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 itself? 'Women Against MS Luncheon'. Are these women protesting another group of women luncheoning about MS? I just don't know.

Anyway, I just found their ad a little odd.

If you haven't perused my blog much, feel free to read through the archives. I need to figure out a way to list my blogs topically, rather than by date. But until I figure that out, be sure to snoop around a bit. You'll find wonderful rantings about roadkill, The Bachelor, Reality TV, nose-picking, the Grammys, and such.

As always, feel free to leave a Shout Out. Which is apparently blogish for 'comment'. You know, if you read something here and you think, 'Good heavens! That is the most prolific thing I've ever read!', or 'Good heavens! The Cynical Tyrant is a complete idiot!', or 'Good heavens! I laughed, I cried, I read it again. Where can I get more of this masterful author of the written word??' Whatever you think and want to share, feel free to do so. Please try not to make me cry.

Some people are just asking to be laughed at. But they don't usually have to ask to get me to laugh at them.

C.T.

A Survivor of Joe Millionare's Hot Bachelor Mole
I have to admit I really like reality television shows. Not all of them. But for the most part, they intrigue me. Most of them are just so ridiculous, it's like I can't change the channel. I'm drawn in to the insanity. I have to watch and discuss it with friends. It's addicting.

Like, Joe Millionare. Sorry, but that was one of the dumbest shows ever. I didn't know whether to feel sorry for the girls who were under the impression they were trying to win a millionare, or to be amused as they were picked off one by one. I almost felt they deserved to be tricked because they were such a bunch of whiney, mean, silly, deceptive girls, asking to be put in their place. 'Joe' himself was nothing more than Puddy from Seinfeld, but with curly greasy hair. Not much of a catch, even with the 50 million dollars. That guy never had one interesting thing to say, or even an original facial expression. I wasn't a fan of this show. But, obviously I watched enough of it to know I didn't like it.

I'm a big fan of Survivor. I liked that one from the very first season. I like to travel, and there are a million places all over the world I want to see. I get a glimpse of exotic places by watching Survivor. And this show actually takes some intelligence to play and win. Good backstabbing fun.

I've already written about The Bachelor. I was interested in the show when it aired the second time, more than the first. And more from the 'staring at something horrific but I can't not watch' point of view. I just can't believe anyone can find true love in that kind of situation. But it sure is entertaining to watch people try. Of course, I became more obsessed with the Bachelor after meeting him. But we all know he's in love with me now that he's met me, so I am justified in being obsessed with him. I think my rose must be trapped in all this bad weather, which is what's keeping it from reaching my house.

Hmmmm. What was that about reality?

Anyway, one show that really makes me laugh, although I am morally opposed to the whole idea, is Are You Hot. I've only been able to watch it once, and only part of it. But all I did was laugh through what I watched. These people are serious! Serious about winning the show, like the opinion of Lorenzo Lamas, Rachel Hunter, and some other guy I've never heard of really determines if they are hot or not. And then America gets to vote, on top of that! Not only do they want to win the show, they really think they are hot. Like, seriously serious about their hotness. What they don't realize is that if you have to tell people you're hot, you're not hot. They come out on the stage with their 'hot' attitude, saying how hot they are. But that does not make them any hotter. Hot people don't need to make a big deal about how hot they are on national television.

I mean, I say I'm hot quite often. But it's not to convince anyone. It's just conversation. I don't have to convince anyone of something that is common knowledge and conversationally appropriate.

What I see these days is that there are more 'reality' shows than scripted shows. But I have to wonder how real these shows really are. FOX is coming out with a new show where America gets to pick a bride or groom for someone to marry, and these people have to get married on the spot, sight unseen. Is that reality? Are any of these shows actual reality? I don't think 16 people usually find themselves stranded in an exotic jungle with Jeff Probst for 39 days, but he keeps finding these people in these weird locations. I know it's never happened to me. That's not to say I wouldn't love to try it. But that's not reality for me.

They say The Osbournes is reality, because cameras follow their family around all day everyday, and it isn't scripted. But I wouldn't say that's reality. Maybe it's reality for them. But again, it's not reality for me. It may be interesting to some people, to watch an old rock icon stumble down the street in his pjs, drunk or stoned. And that may actually be his reality. But in all reality, 'reality' television is far from reality.

I don't even think people aspire to be on reality shows because it is 'reality' to them. I think reality television has become more of an ideal for people. They are searching for something that takes them away from their reality, or to change their reality. It's brought being on television within the grasp of the common people, and that's exciting for us. There was a time when you actually had to be an actor or professional of some sort to make it onto a television show. Now, pretty much anyone can get on tv by doing any number of bizarre things. Fear Factor attracts people who are supposedly not afraid to do anything on tv. But is it reality to make people jump from a helicopter onto a pile of cardboard boxes in the middle of a lake? Sure, I do that all that time.

But, this is why I love reality television. It makes television even something I could do. Sure, I'd love to be on tv. It's a few minutes of exposure, the possibility to win money, or a husband (if I were that desperate), and to do something I would never get to do in my normal, real life. I enjoy watching people like me have the opportunity to do stuff in the public eye. It's amusing to me that these people become the topics of conversations. They become newsmakers, sometimes more than actual celebrities. It's fascinating from a sociological perspective. Not that I know tons about sociology, but I do think the obsession with reality television is an interesting trend for both television and the public. After many years of television being an elite group of people entertaining the masses who are typically intrigued by the magic of television, it has now become the elite television people seeking out the masses, in search of less magic and more 'reality'. It seems we're more entertained with ourselves, than with the art that created television in the first place.

So what does this mean for society today? Will the reality insanity ever end? Well, I have no idea. I do know I'm entertained by the 'reality'. And if I keep applying to enough shows, I could one day be a Millionare, or a Mole, or a Survivor, or an Osbourne.

I'd make a great Osbourne. Do they accept auditions?

C.T.

Ice Day - Part Deux
Another day at home, free from work! I could get used to this. Although that would likely mean I'm unemployed, and I've suffered through that already. It's not so much fun. Being home all day is way more fun knowing you do have a job to go to at some point.

However, I have found the one drawback of the free day off in the middle of the week. The drawback that puts a damper on my fun is the knowledge that tomorrow the weather will be better, and I will actually have to go back to work. It means I have to go to bed at my 'work week' time tonight. I have to do my 'getting ready for work' routine that I do in the evening, so I don't have to get up unreasonably early in the morning. I'll have to get up and fight the remnants of slick streets in the morning, to get to work. And then, to top it all off, I'll actually have to be at work tomorrow, doing, well, work. That's almost enough to ruin a perfectly good free day off.

Oh well. It's been wonderful to have two unexpected days off this week. Any days I don't have to be at work are good days. As long as it doesn't mean I'm doing something more horrible than being at work.

And for the record, I have not wasted two days worth of free time. I have paced myself so as not to overdo it. Safety first, that's my motto.

C.T.

I May be a Hermit
I'm pretty sure I'm a hermit. Not like, 'crazy old lady living at the end of the street or in a cave with 108 cats who never comes out of her home but you hear weird sounds coming from her place from time to time' hermit. But that could be me someday. Except that I hate cats.

I live alone, and I'd almost be fine if I never was around people. Well, that's not entirely true. I do have friends and family and people I care about and look forward to seeing and talking to throughout the week. But I can go all day and not talk to anyone and it's almost like I don't notice. It doesn't occur to me to pick up the phone or seek people out. I sink into my own world and before I know it, the day has passed and I've not seen or talked to anyone. It doesn't bother me, until people inquire as to what I've done all day or who I've talked to lately, and I come up with nothing and no one. Then I seem a little strange to myself. I probably seem more strange to others. But I'm still okay with it.

I do have some weird hermit traits. Like, if my neighbors are outside their door or walking around outside, I wait til they leave before I come out. I don't want to have to talk to them. I hate awkward conversation, and awkward conversation always comes before knowing people well enough to get past awkward conversation. Maybe I just prefer an air of mystery about myself.

I hate the phone. Maybe it's a phobia. I mean, I'll talk on the phone sometimes. Like to my mom, or friends sometimes, or to make plans, or to people at work when I have to. But you won't catch me on the phone all day, or calling lots of people, or really anyone for that matter. It's not that I don't want to talk to people, because I do. But when it comes down to picking up the phone to call someone, it's a big debate, with myself. Do I really need to use the phone, or can I get by without it? I usually talk myself out of it. I'll stare at the phone for awhile, hold it in my hand, and hopefully get brave enough to dial the number. But, often I chicken out.

I think my friends think I don't call because I don't want to talk to them, or I don't care, or I'm not interested. It's not that at all. It's the dang phone. Great invention, but it scares me.

When I'm home I don't even answer my phone. I don't have caller ID, and I hate talking to people I don't know when I don't know why they're calling me. I get nervous on the phone talking to people I do know, so people I don't know really don't have much of a chance with me on the phone. I usually let the machine get the phone. Most people who know me and have a reason to call me just call my cel phone anyway, and I'll answer that. But for the most part, the phone freaks me out. Anyone who's talked to me on the phone knows that it'll usually be an awkward conversation with me over the phone. Totally different than talking to me face to face. It's just not easy to have conversations when you can't see the person you're talking to. And I never know if I'm calling and interrupting something, or if I'm getting a machine because whoever I'm calling doesn't want to talk to me. Leaving messages is something I fear. I never know what to say, or how to sound when I say it. Really, it's a wonder I ever make contact with anyone.

Yesterday I came home and when I touched my answering machine to hear my messages, it freaked out and went blank. Then I freaked out, because I need the machine to answer the phone for me. So I scrapped my usual 'getting home from work' routine, in favor of figuring out what was wrong with the machine. I finally discovered it needed a new battery. But I pretty much couldn't function til the machine was back up and running, there to receive the few calls I get on that phone. Hermits are weird. What can I say.

It's not a dislike of people. I'm just used to being alone, and I'm comfortable with that. I'm used to doing things for myself, by myself. Mostly because that's the situation I'm in most of the time. So I've adapted to that. I also may be afraid of people, just slightly. Once I get to know people, I'm fine. I'm funny, I'm relaxed, I enjoy their company. I just get very particular about having ample time to myself, to be not around people. I get a little cranky when I've been around people too much for too long. So, that's where it's handy to be a hermit. I can disappear into my world and take time to be not around people, so that I can later be around people.

Anyway, I don't see it as a problem. One day when I fall in love and attempt to get married, then it may be a problem. Unless I marry another hermit. That might work well.

C.T.

Ice Day
I would call it a 'snow' day, but the stuff outside on the ground right now doesn't exactly resemble snow. It's an icy sleet-ish mix. Whatever you call it, it equals treacherous roads for driving, say, to work. Thus, my office is closed and I am home all day. WOO-diddily-HOO!!!!

The best days off are unexpected days during the middle of the week. Vacations are great, weekends are wonderful. But those days when you aren't sick, but you don't go to work, and it's not even playing hookey- those are the best. Rare and non-planned, and that's what makes them so, so good.

I don't have to go anywhere. Truthfully, I can't go anywhere since my Jeep is a Jeep-cicle. I'm all toasty warm in my house. Plenty of food to munch on. I slept in. I sat around in my pj's most of the day, til my funk started funking me out. I don't have to do a single thing today. I don't even have to talk to anybody. And I'm in heaven.

I love having nothing to do. It doesn't bore me. I figure I've been given a free day off, so that's what I should make it. A complete day off. No errands, no cleaning, no projects, no feeling like I should be doing something. Today there is no pressure. I just get to be. And it's completely okay.

If it wasn't so dangerous, I'd wish it would sleet more often. Once a week or so. That'd be nice.

Hope your day is as peaceful as mine. If it's not, I don't really care. I don't have to care about anything today.

C.T.

Grammy and Me
Aah, how I do so love award shows. These shows are reality TV at it's finest. Forget 'Survivor'. The Grammy's never disappoint when it comes to fuel for making fun of the stars, seeing them in their natural element of bad fashion, and flamboyantly ridiculous and mostly bad performances. It's a fun-filled evening of entertainment, drama, and many, many opportunities to poke funs at the ones who are supposed to be the best and brightest of the entertainment world. Here is my recap, after the 45th Annual Grammy Awards last night:

You'll note it was the first time the show was done without a host. I'll go ahead and admit that was my fault. I was scheduled to host, but I TOTALLY forgot about it til I was in the middle of church last night. They couldn't hold the show for me to get there, since they'd started the 'awards given earlier in the evening to the people who don't deserve to be seen, applauded, or appreciated on national TV', and the cranky music celebrities were getting ancy sitting still for that long. So they went on without me. Next time I will totally write that down so I don't forget.

I also auditioned for the role of 'girls hanging from the ceiling twisted in a large piece of rope' for the No Doubt performance. But it turns out to get up on the ropes you actually had to climb up the rope, and I failed that in 2nd grade P.E. class. I mastered the getting tangled and flailing about part, so I would have fit right in with the girls in the show. But I could never get up that darn rope! So they had to perform without me. I did loan the drummer my bra. But it turns out he's several cup sizes larger than I am, so he had to borrow someone else's. Oh well. I tried to help.

Is it just me or does John Mayer perform a lot like Dave Matthews, without the band to back him up? He's kinda got a similar guitar strum, one dancing leg thing going for him, as well as the singing completely unintelligibly thing, too. I've not heard much of his music, but I finally figured out he was singing 'Your Body is a Wonderland' thanks to the caption feature on my TV. He sounds okay, but he may also be the guy who plays Abby's brother Eric on ER. I guess starring in 'That Thing You Do' kicked off his music career and earned him a Grammy.

So are we all in love with Norah Jones? I don't have that cd. But I'm completely hating myself about it now. She gave a great performance, with actual singing and hitting the right notes. I love it when new people win so many awards and they are truly thankful and just not sure what to say. She seemed grateful, and that's nice to see. So is her cd any good? I should get it.

Does anyone else notice that Vanessa Carlton and Michelle Branch are the same person? Apparently in an attempt to win as many Grammys as Norah Jones won all on her own, Vanessa Branch has masqueraded this entire year as two people, putting out two cds, and never ever performing at the same events, getting photographed together, or being seen at the same place at the same time. Yes, they were both at the Grammy's last night, but never together. Strange, don't you think? Unfortunately, the two of them were no match for Norah. Hopefully one of either Vanessa or Michelle will survive to aftermath of a failed ploy to deceive the world. I've figured you out, Michelle Carlton. But your tunes are kinda catchy, so it'll be tough to decide which personality gets to stay.

I love Avril Lavigne. I'm too old to love her, but I do. She gets out there and has fun, whether she sounded great or not. And I do own that cd, I'm proud to say. She rocks. I was sad to see her not win more awards. Did she win any? I was too busy singing along to 'Sk8tr Boy' to notice.

Why is Dustin Hoffman speaking at the Grammy's? Did I miss his new cd? Clearly he's a huge music monger, knowing all the words to No Doubt's 'Say, Baby, Say', and giving a great commentary on Bruce Springstreet.

Don't hate me, but I've never been a Bruce Springstreet fan. I realize he's a legend and the entire world is his fan. But I'm not. And I really don't enjoy seeing him perform. Clenched jaw, strumming his poor guitar like he's mad at it. He always look angry, or like he's had a stroke on the right side of his face and he can't move it, or like he's really got to go to the bathroom. He makes me uncomfortable. But if that's what makes a star, he rocks.

I always dig the Dixie Chicks. 'Home' is a great cd. I hate country music, but I'm a Chicks fan. But what's with their clothes these days? They had this phase where they looked great all the time. Now they scare me. I loved 'Landslide' last night, but Natalie's attempt to bring back the banana clip has failed already, so why does she keep slinging her hair up like that? Is it a banana clip, or a Hairdini? I can't tell, what with the ratted nest of hair all over the place. Good song, good Chicks, bad hair.

If I'm ever known to be half as cool as Sheryl Crow, consider me happy. She's just cool, rockin' it last night with the bass guitar, although she seemed a little afraid of either the mic, or standing next to Kid Rock. Her voice came through a wee bit timid. And, her outfit confused me. She's out there rockin' with Kid Rock, and it was a total leather pants, tight tank top, wild, loose hair song. Instead she looked like an extra from all the Austin Powers movies, with the short skirt, tall boots, and 60's hairdo. She couldn't even move, her outfit was so confining. And her guitar strap apparently had 'No War' printed on it, but her hair was covering the 'No' part. So it said 'War'. She should have written her message on her thighs, which were bare and remaining still enough for the world to read quite clearly. Instead, America is now pro-war because Sheryl Crow said so.

Nelly. Not a fan, am I. Not that his poignant take on global warming isn't impressive, with lines such as 'It's getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes.' I mean, yes this is obviously the best solution to cooling the earth's atmosphere, but we've heard it enough. Does he have other songs? Oh yeah, his ballad duet with Kelly Rowland. It mixed SO well with his other song. Truly a beautiful Grammy moment. Did the naked dancing girls trapped in the floor come with the floor, or did Grammy have to special order that? Did anyone else notice how tasteless his pyrotechnic, flaming stage was after the nightclub fire a few nights ago?

I love the BeeGees, so there is no fun to poke at the tribute to Maurice Gibb. I wasn't too annoyed by N'Sync, as I usually am. I'll miss the BeeGees.

I was disappointed in Eminem. I really wanted him to get up there and cuss out the Grammy academy for not winning more awards. Or do something outrageously stupid and offensive. This kinder, gentler Eminem is unsettling.

Was that Aretha Franklin, or a MUCH larger, darker Queen Amidala draped in glittery bubble wrap, garnished with saran wrap? Reminiscent of Kathy Bates greeting her husband at the door dressed only in saran wrap in 'Fried Green Tomatoes'. Whatever it was, eeeyeew.

Great to see Simon and Garfunkel back together again. Did they realize they were back together again? They seemed unaware they were 6 inches apart. At least Garfunkel's funky hair didn't disappoint. A wee bit of bedhead in the back of the head, going on there.

Why is Dave Grohl the only Foo who gets to do anything? He presents awards, he plays, he speaks when the Foos receive awards. Poor other Foos.

How stoned was Erykah Badu? Her hair seemed angry that it had been wrapped up in all the garb for so many years, what with the 'more ratted than a troll doll after a run-in with static electricity on a planet that hasn't invented the comb, yet' look. I almost didn't recognize her outside of her tribal garb, but it was nice to see that she didn't take the time to shave her armpits, and that all of her tattoos were in order. Clearly getting groomed and ready for the show isn't what kept her from coming to rehearsal. I hope she didn't smell as bad as she looked. I think I saw her later playing drums for The Roots?

Faith Hill, or 'let me belt out another movie hit.' I don't dislike her. But I almost couldn't see her for half of her song, what with her platimun blonde 'do, and white and silver sequin-y thing (again with the mini-skirt- why won't it die???) reflecting the blinding giant spotlight behind her. She blended right into the lighting, which is definitely something tough to pull off. Props for that. It also explains her mega-tan. I'd be that tan if I stood in front of a light that bright for a few seconds, too. Tan, or nuked to a crisp.

I liked the New York Philharmonic part of the Coldplay performance, better than Coldplay. I know Coldplay is supposed to be this amazing new band and all, and again, I don't dislike them. But again, couldn't understand a word he sang. Aren't songs with words supposed to tell a message? Are we getting that message if the whole song is one long syllable over a bunch of whiney notes? And, I took many years of piano lessons. Had I played as enthusiastically as he played last night, I'd have 10 broken fingers, and a concussion from slamming my head into the top of the piano while head-banging. How did he survive that song? Hopefully he's not in a coma. I give him props for a passionate performance.

I was hoping Fred Durst's ad-libbed sentence, then long pause, would lead to more pleas about his love affair with Britney Spears. Why stop with his website and news articles? You've got a much bigger audience on national television during one of the biggest shows of the year. I'm sure if he'd gone on just a little bit more about how he and Britney really ARE in love, the world would believe him.

Did Alicia Keys notice someone cut off the bottom half of her shirt? I assume that was Alicia underneath that hat covering her face with a dark shadow. Yo.

Oscar Nominee Queen Latifah ( I never thought those words would go together accurately in a sentence) showed off her bust assets with that lovely bodice fitting pink leather top. You could have fit about 10 of me in there. And been disappointed at how I filled it out.

I was waiting to hear the Charlotte Church-Mystikal-Blue Man Group medley tribute to bad medleys performed by groups that should never appear on stage together.

Apparently Yo Yo Ma has to carry his cello in when he comes down the red carpet. So that people know he is Yo Yo Ma. Would you recognize him without his cello? Me neither.

Well, that about sums it up for this year. If I left anything out, I'll add it later. Thank you, Grammy's, for another great show!

The Cynical Tyrant

WWJD- What Would Jesus Do . . . as your lawyer?
Find yourself in court? Maybe Christ can help. Check it out. The graphic depiction really makes the story.

People like this make a great case to explain why other people have a hard time taking christianity seriously. I almost don't blame them!

Sometimes, stuff I come across is way better than anything I could write.

Why is that interesting?
I've been perusing some of the many blogs that are out there. It's hard to stumble onto new blogs with the way Blogger is currently set up. Unless I'm missing some wonderful way they are listing blogs for easy finding. But sometimes I click on the blogs listed on the Blogger homepage as the '10 most recently posted blogs'. I like to see what other people are doing with their blogs. I like to read interesting, funny, thought provoking things. I'm not finding much of that.

Most blogs seem to be a diary for the person publishing the blog. Not only a diary, but a painful moment by moment recap of their day. Typically, these days seem to involve a whole lot of nothing. What they had for lunch, who they like or don't like, what class they skipped today, yada yada. Why is that interesting? Do people actually come to these blogs often to read about the drab lives of 17 year old kids who have access to the internet and can therefore inflict their teenage angst upon the world? I want people to be drawn to my blog, to come in search of wisdom, wit, and wonderful writing. I don't know that I provide that, but I want people here often in search of it. I want a fan club, basically.

Granted, I don't lead exciting days everyday of my life. In fact, most days are pretty bland. The difference is that I know people aren't interested in that, so if I'm going to write about stuff that happens in my life, I at least try to make it sound interesting, or silly, or intriguing. Or repulsive. You know how you see things that horrify you, yet you can't turn away? I'd be happy if people came here for that. Or, because I may promise huge prizes to whoever visits my blog most frequently.

I want people to want my life, even though I'm not sure I always want it. There is some truth to what I write, in that I'm inspired by what goes on around me. I have a tendency to get myself into weird situations, or observe situations in a unique way. Inner monologue is great for that. But what makes it entertaining to repeat to others, and hopefully interesting to hear or read about, is the art of embellishment. I can stretch a tale like nobody's business.

Like, meeting The Bachelor. Yes, I actually met the guy on a plane a few weeks ago. But that sentence is not interesting! I could tell the story in that one simple sentence, and nobody would care about my good fortune, or understand how cool I am that I met a reality show television star who was famous for 15 minutes. OR, I could draw it out into a long, detailed adventure, with many twists and turns, suspense, humor, sarcasm, hopes and dreams, and a hint of unbelievability. THAT makes a good story! Did everything I told in the story of my encounter with him happen just as I portrayed it? Not necessarily. Yes, I did stalk him a bit. But what's important is that it makes a good story. It does not matter that I am possibly profoundly disturbed.

So you'll notice that I haven't listed links to any other blogs, yet. It's not that I have to find blogs that are worthy of being listed on my humble page. I just want to promote good, fun, interesting, pure writing. I haven't found that, yet. I'm not even saying my blog meets that standard, so far. But before anything makes it onto my page as a suggestion to my readers to check it out, I have to believe in it and give it my approval as something worthwhile. I'm still looking. Til then, keep reading my blog. It's blog-riffic.

They say if you love someone, let him go. I say keep him close by, possibly tied up, if he's trying to escape. You might as well have him near you while he's taking time to realize he loves you.
The Cynical Tyrant

The Real Reason the Bachelor broke up with Helene
I have the real story, the inside scoop. You'll see an interview tonight about why Aaron and Helene called it quits. But the truth is, Aaron is in love with me. I came between them.

I met Aaron a few weeks ago on a plane leaving from LA. I spotted him at LAX while I was waiting for my plane. I was immediately drawn to him. He was sitting quietly waiting for the same plane I was about to board, reading a magazine and drinking a lemonade. I'd first spotted him walking by on his way to purchase his magazine. I'd chosen a seat in the waiting area with a great view of the terminal, so I could people watch (a favorite pasttime). I happened to be sitting next to a local Dallas news reporter, but when I spotted Aaron, she immediately became not worth my time to stalk. I mean, talk to.

Having spotted and identified Aaron, I called a friend for advice. She suggested I go hit on him. Clearly, that was the only thing I could do. So, I popped into the bathroom for a quick makeup check and to practice saying "I love you", in the mirror. Once I had that down, I re-emerged from the restroom.

I was shocked at what I saw next. Apparently the University of Alabama ladies basketball team was on my flight as well, and they had spotted Aaron quietly sitting by himself. He was clearly waiting for me to introduce myself, yet they had swarmed him and formed a red warm-up suited coccoon around him. I could barely see him! At first I thought I should rescue him. Could he even breathe in there?? Should we call 911?? Then I realized what was really happening. I had prepared for this moment throughout the fall season of The Bachelor episodes. I'd trained relentlessly for weeks of Wednesday nights on the couch, glued to the romance reality insanity on my screen. Ladies and gentleman, THIS was my very own episode of The Bachelor! Not in prime time, but the scenario was the same. I was now in competition with 20 young college girls, fighting for the attention of one very handsome Bachelor. And I only had a few hours to get him to choose me.

I had to quickly re-assess my approach. I'm not in college anymore, but really I'm not that much older than these basketball girls. True, they were taller, stronger, and fortunately many of them scarier than I am. But when it comes down to the important things in life, I was having a great hair day, I was wearing a cute tight shirt and some fabulous, yet casual jeans, and being a bit older, wiser, more mature, and having a job surely put me in a higher category than the rest of the mob. While these girls were falling all over themselves to get pictures and autographs, Aaron was surely noticing me standing aloof, yet very cutely, against the wall in his line of sight. I showed him that I noticed the hub-bub, yet I wasn't concerned enough to trample other people for a trophy signature on a dirty napkin. I was playing hard to get.

As the girls began to disperse, another interception impeded my advances. Some guy came over to talk to Aaron! What is this?? Guys can't compete in this game!! He wanted Aaron to call his girlfriend on his cellphone. Of all the un-original things! I quickly put my phone away, and continued my pose along the wall. I could overhear his conversation with the lame-o guy. He was in LA doing some interviews, and was now on his way home. He mentioned that his relationship with Helene had been rocky, but he didn't elaborate. I continued to wait, alternating stares out the window with short glances in his direction, trying to catch his eye. I didn't want to seem too disappointed that this idiot wanted to impress his girlfriend, and was therefore blocking my pending introduction to Aaron. Yet I did want Aaron to see that I was still interested in him, undeterred in my quest. I continued to wait for the dorko to lose interest and go away. I had all the time in the world to wait for Aaron.

Until that moment. Time suddenly became an issue as they began calling passengers to board the plane. What do I do?? I can't miss my chance to let him know that he is in love with me!! I had no choice at that point but to move towards the door of the plane. My seat was in the first group called, seeing as I was lucky enough to have a fine seat in the rear of the plane. I knew Aaron would be in first class, and that I may never see him again. I tried not to let him see my tears as I passed by.

But wait! There he was behind me!! What's this?? Is he stalking me now?? Of course! It all makes sense!! I didn't want him to know that I knew he was stalking me, so I quietly handed my ticket to the gate attendant and made my way onto the plane. Aaron followed right behind me. He followed right through first-class, all the way through business-class, and into coach, where my seat awaited. In fact, I found my seat and as I turned around to get situated, he smiled and walked right past me. Apparently his seat was even further toward the butt of the plane than my seat. What luck! Obviously we were meant to be together, because I could easily turn around to see him in his seat across the aisle, therefore keeping a close eye on him. And he could constantly gaze lovingly at the back of my head, wondering who this mysterious and beautiful woman of his dreams might be. This was good.

I realized that I only had about 3 hours to plan my next move. Essentially this was the ideal dating environment because the plane provided a closed, escape-proof situation. I just had to use my time wisely to win his love. I didn't want to seem too forward, but I could tell he was interested. That smile he gave me as he passed by said more than a thousand words to me, most of them "I love you." I could tell he probably practiced in the mirror like I did. Let the stalking begin!

For the first hour or so, I calmly read my book while listening to my mp3 player. By 'read' I mean, stared at the same page. By 'listening to my mp3 player' I mean, wore my headphones so the guy sitting next to me would leave me alone. I didn't want Aaron to think I was 'with' that guy. I periodically glanced behind me, to check on Aaron. He quietly read his magazine, then he slept for awhile. I tried to think of ways to 'accidentally' find myself sitting next to him, having a conversation with him. Killing the guy sitting next to him wasn't an option. His body would be too big to fit in the overhead bin, thus freeing up the seat. I could tie and gag one of the flight attendants, then steal her uniform, but none of them were my size. And I didn't want to be stuck serving those little packets of peanuts to everyone on the plane. I was quickly running out of ideas, and we were getting closer to our destination by the minute.

Suddenly, the opportunity presented itself! Aaron got up to use the restroom. Why didn't I think of that!! He walked to the bathrooms in the section in front of our seats, and I made a note of which bathroom he chose. This was my chance! I didn't want to seem too eager to follow him to the bathrooms, so I waited a minute. I slowly removed my earphones, secured my book, and unfastened my seatbelt. I thought my timing was perfect, but sadly I misjudged by just a few seconds. As I began walking up the aisle (unfortunately the wrong kind of aisle and not with Aaron on my arm, yet!), Aaron emerged from the bathroom and headed down the other aisle to his seat. He clearly didn't see me or I'm sure he would have come down my aisle to talk to me. At that point I had committed myself to a bathroom break, having gone too far up the aisle to turn back without looking stupid. I was passing through the section of Lady Alabamians, and I couldn't risk looking like a dork in front of the competition. So I continued towards the bathrooms and Aaron was once again swarmed by the basketball mob-ettes. Clearly they were not focused on the game at hand because none of them had come up with the brilliant idea of stalking Aaron to the restroom. I was way ahead!!

Even though I did not bump into Aaron near the bathroom as I had intended, my trip to the restroom was not entirely in vain. I did manage to be the next one in the very same bathroom which Aaron had just occupied. How lucky was I?!?! Once inside the bathroom, I wasn't quite sure what to do. Aaron had just been in here! I did what I needed to do since I did actually need to use the facilities, and then paused. I decided the best thing to do would be to not scour for evidence that he'd been in there, but just to take a moment and appreciate where I was. Then get out of the bathroom before people started to wonder what I was doing in there. I savored the moment, then exited the bathroom as though it meant nothing to me.

I headed slowly back to my seat, noticing Aaron was still trapped by the basketball leeches. He was being quite the gentleman, chatting and having his picture taken repeatedly. As I made my way back to my seat, I overheard the girls plan to take more pictures with Aaron after getting off of the plane. I realized this was my opportunity to let Aaron profess his love to me. I began to prepare for arrival.

I got my camera out, ready for easy access in case Aaron needed a picture to remember me. I sat calmly and quietly, thinking through what I would say, and how I would react when he presented me with a rose. I was so excited! He was still patiently fending off the Alabama college crew, but I could tell he'd rather be talking to me. It was only a matter of time.

The plane landed and we began to dismount the plane. I nonchalantly kept an eye on Aaron and the pack of females. Once out in the terminal, the pack circled him again. I realized I would have to become a part of their clan if I wanted to get anywhere near him before he left. I walked over to one of the tall ones, held out my camera, and asked her if she would take my picture with Aaron. She said yes, but she wasn't excited about it. And she was very confused since I'm sure she couldn't remember me being on their team. I was WAY too cute to be from Alabama.

I turned toward the mob closing in on Aaron, and realized that this was actually a situation in my favor. He would see that I am not like the other girls, as I would stand out in my ultra-hip street clothes. He would notice that I was not clawing at him as though I wanted to devour him, but I was instead waiting patiently for the other girls to get bored with him, so he would be free to marry me on the spot.

I eventually made my way over to him and politely asked if he would mind taking one last picture with me before he headed off to catch his connecting flight. He flashed a big, fabulous smile at me and he said he wouldn't mind at all. He put his arm around me, and I around him, noting the super soft texture of his suede jacket. I was hugging The Bachelor!! It felt completely right.

The girl with my camera emerged from the pack and clicked a picture of us, immortalizing us forever in that moment. Aaron turned to leave, but I think before he left I felt one last squeeze of his arm around me. We were both caught up in the moment, the excitement, the chemistry. He said goodbye, the girls squeeled at him as they watched him disappear down the hall, and I reveled in the moment, knowing he and I had truly connected. Then I remembered I needed to retrieve my camera from the tall one.

As I left Aaron, I knew I had accomplished my mission. It came out in the news a few days later that he and Helene had broken up. They didn't say it in words, but I heard the message loud and clear. The Bachelor had chosen me over Helene, even through our brief chance encounter. I know it's hard to believe that love could blossom in such extreme circumstances amidst a flurry of women. Truthfully I'm still waiting for my rose to arrive via Fed Ex. But I know in my heart it'll be here any moment now. I have the picture to prove it.

Love can find you in the most unexpected places. Sometimes you may not realize you're in love, til someone stalks you enough to let you know.
The Cynical Tyrant

Daytime Blogging
You've probably noticed that I blog during the day, when you'd think I should be working. You are right. The reason for the daytime blogging is threefold: One, all blogs are not necessarily written at the time they are posted. Writing sometimes occurs at times other than when what I write makes it into the blog. Two, I have a very strange working environment. I spend A LOT of time waiting on other co-workers to do things I need from them in order to my job. Therefore, I feel I might as well be productive with my time. Hence, the daytime blog-time. Three, like I've mentioned before, I think a lot and have many random thoughts throughout the day. Therefore, I tend to take a break from working for a few minutes in which to get my thoughts down. I apparently have a short attention span when it comes to focusing on things I don't particularly like to do (ie: my job). So to blog helps get that out of my system so I can get back to work.

See, I can justify anything if I put enough words together.

I never understood the saying about not wanting to bite the hand that feeds you. The hand that feeds you should be your hand, so why would you want to bite your own hand? If someone else's hand is feeding you, you've got more problems than worrying about whether you should bite their hand or not.
The Cynical Tyrant

SPAM - evil spawn of the internet
And by 'spam', I mean those unwanted, non-requested emails we all get, filling up our email Inboxes everyday.

I used to be really annoyed by spam. And by 'annoyed', I mean downright angry. I have a free email account as my primary account, and when it gets filled with the spam, I can't get emails from people I actually want to hear from. Yes, I do the blocking and the filters. We all know that only provides minimal assistance against the onslaught of mass emails sent all day, everyday.

Then I stumbled across the idea to respond to the spam emails. Yes, every online advice giver will say never to respond to spam, and never click the 'unsubscribe' link, because that only indicates to the spammers that they did actually reach your Inbox with their email. But I figured since these spammers feel okay about sending unwanted email to me, why not have a little fun with it and give them some unwanted responses? And by 'responses', I mean LONG, DETAILED, RIDICULOUS stories and whatnot. Basically the same things they send us, right?

You should try it. I've actually gotten less spam emails in one email account since I've been responding. Maybe they've actually gotten annoyed with me. I got the idea from a website by a guy who started doing this a long time ago. He posts the initial spam emails along with his responses on a website. Some of them are really funny, and the whole idea is hysterical. But I hesitate to link to it because some of them get really inappropriate and the Cynical Tyrant doesn't necessarily support some of the directions he takes with his responses. I give him credit for my inspiration, but that's as far as I'll go. It's up to you to find his site. Think 'spam' and 'letters', and hopefully you'll Google your way to his world.

So that you can see what I mean, I'll post one of my finer examples below. Really, if you have the time, try this. It's a very fulfilling passive protest against spam. It's long to include both emails (the spam and my response), so to sum up the initial spam email, it was a pyramid thing sent by someone with Rainmaker as part of his email address. The email scam involved printing 'reports' and putting your name on a list so people will order the 'reports' from you, sending cash, and thus you make tons of money. Here's my response:

Hello Rainmaker-
What an interesting name. Were your parents hippies,
or are you just prone to creating rain?

Well, as many times as you implored me to read to the
end of the email, I am happy to report that I did! It
took awhile, since this may be the longest email I've
ever received. But, I stuck with it and finally trudge
my way through to the finish. I will admit I did take
a break or two. One was a potty break, and one to do
some research about the national television show you
say did a story on this 'business' deal. While I found
no record of such a show, I actually did find a news
website stating specifically that any email saying
they ran a story supporting this 'business'
opportunity is absolutely false. But still, I forged
ahead and read to the end of your proposal.

Still, I say 'bull'. You asked me not to, and I don't
necessarily say it in response to your proposal. I
just like to say 'bull'. I wasn't allowed to say that
word as a kid, as I was raised in an Amish home just
outside of Los Angeles. It's a lesser known Amish
community, hidden away in the outskirts of Beverly
Hills. We could only say 'bull' in reference to our
large family bull, which we kept in a pen next to the
outhouse. But even then, we usually referred to it as
'man-cow'. My mother felt that was much more
appropriate.

Anyway, do I get a prize for reading your entire
email? You cheered me on to completing the monstrous
task, and I would hope to receive something in return
for even opening, let alone making it through your
monstrous, yet ridiculous, proposal.

Alas, I'm afraid it was a waste of my time, as well as
yours. I read what you no doubt labored over
intensively, writing and writing and writing, so much
man-cow excrement! As I could care less about your
time, the real issue here is that you've grieved me
greatly by taking time from me that I can no longer
get back. Do you realize how precious time is? I could
have written a letter to my sick grandma, or listened
to a favorite song, or written my first novel, or
stared at the wall doing absolutely nothing. All of
which are better uses of my time than reading your
SPAM.

But having said that, would you happen to have phone
numbers or mailing addresses for your testimonials
below? I mean, as skeptical as I am, I am always open
to ways to make more money. I would like to check up
on your sources to make sure I'd be investing in a
worthwhile opportunity. Being Amish, I don't have
much. While greed and things of the world are frowned
upon, what my folks don't know won't hurt them, right?
In fact, I stole this computer from the last traveling
salesman who came to our door. He was selling vacuum
cleaners. As if he didn't know how quickly those
contraptions get clogged up on our dirt floors!!
Anyway, his unsolicited sale attempt cost him his
computer, and he now lives in the pen with the
man-cow. He's proven to be good, cheap labor when it's
fence mending season in the briar patch.

Anyway, if you can provide me with more information
and some clearer instructions, we may be in business.
The one problem is that I can only be online for 3.5
minutes a day when I can sneak over to the feed shop,
where they have the only phone line within 20 miles. I
break in at night, and can usually check my email
within the 3.5 minutes it takes the old man who lives
in the feed store to stumble down the stairs to see
what's going on. I haven't been caught yet, but last
night I had to hide in a barrel full of chicken feed.
I had to eat my way out. It wasn't good.

Thanks for contacting me! I hope this works out!

Amish Annie

I hope you enjoyed my take on spam. See what fun can be had at another's expense?? Don't worry. Spammers don't have feelings. They are inhuman. And remember, annoying.

If you point and laugh at other people, remember one thing. The rest of your fingers are pointing back at you. . . in a fist-type fashion. Which will come in handy when the person at whom you are pointing and laughing comes to hurt you.
The Cynical Tyrant

Blogging
I think this blogging idea is the greatest thing ever. It's pure genius. I've read bits and pieces of several blogs lately, and while I don't like many of them because I think I'm just not on their 'wavelength', I love that Blogger has created a forum for anyone to say anything they want to say, anytime, for public viewing. It's perfect for those of us who desire to be published someday. And perfect for those of us who are in their element, typing the random thoughts we have as though other people could possibly be interested in those thoughts. It's different than a journal, in that I feel like I am writing to an audience. Yet, it's personal, easy and fun. And if the world hates it, no big deal. There are some really good blogs out there. I'm still exploring, and as I find ones I like, I'll link to them. Hopefully they'll return the favor at some point.

Now I must figure out how to get people here reading my blog. One thing I don't like about Blogger is that there seems to not be an easy way to search for, or publicize a blog. I tried a search and kept getting error messages. I'm here writing away, and still I'm the only one who has read my blog. Don't get me wrong, if I'm the only one who ever reads my blog, I am highly entertained and enlightened by what I write. But, the more the merrier. Of course I'll be passing it on to friends soon enough. I have to be comfortable with it first. But I do wish there was an easier way to spread my blog.

If you were reading that last sentence and had no idea what a 'blog' is, it might sound like I'm trying to spread some weird exotic disease. I'm not. I am relatively disease-free.

Anyway, if you happen to stumble upon my blog, and you then happen to read some of it, and even then you don't hate it, please pass it on to friends, family, anyone who can read. I appreciate the attention. And remember, whatever you think about it, feel free to leave a 'Shout Out'. But keep it clean. Mean, fine, if you must. Clean, a must.

Never laugh out loud at someone else's expense. Unless you are far enough away that they are certain to be out of earshot.
The Cynical Tyrant

Roadkill and Nose-picking
My Mamaw lives in a very small town in Louisiana. My parents grew up there. My uncle and his family still live there. We would visit there a lot as kids, so it's always nice to be back there. It's a familiar place. But very different than the big city where I live now. Very slow-paced, very relaxed. I guess the predominant theme there would be white trash. Not that my family is white trash, per say. But the town, well, swims in it.

It's right along the Mississippi river. There's a dock for the casino boats, near where the city dump used to be. My Mamaw's small town doesn't have a lot of the important things in life. So we have to go to Mississippi to go to the mall, or Wal-Mart, or to see a movie. They did just get a Blockbuster, which is a big deal. Where is it? Oh, it's in Mississippi. Right next to Wal-Mart.

It's a six hour drive to visit my Mamaw. I try to entertain myself as best I can while driving. I sing a lot. I think a lot. I watch people in other cars. I try not to think about needing a bathroom break.

Roadkill is not necessarily entertaining. I don't want to appear insensitive to the wee critters. But it is something worth mentioning. This weekend I drove to visit Mamaw and family, and it seemed that all wildlife in the state of Louisiana on the road to Mamaw's had lost the will to live. Maybe the constant downpour of rain made all living furry creatures suicidal. Maybe they were hoping the Ark would float by and give them a lift as they waited alonside the highway. Whatever the reason, very large and very small animals met their end on the side of the road to Mamaw's this weekend. I'd never seen such a thing. Many were unrecognizeable as to the type of animal it once was. The body count was on both sides of the road. I lost count, there were so many carcasses. But I did notice that on the way back home, much of the same roadkill was still there. Where does roadkill go, anyway?

The things people do in cars is always a great source of speculation and entertainment while driving. Why do people choose to do the things they choose to do in a car? There are the usual things, like applying make-up or reading a map. If you are someone who applies make-up in a car, I am here to tell you to take the 3 minutes out of your busy schedule to put the make-up on before or after you drive. One, you swerve a lot and you drive slower because you are doing too many things at once. So you really aren't saving any time, and there is no way you are getting any of the make-up on your face in the places it's supposed to be. Two, you make me nervous, and since I'm nervous just being in a car, I don't need you adding to that. Three, you'll poke your eye out with a mascara wand, and that is never a good look for anyone.

What I don't get is the nose-picking in a car. Are these people not aware that they are surrounded by windows that are clear, and that not only can they see out of their car, we can see in? True, a car is technically a private place. But you must realize that whatever you are doing in your car is on display to the world. Unless you drive a tank. But you don't. Although I imagine you could pick your nose in a tank and it would likely be a private moment for you.

As I drove home yesterday, traffic was completely stopped on the highway for a good twenty minutes or so. Which meant I had nothing better to do than stare out of my windows. There was a fairly decent looking woman in a new Nissan truck behind me. About as far from white trash as one could seem. Until I caught her in my rearview mirror with her finger up her nose. I was horrified, until I saw her stick her finger in her mouth following pulling it out of her nose. Then I was sickened. Yep, it went straight from nose to mouth, for cleaning. Of course I'd seen that before. But I'm always shocked when I see it again. I guess I figure people will one day learn that people with eyes and decent vision CAN SEE YOU AND YOUR DISGUSTING BEHAVIOR. And even people without eyes can sense a nose-pick within a five mile radius.

I mean, I'm not saying I've never picked my nose. In fact, my mom has a great story of me as a first grader, in the church Christmas pageant playing the role of Mary, the Mother of Jesus. I was the chosen one, the most proper, the most worthy, out of all the other girls in first grade. Nearly holy. My mother was so proud. Until one day at rehearsal. Apparently there is a hidden scripture in the Bible that only I knew about, where Mary shalt pick her nose as an offering to the Son of God. Or something. Whatever reason I had as a five year old, I proudly picked my nose in front of all the other kids, and all the moms. I actually don't think I realized what I was doing. The kids were oblivious. But all the moms knew. Good heavens! Mary is picking her nose!!

Really, we don't know if Mary picked her nose or not. It is not mentioned in the Bible, and we have no historical documentation to suggest she didn't pick her nose. As a five year old, I could have portrayed the most accurate re-inactment of the birth of Jesus. Unfortunately, we will never know. So please don't judge me. I was ad-libbing, and acting from my heart.

Anyway, a little advice for all of you public nose pickers: using your pinky finger to hunt for treasure does not make it any more acceptable or dainty. So if you're going to do it anywhere outside of your home, go ahead and use your pointer/picking finger, and really get into it. You've been seen already, so you might as well make it a good show.

For example, I was in Moscow, Russia, returning from a mission trip. As we waited in line at the airport, we spotted a man who was extremely consumed by his nose-picking activity. He was putting his whole body into it. Really, it may have been a form of interpretive dance, but I'm really just learning about Russian culture, so I'm not sure. Maybe he just had some illegal contraband stuffed way up there that he was trying to secure, or perhaps remove. Whatever his logic, he spent a good fifteen minutes or so exploring the regions of his sinus cavity. Not just a scratch, it was a PICK. He wasn't even trying to hide it. I don't think he noticed our pointing and staring, but he would stop just as we got the video camera out. This guy would have been a great short film all on his own. As soon as we put it away, we'd spot him going at it again. It was a traveling nose-pick. He went through the airport from check point to check point, still checking to see what was up there. It was the most disgusting, yet heartfelt display of nose-picking I had ever witnessed. I give him props for keeping us entertained during a long wait at the airport. Hopefully he didn't develop a brain aneurism from excessive picking. I'm pretty sure at one point his whole fist disappeared up there somewhere.

Anyway, to sum up: Don't be afraid to pick your nose. I'm not against it. I am pro-pick. Just don't do it where I can see it.

In honor of 300 episodes of the Simpsons, I leave you with: Smell ya later.
The Cynical Tyrant