Interview Alert

Today I was interviewed by Mark Goren, friend, co-worker and owner of Planting Seeds. 

You can read the entire interview here...

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Visualizing success

Motivational speakers believe that a sure way to become successful is to visualize your success before it actually happens, so now, every night as my head hits the pillow, I close my eyes and imagine what my life will be like when this book gets picked up by a publisher, endorsed by Oprah and sells hundreds, if not thousands of copies. 

 

I am ready for that kind of fame.

I read once that Jim Carrey wrote himself a cheque for one million dollars before he became famous, visualizing the day he would cash it.  Ripping a page from his book, I have tattooed a bar code on my buttocks that rings up a total of two million dollars and seventy -five cents when you scan it. This simple, yet painful procedure decreased my net worth by $100 but has increased my self-worth by much more. I have yet to figure out how I will cash my ass in but that's a detail I can work out later.

I have also begun visualizing beyond the apex of my celebrity when I am washed up and nothing more than a footnote in annals of entertainment history. 

For instance, right now I see me entering rehab for the fourth time, scowling at the paparazzi who clamor over themselves to get a shot of my crotch as I exit the taxi cab. 

I also see me leaving the rehab center the very next day proudly telling the press that I am cured of my addiction to pop tarts. I do admit that there is still work to do on my obsession with porn and affinity for crack but, c'mon man.... one crisis at a time. 

I see me writing a book about these struggles being careful to leave out the part of my life where I sat in exile with a trio of glaze-addicted midgets who were protesting the destruction of another Krispy Kreme (too traumatic, plus the little ones need their privacy).

But most of all, I see me on the cover of Time magazine, voted transvestite of the year after an epic selection process in which I narrowly beat out Paris Hilton and Clay Aiken for the coveted award.  The ensuing controversy that happens after judges discover I am not a transvestite but just "some guy wearing his Mother's dress" creates serious controversy and earns the attention of Hollywood heavyweight, Martin Scorcese, who casts me in his next picture, taking me from washed-up writer to has-been actor overnight.

What more can anyone ask for?

Hats off!

After yesterday's shoe-throwing incident in Iraq, I got to thinking that if this writing thing doesn't work out, maybe there's an opportunity to train Iraqi journalists in the art of rifling articles of clothing - a sort of fashion firing range catering to disgruntled reporters who are destined to come face to face with visiting heads of state. 

Clearly, Iraqi television journalist, Muntazer al-Zaidi could have used a few lessons before the incident. Unfortunately, now he'll go down in history as the guy with the bad aim. 

Hindsight being what it is, I see that his lack of precision was just a symptom for a bigger problem. The fact is, his inability to lock on his target was actually caused by many factors, not the least of which was shoe weight. After studying the video for the last 16 hours, it appears to me that Mr Zaidi wore a size 11 shoe. As someone who has spent the better part of his adult life throwing things, I can say with first-hand authority that a size 11 shoe is far too large. In fact, the circumference of the large sole creates a disparity between the friction generated by the hand and the air surface it is traveling through leading to a uneven flight pattern. 

In short, he would have been much more successful had he scaled down to a size 9 or 9 1/2 at most. A woman's high heel shoe would have been good too. If it were red even better (maximum dramatic effect).

For future consideration, shirts are never good for throwing because they almost always parachute open never reaching their intended destination. They're also not very threatening. 

Few would argue that the best article of clothing for this sort of activity is the Bolo hat with steel rim as depicted in the James Bond movie Goldfinger. Unfortunately, those are hard to find. Although I may consider throwing in a free Bolo hat with every paid tuition just to boost enrollment.  

Building the brand of me

As someone who "claims" to be a writer, I have recently implemented various techniques in an attempt to make myself appear intelligenter so that pedestrians who walk by me will know right away that I have more substance than famous writers like Suzanne Somers or Dr. Oz. 

Through crafty subliminal manipulation, my hope is they will rush out to buy my book (which does not exist yet) and not the literary trash of my contemporaries. 

As a regular reader of this site and someone who I have called Mother for the last 46 years, I will let you in on a few tricks of the trade that I have developed to help me attain  the aforementioned goal.  

First, but not least, I have Crazy Glued my forefinger and thumb to my chin so it looks like I am in perpetual deep thought. As many of you are aware, deep thought is a sure sign that someone is thinking deeply which, expressed another way means they are educated. 

(As an aside, this pose only works if you look up towards the heavens and flutter your eyelids meaningfully. Looking down conveys a sentiment of disapproval for someone's shoes and that is not the image we are going for here.) 

One word of advice to potential copycats: when you are using Crazy Glue be certain not to scratch anything until after you have washed your hands. I have it on good authority that skin is very sensitive in the genital area. Plus walking around with your hand stuck to your baby maker is unacceptable in almost every social circle I can think of.

But I digress. 

The second thing I do to let people know I am a writer without actually telling them involves alcohol.  No surprise here but, historically speaking, writers are drunks and I happily count myself among the scribes who lack in the healthy liver department. Of course, drinking a lot requires cash which is something I am in dire need of so I have become accustomed to licking wayward beer bottle caps I find on the street. It takes a lot of energy and time but the cost savings in these economically-depressed times are well worth the effort. Perhaps a book will come out of that hot tip?

Finally, I invested what little money I have in a t-shirt that says "I am Dr. Oz". 

I know I don't look like Dr. Oz, nor do I have his "alleged" experience, but anyone who isn't playing with a full deck or watched an episode of Oprah in the last five years won't know that. (I am talking to you prisoners.) By using his name, people will know I am a successful writer and doctor right away.  

To aid in the illusion, I have also acquired a plastic stethoscope from the kid next door which I wear around my waist. This adds credibility when I ask the above-mentioned pedestrians if they would like a "sidewalk physical". Although no one has accepted my offer to disrobe, I think it is only a matter of time before I snag my first subject.  Maybe if I had rubber gloves instead of my Bob the Builder mittens, I could seal the deal.