'I'm gonna be like you, dad. You know I'm gonna be like you.' U.S. Father's Day, June, 2011.

By Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's note. To get into the mood of this special Father's Day article, go to any search engine and find "Cat's in the Cradle" sung by Harry Chapin in 1974. Its refrain is haunting, and every boy-turned-father understands the bite in the words, often painfully so...

"A child arrived just the other day", February 16, 1947.

It was my birth day but, as I couldn't possibly have known, it was the end of their honeymoon and that special tea-for-two idyll that comes only once. My parents married February 16,1946; I teased them for years about the importance of that last digit.

Like all babies, I expected, demanded and maneuvered to be the center of their lives. It's what babies do.

But I can imagine now what was going on in the weeks prior to that mad-dash to the hospital that transformed my beautiful young mother from a wife with a constituency of one... into a multi-tasking mother.

I was the first born child, first child, first son, first grandson on both sides; every one of these designations pushed omniscient women forward and my father back. The process, you see, in those post-War years was not made for fathers, no matter how caring. And, upon arrival, I monopolized my mother. I've told you, it's what babies do... and even then I was masterful at my craft.

There must have been times, though no one to this day has ever said so, when he missed the bright, laughing eyed girl he'd married. She was the essence of the "fun on a date" 'forties girl who had the gift of joy with lots to spare.

She gave me a clue years later, telling me she didn't like children, didn't mean to have any, and thought they looked like frogs. (Queen Victoria thought so, too). But, she quickly added and always emphasized that all that changed when the nurse handed me over for my first visit, textbook perfect infantile innocence.

I'd "come into the world in the usual way". And I was determined to keep the full and undivided attention of the woman who didn't yet know how her own instincts would conduce to my constant benefit; literally born yesterday I didn't need Dr. Spock to tell me that.

Into this new, unstudied situation my father had to move and move delicately for now words like "shhhhhh, he's sleeping" meant sacrifice, limitations, and even unwonted loneliness. It was a sea-change from the happy "you-for-me-and-me-for-you" days of such recent memory.

"He learned to walk while I was away."

Like most children I don't know what I actually remember or what I have, from pictures and family stories, been taught to remember. But there is hardly a memory either way that is not more her than him. He worked hard, long hours, lucky to have a job in the recession that promptly came with our unqualified war victory. She was the center of my universe. And, like Chapin, my first steps were probably taken when he was being a "good provider". But there is a story that sums up the situation.

One hot, humid Illinois summer day (are there any other?) when I was about three, my mother and I screamed for ice cream. But there was not a dollar to be had... except for a dollar bill my father had circulated amongst his Navy buddies, to be autographed by each. Such a token was not to be surrendered lightly, but it was surrendered nonetheless, for the delicacy of an instant and later, poignant regrets. He must have loved us very much to do such a thing... it says volumes about the man.

"My son turned ten just the other day. He said, "Thanks for the ball, dad, come on let's play."

In the suburbs of Chicago in the early Eisenhower years, you needed to be good at handling the balls of several sports... or so bright that you could afford to ignore sports because you were destined for greater things. My brother filled the first category; I filled the second. I knew my brother was easier to handle; he fit in, particularly the year he made the state Little League team, and we all trooped down to Freeport to watch him, resplendent in a uniform that said "Moose"; this was lifetime certification that he was a boy's boy...

I was different, always with my nose in a book, the one who when asked at age 10 or so what he wanted to be when he grew up, without dropping a beat, said "Harvard graduate; millionaire; writer of many books." II wasn't what prairie parents were accustomed to hearing... What's more, it all came true in due course...

Another celebrated incident took place about this time. My parents and I went to some local swimming hole for a day of the kind of innocent amusements I couldn't wait to escape from. At the end of the day, it was, I think, my mother who said the inevitable line about their guests, "Cute couple. Great relationship." That sort of thing. What did I think? Without missing a beat I said I thought they had problems... and seer-like, foretold splitsvillle. Of course, I was told I was wrong, but just weeks later they separated. My stock soared... and my father pressed me less to fire a gun, build superb back yard igloos, throw a ball, you get the picture. He had to wonder about this creature sui generis.. and what his role as father might mean or entail.

I was not an easy child, although I say it myself, an interesting one. He must have seen I was moving beyond his sphere into uncharted waters. I could hardly wait until it happened and my joy at crossing another day off the calendar, the sooner to commence my Great Journey, must have been palpable, even affronting. I did not want what his life epitomized and I was too green, unknowing how to say this without insult... and uncaring about the effect.

There was, in those years, more coexistence than empathy., not least because he tried hard to get me to understand and adopt verities he saw as fundamental and essential... about which I had quite different ideas. I severely embarrassed him the day I refused to answer the pastor's call for Communion, being unable to subscribe to the tenets. (I have never taken Communion sincen.)

There was, too, his desire that I should understand the farmer's life practised by all my cousins and should, as part, learn how to harvest oats and drive a tractor. The first scratched; the second bored. Neither oats nor tractor have played any role in my development.

"Well, he came from college just the other day..."

My launching pad to the vision I had long been shaping for my life came with a college acceptance letter. ..... and thereafter, too long, communications were as rushed and superficial as Harry Chapin sings.

"I've long since retired and my son's moved away..."

And so it might have stayed, both of us stubborn, obstinate, headstrong -- proud men, unyielding. But, you see, the love that caused a prized war memento to be sacrificed had always been present, waiting for auspicious times. He told me the other day, cast down now and again by the tremors and afflictions of the way we age now, that he was ready to go whenever the good Lord wants him. And neither he nor I fear that... for we have, at last, found each other and gladly so.

"And as I hung up the phone, it occurred to me, He'd grown up just like me. My boy was just like me."

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.
Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.

'... Well, now that we have seen each other,' said the Unicorn, 'If you believe in me, I'll believe in you.'

By Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. In 1967 the Irish Rovers, a Canadian group audaciously featuring good natured boys from both the Orange and the Green, had a huge international hit. It was called "The Unicorn", and it caught just the right whimsical note for its subject... and for this article. Go to any search engine and find it now. Then allow the music to do its insidious task... and in a minute, no matter how onerous your cares today, you'll be smiling. What's more that smile will grow to a grin when you learn that the unicorn lives...

The Arabian oryx.

Every fable, every legend, every great enduring story, no matter how fabulous or unlikely, has its roots in something real, tangible, actual. And the story of the unicorn, one of the longest running fables on this planet, is no exception. Once upon a time someone, though we shall probably never know exactly who, saw a thing... and imagined more; the tale growing in the telling, embroidered by all, a pleasure to hear, its enhancements eagerly awaited.

In this case, the thing seen was called the Arabian oryx, whose distinctive horns are widely believed to have given rise to the unicorn legend. I have good news about these benign creatures, so much a part of our imagination: they are now classified as "vulnerable", not "extinct". Accordingly we should give a cheer, for these days, as one species after another faces oblivion, we must take our good news where we can find it. And this is good news, indeed... for it means the oryx has been given the gift of time...

Extinct in the wild in the 1970s.

The last oryx in the wild was shot to death in the early 1970s... and that, it was thought, was that. But humans, the main predator of the oryx (wolves being a distant second) having wiped out the breed.... then, paradoxically, started strenuous efforts to revive the breed, using stock from zoos, animal parks and private collections. Its enduring legend as the unicorn made these people anxious to help. The objective was to breed enough so they could be successfully reintroduced to their habitat on the Arabian peninsula.

The oryx, glad for the help, responded as hoped to this special effort...and in due course began to return to its harsh wild conditions. It returned to Oman first, later to the deserts of Saudi Arabia.. . Israel, the United Arab Emirates... then, most recently, Jordan. About 1000 of these creatures now exist... and are doing what they need to do to survive.... and thrive, living in reality, not just in stories, no matter how enthralling.

But the stories of the oryx ARE enthralling... because people have an enduring need for the wonder of fables. And if you squint your eyes just so... you will not see a beast, no matter how attractive... you will see a fabulous one-horned creature with the power to engage our mind and lighten our load.

Al Maha

The Arabian oryx (also called the white oryx) is known locally as Al Maha and features widely in Arabic poetry and painting. It can smell water from miles away, has wide hooves that let it easily navigate shifting sand, and lives in small herds of eight to 10 animals.

Have you ever been in a desert at midday, where the heat shimmers and the mind plays tricks? In such a place, at such a time, it is easy to see what you have never known before. No mirage... but an actuality that belongs to you alone. In such a moment the fabulous unicorn presents itself for your inspection, bows its head the better to show its horn... then recedes into the shimmer... going, going, gone... now your quest for life. So the unicorn enchants and makes believers of us all... The legend begins.

Perhaps the earliest mention of the unicorn is by the famed Greek historian Herodotus in the third century BC. He called it a "horned ass". A century later, spurred by the travels into Persia of the Greek historian and physician Ctesias, tales of the unicorn were widespread, losing nothing in the telling.

Ctesias, who admits he never saw one, quizzed local merchants and other travelers for whatever information they had. These folks, Persians and not above hoodwinking a Greek. fed Ctesias the details he longed for. Bit by bit he got a complete impression of the "wild ass of India". It was the size of a horse, with a white body, a red head, bluish eyes, and a straight horn on its forehead, a cubit long.

It was the horn, all agreed, that riveted their attention... and while no Persiian seemed to know all its attributes... each one added another, turning the unicorn into a beast of awe, wonder, and power.

The horn, the all important horn, was magical, possessing key ingredients for mediaeval medicaments. It offered protection against poisons (no small thing in a world where a pinch of this, a smidgeon of that, could alter a royal succession or remove a pesky husband, or wife). Worn as jewelry, it protected the wearer from evil.

Burgeoning demand, miniscule supply.

There could never be enough of such potency... and, of course, charlatans, all believability, seduced the gullible and credulous, offering everything, delivering nothing. Other charlatans, all sanctimony and solemnity, arose with the means, so they insisted, of determining whether the horn was real... or not.

Place a scorpion under a dish with a piece of horn. If the scorpion dies in a matter of hours, the horn is real.

Feed arsenic to pigeons, followed by a dose of unicorn horn. If the pigeons live, the horn is genuine.

Draw a ring on the floor with the horn. If the horn is real, a spider will not be able to cross the ring.

Place the horn in cold water. If the water bubbles but remains cold, the horn came from a true and real unicorn.

You get the idea.

Capturing unicorns.

Its potency known... ways of certifying its authenticity at hand... the unceasing problem was how to find unicorns... and how to capture them. Here a magnificent series of tapestries made in Belgium in 1500 hold clues. Bought by John D. Rockefeller, the richest man on earth, in 1922, they are now on display at the Cloisters museum in New York.

There are 7 tapestries in this series which portrays, in fine detail and consummate craftsmanship, a unicorn hunt. The men, nobles all, are chasing the unicorn as if it were standard quarry. And, of course, the unicorn easily eludes them, laughing the while.

In the fifth tapestry, however, the unicorn is captured... by the power of a young maid, who represents the Virgin Mary. She needs do nothing but sit in complete tranquility. The unicorn, perhaps knowledgeable of its fate, advances unforced, puts its head in the virgin's lap...and so becomes, in the seventh and most celebrated tapestry, a prisoner, chained to a tree within a round wooden fence; its destiny sealed.

In the words of Lewis Carroll (Through the Looking Glass. 1871) "... Well, now, that we have seen each other," said the Unicorn, "if you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you." I feel sure she did... and that the unicorn abides, at peace, his head forever in her lap. May the renewing oryx fare as well.

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. Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com. Check out Cash Renegade -> http://www.WorkingAtHome101.com/?rd=al0UNu9r

The resignation of Congressman Anthony Weiner, June 16, 2011. Throwing away 'the dearest thing he owed as 'twere a careless trifle.'

By Dr. Jeffrey Lant

The resignation of Congressman Anthony Weiner, June 16, 2011. Throwing away "the dearest thing he owed as 'twere a careless trifle."

Shakespeare, who knew a thing or two about delivering the right conclusions to move audiences, would, no doubt about it, have been underwhelmed by every aspect of U.S. Representative Anthony Weiner's resignation yesterday.

News junkies like me were informed that, at 2 p.m. Eastern time, the man who was the butt of a million off-color jokes for which he was completely responsible, would come before the people of the 9th New York district, and the world, and have his say before he went on his way.

News junkies and history buffs all know such moments can produce riveting theatre; Shakespeare knew it too... and he, like us, would have hunkered down to await a signature American moment after which we could well and truly say (as Malcolm in "Macbeth") "Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it".

But we were disappointed -- and irritated.

Anthony Weiner let us down... and himself, too.

Politicians know public life has many vicissitudes, that ups and downs are inevitably part of the picture. The question is not whether there will be bad days; there will be. The question is how you handle them so that you squeeze the utmost advantage even from the grimmest days.

Elected to the U.S. House of Representatives 7 times, Anthony Weiner became well known to his colleagues as a characteristic New Yorker. For those who have never been to the Big Apple and don't know the genre, you're missing out on one of the world's most interesting political animals, for such people are feisty, opinionated, bare knuckle fighters who relish going mano a mano with their opponents. New York politics is a corrida, and aficionados watch every move with a severely jaundiced and critical eye.

Anthony Weiner was one of the best... at just 46 a man to watch. Ole'!

Planning for the end.

From June 6, 2011, when the scandal broke, it became clearer with every passing day and one abashing revelation after another, that only a supremely gifted politician could survive a scandal that titillated the nation. Weiner is not that gifted. He mulled over his options day by day, and they diminished as members of his own Democratic party became ever more insistent that he get lost and, like old soldiers, just fade away.

The sinless Pharisees lead by House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi made America nauseous by prating on about Weiner's duty to beat it when it was clear this self-serving crew cared only about their own hides, imperiled by Weiner's train of indiscretions.

You might have thought such folks, who had once lavished superlatives on Weiner, would have said some remarks indicating just how truly sorry they were their brother in Congress had erred so and was hurting. After all, Weiner had served his party and its members well until he started texting crotch shots.

But politicians don't work that way. They are quick with compliments when such compliments cost them nothing but some of the hot air which they always have, and to spare.

However, when their dear old colleague and friend stumbles and falls, they seize the moment to demonstrate the art form hypocrisy becomes in their practiced hands... They quickly look in the mirror to ensure that they are sinless and then seeing what they want to see, they cast the first stone... the second... the third... and every stone necessary to kill off and remove their once lauded friend and colleague. It's disgusting... it'd odious... it's the way they play politics the Washington way... hold your nose if you plan to venture closer to this noisome midden.

In such a situation Anthony Weiner needed to move carefully and with some of the discretion so remarkably absent from his own, about to be abbreviated career. What did he want his end to accomplish, so that nothing so became it?

He wanted that end to keep his options open and position him for whatever he wanted to do in the future. These options include, but are not limited to, recapturing his seat, running for another office, or just leaving in such a way that his political reputation and legacy were secure, seen as important, valuable, worthwhile.

But did he get what he needed?

Over the last few days reports surfaced that Anthony Weiner was frail, disoriented, at sea. No wonder. His smug, self-satisfied colleagues (their scandals not yet on the nation's lips) hit him with brickbat after brickbat. They wanted him to disappear, and as he refused to accede to their insistent wishes, they hurt him the more. That a mere mortal should wilt in such circumstances is hardly surprising...

He bought some time for himself by getting a two-week leave of absence from his congressional duties, the better to seek counseling and assistance. There was at least the possibility in this that he would use the extra time to get a breather and study his options carefully... so that he could capture the silver lining from the thunder cloud he created for himself.

Anthony Weiner blew his Broadway moment.

I imagine but do not know that Anthony Weiner, like most U.S. politicians, is a student of American history. As such Weiner knew, or should have known, that what our countryman like is a fighter, someone who faces adversity with the full panoply of American virtues: energy, a never-say-die grit, a smile that won't quit and total focus on the American people and improvinig their lives. I say Weiner should have known all this but one celebrated New York politician didn't.

This guy's name was Thomas E. Dewey. He was twice a candidate for president on the Republican ticket. The first time he got the nomination (1944) because of his grit and courage. Franklin Roosevelt, another New Yorker, beat him but not disgracefully so. The GOP kept the man's name on its dance card... and gave him another shot in 1948. But instead of running for president, Dewey (widely regarded as the certain winner) gave America bromides and homilies, not a decent idea or a single indication that he believed in anything aside from winning.

Harry Truman knew America better than Dewey and knew Americans respected fighters, the fighters they were themselves. Weiner needed to go out fighting... but he didn't.

He needed not just to thank his neighbors in the 9th district. He needed to remind them why they'd elected him 7 times... and, with some soaring rhetoric entirely absent from the proceedings, make them feel the issues important to him. That man is flesh and tempted is true... but a man may sin and sin again and still do the people's work and fight the people's battles.

I wanted to see stuffing in Anthony Weiner... and I saw nothing but platitudes delivered before the inevitable flags.

It just wasn't good enough... not for those neighbors, not for New York, not for America... and not to revive a once promising career whose last moments were interrupted by hecklers, one being a writer for Howard Stern.

And so Anthony Weiner had his chance... and failed to turn lemons into lemonade. And when it became clear that he couldn't or wouldn't seize his moment and rise to the occasion... he became just another politician who could dish out the words all right... but who didn't have the right stuff, the stuff to rouse, motivate, enthuse and excite; the right stuff Americans know and admire because it is the best of us.

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. Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.

'Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. I've just flunked history -- again.' Abraham Lincoln, who dat?

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

America's fourth and eighth graders took home their test results... and delivered the unquestionable fact that the history of this great nation is the subject in which they are least proficient.

Just one finding epitomizes the whole: the overwhelming majority of these future citizens does not know who Abraham Lincoln is... and cannot name a single one of his accomplishments.

But this is not an article just about today's students and their egregious limitations and unfathomed ignorance. It is a story about us, all of us...

parents grandparents neighbors community leaders and politicians generally.

What we have done collectively is to strip history of its profound significance... so that its position at the very bottom of school subjects can hardly be wondered at.

Here are the facts.

The National Assessment of Educational Progress, an arm of the federal Department of Education, released its 2010 "report card" on history June 14, 2011. This report is a stink bomb, a mine field of horror stories, conclusively demonstrating that how we teach history just isn't working, for all the money we spend.

Item: Almost no high school seniors were able to identify China as the North Korean ally that fought U.S. troops in the Korean War or when and why that war took place.

Item: Only 20 percent of fourth-graders, 17 percent of eighth-graders, and 12 percent of high school seniors demonstrated "proficiency".

Item: Fewer than one-third of eighth-graders was able to answer a "seemingly easy" question asking them to identify an important advantage that the American forces had over the British during the Revolutionary War.

The bad news, the horrifying news just keeps on coming.

Item: Just 2 percent of twelfth-graders correctly answered a question concerning Brown v. Board of Education, arguably one of the half dozen most important cases determined by the U.S. Supreme Court in the last 70 years.

Students were given an excerpt from the Court's decision which included this passage:

"We conclude that in the field of public education, separate but equal has no place, separate educational facilities are inherently unequal". Students were then asked -- but were overwhelmingly unable to answer -- what social problem the 1954 ruling was supposed to correct. The irony, of course, is that a large number of these students owe their very places in the schools they attend to this nation-changing ruling.

About the tests.

The test were given in the spring of 2010 to a representative sample of 7,000 fourth- graders, 11,800 eighth-graders and 12,400 12th-graders nationwide. History is one of eight subjects -- along with math, reading, science, writing, civics, geography, and economics -- covered by the assessment which is also called the Nation's Report Card.

The program defines three achievement levels for each test: "basic" denotes partial mastery of a subject; "proficient" represents solid academic performance and a demonstration of competency over challenging subject matter; and "advanced" means superior performance.

The students did best in economics: 42 percent of high school seniors were deemed "proficient" in the 2006 economics test, a larger proportion than in any other single subject over the past decade. But let's not kid ourselves before we uncork the champagne; in their very best subject, 58 percent rated below proficient. Sadly, this is the best, the very best these future citizens of the Republic can deliver. Pathetic.

Grab the good news where we can find it.

The nation's educational experts point out, rightly, that all the news isn't bad... there are some bright spots, though only a few. Fourth- and eighth-graders know more history than in years past. Proficiency rose among fourth-graders to 20 percent from 18 percent in 2006 and held steady at 17 percent among eighth-graders. No doubt true... but set against the immensity of their ignorance of history by high school seniors, we have absolutely nothing to cheer about. The minimal "goods" are as nothing against the fact that high schools seniors, many of whom are eligible to vote, are just plain incompetent. Such are the "white hope" of the democracy....

Racial differences, some progress here.

Educational experts, taking the good news wherever they can find it, point to improvements by different racial groups:

On average, white eighth-grade students scored 274 on the latest test, 21 points higher than Hispanic students and 23 points above black students. In 2006, white students outperformed Hispanic students by 23 points and black students by 29 points. From such shards we must take what comfort we can.

Clio laments and muses at such terrible results.

The ancient Greeks, smarter than we are, assigned a daughter of Zeus himself to guard the craft of history. Her name was Clio, and such was her importance that all her amours were kings. In short, she was a person of consequence, honored. She is depicted as holding a parchment role or set of tablets, from which she made her important declarations; so came to be known as the Proclaimer, a determined woman who could confer the gift of undying fame, something ardently desired by every true Greek with any claim to the regard of posterity. Such fame is the gift of history... and is the essence of what history is all about; the story of our species and the significant goods and evils we have committed and which we expect our progeny to acknowledge, know and to either laud and extol or condemn and denounce.... but always to mine for its manifold messages and significance.

History demoted.

History-education advocates contend that these poor showings in the tests underline neglect shown the subject by policy makers ,especially after the 2002 No Child Left Behind Act began requiring schools to raise scores in math and reading but in no other subject. This was like the federal government handing local school districts a mallet with which to demolish Clio and all her works. Scores slumped as a result.

But there is more here than just bureaucrats robbing Peter to advance Paul. We have an educational system that too often disdains history as insignificant, even irrelevant. History instruction is denigrated as nothing more than memorizing dates. But this reduces the riveting tale of our species on this planet to an absurdity.

History is a compendium of our stories, great and small. First, what have we done; not just when did we do it.

Teachers cannot teach history properly because their history studies dealt too often with the most insignificant aspects of Clio's curriculum. They cannot teach history... because they never learned and never understood history. And so one generation bequeaths to the next generation its boredom and disdain for the most important subject of all: the story of mankind here on this third rock from the sun. Our students fail accordingly and we arrive at a place where even the titans of our race, like Abraham Lincoln, are unknown... with all that that means to our collective future.

Until we have root and branch reform about what we want our historical record to keep as significant... and how we want our teachers to know and our beleaguered students to master ,there will be no progress, only trivial advances amidst a backdrop of gloom. And this we will reckon is the best we can do.... which is the most alarming deduction of all and the most pernicious.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc. at www.worldprofit.com, providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.

Quirk. n. A personal peculiarity. We've all got 'em.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

It is now mid-June, 2011 here in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The Harvard
students have left town, some for good having just graduated; others making
the trek to where all true Harvard students go in summer, to Washington, D.C. --
and Power.

The town is now filling up with summer school students who want to buff up
their resumes by studying at Hahvud. Of course, bona fide Harvard grads
always know the difference... and make you feel your presumption.

... but I'm not here to write about these folks, though they no doubt bring
plenty of tales. I am here to comment on all the June weddings taking place
in the many churches clustered around the Cambridge Common.
The Puritans who created the Commonwealth designated Cambridge as
the theological center of their new land. And while they wanted conformity,
they reluctantly accepted multiplicity... so on any given Sunday there is a plethora of
ideological choices.

But doctrine isn't my story. My story today concerns, as stated, the many weddings
taking place just now... and just what bride and groom, bride and bride and
groom and groom (for Cambridge celebrates its progressive attitude so)
really know about each other...

.... their quirks.

Quirks are the peculiarities each of us has collected over the years.
Passion may quell. Desire wane. Love transmute. But quirks are forever.
And ever... and ever. Which, so often, drive your Significant Other to
estrangement and Judge Judy.

Be honest with your mate... they're going to find out anyway.

Along with blood tests and other marriage pre-requisites there should be a
full disclosure of one's quirks... and a frank, honest discussion about whether
you can stand the quirks you are about to live with. In the interest of fair
play and total truth, I shall write here, right now, a few of my own personal
quirks.

Item: I have been known to take 3 showers or more in a day, day after day. If
cleanliness is next to godliness, I am sitting in His lap.

Item: I detest face cloths and regard their very presence as provocative, as
likely repositories of germs and bad smells.

Item: If I use a spoon when eating my breakfast, I will use it with only one
thing, and must then get another. It means more spoon washing but the clear
separation of food tastes and textures is worth it.

Getting the picture?

Since I am in the vanguard of quirk acknowledgement and disclosure, I want to push
the envelope further, aiming to make the subject a must ingredient in the selection
of mates.

As we all know, 50% of marriages, all of which commence in bliss and fairy
tales, end in divorce. I feel sure that open acknowledgement and acceptance
of partner quirks would cause these lamentable numbers to fall, even plummet.

Let me show you how that could be done.

Each partner is required to submit to the marrying authority, justice of the peace or
archbishop, a list of ten of their quirks.

Note: we know that at first go both partners, enraptured by love remember, will not be
as thorough and honest as required. So, regard this first list as practice; the fullest
disclosure yet to come.

You suggest a quirk: "I run my fingers through my hair dozens of times a day and never have
a comb handy".

Your partner must then rate the quirk: on a scale of 1-10, (1 meaning "no problem";
10 meaning "absolute deal breaker. Get out".

Once each of you has run through your first list, it's time to get serious. Each of
you must list 10 quirks of your beloved... and, the key, rate them on that 1-10 scale.

Geronimo!

GIs jumpiing out of airplanes in WWII used to shout the name of the great Apache
chief as they leapt out. It signified one wild ride was about to begin. Seems appropriate
to say it here, too...

Okay, let's get started.

Partner 1: "When you eat M&Ms (which is every friggin' day),you count them to make
sure you only eat an even number. What's that all about anyway?"

Now tell your partner (scale of 1-10) just how you feel about that quirk? The lower the
score, the less noxious; the higher, the more.

This is a game sure to while away an otherwise unexceptional evening.

Share and share alike.

Remember, good manners and good cheer help this exercise move along.
Take turns identifying and rating quirks.

Remember, honesty is everything.

If the fact that your darlin' has to count the M&Ms (and line up all the colors, too)
really bugs you, say so. And if your partner says, "so what, that's just the way I
am", that's good, too. ALL perfect relationships are founded on perfect, total
disclosure. What could be better?

Now switch. Identify a particularly aggravating partner quirk?

"You hum 'Rule Britannia' in your sleep and have a tendency to kick me when
you reach "Britons never, never will be slaves."

This being a nocturnal habit, partner may not even know. That's why it's so
helpful to talk these matters out and why Full Quirk Disclosure is sure to catch on.

Nothing but benefits.

By now I feel sure the benefits of 'fessing up on quirks holds nothing but benefits
for all. That's why this beneficial exercise must be expanded to parents and
children; grandparents and grand children; members of Congress and all presidential
candidates. You get the idea.

Start now. And never stint in your remarks. After all, love means never having
to say you're sorry.

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. He is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com.

It's all Greek to David Norris as this once shoo-in to be president of Ireland fights for his political life.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

By any standard David Norris is an unusual man. For openers, consider this....

He is an Anglican in a country overwhelmingly Roman Catholic.

He was born in the Belgian Congo.

His mother was Irish, but his father was not only English, but in the British Army.

And he is openly gay, something which can still cause a frisson even amongst the most sophisticated of Dubliners.

Norris, in his own personal history and biography, is a symbol of how far Ireland has come from the bleak and bigoted land of recent history.

Indeed, just a few weeks ago this man of determination, grit and grace, gifted with a smile that suggests everything is possible, was riding high in his quest to become the first openly gay Irish president.

Then some sexual habits of the ancient Greeks -- and Norris' opinion about them -- surfaced, to create a maelstrom which has laid the man low.

Here are the facts.

In January 2002, Norris gave an interview to the politics/current affairs magazine "Magill". In this article he questioned the age of consent for homosexual and heterosexual intercourse and reflected on social attitudes towards incest. At the time, this little read article in less read "Magill" had no influence whatsoever, seemingly sunk without a trace... until it looked like liberal Independent Senator Norris might become President Norris.

Enter the conscience of Helen Lucy Burke.

Burke was a restaurant critic, more at home with souffles and novelle cuisine than Irish politics and statecraft. However she was assigned to do the "Magill" article, perhaps hoping to get Norris, whose girth and enbonpoint showed a gourmand's disposition, to make some witty culinary remarks. In any event, when the Senator focused on sex rather than truffles, Ms. Burke found the subject distasteful, disgusting, disgraceful.

As the likelihood of Norris becoming president surged along with his poll numbers, Burke found herself on the horns of a dilemma. She knew where duty (and lots of great publicity) lay... and so she took her disgust and outraged conscience to national broadcaster RTE.

Burke titillated the nation with her rendition of what Senator Norris had said in that soon-to-be-infamous "Magill" interview. Words like "incest" and "pedophilia" were on every Irish lip... and every time they were uttered there was another puncture in Norris' candidacy.

For Norris the timing of Burke's remarks could not have been worse. After all, the nation stood abashed at the extent of the pedophile priest scandal and how the Church had (mis)handled it. The distinction that Norris wanted to make, and kept reiterating about the difference between the sanctioned man-boy love of the ancient Greeks and the coercive sex forced by priests on innocent boys was lost on the nation. Ireland's moral conscience, always ready for arousal, drew an adamant line at men and their boys, totally, completely, resoundingly, absolutely.

A sumptuous dinner party chez Agathon.

The source of all this outrage and anger was a fictional dinner party described by the celebrated Greek philosopher Plato c. 385-380 BCE. In this important document 7 well-heeled Athenians come together in what was termed a symposium for superior cuisine and even more superior, entirely candid conversation between men of education, wit and culture.

The subject of this night's conversation was the genesis, purpose and nature of love... a topic on which every guest could, and did, wax bold, provocative, amusing, even lyrical. It was just the kind of event that the well-educated and clever Norris would have been delighted to attend (and to which he would surely have been invited). Helen Lucy Burke would have wanted to go, too, if only to review the menu, but that was unthinkable! Really, what an outrage against tradition and the proprieties that would be!

Plato placed this dinner party in the house of the tragedian Agathon in Athens, the cultural capital of the world. Each man was to deliver an encomium, a speech in favor of erotic love. The dishes (the squid perhaps a tad overcooked) removed, the wine flowing liberally, these high-placed Attic gentlemen (who had each secretly practiced for their moment) got up on legs less steady as the evening progressed to say his piece... for his friends and, as it turned out, for all of human history.

Socrates, always tendencious, preachy, overbearing, went first, the better to get over his predictable remarks that the highest love was to become a philosopher, a lover of wisdom. Younger wits reckoned he would say that, being he was a philosopher, the most important philosopher. Still, poor old Soc, what a bore.

The encomium of the legal expert Pausanias ranged far and wide; perhaps lawyer Pausanias had drunk too deep of Agathon's fine wines, for some words were muddled indeed. Still this man of the law knew how to please an audience as he discusses the superior wisdom, beauty and intelligence of men... and their undoubted fitness to be the teachers, the friends and counselors... and the lovers of young boys and adolescents. As Pausanias warmed to his subject, his auditors (seduced by the orator's compliments and graceful asides) would have given their full concurrence.

Over 2000 years later, David Norris,would have given it, too. And he did understandably but not wisely in his "Magill" interview and other, later comments. For Norris the lure of ancient Greece, when men of his inclinations had every freedom, was palpable. But for Helen Lucy Burke, who did not understand, who was perhaps entirely incapable of understanding, it was all sin, abomination, writhing bodies, lost souls...

... and so this mere restaurant critic of painfully few readers took it upon herself to end the political career of the one man best capable of taking their nation to another level of tolerance, acceptance, and comity.

This is why today (June 10, 2011) you'll find David Norris, whose poll numbers have now crashed, trying to resurrect his once-certain candidacy. To do so he must persuade local councillors that he would be the best president of Ireland, that his remarks have been misunderstood, and that he understands and appreciates the national outrage about his advanced, unwisely stated views.

In other words, this great gourmet must first eat a liberal portion of crow... and even that too little to achieve his goal.

Ireland, of course, will be the poorer without a President Norris, but even in his likely defeat Norris will do what he has done so often: advance the cause of human (and particularly) sexual rights. It is not what he wanted and thought he would get, but human society moves slowly... and, as we all know, painfully slowly in Ireland. 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.details. Dr. Lant is also a hisorian and author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com. Check out Cash Renegade -> http://www.WorkingAtHome101.com/?rd=al0UNu9r

How to write the kind of blog copy that turns readers into fans who cannot live without you!

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

This is an article for people who want to be smart bloggers! Bloggers who change lives! Bloggers who get people to sit up, take notice and say, "Wow! That guy is right! That guy is on the money!" Bloggers who don't just want readers...

... but fans who sit next to their computers waiting for your next blog post.

In this article I am going to show you the secret to becoming a producer of "must read" copy.... and becoming, in the process, a person who goes way beyond having readers... instead creating fans.

400,000+ words in the last year.

This article celebrates achieving a "personal best" goal for me... a goal I challenged myself to make one year ago.... and which I have, with the publication of this article, now achieved. I wanted to see if I could write at least 400,000 words of copy in 365 days; not just drab, undistinguished, pedestrian copy either, but copy that's timely! Intellectually distinguished! Lyric! Insightful! Yes, the kind of copy that stops people worldwide in their tracks and forces them to sit up! Take notice! And pay attention... because they just couldn't bear to miss a single word!

And I am pleased to tell you that this is precisely what has happened! My blog, where you can find all my articles, now generates millions of hits and a stream of gratifying comments from people worldwide who feed my ego and make my day.

This is me!

And it can be you!

1) Tell stories.

The greatest communicators on earth -- Jesus! Abraham Lincoln! Mark Twain! were story tellers. They used the power of stories to make things easy for their audience to understand... and to drive home their points, no matter how difficult and complicated.

You must become a story teller, too, not just a finder and disseminator of facts. Facts alone don't move people. Mere facts don't capture minds. Facts, no matter how important, don't touch hearts. But stories do... they always do... and that is why your blog posts must rely on stories that capture people and leave them begging for more...

2) Today's successful article starts with yesterday's motivating "heads up".

If you want readers today, titillate them yesterday. You see, the power of yesterday is to entice readers today.

People will only be moved to the extent that you move them. If you want readers tomorrow... the crucial process of exciting them starts today.

"Tomorrow! A story of love! Power! Treachery and despair! A story that will move you! Outrage you! And, if there's a tear in you, cause it to fall! All coming tomorrow to a computer near you!"

This'll get 'em!

3) Write short sentences where every word counts.

Thanks to the marvelous technical tools writers have nowadays, most don't write; they "typewrite", in the withering phrase of Truman Capote. He was masterful, and he knew that writers could kill their points, their stories and their readers by pouring out too many words and sentences straining to digest them.

Don't make this mistake.

Look at the sentence length in this article... short, punchy, easy to take in at a glance...

Your sentences should move accordingly.

Moreover, prune your articles mercilessly. A sentence that exceeds just a few words is a sentence smothering itself. And dead sentences will never move live people.

4) Short paragraphs give a story the air and space they need.

Today's readers are restless readers. They are overwhelmed with information... but have the same number of hours in a day as Caesar. In short, they are looking for a reason to put your copy down... never to be picked up again.

Short paragraphs and airy lay-out forestall this tragedy.

Look at this article... short, often real short, paragraphs with pages that look inviting, easy, not prolix and hard.

Contemporary readers demand ease... and if you don't give it to them, they walk... fast.

5) Make your people real, not caricatures.

The reason volumes of commentary don't work is because its authors create card board characters. They then laud the characters they like and demolish the ones they don't. Not only is this unfair... but it makes for lousy copy.

What distinguishes the best commentary is the way you handle people whose opinions you may not only dislike, but actually abhor. Do you give them the courtesy of presenting their point of view fairly, objectively, honestly... or do you want just a cheap shot that not only misrepresents the people you're writing about... but proves you're a writer not worth reading?

This point is worth elucidating because it's one too many commentators miss.

One reason writers like writing commentary is because it turns them from word peddlers into gods, omniscient, all-powerful, always right, never wrong, with the ability to access every human heart and brain at will.

Such people of course become insufferable in short order.

Your job as a commentator is to be sure you have done everything possible to ensure that all the people you write about are presented without prejudice, honestly, completely, with sincerity and with care.

This does not mean you necessarily agree with their positions or actions. It means you intend to give your readers the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth... even if you strenuously disagree.

Only when you have done this can you in good conscience and to best effect proceed to your opinion. Because only if you have allowed even your most pernicious characters their say... can your say be meaningful, insightful, and worth reading.

Use these recommendations.

The best commentators can have enormous influence... which is why you must use your commentating position wisely, not least by producing copy that moves your readers, with every word you write.

These suggestions will help.

By using them you will produce copy -- starting today -- that changes your readers' outlook, opinion, point of view, one apt word at a time. When you do this not only will you have a legion of readers, followers and fans.... but you'll 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. He is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author's permission by Ruthsella Corasol http://WorkingAtHome101.com. Check out Cash Renegade -> http://www.WorkingAtHome101.com/?rd=al0UNu9r