Do You Believe in The Secret?

Maybe a year or two ago I caught Oprah rambling about The Secret. The episode included a round table discussion with other Secret “experts”, declaring the virtues of the Laws of Attraction and creating vision boards.

Earlier this year when I was in a longterm position and coming to terms with the fact that, yes, I really want to continue teaching, my colleague recommended the creation of my own vision board. I listened to her little story, but really didn’t buy it. Get a poster board, cut out pictures, and SHAZAM/POOF, I’ll have a Mazda 3, a great job teaching high school English in an urban school, have a literary agent peddling my latest novel, own a ukulele, have my student loans paid off, my masters finished, quit smoking, lose 30 pounds, and adopt another dog? Riiiiight. Don’t we normally call this kind of stuff delusions of grandeur?

When I was home over the weekend, I watched Chelsea Lately, which confirmed the fact that I want to BE her. Handler mentioned putting something on her vision board, which, of course made me laugh hysterically.

I googled vision boards today, thinking that maybe, just maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe I’m being too cynical and not opening myself up to “The Secret.” Maybe vision statements, emotional growth calendars, and snazzy sparkled paper is just what I need. I fell upon this which made me laugh some more. Is this like a cult or something? I’m kidding, but seriously…do people really construct vision boards, thinking that the universe is going to magically manifest their wants? Again, I’m evidently too cynical.

Excuse me. I need to go to Office Depot and buy a foam poster board…right after I chair dance while watching this

.

Chelsea Handler Part Deux

 I finished Are You There Vodka, It’s Me, Chelsea with vim and vigor. Chelsea Handler is, hands down, one of the best comedic writers I know of (other than my brother). Now maybe some of you with, say, CABLE have known her for a while, but I’ve been working with rabbit ears and 5 channels for going on 4 years. I’m just glad I have access to the type of book that would proudly proclaim, “I went out with a guy who once told me I didn’t need to drink to make myself more fun to be around. I told him, ‘I’m drinking so that you’re more fun to be around.’” I can relate. And frankly, reading that book has gotten me back in touch with my mouthier, more cynical side—the one I didn’t think would be useful for enlightenment of my 30’s. I suppose it also helps that I’m not spending 8 hours a day in front of a bunch of teenagers, guarding my words, and biting my tongue when I really want to say, “Hey, little shitweed, go sit your little ass in that chair, shut the f—k up and read chapter 5.” Not that I would ever say that, but the thought has crossed my mind a few times.

I had to shell out the cash to buy a stupid textbook for my little web design class (I think I keep calling it “little” since it’s probably going to do “little” for me and my “little” career search). I was a “little” disturbed when I learned that the class is dedicated to Dreamweaver and Macs. I DON’T OWN A MAC! I HATE MACS! (And I accidentally muttered this, “I hate Macs” when the prof set us off onto a tutorial of Dreamweaver. I kept closing out the pages, in efforts of trying to enlarge. Who knew they didn’t enlarge? And who in hell doesn’t want their entire screen covered with whatever your focus is supposed to be? I know who! Those of us who should probably consider a current eye exam!). I was even more disturbed when the prof let us out an hour early. For the first time in my life (other than that one time in an alley), I was thinking, “HEY! I PAID FOR THAT HOUR! TEACH ME SOMETHING, MOFO!”

I drove off to my local Barnes and Noble, armed with a 20% off coupon. Of course I wandered around the store, collecting a dozen books that I can’t afford before finding Dreamweaver 8. I dropped all 12 items of my little library collection when I spotted My Horizontal Life: A collection of one night stands, by none other than my new personal guru, Chelsea Handler. Now, I’ve never considered having a serious relationship with a woman, let alone a sexual one, but I’m pretty sure I would marry her if I lived in California.

New Books

Water For Elephants by Sara Gruen…My great grandfather on my Dad’s side supposedly hopped a train in Oneida, NY and joined the circus for a few years. Reading this is making me want to do a little research and see if those family legends are true. If you’re into Depression era history, animals, and the old roadshows, this is a must read.

Are You There, Vodka? It’s Me, Chelsea by Chelsea Handler (think: Are you there, God? It’s Me Margaret). I’m on summer “break” and caught her interview on the Today show this morning. You can actually check out the first chapter here.This part had me laughing:

The problem with being the youngest of six children is that my father had me when he was forty-two years old, resulting in what I like to refer to as “severe generational gappage.” That, coupled with the fact that he was born without the embarrassment gene, left us little in common. It would have seemed completely appropriate to my father for me to hold a press conference in the school’s auditorium the next day, wearing a helmet with a maxipad stuck to my forehead while announcing into a microphone that I’ve been a “bad, bad girl, and I’ve also been known to sh*t in my pants.”