The Lord of The Flung Dung

I admit it. I am a Lord of the Rings nerd. Dork. Dweeb. Whatever you want to call me. I’ve read the books multiple times, I attended the opening midnight showings of each of the three movies released earlier this millennium, and I refer to my penis as Treebeard. As much of a LOTR squid that makes me, I don’t consider myself one of those insane Tolkien gargantuageeks. I mean, it’s not like I garbed up Gandalf-like when I saw the movies or immortalized my devotion with a “Frodo Lives” tattoo on the small of my back (not a permanent one, anyway) or shun the movies because they betrayed the integrity of the books. I understand why Peter Jackson chose not to include Tom Bombadil or why he enhanced Arwen’s role in the story or why he ignored the scouring of the Shire. Screenwriters must make some concessions when adapting books to film. What works in the mind does not always behoove the visual experience. The modifications made for the movies were understandable.

WOULD IT HAVE KILLED HIM TO INCLUDE MORE OF THE DISCUSSIONS BETWEEN FRODO AND FARAMIR IN ITHILIEN!?!?!?! I mean, Jeez! OK, OK, I don’t mean to complain. I understand Faramir and Frodo’s verbal chess match does not necessarily translate very well to the big screen, even though it did illustrate Frodo’s emerging maturity and Faramir’s wisdom and ability to be much more of a hero and a leader than Boromir could ever be, no matter what that loony Denethor thought of him. Denethor. What a jerk that guy was. And there is no way he could have run, on fire, from the Minas Tirith tombs all the way through the Citadel and over the outer edge of the giant spur of rock. Sure, it was dramatic and served as a nice transition back to the battle in the movie, but the tombs were about a mile back toward the mountain. Who does he think he is, Joan of Arc? You can’t trick me.

But I did like some of the additions they incorporated, like Sam’s monologue of hope at the end of the The Two Towers. Oh, and near the end of the Return of the King, when all the people of Minas Tirith were gathered on the giant spur of rock for the coronation of Aragorn, and then Aragorn and his party approached the four hobbits and the four hobbits began to bow, but Aragorn stopped them and said, “My friends, you bow to no one” (for all their heroics in the battle against evil), and then everybody bowed to them instead. Every time I see that I feel like I’m swallowing a hockey puck, and, I’m not afraid to say it, tears of joy tumble down my cheeks.

Maybe I am one of those gargantuageeks, afterall (a closet one, anyway). But there was one thing they omitted from the movies that needed to be included. I don’t blame Jackson for it, since Tolkien, himself, chose not to include it in the story. I refer to, of course, the scenes featuring the Mumakil of Harad, aka the big, giant elephants. It’s been my experience, mostly in zoos and circuses (and sometimes at the grocery store) that whenever there are elephants, there is elephant shit, and usually a couple of guys with big shovels. Where was this significant aspect of elephant culture in the story of the one ring to rule them all? It seems too critical a dynamic to ignore.

Through some research I learned that Tolkien had initially used the presence of the Mumakil (Oliphaunt) dung as a crafty tool of warfare in the battle of the Pelennor Fields. In this version, Sauron had instructed cave trolls with big shovels to follow the Oliphaunts, scoop their droppings and deliver them to the catapults, where they would be launched over the stone walls of Minas Tirith. Some dung bombs would even be set afire. There is nothing more discouraging to an enemy than being hit by giant chunks of flaming shit. It’s the first thing they teach you at West Point. This element worked fabulously in the battle scene and added a fresh dimension of strategy to the struggle between evil and good. But, during a bender at one of the local pubs, Tolkien’s pious zealot of a friend, CS Lewis, talked him out of it, convincing him that if god wanted them to write about feces, he would have placed our anuses underneath our chins. Tolkien was so drunk at the time, he believed Lewis and deleted the crap the next day (after the prostitutes left).

Imagine how more riveting The Return of The King movie would have been had this element not been flushed away. The action in the events in the battle scenes would have been enhanced beyond comprehension. When Merry and Eowyn were riding the horse amongst the tree-trunk-like legs of the Oliphaunts, not only would they have had to dodge the Oliphaunt legs, and the trunks and the tusks and the arrows and the orcs, they would have had the added peril of being squashed by a suffocating load of steaming pachyderm pie. If that doesn’t get your palms sweating, I don’t know what would. Consider the tide turning scene where the big chief Nazgul had Gandalf cornered on an upper tier of Minas Tirith. The Nazgul had already destroyed Gandalf’s staff and was about to end Gandalf, too. But the Nazgul was called away by the tumult caused by the arrival of the Riders of Rohan and their crazy attack horn (like the Nazgul couldn’t take an extra couple of seconds to pound the cowering Gandalf before he flew off to tame the equestrians, with their goofy felt covered caps and shiny boots and intimidating dressage whips). Wouldn’t it have been more interesting if, at that pivotal moment, the Nazgul was hit accidentally by a friendly fired mound of flung poop? I think so. Not to mention the ominous foreshadowing it would have made regarding momentum of the battle. Later when Merry would stab that same Nazgul as he was about to sack Eowyn, a little comic relief could have been added if, instead, Merry pelted him with Oliphaunt dung balls. Right when the annoyed Nazgul would implore, “Would everybody stop heaving shit at me, PLEASE!”, Eowyn could have taken that opportunity to stab his face. The result would have been the same, but we all could have had a chuckle as we wept for the dying Theoden king. As is the case with incorporating bathroom humor into any epic, the possibilities for entertainment are endless. Tolkien should have stuck with his first instinct.

Silly Seriousity

Last night I accidentally watched some of the Republican National Convention. I didn’t see much, but what I did see confirmed my opinion that our political process is silly. This goes beyond the silly hats, silly buttons, silly cheering of silly disgorgements, silly costumes and silly “rally, rally, the other political party’s name is Sally” mentality running amuck throughout the entire scene.

Before I continue, even though I am discussing the RNC, it doesn’t mean the Democrats are any better in this matter. I didn’t see much of the DNC, but I did see a few minutes of Hillary’s speech where she begged her supporters to go Obama (once you go Obama, you never go back?). (Since the DNC followed Hillary’s failed campaign, would it be crude of me to compare her campaign [and the other Dem losers’ campaigns] to a miscarriage?) I’m sure the rest of it was just as much a freak show as the RNC.

When I initially tuned in I saw a pretty girl singing about god or something. A man, who looked like a younger version of the current old looking Elvis Costello, sat upon a stool behind her playing an acoustic guitar that I could not hear over the backing recorded music track (either have the whole band there or just the singer – that’s what I say – what is this, The Gong Show?). I don’t know why he was there unless they were trying to trick people into thinking Elvis Costello is a Republican. Who knows, maybe he is a Republican. Who knows, maybe that WAS Elvis Costello. Either way, I’m not sure what that had to do with the election.

“Jeepers, Ethel, that cute little girl’s sangin’ gives me a hankerin’ to vote Republican. Who’s Elvis Costello?”

Next they showed me a film strip about Teddy Roosevelt, Abraham Lincoln and Ronald Reagan, the holy elephantal trinity. Most of the film strip lauded Abe’s accomplishments as the presidential Republican trail blazer, and I was glad to learn that the Republicans are still against slavery (regardless of their feelings about labor unions and the minimum wage). The silliest part of the film strip was its producers’ implicit attempt to parallel aspects of Lincoln’s experience with the Civil War with Dubbya’s performance with whatever the hell is going on in Iraq. The pathetic silliest part is that somebody within that party expected anybody would buy into that crap. And the worst silliest part is somebody probably did.

“Jeepers, Ethel, that poor George W. Bush had to put up with the same kind of hen-peckin’ from the media and the Democrats as Lincoln did. Since the Civil War was the right thing to do, the skirmish in Iraq must be the right thing to do, too. We just have to be patient. I’m voting Republican.”

Finally, I watched Tommy Espinoza take the stage. He is a pal of John McCain who happens to be a Hispanic, a Catholic and a Democrat. Good lord, what’s him doing here at a Republican shindig? A Catholic????????? I thought they all left town after Kennedy was shot? (George Kennedy in The Blue Knight, that is.) The gops in the crowd smattered their claps at him as they dialed security on their cell phones and wondered why he was there. I didn’t wonder, but looked forward to his explanation. As it turned out, he supports McCain because of god, love and hope. Those are some concrete arguments. The economy will be better in no time. I may even get a raise next year.

“Jeepers, Ethel, I didn’t know Mexicans could wear a suit and a neck tie. I’m definitely voting Republican!”

After all of this, and plenty more for which I was too sane to endure, they expect us to take this election seriously? I’m not falling for it. Silliness has a place, and that place is not seriousity. You can quote me on that. It’s about as profound as I get.

I’ll be voting for myself once again, in case you were wondering.

The Fray of the Little Rubber Elephant

This went on for about an hour.

Give me it!

Why do you want it?

Because it’s mine.

But why do you want it?

(Repeat)

My son, who is fifteen years old, was the beggar. My daughter, who is eleven, was the holder. I ignored the bickering for at least forty minutes. Then I started to wonder what it was that was needed so badly by both of them. It must have been something valuable or important. Was it my wallet? It couldn't be - it's not valuable. There is no cash in there and all of the credit cards are maxed out. Could it be the last Ho Ho in the box? No, I’m the only one that eats those. Wait a minute, there’s one left? I’ll be right back…

…it had to be the television remote control or maybe a “One Free Hug from Dad” coupon. I decided to let it play out to see if they could come to a compromise.

Twenty minutes later, their battling dronified whining started to get to me. I had to intervene. What on Atlas’ shoulders are you two going on about?????

“She has my elephant!”

I didn’t even know my son had an elephant. Is that why his room smells so bad? I never had an elephant. No fair! I’m not paying for this elephant, am I?

“What elephant?”

“My little rubber elephant.”

Are you serious? Clearly he was either very bored or very insane. Fifteen year olds do not covet little rubber elephants unless they are in an assholic mood, which he was, I deduced. Somewhere in his life my son obtained a little rubber elephant and had kept it sacred somewhere in his bedroom. Gandalf had told him to keep it secret, keep it safe. At some point between the day of her birth and a few days ago, my daughter found it in his bedroom, liked it and put it in her purse. Somehow, it came up in their conversation tonight after dinner.

“So, I was thinking, if Einstein never wrote that letter to Roosevelt,
the United States may not have been the first to develop the atom bomb.”

“Oh, yes, I know. Isn’t that scary? Can you believe they didn’t allow
him to work on the Manhattan Project because they thought he was a security
risk?”

“How preposterous! By the way, do you have my little rubber elephant?

“Yes, of course. It is in my purse.”

“Give me it.”

“Why do you want it?”

Etc.

The situation was so bizarre I didn’t attempt to reason with either of them. I confiscated the little rubber elephant. I guessed they were both bored, and not yet certifiably insane, so I gave them each a box of Froot Loops and told them to catalogue each piece by color, size, granularity and crunchitude degradation at ten second intervals of soaking in milk. That should keep them busy while I play with the little rubber elephant.