by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note. I've got this day all planned. First, I'll finish this article and get it out to the awaiting world; then I'll finish my Christmas shopping. I've been well organized about it. So far, so good; even the help at the other end of the telephone line, the people who take the orders, seem better and friendlier this year. Maybe they're glad to have a job, even a seasonal one, with so many unemployed and likely to remain so.
I've got an objective that keeps me focused today... and that objective is to help myself to some good old, home-baked Christmas cookies... and not just one or two either. Diabetes be damned; Christmas and its cookies come but once a year.... and tonight I'll translate that into some serious munching.
One guy you may know who'll be helping me get in the mood is George Strait. He's called the "King of Country," his brand of music a toe-tapping mixture of western swing, bar-room ballads, honky-tonk style and fresh yet traditional Country. He seems a genuinely nice fellow, the kind of man who in real life would give you a big smile, a strong hand shake, and a tip of his over sized cowboy hat. Under the right circumstances, I could be persuaded to give him one of my Christmas cookies... but not more, no matter how nice he is.
In 1999 Strait recorded a peppy little number by Aaron Barker called "Christmas Cookies." It's got the necessary "gosh, ma'am" twang factor and an infectious beat that'll follow you around the house like your favorite dawg, "I sure do like those Christmas cookies, sugar." The tune is about how he wolfs them down before his sugar babe even finishes the sprinkles and the icing.... his good woman outwardly chiding, but inwardly glad she has this big overgrown boy around the house; women like a little boy in their man... at Christmas and watching them down those cookies at record speed constitutes proof positive that she's got one. "Ah, shucks, babe, I didn't mean to eat them all.... but they were so good I couldn't help myself". What woman, and especially at Christmas, could take offense at that?"
No cookies, no Christmas.
Christmas for me means many, many things. Of the school pageant where my Midwestern school fellows shuffled through the first Noel all gawky embarrassment and barely suppressed giggles.
Of the all important trip to the car lot where one of those trees was ours... and no matter that it wasn't quite symmetrical and never, ever of decorator quality. Our trees were mauled by love and had, from the very first moment, a family look... that became pure Currier and Ives when we tossed on the tinsel; (we were too impatient to put it on piece by piece; clumps were more our style). And when my father put the star on the top of the tree (and it was always the job of my father to do so), we all agreed, with our dog Missy reaffirming with her strident barks and capers, that this was the best tree yet. And so it was... every single year.
Christmas was all about tradition... and no one was more traditional than the three children in our home.... and woe if such and such a thing done a certain way the year before should, by an unthinking adult, be done differently this year. It was done that way before; it must be done that way now. This adamancy makes me smile when I think of it now. No army officer of ancient regiment could have been more devoted to the old ways and true than we were.
And this, of course, is where Christmas cookies come in. We were most dedicated to and unyielding about them, and not just because we always had the best cookies in the world baking in who's ever kitchen we found ourselves. Quite simply, certain cookies with their unmistakable contours, tastes, and looks meant Christmas, and there would have been no Christmas at all without them.
The minute Thanksgiving was over...
I was born in Illinois in 1947, in February, so I was almost a year old when my first Christmas came along. There were just three of us for that first Christmas, two young parents in their mid-twenties... and me, the apple of every eye with consequences still playing themselves out over 60 years later. The first cookie story I remember is so good I have to insert it here... even though it's not about Christmas, but says everything about my mother and her unceasing concern about my welfare and place in the world.
When I was about three or four POM (Poor Old Mother) was so anxious that I have lots of friends and assured position at our neighborhood park, that she sent me into that park alone (whilst she watched anxiously from a distance), a backpack strapped to me and a big package of Oreo cookies filling that pack. So accoutered I became the bait that would ensure my popularity and social advance. There was a certain crazy logic to the scheme... and whilst I do not remember the incident itself, POM told me years later, I was mobbed by moppets who were not about to turn down free cookies, whatever the strings attached. And so my charismatic career was well and truly launched...
... thus was the importance of cookies made clear... so much so, that I can never recall even a short period of my life when I was cookie-less, and certainly never at Christmas.
Klotschkis
My grandmother was of English descent; my grandfather's was German. Yet neither English nor German cookies were favorites. That was the klotschkis which truly symbolized the holidays. Needless to say as a boy I cared nothing for the proper description, where it came from, even how they were made. I was simply mad for this one cookie, the cookie we only got at Christmas and ate wildly, regardless of its astronomic sugar content and stratospheric calories. And I was not alone in this. Klotschkis were everybody's favorite... and so my English-born grandmother bearing the name of the great queen who died the year she was born, was kept baking what we all craved... and knew too well would be gone soon, severely to test our patience before returning.
This year thanks to Sharon Oshatz and fast Internet searches, I got the low-down on the klotschkis, everything but the taste; that I had never forgotten and needed absolutely no assistance to recall.
Klotschkis are simple Polish butter cookies festooned by various jams... particularly strawberry, and the ones I remember best... apricot and prune. My grandmother always finished them with white confectioner's sugar. She knew the importance of tradition, particularly but not exclusively to her youngest relations; she never tampered with what she knew we wanted, expected, and would have been disappointed, dismayed and distraught had even the smallest particular concerning these cookies been neglected or overlooked. And in her kitchen they never were. Though common sense was.
The problem with traditions is that they all have the feeling of forever about them; that what one celebrates today will necessarily be here to be celebrated tomorrow. Nothing could be less true... for every tradition (like everything in the human condition) is doomed to fade, become uncertain and inaccurate, and pass on; and we humans are careless about such matters. We believe in "forever"; when we should be working instead to ensure that forever, by working hard to avoid forgetfulness and oblivion. And as a species we are just horrid at this.
Thus, in this year of our Lord 2011, I shall not have the joy of klotschkis, either the memory or the richness of flavor. My grandmother Victoria, as stolid and certain as Queen Victoria herself, would never be anything but forever; that's the way we acted... only to be upended by the predictable death that turns "forever" into a macabre joke. No recipe written; no recipe transmitted to her daughters, then to me and mine. If only she had said such and such amount of butter, so many dozens of eggs, blended in a bowl and baked for so many minutes. For without these simple directions, this cookie, made magic by Grammie, becomes the task of historians and archeologists.
Still this evening I shall do my best to recreate perfection, recipe in hand, high standard daunting but not inhibiting. For I was there to sample this perfection in the first place... and I must try to recapture it before I, too, cannot do so. I owe it to Grammie... my mother and siblings et al. And I owe it to myself, too, because you see
"I sure do like those Christmas cookies, sugar I sure do like those Christmas cookies, babe."
Dedicated to Sharon Oshatz, colleague, friend, cook, on the occasion of her birthday. I didn't ask how many, because I know she's just getting better and especially appreciate the help she's given to make me better, too.
About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note. One of the loveliest songs ever written, short though it is, was composed by Stephen Sondheim for his 1962 musical "A funny thing happened on the way to the forum." It's called "Lovely", and he wrote both book and music.
The song only lasts for 2 minutes and 28 captivating seconds... but once you've heard it even a single time it will circulate throughout your brain for life. It's the kind of song that forces you to create situations where you can sing it, use it. For instance, I have recommended singing it to your Significant Other the very minute you come home this evening... always accompanying your admittedly croaky voice with flowers, candies, and ardent declarations delivered on one arthritic knee. That Significant Other will no doubt gibe, giggle, and give every indication of busting a gut laughing, but they'll be touched to the core. And Sondheim, a master in every way, wrote it for just that.
Go now to any search engine and let the music frolic around you. You cannot be anything other than happy, for you see you are the person Songheim celebrated in this tune...
... You that is and every object desired by every single connoisseur and collector on earth. And that, given the incessant collectors we are, is just about everyone.
"You're lovely".
I am what is called a connoisseur, that is a master of matters artistic and of taste... the kind of person who can say with credibility of any object on earth just what is, and even more important, what is not of value to civilization. It is back breaking work, what with millions of artifacts to find, subject to minute scrutiny, and, the object passing the most stringent of tests, arranging the contortions, financial and otherwise, which lead to acquisition and a lifetime of unadulterated love (with dollops of shrewdness and cleverness to sweeten the mix.)
This process, for me, begins with a catalog from any of the great auction houses on earth... with names like Sothebys! Christie's! The Dorotheum! Et al, great and small. These produce the siren songs that capture my attention and cause me endless nights of torment and insistent cogitation... these are the places, the very holiest of holies for connoisseurs, that wreck havoc in the minds and pocket books of even the most well heeled on earth. And of course these long-standing institutions with instantly recognizable names (at least to connoisseurs) are expert at catching their fish (that would be you and me, dear friend) and keeping them on their gilded hook c. 1250 A.D. once the property of the Queen of Bohemia. Look at yourself in the mirror and remember: you are about to go fishing in the most teeming waters on earth where your expertise will be tested against the very best... whose skills, wiles, courtesies and insights have been honed over centuries... all designed to capture you... the unceasing object of their potent desires.
Catalogs you pay for, versus catalogs hand endorsed and wafted to you.
When I began collecting so many years ago, the Internet was not dreamed of, much less a universal factor of life. And so collectors like me had to rely on the sales catalogs produced by the many divisions of the major houses. If you have never seen such a catalog you will not understand that these in no way resemble the short and flimsy cousins produced by, say, companies selling roasted meats. No indeed. These companies share a word... but nothing more. For the auction house catalogs are nothing short of the erudite and lavishly photographed "coffee table" books of yore, with only one difference: in these catalogs every single thing is for sale, could be yours, and which you are allowed, indeed encouraged to want... fervently, wildly, devotedly. Yes anything, everything could be yours... for a price.
In the beginning of course, when these long-established houses (with the grandest dating from the 18th century) do not know you, you must pay for the privilege of getting a catalog. And, as if to warn you about what is to follow, even these catalogs are steeply priced, at $50 or more each.
But when you are that all-important entity -- a demonstrated connoisseur -- you may request any catalog for free... or, when you are more well-known, too, specialists will send you their latest, a card enclosed with their compliments. One such specialist so beguiled yesterday sent me the latest sales catalog from Sotheby's Amsterdam, for they have sales from noble and royal houses which beguile me, and regularly seduce me from the thrifty ways of my plain-living, luxury abhoring Puritan ancestors. They look down on me now with disdain and disapproval... But that is their problem, not mine.
"I'm lovely. All I am is lovely."
No one can aspire to being a connoisseur without the "eye"; that is the practiced ability to perceive, not just to see, an item. This is the work of a lifetime... for, you see, ages previous to ours did not have just or only masters; there were many lackluster crafts people... and, such is fate... they often survived where the superior productions of their more gifted brethren may not. Yes, Fate is fickle that way.
To develop your eye requires incessant labor... the willingness, indeed the desire, or better yet, the obsession... to examine, scrutinize, and, at all times, improve your ability to know what you are looking at, and why it either is or is not worthy of... you. This all starts when an item you see in a sales catalog, or on the Internet, looks at you (for the object most assuredly selects you, as much as being selected by you)... when, I say, that item looks at you and says without any modesty at all... "I'm lovely. All I am is lovely. Lovely is the one thing I can do..."
But is this claim true... or merely a ruse... to ensnare you? This is where you must have help... or you are on the way to a very expensive mistake, a mistake which is almost always avoidable if you do your homework; which entails finding, listening to, and following the advice of experts who have spent a lifetime perfecting skills and knowledge you don't have but which you desperately need right now. Such experts can be acquired, first, from the auction houses themselves and then by referral from the auction houses.
Direct, candid, honest to a fault.
One of the most gratifying and unexpected things you'll learn as you develop as a connoisseur is the honor and honesty of experts. Their candor is a by-word and rare in our world of mendacity and practiced deceits. In short they tell the truth. And no matter how thoroughly you mature as a connoisseur you will always rely on it... as I do. My chief support is London-based Simon Gillespie, conservator of paintings, friend, goad, willing ear, magnificent eye. Sometimes he brings possible acquisitions to me; sometimes I to him. In the case of the striking floral still life pictured above, by Jean-Baptiste Monnoyer (1636-1699) it was, first, my find; then after Simon's review, very much his as well. The song sung by this lovely painting by one of the greatest masters, had not been sung in vane. I had taken the bait... as how could I not... for I already knew the man and his work; one of his magnificent ouevres was mine already, hung here to enliven the gray winter days of Cambridge... and never anything other than winsome.
Thus the duet.
Each object, every artifact which could be collected must sing out about its merits, particularly when those merits are not immediately apparent and only as a result of some master conservator's ministrations, the work of a Simon Gillespie, absolutely essential to the long-term value and preservation, for such necessary experts see below the damages, scarred surfaces and problems which accrue in these objects over time -- and these were immense and challenging in the new Monnoyer. In short, they see the "lovely" in items anything but. And the lucky ones (for they are lucky indeed) are snapped up (often at bargain prices), about to be returned to their original condition, a thing of beauty, a joy forever.
And it is the connoisseur who makes that decision (always after soliciting the best advice) and makes the necessary investment of time, money, patience, and belief. And who then is more than qualified to sing back to the object of his affection these words by Sondheim:
"You're lovely, Absolutely lovely. Who'd believe the loveliness of you?"
I would. I did. And now it is mine, "Radiant as in some dream come true."
### Your comments on this article are invited, post your comments below.
About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note. You know Cole Porter, of course. He's one of America's greatest composers and a lyricist of unsurpassed "cool," sophisticated, cosmopolitan, with wit to die for... and an unrivalled skill for finding the mot juste... and making you wish you'd said that first.
Porter (1891-1964) had everything. The pampered darling of one of the nation's great fortunes, he was smart, good looking, with so much charm it should have been illegal; a product of Yale College where he captured all hearts, many of them young, male and surprised they came to love Cole and his indiscretions.
Yes, of course, there were indiscretions; many of them. For, in the time honored tradition, the boy who had everything became the man determined to experience even more.
Such people pushed the envelop as a matter of course; seeing how far they could push; glad there were "don't's" so they had something to do; something they could attempt, subdue, then dismiss -- all with poise, style, savoir faire, never a thread of their bespoke duds askew. They danced on knife point because they could get cut... and made an art form of ensuring they would not be. And Cole Porter, exquisite to his fingertips, made it a point to dance every dance... and make you chagrined and sorrowful you were not dancing with him... no matter what your mother said and the demanding steps required.
"Love for sale."
Since there has been love, back to the Garden of Eden (if not before) love has been rendered in every conceivable way. In 1930, Cole Porter, always remember with calculated daring, threw a sharp light on an aspect of that love. The song was "Love for sale", and it appeared in the deliberately provocative musical "The New Yorkers" where it instantly stunned every Babbitt of the nation... precisely as Porter wanted, planned for, and enjoyed.
The song was banned, denounced, pulled off every radio station in the land. Thereby, predictably, becoming the hottest thing in the Great Republic and a rocket thrust to the young Cole and his burgeoning reputation...
"Love for sale appetizing young love for sale love that's fresh and still unspoiled love that's only slightly soiled love for sale."
And, worst of all, it was sublime to dance.
It was a card-carrying way to prove that you, too, were a sophisticate of the purest water... which is why an avalanche of greatly talented artists rushed to embrace it... Libby Holman, Eartha Kitt, Mel Torme, Dinah Washington... but my personal favorite is Fred Waring and his Pennsylvanians with its perfect period pitch. Go now to any search engine to pick your favorite. Put your dancing shoes on and listen. The sound is as smooth as chocolate... and you are enjoying the unrivalled thrill of scandal...
Which brings us to the utterly nondescript and forgettable city of Malden, Massachusetts, a city where nothing ever happens, even by accident. Until just the other day when the citizens of this Anytown, USA woke up to the fact that Kevin F. Hogan and his now celebrated body not only lived in Malden... but occupied a position of importance and responsibility within its precincts. And so delicious scandal came to Malden...
Daytime Mr. Hogan, nighttime beef cake Kevin.
By day, Kevin Hogan was the newly appointed head of the English department at the Malden charter school... charged with the thankless, sisyphean task of stuffing "Romeo and Juliet" into the most obdurate and unwelcoming of minds. No doubt like most such teachers, Hogan knew moments when the high calling of his office seemed the greatest travail on earth. As for the money... Well, suffice it to say like many many of his pedagogical colleagues, he needed more and took on extra work to get it. And, as the Bard of Avon says, there's the rub...
Where his academical brethren took jobs as bar tenders and wait persons, Hogan went a different route, turning what God gave him into eye-catching images, imaginative contortions, beguiling glances in unlikely positions and, of course, useful coin of the realm. Not to put too fine a point on it, Kevin and his six-pack were eye-candy in one of the greatest growth industries of the Great Republic... pornography... and by all accounts (for I admit I have not scrutinized his purportedly great talent at close quarters) one who excelled.
Gotcha!
Then one of the well-meaning legion of busy bodies, prodigious in their numbers and armed with only the highest motives, saw Kevin in all his lusty glory... and called, who else?, Fox 25 news report. And because Fox prides itself on its self-appointed status as Cerberus of the Great Republic, bully pulpit at the ready, All Hell Broke Lose... for, mind, journalists, without peccadilloes themselves, are assiduous at finding and denouncing those of everyone else.
And so a great debate opened in Malden...
The first necessity was to remove the offending body, and so Kevin Hogan was removed from his position (albeit his salary continued), never mind he'd been charged with nothing, whilst every City Father and Mother vented... the better to cover themselves, which is what every one of them wished Kevin had done in the first place.
Never mind that jurisdiction in the matter rested in the first particular with the Mystic Valley educational authorities... everyone HAD to have an opinion... and I can tell you not one complimented Hogan on his camera-loving physique. All zoned in on whether this licensed teacher since 1988 had done anything untoward, off color, or illegal with his current students, or any students are schools of his previous employ. No doubt Fox News dug with a will but has, to date, found nothing, not a scrap, a scintilla, a shred.That, of course, has not been reported. If it had, there would have been good grounds and proper for his instant removal.
But that is not the situation.
Kevin Hogan is charged with being an independent contractor in a legitimate industry, a booming growth industry at that, an industry which hires people who (we trust) pay taxes on their emoluments...creating jobs in firms which also pay their taxes. We might like the extra employment he selected... we might not like with whom he does it... or how he does it... but we need ask ourselves only this: not whether what he does is "immoral" (for that is for clerics to determine) but whether it is legal, fully, completely. So long as Kevin and his beefcake operate within those laws, Mr. Hogan must be reinstated, and at once.
But I do offer, in humility, one three-letter word to help clarify this situation and squeeze profit from it. No, not that three-letter word, but TAX. We tax other "sins" like tobacco and moonshine. Let's tax this, too. It'll make you feel so much better knowing Kevin's great talent is helping the community so.
"who will buy who would like to sample my supply who's prepared to pay the price for a trip to paradise love for sale."
State and federal taxes extra.
**** Your response to this article is requested. What do you think? Let us know by posting your comments below.
About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note: September 21, 1897, the editor of the New York Sun ran an unsigned editorial in the form of a letter to the editor and that editor's response. The title of this article was "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus", and it long ago became the world's most reprinted article, particularly at the Christmas season.
The 8-year girl who wrote the letter (and, yes, she was a real person) achieved by a simple question an ineradicable place in history, a place any number of kings and queens, politicians and generals might have envied. For the question was not glib... and neither was its response.
This response was written by veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church, and you can find the complete text in any search engine; the message can be read profitably by all good people though well over a century has passed since it was penned.
Its essential message is found in these lines: "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exits as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy."
Here's how this all got started.
In 1897, Dr. Philip O'Hanlon, a coroner's assistant on Manhattan's Upper West Side, was asked by his daughter Virginia (1889-1971) whether Santa Claus really existed. He paused for just a moment, as if he were considering the matter for the first time. Then, he advised her to write to The Sun, a prominent New York City newspaper. "If you see it in The Sun," he assured her, "it's so." Thus he unwittingly provided Francis Pharcellus Church an opportunity to rise above the simple question and address the philosophical issues behind it.
Church was a war correspondent during the American Civil War, the bloodiest war to date; one which caused doubt, disillusion, despair. Many wrote off the noble experiment of the Great Republic as a failure; hope was in short supply. Church was given a once- in-a-lifetime opportunity to combat this negativity... to reassure his fellow countrymen and remind them of all the good things that they had... if only they would scrutinize carefully, perceive what they saw, and remind themselves of the verities on which the Great Republic was founded and which are available to every citizen. Santa Claus became his apt metaphor.
Grand thoughts, fustian idiom.
Church was a mid-Victorian... which meant, by our leaner, sharper standards, that he was verbose, his prose not merely purple, but cloying, lush, overwritten, prolix. His final paragraph makes all this very clear:
"No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will still continue to make glad the heart of childhood." Today's readers grow quickly impatient , intolerant to exasperation, with such prose; thus the baby is thrown out with the bath water; Church's important message torpedoed by his over ripe words and the period style our 19th century ancestors found so arresting, dedicated as they were to the bombastic, sonorous and grandiloquent. This will never do.
Thus since Church is no longer here to update his work, I appoint myself to do so, not to reinvent the wheel but to show what an author of our time can do to keep his message relevant and evergreen, important, not dismissed as old hat, the histrionic rhetoric of the Gilded Age. I hope Church smiles benignly on this attempt, for he was a man whose respect was worth having.
Virginia's letter to me, December 11, 2011.
Dear Dr. Lant,
I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, 'If you see it in Dr. Lant's articles, it's so". Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O'Hanlon 115 West Ninety-Fifth St.
My response to Virginia, December 12, 2011.
Dear Virginia,
First of all let me thank you most sincerely for taking the time to write to me and for your confidence in me and my articles. Smart readers like you, young and old, are what keeps me on my toes, and I account you not only a reader, but a young friend.
I can tell you are troubled by what your friends are saying. That is understandable. Many people, perhaps including some of your friends, go out of their way to hurt others by selfish, unconsidered, and hurtful remarks. I can tell right away that you are not such a person, and that is good news indeed and why I have answered you so promptly.
Being the smart and sensitive young lady you are, I know you are not only thoughtful about what you say and how you say it, but take what people say, unless you are sure of them, with a grain of salt; in other words you don't believe everything you hear and read... instead you use your own mind to evaluate. That is always the best way and is what we like so much in our Great Republic, in other words our citizens rely on their own judgement. As you will when you finish this letter and consider what I have confided to you. Let's consider for a moment the people, and sadly there are many such, children and adults, too, who tell everyone Santa Claus doesn't exist. They point to the turbulent state of the world... wars in far away places we never heard of... people, good people too, without shelter or food... all the people who are ill and have no money for treatment, including children your age, even some in your very neighborhood. They say, and they are very loud about telling people like you, that this is proof positive that there is not now nor has there ever been a person called Santa Claus.
And now, as the friend you wrote to seeking truth and reassurance, I tell you that these people, each and every one of them, are wrong, wrong, wrong. And now I tell you why... because Santa Claus is the embodiment of every good thought, every good deed, every good wish and every good action no matter by whom, where, or when. Santa Claus represents the sum total of everything good in this often turbulent, unhappy, despairing world of ours. Santa Claus takes all good elements and puts them to work combating the bad and working tirelessly for the good -- for the improvement of human kind and everyone in it, even those poor souls who say he doesn't exist and won't help him in his tireless ways.
I know, dear Virginia, that you want to help Santa Claus in his great and important work, because you are a dear girl who cares for others and who wishes to help Santa do that, which is much more than just delivering Christmas presents down chimneys and taking care of his flying reindeer.
You see, Virginia, Santa Claus represents the best in all of us, and he knows that working together we make the world, every day, a better place, a place of good substance and good cheer for all. Today, now that you are sure of the existence of Santa Claus and his good works, I urge you to join his team. Do a little good today, Virginia, and not just at Christmas, but every day you want the world to be better... and help the Jolly Old Elf for he relies so on sweet children like you... and even "seen everything" commentators like me. We are all so grateful to you, Miss Virginia, and your kind nature, which prompted your concern and letter.
Merry Christmas from me and from all of us at Worldprofit, where the Christmas spirit is not the thing of a day, but of every day. It is my pleasure to thank you for giving me the much needed opportunity to say so and to recommit my own energy and zeal... and may God and Santa Claus bless you as you truly deserve.
**** What do you think? Let us know by posting your comments below.
About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note. In 1978 a stunning young girl, just 12 years old, astonished the world by her beauty, talent... and most of all her deep understanding of one of the few things we humans do which is still regarded as heinous, a sin, abhorrent, disgusting, loathsome, reprehensible, incomprehensible.
The girl was Brooke Shields. The film was a 1978 historical fiction drama by Louis Malle. The subject was the story of how a bordello madame in 1917 New Orleans auctioned off the virginity of her own daughter, played by Shields, who outraged many with her provocative pre-teen nude photos. The film was nominated for an Academy Award. And its score? Music by Tony Jackson, who probably wrote it about 1912, although it was not published until 1916. Al Jolson made it unforgettable in his 1930 version. You know it as "Pretty Baby". Go now to any search engine and find it... "Your mother said you were the cutest kid/No wonder, Dearie, that I'm wild about you."
Cute kids to be wild about.
That was Professor Grant, a man with a dark secret and a computer he carried everywhere, a computer that was soon to destroy his comfortable world of respect, admiration, and deference.
Picture the scene. When Grant Smith woke up on Saturday, November 26, 2011, in Cottonwood Heights, Utah he was a respected member of the Academy, a professor of materials science and engineering; also adjunct professor of chemical engineering at the University of Utah. A 14 year employee, he holds a doctorate and two master's degrees.
When he went to bed that evening, in Boston, Massachusetts, a city he often visited on business, he was being held in jail bail set at $15,000 cash. What had happened that turned this November day from the same o' same o', into quite possibly the most important day of his distinguished life?
We business people know the drill for catching early morning flights at day break. We wake up in the middle of the night, groggy, unwilling to leave our comfortable beds and comfortable lives. But we take a shower (with the coldest water we can bear)... and get prepared for the long, often boring, dull but utterly important day ahead. We are in business... and this is what we do; always with our trusty computer, simultaneously the bane and chief support of our lives; yes, the bane of our existence and our most important tool. It was the same for Dr. Smith. A man and his computer yoked, one of the most characteristic and defining images of our wired age. Thus, no one thought anything out of the ordinary, when this good-looking father of two, aged 8 and 10, conservatively dressed in a dark-gray blazer over a black polo shirt, opened his computer... it would have been rather odd if he hadn't.
We wonder what's on their computers.
Perhaps because I am a commentator, commenting on all aspects of the nation and indeed the world, I am an inveterate watcher, gawker, eves dropper. I like to know what's going on in other lives... and thus I always take a peek at what my fellow airplane prisoners are doing on their computers; the device that keeps them hooked to their lives and offices whilst 30,000 feet over Miami. Their screen is there, quite visible and clear, always tempting to peruse. And so I do... And others, too. Which is how his tale, both shocking and tragic, became known.
The passenger behind.
As all seasoned air travelers know, to a great extent the comfort and serenity of their day flying depends on the passenger directly in front of and the passenger directly behind you. What angle they want on their seats, for instance, can wreck a perfectly wonderful day, whilst if they are burping a baby over their shoulder can prove catastrophic for your new suit.
This day the passenger seated directly behind Smith was not only curious about what the good doctor was doing... but he was lynx-eyed... He saw Smith open his lap top... then open to some pictures of a young girl. No doubt his daughter... But as Suffolk County District Attorney Daniel F. Conley said, "These weren't photos of a child in the bath that a parent might keep". No indeed.
The photos the passenger saw were "explicitly sexual and extremely disturbing."
What would you do?
All of us at some time or another will witness an event at once disturbing, distressing, dishonest, disagreeable. It is inevitable, a certain cost of living the way we do. So, the question becomes, what do we do when such distressing intelligence comes our way and we cannot pretend that we just don't see.
That's what the unidentified passenger behind had to decide... and he decided on action, prompt, immediate, thorough. First, he took a picture of Smith and some of his unsettling images. He emailed these to a relative in Arizona with instructions to contact Boston authorities. Then he advised the flight attendant who advised Smith to shut off his computer altogether. At that moment, like a drowning man, I can imagine that Smith's life flashed in front of him.
We can imagine, flight ensnared as he was, that he, a man respected, a man of place and position, felt trapped, without options except immediate compliance. And so he went from anxiety... to fear... to panic... to despondency... the memories crowding fast...
... of being that so bright high school student, voted "most likely"; of college where professors who mentored told him he would go far, helping many; of the day when he got his Ph.D., the day he got his plum university position... and even the day he married the now divorced wife he had once loved to distraction. Now, far above his nation, he despaired, as well he might, for his nightmare had hardly begun.
Computer seized, images disclosed, opprobrium, disgrace.
Boston authorities, including State Police troopers who met his flight, searched his laptop, and found the "disturbing" images they had been advised to expect. They arrested Smith and Monday, November 28, he was arraigned... whilst his life, with its carefully constructed contours, so cherished now that it was not only threatened but destroyed unravelled. How would he respond to the inevitable wise cracks, taunts, and ribaldry.... how to the moral outrage of friends and neighbors... how to his students and colleagues? And how, most tragically, to his children now baffled and hurt?
And now the big question, why had he done it? There are only two explanations... hubris and/ or stupidity, two sides of the same coin. Was Smith so far gone in arrogance that, like so many other clueless members of the Academy, many tenured, acting like the gods they believe they are; far above the petty concerns of mere mortals like you and me. With these academicians, this is always possible, even likely.
Or was it simply that Professor Grant D. Smith was stupid, rash -- a man needing the fix that was there in his computer at his fingertips; so focused on his need and obsession that he dismissed the risk? This could also be true; when mixed with hubris and disdain creating the fatal cocktail which he now must drink to the dregs, with irremediable consequences, trumping all his merits and achievements, no matter how helpful to how many. Such is the punishment a society levies on an matter still regarded, and rightly so, as immoral. Thus, Al Jolson's song becomes Grant Smith's swan song,
"Your cunning little dimples, and your baby stare, Your baby talk, and baby walk and curly hair, Your baby smile Makes life worthwhile. You're just as sweet as you can be."
And we mean to keep it that way.
### What do you think? Let us know by posting your comments below.
About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note. In 1930 pouty songstress Elsie Carlisle swept America with a very catchy dance number entitled "Little White Lies." It is a pip of a tune about the polished and painful lies lovers use to get what they want... and then, with deliberate intention, move on to inflict more pain... on whoever may be the object of their affection right then. The tune is beautiful; the underlying truth of its lyrics by Walter Donaldson is anything but... You'll find it in any search engine; it was recorded by many fine artists (including Fred Waring and his Pennsylvanians who made perhaps the first recording). They all loved its sound and lyrics as much as I do, so perfect to accompany this article of prevarications, untruths, deceits and deliberate intention to hoodwink, manipulate and seduce a great nation, beguiled when...
"The moon was all aglow But heaven was in your eyes The night that you told me Those little white lies."
Unexpected UP, roller-coaster DOWN.
Just a few days ago, a mere handful, Herman Cain looked like the unlikely savior of America, Inc.; the proverbial man on a white horse, galloping with speed, succor, savoir faire, and unmatched style to the rescue of the nation. It was heady stuff for the man and his supporters; a man who, only minutes before, had "also ran" written all over his body, now the GOP's hero.
Cain was hailed as a man of uncommon sense, a man who believed in the eternal verities of God, country, and family; a man who knew what was what... and would tell it like it is. A man who would run the nation's business like he ran his private (pizza) business... without fear or favor to anyone, anywhere, anytime; just doing what was necessary when it was called for, civic sense and courage always his, and in abundance. Yes, he offered every possible topping, double pepperoni and, of course, the anchovies we love so.
Oh, yes, it was heady stuff indeed.
And ex-talk meister Cain, delivered his easy-to-believe-in-message as smooth as jello. It was glib, fast-paced, uplifting... with a punch line right out of "God Bless America", an "attaboy Herman" adulation on their lips and in their hearts. Herman was their boy... Herman could do it... we want Herman, we need Herman...
Herman's needs.
But Herman had needs, too, needs of the "cherchez la femme" variety. No Leporello chronicled Cain's deeds of amorous daring.... but, as Cain's stock -- and poll numbers -- rose, the media, always poised for mayhem, began to assume the role. And with the usual pure attentions of the Fourth Estate, they dug... sniffed... found the filthy pay dirt they were looking for.... exhumed... dug deeper... found more... it was just what reporters are meant to do.... and they did it with a will.
War & Peace
At one point in Tolstoy's unmatched novel, Pierre Bezuhoff, as part of his Masonic induction ceremony, is asked the nature of his besetting sin. In the lowest possible voice, eyes firmly fixed on the floor, he responds, "women". If Mr. Cain hasn't read this classic... he ought. It is honest, searing, enlightening, discomfiting and oh so apropos.
Herman had other problems, too, other obstacles to overcome. For instance, the pith and substance of foreign policy eluded him from first to last; there were lacunas, too, in the topics that were roiling America -- immigration, defense, education, health care. These were salient topics Herman knew almost nothing about; but he was cheerfully blissful in the face of a mountain of ignorance. His idol Ronald Reagan started out equally untutored, and he had ended in the pantheon of the nation. Why shouldn't he do as well, or even better?
A great secret he never dreamed would derail his express to the Casa Blanca.
Like all of us Cain has a rich history of doing things he'd much rather not appear on Page 1 of the New York Times. And for the vast majority of us, they never will... whew! Our lies, while important to us and the people we have lied to, are (though it pains us to hear so) just too unimportant to interest anyone. And, when we think about them (as we all are sometimes forced to do) we are glad that things are thus.
But life for presidential candidates is very different. If they have a propensity for burping or scratching themselves in unlikely places, they can be sure the august New York Times, given world enough and time, will make public note of these venial sins and inadequacies.
And so it a measure of the distance Herman Cain traveled towards 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue that his media coverage grew and grew and grew... as the 24 hour information whirligig wanted data about Cain and went happily on a treasure hunt through the vicissitudes of his life, finding that which Herman never deemed important. It was salacious, smutty, deliciously off color... in the nature of a national dirty joke. And best of all... Cain stonewalled, telling anyone who would listen, that he was maligned, misunderstood, the object of a vendetta... and, anyway, his mother had loved him and he'd always made his bed, so what difference did it make?
He denied he'd diddled the first woman who stepped forward with lurid accusations; he didn't even know woman 2; woman 3 was a known liar, whilst woman 4 was sadly mistaken. And while it is true he had given hugs, embraces and salubrious cash, why that was just ol' Herman being as magnanimous as he surely was. America's admiration for Cain plummeted as revelations grew... until at last woman 5, with her detailed, specific, tawdry and unanswerable affidavit stepped forward and we all knew it was The End, everyone but Herman, the unaccountable victim of the witch hunt that did him in.
He was still Innocent. Still Pure. Still the Nicest Guy in America. And nothing, absolutely nothing, would change his story, despite 5 women having stepped forward, into the glare of piercing, uncomfortable notice and inconvenience, to say otherwise. And we believed the ladies... They were chicks of Herman Cain's life who had become Chicken Littles all, bringing down his candidacy, his credibility and the good will and sanguine hopes of the nation.
Why had it happened?
This had happened, as so many previous scandals, because candidates think the services they have done and might do for the nation as president, are far more important that whatever they have done before. Perhaps they are right... but they handle it all wrong; and here's the rub.
ALL of us are imperfect; though some are more imperfect than others. Thus, they all should start their campaigns not by telling ad nauseam how good they will be, but how bad they have been. "Paint me warts and all," Oliver Cromwell, great Lord Protector of England, famously said. And he ruled, in all his human imperfections, a great nation at a difficult time. But Cain, whether because he was deluded, mendacious, cowardly, lacking in judgement, or any other reason, lied, lied, and lied again, whilst a nation famous for its common sense got more incredulous with every equivocation and sinuous twist and turn.
And when the moment came (and late too) on December 3, 2011 when he should have withdrawn and at last told the truth, he waffled again, lied again, and merely "suspended" his campaign, instead of ending it in a torrent of truth, tears, and ignominy, the fatal cocktail his shocking distortions and deceits he had fermented. And thus he leaves his campaign, for this and any other there will never be, condemned to remembering his moment of glory, abbreviated, exciting, founded on falsehood and deception.
"Who wouldn't believe those lips Who wouldn't believe those eyes...
The Devil was in your heart But Heaven was in your eyes The night that you told me Those little white lies."
### Your response to this article is requested. What do you think? Let us know by posting your comments below.
About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note. 2012 ought to be a big Republican year, not least because President Obama is perceived by almost no one as the leader we need. A good man, yes; up to the job... no way. But Obama, with all his baggage, remains, in my humble opinion, the likely winner, unless (and it's a big "unless") unemployment goes up. However, most of my commenting colleagues think a very marginal drop is likely -- not an increase. I concur. Thus, I've selected the song "But not for me" (written by George Gershwin in 1930) to accompany this article. "They're writing songs of love"... but not for Mitt! Go to any search engine to find this much sung song. I like the Rod Stewart version best... Mitt, of course, won't like any version at all.... pity. It's a great number.
Dismal
With the state of the nation what it is, and what it threatens to remain -- dismal -- a guy like Mitt Romney ought to be riding the crest of a wave that'll deliver him in due course to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue with whoops of joy and the prayers of a great people.
He's brighter than bright.
A hard-working, dedicated policy wonk with a graduate student's dedication and ardor.
So rich that even he doesn't have a clue how much money he's got.
A picture-perfect family with smiles to die for.
Yes, Mitt's got it all... except for judgement, integrity and honesty. And he's got only himself to blame for this glaring lapse, so big you could drive a coach and four comfortably through it, and which you can see for yourself any day you like.
This is why der Mitt-ster is in trouble and why the hapless big wigs of the GOP want anyone, absolutely anyone, other than Mitt. And I understand why: as a tax- paying citizen of Massachusetts, I know how they feel. Like they want to puke, every time they think of this guy at the head of their next national ticket.
Thus these diligent Solons of the Great Republic have been tripping over themselves to find a candidate, their actions ham-fisted, clumsy, but telling as they have scrounged up and praised such verifiable pygmies as Michelle Bachmann, who is next door to a moron; Rick Perry who wouldn't know how to spell his own name if a less challenged aide didn't hold up a cue card to remind him; Herman Cain who has never had trouble wooing les femmes, just profound difficulty remembering where and when... and keeping his wife of decades up to date.
And now, wafted by the incense of New Hampshire's largest newspaper, the Manchester Union Leader, which never met a kooky idea it didn't like, is touting Newt Gringrich, a man who would denounce his own mother if it got him a look-see, much less the White House. Ask his many wives, mistresses, chicks and concubines and see for yourself. It'll all come out in the wash anyway.
It would all be hysterically funny... except that we voters of America, denizens all of the Great Republic, are going to have to live with the results... and that's a revolting development if anything ever was.
Why are all these people working so hard for Anyone But Mitt?
"Veritas", Harvard's motto -- and Mitt's.
Let's get one thing perfectly straight, everything that Mitt says, whenever he says it is always TRUTH, no matter that it is totally opposite to what he said on the subject five minutes ago. Mitt is to American politics what the Pope speaking ex cathedra infallible is to Rome, a man never wrong, with a license to reshuffle the truth that we lesser folks must adhere to. Mitt went to Harvard (all serious candidates always do)... and so "Veritas" (truth) is his motto. Luckily, he never has to worry finding it. It's what he utters all day, every day, no matter his subject, implausible, disingenuous or inaccurate. As you can imagine, this considerably simplifies his life and labors... and makes campaign fact-checkers superfluous; around Mitt they are simply unneeded.
Governor Mitt of Massachusetts instituted a progressive health care program which was timely, needed, forward looking, a program that would have made any governor of any state proud. But Candidate Mitt has done everything but deny he was governor at the time to get out of accepting responsibility and credit for what ought to be his acme.
Sometimes he's pro gay rights; sometimes he's not.
Sometimes he'll cut a deal on illegal immigrants; sometimes he won't.
Only one thing is constant: that whatever he says, to whomever he says it is the God's honest truth, cross his heart and hope to die.
In the last few days Mitt has gotten himself in at least two middens which would surely trip up and soil any other candidate, lesser folk all.
First the Boston Globe (which takes a proprietary interest in Mitt, having helped elevate him to his current celestial status) reported that in 2006 Governor Mitt's top aides purchased their computer hard drives just before his administration ended, and the usual Democratic hacks returned to the State House's corner office. Fully 11 of Mitt's minions ponied up for their drives, something never considered by previous excellencies, much less done.
Now you and I could guess what was going on, couldn't we? After all, in the real world we inhabit, people put things, all sorts of things, on their computers they don't want the world and his brother to see. So we make sure those hard drives belong to us and nobody else. And so le tout Massachusetts came to the instant conclusion that those drives and their owners were up to no good. Purchase was the result... never mind that this was unprecedented... awfully suggestive... and maybe even illegal.
But remember, Mitt is not merely potentate, he is Pope. And so, after waiting days to respond to reporters' queries on the matter, he released his encyclical, explaining all, disclaiming all. All was right, nothing wrong, why even wonder?
Why wonder, too, about Mitt and company's next faux pas; the outright lie that was his very first ad against Obama. It shows a clip of the president saying, "If we keep talking about the economy, we're going to lose." Never mind that these words were Obama quoting John McCain, the GOP nominee Romney wanted to run with last time round. The ad was not just misleading... it was a blatant distortion...
... which Romney aide Eric Fehrnstrom, the most indiscrete and bumptious campaign counselor ever, confirmed, happy in this deception. "It's all deliberate," he exulted. In other words, St. Mitt knew it was a lie; authorized the lie, then told the world he was happy that he lied. Even the most cynical were appalled.
And so the matter rests at this moment, as we await Mitt's next assault on truth, justice and the American way; his next distortion, deceit, disingenuity. For make no mistake, the next one is on the way, as Mitt plumbs the depths he expects to take him to the top. That's why you'll find me at all his campaign rallies selling air sickness bags, three for a buck. I'll clean up.
### Your response to this article is requested. What do you think? Let us know by posting your comments below.
About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note. Whether you are hunting for a job or trying to make a deal with a prospect, these days of economic malaise and insistent doldrums will probably not go down in your personal history as the good old days... unless, that is, you heed the advice and admonitions you are about to read now... admonitions with the Royal Seal of Approval of one of history's most well known and alluring figures... the lady commonly known (like certain rock stars that followed) by her first name and nothing else -- Cleopatra. Why am I recommending her to you? Because she was expert at getting her way.... and such people are always useful to study.
To set the stage for the recommendations that follow, put yourself in the imperial mood by playing music from Joseph Mankiewicz' celebrated (indeed infamous) film "Cleopatra" (1963) starring Rex Harrison, Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. There were many reasons for its renown... it was the most expensive film ever made, the film that took the longest to make (3 years); two of its principals (Taylor and Burton) were involved (to every paparazzo's delight) in an off-screen affaire that put their torrid on-screen affaire to shame... and the theme music (by Alex North) was superb... particularly the portion that accompanied the great Queen in her royal barge, beloved of Isis, on her celebrated voyage up the Nile to give Marc Anthony (Burton) the chance to make a fool of himself -- and to get his army (and its captain-general) to fight for her, for Egypt, for glory. As you see, there was much at stake... and so the presentation had to be awesome.
Find this lush, evocative song now in any search engine... and as you listen to it (and listen to it again) read the magical words of Shakespeare, for this is most assuredly where Mankiewicz and North got their inspiration for this scene of High Hollywood grandeur, so expensive and demanding that it nearly bankrupt the studio. Thus, its like will never be attempted or seen again:
"The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burnt on the water. The poop was beaten gold, Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat fo follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, It beggar'd all description: she did lie In her pavilion -- cloth of gold, of tissue -- O'er picturing that Venus where we see The fancy outwork nature."
Anthony and Cleopatra, Act 2, scene 2, 191-201.
Now let's focus on you and the last time you needed to make a good impression.
As I write the United States is stuck with a stubborn unemployment rate of about 9%; certain states, like Florida, are higher, nearly 1 3/4% higher. This is not good... especially if you don't know how to present yourself so that you beat out your competitors, each of whom needs a job (or needs to make this crucial sale) as much as you do. So whether you're in the market for a good job... or are in business to make one sale after another, this article is for you.
1) Review your last presentation -- with nothing less than brutal frankness, candor and complete honesty.
You are not here to extol your virtues but to improve your ability and skills so that you get what you want. In this connection, I think of the Duchess of Windsor, a hostess of note. After every lunch or dinner party, she sat down at her desk and wrote a performance critique of her staff (and occasionally, too, of her husband, once King Edward VIII of the empire on which the sun never set) and advised them what she disliked and what needed improvement. She was efficient, organized, visionary and fastidious to a degree... and so, too, must you be. You are in an environment where it takes more to get a job... and make a sale... and so acute scrutiny is the order of the day.
2) Get yourself a mentor.
Who's helping you get a job... make deals... and so make money? If the answer is no one then you have a difficult row to hoe indeed. So, let's be clear on one thing. Working alone to find work is a sucker's game... and I'd be remiss in my duties if I didn't make this crystal clear.
You need a mentor working for you... a person who can walk you through every single task you need to accomplish... and then show you precisely what to do. This list of tasks includes (but is not limited to)
* writing persuasive cover letters that open doors, rather than slam them in your face;
* crafting resumes that sizzle and persuade because they show the reader what you have done, not just where you have been;
* showing you how to get crucial information about the place(s) you'll be visiting for interviews... and so crafting your approach that you'll stand out from the crowd and make you the obvious choice.
Now think for a minute. For your last presentation (which is a word I prefer to "interview") were you well and truly prepared... or did you just show up and embarrass yourself with complete bumbling and ineptitude? Your honesty here is mandatory... or you will never get the job (or the sale) you want.
Thus a mentor is crucial. The problem is knowing where to find one.
If you're associated with an educational institution, use their guidance counseling facilities.
If you're on your own, ask your most educated and successful friend to assist... particularly if they're in the same field as you are.
Or, call the appropriate office in your city or state to see what assistance they can provide. You'll be pleasantly surprised; after all, it's to their interest to get you to work.... and off the dole.
More sage advice.
"The devil," it is said, "is in the details." And so it is. Thus you must master them:
* You must look as spruce and tidy as possible apropos the old adage, "Dress for others; eat for yourself".
* Always be on time, never late.
* Never, ever use text messaging language. That is the kiss of death 4 u.
* Brainstorm a list of ways you can help the person and company considering you. They'll be impressed you took the time.
* Never hand write your application. Take it home and type it cleanly and clearly.
And NEVER have a liquid like coffee near at hand which could smudge your application; that would be most unfortunate and was a mistake Queen Cleopatra never made... but which others, sloppy, disorganized, inefficient so often do... Such a one was the celebrated actress Tallulah Bankhead. She played the role of Cleopatra in Shakespeare's immortal play... but badly. "Tallulah Bankhead barged down the Nile last night, "said Brooks Atkinson of the New York Times," and promptly sank." But then she didn't have the benefit of my advice, and you most assuredly do. You lucky dog.
## Your response to this article is requested. What do you think? Let us know by posting your comments below.
About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses.
Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author's program note. You are about to read a story that will, if you have a particle of gallantry about you, make you see red...
It is the story of a Yale grid iron hero, quarterback Patrick Witt, and how a bunch of pettifogging bureaucrats forced him to make an invidious choice instead of solving the problem at hand to the benefit of all.
This is a story about a man of grace and speed and a story of those who blocked him and forced him to make a life-changing choice he should never have had to make.
It is the story of a man who gave his all for the team and his alma mater; a man who should have been given his chance... and was instead given the back of their hands by adults who forgot their calling.
It is the story of a glaring wrong that must be made right.... and the pedestrian folk who comforted themselves with the thought that the deep error they made was justified because they followed the rules.
And, not least, this is the story of how one Harvard man -- me -- came to the defence of a Yalie and was glad to do it, no more Crimson v. Bulldog, but Crimson v. injustice!
To get you in the mood to protest, I've selected (what else?) the famous Yale fight song... a rousing tune that has aroused Elis through the years and today will arouse you, too. You'll find it in any search engine. About Patrick Witt
At 6-foot-4-inches, 230 pound Patrick Witt stands out in a crowd... but the impact he makes as Number 11 on the Yale foot ball team is not nearly as significant as the fact that here is a hard-working, team-playing, altogether gifted son of Yale... a man who can lead, inspire, enthuse, and motivate... the kind of man America needs for more than throwing a ball, no matter how far.
Witt reminds us about what leaders must do to become leaders. They must be dedicated, disciplined, going beyond the merely adequate. They must be motivated... and so, through their own hard-working example, motivate others. They must work early and late to sharpen their edge... minimize imperfections... maximize skills. They never say die because that is not what champions do. Champions persist... improve... always driving themselves to be better, better, always better. Because "better" is what champions do, win, lose, or draw. And while they do this... they help others. And gladly so, because no one is a champion whose vision does not include assisting others.
The great, the glittering prizes.
The brightest undergraduates in America all have options, even in recessionary years like 2011. Many go on to the great universities, there to sharpen their already impressive skills by post graduate study. Thus does America and the world replenish its supply of talented professionals and renew itself.
But the brightest of the bright look higher. They aspire to the great prizes... the Marshalls, named after my distant cousin General George C. Marshall, the great man who saved Europe after World War II and whom grateful England chose to memorialize by providing scholarships for America's most gifted to study at its greatest universities....
.... the Wilsons... named for President Woodrow Wilson... fellowships for America's next generation of university scholars, teachers, and administrators (I won mine in 1969).... and
.... the jewel in the crown.... the Rhodes.
There are many criteria which determine who gets this golden prize. Successful candidates must be devoted to duty... demonstrate unselfishness and fellowship... and evince "moral force of character and instincts to lead." In short, they exist to honor the best and the brightest... and to make them better and brighter still.
These awards were created by a man of universal vision, titanic energy, and grit, a man so gifted, so determined, so focused that an entire country -- Rhodesia -- was carved out and named for him. He knew the greatest challenges, the greatest successes, the greatest heights and greatest depths. He was Cecil Rhodes (1853-1902)... and he was entrepreneur, empire builder, visionary at the highest level. But of all the gifts he made, the most important, the most impacting, the most beneficial was the Rhodes Scholarship for study at Oxford University. And it was and is arguably the most important, influential and prestigious scholarship given... its regulations and traditions guarded by well-meaning people like Elliot Gerson, Americian secretary of the Rhodes Trust, one of the unlikely villains of this story, the man who lost the forest for the trees and helped create an entirely avoidable injustice.
Here are the facts.
Saturday, November 19, 2011 was destined to be the most important day in the short life of Patrick Witt... he was scheduled to be the Yale quarterback at the 128th edition of The Game, the yearly encounter for Ivy supremacy between Harvard and Yale, this year held in New Haven...
... at the same time, the very same time, he was scheduled to be in Atlanta, Georgia being interviewed, as a semi-finalist, for a Rhodes.
It was -- or at least should have been -- an easy problem to solve, especially in this day of advanced telecommunications. The solution process would have gone something like this: The foot ball game couldn't be rescheduled. That's obvious, but the Rhodes interview could be. Okay, that would have inconvenienced some of the out-of-town interviewers, thus perhaps not ideal. But they could have been asked
And here's where brain storming and problem-solving come in. The interviewers could have put Witt on a speaker phone or (even better) got him on webcam or giant screen at the hotel where the interviews were being held. It might have cost a couple bucks. However, the interviewers could have stiffed Witt with the bill, if they thought such meanness "fair".
But instead of solving the problem, as he could so obviously have done, Gerson, clearly a stickler for silly rules instead of an advocate of equitable solutions, told Witt to choose... to give up one or the other. This was Gerson et al playing God, instead of using their noggins to solve the problem. Outrageous.
And so Witt, to absolutely no one's surprise at Yale, sent a letter to Gerson withdrawing as a Rhodes candidate, the burden of responsibility wrongly on him, when it should have been on the hidebound Gerson and company who clearly know nothing about Founder Rhodes... who was one of the greatest problem solvers of all time. HE would have found a way.
As a result, Witt played his final game at Yale, where Harvard (I must be partisan for a moment) crushed him and his team, giving Harvard not merely victory but a perfect 7-0 season. But the real hero of The Game was Witt... a man who served the honor of proud Yale and its great traditions.
Fortunately for Witt, the rules for the Rhodes enable him to reapply until he is 24 years old... what's more pro teams have been scouting him... which could mean he'd soon be able to buy and sell Gerson and whatever other boneheads helped make this punishing decision. Witt, in short, cannot lose. I'm glad for him on all counts, but most of all I honor him for selecting his brothers over his future and for showing us all what gallantry, fellowship and the team really mean... and to reminding the folks at the Rhodes Trust, who have clearly lost their way, where their duty really lies.
*** Your response to this article is requested. What do you think? Let us know by posting your comments below.
About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses.
Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising,webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.
Wordpress is the free, wildly popular blogging platform that millions of bloggers use to power their blogs. Many web hosts offer a quick install script for Wordpress that will allow you to have a blog set up and ready to receive fresh content in about 10 minutes or less.
Wordpress MU, with the MU standing for multi-user, used to be a separately developed solution for setting up a network of blogs which allowed blogs to have multiple users each with their own dashboard and theme. But since the launch of Wordpress version 3.0, all of the functionality of Wordpress MU that was once separate has now been folded into the basic Wordpress software. So, now there really is no difference between Wordpress and Wordpress MU as they are now one and the same product.
For a classic example of Wordpress MU, take a look at Wordpress.com. It represents a single install of the Wordpress software that allows you to run hundreds or even thousands of separate blogs. Wordpress MU is often used by newspapers, magazines and blog networks. It's also a great solution for schools and universities as well as small or big companies that want to set up public or private blogging networks. The beauty of the system is that administrators can perform management tasks on a site-wide basis on a single login to the main dashboard.
Can you see now how amazing this is for marketers who previously had to install a new instance of Wordpress for each separate blog? That meant logging in and logging out of each blog, doing the same maintenance tasks such as database backups and managing plug-ins over and over. Imagine if you wanted to set up a network of niche blogs on various topics. Traditionally, you?d set up each blog, set up the Adsense or whatever ad network you were using, create the content and then move on to the next one. It's a labor-intensive process that is now obsolete thanks to Massive Passive Profits.
Massive Passive Profits is a mass deploy autoblogging system that allows users to automate the set up and content generation of wordpress multiuser sites. But isn't autoblogging an easy way to get your site banned? Absolutely not. Autoblogging, if done correctly can automate the creation of niche blogs which aggregate content on a particular topic that people are searching for. When they land on your blog they will find the information that they were looking for, along with some ads selected to appeal to your niche target market.
Autoblogging takes the sweat out of setting up and maintaining a blog network and puts this lucrative, passive income opportunity within the reach of many more people. If you've been running a bunch of blogs the traditional way that is painstakingly researching and writing the content yourself, or hiring a freelancer to do it, you know that this method is time consuming and expensive on the front end.
But with Massive Passive Profits you install Wordpress just once, and then very quickly set up as many niche blogs in your network as you want. You'll set them and then forget them and let the autoblogging platform do its thing while you turn your attention to other profitable projects. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.
Author's program note. Years ago there was a television program called "Queen for a Day" where some perfectly average Jane or Betty was selected by host Jack Bailey and got herself pampered for a memorable day she would never forget. Frankly, this is what we all need and, sad to say, the program is long gone.
Being the focus of an episode of "This is your life" (host Ralph Edwards) would have worked, too, but that also bit the dust in 1972; otherwise I'd recommend you as their next guest right this minute. Yikes! Where the number of opportunities for showcasing you should be rising, in fact they have plummeted and that is very much the problem... and the reason for this ultra-necessary article.
To get this process underway I have selected one of Hollywood's most soaring scores... it's "Conquest" by Alfred Newman, commissioned for the 1947 film "Captain from Castile" starring one of the great stars of the silver screen.... Tyrone Power. It's music in the grand tradition... and it brightened the lives and put zip in the step of all who heard it. Since I was born in '47, I like to think my mother was humming it in the delivery room. It certainly suits me.
Go to any search engine now and marinate yourself in its uplifting exuberance. Like I've been trying to tell you; you deserve it. Got it on? Now we must craft an event worthy of the music... and of you!
You are not unwanted.... you are not unconsidered... but you are most assuredly uncelebrated and unheralded. And (let's be brutally frank with each other) that irritates, irks, and galls you, doesn't it, well doesn't it?
You work incredibly hard to keep home, hearth and happiness together, and you want more than the occasional peck on the cheek, more than the Hallmark card with its pre-written message of banality and over ripe sentimentality. Yes, you want more... more than the once-a-year visit to the waffle house for Mother's Day... or the lackluster seasonal greetings for Father's Day. You want more.... you deserve more... and now with me as your self-appointed but supremely necessary Wizard-in-Chief, you shall have more.
The Plan.
You have been patient long enough. I think you know, too, further patience won't deliver the love-in that you desire. You do know this, right? So, it's time for a radical change of ideas and a brand-new plan... what celebrated author Grace Paley called "enormous changes at the last minute." In short we mean to take business as usual and... trash it. Capiche? If not, I can assure you you'll have an "aha!" moment shortly.
Start from the proposition that no one (now that Bailey and Edwards and all their ilk are gone) is going to organize a day (or even two) in your honor, much less possess the skills to conceive, craft, and consummate it. As my beloved Grammy used to say, "If you want something done right, do it yourself." You know it's true, so don't pine too long over the fact that all the significant others in your life (spouse, children, bowling buddies et al) went missing on this matter... just be glad it's happening at all. And turn up the volume on "Conquest" for we are already behind in getting you just what you've waited for and wanted for, oh, so long.
The " to-do" llst.
* We need a date. And, dear friend, soonest... for if you put this off you will never do it!
* A venue. If you're broke (as millions most assuredly are in our thread-bare days), then it will have to be at your residence. Nothing wrong with that. The oldest of olde English adages is "A man's home is his castle." In these days of gender equality, the same must be said for "a woman's home." Got a few bucks? Then rent a function room at a local hotel. Remember, it's your day; it doesn't happen every day, and you should approach it accordingly.
However, either way, you must have a place you can be proud of... for you can be sure your great event will attract shutter-bugs of every age.
* Enlist some help... your best friend Trudy or Bill will do nicely.
Your best friend already knows your oddities and idiosyncrasies, so this idea won't unhinge them. They'll just chuckle and say, "You, dog, you..." And wishing they'd thought up the idea, give you a hand. You'll need it.
When you're finished with these tasks, get down to business.
* Tackle the guest list. Just who do you want to attend? Remember, these events can range from long overdue soirees with just you and your significant other... to a "Hail to the Chief" event at the White House. It depends on what you well and truly want... and will work for. Either way you'll need a guest list. Make sure to include that Ms. Nastiness of the accounts department. Sure you hate her guts.... but that's the point. Think how envious she'll be when the boss hands you an award and a bushel of compliments. It'll be worth all the snide comments she'll surely make... But, she's making those already.
* About the award. You probably don't know this (it's just one reason why I'm such a valuable member of your support team) but EVERY government body -- local, state, federal -- has a drawer full of them... waiting just for your name and particular achievement to enter. My walls are full of them, and why should yours continue to be empty when it just takes knowing how to arrange matters to give them a very different look... again to the monumental chagrin of Ms. Nastiness.
Have your helper send a note like this to the governor of your state, for instance. It reads so: "I am writing to let you know that one of our state's true treasures -- your name -- is finally being recognized for a lifetime of unsung service. Her many friends are holding a recognition event on (date) and would welcome your attendance, to say a few words and present a certificate. We await your positive answer and thank you for your consideration."
Just how difficult are these citations to get? Well, the day before my brother married a beautiful Oklahoma girl, my mother and I went to the capital building to see what we could see and learn the lore. It dawned on me I'd like to give them a special present at the rehearsal dinner that night. In three hours I had one from the State of Oklahoma, signed by its governor (on a Friday afternoon, mind). "Next time" said his excellency's efficient secretary as she handed it to me, "give us more time", but as my brother and his bride are still happily yoked, I have not had further occasion to heed this advice. But it should be of benefit to you.
Your entry... your apotheosis.
Now it's time to consider what you'll wear, the cunning 'do that'll amplify your thinning locks... the limousine that must transport you and where to get sufficient flower petals that will rain down upon you in an entrance worthy of Norma Desmond. My unerring advice: within the parameters of your budget, do not stint. The objective is to augment your reputation and acknowledge a lifetime of often unknown services, without bankrupting you.
But in one thing you must be truly lavish: the way you look, acknowledge -- and in due course personally thank -- all your guests. And here the ascending music of "Conquest", fit for any sovereign, must be played... for when you hear it, you will be at last what you have for a lifetime desired to be: the apple of every eye, at last "the fairest of them all."
From the moment your chariot arrives (though it may only be a beat-up VW) wave, smile and wave again, the very personification of joy and largesse to all, a monarch indeed, if only for the passing hour. Oh, yes, one more thing: the toast to you. Write it yourself, for only you know what it should say and which of your many merits should be acclaimed. How I shall enjoy saying these things about you knowing how well you deserve them...
About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find our why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.
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By Sandi Hunter
Recently at a dear friend's funeral, I heard someone remark that she would live on in our hearts and on her FaceBook page. For some of us there that day, the fact that Isabella still had a FaceBook page including recent posts made it seem she was still here among the living. Later that day I reflected on how much technology and the Internet has changed our lives in such a short time with so much more to come than most of us can imagine.
Facebook, Twitter and other social media connect us in ways we never could before. Through these sites we know more of people than we ever knew before. What they are doing, where they are, personal details, photos and more are all posted online. People are willing to share personal details that you may have never known or they would never have told you. Computers once thought to be a past-time only for geeks and the socially awkward have become through the Internet, a powerful way to connect people around the world and as we are seeing more and more, a way to change the world.
But there is more, so very more to the benefits this technology offers each of us that extends beyond connecting with people via Facebook and Twitter.
Mobile applications now allow people to do their favorite online activities from the convenience of their phone or iPad. While standing in a long line at the grocery store, I noticed 4 out of 10 people tapping away madly on their phones. I snuck a covert look at a couple of them to see they were on Twitter, Facebook, checking email, reading news feeds or firing off a text message. Spend anytime in an airport lounge and the majority of people have phones out and are pre-occupied with something far more interesting then the buzz of the airport around them. Technology is integrated INTO our daily lives - no longer so separated.
At any given time thanks to our phones and the Internet we are all connected in a very personal way. Even when we are not in physical contact with our friends and loved ones, we feel that we are still close. No longer chained to our home computer, we can carry on our business, our hobbies and our relationships conveniently from our smart phones.
Five years ago when my company, Worldprofit released the Live Business Center it was brand new interactive technology. We were able to stream LIVE video to our website audience. When visitors landed on our site, they were startled to have someone on screen say hello to them. People were shocked and confused! They couldn't understand at first who was talking to them and how they were doing it. Today, years later people are more comfortable with interacting with their computers and phones. FaceTime on the IPhone for example has made it wonderfully easy to connect LIVE face to face with their family and colleagues. Webinars once unknown are common now. Web-based conferences and meetings are convenient for the consumer, a money-saver for corporations and happily a good thing for the environment with fewer people traveling to meetings.
Today, Worldprofit offers a personalized version of the Live Business Center that our Members can use and add to their own site. The technology allows them to greet their site visitors, answer their questions, provide customer service, make offers, and close sales, In short , they can connect with prospective customers in real time. Massive unemployment and world turmoil has meant that the number of home based businesses and entrepreneurs has skyrocketed. The Internet has allowed a person working from home incredible freedoms and opportunity to make money by selling products, promoting affiliate marketing programs, blogging, offering web-based services and more.
As the world has now surpassed 7 BILLION people, I can't help but think how we may be bigger but through the Internet the world feels smaller and closer. Technology has made all of our lives better. When like-minded people unite, good - even great ideas emerge. Perhaps technology will be what moves us closer to solving problems, finding cures for diseases.
Technology powered by PEOPLE is changing our world - for the better - just look at these stories and start to imagine what is yet to come!
In September of this year, a group of video game players solved a molecular puzzle that has stumped scientists for years. The gamers accomplished this by using a collaborative online game called "Foldit". Foldit is a computer game that enables players to contribute to important scientific research. The area of focus is proteins and how they fold. Proteins are found in all living things and involved in diseases such as cancer, AIDS and Alzheimer's. According to the people at Foldit, "We're collecting data to find out if humans' pattern-recognition and puzzle-solving abilities make them more efficient than existing computer programs at pattern-folding tasks. If this turns out to be true, we can then teach human strategies to computers and fold proteins faster than ever!" More than 236,000 players have registered for the game, that's a lot of collective brain power to solve problems and a huge and growing body of knowledge from which to draw. What this means is that the door has been opened to discovering "crowd-sourced" solutions to age-old problems including AIDS and other diseases that have plagued mankind.
Take the case of the New York Times where readers were invited to solve an actual real-life medical mystery. The basic facts of an illness were made available and readers were asked to diagnose the problem. 300 readers responded, and within the first 30 minutes of posting, a correct diagnosis was made and many more correct answers came in thereafter. Think of the implications for pooled knowledge? A hive of brains working together to solve problems from all corners of the globe.
Finally, what happens when great technological minds meet for their own individual purposes but the side-effect of that collaboration being a benefit for all of humanity. Google's Peter Novig and Microsoft's Eric Horvitz recently met to discuss artificial intelligence. These two companies may be fierce business competitors but they both recognize the importance of artificial intelligence to the future of technology. Both of these creative minds spoke publicly about how machine-learning techniques have advanced by taking in large volumes of data and figuring out how to translate text or transcribe speech. As users of the new IPhone 4G already know, SIRI, the Voice activated assistant is here now but is only the beginning. Data, mass amounts of data is information. Knowledge is power.
The future is so very exciting! Imagine how every human being on the planet will benefit as new technology emerges that can extract specific data for problem resolution for everything from preventing traffic jams, to precise medical diagnosis, to eliminating oil spills, to research and space travel. There are no limits.
Facebook was really an accidental early social experiment. What we are learning now is that social media and other massed pooled data may be instrumental in social adaptation and actual survival. About the Author
Sandi Hunter is the Director of Website Development at Worldprofit Inc. Worldprofit provides a number of services for the small and home-based business community including hosting, design, webconferencing, traffic, advertising, SEO, safelists, traffic exchanges, training and resources. This year Worldprofit enters their 18th year in business. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.
