I don't like secrets. The whole point of a secret isn't to keep information from people; the point is to let them know that you know something they don't know, usually for some ulterior motive.
If someone really wants to keep information confidential, they simply don't say anything, right? You don't know they know something worth knowing because they know how to keep their pie hole shut. Y'know?
If, for example, you walked into your neighbor Darwin's home office and saw the random flotsam and jetsam of office notes and files scattered about his desk you'd think nothing of it. Even if one of the files haphazardly teetering on top of a stack had a note labeling it "Boring B.S. for teleconference with Bob and crew at 11:45."
The secret? "Bob and crew" is the code name for President Barack Obama and his joint chiefs of staff and the "boring B.S." is really all Darwin's intell on a terrorist plot against the local Twinkie factory.
Who'd of thunk it?
If that file folder had been stamped "Top Secret" in bright red letters and laying out on the desk, yeah, you would've looked. If you didn't have the chance to look, you would've asked what it was about. And if you were too shy for that you would've started keeping your eye on that Darwin fellow to figure out what sort of dealings he was up to.
Trust me, if that information was really top secret, labeled as such and laying in plain sight within reach of any yahoo neighbor like you walking in the door then Darwin the Spy is really Darwin the Moron, or he's Darwin the Self-Important Bore, or he's Darwin the Scary Guy Who Hears Voices When He's Off His Meds, in any case you can't trust the information so it's not worth reading.
Or, and this one's the kicker, Darwin actually wants you to read the information, in which case it's a trick. Reading it makes you and accomplice. Then you'll be used as bait in a caper involving guns and lots of people wearing protective armor except you. Or you'll be forced to become an information mule, carrying a coded note that Darwin shoved down your throat in a baggy to the Pentagon where a sinister looking dude who swears he's a good guy stands guard outside the restroom waiting for the Ex-lax to kick in so you can "pass" the information to him.
The word "secret" is a trap, a trick, an instrument of evil whose forces I resist with adamant, um, forceful resistance. Whatever. You know what I mean.
Just ask my husband who learned pretty early in our marriage not to say things like "I know what you're getting for your birthday and you-uu doh-on't." That's just an invitation to an argument. A long, drawn out argument about the ethics of taunting others and the validity of my stance on how much of a pig he is.
I have my convictions.
And all of this is leading up to my complaint about the small Internet ads featuring a line drawing of a chubby belly (sometimes being squished and jiggled by a pair of animated hands) and text declaring "Follow this one secret rule to a flat belly." People have to click on the ad to discover the big secret.
Run, people. That's the big secret. Run from this ad. It's a power play made to induce psychological suffering on others, a sort of neener-ha-ha, nanny-boo-boo situation to make you click the link, or a way of begging people to come wheedle the information out of them to share the thrill of secretness. Either way, it's a trap of some kind. The link will lead you to all types of nefarious undertakings that involve loss of your personal and financial information, requests for large sums of money, and/or placement of your name on international phone solicitation lists.
Within minutes, you will receive an unwanted request to buy an authentic geisha doll from Rwanda, followed by a notice from your bank that your checking account was zeroed out.
Really, the only secret to a flat belly is to get up from you computer and run as fast as you can away from that advertising ploy.
(No secret here. I'd rather just take a good brisk sit, followed by a relaxing stretch for a fresh doughnut at http://viewnorth40.wordpress.com.)