March 5, 2007

Deep, Dark Secret...

Yes, I should be working. But catching up on a computerless week has me awash in reading and desperate responses that have me hopping up and down in my chair like a second grade brown-noser. Which I was, come to think of it...

Have you heard of this book/DVD/holy movement called The Secret? Sure you have. You'd have to be under a rock not to. A very dear lady told me about it, and I raised my eyebrows as she struggled to make it sound not ridiculous. It sounded ridiculous.

It's an Australian woman who has created a monster pile of money by basically telling people her theory of creating the life you want: Imagine it. If you think it, it will come. I found a copy at Chapters and flipped through it. I read a little in the store. I barfed. It's a crock. The whole thing is predicated on if you want a fancy car, just imagine it will be yours, then run and look in the driveway. Oh, and you aren't overweight because of food. You're overweight because you imagine you are. Just think skinny thoughts, and only look at skinny people.

Now, because one is born every minute, or in this case millions are, I shrugged it off. And then Oprah got a hold of it. Remember, no computer last week? I turned on Oprah. She did not one, but two shows about this nonsense. Oh, Oprah. Such good educational tasks you are doing in Africa, and then you fell head long into this pile of horse crap.

Self-help books have been around forever. The person they help the most, and usually the only person they help, is the author. Fair enough. Pied pipers have been around even longer. But what is particuarly vile about The Secret is how predicated it is on acquiring things. Diamonds, cars, money, stuff. It's gross. Really. If you want to know what a person is worth, just grab their tax return. There apparently is nothing more noble than the pursuit of expensive clothes and fancy houses.

Today in Salon, Peter Birkenhead delivers a nice flogging I can't improve upon.

So I won't try.


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