Port o' Pride
I don't get why people who exit a port o' john have such a proud look of accomplishment on their faces. Almost every time I'm at the lake and I see someone exiting those blue port o' lets, they have a huge grin on their face like they just achieved a major victory while in there.

Are we supposed to be proud of them for using the portable john? Are we supposed to commend their valiant effort to do nature's business while in a putrid, public, moveable, metal cannister? I never thought of it as an opportunity for personal success, but I guess it could be if that's your thing.

I mean, I'd be prouder to manage using a bush or a tree or an empty cup without falling over or making a mess, rather than venture into any port o' john. The only look on my face before, during, and after a port o' potty experience is disgust and nausea. Those things are nasty!

I think from now on I will clap and cheer for everyone I see dismounting the portable toilet facilities. Especially if I don't know you.

C.T.

Warning: More Blogging About My Blog
Not to blog more about my blog, but as for an update about the status of my blog, I'm adding links to other blogs now, as you can see to the right. I will continue to add blogs as I come across blogs I like for whatever reason.

Please be advised, just because I link to a blog does not mean that I, the Tyrant, endorse all that can be found on any particular blog. Some things I may agree with, some things I may not. I'll link to blogs at the Tyrant's discretion, showing first priority to those who have linked to me, to return the favor.

Blogs are very personal to the people who create them. While I may enjoy or find value in a blog as a whole, you should not hold me accountable to believe or support or promote any or every word written or published idea in someone else's blog. As a basic rule, blogs listed here have passed through a rigorous screening process, and can generally be considered wholistically safe, fun, thought-provoking, humorous, worth reading, well-written and intriguing, well-written but pointless, or all of the above. Or not . . .

Also be warned, blogs may come and go from here from time to time, without explanation or warning. I'm a Tyrant, and therefore very, very unpredicatable.

And, of course I'd prefer you to never leave my blog. What more could you want than what you will find here day after day? So, you are under no obligation to view blogs under the Blog-rrific section. They may not interest you at all, and that's fine. No one is asking you to leave, and I'm actually prefering that you stay. I'm simply linking to other blogs to support the family of good blogs upon which I stumble. Read these blogs at your own risk and discretion.

To sum up, blog blogola blog bla blog blog blog.

Blog on.

C.T.

Things I've learned from blogging

1) How to spell 'tyrannical'- (if you ask me, that is a completely superfluous second 'n')

That's it.

Learning requires you to first admit there is something in the world you don't yet know. If you don't know how to admit that, then that's the first thing you need to learn.
C.T.

Next Window Please
I went to the post office today. I met the slowest moving life form on the face of the planet.

Actually, I've seen him there before. When I go to the post office during lunch, I always find that there is only one post office employee working during that time, and often it is this particularly turtle-like employee faced with a long line of customers who are racing the clock to get back to their offices before the end of the lunch hour. This guy can't move even moderately fast. He talks slow, he walks slow, his movements are excruciatingly slow. If he wanders away from his station to look for a package in the back, you might as well set up camp in line for awhile because he's not coming back any time soon. He's painful to watch when I'm an anxious customer waiting in a long line to mail one tiny thing.

Now, it makes sense to me that lunch time would be a busy time of day at the post office, since this is a time convenient for people with jobs to stop by the post office during a lunch break. And I could be way off base here, but maybe it would also make sense that not all of the post office employees should take off for lunch during this time. Higher volume of customers would seem to equal the need for adequate numbers of staff to be present to handle the additional customers. Right?

So why do I always walk in to see just one lone employee behind of all those empty post office windows every time I go to the post office during lunch? I'm always greeted with a long line of counter spaces proudly displaying the 'next window please' sign, and only one available post office person there to help, way down on the end. 'Next window please' is just a polite way to say 'all postal employees have gone to lunch so that you have to waste your entire lunch hour waiting for us to get back from our lunch before anyone will help you.'

I'm not denying post office workers the right to have a lunch break. We all deserve our time for lunch. I'm just not clear on why the post office has to send all of the employees to lunch during business lunch hour, and leave the slowest moving and oldest living postal employee ever as the only one up front to help customers with their mailing needs. I'm not sure this guy is even real. He may be animatronic.

Truly, the post office may be the anti-christ. Because all I know is that for $.37 a stamp, I should be the one saying 'next window please.'

C.T.

Hand Check
There's a painting that I see everyday. It's a very large painting of The Last Supper. It's not a replica of the official Last Supper. But it's a huge Last Supper painted by someone.

When I say I 'look' at it everyday, what I mean is that I stare at it. I plop my lunch down right in front of it, and sit where I can stare right at it. No, I'm not meditating or anything holy like that. I'm just obsessed with it.

Why the obsession? It seems the number of disciples in the painting doesn't quite match up with the number of hands in the painting. I can't figure it out. Twelve disciples should equal twenty-four hands. I'm not actually sure there are twenty-four hands shown in the painting. But the more I look at it, the more I see that something doesn't quite add up.

The disciples are in various poses, some leaning over, some serving food, etc. Some hands are shown, some are hidden. I've very carefully followed the extremities on display as best I can, to see which disciple is connected to which hand. I haven't been able to find the exact discrepancy. And maybe I never will.

But until I find the scripture to prove otherwise, this historical, and I'm sure thoroughly researched and accurate re-creation of the momentous Last Supper tells me that one of Jesus' disciples did, in fact, have three hands.

C.T.

Today's Gasoline Price Update
Regular Unleaded: $1,599.9 per gallon + your favorite kidney

C.T.

I hate Spring Break
I am so mad at spring break. Why? Because I actually love spring break, and desperately want to break for spring. But, the day I graduated college and became technically an 'adult', I no longer had the spring break privilege.

I don't understand why spring break only applies to those in or involved with school. Don't we all deserve a break? Don't we all work just as hard as school people? And really, between summer break, fall break, and Christmas break, do students really work all that hard? Definitely not harder than hardworking adults with year round jobs.

I propose that spring break become an event in which all American citizens can participate. I have a dream that one day, people young and old alike can walk together in freedom from a standard workday for one week during the spring. I hold these truths to be self-evident, that Americans work hard, much harder than the average student, and therefore deserve a break during the spring. Four score and seven years ago, our forefathers brought forth to this nation the honor of vacation due to upstanding citizens of this country, because of the contributions they make to society by going to work each and every day. I ask not what I can do for my country, but what my country can do for spring break and me.

At least with most of the population on spring break and away from schools and offices, traffic is much better for those of us still stuck going to work everyday.

C.T.

An aspiring actor
I wouldn't say I watch a lot of tv. I prefer to consider it the study of acting. I am devoting time to benefitting from the best professional actors by cramming in as much television and as many movies as possible. I'm getting the finest actors in the world, doing their finest work, in an environment where I can study their every word and action as many times and as often as I like. My home is the actor's studio.

One day it will all pay off. You'll see.

C.T.

The Answer we've been looking for
Why can't we do this with Saddam? G.W. would totally have the advantage.

C.T.

Career Goals
I hope one day to lose an Oscar. . .

Losers get better stuff than that silly statue.

C.T.

One of my many questions about things I don't understand
From time to time, I cover serious topics. This is one of them.

I have a question that's been on my mind for a few years. After a chat with a co-worker today (a less evil one), I was reminded of my issue with a certain spiritual topic. This co-worker is very, um, charismatic, to put it kindly. Some of her beliefs are too 'out there' for my comfort level. She's also the type of person with whom you should never, ever strike up a conversation. Her conversations have no end.

I must have slipped into a brief coma during lunch, forgetting my rule to never engage her in conversation, because I asked her a personal question. Voluntarily. I think she's still down there talking, even though I've been back in my office for hours.

The topic was God's protection over us. My co-worker rambled on and on about God protecting us, and fulfilling our purpose in life, and a bunch of stuff that got really weird for me. But it got me thinking again. What does it really mean for God to protect us? Can we count on protection equaling safety by earthly terms? And what does it mean when we get hurt, or we lose someone suddenly and tragically? Was God still protecting then? Why do bad things happen under God's protection?

I pray everyday for God to protect my friends and family, to keep them safe. I believe God protects us. I don't think bad things happen because God took a break, or removed His protection. I'm just not sure what it means when something harmful happens even underneath His protection. I'm not sure why that makes sense to God. Was God protecting my sister and her friends the day they were suddenly killed in a car accident? I like to believe He was. Yet, it doesn't make sense to me. It seems like if they were under His protection, they'd still be here.

I really struggle with this issue. I do trust God. I want to believe He protects those I love, everyday. It's just hard to turn them over to Him and trust He has them, no matter what happens.

I don't have the answer here. And truthfully I think it's more a matter of the interpretation of 'protection'. There's the whole 'they're in a better, safer place now' argument. And the 'God knows best' argument. I believe those statements to be true, however 'textbook' they may be. I don't know the whole picture, or why things happen the way they do. But still, in my hurting human perception of things, 'protected' means safe from harm. It's hard to see a sudden death of a loved one, or friends in harm's way, as 'protected'.

And it's hard to accept that my understanding isn't the ultimate understanding.

I think it's through these kinds of questions that fear vs. faith becomes the real issue.

C.T.

Welcome to the Internet
In an effort to rebuild and reunite a war-ravaged country, now all five people who have access to the two computers in Afghanistan have their very own internet suffix.

Plus, now Afghanistan can read my blog, and send me a government approved email about it.

Hooray for the world wide web.

C.T.

Biking and 'The Incident'
I get nervous about new things. I greatly fear change. In fact, I'm very 'Rainman' when it comes to new things, new people, new places. Complete with swaying, head-banging, and repeating phrases over and over. Well, maybe not the head-banging. Definitely, definitely not the head-banging.

I'm obsessed with road-biking. Which is funny because up until a couple of months ago, I only owned a mountain bike. So I'm not sure the past few years of riding my mountain bike on the road technically qualified as road-biking.

However, in training for the 100-mile ride I have planned in a few months, I decided to get properly prepared for it. This meant a complete equipment change. I bought an actual roadbike designed for use on pavement, and all the necessary equipment to make me look and function like more of a professional road-biker. I figure if I look like a professional, that definitely makes me a professional.

Part of this new equipment involves new pedals. They are technically called 'clip-less' pedals, but that is completely misleading. These pedals actually do 'clip' or attach your shoe to the pedal. Why this is considered 'clip-less' is just silly. All I know is now my feet are attached to the pedal while I ride, and it's a whole new weird scary experience. Yes, definitely, definitely scary.

I've been riding inside on my trainer for several months. I've had plenty of practice getting in and out of the pedals. It's a simple heel twist outwards, and voila! I'm free from the pedals. Simple, when the bike is, well, still. Not moving. I never fall at all inside! Getting on and off is very, very non-scary. I am tremendously confident in my cycling skills, indoors. Outdoors and while moving, that's a whole different challenge.

This weekend, the weather outside cooperated with my biking hobby. The temperature was warm enough to be outside, and there was no rain to deal with. A perfect opportunity to take the bike outside for the maiden outdoor voyage. I was really excited about it . . . til Saturday morning. Then I got very, very scared. I started having flashbacks of 'The Incident'. (scary, dramatic dum-dum-dummmmmm music heard here)

'The Incident', as I hatefully label the event, happened several years ago. I'd recently discovered the art of cycling at that time, and also discovered it was something I really enjoy. I could often be found clunking around on the mountain bike, although always on a paved trail or street. No off-roading on the mountain bike. But having tons of fun, nonetheless. Until, 'The Incident'.

Danger for bikers comes in many forms, such as on-coming cars, other bikers, families wandering aimlessly, small children, wild dogs, search posses on horseback, tanks, rampant bears, or even stationary trees. These are real and possible threats while biking along a suburban city paved bike and hike trail. However, 'The Incident' involved a much more dangerous and unexpected terror: old people.

I was heading home on my bike, along a very busy road. As mentioned before, on-coming cars are one of the known dangers. And, knowing this danger, I preferred to take my short trip on this section of road by using the sidewalk. Technically, bikes don't belong on a sidewalk. But I made an exception for this very tiny stretch of road, along this particularly treacherously dangerous, high-traffic road. It's a very wide sidewalk. Safe enough to be shared by walkers and bikers alike.

Or so I thought. I under-estimated the safety zone needed for very slow-walking old people. I soon found out that they require more room than was provided on this particularly wide sidewalk. I was doing my usual excellent safety inspections of the road ahead of me, making sure to look far enough ahead to avoid any danger. I spotted the old people, and planned to 'offroad' into the grass, being thankful to have such a rugged mountain bike for the offroad terrain, then return to the sidewalk once I was safely around them.

As the old people very slowly approached, I moved off into the grass. I had slowed down, so as not to frighten them. I made my way past the old folks, and moved back towards the sidewalk, only to discover that I was deceived by the height of the grass. Where I thought I was level with the pavement, my tire caught the edge of the sidewalk in a dip hidden by the tall grass. This caused me to unwillingly stop dead in my tracks, and immediately slam over onto the pavement, with great force. I was flat out on the pavement before I could even realize what was happening, bike on top of me, legs and arms sticking out everywhere, massive amounts of pain suddenly all I could feel.

I was stunned. It took a moment to realize what had happened, that I was no longer floating along on my bike, care-free. I was now bruised and bleeding all over the sidewalk, which was supposed to be the 'safe' place to be. Fortunately, the old folks came out unscathed. And in fact, they didn't even stop to turn around and see what the commotion was about. Little did they know I'd just saved their life. I was now horribly crippled and mangled, but the old people were, in fact, safe and moving slowly on their way. I blame them completely for the fall.

I finally scraped myself up off the sidewalk and noticed my bike was as horribly disfigured as I was. I limped home, dragging the bike along beside me. My injuries left me unable to ride for about six weeks, doctor's orders. It was a thoroughly traumatic experience, known forevermore as 'The Incident'.

It came back to haunt me this weekend, as I decided to venture out onto the street. I haven't fallen since 'The Incident', but these new clip-less pedals provided a new obstacle in remaining seated upright on the bike. The pedals were a change in my typical riding paraphernalia that caused me to fear the possiblities associated with this change. The possibilities included another fall. And pavement is very, very hard. Much harder than, say, my carpet in my home where I'd grown to love my new bike. I was very, very nervous to venture out of doors on the bike.

I procrastinated as long as I could, then finally packed the bike into the Jeep and headed to the lake to ride the trail there. I have to say, I looked great, arriving in my Jeep, with my shiney new bike, and all the right gear to do this thing right. I confidently unloaded the bike, suited up, and swung my leg over the bike to get rolling. I looked around to make sure the way was clear. . . especially clear of old people.

I was detemined not to fall on my first trip out. I needed to set the bar with my confidence level for future rides, plus not look like an idiot who has never biked before. If the pedals, or old people, caused me to fall, it could scar me from biking for life.

It took a couple of tries, but I finally got moving and hooked into the pedals. After a few minutes, I realized I was having a lot of fun! I was cautious my first time around the lake. The road bike allows me to go faster than I could on the mountain bike, so I made sure not to overdo it going down the larger hills. It took awhile to get used to the differences in riding the roadbike, but I soon relaxed and concentrated on all the important pedaling and biking stuff I'd been practicing indoors. WOO-HOO, was I having fun!

I enjoyed the first trip around the lake so much, I went around again. And I'm proud to say, I never fell.

I passed the mental challenge of the first ride. I successfully conquered a new experience. I overcame the curse of 'The Incident'. I can learn to love old people again.

Definitely, definitely learn. . .

C.T.

Apple Nose
I have a nose of length that when I eat an apple I get apple on my nose.

C.T.

Hair. . . What is it Good For?
I've had an exceptionally bad hair week. My hair was great last weekend. But Monday comes, and I have bad hair. Overnight, it turns into a disaster. How is that possible? It's been rebelling all week. Every single day it's been subpar. This is unacceptable. I have a standard to maintain.

I mean, I treat my hair with the same respect everyday. I go through the exact same routine. Yet, some days it just decides on its own to look less than appealing. Why must it torture me so? I haven't done anything to deserve its wrath. I don't understand it.

I normally have fabulous hair. It's a great natural color (although when I bleached it blonde for a few months, it still looked fabulous). It's a great, simple, easy, flattering, trendy cut. But it goes through a weird cycle from haircut to haircut, almost as though it's a separate entity in and of itself. I lose complete control of it.

My hair looks it's best starting a day or so after it's cut. Then for a couple of weeks, it is truly amazing hair. It falls perfectly every time, and remains strikingly eye-catching throughout the day. During this time I am proud to have hair on public display.

Then after about Week 3-ish post-haircut, it drops the act and freaks out. It loses all ability to behave. I don't know if it gets tired, or if it just feels it's time to show me who really is the boss in the whole hair-wearing relationship. No matter what I do, it insists on falling short of what I like to see as good hair on my head. It sticks out in weird places. It refuses to stay where I put it. Even the texture changes, almost as though it's trying to morph into another life-form. I'm forced to clip it in funky arrays, to cover up it's independence. I always hope 'funky' is still okay to wear on an ordinary day. The insanity of it is extremely frustrating.

Through another week or so of exhibiting poor hair functionality, it gradually begins to redeem itself and look decent once again. By this time I'm planning my next haircut, because the hair is beginning to approach the length of being too long for my liking. It's acceptable at this point, but not as magnificent as it was at the beginning of the cycle. It's disappointing, and often sends me into a depression.

The next week or so varies from haircut to haircut. Sometimes the hair looks okay, other times I'm ready to cut it all off again, down to the nearly scalp. I'm very particular about the timing of my haircuts. I refuse to go any sooner than every six weeks, but if I wait any longer than two full months I almost can't function on a basic level of existence.

The hair is determined to control my life. And it truly almost does. But I will continue to stand strong and deal with whatever the hair throws my way, until I say it is time for the next cut. Thus, the cycle begins again.

Hair, hear me now. You are not the boss of me.

C.T.

Superfluous Competition
I hate to admit it, but I am a fairly competitive person. I don't think of that as a necessarily attractive quality. But I am, in fact, competitive. Sure, with the normal stuff, like sports and games and the like. But I also make competition out of situations that aren't competitive. In fact, sometimes I'm the only one aware that I'm competing.

Take traffic, for example. I'm a cautious driver. I am a firm believer of safety first, when in an automobile. I do not make a game out of driving. But say, for instance, a car cuts me off, or I keep finding myself in traffic with the same car during a drive, it becomes a weird competition for me.

This morning I saw the same red Mustang on my drive to work that I see almost everyday. We start from the same neighborhood, and no matter what time I actually leave my apartment, I often see this same Mustang pull out either in front of, or behind me. I have no idea if he's noticed my fabulous black Jeep on the same mornings I've noticed his dirty, inferior Mustang. But when I see him, I have this sudden urge to beat him to work.

Of course, I have no idea where he works or who he is or if he's even going to work. He may be stalking me, for all I know. It would not surprise me, me being me, and all. He could wait every morning, watching for my Jeep to appear so he can take off in his Mustang and haunt me on my drive to work. He's one of those 'weavers' in traffic, where he weaves in and out between cars like he's a Nascar driver. He works really hard, but he never gets very far ahead of me. He seems to have not figured out that once you're in the flow of rush hour traffic, you're pretty much with the same cars all along your journey, until you exit the freeway and leave them behind. I give him props for his creative driving, but he annoys me, and therefore I must win.

However, I'm not sure what I'm trying to win. We don't have the same destination, but I can't help but try to stick as close to him in traffic as I can. If he gets too far away, I'll never catch him. Plus, I want to beat him as many times as possible during one drive. I'll pick a point up the road and make the best effort I can to get there first. I actually feel defeated if he makes it there before I do. But that doesn't happen very often. I make up the rules, and therefore I win more often than not. I'm an excellent competitor at whatever game I've made up to win. If he only knew how many times I've totally kicked his butt . . .

So, much like the superfluous Red Mustang competition, I have to admit that I had a really intense competition going on most of yesterday, having nothing to do with Red Mustang. As I watched the counter here on my blog yesterday afternoon, I noticed I was approaching the 700 mark. I became determined to reach 700 before the end of the night last night. 700 is a completely arbitrary number. It means nothing, except that it's cool to me to have had that many hits, most of them within the past few days. Of course, I have no control whatsoever over the point in time that I reach 700 hits. But the closer the number got to 700, the more excited I got, and the more I cheered on my blog. The blog, of course, is just sitting here. Not doing anything. Just being my fabulous blog.

I checked the counter right before I went to bed last night. It was at 699. I was SO frustrated!! Didn't it know it was supposed to get to 700 before bed time? I was telling it to get there. Why won't it listen???

At the last possible second before I absolutely had to get to bed in order to be rested and refreshed for my morning driving battle with Red Mustang, I clicked one last time on the site meter . . . and it said 701. I did it!! Yep, I showed them, whoever they are. I totally won.

What did I win? Absolutely nothing. What was the game? I have no idea. But I went to bed, relieved to have accomplished my random goal, and I slept well. Victory was mine.

Don't be frightened because I'm quirky. It keeps life interesting.

C.T.

Today's Worst Excuse for Celebrity News
This is the lamest drama ever. Did anybody care the first time we heard about it?

Phew! Now that they've resolved it, I can rest much easier.

And I can take these two crazy non-lovebirds off my prayer list. I think they'll be okay.

They say you don't know what you have til it's gone. But if it's gone because I stole it, then I knew you had it before you knew it. And now all you need to know is that it's mine.

C.T.

My Secret Is. . .
I really didn't want to have to tell my secret. But I saw a blog the other day that has forced me to disclose something that, by nature of the issue, is something I should technically not publicize. I could be in grave danger for mentioning this. The truth is, I'm a ninja.

I stumbled upon a blog the other day that blantantly titled itself something having to do with 'ninja'. It was right there for the world to see! I was shocked. That was no way to keep a secret. Consequently, I had to take a look at the blog because by order of the Ninjas, ordinary non-ninjas should never see anything publicly disclosing information about who, or what, we are.

However, I quickly discovered that this 'ninja' was a fraud. At the most, he is a former ninja, which basically means he never was a ninja. Ninjas who do what this guy has done on his site are quickly ex-communicated from the sacred ninja sect. Not to mention, his information was incorrect. If he ever was a ninja to begin with, his obvious disregard for ninjaness and all that is sacred about ninjahood eliminated him from being a part of the ninja society any longer. We simply do not tolerate such lighthearted and careless handling of who we are. Therefore it is impossible that he could be an active ninja, if he ever was an actual ninja. I know I have never seen him before at any of our secret meetings, or bake sales.

What I saw when I clicked on the 'ninja' blog was a series of pictures. This faux ninja had photographed himself, or perhaps with the help of another faux ninja, in a series of ninja attack poses. Complete with a ninja-like costume. There was no text. Just the pictures.

Not only has he infringed upon the sacred society of Ninjahood, by daring to publicly portray lifestyle behaviors of ninjas, he has completely misrepresented who we are and what we do. He turned us into a joke. And not only that, his attack sequence was completely wrong. He made ninjas look like people who clearly don't know how to fight well. His portrayal of a ninja attack was much more elementary and ridiculous than anything covered on day one of Ninja Fighting 101. I would have no trouble killing him, without flinching nine of my ten fingers.

Ladies and gentleman, I am here to warn you of unofficial ninja websites, or of any information you would be able to find in public about the secret society of ninjas. Since I have developed a soft spot for my readers, I am taking a risk to warn you about false ninjaness. Unfortunately, this imposter has lead you astray, as to what ninjas do, how we behave, and even how we may look. Believe nothing that you might see on his site, or any other site, book, television show, movie, etc. Any information you could stumble across in the world is likely false, since ninjas have no official publications or published works. To abide by our secretive society and invisible lifestyle, ninjas have never turned to the written word, photography, or even crude stick-figure sketches, in order to record our history, rituals, or way of life. It is strictly forbidden. We communicate our traditions and techniques in ways that only ninjas can understand. You will simply never find concrete evidence in any form, that we exist. We have a strongly enforced code of secrecy. In fact, I am risking my sacred status as a ninja by even disclosing this small bit of information to you. But I felt betrayed by this ninja imposter, and in truly honoring my ninja heritage, it is my duty to make the public aware of this fraudulent website, and any other public ninja information lurking about. It is my duty to protect the ninja society, even if it means risking my own ninja status.

By nature of the ninjahood, we do not exist. We meet in secret locations, at undisclosed times, which only a true ninja will sense. We are virtually invisible, even in plain sight. We attack as silent predators, stealthy and quick. We are gone before you know what invisibly hit you. We are dangerous beyond anything you could comprehend. Our weaponry is known only to us. Our attack stances and fight sequences cannot be replicated by ordinary humans. We are not chosen to be who we are. We just are.

I know I can trust you with my secret. Please heed my warning and stay away from all things ninja. I don't want to have to sneakily kill you.

C.T.

That Thing Called Lent
I went to my first Ash Wednesday service last night. I'm not, nor have I ever been, nor will I ever be, Catholic. But my church is really great in that we explore liturgy and aspects of various denominational worship from time to time. We have such an open and accepting way of incorporating parts of worship and liturgy that aren't commonly found in Protestant churches, but that still have tremendous beauty and value in bringing an attitude of reverance and creativity to our worship experiences. Even though we are not a Catholic church, this year we decided to practice Lent as a church community.

I'm intrigued by the whole Lent thing. The idea behind it is really beautiful. My best friend in highschool was Catholic, so I'd hear from her about Lent and other Catholic practices. We had lots of conversations about the differences in our churches and our beliefs. I grew up mostly Baptist, so much of the Catholic church rituals and beliefs were very strange to me. I never understood much of it, being Baptist. All the stuff my Catholic friend used to do as a part of her church beliefs seemed a bit confusing to me. But I do believe ritual has it's place and purpose at times. There is much beauty to be found in Catholic worship.

I don't consider myself Baptist anymore. More nondenominational than anything else. But I'm excited to have the opportunity to learn more about Lent.

Well, maybe 'excited' isn't the best word to use. Per the purpose of Lent, I've had to give up something valuable for the sake of fasting. I've made a huge sacrifice, and I'm already very nervous about it. Withdrawal has begun. It's been one day, already my life has changed dramatically without this thing that I've given up, and there are 39 days to go until the end of Lent when I can be reunited with what I am missing. By now I'm sure you are wondering what I could have possibly given up to make such an impact on my day to day existence.

I will tell you.

I've chosen to give up M&Ms. I assure you that this is not a joke. I thought long and hard about what would be a significant sacrifice for me, something that would really show that I am taking this Lenten Fast seriously. You have no idea how insane I am about M&Ms. A chemical analysis of my body would show that I am made almost entirely of M&Ms. I have to have my M&Ms. I eat them everyday. I have them stashed everywhere, at home, in my office. There are very few places I go where I am not within arms reach of an M&M. I love the plain M&Ms. Even more, I love the crispy M&Ms. The crispy ones are more like a meal, in that they combine the chocolate with the crunch. They are extremely satisfying when I need a snack.

M&Ms are my sacrifice. I can't talk about them anymore. It's making their absence even more painful. I think you get the point. I made a big sacrifice. And I assure you I am committed to it. I will not falter.

Since I've never really done this before, I don't know quite what to expect. I know the point is not to give something up just for the sake of giving something up. The Ash Wednesday service last night was really beautiful and powerful. It was definitely an appropriate way to kick off the Lenten season, allowing us to be humble and focused as we begin our time of sacrifice. So far, so good.

Hopefully I get past being focused on how much I miss my M&Ms really soon.

C.T.

Effective Food Management 101
Lately, I've been eating a lot. And I mean, a lot.

I'm training for a bike event, commonly known as a century. Said 'century' is where a bunch of crazy bike-owning people (such as myself) get together and ride 100 miles in a day. We are typically quite insane. I've never done one before, but I'm quite sure I'm insane enough to try one in a couple of months.

So, in training for this century, I'm riding my bike a lot, and lifting weights. Working out all-round, so that I can endure a 6 hour bike ride. With all the working out, I'm constantly hungry. Hence, eating a lot. Not only large quantities of food, but often.

Typically, eating is not fun for me. I'm what is known as a non-large person. I'm tall and trim, and people often mistake me for someone who never eats, and is therefore too thin to support her frame. True, at times I don't eat as much as I should. I have some stomach issues that flare up from time to time, making food sometimes alltogether unpleasant for me, both on the way in, and on the way out. But in general, I eat adequate quantities of healthy food to maintain my fabulous physique.

However, I do get bored with food. Food is not always a fun thing for me, and I have to be careful what I eat or it quickly comes back to haunt me. So, sometimes when I'm really hungry, and staring at a whole lot of food in front of me, I get bored with it before I'm actually full of it. And consequently, this is sometimes mistaken as not eating all that I should. However, my eating habit is actually a meal eating system that I've developed. No, it's not Jenny Craig or Weight Watchers, or even anything intended to control weight in any way, shape or form. It is a system solely for strategic food consumption. It's the Cynical Tyrant Strategic Food Management System.

Sandwhiches are the most likely target for the System, and the best example of applying my System to a meal. Picture the kind of sandwhich that is so large you have to cut it in half to maneuver it with any amount of grace and good manners. To enact the System, I get going on one half, starting of course with the good section in the middle, and working down and out towards the edges. Soon, I grow weary of that half, especially after I notice the other brand new half with all the good part still remaining, staring up at me from the plate. The fatigue sets in as I begin to tire from working the jaw muscles while chewing, and the arm muscles while repeatedly holding and lifting the sandwhich. Before you know it, I'm too tired to finish the sandwhich, and I have a whole half to go! Has this ever happened to you? Well relax! This is where the System kicks in.

I tend to abandon the remainder of my sandwhich half, often found still in my hands at this point, in order to secure the other good half while it's still, in fact, good. But I don't see this as a waste of food. I am adamantly against wasting food. No, my technique is actually practical and effective food management. You are not eating any more or less of the sandwhich than if you started at one end and worked towards the other, downing crust and all. But instead of filling up on parts of the sandwhich that don't deserve to even be there (is: dry edges), you are benefitting from the most desirable portions of the sandwhich during the prime sandwhich ripeness, if you will.

The System is designed to keep the best parts from going to waste, while there is still room in my tummy. Upon reaching boredom, or 'fulfillment', with the first half, I replace this mostly destroyed sandwhich half onto the plate. I then acquire the untouched sandwhich half, which had been waiting patiently on my plate, and I begin to munch. After clearing out the choice sandwhich real estate, I go back to retrieve any remaining edible portions of the sandwhich. See how it works?

Once the System has had a chance to work, you might see two remnants of sandwhich halves on the plate, rather than one completely empty spot formerly inhabited by a sandwhich half, accompanied by the other mostly devoured sandwhich half. It would be a crime to let any part of the sandwhich goodness go to waste, just for the sake of clearing out one entire half of a sandwhich before moving on to the next half. Especially when we all know that the crusts of sandwhiches are evil. Or at least not as good and wholesome as the non-crust part. The System accounts for sandwhich crust evilness, while allowing you to benefit from the parts of the sandwhich that have not been infected by evilness, or staleness. It actually preserves freshness! WOW!

There you have it, the Cynical Tyrant Strategic Food Management System. It also works well with the last few sips of juice in a cup that has been sitting out, thus turning the juice warm and non-thirst quenching. In this case, you would get a new cup, pour new juice, drink the new refreshing thirst-quenching juice, and if you then found yourself still thirsty you would go back to the warm juice and finish it off. The System can be used on almost any food or drink, any time, anywhere. And remember, you're not wasting food. You are strategically managing your consumption of food and drink so that you benefit from the best aspects and most nutritious parts of the food, or 'fuel' that you consume to maintain a healthy, happy body and mind. Try it today!!

**The Cynical Tyrant Strategic Food Management System is not sold in stores, by mail order, online, on street corners, down back alleys, or out of the trunks of cars. In fact, it is not sold at all. The System is only available by reading this blog.**

C.T.

Peaceful Pants
So we've got the naked war protesters (see one of my posts from 3/4 - Worldwide Pants . . . Optional). Clothes bad, but apparently legal to not be worn.

And then this guy gets arrested for protesting because he's wearing clothes. Clothes still bad, and apparently now illegal to wear.

Obviously the real issue for America is the war about how to dress, or not dress, while protesting the war. If you ask me, it sounds like the police officers would have preferred the mall guy to be shopping, and protesting, naked.

Again, I say give pants a chance.

C.T.

If I Write it, They Will Come
Wouldn't it be nice if that were true?

I'm still getting quite a lot of traffic for my humble blog. How exciting! Thanks to all who have linked.

John, from Circles and Strains blog wrote quite a nice review of my site, with a link. After checking out his site a bit, I think I can return the favor with the link to his blog. He's got a lot to read through, which I haven't nearly covered. But he seems to have some positive things to say, topics, links and such. I noted his link to World Vision and Voice of the Martyrs, two good causes. And of course, his rave review of my blog is great for brownie points with the Cynical Tyrant, as well as great content for any blog. Discussing the Tyrant on your blog can do wonders for your blog. I believe it to be true.

It's always a risk to link to another site, but I think John may be worth a link. Thanks, John, for the link and review!

With all this kindness, gratitude, and gushing enthusiasm, you may be thinking the Tyrant has gone soft. Not so much. I just like to keep everyone guessing. . .

I really only want you to visit John's site to read his review of my site. I'm as self-serving as ever.

C.T.

Cynical Fans
I'd like to think it's because the world has finally discovered what an amazing, whitty, charming, fascinating, prolific writer I am, that my page views have suddenly increased. I'd hope that people all over the world are seeking me out, just to read what's on my mind. At any rate, I seem to now have some fans!

Since I posted this afternoon, I've had almost 300 page views, as opposed to the one or two a day I usually get, most of them being me reading my own stuff. I think the reality is likely a Blogger blooper on the Blogger homepage, resulting in increased traffic to my site. But for the moment, I'm basking in the glory of my recent popularity. I seem to be internationally famous, an overnight success.

Whatever the reason, I am SO excited to have some readers and some comments! Apparently people like what they see here, and that makes me happy.

Thanks for coming and reading. Welcome, whoever you are, wherever you are. Come back often. Link me if you like. Post comments/shout outs. And be sure to spread the word about my little blog. I need, er I mean. . . enjoy the attention!

C.T.

Cookies of the Scouts
I bought Girl Scout cookies for the first time ever. I still usually think of myself as a kid, and therefore too poor and under no obligation to support the Girl Scouts and their cookie-making madness. But I'm beginning to realize that little kids see me as an adult, since I am tall and adult-like in appearance at times. Comes with approaching the age of 30, I suppose.

I have a strict policy about not supporting unsolicited pleas for my financial support. I've already chosen where I will give my time and money, and I'm just perturbed by other people asking for what little money I have to give, as though I can't make that decision on my own. I'm bugged by people I don't know calling me at random, not to talk to me, but just to ask for my money to support their cause. What happened to getting to know a person first? I mean, I don't want to know these people, but they should want to know me if they want my money. I'm also thoroughly annoyed by kids outside of Wal-Marts and other stores, approaching me as I'm trying to enter the store, trying to get me to buy their junk. Do they think I'm at Wal-Mart to buy junk?

I just have a general unspoken, unwritten policy to not support those kinds of activities. Which is strange since my job is a fundraiser for a homeless shelter. I often have to ask people for money, and I often talk to people for the sole purpose of getting money out of them. I just don't like people to do that to me. Especially kiddos.

But, unspoken and unwritten policies can be changed. Much like my heart of near-stone.

I found out the hard way that it is apparently Girl Scout cookie season once again. I approached the cardstore, and before I even got out of my car, I knew I was going to be bombarded by the team of Girl Scouts all over the front of the store. It was more of a pack, really. They were everywhere. There was no way into the store without running into several waves of pre-teens, peddling boxes of cookies. They were on the street corner wearing cookie costumes, in the parking lot singing and dancing a cookie jig, the moms were out in full force holding signs, and there were several moms and Scouts lined up in front of the store, waiting to pounce. I parked as far away from them as I could. I didn't want them coming up to the Jeep, shoving cookies in the windows and demanding payment for cookies now in my possession. They do that, you know. Well, I haven't seen it, but it's possible.

I headed towards the store, rehearsing my most sincere, "Sorry, but I can't buy any cookies right now." It is my policy! I believe it with all my heart. Really, I am not rich. I can't just go around frivolously spending my hard earned cash on boxes of cookies, to support an organization that has nothing to do with me. I don't even have a girl who is a scout. I never even was a Girl Scout, as a girl myself.

Hmmm. Maybe that's why I hate them so . . .

As I approached the door of the store, one tiny little girl, decked out in her finest Girl Scout attire, sitting sweetly next to her mother, asked ever-so-politely if I'd like to buy a box of cookies. Oh my gosh! The nerve!! She'd pulled out the heavy artillery from the get-go! They'd launched the cutest Scout right at me, AND she was sitting next to her mom. I was not prepared for that. I almost faltered. But, sticking to my stern, unflinching, unwielding story, I flashed a smile right back at her and said, "Maybe on my way out, okay?"

WHAT WAS THAT!?!?! Sure, I left myself an out. I didn't actually commit to buying any cookies. But I gave her hope that I'd come back on my way to the car and purchase some cookies from her cherubic little self. I mean, I think this kid was literally glowing, including a halo hovering over her perfect little head. Now I'd have to deal with leaving the store, walking back past the cutest Girl Scout ever, and her mom, while trying NOT to buy any cookies. Maybe I could live in the store from now on and never leave?

I shopped for the 4 cards I needed for as long as I could, without looking like I was making the biggest decision of my life. It's not that hard to pick out 4 cards, so it wasn't long before I started attracting attention as being in there a really long time. The sweet cardshop ladies kept asking me if I needed assistance. YES!! Will you please go outside and distract that sweet little girl and her mom while I run the other way?? They didn't go for it.

I bought the cards, and headed for the door. I walked slowly, looking out the glass windows to see if maybe the Girl Scouts had deserted their post, so I wouldn't have to say no, get out my pepper spray, and run. But, there they sat. Watching the door, waiting for my return. I walked out the door and over to the table, wallet in hand. There was no escaping now. I'd be having Girl Scout cookies for dessert tonight.

But when I got to the table, there were two other Girl Scouts there. They'd pulled some sort of shape-shifting trick on me for sure! I'd just seen the cute one and her mom sitting there waiting. It had to be some new mind trick, for which I'm sure they now have a patch to award the Scouts who can successfully shape-shift and trick unsuspecting, and poor, people into buying their cookies. What happened to the super-model Scout? She was the kid you probably see on all the Girl Scout recruiting posters. Now, there were these two older girls where she was just sitting. Two Scouts who, incidentally, could quite possibly beat me up. The bait and switch!!! They hooked me in with the angelic one, then sealed the deal with the two bouncers. Definitely, no escaping now. I didn't turn to look, but I knew my exits were blocked. I had to buy some cookies. Or die cookie-less, but firm in my beliefs.

So, I put on a happy face and proudly asked for one box of Semoas. Yes, one box. Again, I can't over-do it. I am not rich! I work at a homeless shelter, for goodness sakes! And this was my first Girl Scout cookie purchase ever. The significance of the moment needed to be revered, and not overshadowed by boxes of cookies running amok and into my Jeep.

The bouncers were not impressed with my offering to purchase one box. I know I saw some eye rolling. But, they accepted my three dollars, handed over the box, and almost said thank you. I think they were more thankful that I was blocking the sun from their eyes from where I was standing. I turned and left, leaving the sun to shine all over them and their cookie table. I showed them!

I do love Girl Scout cookies. They are quite tasty. I'd just never bought my own before. This was a big occassion! I did a real grown-up thing! I could hardly wait to get home and into my Semoas. They're the best kind, you know.

Once I got home and had a better chance to look at my purchase, I realized the scam that had taken place. Do you realize there are only, like, 10 cookies in one box?!?! What a ripoff!! And they are tiny cookies!! Even being as non-large as I am, it is no big deal to go through a box of Semoas in one or two sittings. Three dollars? I had to wonder how this small box of tiny cookies could possibly be worth three dollars. Do the Scouts actually make the cookies themselves, out of love, sugar, and thin air? That would be worth three dollars.

I did enjoy the cookies, and the satisfaction that the local Girl Scouts were now three dollars closer to their fundraising goal. Yes, I, a responsible, kind, adult-type person, had supported a cause that solicited my attention without permission. I was the mysterious and generous stranger, helping those in need. I deserved a pat on the back. A round of applause. An award! I gave when I didn't have to give. How noble of me.

I wonder if there's a way to order Girl Scout cookies online? I am now hooked on Semoas, since one box does not come close to satisfying that craving. But I can't face anymore dangerous Scouts. They are a frightening bunch.

C.T.

Tyrannical Thoughts on War
I don't have a Tyrannical stand on the whole war thing. Quite a few blogs I've seen are very political, very anti-war, some very pro-war. Opinionated one way or the other. Discussing stuff way above my little head. I don't have the attention span to read through that stuff and make sense of any of it. I don't understand the politics, or the geography, or the history of what the real problem is today. I know what's going on now, basically. But as for analyzing what it all really means, that's way out of my jurisdiction.

Most of the news I see these days focuses on the looming war possibilities. But I find it hard to take a stand either way. I don't really enjoy the thought of war. But not ever really having been through a war, it's hard for me to picture what being 'at war' would be like. That's not to say I'd like to try it out to see if I like it or not, so I can form an opinion. It's just difficult to understand what all is involved with war. Sure, I was around for Desert Storm. But I was 15 years old or so. The war was far away, I saw it on TV sometimes. It didn't really affect my daily life. Getting my driver's license and not doing my homework held much more of my attention.

I read Tom Brokaw's book, The Greatest Generation. Great book. I highly recommend it. Brokaw tells the stories of people during a time when war was all we knew as a country, and in most of the world. War made that generation. So many powerful things happened during that time, to shape what we are today. But I'm removed from it because it was way before my time, so it's interesting to me to read about it. To me, war is history. It's hard to think of it as something real, now, in the present. This generation hasn't really been exposed to war like it has known in the past. So it's tough for me to understand what war really means, and how it could change life as I've known it.

I understand why people passionately oppose war. I'm not a fan of violence, or conflict, or forcefully exerting authority or control. Definitely, I prefer peace, freedom, and getting along. I sometimes think the anti-war groups are way too focused on the war itself and making a stand for peace, than giving credit to the issues at hand and the most effective ways to handle the issues bringing the possibility of war. When it comes to opposing or supporting the war itself, I think I'm more a fan of getting to the greater good, than actively opposing the entity of war. That doesn't mean I'm in favor of going to war. But I am in favor of doing what is necessary to achieve the best outcome.

Granted, I don't know the best outcome. And I'm not completely familiar with all the details involved with the current war/not war decision situation. But I'd think the best thing to do is to do whatever will solve the big problems. I don't think G.W. or other world leaders are jumping on the war bandwagon just because it's an option, we've got new, cool weapons and we haven't attacked a country in awhile. I think if achieving the greater good involves a war, or something resembling a war, then I'd say we should do that. We definitely have to consider it. It seems like we're getting to a point where 'talking things through' and abiding by agreements with stubborn world leaders isn't as effective as it should be. Once my sister figured out that 'time out' could be fun, singing and telling stories to the wall, it wasn't really punishment to make her sit there for longer periods of time. When agreements and authority become a joke, you have to move to the next level of disciplinary action.

But, I do know that I'm in no position to judge. I have to trust our leaders. I'm sure glad I don't have their job, and I feel they are qualified to do their jobs. They deal with this everyday. I only think about it once in awhile. Mostly when gas prices go up again. I don't live in fear, wondering if today will be the day we bomb someone and war begins. I don't obsess over the issues everyday, hoping to stumble upon the one thing that will solve the problem, as though the people in charge haven't already thought of it. It's not that I'm unconcerned. It's just a problem bigger than what my little brain can fathom. And frankly, I've grown weary of all the war discussion. Let's just do it, or not do it already.

So I'll likely continue to eat M&Ms and watch American Idol, and trust that the news will break in to the show to let me know when we've gone to war. And again when it's over. If it's all during the same show, that'd be nice.

If the road less traveled was paved with rest stops and gas stations and a Krispy Kreme, I bet people would travel it more.

C.T.

Worldwide Pants . . . Optional

If you're naked and you know it, protest war.

All I am saying is give pants a chance.

C.T.

Subtle Bravery
I did something really brave. I watched Steel Magnolias. It took me two days to watch the whole thing. But I finally did it. Why is that brave? I'll tell you.

I haven't watched Steel Magnolias in about 3 1/2 years. It's part of my movie collection, so typically I would watch it more often than once every 3 1/2 years. It has sentimental value. I'm a Louisiana girl, no longer living in Louisiana. So it's comforting to see small town Louisiana. Reminds me of family times. Cures my homesickness. Steel Magnolias is a great picture of small town southern life. Yes, people really do talk, dress, and act like that.

No one ever believes me when I tell them this, but I actually have a connection to the story of Steel Magnolias. It's loosely based on the story of my childhood doctor and his wife, who died at a young age. I know, he's a lawyer in the movie. But in real life, he was a doctor. Her brother wrote the story and the screenplay, and it became a play, then a movie. So it's a family favorite. I tell tall tales at times, but this one is true. I'll leave out the part about me giving up the starring role to Julia Roberts. . . . because I was only 13 at the time.

Anyway, none of that really has anything to do with why it's brave for me to watch the movie now. Steel Magnolias was in my VCR the night I found out my sister was killed in a car accident. It's funny how you remember little details about certain things when something really traumatic happens. I remember almost everything about that day, and the days following. I even remember what I was wearing when my mom came to my door that night. I otherwise have a terrible memory. I can't remember what I wore yesterday. But, I can remember almost every detail about that day.

Since that day, it's been hard to do some things I did that day. Like, I haven't worn those clothes since then. I don't think I've made a grilled cheese sandwhich since that day. I stopped at Whole Foods on my way home that day. I haven't been there since. And, even though I wasn't watching Steel Magnolias that day, it was in my VCR from watching it a day or so before. I'd stopped it about halfway through the movie, when it starts getting really sad. I don't think I had a reason to stop it there. I've seen it a million times. But, it eventually came out of my VCR and was hidden away among my other videos. I don't remember exactly when I took the tape out of my VCR after things calmed down around that time, but I remember noting the significance of what I'd watched just days before I lost my sister. And I remember wanting to stay far away from Steel Magnolias. It was still stopped in the same place when I put it back in the VCR last week. It's such a family movie for us. Just remembering that it was in the VCR that day, and the story of the movie, and how much sad movies affect me now- all of that has kept me from watching it when I'd glance at my movies from time to time, looking for something to watch.

I don't think I really believe that doing the things I did that day will lead to anyone else's death. I'm not at all superstitious. I think it's more the reminder of what happened afterward that keeps me from doing those things. You know, like when you get sick and up comes something you ate for dinner. You tend to stay away from eating whatever that was, whether it was the cause of what made you sick or not. The thought or smell of it is enough to turn your stomach. They aren't pleasant memories. Hard to think about that stuff even now.

Lately I've been noticing some small personal victories in my long journey of grief. Things that may seem silly and insignificant to anyone other than me, but things that are extremelly encouraging to me at this time in my life. So I decided to try watching the movie. I generally steer clear of all sad movies now, but I decided to be brave and go for the saddest one of all.

I got about an hour into it and I took a break for a day or so. I wasn't upset, but just wanting to take it slow. I couldn't help but feel I was starting the chain of events that previously lead to something really horrible, even though I know that's not true. Yesterday I finished watching it. It brought up a lot of emotions. Victory, that I made it through the movie. And also lots of sad emotions as I watched the movie. That scene after the funeral when Sally Fields totally freaks out, she puts into words so much of what I feel sometimes about losing my sister. Just a feeling of total helplessness, wondering why I'm the one who got to stay here, being so angry with nowhere to direct any of the anger. It's also like watching my mom on screen, because I know she's felt a lot of what Sally Fields' character goes through. I can't know what it's like to be my mom losing a daughter, but I sure know it's hard to watch her go through it. Sometimes seeing other people go through what I'm feeling, or saying what I'm thinking, even if it's just a character on screen, helps me remember that I'm not the only one who has felt these emotions before. Grief gets really lonely sometimes.

It's therapeutic to have a good cry about that stuff, even now. I'll probably always have to stop sometimes and just have a good cry about it. For me, it's all a part of working through the loss and being who I am now. The Tyrant never used to cry. Now, I cry fairly easily. What makes it progress is that now I can think about it, and cry about it, and then I'm done with it for awhile. And I'm okay. Not completely overwhelmed by it anymore. It's big progress that I could do that by myself this week, and enjoy seeing the movie again. Good memories, not overshadowed by the fear of watching the movie. Regaining one more little piece of freedom that I lost that day a few years ago.

I'm a sentimental Tyrant after all. But I don't think you'll catch me at Whole Foods any time soon. I'm not that brave, yet.

C.T.

Controversial Applesauce
I inadvertently instigated a major source of controversy. Forget the anti-war protests. A larger issue is now at hand.

Applesauce: disgusting slimed form of apple, or tasty saucy goodness.

I hate applesauce. Texture issue aside, it's a source of childhood trauma for me. But, I don't deny others the right to enjoy the mucky mess if they so desire. Apparently voicing my opinion about applesauce touched a nerve with those who have fond childhood memories of sucking down the slimey substance. Some people still seem to enjoy the dastardly dish, as grownups. That's fine. I just prefer to eat apples the way they were meant to be eaten- with crunch. Not mushed beyond recognition.

Protest all you want. But no good can come from applesauce.

Make pudding, not applesauce.

C.T.

Does Anybody Know What Time It Is?
I have no idea what time it is. Every clock I use is set to a different time, all within about 8 minutes of each other. Which one is right?

My cel phone clock matches my watch. And my watch is the time I use to set everything else that I can set. So at one point, I thought I had everything set correctly. Things were running smoothly. But lately, time has become an issue.

My alarm clock is set 5 minutes faster than my watch, to fool myself when I wake myself up in the morning into being 5 minutes ahead of schedule. Of course, I've been doing that for years. I don't think I'm really fooled anymore. I'm late to work almost everyday.

The clock in my Jeep is faster than my watch, too. But I'm not sure by how much. It came set from the factory, and I haven't gotten that far in the manual, yet. Clock setting. So, sfter running late to get out the door every morning, I give myself a heart attack everyday when I get in the Jeep and see how much later I am. I know it doesn't take 5 minutes to get from my front door to my car door, but the Jeep clock would give the impression that time literally speeds up as I walk down the stairs. By the time I get to work, my Jeep clock tells me I'm really late. But my watch tells me I'm only sort of late. So that's nice, once I get out of the Jeep and look at my watch. I feel okay being sort of late.

The clock on my computer at work is about 3 minutes faster than my watch, so I definitely go by that clock when it's time to leave at 5:00. 3 minutes faster gets me out the door 3 minutes sooner.

However, the clock on my phone on my desk is 11 minutes slow. I hate when I look at that thing and I catch the time because it totally messes up my perception of the general time of day. Especially if it's a few minutes after the hour in the real world, because the phone clock will still say there are several minutes to go to get to the hour. It's like time repeats itself because I can't do the quick math to reset my brain to the correct time. It's not an even number of minutes off. It's 11 minutes. That's just wrong.

At home, my VCR clock is 4 minutes behind my watch and the times that television shows begin at the hour or half hour. I've set and re-set that clock many times. It still seems to always be behind. So when I tape something, I have to program in an extra 4 minutes of buffer time before and after a show, to make sure I get the whole show.

The microwave clock is about 2 minutes behind my watch, but still in between the watch and the VCR. The time on the microwave really has nothing to do with its use or how my food comes out of it, so it really doesn't affect me. Although it is the last clock I see out the door every morning. And we already covered the Jeep clock issue. Maybe the microwave clock is the real problem.

The clock on my computer at home doesn't match the VCR or my watch, but I don't know if it's behind or ahead of my watch.

The bathroom clock was set to match my watch, so that after I get up in the morning according to the time on the alarm clock, the idea is that I'll stumble into the bathroom and see that the real time is actually 5 minutes earlier, and I'll be relieved and refreshed to know that it's not as late as I thought it was. Again, I don't think I fool myself. And I manage to waste that 5 minutes every morning. Somewhere.

Now, the key to everything was my watch. I don't know why the watch is the Clock Master, but that was my decision somewhere along the way. However, the last time I traveled to another time zone, being therefore forced to move my watch to the time for said time zone and back again upon returning home, the watch got messed up. It doesn't match up with anything anymore! So now the whole elaborate time system that I've adapted to is unraveled, and I have no idea what time it is.

I could reset all the clocks so that they match. But then that would ruin my whole routine throughout the day, as I come into contact with each clock. I'm not sure how I would handle seeing all the clocks on time with each other. And I still have no idea where to start with the correct time.

I just have no idea what time it is.

I don't know why people say that only time will tell. Time only tells me what time it is. Is it supposed to say something else?

C.T.

Official Tyrannical Disclaimer
I think a fear for writers, or at least a fear I have as a writer wannabee, is that honesty in my writing will offend people I know and who know me. Well, some people write with the intent to offend. I don't.

However, eventually I will write about things in my life that involve other people or mutual situations involving people other than me. And in being honest about how I feel, or what happened, or just in observing situations, people may not like what they read. Part of who I am comes out of things that happen to me, people who have interacted with me, disappointments, frustrations, joys, loss, life. The things we go through in life help determine who we become by how we handle it and what we learn from it. And as these things are a part of my life, I own that, and the freedom to write about it. Scares you, doesn't it?

We've all disappointed someone at some point in our lives. We've all been disappointed by someone at some point in our lives, as well. Yes, it is likely the Cynical Tyrant will disappoint you someday. I'm only human. I think there's a fear about other people knowing those things about us, the times we disappoint or the times we've disappointed others. Especially if the stories are told by people other than us, to people we don't know. I have that fear. There's something to be said for telling a story in your own words, emphasizing what you want to be heard and de-emphasizing the things you feel are less important, or unflattering. Truths can be told in a variety of ways, and still remain true.

I think a lot of creativity comes from what we go through, be it joy or sorrow, anger, fear, or just plain weirdness. I'm inspired to write by the things I deal with daily. Some of our most important moments come from disappointment specifically, because disappointment forces us to deal with joy, anger, sorrow, fear, and weirdness all at once. We are disappointed because something or someone has damaged our trust, and trust is a major building block supporting many other emotions. What we thought something would be turns out not to be what it really is, and that is unsettling on many levels. Sometimes being unsettled is what we need in order to feel. And feeling leads to choices we have to make to move forward with progress and discovery, or to be consumed by the emotions that hit.

So my disclaimer is this: I write honestly. Sometimes it's silly, sometimes it's thoughtful, sometimes it's emotional, sometimes it's spiritual. I write about things I observe, disappointments I've dealt with, situations I've experienced, or things that have happened to create what I am today. I value all of it, because I value what I am. The disappointment and pain isn't pretty to read, and it certainly wasn't pretty to go through. It's definitely not the stuff easily made into something fun to read. But I think it's too important to leave that stuff out, for the sake of pleasing everyone, or pacifying fears we have about reading things about ourselves that we don't necessarily want people to know. I don't think I can write a good blog without tapping into everything.

I'll promise you this: I'll never use real names, or write about people in a hurtful way. I hope to be able to share stories about myself, or things I've gone through, and people that have come and gone and some who remain, in ways that are constructive, yet not blantantly pointing out who may have been involved. Could be tricky since some of you may know each other and certain situations. But I hope you'll be able to read here without fear, and maybe with appreciation for the things I've learned in knowing you. It's a beautiful thing to realize what you learn from people who have really tested you at times. And it's an amazing thing to understand what you learn from the people who have really meant something special to you on many occassions. Sometimes, those are all the same people.

My goal here is not to point fingers or lay blame or point out the wrongdoings of the world around me. I'm not here to tell stories first, or 'my way'. This isn't a forum for me to convince the world, or the few readers I may have, that I'm better than anyone else, or that I have it all figured out, or that I am right. The Cynical Tyrant makes no claims to be wise, prolific, correct, or inspirational at any time. I just write what I know, some of what I don't know, and some of it utter nonsense. How it affects you is up to you.

I'm not here to complain about people I value in my life. Maybe about people I don't value. But definitely not to hurt those of you that I like. I've shared this blog first with the people I trust and who have encouraged me, so please trust that I haven't drawn you here to publicly flog you for any reason. Truthfully, every word I write here is more a testimony of who I am before it is ever a reflection of anyone or any situation. I'll be sharing much more about myself than anyone else here. It's really not my goal for anyone to form an opinion of me, or about the people or situations I write about. My hope is that you enjoy it and to allow me to continue to explore this little hobby of mine. Perhaps read with the understanding that 'them's just stories'.

Bottom line, please don't take things I write here personally. Truthfully, at this point I'm still hesitant to put many 'real' musings in here. It gets a little scary to write real stuff. I want people to know me, yet I don't want to do any damage. Hence the disclaimer, so that everyone has fair warning about what is fair game for me to write about. So far, you can see most of my blogs are silly, and that's the theme I think you'll find more than any other here. I'll do my best to avoid portraying stories in ways that could be taken personally. I will always be discriminitory in the things I share here. This is a creative outlet for me, and hopefully something that will be entertaining to those who read it. I do not intend to hurt anyone's feelings in what I write. But as is typical with me, I do unintentionally hurt feelings from time to time. The exciting thing is that this is an interactive blog, so please, interact.

Should it be the case that you read something here that is offensive to you, hurts your feelings, or tells a story you resemble but would prefer not to resemble, you can respond in two specific and handy ways:

1) Shout Out- I have added a comment section for each posting, and that is your area to respond directly to any post that you like or dislike. That is your chance to be heard on any Cynical Rant blogged here. As always, please keep it clean and appropriate. I can remove posted comments that I deem unworthy to be here, but if I don't need to, I won't. So don't make me.
2) Email me- You'll notice on the right a section with a link to email the Cynical Tyrant. I encourage it. As freely as I speak my mind here, you are free to do the same back at me. Be aware, however, that emails sent to me may be posted if the response is appropriate and if it makes for good content, unless you specify that you don't want it posted. And, don't email me to ask detail or scoop about a story you read here. If you email to ask if that story was really about 'Joe', I will not answer that. Go ask Joe.

You can also ask me to remove something that I've written in my blog, and I will always consider reasonable requests. I have complete control over this blog, so nothing is written in stone. Anything can be deleted with the touch of a button. This blog is an effort for me to become a better writer. That involves feedback, constructive criticisms, and yes, even edits and re-writes.

I do not promise to please everyone. But I do promise that this is a safe and mostly fun environment. Above everything else, please remember this is my blog, and I will write about what I want to write about. My intended audience is the world at large, much larger than just the people I know who read my blog because I beg them to. So for people to get to know me and to understand what I have to say, you may find yourself anonymously and ambiguously resembling a part of a story, here or there. But please trust me that it is a friendly blog. Please be honored to be given a place in my blog if you feel you resemble anything here. And please come often and stay awhile. I am so excited that I have a few readers (as you can see by the counter at the bottom of the page), and I hope to continue to have more. If you like what you read here, please pass it on.

Alas, I am a Tyrant of the people. I mean you no harm. I come in peace.

Now that I've appropriately disclaimed, you can go back through all of my blogs to read yourself into any situations I've already written about and wonder if I meant you. I didn't. Don't be so paranoid.

C.T.

P.S. None of this applies to any stories or recounts of my affair with The Bachelor. I want the whole world to know I met Aaron, The Bachelor. No need to be ambiguous about that.

A sweater that could stand on it's own
My office is generally cold in the mornings. So I bought a sweater to put on when I get in the office. I wear it over my clothes. It took the place of an old shirt I used to wear for warmth, also over my clothes. The sweater, I feel, looks nicer. Not that I have anyone here to impress. Actually, I don't want to impress anyone here. But I felt it was time to look more like a Director, even though I am not convinced that I am one.

I've owned the sweater for a couple of months. It also serves as a bib. Not only does it keep me warm, but I wear it while eating lunch. I've noticed since I've had the sweater, my clothes go home a lot cleaner. It's a black sweater, so it doesn't show dirt. So either I've gotten a lot neater in my eating, which is highly unlikely. Or my sweater is serving as a bib, as well as keeping me warm, while still looking nice, since you can't see stains or dirt on the blackness of the sweater. It's multi-tasking.

I realized today, the sweater has never been washed. I wear it everyday, all day at work. Granted, over clothes. But still, it's got a couple of months of wearing, with no washing. I don't purposely deny it the right to be washed. I just don't think to take it home when it's laundry weekend.

Is that gross?

C.T.

Angry Charity Meets for a Good Cause
The high of two unexpected days off is now followed by an extreme low of being back at work today. To top it off, the heater is broken in my section of the building, and seeing as I get frostbite when temperatures dip below 70 degrees, I am pretty much a Tyrant-cicle right now. It's proving a challenge to type with gloves on. What a fun day for me!

I saw an ad today for a charity event. It was titled 'Women Against MS Luncheon'. Now, I am not making light of the event or being cynical of the good cause these women are luncheoning to support. But isn't there a better way to say that? It sounds like a protest. Angry women having an angry lunch, to take a stand against something that did not create itself, cannot do away with itself, and generally cannot be influenced as a result of speaking out against it. Like these women will be picketing outside their luncheon, with signs saying 'Make Love, Not MS', or 'Take a Stand Against MS', hoping MS will eventually give up and go away. Again, I'm not making fun of the seriousness of the cause. Just the way they phrased the promotion of their event.

I mean, I know what they are doing. They are having a lunch to support the cause to fight MS. It is a very noble event for a worthwhile cause. But really, 'Women Against MS' makes it sound like a bunch of angry women protesting a disease, as though it is an entity capable of reform. And really, if you are not taking a luncehon stand against MS, does that mean you are for MS, supporting the disease? I hope not. I can't go to the luncheon, but I certainly am anti-MS.

Wait, maybe these women are against the MS Luncheon it