Poorly-written, re-warmed Cosmo articles parading as "medicine." Sensationalistic tone and ridiculous, unfounded assertions don't help matters, especially when the logic used is as tortured as the argument leading up to the conclusion that we'll all live to be 200 (well, we've doubled our lifespans in the last 100 years, haven't we? So, in the next 100, we're bound to double it again! Never mind all that crazy stuff like immunizations, sanitation, antibiotics, etc...) An insult to the lay reader and the physician alike

This is a must read for anyone intrested in the new science of anti-aging medicine. Although fantastic the authors research and data are solid and irrefutable. Klatz is the worlds top practicing physician in this field and his prescriptions for longevity are thoughtful, well documented and effective. Ive read over 100 books in this area and stopping the clock is among the best.

Helpful and put forth in an objective manner. Specific in the studies and research sited. To the other reviewer, a few years ago the cancer preventative value of vegetables was scoffed at. Now the American Cancer Society has endorsed the research. For those of us who are into prevention and not into after the fact repair work that will pay for the doctor's Mercedes, it's worth reading.

I can't put my finger on why I didn't like this book. I like his other books (Great Apes and Grey Matter are great). You can't help, but feel dirty after reading a book like this, yet there was little humor or even interesting perspective to lighten the blow. I found this to be creepy and not in a good way. Maybe I was just in a bad mood...

This joyfully venomous novella, whose title invokes the excellent Burt Lancaster/Tony Curtis film Sweet Smell of Success (1957), is ostensibly intended to satirize the sorts of tabloid hack journalists who had enjoyed themselves so thoroughly at the expense of Martin Amis, Will Self's literary godfather, several years ago. But, perhaps just because I'm not British, there did not seem to be anything presslike about the characters; instead it seemed just a vicious, but worthwhile, savaging of the sort of amoral, ambisexual, drug-addled, sensation-chasers who are all too common in every walk of life and line of work these days.

Richard Hermes is an entirely minor features writer who has become caught up in the vortex of young journalists who revolve around Bell, a constant media presence known for bedding any man or woman he sets his eye on, sort of Larry King crossed with a satyr. Richard recognizes the emptiness of the lives the group leads, and still has a sufficient remnant of decency to be repelled by the acts of needless cruelty that they thrive on, however, he's fallen in lust with Ursula Bently, an icy blonde beauty, who hangs with this crowd, but whom he compares to "a diamond found in a gutter behind a Chinese takeaway."

Richard pays court to the intermittently receptive Ursula, and descends deeper and deeper into a paranoid cocaine-induced haze, in which everyone around him seems to resemble Bell. He harbors the improbable hope that Ursula is redeemable and that the two of them can break out of Bell's gravitational pull to live happily ever after. But in the end, even as he plans to get away from the City and Bell, to return home for the Christmas holiday, Richard finally gets his chance to bed down Ursula, though the experience proves less than heavenly.

If the book is intended to say something specific about the press, it escaped me entirely. No one actually seems to perform any kind of work in the book, it's all clubbing, drugging, drinking, and scrumping. But taken simply as a cautionary tale, a warning that by being with these people you become one of them and sink into the abyss, it worked well enough.

GRADE : B

IT was amazing to read a book that through it's title gives you the clue that this book will be wierd, but to still be taken aback at how twisted the reels of faces can become when reading such a well written book.

That's roughly the authors' answer to how to gain and maintain willpower. This short book describes ten negative influences that can inhibit your willpower, and nine "Building Blocks" that are supposed to help you gain willpower. Unfortunately the authors devote only a few pages to each subject, and none are discussed to any significant depth or level of detail. These "Building Blocks" could have benefited from more specific examples of their being put into use, and case studies of people who have actually gone through their steps and gained more willpower as a result, but the book contains none of that.

Instead, the book seems to contain more vaguely motivational and superficial "pick-me-up" advice, delivered via a cutesy lightbulb character, without providing any specific, useful information. Worst of all, at various points the book emphasizes labor and perseverance as necessary ingredients for building willpower. People lack willpower precisely because they *don't* want to have to labor and persevere, and the book doesn't answer the question, "Well what if I don't have the strength to labor and persevere?"

The only section that seemed remotely helpful was the 1 1/2 pages devoted to imagining yourself obtaining your goals, also known as imagery or guided imagery. There are entire books devoted to this subject, which would probably be more helpful to obtaining your goals than this book. If you're looking for a vague, generic overview of willpower, then this book is for you. If you're looking for more specific, useful information and help, this book is *not* for you.

I've read this book at least ten times and every time it gives me a boost! I keep it handy as a constant reminder of the basic things I need to succeed. It's so quick and easy to read, which is a lifesaver when you're always pressed for time. I used the simple principles in the Anderson's book throughout my pregnancy and they helped to make the entire experience a pleasant and rewarding one. Each time I read this little "gem" I know I can do it. So can you.

This book appears to be an unedited compilation of the author's notes; she often contradicts herself and provides factually wrong information. There is an occasional nugget of useful information, but the author is so untrustworthy due to her sloppiness that I would recommend a few pages of Cosmo over this book.

This is the most senseless piece of book I have ever read. I saw Ms. Patterson on "Vibe" and she could barely even talk, she sounded so illiterate and ghetto, she even looked the part. She couldn't even pronounce the word sensual. I read this book about 3 yrs ago and thought it was vulgar and tasteless. Ms. Patterson has told the WHOLE world that she can't even keep her own husband from cheating on her. Imagine that she is SOOO much woman and has SOOO much money and yet her husband was SOOO unfulfilled!! Let's just say I wouldn't even give her book or advice the time or day. The proof is in the pudding that she obviously doesn't know what she's talking about. I wouldn't have even given this book a rating of 1 star, but there was no rating for a (-) negative range.

I enjoyed all three versions of this book. I have each of them. I bought the unedited copy, the hard back and the paperback. I can see where some people don't get it. The book is probaly too deep for the lady in Louisianna who wrote the bad review. I've been invited to at least eighteen girls nights out and this book was always the topic of conversation. Women just can't seem to put it down. You know why, because it tells the truth about what real women really want to know. So for all the closed minded, inhibited and negative people who can't open their minds...I say get a life. This book has been passed around at my office and no one ever wants to give it back. We love it and will read it again and again and again. Thanks. Oh by the way I saw Ella on Vibe too, and I didn't get the impression that she couldn't talk. There was a group of us watching and we felt that she helped inform us. If you don't have naything nice to say don't say anything.

I expected a motivational book about mental, emotional and physical health for RE agents in the trenches, and got a new age manifesto of no use to me. I love all of Barb's other books on RE -- she is a gifted teacher. But in this book she has strayed from her area of expertise into personal, subjective, and in some cases just strange ideas about how one should live. Her thoughts on health are untested and experimental, and her musings on spirituality are so nebulous that she ends up saying nothing of import in that section. Too bad; I know she has many stories that would encourage and motivate many of us to better things.

This a great little book that is uplifting, fun, inspiring, very informational and a good quick read. I especially loved the ideas she shared about creating the life you want and techniques to help acheive it. It is also a good basic tool to understand some of the most popular herbs that can benefit almost anyone's health. I have shared this book with friends and family and have gotten nothing but great comments from them as well. It is a wonderful motivational guide to reread on a daily basis.

Crudely alluring illustrations aside, Will Self remains one of Britain's most keenly astute observers of modern life, a writer for whom satire is never merely a means to an end. Articulate and frequently downright funny, he dissects societies many foibles like a 21st century version of Jonathan Swift, only a bit nastier. In his latest book of non-fiction Sore Sites, a collection of 60 pieces from the weekly trade publication Building Design, Self plunders the breadth of architectural monuments and monstrosities to be found around England and the world, leaving no cobble stone unturned. His knowledge of the 'built environment' as he calls it, is strangely compelling and gives a subject that might otherwise be sterile and dull, especially culled from a niche magazine such as Building Design, a new dimension that is both hilarious and insightful. Self, as our slightly demented tour guide, traverses the various Millennium buildings in and around London including the Millennium Dome, a project spearheaded by Tony Blair. We wind our way through the crumbling housing districts of Manchester, while Self muses upon the demise of British cities due to the loss of municipal housing. Expansive public pools, the Thames river, the Tower of London, vernacular architecture in Northern Ireland, all get the once over, and, Self even manages to question the integrity of such egregious structures like Seattle's Space Needle, where an over priced lunch can be had while you spin endlessly, taking in the grand views. Particularly Selfesque obsessions manage to rear their loveable ugly heads as well; preoccupations with scale, made all the more apt when put in the context of architecture, the freeways and roadways around England including the M25 and, of course, drugs, which he manages to argue, quite persuasively, are interconnected with, even predicated upon, the aesthetics of architecture. One of Self's literary heroes, J.G. Ballard even manages to sneak into the collection by way of his novel High Rise, and, well, you can guess the rest. Although not as eclectic, or thoroughly engaging as Self's first collection of journalism, Junk Mail, Sore Sites is a fast, enjoyable read that manages to put architecture in the context of a larger social, cultural landscape. These short pieces allow the reader to ingest the vast history of the 'built environment' and understand just how meaningful it is in daily life besides merely being a marvel or an eye sore. So, grab this handy travel sized edition, throw it into the breast pocket of your jacket and take it along with you as you explore the incredible architecture of Rome, or contemplate the desert tray in a spinning restaurant atop Seattle.

Crudely alluring illustrations aside, Will Self remains one of Britain's most keenly astute observers of modern life, a writer for whom satire is never merely a means to an end. Articulate and frequently downright funny, he dissects societies many foibles like a 21st century version of Jonathan Swift, only a bit nastier. In his latest book of non-fiction, Sore Sites, a collection of 60 pieces from the weekly trade publication Building Design, Self plunders the breadth of architectural monuments and monstrosities to be found around England and the world, leaving no cobble stone unturned. His knowledge of the 'built environment' as he calls it, is strangely compelling and gives a subject that might otherwise be sterile and dull, especially culled from a niche magazine such as Building Design, a new dimension that is both hilarious and insightful. Self, as our slightly demented tour guide, traverses the various Millennium buildings in and around London including the Millennium Dome, a project spearheaded by Tony Blair. We wind our way through the crumbling housing districts of Manchester, while Self muses upon the demise of British cities due to the loss of municipal housing. Expansive public pools, the Thames river, the Tower of London, vernacular architecture in Northern Ireland, all get the once over, and, Self even manages to question the integrity of such egregious structures like Seattle's Space Needle, where an over priced lunch can be had while you spin endlessly, taking in the grand views. Particularly Selfesque obsessions manage to rear their loveable ugly heads as well; preoccupations with scale, made all the more apt when put in the context of architecture, the freeways and roadways around England including the M25 and, of course, drugs, which he manages to argue, quite persuasively, are interconnected with, even predicated upon, the aesthetics of architecture. One of Self's literary heroes, J.G. Ballard even sneaks into the collection by way of his novel High Rise, and, well, you can guess the rest. Although not as eclectic, or thoroughly engaging as Self's first collection of journalism, Junk Mail, Sore Sites is a fast, enjoyable read that manages to put architecture in the context of a larger social, cultural landscape. These short pieces allow the reader to ingest the vast history of the 'built environment' and understand just how meaningful it is in daily life besides merely being a marvel or an eye sore. So, grab this handy travel sized edition, throw it into the breast pocket of your jacket and take it along with you as you explore the incredible architecture of Rome, or contemplate the desert tray in a spinning restaurant atop Seattle.

A collection of Will Self pieces, pretty much scatterred in terms of type of work, and indeed, quality. There are reasonably long articles written for newspapers or journals, shorter book reviews, some profiles, and a couple of "conversations" (one with JG Ballard, the other with Martin Amis).

The first quarter of the book is a series of pieces on drugs, some of which were interesting. Thereafter, although the book is sectioned (and interspersed with cartoons by the author), the themes were very mixed. I found the essays on motorway culture (something of a Self obsession) and of the state on contemporary English culture particularly interesting. I thought that the interview with JG Ballard was fascinating (the one with Martin Amis, though, was an utter bore).

This collection is OK if you're a Self junkie (I suppose I must be on the slippery slide to that state), but even then, you need to pick your way through a lot of average stuff before you get to the really interesting parts.

My only prior experience with Will Self was through The Quantity Theory of Insanity, a collection of short stories that defiantly refused to be what I expected of them; whether that's really a good thing or not I have yet to decide, but sampling once his bizarre (and unhealthy) imagination let me know I had to have more, so I immediately picked up a used copy of this book when I saw it on sale.

My Idea of Fun starts off with a gripping opening, continues with a gripping and slightly baffling inner story, and then becomes, frankly, sickening -- but by the end one is so wrapped up in the story that one can't turn away as depravity after depravity comes to light. (I have only read one other book, Iain Banks's The Wasp Factory, that made me feel literally dirty after reading it. While reading this book, I almost choked on the meal I was eating when I came to the protagonist's second visit to the Land of Children's Jokes.) This is a disorienting story, and while I'm tempted to afford it some pat description -- ``a surrealistic romp'' -- that is inaccurate; it is precisely the contradiction between the realistic, drily factual tone in which Self records his story and the ludicrous content of that same story that makes reading it so disorienting.

However, to judge from literary critics, when writing about Will Self, the plot must come second -- no review is complete without the obligatory mention of the prodigious size of his vocabulary. My copy of this book was apparently previously owned by someone who intended using it as a dictionary, because most of the multisyllabic words (and there are a lot, with Self) are underlined. This made it hard not to notice his often remarkable choices of words, but, in the passages where the underliner had not penetrated, I found that the language flowed smoothly and easily (even when the content was unpalatable). Though I pride myself on my vocabulary, there were a number of words that defeated me, but Self tends to place such words in sufficient context there's no real difficulty in figuring their meaning.

The reviews on the back of my copy of the book (which looks different from the picture displayed here -- the front cover has a marvellous illustration of The Fat Controller (mind that capitalised article!) which made his occurrences in the book all the more sinister) declare, among other things, that there are ``more ideas per chapter'' in this novel than in any the reviewer had recently read, and, while there are certainly juicy musings to be had (chapter 8, I believe, opens with perhaps the best metaphorical description of time that I have ever read), this is by no means a novel of ideas. It is an engaging and disturbing story, but don't read it expecting to be enlightened -- just to be entertained, albeit capably and very intelligently.

Hi. This book is more than just funny. It's mind-achingly intelligent and exciting. Is it the story of a crazed serial-killer? Is it the story of a fat man with a photographic memory and a good imagination? I can't tell you, and I've read the...book twice now. But just because everything isn't spelled out for you doesn't make this a book to read, to ponder, and to enjoy. A lot of people hat Will Self because he's a self-agrandizing middle class [addict]. Me, I love him for it. He's smart. He's addictive. He's weird. And his books make you jump out of your skin with delight.

Remember, reading Will Self makes you thirsty.

Unlike most of the below reviewers, I found this book to be quite engaging. I can't help but think them put off by the horrid nature of the tale. Call me childish and sick, but I liked this well written and quite fantastic story. An unabashed five stars. Also, what's the problem with big words? If you'd rather read at a tenth grade level then go ahead and stick with most any other contemporary writer. I think you'll find that Self's choice of an exotic word over a more mundane possibility often adds to the detailed desciptive quality of his writing. Note that no one has accused him of mis-using his large vocabulary.

This book is not a great work of literature, BTW, but not all books are supposed to be. Some are more for fun, and this one is just not everyone's idea of it apparently.

Disclaimer: I am a big Will Self fan. However, I am not liking his new novel (_How the Dead Live_) very much, so know that I can also be critical of his work.

I can't believe they've started slapping the Dr. Suess name on crappy knock-offs and trying to suck the children's book consumer dry. (Well, Ok, I can.) This is the first of two books I've read so far in the "wubbulus world" series, and the absolute worst. Not only does it have all the problems already described by the intelligent reader from Australia, but there is something else terribly wrong with it: The message that it is Ok, even noble, to defy, ignore, and dismiss the directives, opinions, and desires of your parents and family. Not something the average toddler needs to hear. Your two year old may love the rhymes, but what are you teaching them?

My son absolutely loves me to read about Ms. Susan Bock Dutter Docks Burklummer Snue. He loves all the different careers she can have and the chance at the end to say that she is going to be just who she is an no one else. I love the book because it makes my child laugh. At 2 he as memorized the entire book.

I, personally, enjoyed this book and so does my son and my niece. Children are always asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" How can you know when you are so young? Little ones, like the rest of us, are trying to figure out where they fit in the scheme of things. Does she want to be a baker, a candlestick maker, or something else? She says that she wants to be herself and I say 'Hooray!'. It's nice for girls and boys to know that it is more than fine to be themselves.

This is a high pressure sales pitch for a guy who is obviously into himself. For someone from a Hutterite-Mennonite like background, he seems to have lost all of the values that he must have learned as a child. At first I thought this was the story of a man who found faith and arose in that faith. This is the story of a guy who was and is totally into himself. Pride of self achievement bursts through every chapter. Sad. A total disappointment. I would not recommend this book.

What I liked Ben Kubassek's book is that it has such interesting stories - the example of the Hugging Judge for instance.

He also has some good ideas on being a parent. His recommendation of two minutes of cheek to cheek time with each of your children is something I now try to remember to do everyday.

The contains the important stuff we continually need reminding about. It is a great read.