Mood:
not sureTopic: "Cabin Fever" (5)
With just a few days to go, the Shire has experienced more rain in the past year than in any other year, save one, ever. This coming on top of an unparalleled drought, which severely limited the growth of the economic engines running the Sun Belt. Now even frozen New England is projected to experience a sustainable return to normalcy quicker than is the lower-taxed and more favorable working conditions of the American South. Things have gotten turned around for Frodo, and it is causing him severe consternation amid his search for answers.
The latter days of the decade of the dregs have dawned sunny and bright, but there is a chill in the air which makes the anticipated tasks in the gardens of the Shire, and upon Frodo's motorcar, beyond reasonable effort. That drives Frodo back inside whence he draws upon the struggle between two universities about whom he has no interest, and their gridiron performance which brings Frodo to conclude that there must be something on the Internet with even a modicum of intellectual challenge. When that assumption is burst, Frodo, again, looks outside at the blue skies and avians in search of sustenance.
Frodo's canine companions are content to stay warm and inactive. Sam is trimming toenails (a sometimes all-day job) and Bilbo is looking at old black-and-white photographs (an activity which immediately hastens one's final visit to the cemetery). Frodo knows how that weirdo in the cabin in Montana must have felt just before he initiated the correspondence which yielded the creation of the "Unibomber' (or is that "Unabomber"?).
Frodo will first interrupt Bilbo, and perform an in-depth analysis of fiscal resources and commitments for the benefit of his control over those assets. He will then waken those whose spirits are akin to the "Hound of the Baskervilles," and make them perform sentry duty about the very fringes of Middle Earth. Upon their return he will suffer the pangs of frostbite as he removes the geophysical detritus which dulls the sheen of his motorcar. It is not a total sense of obligation that drives him so on a Sunday, it is just the knowledge that unless he acts with zest and purpose, he is likely to do something stupid like make a list of Republican screw-ups and present them to you, dear reader, as "Boehner's Boners," or "Palin's Pratfalls."
It is too soon removed from Christmas for him to swarm upon the ignorant with malice aforethought. Better to wait until the New Year (and a day that is both frigid and overcast).
