Mood:  blue

Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, raced across the empty parking lot of the School of the Shire, while Frodo was distracted by the now-familiar call on the morning breeze.  Against an all-blue sky on Thanksgiving Day, the Sandhill Cranes were now less than one state away from their winter home in the Okeefenokee.  Frodo's canine friends were not about to be distracted from a mid-week romp, so Frodo was unable to tarry in appreciation.  Upon his return he noted the now-familiar pink ribbons marking property lines, this time upon that of his neighbors, parent to Jessica and "Chipper."

Brian and Carolyn are outstanding parents, and their children are favorites of the Hobbit.  This past Halloween they were Princess Leia and Lord Vader, in costumes that exhibited many hours of motherly love, and a deep appreciation for the importance of a truly realistic light saber.  Brian is a musician, and he has had multiple heart surgeries.  He is no longer "insurable" in Middle Earth, and the inconsistency of income makes life very difficult for such good people.  They have not lived beyond their means, and they did not buy a house that was beyond their means.  Frodo fears however, that the pink ribbons do not mean a simple re-financing. 

The reports from the city formerly known as Bombay cause Frodo to imagine what it must have been like in their city on the day that the nihilists destroyed so many lives in 2001.  Surely, he thought, they cried too, and wished that they could do something to help end the needless suffering of just plain people, who didn't do anything to hurt anybody.  As this story continues, even now, to unfold, it appears that those without conscience were Pakistanis, and therefore, probably Islamic.

Frodo must note that the weapons, and the expenses for this conflagration probably came from some of the $10B paid to Musharraf by those who sought his assistance against Islamic terrorists.  The money these monsters used was probably American dollars.  The truth hurts, doesn't it, dear reader?

The other truth is equally painful.  The continuing fundamentalist violence, all around our small, blue planet, does not come from dissimilar circumstances.  It is not the Shinto, or the Buddhist, the Hindu, or even the Zoroastrian; rather, the violence stems from the monotheists, those who believe in one God.  Dear reader, it is Islamic, it is Jewish, and it is Christian.  It seems to Frodo that the three largest religious groups in all the world represent the impetus to violence.  Perhaps it is merely an unwillingness to retreat from the realization that the one God is "our" god, and not that of the other guy.  On the other hand, the polytheists believe in flexibility, and perhaps the simplicity of the fact that if one God doesn't deliver, we simply change channels.

At some point in time, it is the essence of humanity to rale against the injustices of life.  Watching good, hardworking people lose a house is not fair.  Watching subhuman cretins assault all of civilized society is beyond temperance.  Ah, dear reader, the bridges before us are filled with peril, and those which we now cross are threatening, to be sure.  Important it is that we don't waste time or effort commiserating about that which lies behind us.  Still, had he the chance, Frodo would truly enjoy kicking the ass of either Dick Cheney or anyone who would entice the "Deccan Mujahadien."  There is not a dime's worth of difference between them.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 5:47 PM EST

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Mood:  don't ask

Despite Frodo's immediate preference for Barack Obama, Frodo, quite characteristically, withheld making any predictions about the outcome of either the nomination or the election process.  Allegorically speaking, Frodo long ago learned that everything involved in the brewing and preparation of a cup of tea can be negated by the accidental addition of a teaspoonful of salt.  Predicting the outcome of political events is dependent upon human behavior, which is, of course, unpredictable.

That being said, Frodo has been considering the final days of George W. Bush and the residual effects on the small, blue planet.  It must be grating for Bush to experience the public comments of the Shiite leadership in Iraq.  Demonstrations occur with some regularity urging the swift withdrawal of US military personnel, in contrast to the creation of a memorial to George W. Bush, as once proffered by Richard Perle, the Neo-Con of Neo-Cons.  Perhaps, thinks Frodo, it is merely illustrative of that which is most likely to occur in time to come.

Americans were startled by videotaped replay of Shiite religious ceremonies when true Iranian nut cases stormed the US Embassy during the Carter years.  To see the faithful whipping themselves in a symbolic display of deity devotion seemed as strange as, say, communion in a Protestant Church might seem to Shiites, for example.  To now realize that the one definitive outcome of the Pre-Emptive War initiated by George W. Bush is that another fundamentalist Shiite government, Iraq,  has been created and added into the mixing bowl of international relations. 

Frodo contends that little time will pass before the Shiite, now ruling, majority in Iraq will seek "payback" from the Sunni minority, who populated the Baathist regime of the late Saddam Hussein.  These guys, Sunnis and Shiites, have gotten along for centuries almost as well as did the Protestants and the Catholics in Belfast.  It is for this reason that the Shiites are so anxious for the Americans to leave.  Not unlike the final words spoken by the executioners of Saddam, it is the will of al-Sadr that hangs heavy over the future of the nation that isn't.

The William Kristolites who argue that the true legacy of George W. Bush will not be evident until years in the future are, for the wrong reasons, absolutely correct.  There will, Frodo predicts, be no continuing growth of democracy in that region, rather the continuing civil war will fester as long as theocracy is an acceptable alternative.  The Bush legacy will be the loss of American prestige, sacred honor, lives, and fortune.

Would that it were already the 23rd day of January, and the Incomparable Moron would already have exited the world stage, never to return. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:36 AM EST

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Mood:  party time!

Frodo grew up playing team sports.  To this day the Hobbit is enthralled by games that require sacrifice by some, in order to ensure victory for all.  In the world of Intercollegiate Athletics, Frodo has taken note of the President-Elect and his position that a "play-off" is required in order to properly determine a "National Champion" in Football.  Frodo is bored by the prospect.

Why not simply take the best academic school, with the most number of victories, and declare that school the "National Champion?"  The only negative is that the Southeastern Conference, composed of the worst academically-rated universities in all the land, would therefore never have a "National Champion." 

Frodo always roots for the best academic school.  If Harvard, for example, were to play the College of the Shire, Frodo would root for Harvard.  Frodo has a problem only when two deficient academic schools, say like Alabama and Texas, play each other.  In this instance, Frodo roots either for a scoreless tie, or a forfeit.

Frodo raises this issue because of something pretty neat that took place just last evening.  At 6:10 PM, the space shuttle Endeavour passed over Bobby Dodd Stadium in Atlanta.  This preceeded the kickoff of the game between Georgia Tech and the University of Miami, which took place at 7:45 PM.  On board as crew members were three graduates, including one woman, of Georgia Tech.  To commemorate the event, the video board at the stadium received a live feed from the space shuttle, and the Tech graduates were saluted by all those in attendance on the ground.  At least one of the on-field celebrants wore a self-designed spacesuit.

Georgia Tech, with a devastating ground game, as well as superiority in the air, kicked the bejabbers out of the Miami Hurricanes. 

It's a damn good thing they weren't playing Notre Dame.  Come home safe boys and girls, Frodo cheers loudest for you.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:43 PM EST

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Mood:  silly

Some time ago Frodo remarked about Mick, the Wonder Dog, and his unending joy as a passenger in Frodo's motorcar.  Recently, in Pryor, Oklahoma, a 70-pound pit bull did him one better.  He served notice on all the world that he was fully prepared to navigate himself, and that should give special pause to Michael Vick, should he ever again become a pedestrian.

Joe D'Plummer was washing his motorcar at a commercial car wash while his dog waited patiently inside the vehicle.  For whatever reason, the dog suddenly jumped on the dash, and the car somehow was shifted into reverse.  As the automobile backed out of the car wash bay, the dog stood guard over the steering wheel and seemed to be in total control as he looped out onto the highway and circled back to a safe stop at an automated car wash lane.

Pryor police officer Brent Crittenden reported that the vehicle was impounded because neither the driver nor the owner could provide proof of insurance.  Because the dog was properly registered with the City of Pryor however, he was not taken into custody and Joe was allowed to walk the pooch home.  A court date has not been set.

The dog's name, you ask?  Would you believe Dale Earnhart?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:37 PM EST

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Mood:  cool

Harry Truman, noting the return home of men who fought, men who died, and men forever scarred by war, guided the military forces into an equilibrium.  For more than a generation, the rest of American society trailed badly behind the recruitment, training, and development of a multi-racial workforce which followed the American Flag wherever and whenever called.  That realization causes Frodo to remember, as well as regret, many of his words directed at those who dared to describe "light at the end of the tunnel," and "Vietnamization."  Frodo now recognizes accomplishment amidst stupidity.  

This past Monday, more than 100 retired generals and admirals called for repeal of the "Don't ask, don't tell," policy regarding military service.  Their joint statement in part stated, "As is the case with Great Britain, Israel and other nations that allow gays and lesbians to serve openly, our service members are professionals who are able to work together effectively despite differences in race, gender, religion, and sexuality."  In this case, Frodo had no words to regret, so there was absolutely nothing holding him back from standing up and cheering.

Perhaps, and likely it is, that among the 100 or so retired officers there are a sprinkling of black guys.  In any event, it is the military institution itself which leads the way for this, the next generation of national service participation.  Frodo realizes that he is very, very proud of all these changes, and of those who help to bring such change to bear. 

Frodo would go into battle with these guys any day.  The Fellowship of the Ring is much more real today.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:17 PM EST

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Mood:  special

Mr. Johnathan Smoot;

Congratulations on your selection as this years' recipient of the Sgt. John A. Jenkins Scholarship.  Your academic and personal accomplishments at the College of the Shire merit both recognition and reward.  Let me assure you that Alumni throughout Middle Earth take special note of your name, alongside that of someone so very special to all of us.

John Jenkins was the nicest boy I ever knew.  He had three sisters, and he learned early on how important it was to respect, and to protect them.  His parents taught him the value of hard work, and for John that was a crucial factor.  For no matter how hard he worked, school work did not come easy for him.  He was athletic, but he always seemed to be the guy who dropped the long pass, or threw the ball out-of-bounds.  He was however, the guy you wanted in your corner if you had to fight your way out of a situation.

As he neared the end of his fifth year, he was notified that his student deferment was to thereupon expire, and he was to report to Basic Training.  It was touch-and-go, right up until the day before graduation, and the strain was on his face and in his heart.  Less than thirty days after he graduated, he was on his way to Fort Benning.

I saw him several months later at the Wedding of one of our Fraternity Brothers, and I walked with him to his car as the happy couple departed.  I told him to be careful, and he said to me, "Frodo, I just hope I do a good job."  

I learned, years later, that in September of 1968, near a little piss-ant of a place called Duc Lap, Republic of South Vietnam, his outfit was engaged by North Vietnamese Regulars in a conflict known as "The Ambushes."  The enemy, according to official military records, threw itself directly upon Sgt. Jenkins position.  Rallying his troops, and utilizing the weapon of a fallen comrade, he led a vicious battle and accounted for numerous enemy casualties.  The battle continued until he ran out of ammunition.

I was a thousand miles away when they buried my friend at Arlington.  I have visited him there, and have an etching from Plaque 47W, Line 12, of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.  His Mother was presented with the Silver Star, awarded posthumously.  I have held that Medal in my hands.  It is the most expensive thing I have ever touched.  His Mother told me that the only thing that he would have valued more than that Medal was the Diploma he earned at the College of the Shire.

Soon Johnathan, you will share that diploma with Sgt. John A. Jenkins.  He thought so much of it, and I truly believe that he indeed felt that his sacrifice would be worthwhile if it gave you the opportunity to do better.

It is a great gift you have received.  It came at great cost.  I certainly hope that you, too, do a good job.

Semper Fi,

Frodo Baggins on Veterans Day, 2008. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:09 PM EST

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Mood:  sharp

"Special Agent Frodo, TV Monitor here, I have ROSEBUD skating the hall in her stocking feet just outside the Oval Office."  

"Where is RADIANCE?"

"She is in the kitchen helping herself to the Cherry Vanilla."

"Does RENAISSANCE have control of the situation?"

"Actually Sir, she told me that you were in charge for the afternoon."

"Me?  I'm out here on the South Lawn with a dog that piddles more than Oktoberfest in an Old Folks Home.  It'll be thirty minutes before I get back inside."

"Special Agent Frodo, RENEGADE here, is there a problem?"

"Oh no problem Sir, we just seem to be having a little trouble coordinating our escort assignments for RADIANCE and REDBUD."

"Have they done their homework?"

"Affirmative Sir, and that seems to be the problem.  They got their homework done much faster than we planned, and they have taken off in different directions."

"I was under the impression that you had the same reponsibility for the Bush family, and were therefore quite experienced in situations like this.?"

"That is correct RENE. . .I mean Sir.  It's just that the Bush daughters never finished their homework on time, much less early."

"I see.  And why was that?"

"Well Sir, you have to remember that they were from Texas."

"Special Agent Frodo?  TV Monitor here, I now have ROSEBUD in the bowling alley, all by herself.  RADIANCE is in the War Room playing some sort of computer simulation.  Does that present a problem?"

"TV Monitor, this is the President, would you head to the War Room and disconnect my daughter from any and all systems, right now.  I'll see that we put a parental chip in there as soon as possible."

"What about ROSEBUD Sir?"

"I'll go down to the bowling alley and keep her occupied until Special Agent Frodo gets back from walking the dog."

"Sir, I'm not sure that is a good idea."

"Oh, and why would you say that."

"Sir, she's bowled three straight strikes."

"Sir, TV Monitor here."

"What now?"

"Sir, the dog has slipped his leash and is practicing evasive manuvers on Special Agent Frodo.  He is in hot pursuit, but it now appears that it will be quite some time before Frodo is on-line again. "

"I'm on my way to the War Room, please call RENAISSANCE and request back-up."

SOME TIME LATER.

"Special Agent Frodo?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"Am I to understand that my daughters, collectively, ruined a new pair of socks, ate ice cream an hour before dinner, threw heavy bowling balls around without supervision, failed to walk their dog as they promised, and came close to instituting a thermonuclear war by identifying three unreported Iranian power plants as potential targets for destruction?"

"Well, I'm not so sure about all of that, Ma'am."

"Of which part are you not sure?"

"I think it was a little more than an hour before dinner when the, uh, ice cream, was, uh. . ."

"Special Agent."

"Ma'am?"

"What was your assignment before the White House?"

"I was assigned to the Fairbanks District."

"Fairbanks?  Like in, Alaska?"

"Yes, uh, Ma'am."

"What were your duties at that time?"

"I was on an Intergovernmental Task Force assisting the State of Alaska."

"So you worked for. . .?"

"Yes Ma'am, Governor Palin.  That would be correct."

"Might I ask. . .?"

"I, uh, kept Russia under surveillance."

"So, how did you end up here, in this assignment?'

"The Bush daughters requested me.  I, evidently, was highly recommended by Governor Palin."

THE NEXT MORNING.

"I'm awfully sorry that you'll be leaving us Frodo, it won't be quite the same without you around."

"I appreciate that TV Monitor, but that's the name of the game."

"Where are you off to, this time."

"Well, the orders are sealed for now, but I have overheard the use of a code word."

"And what was that?"

"PAYBACK."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:52 PM EST

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Mood:  don't ask

Frodo is not unlike most of his gender; there is order, and there is disorder.  Order exists as long as things continue just as they have always been done, and disorder reigns whenever anything changes.  Sam goes shopping, and that includes the megalith known as the "grocery store."  Frodo consumes that which returns in plastic or in paper.  Given this preamble, all of life should be simple and uncomplicated.

Sam is in recovery, and is forbidden to utilize a motorcar for the next two weeks.  Under normal circumstances, this would be a point of revelry for Frodo.  Unconsumed petrol is an asset these days worthy of entry on Frodo's ledger of accounts.  However, the need for sustenance in the Shire requires that Frodo substitute for Sam, and thereby seek provisions at the 21st Century version of the "general store."  True it is that these centralized placements in every retail mausoleum in America do, indeed, sell anything, and everything.

Frodo is therefore entrusted with a list.  Once he emerges unscathed, at least in this instance, from that which is known as a parking lot, although there seems to be a constancy of unplanned traffic flow throughout, he then takes temporary possession of a cart.  Frodo knows that, within seconds, the complexion of his hands will pale against the light.  Frodo is truly a "white-knuckle shopper," fearing the inevitable consequence of one without patience loosed upon the methodically unreasonable aisles and lanes of that which distinguishes our land from all other civilized nations.

Bread, bacon, milk, orange juice, hamburger, steak fries, lettuce are not generally the kind of items which require participation in a safari.  Frodo is, however, immediately accosted by an elderly person wanting him to sample apple juice.  Although Frodo has a certain fondness for apple juice, particularly when it is offered sans cost, he is irritated by intrusions upon his appointed rounds.  Once he has laid waste to this insurgent, he decides to start the search for those items on his list least likely to spoil or to suffer once removed from their storage unit and placed in Frodo's cart.

Frodo determined that the frozen steak fries should be the last item placed in the cart, logically enough.  For whatever purpose Frodo first found himself in the frozen foods, with steak fries prominently displayed therein.  Fearing that he might not be able to pass this way again, Frodo decided to scrap his original plan and to take advantage of this easy kill.  Amazingly, the milk, juice, and lettuce followed soon thereafter, and Frodo was beginning to feel a certain level of comfort amidst the ladies who insist upon stopping in the absolute middle of an aisle, almost daring the passage of any male on either side.

Bacon is a pork product, is it not?  Why therefore would bacon not be assembled in the meat section alongside anything labeled as "pork?"  While in the general vicinity, Frodo was accosted by another elderly person wanting him to taste her "cracker with cheese."  She was very insistent.  Frodo thinks she was hitting on him.

At last, Frodo had only the "hamburger" on his list, and he had already noted many plastic wrapped piles of ground meat from afar.  Ground "chuck," ground "roast," and something that looked like a "ground ball," once neatly arranged, had been examined, quite obviously, by the entire population of Wasilla, Alaska, during the past thirty minutes.  It took Frodo's real tears to bring a sympathetic response from the "butcher," which resulted not only in the final "kill" of this adventure, but a permanent level of gratitude to the nameless individual who will have a special place in Heaven (right next to Frodo).

Then, the white knuckled mania struck as originally feared by Frodo.  Proud he was that he could enter the "10 items or less  only, checks accepted," line honestly, he noted that there was only one shopper in line in front of him.  Frodo recognized her as one who had parked herself in the middle of the aisle that separated soup from dog food.  Frodo noted the presence of at least 75 items in her cart.  Sensing danger, Frodo began his retreat from the check-out line, only to find himself trapped by the same lady who had blocked the aisle between magazines and greeting cards.  She was reading a copy of "National Enquirer" and did not respond to Frodo's whimper.  Frodo accepted his fate.

The lady in front of Frodo carefully analyzed every keystroke by the smiling check-out lady, that is until the cantaloupe rang up at $1.19 rather than $.89.  The entire function of business in North America came to a halt due to the allegation of an incorrect price by the one person in line in front of Frodo.  The blood disappeared from Frodo's extremities, and he considered making a break for it and running over the miscreant.  The lady required a "price check" (two of the most dreaded words in Frodo's vocabulary).  After an inordinate delay, Frodo cleared his throat, and offered to give the shopper 20 cents if she would merely pass through the system as is, and bring order back into the universe.

Frodo had never before been publicly identidfied as a "Communist."  As he considered the indignity of the allegation, he briefly thought about strangulation, or perhaps a thrashing with a plastic container of milk. 

Eventually, the harpie moved on, and Frodo was greeted by the overly-friendly check-out lady, who noted that she lived in the same subdivision as the Shire, and that she hoped Frodo was having a "good day."  Frodo was speechless.  Hadn't she paid attention?  Hadn't she been humilated by the overweight aisle-blocker?

From his rear Frodo heard the "National Enquirer" reader complain about the "slow-mover" in front of her.

Had there been a United States Marine Corps Enlistment Booth in front of the store, Frodo would have sought enlistment.  He wanted to kill someone, soon.

Get well soon Sam, please. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:17 PM EST

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Mood:  celebratory

Michael Crichton was 66 years old, and he almost made Frodo pee his pants.  It happened while Frodo was reading "Jurassic Park," and it was a scene that did not recur in the movie.  The T-Rex suddenly appeared at the bottom of a waterfall while the human main course found themselves in a raft at the top of the waterfall.  Frodo supposes all that water may have added to his discomfort.  Frodo can never remember whether the theme of the book was "Life finds a way," or if it was "Nature finds a way."  It matters not, because since the time of Jules Verne, excepting perhaps Arthur C. Clarke, has anyone  been able to excoriate science from fiction with the precision of this surgeon.  Only time separates Man from that which he predicted in his numerous best sellers.

Madelyn Dunham, born in 1927, was, in the words of her grandson, "humble and plain-spoken."  People say much the same thing about the town in Kansas where she was born.  Little has yet been published about the lady who passed away just 48 hours before her grandson was elected to the Presidency of the United States of America.  Her passing was noted even by her grandson's opponent in the historic election.  The whole world shed a tear for someone they knew only as she who took responsibility, and passed it on as a lesson to he who now grieves for his grandmother.

Harold McClendon is an Obstetrician and Gynecologist in private practice in Marietta, Georgia.  He has an infectious laugh, and a bounce in his step.  It probably comes from the joy he brings to so many families when he helps catapult an addition into their care.  Then, again, Frodo recognizes that he may, indeed, simply be a leprechaun.  What merits Frodo's admiration is his skill, and his ability to carry his good nature into situations far less joyful than the miracle of birth.  To note that Sam's birthday was at hand, while reporting an excellent pathological report, is a present that indeed keeps on giving.  Smiles abound.

Some, it seems, make history, and some make the present.     

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:58 PM EST

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Mood:  quizzical

There is a scene in the latter of the trilogy in which Frodo and Sam are joined by Merry and Pippin in a pub, back home in the Shire.  Amid the celebration, the eyes of these members of the Fellowship meet, one-after-the-other, and, just as quickly, are followed by conscious efforts to avoid contact.  Perhaps it is the moment when they realize that they have confronted the greatest struggle of their lives, and now must part.  It could, of course, contain the simple understanding that change has, indeed, at last, come, and that it will make everything different. 

Frodo, in the chronicle, works tirelessly to complete that which was begun by Bilbo.  Frodo knows that his time grows short, that his wounds are deep and that life must go on in the Shire.  He is being called home.  The stories, he knows, will now always be of things that have already occurred.

The tone, the inflection, in fact the very definition of Frodo must necessarily change now that the Ring has been destroyed.  Sauron will soon be returned to the coffin known as Texas.  All trace of his followers and his surrogates will be removed from monuments, memorials, public buildings, and libraries.  Soon there will be little short of dyspepsia which will even bring a reminder of this evil time to the mind of Man, or Hobbit.

Frodo's journey is far from over, but it will certainly be different.  You are welcome, dear reader, to stay on board.  If you choose otherwise, then Hail, Farewell, and Thank You for your service.  Lord Aragorn is restored to the throne, and Middle Earth will long remember his words:

"Yes we can."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:05 PM EST

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