Frodo, Keeper of the Ring

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Maybe You Know Some Places To Go To Where They Never Close
Mood:

chatty
Topic: "Limestone Cowboys" (3)
Frodo is no geologist, but he has long known that the Appalachian Mountain chain is the oldest on the small blue planet. The probaly result of continental collisions which threw the sea bottom skyward, there is a significant amount of limestone ranging from what is now Maine, all the way down to Georgia. Where there is limestone, there are caves; water, over time, works its' way through and around limestone. When he was a halfling, Frodo often convinced Bilbo to take him to caverns named Shenandoah, Luray, and Endless, all in Virginia. The stalagtites (from the roof) and the stalagmites (from the floor) amidst pools and falls of water were cooling even during the hottest of summer days.

Frodo met Harvey Cupp at the College of the Shire. Harvey was a true farm-boy, while Frodo was a product of a much larger scenario. Frodo is unable to recall why they started to talk about caves, but it was clear to Frodo that Harvey knew a great deal about "spelunking," and Frodo was at the age where everything deserved at least one effort. Harvey somehow found out about a cave that was visible from the river that ran its course near the College of the Shire. He convinced Frodo that they should gather necessary equipment together, and strike out in search of the cave.

Amid Frodo's Rambler Station Wagon (aka, a motorcar), Harvey had packed ropes, headgear, several tubes of what appeared to be rocks, a funny looking headlamp, and about 10 flashlights. Harvey explained that the headlamp was a carbide lantern, which he would wear, and that it would remain lit throughout their entry into the underworld. Harvey told Frodo that he would be handling the flashlights, since they were very susceptible to the moisture in the cave, and would burn themselves out one-after-the-other. Frodo felt all that sounded reasonable, and the two struck out in the direction given.

Within a half-hour Harvey pointed to what he called a "sinkhole" on the far shore of the river. Conveniently, a bridge stood nearby and the would-be denizens of the deep pulled the motorcar within a hundred yards or so of the cave entrance. After properly outfitting themselves, Frodo and Harvey entered the world beneath the surface.

There were numbers and arrows spray-painted at various points within. Harvey explained that these were markings indicating that the cave had been mapped. Despite Frodo's excitement, it meant that they were not the first two upright creatures to ever enter.

After twenty minutes or so, Frodo was on his third flashlight. Harvey's carbide lamp was a beacon in the darkness, showing the way as the path led further downward, over boulders, requiring slow and skillful dexterity. It was not a cavern with the artistic beauty of the Luray, but it was dark, cool, and inviting to the imagination.

Harvey was muscular, with a grin that never stopped. His dark hair was cut short, and Frodo thought he would probably someday be a very good unit commander in the jungles of Southeast Asia. Frodo felt totally confident in Harvey's leadership.

After several hours, Frodo's final flashlight was surrendering its' battery life, and the cavers entered a large chamber, where fresh air flowed from above. Suddenly, a gust of wind struck directly at Harvey's face, and the carbide lamp was extinguished. Frodo's final flashlight took that exact second to succumb. The initial shock of total darkness was supplemented by a silence so deep that, even now, Frodo cannot put into words exactly how quiet it was. He called to Harvey, who was only a few feet away, and Frodo's call was more a whimper than an interrogatory. Frodo was clearly afraid, and started to panic.

Harvey took control, and calmed Frodo with authority in his voice. He assured Frodo that he was re-lighting the carbide lamp, and that all would be well. "Above all else," he said to Frodo, "do not move. Don't do or say anything until I tell you. Just listen, just remember how quiet, how peaceful, how deep this moment is." Frodo stopped, drew a breath, and began to pay attention to the darkness. Never before, and never since, have things ever been so quiet in Frodo's life.

True to his word Harvey re-lit the lamp, and the happy companions then proceeded to follow the geographic markings out of the chamber and back toward the surface. Less than thirty minutes later they stood beside the motorcar.

It was the Spring of the year, and classes soon ended at the College of the Shire, with no further opportunity for the two to try another expedition. They shook hands, new-found friends, and Frodo promised to have his own equipment the next year, and they would find several occasions to explore the land beneath the limestone.

The following Autumn brought Frodo back to the College of the Shire with his own ropes, helmet, and a carbide lamp. He learned that Harvey Cupp had been driving the tractor on his father's farm, and it had turned over when it struck a small sinkhole, trapping and crushing his friend.

Frodo sold the stuff. He has never gone deep into another cave. He remembers the silence, just like Harvey taught him. He just can't describe it.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:12 PM EDT

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Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Seeman, ihre Heimat is das Meer
Mood:

quizzical
Topic: "Solitary Isolation" (3)

There is a restaurant in Atlanta that Frodo used to frequent. "Ray's On the River" dumped all their bottles of French Wine when the Preemptive War commenced; so Frodo doesn't go there anymore.

There is a barbeque joint in Ellijay at which Frodo always stopped, simply because they had french fries with the skins still on 'em. They started calling them "Freedom Fries," and Frodo now drives through toward the Shire.

Frodo listened yesterday to the comments of a Medal of Honor Winner on CNN that the British sailors released by the Iranian fruitbags had acted cowardly. Playing ping-pong is evidently not something authorized under the standard Military Code of Conduct. Frodo does note, sympathetically, that those leisure suits they were issued should be banned by the United Nations; wearing them was definitely a torturous requirement for anyone with a modicum of taste.

Frodo is concerned about what he will do when some entity takes action against the Brits. After all, Tony Blair has had his nose so far up George Bush's butt for so long that many Georgians believe he's been adopted and shares the Lincoln Bedroom with Prince Bandar. The Brits have been the member of the "Coalition" that still have more than three troops and $1.98 invested in the new Iraq. Of course, Blair was honor-bound, since his forebears started this whole mess when they paid absolutely no attention to T.K. Lawrence in the 1920's. Now the British Navy, who once ruled the Seas, seems to be populated by the stereotypical graduates of some English namby-pamby boarding school. Georgians, closely-aligned with military interests, will not sit idly by without demonstrative action.

Have you noticed, dear reader, how you never hear about the Germans anymore? Ever since Bush tried to give the German Prime Minister an unplanned back-rub, it seems as if she may have taken out a restraining order against the Texas Stalker.

Of even greater interest is the absence of foreign leaders, any foreign leaders, driving in a pick-up around the palace in Crawford. Fox of Mexico, Putin of Russia, the little Japanese guy who was an Elvis freak, none of these guys, or any of their counterparts are in evidence these days. It is not as if all the countries of the world are like rats leaving a sinking ship.

Or is it?

The Shiite majority demonstrates against the presence of occupying troops. One of the most prominent members of the new Iraqi Government pens his own hardcover in order to savage Paul Bremer and the documented mistakes of the Anti-MacArthur Post-Saddam Government. The new Iraqi Government signs a deal with Japan to re-build their oil production system.

Japan?

The Chinese have absolutely no interest in adjusting their currency to maturely address the balance-of-trade problems with Uncle Sugar. Pakistan blithely ignores any serious effort to confront al Qaeda or to pursue Osama bin Laden. Venezuela's Senor Chavez has done everything but drop his drawers and moon Condi Rice. And in Afghanistan, Afghanistan mind you, they harvest the largest poppy crop in history.

Oh, and now we know who fathered Anna Nicole's baby.

Frodo thinks he'll have a glass of wine before tuning into "The Daily Show." French wine.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:52 PM EDT

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Sunday, April 8, 2007

In Your Easter Bonnet
Mood:

lucky
Topic: "Buttermilk Drops" (3)
Sunday mornings will always be special in the City of Orleans. Sunday Brunch at Commander's Palace was the ultimate pig-out when guests would visit Frodo and Sam. Any meal that would begin with Eggs Sardou and end with Milk Punch could only be the precursor of a complete systemic douche by days' end. Holidays which happened, by consequence or plan, to fall on a Sunday were especially adventurous in finery, and one found ample reason to ride up and down St. Charles simply to gawk. Regular Sundays, clear of guests and special occasions however, were the ones that meant the most to Frodo and Sam.

Frodo would rise early, leash Prissy (first of the canine contingent), and head out for McKenzie's Bakery. Stopping by the box which held the Sunday edition of "The New Orleans Times-Picayune," Frodo would shovel in quarters, remove his paper, tie Prissy to the rack, and then enter McKenzies Bakery (aka "The Doorway to Heaven").

Frodo does not remember how or what drew him to the round pellets, about the size of a golf ball, which somewhat reminded him of donut holes, if you will. They were glazed, of course, and as Frodo discovered, a yellow cake-like concoction which guaranteed that no human or halfling could eat just one. Generally, Frodo would get a dozen, hot from the oven, thinking that at least a half-dozen would survive to be placed in the freezer.

Prissy sat, all the while, with her eyes transfixed on Frodo. Although she knew that she could not partake in this treat, she knew well that a suitable substitute would greet her arrival at the semi-Shire. She pranced the entire way home.

Citizens of Middle Earth, from all walks of life, found reason to visit Sam and Frodo in Orleans. Invariably, they were introduced to buttermilk drops during their stay, and so the fame of this culinary masterpiece spread from Farthing to Rohan. It was a sad day indeed, for all, when Frodo and Sam departed the City of Orleans and left McKenzie's behind.

Some years later, when Frodo and Sam returned to visit, many McKenzie's shops had closed, and one of the few that could be found had only a limited supply of buttermilk drops, and they were a day old. Frodo and Sam took all they had. Toasted for a few seconds in a microwave, they were as sweet as dew dripping from the leaf of a magnolia.

Frodo now believes that acquisitions, and nature, have brought an end to McKenzie's Bakeries, and hence, to buttermilk drops. Duplicated, perhaps, but never quite the same.

For a little cafe' au lait, and a buttermilk drop, Frodo would consider this to be the perfect Easter. Some things are a part of good memories, and that is what Frodo tries hard to accept.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 1:03 PM EDT

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Saturday, April 7, 2007

Baby, It's Cold Outside
Mood:

chillin'
Topic: "Balance of Nature" (3)

Record low temperatures last night in the Shire, and even lower forecast for this evening, accompanied Frodo as he watched the white blooms of the azalea, in fell regalia, turn brown and fall to earth. Just a few short days ago, Frodo remarked about the excessive pollen levels resulting from everything bursting into bloom at virtually the same time. Tonight, there is no pollen count. The new growth on butterfly bushes, and Frodo's prized dwarf crested iris, are shriveled, and weeks away from rebirth. There is a lesson here.

Nature makes adjustments, or as Michael Crichton so prophetically wrote in "Jurassic Park," "Nature finds a way."

In March of 1993 Frodo and Lovey, the dog who changed Frodo forever, drove Frodo's ancient motorized pick-up to meet a man who was to deliver gravel for a refreshed driveway at the mountain retreat. The forecast was for snow; a sense of snickering amusement to the wayfarers who knew southern mountains better than anyone. After the delivery, and while the fire burned brightly, Frodo listened to the weatherman start talking about a convergence of moisture from one direction, and unseasonable cold temperatures from another. He used the term "storm of the century." Frodo looked at Lovey, and the two agreed that an early start for home in the morrow would be a wise course of action.

Two-and-a-half feet of snow prevented Frodo from even opening the door for Lovey to exit for relief that next morning. For three more days the companions shared responsibility for sweeping the snow off the roof of the abode, and helping stranded neighbors cut and remove over 400 fallen pine trees from the paths heading home to the Shire. When night time arrived, the two retreated together to re-start the fireplace, the only source of heat available at the time. Frodo was responsible for adding fuel to the fire, every hour, all night long. When finished, he would climb back under the blankets, shivering, hoping to avoid the development of some viral infection. Then, just as his feet began to warm, it was time to rise and again fuel the flames. There was an amount of anxiety in Frodo that night.

Soundlessly, Lovey rose from her spot next to the mattress Frodo had pulled up to the grate of the fireplace, and she nosed her way under the covers and laid across Frodo's frozen feet. All night long she brought her warm body, and fur coat, next to Frodo, sensing his distress. It must have been very uncomfortable for her. It may have delayed Frodo's passing for many years.

The next day there were robins splashing in the unfrozen lake. A neighbor in a shiny new canoe brought Frodo a bag of dog food. The National Guard made their way into the area and brought kerosene for the heaters of those who had kerosene heaters (Frodo now owns a super-colossal kerosene heater). All the while Lovey followed after Frodo. She had a responsibility, a job, and fulfilling her obligation to care for Frodo was the most important thing in her life.

Finally, the fallen trees were cleared, and Frodo felt that he could get the motorized pick-up to the main road, and return home to Sam, frantic, but not panicked, because telephone service existed straight-thru. Frodo and Lovey burst through the clogged back roads until the main road, cleared of all snow, was at hand. They were then able to turn south, toward home.

Frodo has been thinking about those nights, and he can almost feel that same warmth upon his chilly feet.

Mick, the Wonder Dog, adopted Son of Lovey, stands in the doorway. He's telling Frodo that there is a need to inspect the gardens of the Shire, to make sure that everything is as it should be. He needs to do his job.

"You taught him well," said Frodo.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:35 PM EDT

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Friday, April 6, 2007

Turn Around, Look At Me
Mood:

caffeinated
Topic: "Past is Prologue" (3)
As he strolled downhill, Frodo looked at the line of pine trees to his left, and then stared back toward the creek running through the open field straight ahead. He knew every inch of that which he saw. He had been here before. Then again, he had read Bruce Catton's great book "Andersonville" when he was only 12 years old. Perhaps the impact made on the young Hobbit's mind had created this sense of deja vu as he toured the site of the horrid prison camp in rural South Georgia. The entire concept of reincarnation has haunted Frodo all his days, and the feeling persists. In what follows this day, Frodo will explore a few potential instances in the continuum of a troubled soul.

John, the brother of Richard the Lion Heart, had accomplished little but, by birth, he was entitled to rule in the absence of the King. While he sat upon the throne the Kingdom weakened. Civil unrest grew as the gulf between the landed gentry and the farmers of the feudal system widened. The rights of the free born were under assault, and fear was the tool used by the illegitimate king to maintain his power.

George, a child of privilege sought glory before power. Once the great Civil War had come to a close, and his rank was reduced from General, he sought assignment to the Western frontier, where a savage land and peoples seemed ready to fall before the sword. The hero of such a conflict could return to Washington and take command. He did not do his homework, and he attacked without fully understnding his enemy. When those about him urged caution, he pressed on, and fell with all those who followed at the Little Big Horn.

Perhaps Heinrich, or Wolfgang, or Ernst, the name is forgotten, believed so firmly in the strength of leadership that he deified the commands given to him. An ideological obsession drove him into the face of the storms, when he did not have adequate clothing or equipment. The glory of the Fatherland was worth any sacrifice. It was a battle that could not be won, and the Siege at Stalingrad ended his quest.

Perhaps other roles were played, falling more neatly into the breaks in time represented by the three examples cited. There is, to Frodo, too much to be coincidence when the instances of folly throughout history lead so directly to the President of the United States. Should we survive the current experience, Frodo dreads what is to follow.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 5:05 PM EDT

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Thursday, April 5, 2007

Put Me On a Highway, Show Me a Sign, Take It To The Limit, One More Time
Mood:

suave
Topic: "Problem, Officer?" (3)
Some events beg to be described as regional in nature; generally because the landscape or the psyche of the inhabitants requires it. Such is, dear reader, the subject of this evening's vignette repast.

Officer Brad Gregg of the Sylvania, Alabama, Police Force was on routine patrol. He had just reported his "20" (that means location, and was learned by Frodo in one of his first-favorite TV shows, "Highway Patrol" starring Broderick Crawford), and was slowly contemplating a stop at either the Donut Dinette or Pat's Bar-B-Que. Without warning he felt a "thump" on the side of his police cruiser. He immediately pulled to the shoulder of the road in order to investigate.

As he exited the cruiser, he noticed Melissa York on horseback standing in the middle of the road and staring at the dent on the rear door of the police cruiser. Before the startled officer could say anything, Ms. York rallied her senses (and those of the horse) and took off at full gallop heading North on State Route 522.

Officer Gregg flipped on his siren and proceeded to pursue the fleeing equine and rider. The conversation with his dispatcher went something like this: "Edna, this is Brad. I am on State Route 522, heading North, and approaching the Donut Dinette."

"So what else is new?," queried the dispatcher.

"I am in pursuit of a hit and run rider on horseback."

"You're whut?"

"I am in pursuit of a female rider on horseback who is fleeing from the scene of a traffic accident."

"A woman? Well I declare. Just what sort of accident are we talkin' about cheer?"

"The suspect ran into the back door of my police cruiser."

"Brad, you hold on now, here's the Chief, I'm gonna turn the mike over to him in just a minute. Do you need back-up?"

"Well, I don't think so, but let me tell you this, she is certainly riding erratically."

"Brad, this is Chief Wallace."

"Hey Berne."

"Hey Brad, what do you mean she's riding erratically?"

"Chief, she's riding real fast, singing at the top of her lungs, and every few yards she's tossin' off an article of clothing."

"What's she singing?"

"Wait now Chief, she's pulled the horse up and has come to a stop. I'm goin to step out of the cruiser and grab the reins of the horse."

"You be careful now, y'hear?"

A few anxious moments must have passed like an eternity in command central.

"Sheriff?"

"Yes Brad."

"The lady's name is Melissa York, and she just failed a breathalyzer."

"Do you need any assistance?"

"No Sir, I handcuffed her and put her in the rear of the cruiser, just about the time she felt a need to throw up. I'll tie the horse onto my back bumper and drive back into town real slow. I intend to charge her with fleeing the scene of an accident, but I'm not real sure if a DUI applies?"

"Why not?"

"Well, she wasn't really driving."

"Brad."

"Yes Chief?"

"Come on in."

"10-4, over and out."

With the sun sinking slowly from the western sky, the spirit of Broderick Crawford headed south on State Route 522 as Ms. Melissa York continued her stunning rendition of Gene Autry's "I'm Back in the Saddle Again." She was charged this time yesterday with Driving Under the Influence.

Somewhere nearby a barrister breaks into a full-faced grin. Frodo would pay real money to see Nancy Grace prosecute this one.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:09 PM EDT

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Wednesday, April 4, 2007

We'd Love To Take You Home With Us
Mood:

flirty
Topic: "Missionary Position" (3)
"Happy" Rockefeller is a name that Frodo will never forget. She probably had more to do with preventing a husband from becoming President of the United States than almost any other woman in American History. The Republican Party had, at that time, never nominated a candidate for the Presidency who was married to a divorcee. True to form, and principle, the Republican Party nominated Barry Goldwater for the Presidency rather than her husband, Nelson Rockefeller. Tough love, especially for someone named Happy.

Dear reader, the principle, if not the practice seems to have dissolved somewhere around 1980, when Jane Wyman's former husband had married the divorcee Nancy Davis and changed her last name to Reagan. Since that time, the Party which routinely espouses principles which it cannot practice, and certainly "family values" comes first to mind, seems to have embraced the philosophy in marriage that "If at first you don't succeed, then try, try again."

One needs to examine the performance of the four leading contenders for the Republican Presidential nomination in 2008. Two of the four have committed adultery (which for the benefit of Rep. Lynn Westmoreland (R-Ga) is one of the Ten Commandments he was unable to recall during his appearance on 'The Colbert Report'). Newt Gingrich and Rudy Giuliani are both on their third marriage.

Frodo wonders how many Secretaries of State there would be during a single-term Gingrich Presidency, given his proven ability to make solid personnel judgments?

Senator John McCain (R-Az) is sinking in the polls faster than a speeding bullet. The fact that he has only been married twice actually seems to be working to his detriment. Maybe he could improve his election chances by dumping his current wife? Who knows, thinks Frodo, isn't Britany Spears available? Maybe he could invite her to attend Cabinet Meetings.

The real question mark in all of this is this guy Mitt Romney, who used to do something in Massachusetts, but he's actually from Utah, and is a practicing Mormon. The boy has only been married one time. Who would have ever thought that the only monogamous candidate the Republicans could find would turn out to be a Mormon?

Eventually, somebody is going to ask the guy if he wears boxers or briefs.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:01 PM EDT

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Tuesday, April 3, 2007

Bend Me, Shape Me Any Way You Want Me
Mood:

don't ask
Topic: "Form 666" (3)
Frodo is irregular. This state of mind has absolutely nothing to do with his physical well-being. Frodo is simply going through his annual ritual of manhood; when he goes mano-a-mano against George W. Bush in the preparation of his own Federal Income Tax return. Nancy Pelosi and the Congressional Democrats may not be able to cut-off funding for the Iraqi occupation, but Frodo, in his own small way, damn well can do so.

This year Frodo has a new weapon, and it is the Federal Telephone Excise Tax Deduction. Rather than take the formula prescribed for all taxpayers by the good folks at the IRS, Frodo opted to compute his deduction by counting up every penny he actually paid for this long-time little addition to his telephone bills. In so doing, Frodo legally removed over $400 from the Crawford War Machine. It took Frodo the better part of six-and-a-half hours to do the computation and complete the form. As is often stated, War is Hell!

Sam is an accomplished contributor to noble causes, and this year Frodo required that every donation be by check or credit card. Every nickel that goes to the "Defenders of Wildlife" et al, will provide that much less for bullets or to increase the ferocity of a Civil War on the other side of the world. It took many hours to merely translate the checkbook notations from the original WESTRON (common in Middle Earth during the Third Age), and Sam is avoiding Frodo like the plague.

Frodo's prized Motorcar is used for business, and Frodo is sacrosanct in the methodology with which he separates personal from professional use. This year, given the increased costs of fuel under the leadership of the decidely self-divined reincarnation of George Armstrong Custer, Frodo goes nowhere that doesn't have a potential business application. If he is able to swing a "three-martini lunch" along the way, he considers that another contribution to bringing the boys (and girls) home before Christmas. He also toasts the "Decider" with every sip.

All of this struggle with Forms 1040, 6251, Schedule C, and Publication 17 take a great deal of time and effort. That makes Frodo very irregular in his attention to you, dear reader, and for that Frodo is very apologetic. Sometimes however, we have to choose our priorities when our country needs us. Wouldn't it be great if Frodo could end up sending George a bill? He should pay, big time.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:21 PM EDT

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Friday, March 30, 2007

I'm Goin' Away With My Friend
Mood:

amorous
Topic: "Barbie Banditos" (3)

It wasn't so long ago that Frodo told you the story of the "Runaway Bride," the little "chiquita" who got cold feet and blew out of town just before her wedding heading for parts unknown. When finally constrained by lack of funds, she concocted a story about being kidnapped. Remember that? Remember the eyes; how she always looked like she had just sniffed a line of "blow"? Let Frodo remind you, dear reader, that she was from Gwinnett County, Georgia, a territory that gives us 96% Republican turn-out for elections, is almost as white as the gardenias that flower in front of their strip malls, and is named for a guy who signed the Declaration of Independence (but nobody seems to know why). Frodo now has one to top that, and guess where the "stars" in this little melodrama come from?

Two teen-aged girls walk into a Kroger Store, smiling and giggly, wearing designer sunglasses (remembering the eyes of the "Runaway Bride"), and they approach the teller line at the Bank of America branch tactically placed inside the grocery store. They are on video security cameras the entire time. They hand the teller a hand-written note demanding money. They walk away with $10,966. The local media begin to report the story of the "Barbie Bandits," and the video tape of their escapade appears on television screens nationally.

Despite the sunglasses, which proved that even residents of Gwinnett County can learn, the case began to take a few bizarre turns. The stars of the video turn out to be Heather Johnson (19) and Ashley Miller (18), both of whom graduated from Gwinnett County High Schools in 2006 (NOTE: by trading positions with either or both the State of South Carolina and the District of Columbia, Georgia schools are never ranked higher than 49th among 51). Since graduation, both of the alumni had been employed at an establishment quaintly dubbed "Shooter Alley," where they were registered as "exotic dancers." An acquaintance, Michael Chang (27) put the fallen angels into contact with an individual named Benny Allen III (22). Mr. Allen, it seems, was then employed by the Bank of America in a branch located, coincidentally, in a Kroger store.

However it occurred, a plot was established for the four parties involved to make an unauthorized withdrawal from Mr. Chang's employer. Unfortunately, the young ladies had not developed sufficient writing skills in 12 years of Gwinnett County public education to allow them to construct an intelligible demand note. Mr. Chang had to help them write the note when they called him at the bank. Several minutes later, the telephone rang again, and Mr. Chang had to provide directions to the Bank branch since his associates had gotten lost and arrived at the wrong bank.

Several days later, at a routine traffic stop, local police stopped a vehicle carrying Mr. Chang and the young ladies in question. Police found ecstacy tablets and marijuana wrapped inside a wadded-up piece of paper. The piece of paper had directions to the Bank of America branch written thereon. In addition, on the floorboard of the motorcar, the officers found another wadded-up piece of paper, on which was written a "draft" of the demand note. Ms. Johnston had more than $1,000 stuffed into her bra, according to police detectives. The investigators also found receipts for newly-purchased clothes and from a posh beauty salon.

While questioning the young ladies in order to fully account for all the missing money, the detectives reported that Ms. Johnston told them they gave "a lot of money to the homeless." Johnston's parents sat beside their family Minister at the hearing for probable cause. The Mother was quoted as saying, "she got caught up with the wrong kind of people. . ."

At this point Frodo feels compelled to offer the first of two editorial comments. "Excuuuuse me, but your daughter IS the wrong kind of people."

It should be noted, finally, that the police investigation has failed to turn up any trace of the sunglasses worn during the escapade. Frodo adds his other editorial comment at this point, "And who says that Gwinnett County teenagers aren't smart, hiding the evidence like that?"

Frodo's greatest fear is that all four of the miscreants will be spending the next several years doing nothing other than watching the Fox News Channel, uninterrupted.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:37 PM EDT

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Thursday, March 29, 2007

Clowns To The Left Of Me, Jokers To The Right
Mood:

caffeinated
Topic: "Jonestown Redux" (3)

Make no mistake, Frodo is a "Bush-Basher." Frodo cannot stand to look at the smarmy smirker, much less pay attention to his whining, ideological, clap-trap. Before he goes to bed each night, Frodo gets down on his knees and prays for pustules to break out all over the body of George W. Bush so that he suffers, standing or sitting, day or night, for the remainder of his life. The damage he has done is incalculable.

There is a purpose for the preceding paragraph. Frodo is in receipt of information from an acquaintance who is deeply engrossed in the conspiracy theories surrounding the attacks on the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. Included in the data is the inference that the late Senator Paul Wellstone (D-MN) was "silenced" by Dick Cheney for speaking out. Barack Obama and John Edwards are cited, along with other "good liberals," as part of the "controlled dominant paradigm" who would be "toast" if they came forward and spoke against the military-industrial complex. All of this supports, so Frodo's acquaintance alleges, his contention that the events of September 11, 2001, are part of a much larger, much more insidious, cabal.

Horse hockey! With all due respect for the beliefs of others, and for the depth of their sincerity, Frodo has never believed that a Georgia Congressman was blown out of the sky in a commercial airliner by the Communist Chinese because of his political beliefs. Yet, there are countless "Conservatives" who believe that the loss of all those lives was part of some action sponsored by the United Nations, just to silence one deranged Congressman.

Dwight David Eisenhower, a Republican for the love of Pete, warned, in his Farewell Address, about the influence of big business and government. John Fitzgerald Kennedy was assassinated by a Communist sympathizer who was eliminated by a small-time hoodlum before he could be tried, and the hoodlum died from terminal cancer before anybody could figure out his motivations. How inspiring words and tragic events intersect produces a conflagration of theoretical hyperbole, garnished with a little fact and a lot of imagination.

Frodo believes that there are times when there is nothing left to do but to go to someone whom everyone trusts. There are, even in our translucent society, certain people who transcend our differences and to whom we listen, even if we don't all agree with his opinions. Frodo asks, what would Bill Bradley say? An All-American athlete, a Rhodes Scholar, a United States Senator, a Presidential candidate, an accomplished author, married to one woman; a man who represents all of the things that we all hope to represent. Does anyone truly believe that Bill Bradley could be bought off by some cabal of business ideologues, regardless of their nationality? Would Bill Bradley be involved with anyone who threatened our way of life, our great nation? Would he not speak up, would he fear any man?

It is past time to let the craziness out of our systems; from all sides. It is time to recognize that drinking the grape juice doesn't accomplish anything. We may never agree on the route to take, but we all seek the common good, however it may be defined. Frodo believes that all of us can figure that out, except of course, for the re-incarnation of George Armstrong Custer who resides at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. He, truly, is a lost cause.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:15 PM EDT

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