with EDS, the Perot company, may prove that we would all be best served by someone who was really smart, and who could tackle problems like he (or she) really had to do so. If not, they'd get fired. Wouldn't that be refreshing?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:35 PM EST

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Wednesday, January 31, 2007

What Becomes of The Broken Hearted
Mood:

celebratory
Topic: "Thank You, Molly" (2)
If the small blue planet has known but one individual who had lower regard for George W. Bush than Frodo, it would certainly have been Molly Ivins. Born into Wartime, this literate, passionate, courageous wordsmith has succumbed during Wartime; the irony is not lost on those who shared her dreams of peace. The unconquered plague of the pink ribbon presents as formidable an obstacle as does the Black Gate entry to Mordor.

Frodo has no doubt that Ann Richards will be there to offer hugs and solace to her compatriot. Perhaps the two will share a toast to days gone by, and throw the glasses at a portrait of the President of the United States, conveniently tacked neatly above the entryway to The Seventh Circle of Hell.

Oh dear lady Molly, how you made them sputter and squirm when you could evidence the failings of a dysfunctional family named Bush. How you kept that rabbit George in your headlights!

Frodo will miss your bright eyes, and your smile.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:26 PM EST

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Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Takin' Care of Business And Workin' Overtime
Mood:

not sure
Topic: "Pilot Wales" (2)
Forty eight years ago, the Federal Aviation Administration felt it necessary to require the retirement of commercial airline pilots at age 60. This, so the prevailing logic went, would lessen the possibility of disaster resulting from lessened reflexes or health problems. The result, for the benefit of military pilots moving into the civilian workforce, was increased flow of opportunity to move into the cockpits of the airline industry. The wisdom of the rule-making was not questioned seriously, for it was implemented around the world.

Ah, but the stick-jockeys themselves got very grumpy, and continued to raise the issue about forced retirement. Testosterone is a powerful sanity inhibitor, as certainly the Presidency of George W. Bush exhibits, and the depth of the pilots' chagrin grew annually. The Air Line Pilots' Association, their Union if you will, however took stance against the old fuds, opting to support the new guys.

Today, the Administrator of the Federal Aviation Administration, an inane political appointee, announced her support for raising the mandatory retirement age for commercial airline pilots to age 65. She cited the recent change by one of the foreign commercial carrier organizations to similarly raise the mandatory retirement age. She added that increased lifespan, and improved health, gave credence to this proposed action.

"Excuse me," said Frodo. "Is this not the same US Government that is railing against the increased obesity of Americans? Isn't it potentially even more dangerous to cram a bunch of fat guys into the cockpit?"

Sam actually came forth with a pretty good idea in response. Sam proposes that the Federal Aviation Administration should seek to limit the passengers to those over the age of 65. Not only would the flights be safer (how many potential terrorists over the age of 65 have you seen, dear reader?), but flights would be more serene (without one shrieking infant).

Frodo is going to write to his United States Representative, a squirrely little Republican physician with a scraggly mustache and the credibility of a kumquat. He supposes that Congressman Price could also be convinced that those seeking alternative means of transportation might actually walk or ride a bicycle.

Frodo doesn't really have anything against pilots wanting to do what they have always done best. He feels much the same way about doctors, lawyers, and tax accountants. He notes however that young doctors, lawyers, and tax accountants are hungrier, and willing to do more for less. Frodo sure would like to cut his next air fare by about $100 and get bumped into first class. Anybody listening Delta?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:50 PM EST

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Monday, January 29, 2007

Poetry in Motion
Mood:

blue
Topic: "Frodo and Housman" (2)
With appropriate apologies to the late A.E. Housman for the substitutions, in part, by Frodo:

The time you won your town the race
We cheered you through the market-place;
Hobbit and man stood side by side,
Everyone cheered, no one cried.

To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay
And early through the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears;

Now you will not swell the rout
Of steeds that wore their honours out,
Horses whom renown outran
And the name died before a van.

So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended Breeder's Cup.

And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl's.

Godspeed Barbaro--Frodo has a broken heart this night.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 7:46 PM EST

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Saturday, January 27, 2007

I'm Going Away With My Friend
Mood:

surprised
Topic: "Rubber Ducky" (2)

Tom Bombadil is Frodo's closest neighbor in the Shire. Some time ago, during a frenzy of garden landscaping, Tom placed a rather ordinary birdbath in the middle of his backyard. To encourage feathred visitors to take note, and to perhaps find a purpose for one of those items long saved and rarely used, Tom set a smal rubber duck afloat in the midst of the birdbath.

Frodo immediately recalled a talented, and busty, performer who danced a little dance to the tune "Rubber Ducky" at a certain nightclub on Printer's Alley in Nashville, years ago. Appropriately covered in shaving cream, she found opportunity in an appropriate squeezing of her prominent anatomy whenever the words "Rubber Ducky" made their way into the tune. Perhaps to our avian neighbors, Tom Bombadil's lure would similarly bring joy to an entire species.

One Sunday, not long ago, Frodo was accompanying Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, to their early morning romp on the soccer field of the school in the Shire. Mick, the Wonder Dog, particularly enjoys the hot pursuit of a mini-soccer ball before it enters the net of the goal on either end of the field. Fiona merely searches for discarded cookies, candy, and other detritus which she assumes to be both edible and rewarding. Returning to the Shire after the romp, Frodo noticed several large and raucous crows in the barren trees of winter in the rear of Tom Bombadil's garden. One of the crows, near the top of a tall sweetgum, had something light-colored in its' beak. From that distance, Frodo was unable to ascertain exactly what the thief had garnered. Frodo was well aware that crows are brazen thieves, and that stories abound of car keys, wedding rings, and other precious objects found in discarded crows' nests. Frodo thought no more of it as he needed to tend to the roamings of Fiona, now gagging and disposing of her ill-gotten treasures from the same orifice as entry.

Later that day, while he labored in his own garden, Frodo happened to glance toward the birdbath in Tom Bombadil's backyard. Alas, the rubber ducky was no more. Investigating, Frodo walked into Tom's yard in order to pay greater attention. There, underneath the tree in which the robber crow had perched, Frodo found the errant rubber ducky. After closely examining the crime victim Frodo returned it to Tom Bombadil's birdbath. The crow had evidently found little purpose in either holding the rubber ducky for ransom, or having additional pleasure with her/it. In any event, the crime had been solved and all parties were back where they belonged.

When Frodo recounted the tale to Tom Bombadil, the two of them compared the events to the current state of affairs in the world of humans and halflings. "It is, I suppose," said Tom, "a reflection of the fact that you can't trust anybody these days."

"Well Tom, I think it's something more," said Frodo. "I think that once the crow found out that the rubber ducky had no intrinsic value, that it held little pleasurable potential, and that it wasn't registered to vote, that they spit him out and cast him aside."

The neighbors concluded, half in jest, that the ducknapping reminded them both of the disputed election of 2000. No one will ever know exactly what the crime was, and the criminals got away, with impunity.

Frodo is still thinking about all that shaving cream, and the tune wanders about in his temporal lobe.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:16 PM EST

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