Dr. Phil, CG

You may have noticed for the past couple of days I have not spoken of The Great War of 2005. I'd like to tell you that it's because I've spent my time writing of the greater truths of mankind or spending it in loftier family/moral/patriotic/spiritual pursuits.



But that, of course, would be a big fat lie.



The truth of the matter is, yesterday I shoveled (snow, not crap) twice, made dinner, and then declared that I was done for the day. In a fit of guilt I managed to organize some books in my bedroom, arranging them neurotically by size and genre. Looking over the residents of literature lane, I thought, "Wow, I read some really weird stuff."



Unfortunately, after my book straightening exercise, I tossed all the extras on my living room couch. Battle won -- Battle lost.



My dishes, too, are back to piled in the sink. They shall be attended to this weekend, along with all the other little piles of messes that have crept up over the past several days.



I might have been discouraged about my progress or lack thereof in The War of Good God Almighty Where Did All This Crap Come From? But then I sat down and watched a snippet of Dr. Phil and his Resolutions show.



Pigeon after Pigeon Guest after Guest came trotting out on stage to pitch their particular tale of woe. One had a drinking problem. Another had a smoking problem. Another was addicted to the computer *snerk*. Dr. Phil, in his usual good-ole-boy, down home, folksy, drawling Texas-style way, handed them their heads -- and excuses -- on a platter.



"No Excuses!" He'd bark.

"But..." they'd begin

"No Excuses! DO you want to stop or NOT?"

"But..." they'd try to speak

"GET REAL! NO EXCUSES! DECIDE NOW! DON'T WASTE MY TIME!"



And on and on it went.



Now, I'm not here to contradict his advice or the manner in which he chooses to dish it out help others. In fact, I agree with him that generally what people say they want to do, and what they are actually willing to do (after making a million excuses) are two entirely different things. As I sat on my couch, watching exchange after exchange, I had a Pre-Epiphany epiphany.



DR. PHIL IS A CRANKY GRANNY



This man gets paid a truckload of money to do nothing more than bark advice that any Cranky Granny would be glad to heap on you, day in and day out, free of charge. And if you didn't have a Cranky Granny, you could go to the grocery store on a Sunday afternoon (Cranky Grannys do church so they can go to heaven), grab a cart, and mow down several in a matter of minutes. They are everywhere, swinging the sledgehammer of advice with reckless abandon. There is no talking back. There is no arguing. There is no use in trying to discuss, reason or rationalize, because Cranky Granny is Volcano.



So, I felt a little better. Maybe I am a day or two behind on my personal war on crap. Maybe I did decide to shovel and then be done. But the way I look at it, not only was I smart enough NOT to have Cranky Granny yell at me in front of America, I was smart enough to turn off the TV.