by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author’s program note. In 1894 Captain Alfred Dreyfus, artillery captain for
the General Staff of France, was charged with treason and espionage… thereby
inaugurating one of the most outrageous and ignoble events in the entire history
of France.
It was a story of lies… but not by Dreyfus.
It was the story of evidence made up… evidence tampered with… evidence
destroyed… but not by Dreyfus.
It was the story of grave injustice… deliberately done and with malice… but
not by Dreyfus.
It was the story of a man attacked, mauled, censored, imprisoned, humiliated,
villified because of his religion… but not by Dreyfus.
And above all it is the story of how one man with brilliant, slashing language changed the entire debate… securing at long last freedom, restitution
and justice for Dreyfus.
This man was celebrated novelist Emile Zola who took just two words and
transformed them into the most powerful weapon on earth… two words that
galvanized a nation, securing the attention and support of the good people of
France who, because of Zola, were outraged by the terrible and enduring blot on
the honor of France… and who joined their voices to his in the service of
truth.
J’accuse!
These are the words — I accuse — which by making the outrages clear — began
the healing process that saved France from ignominy and redeemed her. Now I
intend to use the great model created by Zola and to save you from business
ignominy… to redeem you… and enable you to profit online… for you have been
doing everything possible to fail… and little or nothing to succeed.
To help you on your way I have selected the soaring 1937 score Max Steiner
wrote for the Best Picture of the Year; “The Life of Emile Zola” starring Paul
Muni. Such grand music must enable success… so go to any search engine now and
play it. We are ready to begin the transforming process that starts with “I
accuse…” and ends with “I salute…”, wafted on our way by the grandeur of
Steiner’s composition.
I accuse you of not understanding what business is… of understanding that
business is now and always will be about two things and two things only: the
generation of prospect leads… and following up with each and every one of these
leads to make offers and close business.
I accuse you of engaging in endless trivia every day, focusing on anything
and everything instead of generating prospects… and calling these prospects, to
work with them and begin the development of the business relationships necessary
to secure success.
I accuse you of trying to run a business solely by email… trying that is to
motivate people to buy without doing the most important thing to profit: picking
up the phone, calling prospects, engaging prospects, building relations with
prospects.
I accuse you of sloth, laziness, of sitting around and waiting for success,
instead of doing what is necessary — everything that’s necessary — to build the
business you say you want… but for which there is absolutely no evidence that
you have ever done on its behalf any meaningful thing at all.
I accuse you of the sin of inertia… of waiting, waiting, waiting, for, what?,
a sign from Heaven, an email from God? I accuse you of not knowing what needs to
be done, of not educating yourself so that you know how to do it, and not doing
the least thing to secure your success.
I accuse you of spending more time gossiping on the phone with people who
cannot make you richer (your best friend, your bowling buddies, the chick you
met bar hopping last week) instead of using the phone to do what it does so
well… connecting with the people who can buy from you, buy now, and make you
money every single day.
I accuse you of trying to build your online business alone, all by yourself,
when all the evidence says this is not possible, is absolutely impossible,
because there is too much to do…too many things to master… and insufficient time
to learn them, then do them. You need a team… and you need it at once.
I accuse you of the sin of talking about success far more than doing the
necessary deeds and actions that ensure success. You have become, thereby, a
specialist in the endless rhetoric and bombastic language of success, while
achieving nothing. It is time, therefore, past time, to cease and censure the
flatulent babble and get on with the doing.
I accuse you of not staying at your post every day until you have achieved
the financial objective you have set for yourself for this day, focusing,
persisting until you have achieved this goal… every penny of this goal.
I accuse you of coddling yourself, of a too prompt tendency to forgive your
inadequacies, overlook the negatives, whitewash your poor performances,
rationalize your failings, pooh pooh each and every peccadillo, extol too
greatly minor triumphs instead of pushing on to make the insignificant
significant.
The words used by Zola to end his famous declamation to French president
Felix Faure, January 13, 1898:
“I have but one passion: to enlighten those who have been kept in the dark,
in the name of humanity which has suffered too much and is entitled to
happiness. My fiery protest is simply the cry of my very soul.”
I couldn’t say it better myself, so won’t try. Zola’s letter changed the
world… my hope is that this changes yours.
** We invite you to post your comments to this article below.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Be Curious Always!: ‘Without the help and support of the woman I love....
Be Curious Always!: ‘Without the help and support of the woman I love....: by Dr. Jeffrey Lant Author’s program note. In 1936 the world was transfixed by a story so big, so engrossing, so incredible that only the...
‘Without the help and support of the woman I love.” Edward VIII and Mrs. Simpson, love and scandal.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author’s program note. In 1936 the world was transfixed by a story so big, so engrossing, so incredible that only the Second Coming could have topped it. It was the story of Edward VIII, King of England, Emperor of India… and a twice- married American lady from Baltimore, Maryland — Mrs. Simpson. It was billed as history’s greatest love affair… but, as this article unfolds… you may very well draw a very different conclusion.
But let’s start by playing the tune I’ve selected to accompany this article…. “Exactly Like You”. Go to any search engine to find this number. It was written in 1930 by Jimmy McHugh and Dorothy Fields. I swear by the rendition by Louis Armstrong. You won’t be able to get it out of your head; kind of like the king’s catastrophic obsession with his Wallis… for of all the women in the world who wanted him, he had to have her, the very worst choice imaginable.. to the consternation and disgust of the empire on which the sun never set.
The most important boy in the world.
When your great grandmother is Queen Victoria, ruler of half the world; when your grandfather is King Edward VII, called the Uncle of Europe, because his relations ruled over virtually everything; when your father is King George V and your mother is Queen Mary… your birth, life, and every single breath you take is an event… important, eagerly awaited, commented upon, chronicled. In short, it is life in the grandest fish bowl on Earth; for in return for unimaginable wealth, celestial status, and the adoration and veneration of untold millions… you give up any semblance of a personal life… any semblance of privacy. You belong not to yourself… but to your subjects, the people of England and of all the Dominions beyond the seas…
This was Edward Albert Christian George Andrew Patrick David, born in 1894, called David by his family and Your Royal Highness by everyone else. The world envied him… but his life was anything but enviable… his parents saw to that.
George (1865–1936) & Mary (1867-1953).
The argument for monarchy goes like this: in a turbulent, uncertain, unpredictable and therefore alarming world, a sovereign is eternal, stable, stalwart, an institution you can trust to be here tomorrow, because it was here yesterday and the day before that. A sovereign rises above the trivia of today, able to take the long view, high above the fray and the little concerns of little men. Having everything, wanting nothing, monarchs can be trusted with the concerns of the nation they exist to improve, to serve, to uplift and inspire.
This is all very well…. but where do you find such larger than life paragons? Certainly not in the lives of George and Mary, people frightened by their unceasing responsibilities and the constant burden of having to appear just so to a world which evaluated, and minutely too, every move they made, every action, every decision.
Most assuredly neither George nor Mary were such people… and therefore like so many people fearful of making a mistake (and being roundly criticized) they embraced rigid severity… and so sought to cover up their many inadequacies as people by a unceasingly stern and unapproachable demeanor. It looked good on ceremonial occasions… for then they were regal indeed… but life lived this way was tormenting to all concerned… especially for the two young princes Edward and Albert, future Edward VIII and George VI.
They were boys who needed love, tender care, affection… but were ignored by their colder than ice mother for whom a peck on the cheek was excessive… and constantly admonished by their father, a man who became king only because his elder brother died young thereby bequeathing the empire and his expected wife, Mary of Teck, to his younger brother Georgie, a man who rose far above his abilities, a man who knew nothing about human relations and thought that communication was nothing more than the business of barking orders and having them instantly complied with.
In such a world how could the little princes of Windsor emerge as anything other than flawed, wanting… and rebellious.
Prince of change.
All children go through a rebellious stage where “no!” is their favorite word. Do you want this? No! Do you want that? No! How about something else? No, again! But in the fullness of time even the most argumentative three year old comes out of this phase and starts growing up. But David of Windsor never did. Whatever was tried, true, traditional, standard… he wanted nothing to do with, wanted to change it, not slowly and unobtrusively but now in the most jarring and thoughtless of ways. He wanted what he wanted, when he wanted it… and as Prince of Wales from 1910… he was in a position to get it, especially as he came to understand how much the world loved and admired him.
Wobbly monarchy, high-flying adored prince.
World War I saw the demise of the great imperial dynasties of Europe, the Habsburgs of Austria, the Hohenzollerns of Germany, the Romanovs of Russia… all swept away. The only major dynasty left was in England, and it was headed by the uninspiring, unimaginative, fretful George V who was majesty in nothing but name. The dynasty needed youth… glamor… connection to the restive peoples of the empire. And for this role there was only one man available… David, now Prince of Wales… a man who shed glamor and allure on the Roaring Twenties. His world tours (from 1919) made him a world celebrity… and lonely.
He tried women, he tried booze, he tried drugs… but because he could have everything, nothing made him happy. Nothing that is except the thrills and freedoms of the Great Republic, particularly its greatest city, New York. Only there were there sufficient dissipations and indiscretions. Besides, just stepping foot in America enraged both his parents, and that made these trips delicious.
Then he met Wallis Warfield Simpson, a woman with a sordid past and two living husbands… a past that could outrage every convention and agitate the world he was destined to rule… a world that bored and annoyed him. Wallis offered him what he truly craved: submission for that was her secret… she gave the man everyone kow-towed to the gift of abasement…. the power to get the man to whom all knelt to kneel to her….
She, of course, despised him, but using him as he wanted her to use him would make her a world figure, maybe even Queen-Empress. She was ill-advised on this point, and so overplayed her cards. Instead of a boyish sovereign over whom she could rule, she got after his abdication in 1936 a semblance of a man whom she systematically and publicly humiliated for the rest of his life. He cried… he sobbed… he adored. It was the perfect relationship, exactly what he wanted. And, after all, isn’t that what love is for?
For as Louis Armstrong sings,
“I know why I’ve waited Know why I’ve been blue I’ve been waiting each day For someone exactly like you… You make me feel so grand I wanna give this world to you…”
… and he almost did.
Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Author’s program note. In 1936 the world was transfixed by a story so big, so engrossing, so incredible that only the Second Coming could have topped it. It was the story of Edward VIII, King of England, Emperor of India… and a twice- married American lady from Baltimore, Maryland — Mrs. Simpson. It was billed as history’s greatest love affair… but, as this article unfolds… you may very well draw a very different conclusion.
But let’s start by playing the tune I’ve selected to accompany this article…. “Exactly Like You”. Go to any search engine to find this number. It was written in 1930 by Jimmy McHugh and Dorothy Fields. I swear by the rendition by Louis Armstrong. You won’t be able to get it out of your head; kind of like the king’s catastrophic obsession with his Wallis… for of all the women in the world who wanted him, he had to have her, the very worst choice imaginable.. to the consternation and disgust of the empire on which the sun never set.
The most important boy in the world.
When your great grandmother is Queen Victoria, ruler of half the world; when your grandfather is King Edward VII, called the Uncle of Europe, because his relations ruled over virtually everything; when your father is King George V and your mother is Queen Mary… your birth, life, and every single breath you take is an event… important, eagerly awaited, commented upon, chronicled. In short, it is life in the grandest fish bowl on Earth; for in return for unimaginable wealth, celestial status, and the adoration and veneration of untold millions… you give up any semblance of a personal life… any semblance of privacy. You belong not to yourself… but to your subjects, the people of England and of all the Dominions beyond the seas…
This was Edward Albert Christian George Andrew Patrick David, born in 1894, called David by his family and Your Royal Highness by everyone else. The world envied him… but his life was anything but enviable… his parents saw to that.
George (1865–1936) & Mary (1867-1953).
The argument for monarchy goes like this: in a turbulent, uncertain, unpredictable and therefore alarming world, a sovereign is eternal, stable, stalwart, an institution you can trust to be here tomorrow, because it was here yesterday and the day before that. A sovereign rises above the trivia of today, able to take the long view, high above the fray and the little concerns of little men. Having everything, wanting nothing, monarchs can be trusted with the concerns of the nation they exist to improve, to serve, to uplift and inspire.
This is all very well…. but where do you find such larger than life paragons? Certainly not in the lives of George and Mary, people frightened by their unceasing responsibilities and the constant burden of having to appear just so to a world which evaluated, and minutely too, every move they made, every action, every decision.
Most assuredly neither George nor Mary were such people… and therefore like so many people fearful of making a mistake (and being roundly criticized) they embraced rigid severity… and so sought to cover up their many inadequacies as people by a unceasingly stern and unapproachable demeanor. It looked good on ceremonial occasions… for then they were regal indeed… but life lived this way was tormenting to all concerned… especially for the two young princes Edward and Albert, future Edward VIII and George VI.
They were boys who needed love, tender care, affection… but were ignored by their colder than ice mother for whom a peck on the cheek was excessive… and constantly admonished by their father, a man who became king only because his elder brother died young thereby bequeathing the empire and his expected wife, Mary of Teck, to his younger brother Georgie, a man who rose far above his abilities, a man who knew nothing about human relations and thought that communication was nothing more than the business of barking orders and having them instantly complied with.
In such a world how could the little princes of Windsor emerge as anything other than flawed, wanting… and rebellious.
Prince of change.
All children go through a rebellious stage where “no!” is their favorite word. Do you want this? No! Do you want that? No! How about something else? No, again! But in the fullness of time even the most argumentative three year old comes out of this phase and starts growing up. But David of Windsor never did. Whatever was tried, true, traditional, standard… he wanted nothing to do with, wanted to change it, not slowly and unobtrusively but now in the most jarring and thoughtless of ways. He wanted what he wanted, when he wanted it… and as Prince of Wales from 1910… he was in a position to get it, especially as he came to understand how much the world loved and admired him.
Wobbly monarchy, high-flying adored prince.
World War I saw the demise of the great imperial dynasties of Europe, the Habsburgs of Austria, the Hohenzollerns of Germany, the Romanovs of Russia… all swept away. The only major dynasty left was in England, and it was headed by the uninspiring, unimaginative, fretful George V who was majesty in nothing but name. The dynasty needed youth… glamor… connection to the restive peoples of the empire. And for this role there was only one man available… David, now Prince of Wales… a man who shed glamor and allure on the Roaring Twenties. His world tours (from 1919) made him a world celebrity… and lonely.
He tried women, he tried booze, he tried drugs… but because he could have everything, nothing made him happy. Nothing that is except the thrills and freedoms of the Great Republic, particularly its greatest city, New York. Only there were there sufficient dissipations and indiscretions. Besides, just stepping foot in America enraged both his parents, and that made these trips delicious.
Then he met Wallis Warfield Simpson, a woman with a sordid past and two living husbands… a past that could outrage every convention and agitate the world he was destined to rule… a world that bored and annoyed him. Wallis offered him what he truly craved: submission for that was her secret… she gave the man everyone kow-towed to the gift of abasement…. the power to get the man to whom all knelt to kneel to her….
She, of course, despised him, but using him as he wanted her to use him would make her a world figure, maybe even Queen-Empress. She was ill-advised on this point, and so overplayed her cards. Instead of a boyish sovereign over whom she could rule, she got after his abdication in 1936 a semblance of a man whom she systematically and publicly humiliated for the rest of his life. He cried… he sobbed… he adored. It was the perfect relationship, exactly what he wanted. And, after all, isn’t that what love is for?
For as Louis Armstrong sings,
“I know why I’ve waited Know why I’ve been blue I’ve been waiting each day For someone exactly like you… You make me feel so grand I wanna give this world to you…”
… and he almost did.
Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Be Curious Always!: The personal ad you’d love to post… but don’t have...
Be Curious Always!: The personal ad you’d love to post… but don’t have...: Author’s program note. As far as I can tell, everyone in the world has either run a personal ad (mostly online), is running one at this mo...
The personal ad you’d love to post… but don’t have the guts!
Author’s program note. As far as I can tell, everyone in the world
has either run a personal ad (mostly online), is running one at this
moment… or will run one before you can say “Jack Robinson.” This means
you. The question is not whether you will use personal ads… but whether
they’ll deliver the exact person you are seeking. Sadly, the vast
majority of personal ads cannot deliver the bacon (or the cheese cake or
the beef cake). They just don’t provide enough detail and so are quite
capable of delivering the Wrong Prospects. Witness the personal ad
celebrated by Jimmy Buffet in the tune that made Pina Coladas mandatory
Happy Hour fare as you bar hopped in pursuit of nirvana.
Start by going to any search engine and listen to Buffet’s anthem. It was written by Rupert Holmes and recorded in 1979. It’s official title is “Escape” but hardly anyone knows that except Buffet who became with each insouciant word the recognized master of la dolce far niente… or, since most of you know no Eye-talian, the art of doing absolutely nothing… and doing it with the utmost style and grace, but without ever breaking a sweat.
Buffet’s tune makes it clear why personals as currently structured are silly, pointless, absolutely certain to deliver people you wouldn’t be seen dead with. I mean, who doesn’t like getting caught in the rain (given the right person on your arm)… who doesn’t hate yoga…. and is hardly into health foods… but insists on champagne? Add long walks on a beach, making love at midnight in the dunes of the cape, and holding hands at the cinema… and you’ve got the personal ad in all its banal insipidity.
The wonder is not that they don’t work for most people investing hope, time and money in them; the wonder is that they work for anyone at all… but then there are people (one hopes not you) who can be fully described with a few generic phrases. Avoid them like the plague.
Time for rethinking the personal ad.
In the olden days when personals appeared solely in newspapers and a few progressive publications like the alumni magazine for Harvard and such finicky folk as insisted on making known their preference for classical composers, stock brokers, and obscure holiday destinations; in those days one paid by the word and through the nose. Publishers counted on your desperation and longing to fill their coffers. Even the august Times of London cleaned up with such ads, universally called the agony column and always run on Page 1: “Should the fine lady in the blue mantle with yellow sleeves exiting the horse cars at Grosvenor Square Thursday last at 10:59 a.m. desire the acquaintance of a gentleman of means…”, but you get the picture.
When writing such ads, where each word raised the cost, it was necessary to cultivate the virtues of laconic language, short, sweet, clipped. The objective was always to meet the person ardently desired but spend pennies, not pounds. As a result, it was understandable, even excusable when advertisers slashed words; robust clarity at all times was desirable… but unaffordable.
Enter the Internet.
The very first thing I learned about the ‘net was that it’s boundless, inexhaustible, absolutely unlimited. Thus, it can hold, maintain and preserve infinity. The implications of this fact are fathomless, too… not least on the matter of creating personal ads that get you the long-awaited apple of your eye. For now, since we have an infinity of space, there can be absolutely no excuse for writing and posting ads which are at once jejune, inadequate, and platitudinous in the extreme. They don’t work, can never work, and must be abandoned, jettisoned, abjured, forsaken and, in case you miss the point, tossed into the dustbin of history at once.
Now you can write this all-important ad without being hobbled and restricted. You are at last permitted, nay empowered and directed to write what must be written, the ad, the whole ad, and nothing but the ad.
… but this will take careful thought and planning, for it is doubtful ere now that even one personal advertiser has written the magnificent advertisement you are about to write, edit, post, and benefit from for a lifetime. As such the most scrupulous planning is de rigueur and cannot be stinted.
Two people, two parts.
A good personal ad, which is to say an ad that accomplishes the desired objective, must be divided into two parts: half about who you are; half about what you desire in the person you wish to present the key to your (probably much bruised) heart.
Brainstorming, musing, total honesty.
Now, we all know that everyone, absolutely everyone lies in their personal ads. Excess pounds disappear as if by magic; years are thrust in the dresser drawer; educational degrees are now cited from institutions which scorned the pleasure of your company; financial net worth up, all manner of imperfections down; spouses of decades unmentioned, and the eight darling children, too. This is the nature of the beast… until now. Now you have the space to tell everything… and complete details on the extenuating circumstances. Yes, you were flunked out of Alma Mater, but it was most assuredly not your fault… and you insist upon making the full dossier available right here and now. You have the space; honesty is desirable; and your bringing up the subject at all proves what a gem you are.
Thus instead of lying about the pounds you haven’t lost, cite the reasons why. Honestly own up to the fact that your dietary habits are lax; list all your favorite foods… and the rate you consume them. List your last month’s worth of dinner menus… and be scrupulous, entirely above board with everything you consumed, the kind of dishes on which you served the repast, and exactly what you did with the left-overs. You want your soon-to-be beloved to know you, fully, completely and so ardently; for after all, honesty is the bedrock of every meaningful relationship, don’t you agree?
The desired one.
Once you have gathered all the critical intelligence about yourself, proceed at once to Part 2 of your ad, the absolutely crucial verbiage about the person to whom you wish to extend the glorious honor of sharing bed and board. Your complete and total focus is required. Again, brainstorm every desirable point, giving equal attention to what you do not want and cannot abide, and what you must have, a deal killer if not readily available, and in the desired quantity, too.
Starting this list is easy, almost effortless. You either want a smoker… or you don’t. You either can accept pets (even the most exotic)… or you can’t. But make it a point to move beyond these obvious points. Consider such matters as the odor you desire in a mate; how many showers per day; the kind, frequency and intensity of bodily hygiene. Honesty is required, and so honesty there must be. And if the length of your ad grows long and weighty, what of it? What you are doing here impacts the curvature of two lives, so no apology is necessary.
Post at once, reap your reward.
First, you are to be congratulated. You are a pioneer, a model of integrity and rectitude. Now it’s time to reap the inevitable rewards which must come with posting. Mind, it may take a little time to get the single response this ad is meant to generate, for so thorough have you been that there can only be one response… from that extraordinary person daft enough to put up with you…and love you anyway.
*** We invite you to post your comments to this article below.
Start by going to any search engine and listen to Buffet’s anthem. It was written by Rupert Holmes and recorded in 1979. It’s official title is “Escape” but hardly anyone knows that except Buffet who became with each insouciant word the recognized master of la dolce far niente… or, since most of you know no Eye-talian, the art of doing absolutely nothing… and doing it with the utmost style and grace, but without ever breaking a sweat.
Buffet’s tune makes it clear why personals as currently structured are silly, pointless, absolutely certain to deliver people you wouldn’t be seen dead with. I mean, who doesn’t like getting caught in the rain (given the right person on your arm)… who doesn’t hate yoga…. and is hardly into health foods… but insists on champagne? Add long walks on a beach, making love at midnight in the dunes of the cape, and holding hands at the cinema… and you’ve got the personal ad in all its banal insipidity.
The wonder is not that they don’t work for most people investing hope, time and money in them; the wonder is that they work for anyone at all… but then there are people (one hopes not you) who can be fully described with a few generic phrases. Avoid them like the plague.
Time for rethinking the personal ad.
In the olden days when personals appeared solely in newspapers and a few progressive publications like the alumni magazine for Harvard and such finicky folk as insisted on making known their preference for classical composers, stock brokers, and obscure holiday destinations; in those days one paid by the word and through the nose. Publishers counted on your desperation and longing to fill their coffers. Even the august Times of London cleaned up with such ads, universally called the agony column and always run on Page 1: “Should the fine lady in the blue mantle with yellow sleeves exiting the horse cars at Grosvenor Square Thursday last at 10:59 a.m. desire the acquaintance of a gentleman of means…”, but you get the picture.
When writing such ads, where each word raised the cost, it was necessary to cultivate the virtues of laconic language, short, sweet, clipped. The objective was always to meet the person ardently desired but spend pennies, not pounds. As a result, it was understandable, even excusable when advertisers slashed words; robust clarity at all times was desirable… but unaffordable.
Enter the Internet.
The very first thing I learned about the ‘net was that it’s boundless, inexhaustible, absolutely unlimited. Thus, it can hold, maintain and preserve infinity. The implications of this fact are fathomless, too… not least on the matter of creating personal ads that get you the long-awaited apple of your eye. For now, since we have an infinity of space, there can be absolutely no excuse for writing and posting ads which are at once jejune, inadequate, and platitudinous in the extreme. They don’t work, can never work, and must be abandoned, jettisoned, abjured, forsaken and, in case you miss the point, tossed into the dustbin of history at once.
Now you can write this all-important ad without being hobbled and restricted. You are at last permitted, nay empowered and directed to write what must be written, the ad, the whole ad, and nothing but the ad.
… but this will take careful thought and planning, for it is doubtful ere now that even one personal advertiser has written the magnificent advertisement you are about to write, edit, post, and benefit from for a lifetime. As such the most scrupulous planning is de rigueur and cannot be stinted.
Two people, two parts.
A good personal ad, which is to say an ad that accomplishes the desired objective, must be divided into two parts: half about who you are; half about what you desire in the person you wish to present the key to your (probably much bruised) heart.
Brainstorming, musing, total honesty.
Now, we all know that everyone, absolutely everyone lies in their personal ads. Excess pounds disappear as if by magic; years are thrust in the dresser drawer; educational degrees are now cited from institutions which scorned the pleasure of your company; financial net worth up, all manner of imperfections down; spouses of decades unmentioned, and the eight darling children, too. This is the nature of the beast… until now. Now you have the space to tell everything… and complete details on the extenuating circumstances. Yes, you were flunked out of Alma Mater, but it was most assuredly not your fault… and you insist upon making the full dossier available right here and now. You have the space; honesty is desirable; and your bringing up the subject at all proves what a gem you are.
Thus instead of lying about the pounds you haven’t lost, cite the reasons why. Honestly own up to the fact that your dietary habits are lax; list all your favorite foods… and the rate you consume them. List your last month’s worth of dinner menus… and be scrupulous, entirely above board with everything you consumed, the kind of dishes on which you served the repast, and exactly what you did with the left-overs. You want your soon-to-be beloved to know you, fully, completely and so ardently; for after all, honesty is the bedrock of every meaningful relationship, don’t you agree?
The desired one.
Once you have gathered all the critical intelligence about yourself, proceed at once to Part 2 of your ad, the absolutely crucial verbiage about the person to whom you wish to extend the glorious honor of sharing bed and board. Your complete and total focus is required. Again, brainstorm every desirable point, giving equal attention to what you do not want and cannot abide, and what you must have, a deal killer if not readily available, and in the desired quantity, too.
Starting this list is easy, almost effortless. You either want a smoker… or you don’t. You either can accept pets (even the most exotic)… or you can’t. But make it a point to move beyond these obvious points. Consider such matters as the odor you desire in a mate; how many showers per day; the kind, frequency and intensity of bodily hygiene. Honesty is required, and so honesty there must be. And if the length of your ad grows long and weighty, what of it? What you are doing here impacts the curvature of two lives, so no apology is necessary.
Post at once, reap your reward.
First, you are to be congratulated. You are a pioneer, a model of integrity and rectitude. Now it’s time to reap the inevitable rewards which must come with posting. Mind, it may take a little time to get the single response this ad is meant to generate, for so thorough have you been that there can only be one response… from that extraordinary person daft enough to put up with you…and love you anyway.
*** We invite you to post your comments to this article below.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Be Curious Always!: They have this dance for the rest of their lives.
Be Curious Always!: They have this dance for the rest of their lives.: Author’s program note. Remember your first crush? The heat! The intensity! The euphoric ups and despondent downs? Of course you do… becau...
They have this dance for the rest of their lives.
Author’s program note.
Remember your first crush? The heat! The intensity! The euphoric ups and despondent downs? Of course you do… because while it lasted, we all felt vital! Alive! Complete…. for all that the parents told us, over and over again, that this was nothing but “puppy love” and wouldn’t last. But it did last, didn’t it, in your mind and heart… to the point where you must find this well remembered person and see how they turned out and whether they still remember you, too, and the special song that was your signature and which even today causes reverie and the sharp, bittersweet pangs of remembrance and a bad case of the “what ifs”…
And so, for the fortieth time, you sit down at the keyboard and search the ‘net and its social networks for intelligence… intelligence that will enable you to rediscover your lost love, your youth, and the life you might have had if only… if only…
“Goodnight, sweetheart”.
To put yourself in the mood, go to any search engine and find “Goodnight, sweetheart” written by Calvin Carter and James “Pookie” Hudson in 1953. I recommend the original version by The Spaniels (1954). It was bubble-gum music, a tune that signalled you’d better snuggle up fast and close since your evening and its possibilities were about to end…. Whatever you planned to do needed to be done and done now… You know its lyrics so well… you know just how much time you’ve got left… and you’ve got something important to say and do.
“Goodnight, sweetheart, well, it’s time to go…. I hate to leave you, I really must say, Oh Goodnight, sweet heart, goodnight.”
This is a moment that determines fate… for in this moment the ultimate words of destiny pour out… hot, fast, insistent…. every word of consequence, every word packed with meaning… words of love… desire…. commitment… eternity. You cannot say where these words originate; you didn’t even know they were in you… but they are present now, urgent, eloquent, raw, powerful motivating words delivered in a powerful motivating way.
“Mother oh and your father, Might hear if I stay here too long, One kiss and we’ll part, And I’ll be going You know I hate to go.”
And so, at last, reluctantly, you did part… only to hurry home and call the object of your affections … who might be someone entirely different …thereby continuing the night, its emotions, its possibilities.
It was all a game, an enticing, exhilarating marvel… and you loved every difficult, contorted, thwarted moment of it.
No one more than Doyle Taylor.
In 1955 and for many years to come, Doyle Taylor was a recognized “catch”. Cute, funny, charismatic, Doyle played the dating game with the same manic intensity he brought to the football game. His manifest personal advantages brought him followers, an entourage particularly of the female variety. He liked girls… girls liked him… and these two facts made for exciting, explosive, entirely thrilling times.
Doyle delighted in the messy contortions of his young life; scheduling multiple dates with multiple people; testing his skills, his powers of persuasion and of escape; seeing how far he could push the envelope. Being Doyle, he could always push it just a little bit more…. then a little bit more again. Life was good! Packed with possibilities that caused him to jump up of a brilliant California morning, glad to be alive.
Then he saw Casey… and he knows in the way one does (even if one has never known it before) that this is the person who offers you more in one complete, captivating package than all the others put together, no matter how attractive. And all of a sudden you experience a flood of emotions that weren’t there yesterday: tenderness, compassion, wonder… and in an instant this confusing life becomes more confusing still, more confusing and infinitely more important. Life is no longer just about you and what you can get; life is now about what you can give. And Casey was a girl you wanted to give to… without asking for anything but her love in return.
Blocked by Dad.
But as every novel reader knows, the path of true love is never smooth. And so it was with Casey, whose father was strict and knew the insinuating ways of boys. Doyle was not welcome in his house… and so school with all its limitations became the only place they could meet. Little did they suspect that its very restrictions were precisely what their love needed to flourish; from obstruction grew determination… enhanced at the Friday sock hops they never missed… and which ended with their anthem “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
But this wouldn’t be much of a story if it ended here, two young people captivated by each other who decide to venture forever together. What makes this story a tale worth the telling is what happened next… and what happened after that. Like millions of starry-eyed couples, they split up in high school and went their very separate ways…
… ways that led them to marry others, have children and lives which would only have been dislocated had they connected too early. And so these one-time fierce lovers grew old, apart, and lonely… existing, not living, without love or its magic. And this, too, is the fate of millions. And it might have been their fate, too… but for the fact that out of loneliness they began to think of each other and what had each, so long ago, been for the other. Thus, apart, they began the process of rediscovering each other, beholden to a fate benevolent to them.
One day Casey’s computer crashed; all her personal data obliterated. She called a friend to begin the recovery process and asked if this friend remembered Doyle and possibly knew how to find him. The friend did…. and within minutes Casey with excitement and trepidation had emailed Doyle… who answered her at once… and so two once kindred spirits connected… and found that the excitement they had shared so long ago existed still… this time forever.
They met, as so many long ago lovers have met, compliments of the Internet… and at once, in the very first moment, they knew their long ago destiny was at last to be fulfilled.
And so it was. Two people, now married, forever young in the eyes of their beloved, committed to just one thing: loving each other, everything else insignificant and insubstantial. No more “Goodnight, sweetheart” and separation, but “Could I have this dance for the rest of my life?” No need to ask…they know the answer only too well, and gladly.
To put this touching tune sung by Anne Murray in 1980 to work for you, go to any search engine. As you listen to what Wayland Holyfield and Bob House wrote, think… for isn’t there a very special person you’d like to dance with for the rest of your life? Go ahead… ask them now, before another day is lost forever.
Remember your first crush? The heat! The intensity! The euphoric ups and despondent downs? Of course you do… because while it lasted, we all felt vital! Alive! Complete…. for all that the parents told us, over and over again, that this was nothing but “puppy love” and wouldn’t last. But it did last, didn’t it, in your mind and heart… to the point where you must find this well remembered person and see how they turned out and whether they still remember you, too, and the special song that was your signature and which even today causes reverie and the sharp, bittersweet pangs of remembrance and a bad case of the “what ifs”…
And so, for the fortieth time, you sit down at the keyboard and search the ‘net and its social networks for intelligence… intelligence that will enable you to rediscover your lost love, your youth, and the life you might have had if only… if only…
“Goodnight, sweetheart”.
To put yourself in the mood, go to any search engine and find “Goodnight, sweetheart” written by Calvin Carter and James “Pookie” Hudson in 1953. I recommend the original version by The Spaniels (1954). It was bubble-gum music, a tune that signalled you’d better snuggle up fast and close since your evening and its possibilities were about to end…. Whatever you planned to do needed to be done and done now… You know its lyrics so well… you know just how much time you’ve got left… and you’ve got something important to say and do.
“Goodnight, sweetheart, well, it’s time to go…. I hate to leave you, I really must say, Oh Goodnight, sweet heart, goodnight.”
This is a moment that determines fate… for in this moment the ultimate words of destiny pour out… hot, fast, insistent…. every word of consequence, every word packed with meaning… words of love… desire…. commitment… eternity. You cannot say where these words originate; you didn’t even know they were in you… but they are present now, urgent, eloquent, raw, powerful motivating words delivered in a powerful motivating way.
“Mother oh and your father, Might hear if I stay here too long, One kiss and we’ll part, And I’ll be going You know I hate to go.”
And so, at last, reluctantly, you did part… only to hurry home and call the object of your affections … who might be someone entirely different …thereby continuing the night, its emotions, its possibilities.
It was all a game, an enticing, exhilarating marvel… and you loved every difficult, contorted, thwarted moment of it.
No one more than Doyle Taylor.
In 1955 and for many years to come, Doyle Taylor was a recognized “catch”. Cute, funny, charismatic, Doyle played the dating game with the same manic intensity he brought to the football game. His manifest personal advantages brought him followers, an entourage particularly of the female variety. He liked girls… girls liked him… and these two facts made for exciting, explosive, entirely thrilling times.
Doyle delighted in the messy contortions of his young life; scheduling multiple dates with multiple people; testing his skills, his powers of persuasion and of escape; seeing how far he could push the envelope. Being Doyle, he could always push it just a little bit more…. then a little bit more again. Life was good! Packed with possibilities that caused him to jump up of a brilliant California morning, glad to be alive.
Then he saw Casey… and he knows in the way one does (even if one has never known it before) that this is the person who offers you more in one complete, captivating package than all the others put together, no matter how attractive. And all of a sudden you experience a flood of emotions that weren’t there yesterday: tenderness, compassion, wonder… and in an instant this confusing life becomes more confusing still, more confusing and infinitely more important. Life is no longer just about you and what you can get; life is now about what you can give. And Casey was a girl you wanted to give to… without asking for anything but her love in return.
Blocked by Dad.
But as every novel reader knows, the path of true love is never smooth. And so it was with Casey, whose father was strict and knew the insinuating ways of boys. Doyle was not welcome in his house… and so school with all its limitations became the only place they could meet. Little did they suspect that its very restrictions were precisely what their love needed to flourish; from obstruction grew determination… enhanced at the Friday sock hops they never missed… and which ended with their anthem “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
But this wouldn’t be much of a story if it ended here, two young people captivated by each other who decide to venture forever together. What makes this story a tale worth the telling is what happened next… and what happened after that. Like millions of starry-eyed couples, they split up in high school and went their very separate ways…
… ways that led them to marry others, have children and lives which would only have been dislocated had they connected too early. And so these one-time fierce lovers grew old, apart, and lonely… existing, not living, without love or its magic. And this, too, is the fate of millions. And it might have been their fate, too… but for the fact that out of loneliness they began to think of each other and what had each, so long ago, been for the other. Thus, apart, they began the process of rediscovering each other, beholden to a fate benevolent to them.
One day Casey’s computer crashed; all her personal data obliterated. She called a friend to begin the recovery process and asked if this friend remembered Doyle and possibly knew how to find him. The friend did…. and within minutes Casey with excitement and trepidation had emailed Doyle… who answered her at once… and so two once kindred spirits connected… and found that the excitement they had shared so long ago existed still… this time forever.
They met, as so many long ago lovers have met, compliments of the Internet… and at once, in the very first moment, they knew their long ago destiny was at last to be fulfilled.
And so it was. Two people, now married, forever young in the eyes of their beloved, committed to just one thing: loving each other, everything else insignificant and insubstantial. No more “Goodnight, sweetheart” and separation, but “Could I have this dance for the rest of my life?” No need to ask…they know the answer only too well, and gladly.
To put this touching tune sung by Anne Murray in 1980 to work for you, go to any search engine. As you listen to what Wayland Holyfield and Bob House wrote, think… for isn’t there a very special person you’d like to dance with for the rest of your life? Go ahead… ask them now, before another day is lost forever.
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