Idol-ees: Where are They Now?
To wrap up my slew of end-o'-season Idol quips, I would like to jump ahead six months to check in on our favorite Idol-ee finalists. Join me as I take a glimpse into life after Idol, to see how it has improved, or un-proved, the lives of our winner and losers:

1. Vanessa Olivarez- First to be voted out of the finalist round, we all know Vanessa quickly shed her clothes to bare all for PETA. As the latest nude spokesmodel for PETA, Vanessa's popularity grew. As did her weight. In her obsessive quest to prove Simon wrong about her butt and need to lose weight, Vanessa struck out in the other direction, attempting to gain as much weight as possible. She now heads up the PETA Sumo Wrestling Team, headquartered in Boise, Idaho, where she freely roams the countryside, indulging on potatoes by the bushel. Vanessa plans to join the 2004 Olympic Sumo Wrestling Team, if that does actually exist. She credits her newfound fame and fortune to American Idol. And to Simon, her source of inspiration.

2. Charles Grigsby- Who? After Charles was voted off of the show, the entire world forgot he was ever on the show. He currently walks the streets of his hometown in Oberlin, OH, completely anonymous in the sea of several thousand people. He continues to work at the grocery store that so enthusiastically supported him throughout his brief time in the competition, although he had to show two forms of I.D. in order to get back on the payroll again. In his spare time, Charles is working on his Justin Timberlake impersonation, in case we ever misplace Justin Timberlake and need to replace him with a more tan version.

3. Julia DeMato- Her demise from the show left her uncertain of what to do. During the weeks following her exit, she continued to lurk around the set, hoping to blend in through the final round and somehow win the title. Currently, Julia is 'working' as a hairstylist at a mental hospital in Los Angeles. Sources say she simply drove herself crazy trying to remain apart of the Idol excitement. A security guard found her inside the auditorium a week after the big finale show. She was on stage singing 'Miss Independent' to an empty audience, dressed as Kelly Clarkson. After being subdued with tranquilizer darts, she was removed from the stage and admitted to the hospital. She spends her days trimming a leafy fern with a pair of 'scissors' made of two straws and a rubberband.

4. Corey Clark- Corey's disqualification from the show took everyone by surprise. But to friends and family who knew Clark well, it was no surprise. Corey's middle name is Damien, and his life is a testimony of pure evil, violence, and mesh shirts. Corey took some time off after he left the show, trying to reinvent himself with a new image. But after a full 24 hours without a mesh shirt, Corey went berserk in a local Wal-Mart, attacking two of those friendly old people who stand at the door to greet people coming in and leaving. Today, Corey is working on his comeback appearance, while he awaits the end of his four year sentence for assault and battery, and bad fashion sense. His prison mates have helped Corey shed that goofy grin off his face, and have also raised his voice another octave.

5. Ricky Smith- Ricky is currently in negotiations with Eddie Murphy to develop The Nutty Professor III - Hercules in Hawaii. Mr. Murphy is an avid fan of American Idol, and upon seeing Ricky's impersonation of his character from The Nutty Professor, he quickly contacted Ricky to collaborate on the third installment of the Professor Trilogy. This third part to the story is a two hour finale in which Sherman is remade as a cyborg, sent on a cruise to Hawaii to meet his long lost son Herman, and together the two of them must save the islands of Hawaii from Neo, Trinity, Jar Jar Binks, and Voldemoort. Look for this blockbuster to hit theaters in Summer 2004.

6. Kimberly Caldwell- Kimberly wasted no time pursuing a show business career after she was chosen to leave Idol. She was immediately signed as a correspondent to a new extreme sports show on the FOX Sports Network. She spent several months covering events such as Extreme Snowboarding in Hawaii, Extreme Bungy Jumping off a Low Bridge, Extreme Cross Country Skiing in Quicksand, Extreme Underwater Bowling, and Extreme Monsoon Fly-Fishing. With the popularity of the show gathering an audience in the tens of twenties, Kimberly knew her own popularity was growing nearly as fast. She quit on a high note to pursue a career as a pierced navel model. You can see her pierced navel on almost ten billboards nationwide. Kimberly hopes to return to the stage next spring in Carmen Electra's Semi-Burlesque show currently touring the States. And about that torrid love affair with that other Idol loser who didn't even make the finalist round? She dumped him because she realized that he is a total goon. He was not ready for her jelly.

7. Carmen Rasmussen- Carmen went on to complete the ninth grade. She starred in her All School Talent Show, and was voted out after being booed offstage and run out of the building. From there Carmen decided to pursue her life-long dream of being Sarah Michelle Gellar. She will star in the upcoming Christmas release I Still Kinda Know What You Did Last Summer and the Summer Before That- the Revenge of Helen the Small Town Beauty Queen. Carmen reprises Sarah Michelle Gellar's role as the beauty queen who was hooked to death in the original movie of this trilogy. She returns as a cyborg intent on avenging whoever messed up her hair and caused her to break a nail. Hilarity and horror ensue as the Beauty Cyborg dons her tiara, battles through a song and dance number, rescues a Hobbit, slays a vampire, and ultimately triumphs over evil, but at the price of losing her voice forever. Don't miss the Carmenator in her big screen debut. Opens Christmas Day 2003.

8. Trenyce- Trenyce left the show amidst a flurry of Old Navy controversy. In an effort to prove she does not need to rip-off anyone else in order to make a name for herself, she has since opened her own nationwide chain of budget priced retail clothing stores, Old Burgundy. While she did struggle briefly with stealing her own clothes from her own stores, she is in a twelve step program to cure her addiction and begin a better life of honestly paying for her own cheap clothes. In her spare time, she stalks Whitney Houston. Trenyce can be seen during the fall in her series of Old Burgundy commercials, along with RJ, Ejay, Jim Varraros, and Ryan Starr from American Idol 1.

9. Lance Corporal Josh Gracin- Josh, the pride of the Marine Corp, returned to base immediately following his exit from American Idol. It was a hero's welcome. The following day he was sent to the South Pole on a recon mission, and has not been heard from since. God Bless America.

10. Kimberley Locke- Kimberley is currently in the studio finishing her second album, Songs With More Emotion That I Wished I'd Sung During the Competition, a companion compilation to her first album, In Search of a Personality. After Kimberley left the show, she hired Simon for private lessons in personality development, to go along with her physical metamorphosis throughout the show. Eventually, the two fell in love and were married in a small ceremony in Ryan Seacrest's garage apartment. Kimberley and Simon will soon be the proud parents of twins, a boy and girl to be named Randy and Paula.

11. Clay Aiken- Clay packed up the Rent-a-Choir from the finale shows and hit the road on his Clay Ain't Broadway world tour. Filled with lavish dance numbers, colorful costumes, exotic facial expressions, and a full orchestra, Clay's show is the story of one tall skinny white boy's journey to overcome the stereotype of possibly being too Broadway-ish to gain respect as a pop star. With his last stop in New York, Clay and the town of Raleigh, North Carolina moved into the theater recently vacated by Les Miserable. He is currently collaborating with Billy Joel to put American Idol: The Musical on stage during Spring 2004.

12. Ruben Studdard- Ruben decided to forego his singing career to start his own clothing line of 205 shirts, one day hoping to expand to include 205 pants, hats, socks, underwear, and trenchcoats. He invested the million dollar recording contract won by his victory on American Idol into recording radio spots to promote his 205 shirt business. Ruben is also campaining to change every area code in the country to 205. He plans to run against George W. Bush in the next presidential election. And, he hopes to one day compete against Vanessa Olivarez in the World Sumo Wrestling Championships.

Wow, it really is amazing how American Idol can change your life. I wish them all the best in their endeavors.

C.T.

Favorite Search Words O' the Week
Following are searches that lead to my blog at some point this week, and my responses to help those of you who found your way here in search of these things:

'workplace scent etiquette'
I say it's important to smell good, but not too good.

'purple barney prison torture'
In a recent study conducted to determine safe alternatives to the death penalty, purple barney prison torture won by a landslide as equally as horrible as death, definitely more tortuous, yet ethically and environmentally favored by four out of five dentists.

'ryan seacrest must die'
Now, who else would we make fun of on Idol if Ryan was no longer with us? Well, Simon. And Paula. And all of the contestants. Ok. But we don't want him dead, people. That's just not nice.

'ryan seacrest midget'
Dwarf. Not midget. Dwarf.

And there are the usual various asundry of nude searches. To which I reply, you people have way too much free time.

C.T.

Idol Over
So, did anyone catch who won last night? There was so much fluff and superfluous singing and clips and whatnot, I think I missed the big announcement. Was it at the end??

Not really. Congrats to Ruben, the new American Idol 2003. After a long night of reminiscing and stalling, the arduous competition is finally over.

Some memorable moments from Part 3 of the big finale:
- Worst Use of Time During a Two Hour Finale. No other network wastes an hour and forty five minutes quite like FOX. I could have done without the Singers Who Sucked montage again. Especially the second one in the form of a music video. Yes, they suck. We got it. Please make us never listen to them or see them again.

- The World's Longest Song Medley Ever, starring all the reject finalists. I counted 108 songs in that medley. But I may have missed one. And not surprisingly, the finalists that sucked the most didn't get any better during their time off. They still were unpleasant to listen to, and see. I still heard too many goat-ish vocalizations. And does anyone else notice that Julia Demato doesn't have a waist? She'd oddly shaped. And I never want to see her sing 'Let's Get Physical' again.

- Best use of a Rent-a-Choir. For the second night in a row the choir made several appearances throughout the night. I had no idea you could use a choir for so many songs. I should have voted for them to win. They rocked.

- Best Girly Pink Flamboyant Dressing Room for a Guy. Clay's dressing room must have been Ryan's at some point. That room was too pink and frilly for any respectable guy. I'm not quite sure what to think about Clay seeming to enjoy it so much in there.

- Best Celebrity in the Audience Sighting. I'm pretty sure I saw Sinbad caught on camera unexpectedly. Whatever happened to that guy? And why did American Idol draw him out of hiding?

- Best Effort to Rip Vocal Chords Out on Stage. Kelly Clarkson screaming through 'Miss Independent.' I seriously thought one of her eyeballs may just pop right out on stage, she was straining so hard. My throat hurts today thanks to watching her abuse hers last night.

The rest of it was pretty much a blur. I have to admit I didn't sit with it through the entire two hours. I fear I've reached my Idol limit for this season. It will be nice to have a break for the summer, before we go at it again in the fall. Let's try to get Paula Abdul on Extreme Makeover before the summer is over. She needs help all over.

Hmmmm. How will people get to my blog now, without searching for the latest Idol news and ending up here? I may have to blog about Idol throughout the summer, just to keep traffic coming here. Hee . . .

C.T.

Idol Finale: The Ultimate Boredom
I was so bored last night watching American Idol. I mean, I didn't even sit on the couch and watch it. I wandered around my apartment looking for something to do to keep me awake. Clay and Ruben sang six of the slowest songs on earth, in the slowest possible arrangements ever. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..............

I was hoping for a big finish. Something really spectacular. Something requiring at least a little movement from one or both of the Idol-ees. I mean, James Worthy, the world's oldest living former NBA player, and apparently the only Idol-interested celebrity in the audience, was moving faster than Clay or Ruben. And he was sitting still! And he's old!

But, I thought Ruben performed better than Clay. I didn't love either one of them, but as Simon said, Clay seemed off most of the night. I mean, what was with that first 'original' song? Who wrote that giant hunk of cheese? Is that the song I predicted would be written in a compilation effort by Julia Demato, Carmen, and Satan? Phew! It stunk!

And then, what was with the choir for 'Bridge Over Troubled Water?' Clay "I'm Not a Broadway Singer" Aiken busts out with this huge Broadway choir version of this non-Broadway song. Why didn't Ruben get a choir, too? Or back-up dancers? Or at least Ryan Seacrest doing the wave, or running man, or robot from his perch on stage? I didn't know you could bring props!! I think that's cheating. And again, everyone in that choir was moving more than Clay did all night. Are his feet made of concrete? Is he missing knee joints? Why can't he get at least a little groove going???

Oh well. I think Ruben will win, but it will be close. And really, it doesn't matter who wins. We'll have to sit through an hour and forty five minutes of clips, Idol music videos, remembering the entire season and previous losers (much like we do every week), and several group numbers including all the rejects, especially the ones we love to hate. Then after 108 commercial breaks, Ryan will announce a winner. The newly crowned American Idol 2003 will be presented with a sash and tiara from the reigning American Idol 2002, Kelly Clarkson. Carmen will try to steal it, only to be beaten down by Corey Clark who somehow made it back into the building past security. Julia Demato will go berserk that her Idol Carmen is being destroyed, and she'll totally rip out every curly 'fro strand on Corey's head and then personally escort him out back to the parking lot, shoving him into a dumpster. Meanwhile, the winner will have to sing his new #1 single, packed with cheesiness, written for him by Diane Warren, Neal Sedaka, and Billy Joel. He'll then make a movie with the loser: Clay and Ruben's Broadway R&B Beach Party. And we'll be all set for the next season of American Idol.

Oops. Sorry if I spoiled tonight's show for anyone. You may not want to read this completely accurate spoiler before watching the show tonight.

May Idol-ee with the most votes win.

C.T.

PS: Was there a comment last night about Ryan Seacrest being a midget, or non-tall? I think I missed it, or else it's just a coincidence that I've had many hits to my blog since the show last night, referring to Ryan's midget-ness, or looking for answers about his height. Well, people. You've come to the right place. This is the #1 source for all the answers to your American Idol questions. Ryan is not a midget. He prefers the term 'dwarf'. And he is nearly 3 feet tall, when his hair is spiked just right. What you see on screen makes him look like a nearly normal-heighted person because the camera actually adds 2.5 feet. Thanks for stopping by!

Idol Overload: Martha Stewart is a Home-making Psycho
I protested the three night American Idol finale by not watching the show last night. It is not necessary to do three shows in order to pick between Clay or Ruben. Truthfully, I don't even care who wins at this point. We've been Idol-ed to death already. Just pick one and let's get on with the next season. The best part of the show is making fun of all the early losers anyway.

I did flip by FOX towards the end of the show last night and caught a minute too much of the 'God Bless the USA' finale. I think I'm just not ready to deal with the likes of Julia Demato and Carmen so soon. I was just getting used to the peace and quiet without them. But there they were on stage again. Along with the fully clothed Vanessa Olivarez. What a group.

Since I chose to avoid the Idol, for the bulk of the evening my TV landed on the Martha Stewart movie. Did anyone else realize she is such a psycho?? Wow. My mom will be so disappointed. She's all about Martha.

You know, I noticed some striking similarities between Martha as portrayed in her made-for-tv movie, and Hitler portrayed in his made-for-tv movie the night before. Hmmmmmmm. . . . .

C.T.

Still More Nudity You Just Won't Find Here
People, there are no naked American Idol contestants here.

Funnily enough, my blog appears at or near the top of many searches for nude American Idol-ees. And not just the Idol-ees you'd expect people would possibly want to see sans clothing. Consequently, the majority of the searches leading stray people here are for nude Idol-ees. What is wrong with you people? Gross.

Thank you! Come again!

C.T.

Cynical "Wrong Turn" Tyrant
Or, "The Century Bike Ride That Never Happened." Or, "How to Get Lost on a Bike in North Texas." Or, "How the Heck am I Back at my Jeep Already?" Or, "Heartbreak at the Hundred." So many catchy titles to pick from. One disappointing event.

Let me break down my anger and disappointment for you, before I get to the details of my attempted weekend bike adventure:
Cost to enter event: $18.00
Cost of equipment, etc. to train for event: $1,000.00 +
Cost of tank of gas to get to event: $23.00
Value of good signs and a good map to clearly mark the way for cyclists attempting to ride 100 miles in the wilderness of North Texas: PRICELESS

I had been talking about this ride, my first century ever, to many people for many months. I'd trained hard for about four months. I'd sacrificed a lot of time and hard earned money to do this thing right. Many people were very excited for me. Some friends even came to see me off. There was much excitement. I was ready for this. I was nervous, but I was determined to make it and enjoy the ride. I was soon on my way towards 100 miles on a bike, lost in a sea of spandex-clad cyclists.

All went well for the first leg of the ride. It was a bit crowded until we were able to spread out. I stuck with a group until mile 20, at which point I decided to stop at the second scheduled rest stop. I was taking pictures. I was smiling. I was having a great time.

But, it was downhill from there. And I don't mean in the good way where I could coast down a hill for the rest of the ride. I mean the quality of the ride took a massive dive. Between mile 20 and mile 30, they sent us down the Road of Eternal Bumps and Wind. This road should be blown up and completely re-paved from scratch. Riding through a rock quarry would have been a smoother ride. The combination of the wind blowing directly against me, plus the world's bumpiest road, made this stretch of 10 miles absolutely miserable. It went on forever. My whole bike and my entire body shook from the uneven pavement. This slowed me down quite a bit. Whoever paved this road (if you can call it paved at all) should be shot. This road should not have been included on the route for this ride. I'm seriously surprised my bike and I came out of it still intact.

I skipped the next rest stop and was rewarded with flat pavement and much less wind for the next leg of the ride, mile 30-40. I made up some time here. I felt good again. And I almost forgave the event for the previous bumpiness. Almost.

The next rest stop came up quickly around a curve (still on a busy rural highway). I intended to stop here, but couldn't. Why? Because the Boy Scouts were apparently sponsoring this rest stop, and they were lined up along the side of the road, screaming at passing cyclists that "This Gatorade will quench your thirst!", then literally throwing cups of Gatorade, and bananas out for the bikers to grab coming around a curve. Um, does this make sense to anybody? The point of a rest stop is to stop and rest. Not to dodge incoming food and drink projectiles. When navigating around a curve, downhill, it is not feasable to reach out and grab a cup of drink, or a banana. At 20 miles an hour, you'd better hope I don't grab whatever is in your hand because your hand is likely coming with me. Plus, the Scouts were out in the road, banana shrapnel and empty cups strewn about, making it hazardous to navigate around the debris. They did have a table on the other side of the highway, but there was no way to make it over there once I saw it. Curse the Boy Scouts. Their eagerness to shove bananas at me made me miss my scheduled stop.

So, on with miles 40-50. I was sure I could make it to the next rest stop without having stopped at the Boy Scout stop. I made it to mile 50, and crossed over the highway (not sure about the logic of placing these rest stops on the opposite side of rural highways from the side where we were biking) to the rest stop. I still felt really good. My knee was in pain, but the rest of me felt good. And I was halfway finished! Woo-diddily-Hoo!

You are almost halfway finished reading this 'brief' recap, by the way.

At this 50 mile stop, a kindly automobile passerby expressed some thoughts that I'd had during the first 50 miles. He stopped his car in the road across from our stop, and promptly yelled at us that we were endangering ourselves, and the cars on the road by doing what we were doing. Thank you, kind sir! My thoughts exactly! Throughout the ride, most of it took place on narrow shoulders along rural highways. This left very little room between the bikers and the passing cars and large trucks flying by at high speeds. The shoulders were often full of debris, much like the Shredded Tire Shrapnel stretch of highway between miles 30-40, during which I had to pay close attention and maneuver through a mine field of shredded tires along the shoulder of the highway. Of course, this man yelling at us didn't help us feel better about risking our lives for this ride. But he was right. There was a severe lack of traffic control from the beginning of the ride. Cyclists must obey all traffic laws and safety practices. But still, you can bet you'd never catch me on any of these roads on my own, had I not been participating in this event. Anyone would be crazy to be out on these roads on a bike. Yep, one more strike against this whole bizarre event. A few orange cones scattered throughout 100 miles does not a safe riding environment make.

Then as I munched on a banana at the stop, I heard some people wondering if the 100milers had made it this far, yet. Hmmmm. I didn't say anything, but I began to wonder what that meant. Obviously I had made it that far. But did that mean I was riding faster and better than I thought I was, and faster than the majority of the other 100 milers? Or, did it mean that my biggest fear had come true: I'd made a wrong turn somewhere and missed part of my route? I was beginning to be suspicious. Something wasn't adding up.

Small, yellow signs posted along the way were supposed to help you stay with the route length of your choice, coinciding with the map. In theory, the map and signs should all work together, clearly directing you on your desired path, be it the short routes, or the longer 100k or 100m routes. However, I'd long since discovered that the map was impossible to match up to the route, or the rest stops. I'd realized long ago that I had no idea where I was in relation to the map. The signs were very small, and many of them had blown over and couldn't be seen while passing by. Plus, they were not exactly clear on which ride length they pertained to. I'd decided the best way to not get lost out here in Area 51 was to keep bikers in sight in front of me, and follow the signs as best I could.

I continued on my way from mile 50. I soon noticed a sign that pointed the 100 milers in a different direction than the 100k group. I took a right and promptly found myself squarely in the middle of nowhere, without another biker to be seen for miles. I'd thought I was pretty much smack in the middle of nowhere before I took this turn. But now I was quite embedded in the very core of nowhere. Cows, hay, and fields surrounded me. But no other intelligent life could be seen or heard. It was eerily quiet.

I began talking to myself. And cows as I passed them. They didn't have much to say in return. And I'm pretty sure I saw a few of them pointing and laughing at me. I'm sure they knew what was up, while I still did not have a clue where I was or where I was going. All alone. This didn't feel good.

I was worried. At this point I figured I was the last of the 100 milers, and that was one thing I wanted to avoid. Then, I began to wonder if I was even in the right place at all. It didn't make sense that I saw absolutely no other people on bikes. Just when I was about to pick a new home from the variety of shabby farm houses scattered in the fields around me, I finally saw another little yellow sign. I followed it to yet another little yellow sign, and suddenly found myself hooking up with another group coming from another direction. Phew! I'm okay. And now heading the right way, for sure.

Well, mostly.

Somehow I was now leading a small pack of people that I'd left when I took the turn to the right for the 100milers. So it was up to me to follow the signs, now being in the lead of this small group. The next major turn came up unexpectedly, and led us again across several lanes of highway traffic. I swear, much of this ride was a dangerous gauntlet of traffic and road debris! The guy behind me said he would have missed that turn if he hadn't been watching me. Great! I don't want to be the leader. I have no idea where I am!

We were soon riding on residential streets. This seemed strange to me, since my odometer told me I had about 40 miles left to go to complete my 100 miles, and residential streets usually signifies getting closer to the finish line. The people behind me were now in front of me, still in the pack. I really began to worry that something wasn't quite right. The people in this pack were there for the 100k, not the 100m. 100k is about 62 miles. So if I'm now riding with them and they are only doing 62 miles, something ain't quite right.

We came around a corner and there before me was . . . my Jeep. This was the first time I had ever not been happy to see my beloved Jeep. There it was, in the parking lot. At the start/finish line. What the??!?!???!!! I still had 35 more miles to go!!! I'm not finished, yet!!!

Apparently, I was, in fact, finished.

I was furious! What had happened? How did I get back here so soon? I rode around the parking lot on my bike, trying to figure out what to do. Can I go back? No, the course isn't marked from here to go backwards. That would be more dangerous than riding it the 'safe' way they'd set up for us. Could I start over, then turn around? No, they'd cleared the early streets of traffic control and signs, and I wouldn't be able to remember how to get back. How many laps around the parking lot would equal 35 miles??? I did not want to admit defeat. I felt good. I was still ready to finish the remaining 35 miles to equal my century. I could not believe I would not be able to meet my goal.

I finally accepted that I was finished. I rode over to the Jeep and looked at my odometer. 65 miles. No more, no less. True, 65 is a lot, and a great accomplishment. But I had come there to ride 100 miles, and there were 35 more miles out there waiting for me. What a disappointment. All the hype, and I didn't make it.

I've looked at the map intensely, obsessively since Saturday morning, and I still cannot figure out where I missed a turn. I've retraced the route I took in my head, trying to match it to the map, and something just does not add up. I did hear a few others talking in the parking lot after the ride. The same thing happened to them. I felt a little better knowing I wasn't the only one who was directionally challenged. But not a lot better. I'd really wanted to do this thing. Had I been injured or physically unable to finish, that would be understandable. Poor directions? Unacceptable.

So, the Tyrant failed. But not because I couldn't do it. I feel confident I would have made it. It is infuriating, extremely disappointing, and definitely heart-breaking that I could not meet my goal due to the incompetence of others. What a let down. These event organizers are going to get an earful about it. Via email.

But, at least it makes for a good story. Leave it to the Tyrant to keep things interesting.

C.T.

PS: Thanks, my bloggers, for your well-wishes. I'll have to try it again sometime soon. And not disappoint.

PPS: Go MAVS!!!!!

PPPS: This is a really long post because whether 100 miles or 65 miles, I rode a long time and therefore deserve to re-tell the tale in great detail. And I still left out a few things . . .

Crazy is as Crazy Does
I've realized today that I may literally be crazy. My months of intense cycling, weight lifting, and eating healthy (except for the Coke I just finished) have all come down to the big event tomorrow. It's suddenly the real deal. I will wake at an unreal hour of the morning and bike 100 miles with a bunch of people I don't know, until I finish. Or until the ambulance picks me up. Whichever comes first.

I'm nervous. The most I've biked at once is 56 miles. It hurt. I wonder why I think it's a good idea to do more than that.

Looking at the map of the route, I can't help but see myself getting stuck at that point way out there in what looks like the middle of nowhere. It looks lonely out there. It's the point furthest from the ending point, before the loop heads back towards civilization and ice cream. The point of 'must return', or call 911 for a ride home.

You know, maybe I can live there. I might get out there, pause to catch my breath, and decide I like it at the corner of Nowhere and Where the Heck Am I? Just north of Who-ville, near No Man's Land, east of Void Into the Eternity of Nothingness, almost but not quite at the border of that northern most part of Canada where nothing but frozen million year old amoeba live. Sounds nice.

The friend who was going to tackle this major Feat of Strength (a la Festivus) with me mysteriously cannot attend the event now. We were going to drag each other along through this thing, supporting and cursing each other along the way. Now, I will be pedaling all alone. With several hundred of my closest strangers. Maybe they will like my new home in the galaxy far, far away, too. Do you think they would help me start a new neighborhood out there in Area 51? I don't mind the company, as long as I get to be mayor of the Land Before Time.

I'm excited. It will be quite an accomplishment to complete the ride. I will cross the finish line, dismount my bike, make sure my bum is still attached to me where it should be, stand briefly in victory, then likely fall over, landing in a mushy heap on the ground. I assumed I would no longer need to walk past the age of twenty-seven. So that fits well with my legs falling off tomorrow promptly at the completion of the ride. It will be a proud moment.

I hope to survive and have wonderful stories to tell of my adventure. But in the event that the Sasquatch of the North Texas Wilderness chases me down and devours me while out in his neck of the woods, it's been nice blogging with you.

C.T.

Idol: The Final Two
FOX should really think of another name for their elimination 'show'. Because in all honesty, it's truly an elimination 'five minutes', with a bunch of other junk to keep the audience trapped there for a full hour. I'm a fan of Idol, but really. Enough is enough.

Last night we found ourselves in deep suspense for 55 minutes as to who would be sent home, and which two Idol-ees would remain to duel for the title of American Idol. During those 55 minutes, I became extremely ADD, and therefore flipped the channels for most of the hour.

My first pass by the 'show leading up to the elimination five minutes' landed on the Triumphant Trio singing a medley of something. Flip. Not interested. I hate to admit it, but the final episode of Dawson's Creek, in which the WB had promised me that someone would die, was way more interesting than the filler junk on Idol last night. I hate Dawson's Creek of Whiney, Overly-Dramatic, Doom n' Gloom People, and I never watch it unless my tv just happens to land on it and my finger suddenly breaks and I therefore can't physically change the channel. But if they are killing someone off, it's worth a pass by every few minutes, while making the rounds through my 8 channels, courtesy of rabbit ear antennae. They should have started off-ing people several seasons ago. Then they might have earned my viewership on occassion. And these angst-filled characters would finally have something to be depressed about.

My second pass by the 'one really long AT&T and Nokia commercial leading up to the elimination five minutes' resulted in Tamyra Gray singing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow', with her very own guitar person. Good for her, snagging a guitar dude! I decided that was worth a watch. While she sounded a bit shakey at first, she finished strong. Good to see her. Totally dug the 'fro hair, including Ryan getting his sleeve caught in it. Good Idol fun. Flip.

Apparently Jen is the one dying on Creek. Sadly, I'm not sad about it. And it's only 45 minutes into the two-hour show. Goodness, she has to die for a long time tonight. Flip.

My third pass by the show 'all about Ryan Seacrest, oh and we have an elimination five minutes' almost lost me for the rest of the night. What did I just say yesterday about 'Unchained Melody?' There, to my horror, was Justin Guarini belting out an over-dramatic version of this song that I can't stand to hear anymore. Seriously, why must every contestant in every audition sing this song? Or 'Genie in a Bottle?' Justin isn't even auditioning anymore. Pick another song! I guess his appearance a few weeks ago on Idol and the singing of one of his own songs proved he needs to steer clear of his own songs. That song was not good. But 'Unchained Melody' is worse. Always.

And is it just me, or is tonight's show basically American Idol: Season One again? Do all the non-winners of the past get a chance to sing tonight? If Nikki McKibben shows up during this show, I swear I am so outta there. Ryan promises results after the break. Flip. Quickly. Justin is still unchain-ing.

Commercial on Creek. Must everything on tv tonight be drawn out to excruciating lengths? Flip. Results on the way.

After 3 more breaks, that is. I realized after Justin's song that there were still 30 minutes left in the show. Of course they wouldn't announce the results until the very stinkin' end. But I was determined not to miss the precious results announcement. Not that I couldn't find it online later in the evening, or this morning, and be just as satisfied. But for some strange reason I quit flipping and hung with Idol. I'm nothing if not semi-loyal.

My question is, how in the world did FOX justify this show as an hour-long show? Why torture the loyal fans by holding them hostage for an unnecessary extra 30 minutes? Take out the fluff about Ruben, Clay, and K. Lo and their big day out on the private jet, signing autographs and throwing a baseball like a girl. We don't care. Make it a 30 minute show.

108 commercial breaks later, K. Lo gets the boot, in a seriously dramatic and nail-biting announcement moment. Are the Creek writers scripting this show, too? I mean, Clay and Ruben did a great job of pretending they really thought they could go home tonight. But, we all knew it would be K. Lo. And so it was. I was sad to see her go. I thought she'd really kicked up her game in the last few weeks. True, at first I didn't like her. She had an attitude that didn't sit well with me. When they showed her 'greatest moments' montage, I was reminded of why I initially didn't like her. But she shaped up, played well, and apparently grew two extra arms in the process. Did anyone else notice all the arms in that shot of her doing her hair? That's pretty cool.

So, Ruben vs. Clay. The final showdown. I can't pick a favorite. Although Clay annoys me more and more these days. I dunno. We'll see next week. After three hour-long episodes of the show.

Flip. Everyone on Creek lives happily ever after. Except Jen. She didn't make it. And my tv will never suffer through being stuck on that show again.

C.T.

I Wish I Had a Superhero Name
Why? Because people remember superhero names.

When I was in college, I had an internship at a radio station. One of the 'big-wig' DJs managed to never get my name right. But it was never the same name twice. At that time, it was humorous. The guy was kind of an idiot, but he thought he was a big deal, so he was always trying to impress us 'little people' by calling us by name when he'd pass us in the hall. Except without fail, he'd never get my name right. As many times as I corrected him, he was still oblivious to the fact that he always called me by the wrong name any time we'd meet. Tracy, Tammy, Tori, even Trixie. None of those are actually my name. Trixie? Does anyone think I really look like a Trixie? Are people even really named Trixie? I don't think so. Not regular people, anyway.

Once out of school, at a previous job I went through a long phase where no one could spell my name correctly. Having a non-common name, I'm used to this to a certain degree. It's no big deal. But this was a unique take on having no clue how to spell a name. It was a strange epidemic affecting people all over the country who had no connection to each other, except me. People could remember my name, at least. They just either didn't care to try to spell it right, or it was apparently an impossible name to spell. Every fax, email, letter, package sent to my attention would have my whole department laughing, just seeing what variation of my name would appear on said deliveries. We waited with great anticipation for people to send me things, just to see the latest version of my name. Bizarre spellings, often things that weren't even close to my actual name, or actual English words. I eventually gave up trying to spell my name over the phone to clients or whoever. It didn't matter how much I tried, I'd inevitably see my name spelled incorrectly on almost anything coming my way. We decided to make it a secret contest for the weirdest misrepresentation of my name. I'd cut them out and save them, proudly displaying them on my cubical wall. I don't remember the winner, but the whole thing was quite hysterical.

At my current job, I've worked here for over a year. One of my co-workers still calls me the wrong name almost every time he sees me. He calls me Tracy. I assure you my name is not Tracy. I've told him my name is not Tracy. He knows my name is not Tracy. We don't even have a Tracy in the building. He remembers after he says it, but still. By now he should get it right the first time. This is no longer humorous. It's annoying.

And I think the culmination of all the name blunders has left me in a huge identity crisis. At this point I'm wondering if I have a face, and if so, does it change for every person that I come into contact with, so that I am unrecognizeable as the same person that I am, from person to person. Who am I? What do I look like? Have you seen me before? What is my name? It's all very confusing.

So, I figure if I have a superhero name, people would definitely remember me and my name. And I can know for sure and with confidence who I am. I just don't know what my superhero name should be. Cynical Tyrant isn't actually my name, nor is it a superhero name. It's purely my blog moniker. I don't refer to myself as the Cynical Tyrant outside of this arena. I need something catchy. Something brave, valiant, and interesting. Something commanding respect. Something smartly humorous, yet not ridiculous. Something that leaves an impression. Something that sums me up, so that when people hear my name they know that it is me. And when they know that it is me, they also make no mistake about my name.

One thing I know, I am not Trixie. And I might need a cape to go with my superhero name.

C.T.

Idol Disappointment
Yes, overall I was disappointed with American Idol last night. Or maybe I'm just weirded out that Quentin Tarrantino was in the audience, cheering like a silly teenage girl. I seriously think he's stalking Ruben.

To recap, the three remaining Idol-ees (Clay, Ruben, and K. Lo) were called upon to fill an hour-long show. How is this possible, you might ask? I will tell you. The producers decided to have each contestant sing the number of songs as related to the number that is their area code. Ruben chose his 205 songs, but at that point Ryan Seacrest pointed out that if Ruben sings 205 songs, there will not be enough time for Clay or K. Lo to sing any songs, nor will he have enough time to make videos of himself using his Nokia cell phone, to show during the show. So, a compromise was reached. Each contestant would sing three songs, and Ryan would shoot and show one cell phone video.

My first disappointment of the night came when I realized there was not to be a celebrity judge for the evening. Clearly they did not get my 108,000 text messages volunteering myself for that job this week. I was ticked that the fourth chair stood empty, while I sat at home watching the show. Paula seemed to attempt to channel Michael Jackson by wearing a poor imitation of the 'Billie Jean' hat. But to no avail. No celebrity judge was present.

Then came the Random Song Choice round. My first question is, who picked the songs to go in that bowl? There seemed to be at least 100 slips of paper in the bowl, which seems ridiculous for only three contestants. Yet, the three of them managed to somehow pick the three worst songs in the Bowl of Random Choices. I hated all of those songs. But I thought K. Lo performed the best in that round. 'Vincent'? What the heck is that song? Is it even really a song? Poor Clay. No way to win on that round. He was sabotaged by The Bowl.

Next, the Judge's Random Song Choice round. I think. I get the last two rounds mixed up, as to which one came first. Nonetheless, the songs the judges picked for the Idol-ees seemed to also be completely random, and I didn't think the songs suited the contestants at all. Simon's biggest complaint about Clay is that he is too Broadway cheesy. So what do they give Clay? 'Mack the bloody Knife'! The cheesiest of all big-band, 'destined to be a Broadway stage performer or lounge singer' songs. I was so cheesed out by that whole performance, I could hardly watch. I hate ' Mack the Knife'. Too many bad experiences of playing it in every jazz band I was ever in, middle school through highschool. Judges, I am so disappointed in you. It's all about the song choice. Bad choices.

The Idol-ee Song Choice Round was a bit better. My favorite song of the night was K. Lo's Natalie Cole song. But, if I hear 'Unchained Melody' one more time, I will seriously throw something at my TV. Something soft, so as not to break it. But still, can't stand that song anymore. Too oversung. I was seriously annoyed by Clay all night. It's unfortunate for him, since two out of three of the songs were not his fault.

To end the evening, I caught a shot of Vanessa Olivarez, the nude PETA posing Idol reject, in the audience. Thankfully, she was not nude while sitting in the audience last night. Although I'm sure someone will do a search for 'vanessa olivarez nude' and end up here today.

My prediction is that K. Lo and Paula's outfit will be in the bottom two tonight. Even though Paula's outfit deserves to be voted off of the planet, K. Lo will go home tonight, although I think she did a great job last night.

I can't believe the season is almost over. What will Ryan Seacrest do in the off-season? I guess he could be a bachelor on Simon's new Cupid show.

C.T.

PS: Sources tell me that the song theme for next week will consist of four songs each: one song written specifially for each of the final two contestants, by Ryan Seacrest. One song written by each of the final two contestants for the other contestant. One song written by the trio of Julia Demato, Carmen, and Satan, for each contestant. And one song written by the audience an hour before the show. Each song will require hand motions.

Update on Proper Exercise Attire
Yesterday I gave my thoughts about exercise attire. I wrote about my issues with spandex on 3/24. I've also written quite a bit about nudity, and the lack of it here versus the world's apparent fascination with it, much of that fascination leading them here for some reason. Should my permalinks decide to work properly anytime soon, I will gladly come back to link directly to these fine blog entries of mine.

Then today, I stumbled upon this guy linked from Dave Barry's Blog. A lone biker seems to sparsely cover all the bases as related to lack of spandex, improper exercise attire, and flirting with nudity.

In his case only, spandex would be an improvement. Someone please kindly attack him with a pair of shorts.

C.T.

Things I Thought Had Long Since Disappeared
On my way to work this morning, I saw one of those suction cup Garfield things that people used to stick to the windows of their car in the 80's. Like Garfield was inside the car hanging on for dear life, pressed up against the window. I used to see them everywhere, and I'll admit I even had one. I was too young at the time to own a car, but I had one stuck to my mirror in my bedroom. I was cool.

People who have them now, however, are not cool. I didn't even think these things still existed, or were currently manufactured. This was a fairly new Mazda Miata convertable, which could be the problem. This is not a cool car, but people who drive them seem to think they are cool. And there it was, a big ol' Garfield suctioned to the window. The front windshield, no less. So many things about this scene were just simply uncool.

I should have turned the Jeep loose on the guy and his Miata and his Garfield.

There are things from the 80's that could justifiably be revived and still remain cool, or retro. The Garfield suction thingy is not one of them. Let it go, people.

C.T.

Idol Themes
Continuing with my obsession about American Idol, in the final days of the current Idol season I feel it is important to blog about the show as much as possible. In a few short weeks the show will be over, and I will lose yet another good source of blog material. Until the show resurfaces for the next season, that is.

So, here are some song themes I'm glad we did not have to suffer through during this season of American Idol:
1. Andrea Bocelli, the Three Tenors, Charlotte Church, Josh Groban, et all-
While these singers are respectable in their genre, I am thankful we did not have to endure a Julia Demato crap version, or a Lance Corporal Josh country version of 'The Prayer'.

2. Whitney Houston-
Ain't enough crack in the world that could make me want to listen to an hour of Whitney, sung by people who don't sweat enough to do her songs justice. Plus, I don't think she could make it through an hour of being a celebrity judge without getting into a cat fight with Paula Abdul. Or Randy. Or Simon. Or Trenyce.

3. Celine Dion-
Nothing against The Celine personally, but ain't enough crack in the world to make me want to sit through an hour of 'The Theme from Titanic'.

4. Michael Bolton-
I can't even think of anything he sings off the top of my head, but I do know I hate every song he's ever sung. I don't even think the Idol-ees could make it any worse, and I'm glad they didn't get the chance to try.

5. Christina Aguilara-
I realize just about every contestant of the thousands of contestants during the nation-wide search sang 'Genie in a Bottle'. But that has never been, and will never be, a good song. Thank goodness I don't know any of her other songs, and we did not have to explore what they are.

6. Chicago-
Not the musical. The group. I'm basking in the glory of not having heard that song from Karate Kid in quite a long time.

7. Chicago-
The musical. Or any other musicals, for that matter. Not that I don't enjoy a good musical now and then, but I'm not interested in hearing bad versions of good musicals.

8. Michael Jackson-
This one is almost too obvious to mention. Not that I wouldn't enjoy a few of his classics, like 'Billie Jean', or 'Beat It', or 'Bad', but he'd probably bring more of his home movies and make everyone watch, and we'd all be really bored. Plus, he's creepy.

9. Dixie Chicks-
In light of all the controversy with Frenchie and Corey Clark, I really think it was a good decision to not bring in the Chicks. I mean, there is only so much controversy that Idol can handle. Plus, they'd probably show up naked, and this is a family show.

10. Mariah Carey-
I don't know what to say about this one, except that I'm just really glad we didn't go there.

Now, with just a couple weeks left in the competition, I would like to offer a few suggestions for the final song themes:
1. Gloria Estefan-
I would like to single handedly spark a comeback for her, and encourage Clay to let the rhythm get him.

2. Destiny's Child-
The contestants have just not been bootylicious enough this season. I am quite ready for their jelly.

3. Aerosmith-
I mean, there are just too many good classics here to let the opportunity pass. Bring in Steven Tyler as a celebrity judge, and let's start livin' on the edge.

4. Pink-
I would like to hear three different renditions of 'Get This Party Started'. K. Lo with a slow, sultry version. Clay, with a big Broadway version. Ruben, with a teddy bear-ish version. Whatever that may be.

5. Donnie and Marie-
Too bad for Josh, he will miss his opportunity to be a little bit country. But let's go ahead and bring in the Osmonds, and get to the rock and roll.

6. Drinking Songs from Around the World-
I just think this would be entertaining. That's all.

7. Kenny Rogers-
But only if Will Sasso from MadTV will come as Kenny Rogers for his celebrity judge appearance, and play him drunk and insane as he usually does. I don't like Kenny Rogers, nor do I have any idea what he sings. I just think Will Sasso as Kenny Rogers on American Idol would be stinkin' hilarious.

8. Cher-
She's on her farewell tour. Might as well say farewell on Idol, too. And loan the Idol-ees some of those sweet wigs for the show. There just have not been enough wigs this season.

9. Sheryl Crow-
She's been the official spokeswoman-artist-singer for just about every other commercialized event on the planet lately. I cannot believe she hasn't hit Idol, yet. We need the Crow.

10. Paula Abdul-
Why haven't they done this already? It seems to make perfect sense. Straight Up.

I also think, as a final twist to the show since all of the reality shows are adding dramatic 'twists' these days, they should allow a loyal and obsessed fan come in as a celebrity judge. Seeing as I'm already a celebrity, and clearly quite knowledgeable about the show and music and whatnot, I pick me.

Do you think if I just show up and sit in that extra fourth judge's chair they will understand the twist and let me stay?

C.T.

And People Thought Blogging Was a Colossal Waste of Time . . .
Forget American Idol. Real Idols air guitar.

Apparently air guitar is a sport, and there are now championships. They are judged similarly to Olympic sports, including originality, technical ability, and artistic merit.

Oh, and 'airness'. Can't forget that.

Everyone, go home, get in front of your mirror, and practice air guitar like you never have before. All those years of air guitar-ing in your bedroom when you were in highschool have finally paid off. Now you could be an air guitar star.

How hysterical would it be to go witness this competition? Someone in LA or New York, please go to this and make a documentary.

C.T.

People Look Funny While Exercising
Myself included.

While biking many laps around the lake, I don't have much to entertain myself as I pedal. Fortunately, there are plenty of people around to provide entertainment for me. Following is my analysis of people while exercising.

First, there are the serious exercise people. They run or bike like they really mean it, including their attire. They are professionally spandexed from head to toe, usually in bright colors, lest we lose them or not be able to see them coming in broad daylight. Some runners often sport those too short, fly-away running shorts that have no business even existing, let alone attempting to cover anyone's backside. They are meticulously evenly tanned from top to bottom, somehow overcoming the tan line conundrum which arises from exercising outdoors while wearing clothes. They have expensive bikes or running shoes and equipment to let them know how fast they are going, their heart rate, the time in seventeen different time zones, the gravitational pull of the moon, the migratory patterns of the wildebeest, and the lunch special at their favorite chinese restaurant. These people are out for a major workout, and they want everyone to know how serious they are. Overly professional, attractive depending on how well they can pull of the spandex, and not convincingly enjoying themselves.

Next, there are the semi-serious exercise people. Runners, cyclers, and even walkers alike. I fall into this category. I bike like I mean it, but not like I need you to know that I mean it. I wear minimal spandex, prefering to be comfortable and economical, rather than spend all of my money on neon jerseys and shorts decorated with flames or catchy 'to the max' phrases. I have an oddly shaped tan pattern resulting from biking out of doors in a situation where not all of my skin evenly sees the sun, and the skin that does get sun just simply burns. I have most of the right equipment, although not top of the line, since I priced and purchased items I could afford without having to sell a kidney. I look semi-professional, in that I have good equipment and decent attire, but I don't need my equipment to tell me any superfluous information other than my speed and the time of day. Semi-professional and serious, yet not attractive, but enjoying myself.

Then we have the clueless people. These are the people out biking or running or walking, but who seem to not realize it. They intend to make it exercise, rather than just go for a nice walk outside, yet they don't seem to quite realize their own intent. They are also dressed head to toe in spandex, but it usually doesn't match, is a strange off-color of some sort, and truthfully should not be on their bodies in public. They wear headphones so they can 'rock out' to their favorite tunes while 'exercising', including air-drumming. They wander about at a ridiculously slow pace, often in the middle of the trail or path, creating a hazard for others to avoid, oblivious to other exercising people around them. They bike so slowly that it is a wonder they even have enough momentum to remain upright. They seem to think they are exercising and getting a good workout, yet they only break a sweat because they are wearing too many layers of spandex. Not at all professional or serious, definitely not attractive, but apparently enjoying themselves.

Finally, there are the random people who exercise in packs doing something odd. These are the ten or so people dressed alike in matching spandex jerseys and shorts, rollerblading at high speeds within inches of each other, at a lake where rollerbladers rarely exist. Are they training for an event? What event would that be? We don't have a large rollerblading population as an organized sport in this area. So the question begs to be asked, what the heck are they doing? And why are they all doing it together, in unison?

Now, aside from these categories of people according to look and attire, no matter how professional or non-professional you may be, or how much fun you may or may not be having, people just look funny while exercising. There's no way around it. Your category of exercising is really a moo point when it comes to anyone's ability to not look funny while exercising.

Yes, I said moo point. Cows look funny while exercising, too. Therefore, their opinion doesn't matter.

The 'professionals' think they look good, but in thinking they look good, they actually look funny. They breathe in rhythm. They run or cycle in some sort of odd form that is supposed to be proper technique, but in all reality, it just looks funny. Some of them have an interesting spring to their step, or a creative arm flail or hand flop. They all have seriously intense looks on their faces, as if their face needs a workout along with the rest of their bodies. They are in the 'zone'. Even though the 'zone' makes them look funny.

The semi-professionals try to look good, but we don't. We huff and puff and try to keep up with the professionals whizzing past us, but we can't keep up. We take pride in being able to valiantly pass the non-professionals. We deal with things like superfluous amounts of snot that accompany us as we pedal, for some reason brought on by exercise. This causes us to sniff while trying to also breath, resulting in hyperventilation. We look great going downhill or pedaling on flat surfaces, but when hills or wind attack we lose all focus and pretty much crawl our way to the top and out of the wind. We have basic good form, but we are easily distracted by birds or small children or other exercisers who look and perform better than we do. Personally, when fully suited up and in full cycling mode, I tend to resemble a gangly praying mantis of sorts, complete with bug-eyed sunglasses, a head protected by a large helmet-like shell, and extraneously lengthy limbs flailing about. We search for the 'zone', and we see it pass us several times a day. Sometimes we catch it for a bit. Mostly, we miss it.

The non-professionals could care less if they look good, yet they secretly think they do look good. Their faces are red, even though they haven't exerted enough energy to justify raising their heartrate. They feed the ducks as they walk. They talk on cell phones. They carry weights equalling up to 1lb, waving their arms back and forth as though they are getting a complete upper body workout to go with their leisurely stroll. Some of these people have dogs wandering with them. These people have no idea a 'zone' exists, and therefore exist in more of a Twilght Zone void of real exercise, more than anything else. These people wonder why they never quite get in shape, even though they are frequently out of doors, wandering about.

The random people look funny simply because they are completely out of place, yet their matching spandex would indicate that they feel we all need to notice just how out of place they are. They make a bold statement about whatever it is they are doing, trying to impress everyone else. Yet they are more annoying than in any way taken seriously. They look extremely funny. Together. In unison.

Of course, this doesn't sum up everyone who gets out for some exercise now and then. There are always people who just don't fit into one category or another. But whatever your motivation for exercising in the form of your choice, from one funny looking exerciser to the rest of you, thanks for the entertainment.

C.T.

More Nudity You Will Not Find Here
Buck Naked Tennis anyone?

Can I just say, eeeyeewwww? And, ouch??

C.T.

Sinead O'Connor Update
After this major decision, Sinead has now decided her new career will be to teach religion.

Now, my question is, do we really want the person who tore up a picture of the Pope on national television involved in any way teaching religion to youngsters, or pursuing other pastoral care?

You decide for yourself.

C.T.

Nothing Happened
I saw something disturbing last night. I saw a kid on a bike get hit by a car.

I was headed to my late night softball game. The street where the fields are located is very dark, but very busy. There are no streetlights on this stretch of road. People drive down it at high speeds, so it's not exactly the safest place to drive, let alone ride a bike at night, in the dark. I turned onto the street and wasn't really paying attention to much except messing with my cd player. But when I looked up, I saw a kid or young man struggling on a bike on the other side of the road in the oncoming traffic. He was wobbling along, not really riding, kinda half falling over, half pedaling, no momentum. Then I saw a car driving slowly behind him speed up a bit and run into him, knocking him off his bike and onto the pavement.

It took a second for me to realize what I'd just seen. It had all happened in just a few seconds, so I really wasn't sure what I'd witnessed. I also tend to freeze up when I see car or bike incidents occur. Bad memories and personal experience. My heart stops, and I immediately think worst case scenario. So this scene shocked me, and my mind immediately began to scramble about what to do.

The car hadn't hit him hard, but it had definitely caused the kid to fall off his bike, possibly injured. It almost looked like it could have been some other kids in a car picking on this kid on the bike, driving slowly behind him then going too far with the prank by actually bumping into him. As it happened and I passed the incident, I suddenly slowed down. Several cars slowed down on the other side of the road near the kid. I didn't know what to do. I had never actually called 911 before, but I had never seen anyone on a bike get hit by a car. I now had my phone in my hand pondering if this was a 911 moment.

He laid there for just a second, then slowly got up and moved his mangled bike over to the sidewalk. He walked slowly, but didn't indicate in his movements that he was hurt. He also didn't seem upset or angry. Maybe he was stunned. I wasn't close enough to see much detail, but he just seemed to wander out of the way, dragging his bike along with him. The car that had hit him had taken off, and a few other cars were still stopped, but it was hard to tell if they realized what had just happened and had stopped to help, or if they were just waiting for him to get out of their way.

This is not a very good part of town. This street is really dark. I really didn't know what to do, being alone, young, female and in an unsafe neighborhood. I kept watching the scene in my mirror for a minute or two. This all happened in a very short amount of time, and I couldn't think fast enough to keep up with what I was trying to see to make sense of it. My car was a ways up the road past the incident. I wanted to go back and see if he was okay, but I also didn't want to be the girl who went missing after stopping on an unsafe street to help a stranger late at night. This may not have been the right time to be selfish about my own safety, but I nevertheless found myself considering if it was safe enough for me to assist someone possibly in need.

I watched for another second, seeing a few cars stop on that side of the road and look, then move on. Were they checking on the kid? Was he okay? Was this really no big deal? Over, just like that? Then I realized I couldn't see the kid anymore. I'd lost sight of him in the dark shadows on the sidewalk. Cars were moving on that side of the road, as normal. As far as I could tell, he was gone.

I noticed I was stopped in the middle of the street, and since the kid must have been okay enough to get out of the street and go somewhere else, and no one else seemed concerned about what had just happened, I decided to pull into the parking lot and head to the field for the game. I felt uneasy about this, having just witnessed an accident, now heading to my softball game as if that was no big deal. I took my phone with me as I walked to the field, staring over at the street where I'd seen the incident. I was still prepared to call 911 if I saw something indicating that needed to be done. I was still looking for the kid along the side of the road in the distance, but it was so dark I couldn't see anything. No more cars stopped, no one else had called an ambulance, no police arrived. The street seemed dark and quiet as usual, traffic flowing normally as if nothing had just happened. I asked a few other people standing around if they'd noticed it from where they stood. They were close enough to the street to be able to see or hear an accident occur. They hadn't seen or heard anything.

Did I imagine it? Did I not see what really happened? Is this a common occurrance on this street? Maybe the kid just fell off his bike? Maybe he was messing around, getting spooked by cars behind him? Maybe he wasn't being safe on his bike? Maybe he was older than he looked at first glance in the dark, and possibly drunk? He was pretty wobbly before he ended up off his bike and on the pavement. I just didn't know. But the whole scene bugged me for much of the night.

When the game finished and we headed home, I drove slowly out onto the street to scan once more for any signs of the kid, the bike, or anything that had happened. I looked as hard as I could into the dark, but I saw nothing. Not even pieces of a bike. No trace of anything unusual. As far as life on this street was concerned, nothing had happened.

I'm disturbed that someone can get hit by a car, and it's as though nothing happened. I'm disturbed that I had to stop and think about whether it was safe enough for me to stop and help, or even just to check on the kid and what really happened.

I'm disturbed that I saw nothing happen.

C.T.

Ventriloquist Painting
One of the latest searches for cynicism lead someone here longing for 'the ventriloquist painting'. Therefore, I will write a story based on this hot topic. Warning: following is possibly a really bad story.

Once upon a time, there was a ventriloquist. His name was Vincent. As a child he'd dreamed of becoming a world famous ventriloquist. Instead of playing with the other kids outside, as a normal young boy would do, he'd spend hours alone in his room, speaking without moving his lips, having complete conversations with his stuffed teddy bear, G.I. Joe, and a tattered rag doll given to him by his crazy Aunt Petunia who always wished he'd been a girl. He was embarrassed of the rag doll, yet it held a certain charm when it came to practicing throwing his voice. It seemed to understand his intense desire to become a world reknown ventriloquist. The rag doll became his best friend. Vincent named the doll Randy.

As he grew older, he perfected his craft of ventriloquism. For his sixteenth birthday, instead of wishing for a new car to go with his new driver's license, he asked for the envy of all ventriloquists far and wide, the V-2000 Ventriloquist Dummy Deluxe. Vincent's parents had long since given up on having a normal child interested in normal things, but they took great care in making sure Vincent was happy. So as Vincent awoke on the morning of his sixteenth birthday, he was startled to find a V-2000 staring at him from next to his bed. He screamed, then struck up a conversation with himself that has since never ended.

Soon Vincent abandoned Randy the Rag Doll, and the V-2000 became his constant companion. He named it Vaughn, and they were truly inseparable. Vincent and Vaughn participated in the school's talent show, to the sounds of boos and hisses from the student audience. Vaughn accompanied Vincent to his senior prom, much to the amusement of his fellow students. As Vincent graduated valedictorian of his high school class, his speech honored his most dear and loyal friend, Vaughn. As the two buddies bantered back and forth on stage in front of the entire student body, friends, and family, it became clear to Vaughn that his lifelong dream of becoming the most famous ventriloquist in history was about to begin. He knew he would be a star.

For the next several years, Vincent struggled to find his place in the world of ventriloquism. He found it to be a tough market, full of fierce competition and an overall lack of interest from mainstream entertainment. However, there was a small niche of loyal ventriloquist followers, and soon he became a legend in the quaint world of ventriloquism.

As his career continued, many up-and-comers in the world of ventriloquism began stealing Vincent's and Vaughn's spotlight. They were young and hip, incorporating all kinds of new-fangled intricacies into their performances. Vaughn was no longer the top of the line model, and he was beginning to show his age. Vincent's jokes and conversations were becoming dull and out of date. He knew he needed a 'hook', a splash of something more colorful, to stand out from the rest of the common ventriloquists saturating the market. But what could he do? His answer was soon to come.

During a show near a PETA demonstration, Vincent and Vaughn mistakenly staged their show dangerously close to the angry demonstrators. As they began their routine, the PETA mob erroneously assumed Vincent and Vaughn were part of the Proud Fur-Wearing Podiatrists convention. The protestors began throwing paint at the Podiatrists, and before Vincent could carry Vaughn to safety, they were doused by buckets of red and white paint.

At first, Vincent was distraught. He was covered with paint, as was Vaughn. The more they dodged the paint, the more ferociously they were pursued by the PETA mob. As Vincent continued his conversation with Vaughn through the paint attack, he noticed he was attracting a lot of attention, including passersby and media. People were cheering for him, and laughing at him. He was red and white from head to toe, and he suddenly realized this splash of color was exactly the 'splash of color' he needed to revolutionize the world of ventriloquism.

Under the marketing expertise of Vaughn the V-2000, Vincent worked to develop the extreme sport of Ventriloquist Painting. It combines the refined artistic experience of an upscale ventriloquist show, with the sport and raw, unleashed creative passion of a good old fashioned paint throwing. His number one sponsor is PETA, and through this partnership of Vincent, Vaughn, and PETA, Ventriloquist Painting is the world famous, highly reknowned, extreme sport known internationally today.

The End

That could be the worst story ever.

C.T.

Ba-Bye, Idol Semper Fi
At long last, the field has been narrowed down to three people who can actually sing on American Idol. Last night saw the fabulous farewell of Josh, the Singing, Dancing Marine Who Can Neither Sing Nor Dance. I really believe this will help our country as a whole, seeing as Josh is much better suited for Marine-type things, rather than performing in cheesy sing-a-longs. In the event of another war, I'll feel safer knowing Josh is armed with a gun and camouflage pants, rather than a microphone and leather pants.

Unfortunately, I was not that impressed with the BeeGees medley. Yes, I realize I can be quoted as saying 'More BeeGees!' from my last Idol post. But I should have been more specific. What I meant was, more actual BeeGees. Or at least good renditions of their songs. And still, where was Stayin' Alive? Did I miss it, or did they really leave it out? I mean, they got Night Fever and You Should be Dancin', which are also some of my favorites. I guess since one more person would not be "stayin' alive" in the competition, they didn't feel the need to sing that song.

Once again, I spotted Julia DeMato in the audience, sitting dangerously close to her new best friend and fellow boot-ee, Kimberly Caldwell. Seriously, does she not have anything better to do than lurk around where she isn't wanted? And how does she always manage to get her mugly mug on camera? Go home, Julia. Or move in with Josh and his family. You can do his highlights on the base. Maybe set up a salon for yourself there. Julia's Marine Highlights and Hairdos. At the least, quit showing up places where I can see you!

I just had a scary thought. The American Idol 2 tour will likely include all of our non-favorite losers, coming soon to a city near you. Julia, Carmen, Lance Corporal Josh. The horror . . .

Back to more pleasant thoughts, K. Lo will seriously have to 'bring it' for next week, if she wants to stay alive past the final three. I am glad she didn't get the boot, but Ruben and Clay will be tough to beat. Clay needs to work on a better facial expression than "I think I'm gonna hurl", as he so largely displayed on screen last night while Ryan "I'm Wearing a Thong You Can't See" Seacrest read the judges' comments about his performance. I seriously thought Lance Corporal Josh was about to have to clean puke off the couch with a tooth brush, while doing push-ups with his other arm.

Things are finally getting serious, here on American Idol. May the best Idol-ee win.

C.T.

UPDATE: Upon review of the tape of Wednesday's show, the Idol-ees did, in fact, sing Stayin' Alive. Thank you.

Today's Weird Search Results
I tell ya, being able to track keywords leading to my blog is some seriously quality entertainment. My favorites of the past day or so (in random order):

"can't catch grounders in softball + afraid" - I'm glad you found your way here, to hopefully overcome your fear and learn how to catch grounders.

"JOSH GRACIN SUCKS" - Emphatically! I agree, and thank you for playing.

"tia and tamara mowry nude" - Among other 'nude' searches. How strange. There is no nudity on this blog. However, I do seem to write quite a lot about how there isn't any nudity here. Therefore, I seem to attract searchers of nudity by using the word 'nudity' to discuss the lack of nudity, and annoyance of public nudity. Nudity. Nude. Naked.

"wicked ice cream trucks" - At least someone else agrees with me that ice cream trucks are scary.

"kimberley locke ryan seacrest couple together" - Gross, in so many ways. And sad for K. Lo.

"Homemade Vanilla Coke" - Like I said, I totally invented this first. Thank you for coming here to find the true recipe.

It seems American Idol is good for more than just choosing the next American commercially produced singing sensation. It is also good for driving traffic to my blog. Thank you, American Idol.

Keep searching!

C.T.

Idol Ramblings
My thoughts on last night's American Idol are few. I am running out of things to make fun of, since the most joke-worthy contestants have since departed.
Pros-
1. More BeeGees!! That was by far the best music selection night yet. I'm a huge BeeGees fan. That was truly very cool. Robin Gibb, we love thee.
2. Ruben, K. Lo., and Clay performed well. I'm really becoming a fan of K. Lo. I don't care what Simon said last night. I thought she 'brought it'.
3. The stage manager laughed out loud at Ryan Seacrest.

Cons-
1. Josh showed up to perform. And he still sucked. Which hopefully will be a 'pro' if America boots him from the show tonight. Even if Randy thought "Josh, you're back, dawg." Nope. No way. No how. His first song was poorly performed. Not to mention he was extrememly out of breath for a Marine, after running all over the audience. I think he was hoping if he moved fast enough that the neither the camera nor the microphone would catch how much he sucked. He was wrong. I heard and saw it all. His second song wasn't any better. I don't know what Randy and Paula heard, but I heard bad, bad singing. I was kinda hoping his energetic romp through the audience would cause him to lose his bearings and wander off into the night, never to be heard from again. But darn the luck, he's a Marine. I think they are trained not to get lost in public places.
2. Unfortunately for Robin Gibb, he sounded like a more polite version of Simon. And by that, I mean every time he spoke I had to make sure I was looking at the screen to see that it was him. He sounded like Simon's voice and accent, but he wasn't mean or overly critical. Robin, we love thee. Simon, you merely amuse me.
3. No one did Stayin' Alive, the quintessential BeeGees song. Come on, people! Live a little! Clay??? That one would have been perfect to show off the lame hip move.
4. Clay did a new hip move.
5. Clay wore way too much red.
6. Josh and Simon did not get into a fist fight.

I fear tonight the bottom two will include K. Lo. Hopefully Josh will also be included in the bottom two, and then he will be promptly sent back to base. Preferably the MPs will make him march the whole way. Or do that thing Marines do where they run in step and sing a song.

I don't know what you've been told, (I don't know what you've been told)
Josh can't sing, a note can't hold. (Josh can't sing, a note can't hold)
Simon says that Josh does suck, (Simon says that Josh does suck)
Now Josh has run out of luck. (Now Josh has run out of luck)
Finally booted off the show, (Finally booted off the show)
Back to base now, go Josh go. (Back to base now, go Josh go)
Toilet scrubbing is for you, (Toilet scrubbing is for you)
Sing once more, you'll eat my shoe. (Sing once more, you'll eat my shoe)

Hmmm, has a nice ring to it. People, do you realize what we would be forced to listen to if Josh were to win this competition? Or even if he came in second place? Lame country versions of every song ever made. I, for one, could not take that. Send him home. Now.

Next week I would like to request an Eminem/Nelly theme. I think we need to see a rap-off. Mix things up a bit. If no rap, then how about a night of Kelly Clarkson's greatest hit?

Idol Question of the week: How many Ryan Seacrests could fit inside one Ruben-sized 205 shirt?

C.T.

Today's Interactive Blog Activity
I've added another site statistic thingy that allows me to see how people get here by keyword searches and whatnot. I've noticed I now have quite a few links on sites belonging to people I don't know, which is super cool, and muchly appreciated.

For today's activity, as you stumble onto my blog for the first time, or perhaps return as a repeat visitor for more Cynical fun, or maybe if you come here often as a true fan of the Tyrant, leave a 'Superfluous Thought' below to let me know how you found me. Did you search for something and end up here? Did you click a link on another site? Did I find you first? However you got here, I'm interested to know. It's a scientific research project, of sorts.

I'm not trying to track you down and stalk you. It's purely a marketing tracking-type experiment, to see how you are finding and stalking me.

And, thanks to whoever found their way to my blog by searching for 'ryan seacrest & simon a couple', as well as whoever made it here using keywords 'josh gracin sucks'. That's hysterically entertaining!

C.T.

Not Quite Trading Spaces
I learned a few important things this weekend while participating in a local Habitat for Humanity project:
1. Actually building a house in real life is nothing at all like Trading Spaces
2. Hammering works better if you use proper hammering techniques.
3. I am no good with a hammer, and should not pursue a career requiring hammering.
4. When they tell you not to get a certain substance on you or your clothing because it will not come off, they are right.

I've been fascinated with Trading Spaces. This is a great show. I love that within an hour they completely redecorate a room in creative ways, including all the labor and the ooh-ing and aaah-ing at the end. They make it look so easy, fun, and trendy. So, naturally when called upon to participate in a Habitat for Humanities project, I assumed the experience would be much like Trading Spaces. We'd show up, have some fun, do some work, and within an hour have the house ready for move-in. Right?

Wrong.

I loved the experience. I had a great time. I am not afraid of manual labor during the heat of the day. I even like to get dirty now and then. So the fact that I ended up extremely dirty at the conclusion of the event was no big deal to me. Plus we helped construct a place to live for people who are in need. Truly, a worthy cause and something we were excited about as the purpose of the day. But by the end of the day, I realized that Trading Spaces is not so much like real life. And I realized that my dream of being a construction worker will always remain just a dream.

My first task was to help the boys nail black paper-ish stuff to the outside of the garage. Simple enough. However, this is when I discovered that I am not exactly coordinated with the hammering of the nails. I received several lessons from several boys on how to hammer properly, including holding the hammer, and execution of good wrist and forearm technique. Still, I managed to not hammer effectively, although I did get in a few good ones. Hammering, while fun, is just not one of my many talents.

My next task was to foam holes. I was given a can of foamy insulation-type stuff, and told to squirt foam into any holes in the boards in the ceiling. Easy, right? Yes, until I was warned to absolutely not get it on my clothes or my skin, since the foam does not come off. I realize the man in charge was trying to warn me away from the dangers of the foam, but what he didn't realize was that by telling me not to get it all over myself, he actually invited me to proceed in thoroughly getting it all over myself.

I started out fine, moving from hole to hole where wires were threaded through the boards, sealing things up with my trusty can o' foam. Who needs the hammer?? I was good at foaming! But soon the foam began escaping the can faster than I could cram it in the holes. And before I knew it, the foam had oozed profusely, running amok outside of the can and onto my hands, clothes, shoes, and yes, even running down my leg. I was foamed.

But, in case there was any doubt to the truth and severity of the message about not getting foam on myself, I emphatically proved that the man in charge spoke the truth. The foam, in fact, did not come off. Since it is a sealant designed to fill holes, harden, and prevent air from flowing, this is precisely what it did to my skin and clothes. Everything was sealed up quite nicely. Throughout the rest of the day I attempt to de-foam myself. I was able to remove the big foam chunks, but the residue left behind by the chunks o' foam seemed to be there to stay. It is impervious to soap. I've been methodically chiseling away at it pieces at a time. But I'm still wearing much of it today.

After vacating the foam job, which I did actually complete despite the attack of the foam, I moved on to the blue box job. This task was the trickiest of all, albeit less dangerous than foam. It required a team effort. We had to locate and measure the positions of various blue electrical boxes used for outlets, cable connections, and phone jacks throughout the house. Once the location of a box was determined, we then needed to hammer the box to the studs. This required measuring, remembering, marking things, and being accurate. This job required brains. And once again, hammering.

I started out as a measurer for this task. But having the short term memory of a fruit fly, by the time I'd locate a box and figure out the measurements, I'd forget where it was supposed to go when I got back to the right spot. We re-evaluated my position on the blue box team, and decided to switch things up a bit. I became a hammer-er. But having already proven that this is not my strong point, I was soon relieved of my hammering duties once again. I found my niche as the holder of the box being hammered, while it was hammered by someone proficient in hammering. This was a daunting task, as I had to make sure the box lined up to the specified measurements, then strategically hold the box against the wood in a fashion that would ensure I did not get a finger smashed by the hammer-er while I held the box. It was tricky, but we managed to streamline the sequence, and soon finished the blue box task, to perfection.

It was an adventuresome day, for a good cause. Hopefully my desire to help and my efforts to try my hand at construction work were an asset towards completing the houses, so the families could soon move in and begin their lives as homeowners. At the least, my unintentional comic relief kept things fun and enjoyable for the group. And, no one got hurt, despite my accidental shenanigans.

But how come they never get foam or paint on themselves on Trading Spaces? They always manage to stay so clean and glamorous.

If anyone needs me, I'll be here de-foaming.

C.T.

Those Fabulous Moments. . .
Ok, I don't like to brag. Well . . . sometimes I do. Mostly I just get excited on the rare occassions when something cool happens and someone else witnesses it, that I just have to spout a bit more about it. Last night was one of those moments. It was worthy of the highlights reel.

During my several year career of co-ed, just-for-fun softball, I've managed to be a decent asset to the team, more often than not. I also have moments in which my glove should be revoked, and I should be pummeled with the bat. But generally, I'm consistently not a bad player.

I've also never played anywhere in the field except second base, except for a few rare occassions of being stuck in the outfield. I'm great at second base. It is understood that second base is not to be messed with or changed up in any way. That's my spot, if you want anything good out of me. I can usually be counted on to come through for the team, at second base. That base is revered as my place on the team. No one tries to take it from me, and I offer it to no one.

Last night, our coach got a little whimsical and changed up the infield a bit. He decided to be adventuresome and strategically place me at third base. Third base?? What's the strategy there? I wasn't even aware that there were more bases past second base, my home, my calling, my world. I thought everything ended at second base, the center of my softball universe. What was he thinking?? Immediately I consulted with first base, who was usually our third base or fantastic right fielder, and she and I agreed that no good could come of this switch up. She was in a new spot, I was in a new spot. And together we were supposed to make these new spots work out well. No good could come.

I only know how to turn plays from second base. I can catch pop flies, stop grounders (most of the time), and cover second base. I've even been known to turn a double play with the short stop and first base, on more than one occassion. Third base was a whole new world. It's on the complete other side of the infield! Throwing to first base from third base added extra length to the throw, and this was sure to cause me to fall short of the distance, and look like a wimp. I was very, very uneasy about the whole thing. I just can't throw far, accurately. How can I be a star on the team if I can't throw the ball far enough to make any good plays?? I felt my nearly perfect season was in severe jeopardy. I was worried.

My inner 'Rainman' came out in full force. Change is not my friend. I whined. A lot. I tried to convince the coach to switch me back to my usual spot. I tried to be cute, and play on his sympathy that I'm a girl and I need to be at second base because I'm cutest at that spot. It was calling my name! Second base needs me! He just kept saying he put me at third for a reason, and to go with it. He's always so calm. I don't quite know what to do with that.

Well, the game started. The first hit was a short fly ball, in my direction. Or maybe to the short stop, being played by our calm coach. We both went for it, and being so out of my element, I was too distracted with getting my bearings on the field to think to call it. He didn't call it, either. But luckily we didn't run into each other, and he caught it. I could feel the impending doom of a game frought with errors for me, a second base girl out of place. So far, I'm not impressing anyone.

The second batter stood at the plate, and again, hit a ball in my direction. Did they know I have no idea what I'm doing at third base? Are they targeting me? I apparently didn't waste too much time thinking through these issues, because I watched the ball come right towards me, and into my glove. No problem. Out number two.

Hmmm. Maybe I'll be okay at third base after all . . .

Then came the third batter. I remembered him from seasons past. He's a big dude, able to literally kill the ball in a single swipe. And he's usually quite angry and intense, which only succeeds in propelling the ball even further out into the field, and with great power and velocity. He previously had a hefty mullet haircut to go along with his hefty size, but for this season he'd trimmed the 'do into a lesser mullet. This may have been his downfall, because his time as Mighty Mullet was soon to be at an end, little did he suspect. Or any of us, for that matter.

Before I knew what was happening, he swung and launched the ball . . . right at me. I never even saw him swing. In a moment of pure reflex, as I heard a noise and noticed the spherical object hurtling straight at my chest at a speed no less than 108 thousand miles per hour, I quickly opened my glove in front of my chest, and hung on for dear life. Somehow, I didn't flinch or freak out, and the ball drove right into the glove . . . and stayed there. I caught it! And I even managed to look like I meant to catch it! Mighty Mullet was obviously trying to kill me with this torpedo aimed for my heart, but I swiftly averted death by chest impailment, stopped his line drive, and silenced his entire team in the process.

My team, however, went nuts. They erupted in cheering, screaming, and exclamations of pure shock that I was still standing from the force of his attack. After a full moment of shock, I realized that my hand, in the glove, was still grasping the ball tightly. And after another moment, I released the ball, threw it to the pitcher, and further realized that my hand was in a tremendous amount of pain. Oh, dear God, the pain. But Mighty Mullet being the last out, I decided I deserved a break, and I promptly headed to the dugout, with my team following excitedly behind me. I'd succeeded in helping my team give a strong showing for the first few minutes of the game. Woo-diddly-hoo!

I was mauled by my team. One guy attacked me in a big bear hug of excitement, which incidentally, I didn't mind at all. They were so excited for me! They were even proud of me! I've made good plays before, but this one seemed to be extra special, for some reason. Could it be because I whined so much about being stuck at third, yet my coach seemed to obviously know best by putting me there, and I should in the future just shut up and play? Nooo. . .

Once I figured out that my hand was still attached to my arm, and in fact, not even broken into millions of tiny little pieces, I was excited, too! I was shaking and needing to sit for a moment to gather my wits, but I was excited. After all, death by softball had just been averted. I was congratulated, high-fived (using my other good, non-throbbing hand), and the focus of attention for at least a full minute. I was a hero.

Then I realized what I'd just done. I'd made two outs in the first inning, which meant I had set the bar for my playing at an extremely high level for the rest of the game. I couldn't very well go out there and suck for the rest of the game. My team now had the expectation that I'd be a star for the rest of the game, and the other team now saw me as a huge threat. Oh, dear God, the pressure!

Hmmm. Being a star is nice and all, but I was now ready to go home. I'd made a good showing, and much like George Constanza from Seinfeld, I was ready to go out on a high note. I only have so much good softball playing in me per game. If I use it all up in the first inning, well, it's usually downhill from there. I was set to disappoint for the rest of the game. And, I had an angry Mighty-less Mullet man with an entire game to try and kill me again. Again, no good can come from this. But at least I'd conquered third base.

However, apparently it was just my night. I continued playing well, which was a shock more to me than anyone else. I'd had a good season so far. Better than most of my seasons. But I fully expected to start sucking at any moment, running out of my good softball playing, as usual. Alas, it seemed I was to continue with a great season, and a great game for the rest of the evening. I had three great hits at bat. Beautiful balls that soared over the heads of the infield, dropping nicely right in front of the outfield. I knocked in two runs, out of our four runs for the game. I made another out at third base, before our coach switched things up again and moved me back to my home at second base. I didn't care. I now have two homes on the field, as far as I'm concerned. And our coach is very, very wise.

We lost the game, but it was a good game for us. We all played well. For me, it was one of my best personal games ever. The other team actually congratulated me quite a bit on my fabulous catch, and my excellent hits. Even Mighty-less Mullet congratulated me, which I took as a great honor. I went home smiling. And in search of ice for my hand.

Play me where you need me, coach. I will not whine again.

But I make no promises to be as fabulous next week, or ever again.

C.T.

The Vanilla Coke Conundrum
Today, I drink a can of Vanilla Coke. In the absence of a regular Coke, this is what I have handy to drink as my one daily allowance of caffeine.

I don't dislike Coca-Cola's version of Vanilla Coke. In fact, I was very excited to try it when it first came out a few months ago. But to me it just tastes like cream soda. I much prefer my homemade version of vanilla Coke, which I have been making and enjoying for many years prior to Coca-Cola bottling it and selling it. As I am sure I'm the only one who has ever thought of this (outside of Coca-Cola), had I only thought to patent the recipe, I'd be very rich right now. And famous, since I would naturally display my face prominently on each can or bottle.

If you would like to try it at home to compare, it's a very simple recipe:
1. Pour some Coke (plain, regular, non-diet) into a glass or cup, over ice.
2. 'Carefully measure' a small amount (less than a teaspoon, depending on the volume of Coke in the cup. but if you actually get out a teaspoon to measure it, you may ruin the whole process) of common Vanilla extract, add this to the Coke in the glass or cup.
3. Stir.

Too much vanilla will make it too sweet. Not enough vanilla will fail to affect the taste of the Coke. You can adjust to your liking. The desired taste is a smoother, yet still biting taste of familiar Coke.

Stirring is the most important ingredient. If you don't stir it well, the vanilla will settle to the bottom and taste icky.

And the Tyrant's Vanilla Coke is simply not icky.

C.T.

Words I Try to Use as Often as Possible . . . Relevant or Not
Superfluous
Extraneous
Akimbo
Nearly
Amok

Running amok nearly caused my extremeties of superfluous and extraneous length to skew akimbo.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. So I'm glad I'm not a photographer. I prefer cash.

C.T.

Idol Heart Attack
Ok, America. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What did I just say in my last Idol blog about sending home someone other than Josh or Trenyce? What were you thinking, sending Ruben to the bottom two last night? If he had gone home, you would have witnessed a wrath from the Tyrant beyond anything imagineable. Well, actually I probably wouldn't have done much but blog angrily. But I would have wanted to do much, much more.

Not only is it unbelievable that Ruben had to endure the bottom two trauma, I truly can't believe Josh didn't end up in the bottom two. Trenyce deserved the bottom two, but so did Josh. He does not deserve to be in the top four. What's worse is he's now become the male Carmen, meaning he just won't go away, yet he sucks and we have to listen to him for at least another week. What is with the appeal of the people who can't sing? Why do they keep getting so many votes? I know he's a Marine, but singing, dancing Marines who can't sing or dance don't deserve to be on this show any longer.

Americans who previously voted for Carmen, please shift your votes to a worthy contestant. Especially if Carmen told you to now vote for Josh-Carmen. She is no longer in control of this show, so please ignore her. Get out of your rut of voting for the aesthetically pleasing contestant with no vocal talent, and pick the ones who can sing. You've got three to pick from. Ruben, Clay, and K. Lo. If Josh makes it through one more round, I'm sending in the Special Ops Forces to extract him during the night.

While my prediction of Josh-Carmen shipping out didn't quite happen, I am satisfied with the boot of Trenyce, aka Proud Mary. Not so proud today, I'd say. Unfortunately, she stole Paula Abdul on the way out last night. Yep, just picked her up and stuffed her in her purse. I guess since Paula is her only fan, Trenyce wanted to take home a souvenir of her experience. I think she has her caged up at home, dressed in stolen Old Navy clothes, making her repeat over and over, "Trenyce, I'm your biggest fan. I love you!" That's just weird, if you ask me.

Even weirder was Simon and Randy dancing last night to Ruben's song. Truly weird. But they make a cute couple, I must say.

In other news, it seems I get a lot of hits on my blog from people searching for American Idol tidbits. Hey, whatever gets people here, that's cool by me. But you people searching for 'trenyce nude', you are sick. Welcome here, but very, very sick.

C.T.