Mood:  spacey

Frodo has seen just about all of Paris Hilton that he can stand.  What is particularly disheartening is that she is not being featured on the multitude of cable entertainment stations, but is appearing amidst that which is presented as news.  Maybe the folly is nothing more than the entire viewing public taking a few days off before total immersion in the less than 90 days that separates insanity from the selection of a new Presidency.  Frodo certainly hopes that is the case.

The charges and the counter-charges of everything from race-baiting to ignorance are really irritating, simply because they are not serious issues.  Frodo is waiting for the real haymakers to come out of the woodwork, when desperation breeds contemptible, but effective, questions about the character of the opponent.  Although Frodo would love to believe that both Obama and McCain are keeping some secret pledge to one another (discussed perhaps when they sat together at Tim Russert's funeral), he finds it hard to believe that no one is going to come forward with something truly scurrilous, like McCain's first wife.

It would behoove, thinks Frodo, for the old boy to prepare himself for the inevitable, which might develop something like this:

"Senator McCain?"

"Yes, my friend down here in the front row of this town hall meeting.  What is your question?"

"Senator, I am an Obama supporter, and I would like to ask you for the facts, on the public record, disregarding any of the innuendo, regarding the failure of your first marriage."

"The record is clear, my friend.  I am married now, for the second time, to a wonderful woman, and the strength of our relationship is there for everyone to see.  I am, indeed, blessed."

"Uh Senator, that's not what I asked.  I asked you to simply state what exists in the public record about the first marriage, in order to alleviate the kind of questions that can reflect poorly on individual conduct."

"You seem, my friend, intent on intruding in the personal affairs of private citizens, which I was, before any public office was sought or attained.  Can I satisfy you by simply saying that being a POW for more than five years created a tremendous strain on my relationship with my first wife, and the irreparable damage which resulted was the primary cause?  Is that good enough for you?"

"No Sir, it isn't.  Sir, with all due respect, I have read, particularly on the Internet, that there was conduct unbecoming to an officer and a gentleman relative to the victim of an automobile accident.  That conduct, and the lady's physical problems have been documented and presented by, shall we say, unconventional sources.  I am merely asking you to acknowledge what is the truth, and to let us all walk away from the untrue.  Right now, I don't think there are many, if any, potential voters who are even aware of any allegations of misbehavior."

"Is this the way the Obama Campaign is going to conduct itself?  Slinging mud rather than addressing the serious issues that confront our country."

"Senator, I am trying to be respectful of you and your privacy.  All I am asking is for you to simply state the facts of the public record."

"Well, my friend, I, for one, am going to conduct my campaign on a higher level than to infer that personal issues between a husband and a wife are fodder for political gain .  Can we have another question please?"

Okay, now it's out there.   Consider the question asked Senator, my friend.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:33 PM EDT

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Mood:  vegas lucky

2011, 65, 1946, 6500, 850, 81, 28, 6510.

Frodo had an Uncle who got busted a long time ago for "running numbers."  The casinos of Las Vegas, and the horse tracks in a dozen or so states were the only legitimate gambling opportunities for those so inclined at the time.  As Frodo recalls, the "numbers" was generally done over the telephone, and the bettor was guessing the last four numbers in something like the "T-Bill bid" on a particular day (any of our friends from Mississippi may interject here and provide additional clarity, given the large percentage of Mississippians who were players).  The order taker would pass the bets on to a "runner" who would deliver them to the "house," who paid the winners, and collected from the losers.  Ergo, the invention of "breaking kneecaps."

Numbers register a lot with Frodo these days, and the seven indicated above are part of his random thoughts on a hot Saturday afternoon.  In the year 2011, the first of the "baby boomers" reach the retirement age of 65, reflecting their births in 1946.  The world as known to Frodo and the Fellowship will change forever, and all of Middle Earth will reflect new realities.  Frodo, not unlike almost everyone else, remembers good times, and does not desire significant change as a general rule.  It is almost hard to believe that he will soon cast a vote for a President who is younger, not older, than Frodo.  It will be the first such instance, but probably not the last.

Last night, Frodo heard a very interesting discussion about issues, and context.  The political discussions and the emotional drive for universal healthcare became the latest example for Frodo, of how arguments are "shaped" or "marketed," and never quite presented fully, thoughtfully, to ensure material wisdom.  Frodo learned that, for every automobile produced in Detroit, Michigan last year,$6500 of each autombile so manufactured  represented costs associated with "healthcare."  At the same time, for the exact same make and model automobile manufactured in Ontario, Canada, the "healthcare" costs were $850.  The healthcare system in America, often described as "broken," but better than "socialized medicine," may actually be driving jobs out of America, and adding to the economic crisis surrounding the middle class.  Frodo, were he the CEO of General Motors (and he may be a far better choice than the numb-nut who has watched the stock drop to a third of its price just a year ago), would certainly move his manufactuting facilities to Ontario if he could save consumers just about $5650 per automobile.  Does that mean CEO Frodo would join the Lou Dobbs' list of villains moving US jobs "overseas?"

Today, the National Football League Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio (please note that Steven Colbert has not been invited) will today induct several new members.  Art Monk, from Syracuse University, and the Washington Redskins where he wore #81, will join Darrell Green, from Texas A&I, and the Washington Redskins where he wore #28, in this coveted recognition ceremony.  These guys played football, and Frodo can still sing all of the words to "Hail to the Redskins," as he salutes two good guys who still make the entire population of Dallas, Texas, put their thumbs in their butts before sucking deeply.

Finally, today, there is the year 6510, which relates back to our title song.  Frodo is willing to bet these were the "numbers" that tripped up his Uncle,  and landed him in the hoosegow.  Any takers?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 4:39 PM EDT

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Mood:  accident prone

It must have been just a little before lunchtime when the garbage truck flattened Frodo's mailbox.  The workers who were in the process of destroying Frodo's kitchen and bathrooms soon gathered in his driveway in order to proffer their suggestions on how best to wreak revenge upon the miscreants.  Before they left for home, and prior to Frodo's arrival from Mount Doom, the same workers noted the presence of a liquid on the garage floor.  Frodo noted the same, and soon discovered that the water filter he had personally installed 19 years ago had chosen this exact moment in order to deteriorate beyond repair.  Frodo quickly changed shoes, and headed directly to the nearest hardware megalith in order to purchase a replacement for the trusty water filter.

Frodo learned that the company which manufactured the all too reliable water filter had gone out of business many moons in the past.  Upon examination, it was not evident that any of the other in-stock varieties would satisfactorily meet Frodo's need without exacting measurements.  Frodo returned home in his motorcar, but only after experiencing the worst of afternoon traffic.  Sam noted Frodo's condition, and strongly suggested that Frodo relax with some bread and a glass of water before returning to the hardware megalith.  Frodo promptly spilled water on his trousers.

After changing, Frodo took detailed measurements of the copper tubing and all associated connections.  He returned to the hardware megalith, and by arrival time was more than prepared to disassemble the skull of any salesperson who gave him any grief whatsoever.  The young man in the orange apron was probably an escapee from final period gym class, because it was quite evident that he had no appreciation or conception of plane geometry.  Frodo purchased a replacement water filter without additional carnage and returned home.

In his driveway, Sam was waiting in order to inform Frodo that the plumber was not going to be available until the morrow.  In typical Samwise fashion, Frodo was convinced that attempting to remove the old water filter, and to replace it, would take Frodo most of the evening, and would probably result in the destruction of every conceivable inch of water pipe in the hands of an enraged Hobbit.

Then the telephone rang.  It was Bilbo, calling to inform Frodo that the inordinately high humidity in Arizona was responsible for a constant state of lethargy.  As Frodo stood there dripping from head-to-toe, Bilbo told Frodo that the relative humidity in Arizona at that moment was 15 (not a misprint).   Frodo knew that the identical reading at the same moment in the Shire would have been edging into triple figures, so it was extremely difficult for him to retain a sympathetic ear to Bilbo's plight.

Frodo coaxed Mick, the Wonder Dog, to accompany him into the gardens of the Shire, but noted that Mick, the Wonder Dog, was reluctant to follow him.  Suddenly, from every conceivable angle, a horde of Tiger Mosquitos performed an acrobatic aeronautical assault on the Hobbit.  Not wanting to share the fate of the USS Nevada at Pearl Harbor, Frodo retreated inside in order to receive medical treatment.

Frodo turned on the black-and-white, and promptly was informed that the gallant Braves were getting waxed for the fourth consecutive time in four consecutive games.  Frodo retreated to the bedroom, crawled beneath the sheet, and proceeded to lose himself in the Twelfth Century under "The Pillars of the Earth."  Once his eyes wearied, he turned off the light and promptly struck the pose of an owl on nighttime patrol.

He must have fallen asleep, because his next memory was of a silent alarm clock with flashing numerals indicating quite some passage of time beyond the sunrise.  At least, thought Frodo, it was another day at hand; one, which if one followed the philosophical tendencies of Scarlett O'Hara, would only lead back to Tara.  Even days such as that just completed are worth remembering in Frodo's Shire. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:35 PM EDT

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Mood:  rushed

It is no secret that the test results in the public schools of Georgia are abysmal.  Given, also, that the school year now begins during the second week of August, it would seem that, at last, somebody is getting serious about the fact that year-after-year, Georgia continues to produce the dumbest bunnies this side of Alabama.  Over the past several years the County of Cobb, which encircles the Shire, and is overwhelmingly Republican, has struggled with the problem of financing education.  Republicans, after all, are supposedly thriftier than Democrats, and would not be saddled with any tax increases for any purpose whatsoever, even for education.  That is, until somebody came up with the idea of a "temporary," yet "renewable" tax for a special purpose.  Thus was born the acronym SPLOST (Special Purpose Local Ordinance Sales Tax), dubbed affectionately by Frodo as "The Splurge."

"The Splurge" is not working.  Teachers continue to purchase student supplies out of their salaries.  Temporary trailers dot the landscape of each and every school, even before they open for service.  Classes in Music, Art Appreciation, and Foreign Language are increasingly trimmed from curricula.  The hundreds of thousands of dollars raised by increasing the local sales tax by a single penny must be going somewhere, doesn't it seem, dear reader?  Inquiring minds, as they say, want to know; especially since the assessment is "temporarily renewable."

The Elementary School of the Shire, affectionately dubbed by Frodo as "The Gulag," lies in the pastoral setting downhill from the Shire.  For the past several weeks, Frodo and his neighbor, Tom Bombadil, have looked down upon the army of contractors spreading a new layer of asphalt on the parking lot.  They turn out to be the same contractors spreading petroleum by-product at the highest prices ever recorded all over school parking lots throughout the county.  Some of the schools are less than two years old. 

The students of the Shire may not be getting any smarter, but their parents have plenty of room to park if they show up for parent-teacher meetings.         

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:16 PM EDT

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Mood:  a-ok

"There are times when our actions around the world have not lived up to our intentions."--US Senator Barack Obama (D-IL), 1600 hours, July 24th, 2008, Berlin, Germany (Unter den Linden aus der Tiergarten).

Frodo and his friend walked from the Brandenburg Gate down the street toward the Zoo.  The trees which line the street are all the same type, and the pedestrian passes under them along the way.  It is about a mile, and the walk is as peaceful and restorative as is any big city street, anywhere within the scope of the Hobbit and his travels.  In German, the Zoo is an "animal garden," and Frodo is forced to admit that the real animal that night was the the hormone-driven young Hobbit seeking to add his friend as a conquest.

What it was that made him take note of the grotesque creature laying at the bottom of that pool, just beyond the entrance to the Zoo, remains a mystery to this day.  In any event, Frodo and his friend noted that the old hippopotamus alone, among all the creatures therein, survived the Allied bombings of Berlin in 1944 and 1945.  Perhaps, as he was doing at that very moment, he had just taken a big ole breath and decided that being at the bottom of his pool was preferable to any recognition of the world which had incarcerated him.  Perhaps, also, when he later arose for air he noted that staying in his pool was a wiser course of action than that chosen by any other creature in the vicinity.  It also meant that he was totally alone.

Frodo and his friend pondered the deeper meaning of life, and Frodo became sidetracked from his original goal.  He has often regretted the loss of that possibility.

Frodo knows that the old hippopotamus has long ago naturally followed after his fellow inhabitants of the Berlin Tiergarten.  Frodo couldn't help but wish that he had been in Berlin today, listening.  Had he been there, Frodo would have stood by the pool of the hippopotamus, and tried to hold his breath as long as possible.  It would have reminded him of what he learned in that spot, a long time ago, that when you come up for air, you had better be ready to take on the world all by yourself.      

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:34 PM EDT

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Mood:  celebratory

Absent from these parts for over two years, George W. Bush today spent two hours in the State of Georgia.  His purpose was to speak at a fundraiser for a nondescript Republican candidate for Congress.  Given the fact that we are now only 180 days away from his political demise, in fact as well as in theory, it is entirely likely that the Incomparable Moron will not return to cast his incompetent shadow upon the asphalt-covered runways of this, one of the original Thirteen Colonies.  This realization represents the first of the many celebrations sponsored by Frodo and Sam as they cast the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom.  Soon, Sauron will be "cuttin' brush."

Frodo was taken by the absence of Republican officeholders or wannabees on the tarmacs supporting Air Force One.  United States Senatuh Simply Useless (aka Saxby Chambliss, the guy with the highest 'Bush supporter' rating in the entire Senate), is up for re-election and, absent a major competitor, will probably win re-election, was nowhere to be seen on camera.  Frodo looked closely at any rear shots of the Incomparable Moron, just to make sure that Simply Useless wasn't down there giving him a big ole kiss right on the buttocks (again).  Worthless Congressional names like Westmoreland, Price, Deal, Linder, and Gingrey were also noticeably absent from any of the rush of local reporters not otherwise engaged with traffic accidents or thundershowers springing up in the western suburbs.

In all, it was a big ole yawn.  Air Force One took off a little early, probably to beat the traffic.  The Incomparable Moron was looking out of the window, and Frodo assumed he was looking for Katrina survivors.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:09 PM EDT

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Mood:  spacey

President John Fitzgerald Kennedy, in a speech which Frodo missed along the way, established a goal ". . .to land a Man on the Moon and to return him safely to Earth before the end of this decade."  Nobel Prize Laureate Albert Gore, Jr. returning to "Meet the Press" after an eight-year absence, challenged this nation to achieve energy independence by renewable sources within ". . .the next ten years."  Frodo could not help but correlate the similarity, both in duration and presentation, that both men used to set policy, and to manipulate the outcome.  "What a shame," he thought, "for our country, that George W. Bush was not effective enough to have at least implemented one National Goal and managed it through to completion."

Frodo knows that George W. Bush did significantly increase the availability of resources to treat AIDS, Malaria, and other communicable diseases in Africa during his tenure, and Frodo is grateful for this contribution to mankind.  However, the point is that this accomplishment, was not "Social Security Reform," or "Returning to the Moon," or "Capturing Those Responsible" (for the Assault on the Twin Towers), or even "Balancing the Budget Within Five Years."  Frodo refuses to accept the demagogic assertion that further terroristic assaults on this country were prevented by the leadership of George W. Bush.  In at least one instance, such a tragedy was prevented by passengers on an airliner who overcame a madman attempting to ignite an explosive located in his shoes.  George W. Bush had absolutely nothing to do with that incident, which would have killed many.

Frodo argues that Bush was poorly trained, and that he lacked the capacity to set goals, and to manage the Government of the United States.  Attempting to consolidate power within the Executive Branch, he was unwilling, if not unable, to muster forces with the Legislative Branch.  The result being that, even with a six-year period of time in which the Republican Party controlled both Houses of Congress, the Bush Administration was unable to implement, much less control, any significant National Goals.  Even his legislative victories, which most often referred to the threat of terror as their inspiration, are very likely to be over-ridden administratively, by law, or by judicial appeal.  In the end, absolutely nothing worthwhile can ever be associated with this, the least effective Presidential Administration within the history of the western world.

Frodo postulates that George W. Bush really wanted to achieve great things, and that is probably why he wanted to re-ignite the Space Program.  Looking back now, at his guidance to NASA, and his rather unscientific goals for "manned spaceflight," it is probable that he suffers from some form of "Kennedy Envy" (other more organic forms of envy are certainly also conceivable).  It must give him special distress to now hear that Al Gore has shown that he, indeed, has more and better management skills than does he who was deemed the winner of that fated election.  Imagine how he must feel hearing that Prime Minister al-Maliki of Iraq "endorses" (according to DER SPIEGEL) Obama's intent to withdraw all American forces within 16 months?  This, of course, coming from a man with so little "experience." 

Tonight, there are a number of experiments being conducted by NASA on the surface of the Planet Mars.  In the span of a few short days, the magnificent technology has broken through the thin crust that apparently covers what may have once been water in a liquid state.  It is very likely that the existence of "life" as we know it, at some point in time, will be proven to exist upon that alien world.  Imagine, dear reader, how George W. Bush might have been remembered by history if he had merely said, seven years ago, ". . .that we will answer the age old question about life beyond our small, blue planet."

Isn't it just about time for him to take his month-long vacation?       

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:07 PM EDT

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Mood:  vegas lucky

Frodo is not gregarious per se, but he does have his own way of starting conversations, and making friends.  Mick, the Wonder Dog, has become enamored of a slender, young German Shepherd who lives across the byway afronting the Shire.  In the cool of the evening, he will walk ahead of Frodo, and take a restful position on a small rise overlooking the house where the siren resides.  She is very shy, and since Mick, the Wonder Dog, knows that he cannot enter the byway without Frodo's announced approval, the two merely stare at each other, from a distance.

Frodo spotted the dog's owner, to whom he had but a hand-waving acquaintance, in his own front yard, and walked across the byway to remark upon the slender build of his dog.  Mick, the Wonder Dog, took this as act of tacit approval and crossed along with Frodo.  The owner explained that he had made the error of feeding the dog from the table at a young age, and now she will not eat that which better serves her nutritional requirements.  While they talked, the dogs were showing early signs of play, and the communication that has long included ancestral nose and butt.

Frodo noted the heavy accent of his neighbor, and asked if it might be Balkan, "Perhaps Latvia?," he asked innocently.  His neighbor was almost shaken with shock.  "How did you know?  Nearly everyone thinks I am Russian, because of my accent.  How did you know?"

Frankly, according to Frodo, it had been a wild guess.  He could just as easily have said Estonia, or even Finland.  He just hadn't thought of Russia.  It proved to be a very good guess.

As time bore on, Frodo's neighbor let forth the content of his own Box, as if the saga of Pandora were to be repeated in sheer verbiage.  The neighbor told Frodo that in 1939, when Latvia fell to the Germans, his grandfather, not unlike almost all of the men in their small town, was told by the Germans that he either join the German Army, or that he would be shot.  His family, it was added, would be sent to work camps.  His grandfather acquiesed.  What role he played, Frodo does not yet know.

In 1945, when the Russians liberated Latvia from the Germans, the neighbor said his grandfather was taken captive and assumed that he would be shot for having been a soldier in the German Army.  In fact, he said, one out of every five Latvians was unceremoniously killed by the Russians for their abetting of the Germans.  The neighbor's grandfather, for some unknown reason, was spared, if it can be called that, and was sent to Siberia for a minimum term of 25 years.  Frodo's neighbor began to softly sob, and salty paths wandered through his day-old beard in search of his chin.

Frodo had never met anyone even remotely involved with detention in Siberia, although he had known of the history for most of his days.  Frodo was not sure what to say, and he was searching for some appropriate response.  It was then that they both noted the two dogs, standing on either side of the neighbor, both leaning, listening, and looking up, respectfully.  Both Frodo and his neighbor smiled, and proceeded to rub dog ears in only the way that Man or Hobbit has ever done.

As they parted for the evening, Frodo crossed the byway while Mick tarried but a moment behind.  Frodo looked forward to telling Sam or Tom Bombadill about the mysterious neighbor with the skinny dog.  Another neighbor, somewhat brusquely, stopped Frodo and asked if she had indeed seen him talking to "that Russian."

Frodo said, "No, Not Russian."  He bade her goodnight, and walked home with his friend, who seemed to be laughing, at Frodo's heel.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 5:53 PM EDT

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Mood:  irritated

Frodo has often been asked to define "love."  Similarly, "hatred," "despair," "fear," "pride," and even "jealousy" are terms which he has occasionally been challenged to verbally describe.  It is, indeed, probable that every emotion has at some point in time been the subject of a defining poem, story, or song, except, as best he can herein recall , for "worry."  It is, in his mind, that which corralls our joys and sadness into trepidation and sorrow, magnified by the future and the past.  Frodo can worry about everyday problems like money, or he can make up things to worry about.  The worst part of worry is the fact that its end is a reflection of the possible, the likely, or certainty.

Frodo may, for example, worry about his own demise.  Surely, it will come, and it will have an impact, not only on Frodo, but to those whom he holds dearest.  So Frodo worries about himself, his Fellowship, his menagerie, and it all may be about something which will not occur for a, hopefully, long, long, time.  (EDITORIAL NOTE:  The Incomparable Moron certainly must worry that Frodo's demise fails to occur soon enough.)  In fact, Frodo's demise may be so far off that all of those and that about whom he cares may precede him, and his worry about them or that will thusly prove to be totally inane.  "Worry" is, indeed, a quality which defies description.

Except when it comes to Sam.  Three times has a cloud hung over the horizon, carrying the possibility that something inevitable was prematurely swinging a scythe that would strike Frodo's companion.  Three times has the demon been cast aside by the technical skill of those who treat illness, and the early detection that constant surveillance can prevent.  Three times means only that a fourth shall come, and every chill wind that blows causes Frodo to worry. 

It may be nothing, and it may not.  It may bring about great pain, or blessed relief.  It is that which brings us all, in our nakedness, to the windows which disclose the darkness, and little else.  

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:22 PM EDT

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Mood:  accident prone

As a general rule, Frodo avoids the daily topical, preferring, instead, to reflect back at a later time, in order to add perspective, or humor, to something that may not be quite as serious as talking heads or partisans may proffer.  There are, of course, exceptions to every rule and, as Gomer Pyle frequently stated, "Surprise, surprise, surprise," hither follows an exception.

THE NEW YORKER magazine is a "slur," and it is so because that is how it is viewed by the subjects cartooned on the cover.   From a similar perspective, religious people felt that the iconic presentation of the Prophet Muhammad in Dutch newspapers was a religious "slur."  What is truly unsettling about both of these instances is that extremely intelligent, creative, artistic people responded defensively to the criticism.  

George W. Bush, it may be argued, is therefore fully justified to show offense at the comic portrayals of his "eagle beak" and "pointy ears."  Frodo would argue back that making fun of a person's appearance is an automatic denial of credible substance.  On the other hand, to reflect a burning flag, or a place of honor for a portrait of Osama bin Laden, with one of the cartooned portrayed as bearing an automatic weapon leaves too much to the imagination, and too little to the belly laugh.

People, good people, are going to say and do things that offend, intentionally or no.  It is the adults who recognize that they have stepped on the proverbial toe, and who have the wisdom to excuse themselves and to go on.  That is what characterizes the goodness of a man like Don Imus, whose motivations will never be questioned by Frodo.  It is the juveniles who talk about "artistic license" (if they live in New York City), or "getting a tee shirt with that cartoon on the front" (if they live in Texas).

Frodo often reads magazines, and not always in the dental waiting room.  Occasionally, he finds himself reading an article in PLAYBOY, or looking at the pictures in THE NEW YORKER.   He resents the fact that anyone would infer that he needs to look at either, differently.  Frodo knows obscenity when he sees it.    

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:55 PM EDT

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