My Secret

The Secret by Rhonda Byrne, is one of those books that came out of nowhere and became a self help sensation. Rhonda Byrne has made appearances everywhere from Oprah to signings at local bookstores to promote her little book of wisdom. I decided to check the book out and let me tell you, it has got to be one of the most shallow, self serving, pretentious, ego-maniacal books ever written.

The book is more or less about the "law of attraction", which is the belief that if you think positive thoughts good things will happen to you and if you think negatively, bad things happen to you. This book really tries to sell the law of attraction as an actual law of nature. Now I confess thinking positively will generally give you better results than thinking negatively, after all if you think you will fail chances are you really aren't giving it your all. This book however says that thinking positively is like a genie in a bottle where if you wish it and think positively enough you will get what you want. No work involved, just think positive and everything will fall into place! Hey it's a law of nature after all. So if I think positively enough I can fly just like Superman.

This book is littered with quotes from various other self help gurus which basically say how wonderful and amazing the Secret is. The quotes don't really don't say how wonderful a person you are. They also try and convince you how renown historical figures have used the secret for positive results, such as Einstein or Beethoven. Yes I'm sure Einstein must have been thinking positively that they wouldn't use his research to create an atomic bomb.

Rhonda Byrne even tries to rationalize disasters and tragedies. Here's a direct quote from her book.

"Often when people first hear this part of the Secret they recall events in history where masses of lives were lost, and they find it incomprehensible that so many people could have attracted themselves to the event. By the law of attraction, they had to be on the same frequency as the event. It doesn’t mean they necessarily thought of that exact event, but the frequency of their thoughts matched the frequency of the event. If people believe they can be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and they have no control over outside circumstances, those thoughts of fear, separation, and powerlessness, if persistent, can attract them into being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

If only those those Jewish people in Nazi Germany would have thought a little more positively perhaps the holocaust never would have happened. Rhonda Byrne is a LOON.

Another thing about the secret is how insane some of her theories are, such as her thoughts on weight gain.

"Food is not responsible for putting on weight. It is your thought that food is responsible for putting on weight that actually has food put on weight."

"Food cannot cause you to put on weight, unless you think it can."

I guess I can gorge myself on 300 cupcakes since it won't be the calories, it was just me thinking wrong way. Speaking of weight gain Rhonda Byrne also teaches us valuable lessons on how to better ostracize people who aren't of an ideal weight.

"Make it your intention to look for, admire, and inwardly praise people with your idea of perfect-weight bodies. Seek them out and as you admire them and feel the feelings of that-you are summoning it to you. If you see people who are overweight, do not observe them, but immediately switch your mind to the picture of you in your perfect body and feel it."

Yes instead of judging people on their own merits or personalities we should just go with their outward appearance.

I absolutely loathe this book and how anyone can see any kind of positive message in it is beyond my comprehension.

Facebook

Being derogatory towards Facebook is a lot like breathing, in the sense that everybody does it, but nobody does it as well as I do. And I hate the vast majority of people who do it.

Most Facebook whingers are the self-professed "random" or "totally mental" types who actually love Facebook with a passion, but want to look like they are so completely bonkers that they can't control their own actions.

I am yet to figure out precisely why people think that "randomness" is funny. Surrealism can be funny. I use it a lot. I am really funny. Surrealism is a lot like whinging about Facebook and breathing and shark-wrestling, in the sense that everybody does it, but nobody does it as well as I do.

I like certain elements of Facebook. It is useful for contacting groups of people in one go - for example, to invite them to a party, or to discuss housing arrangements, or arrange a terrorist attack, or whatever I do. It's funny how people regard a visit to an unfamiliar webpage as a journey. An undertaking that requires a concerted effort. It's no problem to browse Facebook aimlessly for hours on end, but by God, to redirect your browser to another webpage, well, that would involve expending a considerable amount of extra energy, both mental and physical.

So I am left with no choice but to update Facebook regularly, since I am too vain to pass up the opportunity for people to say stuff like "you are such a great writer that I am going to burn every other book in the world," or "I would jump on it in a flash, you rippling manstud," to me.

The way I see it, Facebook has only one more use than this. And it is really rather an important one.

It serves as a comprehensive directory of every single person on my "to kill before I hit twenty-three" list. A sort of checklist, if you will. Moreover, it also gives those people the perfect platform to justify my desire to terminate them.

Do you have multiple "Applications" on your profile? Then I am going to kill you.

You fill out chain-mail notes about the films you have watched?
Or a questionnaire about your sexual deviance?
Or your personality type? Or character? Or level of "randomness"?
You spit pop-philosophy and your friends think you're deep?
Then you're fucked.

You have a Facebook pet? Uh-oh.

You join groups that represent your ideologies and self-congratulate with all the other bastards on the wall, insulting opponents and slowly indoctrinating yourself with reactionary propaganda, failing at any point to examine counter-arguments?

You support really important Facebook-related causes such as the "how dare they charge us to send gifts those horrid capitalist bastards it should be free" group and add the "free-gift" application as an expression of your passionate support for civil liberties?

You think that "I hate you reactionary cunts, I am embarrassed to belong to the same species as you," does not suffice as a valid argument against you?

You'd best start writing a will.

You poke people? You're dead
You have the Graffiti wall? You're dead
You have the "X me" application? Why do you want me to kill you?
You have the Superpoke Application? That's kosher. I don't mind that.

You list every band you've ever heard of in your "favourite music" list to show off how hip you are? I hate you more than all of these subgroups. Having heard of a band is not something to be proud of.

Why would you think it was? Knowing obscure bands isn't an achievement.

Stop it. Please, stop it. Bang bang.

You list "random" quotes that you and your friends made on drunken nights out? Try: "Oh fuck, he has a knife, the psychotic bastard has a kn-AAAARRRRGHHH."You list movies and books you don't really like but that you think make you look more intelligent? You really love War and Peace? I'm not saying you shouldn't. Just that you don't.

You think Ayn Rand is a genius? There's no hope for you.

Endostory.

Rook

Bleary-eyed, the fan is buzzing over the soft piano tone that rings around the hall. Deep in thought, our protagonist is split between the decision of keeping the water running and calling it a 36-hour day sometime during the mid-afternoon, or falling asleep in a couple hours until the mid-afternoon. I look hipsterish enough [hipster = the pinnacle of douche-baggery]. A long-overdue trip to easy street records is in order. I like to think that I have my head screwed on straight, but I am capable of being vaguely self-destructive. I didn't get to sleep until about 4am, because not only was I sort of freaking out over something, I was proud of myself for keeping cool about for the past few days, but because I think I may have developed a slight dependency on her, although I’ve scaled down my dosages significantly.

Rook is one of the card games that my family played. While other families were playing the less-fun, easier, and generally worse Euchre, we were bidding, taking the nest, and sneaking the ill-omened rook card in for the greatest effect (because the rook card is, of course, the highest valued and least powerfuly trump). When discussing card games, I describe Euchre as wannabe Rook.

The worst in my grandma comes out when we play Rook. Rook turns my grandma, normally a sweet, harmless woman, into a vengeful, out-for-blood card shark. Once when I trumped her trick, she called me a louse, a remark that still burns to this day. And despite her being older, her mind is still sharp enough to consistently set her brash young grandson even when his bids are modest. Sigh.

Anyway, why talk about Rook? Because it has some of the best marketing copy ever. Seriously. I wish I could write like this (as you read, read with a raspy, dramatic voice):

"A Blaze of Lightning. A wind turned cold. Beware the power of the Rook. The eerie black bird can make all the difference. Four players (options for two, three, five, or six). Partner or not. You bid. You name trump. You take tricks (when you're lucky or smart). But beware the wild ROOK! When he lands, anything can change.

"A classic game. Easier than bridge. More challenging than Hearts. Custom-designed cards. Gorgeous. Perfect for a dark, stormy night. Bring home the ROOK card game and find out."