Thursday, July 31, 2008


This morning I decided to be a cynic. 

Over a complete whim, I underwent a  complete personality overhaul.

There are two key things that have made me decide this. Now, I'm not really the type of person who watches documentaries for the sheer fun of it, but every once in a while, in pop documentary titles in the channel guide that I just have to see from start to finish. Or at least the first five minutes of it, until yet another re-run of Sex & the City begins.

Such a documentary was called "Dispatches: Sandwiches". This 60 minute mini-film explores how blatantly the sandwich industry breaks health and safety regulations. And that, by the way, was an understatement - sort of like saying, Paris Hilton looks kinda trashy. Anyway, this lil' documentary has made me adamantly refuse to eat another ready-made sandwich, the way The Blair Witch Project has made me absolutely reject the idea of even considering the prospect of camping in the woods.

Days after, this documentary, whose name I could not remember due to what seems to be early-onset Alzeihmer's, airs. It's about the part-time abstract artist, full-time little girl, Marla Olmstead, who apparently is a "child prodigy". Her abstract paintings had been selling for thousands of dollars, until a "60 Minutes" episode presented what seems to me as more-than-credible conspiracy theories, questioning whether it really was her who painted her pieces, or whether she had more-than-little help from her father.

Ultimately, I don't even think that these two documentaries really were significant enough to completely change my attitue. I believe that I had already been harbouring a lil' cynic in me.

Now, after numerous, tormenting months of Braxton Hicks contractions - and a further sixteen hours of laborious pushing and deep-inhaling, I had finally given birth to my little cynic.

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