Honesty is a beauty all its own. With honesty comes a host of other virtues: integrity, character, confidence, love, faith, worth.
In terms of physical beauty, what exactly makes a woman physically beautiful? It comes down to one trait most honest of all: symmetry.
There's no faking the expression of genetic perfection, despite all its pitiful attempts forcing an admission of fraud.
Being born with nearly perfectly symmetrical features is a triumph over nature. The jackpot in a genetic lottery.
Even people not considered classically beautiful are irresistibly attractive when their facial features are symmetrical. This is why we are drawn to people who may not fit into our ideal, be they physically or culturally or even emotionally different from us.
Opposites may attract, but all are attracted to the most attractive. We look. We must look. We cannot turn away.
Not without feeling the loss of a connection that can only be understood as chemistry. This, even when they don't look back. Or know that we exist.
Seeing them forms a connection, us to them, however unilateral the interaction.
This spark of attraction is the stuff of life. It's the source of inspiration for all human achievement.
When we see the embodiment of perfection in a person, we aspire to behold it and make it our own. It inspires action for we must possess this power.
Because we place a premium on female beauty, this is also why so many women resort to artifice. Artful application of make-up, skillful styling of hair, careful arrangement of jewelry, hell - even low lighting.
All serve to create an image of symmetry however fleeting it may be. Men know of this subterfuge, having x-ray vision to the truth built by their testosterone.
The crucial test, the gut check, is seeing his woman first thing in the morning. It's why men fall in love with the Natural Beauty at first glance. And why swimsuit issues are best sellers of the subscription.
Being drop dead gorgeous in broad daylight with surf and sand exposing all artifice to a woman's beauty is the embodiment of truth. For honesty is a beauty all its own.
America - Land of the Brave, the Free, the Lonely
We Americans have the greatest military men in the world. A man in uniform is the most magnificent sight to a red-blooded, libidinous woman like me.
Yet our beautiful men are reduced to oppressors for those whom they spill their blood to protect and leave their families to liberate. A role signifying strength and honor and valor, our servicemen are vilified as rapists and torturers instead of the noble man that he is.
We live in the land of the free and home of the brave. Not true, for we are secretive and cowardly.
We worry about what the neighbors will say to the knocking of headboards and boots until the wee hours. Or what our mothers would say if we take a strapping young lad as our lover to satisfy us in the most intimate way.
The place of epidemic sexual dissatisfaction despite the demands of free love. Boomers ushered in the era of indiscriminate sex, a legacy passed on to disenchanted Gen Xers and confused Millennials who are having more sex with less satisfaction.
The center of loneliness and isolation is the also center of the world influencing billions of people.
Sex sells, we know from the success of advertising. But it has also sold us out as we struggle to make meaningful relationships and the meaning of sex.
Where a man in any skin can become President, we can't live with the skin we're in.
Yet our beautiful men are reduced to oppressors for those whom they spill their blood to protect and leave their families to liberate. A role signifying strength and honor and valor, our servicemen are vilified as rapists and torturers instead of the noble man that he is.
We live in the land of the free and home of the brave. Not true, for we are secretive and cowardly.
We worry about what the neighbors will say to the knocking of headboards and boots until the wee hours. Or what our mothers would say if we take a strapping young lad as our lover to satisfy us in the most intimate way.
The place of epidemic sexual dissatisfaction despite the demands of free love. Boomers ushered in the era of indiscriminate sex, a legacy passed on to disenchanted Gen Xers and confused Millennials who are having more sex with less satisfaction.
The center of loneliness and isolation is the also center of the world influencing billions of people.
Sex sells, we know from the success of advertising. But it has also sold us out as we struggle to make meaningful relationships and the meaning of sex.
Where a man in any skin can become President, we can't live with the skin we're in.
Distinguishing Between the Quality of Data and Its Quantity With Stoichiometry
Let me jump right into this discussion without a prelude explaining any of it. The explanations would take too long. And no one who's interested in this wants to read too much. Everyone else who doesn't get it at first glance will just skip it.
+++++++++++++++++
It is essential to know both the quality and quantity of a given set of data. Any measure of unit counts as data for this conversation. Know only the quantity or amount of data and not its essential quality is foolish, as only the wise know.
Many folks I work with in Quality Assurance care only about the amount of defects they have in pre-production. As if a body count alone can tell you if you're winning or losing the war. Vietnam should have taught us that much!
I tell them that the number of defects matters nothing. The requirements that the defects impact is all that matters. No more, and no less.
If it is required that a software application work in such a way, it should matter that it doesn't work in that way. Not working as required is a defect. Therefore, the best way to present defects is to tie them to their associated requirements. Surprisingly, this is a tough sell.
So let me put my argument another way. Let's use something as objective and impersonal as anything: chemistry's simple equation for stoicheometry. The most basic equation is that an acid combined with a base will form water and salt.
acid + base = water + salt
I had my "Aha!" moment in Qualitative Chemistry with this realization. Whenever we got bitten by a mosquito, my mother would tell us to apply ammonia on it because it takes away the itch. Windex window cleaner works as well as straight ammonia because it is made up of ammonia - so it has the same active ingredient.
The night before this enlightening lecture, I watched a documentary (while studying chemistry of all things) on why bug bites sting. It also explained why some stings hurt more than others. It turns out that bug bites are acidic and the acid burns our skin as it dissolves it.
The molarity or concentration of the acid is what makes more acidic bug bites sting worse than less acidic bug bites. Gnats sting the least, mosquitoes more, wasps a hell of a lot, and scorpions the worst of all. Increasing acidity hurts more like more concentrated vinegar (acetic acid) tastes more bitter and sour lemons (ascorbic acid) make you pucker.
A mosquito bite has the same acidity as vinegar. In terms of molarity, the concentration of the solution, vinegar has an equivalent molarity as ammonia. The base and acid combines to form water and salt.
That's why dabbing ammonia on a mosquito bite takes away the sting. And why after you dab the ammonia on the bite, you get a droplet of water forming over the spot. When the water evaporates, you flake off the salt. After all of this, the sting is gone!
Qualitative Chemistry:
acid (mosquito bite) + base (ammonia application) = water (droplet bubble) + salt (resulting crust)
What I described above can be understood as Requirements. According to the laws of chemistry, mixing an acid and base yields water and salt. When that doesn't happen, it is a defect.
You must understand stoicheometry in order to detect a defect in the equation. Only then can you qualify the defect. But understanding only the defect without knowing the requirements is stupid.
Quantitative Chemistry:
HCl (hydrochloric acid) + NaOH (sodium hydroxide - base) = H2O (water) + NaCl (sodium chloride - salt)
People who focus solely on the defects and not on the total equation with requirements itself focus on the horse's ass and not on the horse itself. Defects are the horse's ass and
Requirements are the horse. Recognizing something does not mean you see everything.
It's like seeing a confusing equation above and thinking that just because you recognize the elements on the Periodic Table means you understand chemistry itself. As if that makes you an expert at Stoichiometry when it doesn't because you fail to grasp the significance of its elegant equation.
+++++++++++++++++
It is essential to know both the quality and quantity of a given set of data. Any measure of unit counts as data for this conversation. Know only the quantity or amount of data and not its essential quality is foolish, as only the wise know.
Many folks I work with in Quality Assurance care only about the amount of defects they have in pre-production. As if a body count alone can tell you if you're winning or losing the war. Vietnam should have taught us that much!
I tell them that the number of defects matters nothing. The requirements that the defects impact is all that matters. No more, and no less.
If it is required that a software application work in such a way, it should matter that it doesn't work in that way. Not working as required is a defect. Therefore, the best way to present defects is to tie them to their associated requirements. Surprisingly, this is a tough sell.
So let me put my argument another way. Let's use something as objective and impersonal as anything: chemistry's simple equation for stoicheometry. The most basic equation is that an acid combined with a base will form water and salt.
acid + base = water + salt
I had my "Aha!" moment in Qualitative Chemistry with this realization. Whenever we got bitten by a mosquito, my mother would tell us to apply ammonia on it because it takes away the itch. Windex window cleaner works as well as straight ammonia because it is made up of ammonia - so it has the same active ingredient.
The night before this enlightening lecture, I watched a documentary (while studying chemistry of all things) on why bug bites sting. It also explained why some stings hurt more than others. It turns out that bug bites are acidic and the acid burns our skin as it dissolves it.
The molarity or concentration of the acid is what makes more acidic bug bites sting worse than less acidic bug bites. Gnats sting the least, mosquitoes more, wasps a hell of a lot, and scorpions the worst of all. Increasing acidity hurts more like more concentrated vinegar (acetic acid) tastes more bitter and sour lemons (ascorbic acid) make you pucker.
A mosquito bite has the same acidity as vinegar. In terms of molarity, the concentration of the solution, vinegar has an equivalent molarity as ammonia. The base and acid combines to form water and salt.
That's why dabbing ammonia on a mosquito bite takes away the sting. And why after you dab the ammonia on the bite, you get a droplet of water forming over the spot. When the water evaporates, you flake off the salt. After all of this, the sting is gone!
Qualitative Chemistry:
acid (mosquito bite) + base (ammonia application) = water (droplet bubble) + salt (resulting crust)
What I described above can be understood as Requirements. According to the laws of chemistry, mixing an acid and base yields water and salt. When that doesn't happen, it is a defect.
You must understand stoicheometry in order to detect a defect in the equation. Only then can you qualify the defect. But understanding only the defect without knowing the requirements is stupid.
Quantitative Chemistry:
HCl (hydrochloric acid) + NaOH (sodium hydroxide - base) = H2O (water) + NaCl (sodium chloride - salt)
People who focus solely on the defects and not on the total equation with requirements itself focus on the horse's ass and not on the horse itself. Defects are the horse's ass and
Requirements are the horse. Recognizing something does not mean you see everything.
It's like seeing a confusing equation above and thinking that just because you recognize the elements on the Periodic Table means you understand chemistry itself. As if that makes you an expert at Stoichiometry when it doesn't because you fail to grasp the significance of its elegant equation.
Titan Track vs. Daddy Track - Appreciating Men's Ambitions
Men are either on Titan Track or Daddy Track. When selecting a husband for marriage, realize which path he's on and whether you will support him on it.
Men on Titan Track pursue greatness, expressed through corporate dominance and its attendant financial prowess. These men are hard to please with their high expectations, imposing their standards on themselves and on others.
Their women must reflect his greatness, contributing to his image of invincibility. These are the CEOs with serial wives, all trophies but the first one who was his stepping stone, looking like a boulder at the end of her run.
Men on Daddy Track are equal opposites. They are born family men whose success is measured by happy children and one marriage. These are the Disney Dads with either a very contented bovine wife or a skinny shrew resentful that he hasn't achieved more in creating a castle of her own imagination.
The mistake women make is forcing a Daddy Track man to be more ambitious that serves solely to fulfill her Lady Macbeth ambitions. Whereas women who marry men on Titan Track mistakenly force him to be home early every night for dinner and babysit the kids in full view of her scathing eye when he would rather continue plotting his world domination.
Homely women are best for Daddy Tracks for there is harmony. Stunning beauties belong to men on Titan Track, one marriage after the next and mistresses along the way. Choose wisely.
Men on Titan Track pursue greatness, expressed through corporate dominance and its attendant financial prowess. These men are hard to please with their high expectations, imposing their standards on themselves and on others.
Their women must reflect his greatness, contributing to his image of invincibility. These are the CEOs with serial wives, all trophies but the first one who was his stepping stone, looking like a boulder at the end of her run.
Men on Daddy Track are equal opposites. They are born family men whose success is measured by happy children and one marriage. These are the Disney Dads with either a very contented bovine wife or a skinny shrew resentful that he hasn't achieved more in creating a castle of her own imagination.
The mistake women make is forcing a Daddy Track man to be more ambitious that serves solely to fulfill her Lady Macbeth ambitions. Whereas women who marry men on Titan Track mistakenly force him to be home early every night for dinner and babysit the kids in full view of her scathing eye when he would rather continue plotting his world domination.
Homely women are best for Daddy Tracks for there is harmony. Stunning beauties belong to men on Titan Track, one marriage after the next and mistresses along the way. Choose wisely.
To Those About To Ride - I Salute You, Ladies
There's nothing more glorious than witnessing a woman holding her own. Women who ride motorcycles embody the feminine mystique.
This conjures up an image of Lady Godiva on horseback. No hag on a Hog is she. When it comes to the open road, I would rather be a bitch riding than riding bitch.
We've come a long way, baby. But there are many more miles to go. Ride on.
This conjures up an image of Lady Godiva on horseback. No hag on a Hog is she. When it comes to the open road, I would rather be a bitch riding than riding bitch.
We've come a long way, baby. But there are many more miles to go. Ride on.
If Owners Look Like their Cars, Then Make Mine Beautiful
Beauty is aspirational because we all aspire to be beautiful, even if only through acquisition. The free market rewards beauty and punishes ugly, profits quality and costs crap.
A perfect example is the car industry. American cars are ugly. Japanese and German cars are gorgeous.
American cars fall apart. Japanese and German cars age very, very well, retaining their Blue Book value a decade later.
American cars make fat old man noises heaving itself off the recliner when it's just off the production line. Japanese and German cars hum at top speed and growl in idle, wanting to be challenged by the open road.
Simply put, American cars are not aspirational the way Japanese and German cars are. I think this is due solely to looks. We all aspire to be better looking and to look our best.
Beautiful people surround themselves with beauty. This extends itself to our second largest purchase - our car. There is so much commuting in America that the car is more than mere transportation, it is an emblem of ourselves.
A perfect example is the car industry. American cars are ugly. Japanese and German cars are gorgeous.
American cars fall apart. Japanese and German cars age very, very well, retaining their Blue Book value a decade later.
American cars make fat old man noises heaving itself off the recliner when it's just off the production line. Japanese and German cars hum at top speed and growl in idle, wanting to be challenged by the open road.
Simply put, American cars are not aspirational the way Japanese and German cars are. I think this is due solely to looks. We all aspire to be better looking and to look our best.
Beautiful people surround themselves with beauty. This extends itself to our second largest purchase - our car. There is so much commuting in America that the car is more than mere transportation, it is an emblem of ourselves.
I am Lexus with its clean lines of a lithe cat. I am a Range Rover shuttling between Town and Country. Buying American is an admission of defeat - I am an Olds because I am old.
Athletic Girls Become Gorgeous Women
The best women compete in sports as girls.
Athletics introduces people to the game of life. It defines the player's roles, acknowledges the playing field, and agrees to the rules. You play to win, you learn to lose, and you move on to the next match.
The greatest lesson is taking a punch to the nose and knowing it won't kill you. Hurt like hell, yes, but you're not dead.
Taking a hit and landing a punch builds confidence. In other's eyes, you are competent, win or lose, which among men is the highest form of praise.
Earning your chops with guys wins you lifelong loyalty. They will help you bury the body.
The only real offense is betrayal, not ineptitude. This is because when you prove yourself inept, they know you are trying your hardest and respect the effort.
Men admire anyone who goes to bat and swings for the fences, despite striking out. It's the quitter they despise for the valid fear that you'll abandon them in battle.
Competing in beauty pageants doesn't count, unless you consider backstabbing a blood sport.
Athletics introduces people to the game of life. It defines the player's roles, acknowledges the playing field, and agrees to the rules. You play to win, you learn to lose, and you move on to the next match.
The greatest lesson is taking a punch to the nose and knowing it won't kill you. Hurt like hell, yes, but you're not dead.
Taking a hit and landing a punch builds confidence. In other's eyes, you are competent, win or lose, which among men is the highest form of praise.
Earning your chops with guys wins you lifelong loyalty. They will help you bury the body.
The only real offense is betrayal, not ineptitude. This is because when you prove yourself inept, they know you are trying your hardest and respect the effort.
Men admire anyone who goes to bat and swings for the fences, despite striking out. It's the quitter they despise for the valid fear that you'll abandon them in battle.
Competing in beauty pageants doesn't count, unless you consider backstabbing a blood sport.
The Virtues Of Competing Are Winning The Game of Life
Competition is essential to personal development for its instruction. From beauty pageants to pee wee t-ball, winners learn how to win again and losers learn how to win the next time. Every endeavor yields a winner and a loser. A win is not eternal and a loss is never permanent because any game is situational and the rules are circumstantial.
What might seem competitive could actually be collaborative. When a beautiful woman enters into a room, the other beautiful woman is not made ugly. Instead, all women are considered more attractive than each would otherwise be on their own.
There is no eliminating competition. It will emerge elsewhere. When children can't declare a win or a loss in recreational sports, reality television pits lives of adults against each other for survival. We hunger for competition because we want winners and we want losers. We want road maps that point out the paths to success and the pitfalls to failure.
To eliminate competition is to extinguish intelligence, which emerges as the final score. Playing makes sense of game. The game is nothing but a study in outcomes when there is a level playing field. The thrill lies in the clock ticking down prompting the final jump shot or Hail Mary pass.
To be happy, we have to play the game to win and learn to lump the losses. There is no opting out whether you suit up or not. Participating is the game of life itself.
What might seem competitive could actually be collaborative. When a beautiful woman enters into a room, the other beautiful woman is not made ugly. Instead, all women are considered more attractive than each would otherwise be on their own.
There is no eliminating competition. It will emerge elsewhere. When children can't declare a win or a loss in recreational sports, reality television pits lives of adults against each other for survival. We hunger for competition because we want winners and we want losers. We want road maps that point out the paths to success and the pitfalls to failure.
To eliminate competition is to extinguish intelligence, which emerges as the final score. Playing makes sense of game. The game is nothing but a study in outcomes when there is a level playing field. The thrill lies in the clock ticking down prompting the final jump shot or Hail Mary pass.
To be happy, we have to play the game to win and learn to lump the losses. There is no opting out whether you suit up or not. Participating is the game of life itself.
Something For Nothing and Your Ticks For Free
A tick on the balls of a dinosaur. That's what women are who marry men for money. Yes, they might extend their longevity by clinging to a big, warm body. But still, they die. Clinging to the corpse of delusion.
Death by Intellectual Deceipt
The greatest deceit against intellectual honesty is the significance of our appearance. That inner beauty is of greater virtue is a pernicious lie told with frightening vigor.
Beauty is something not talked about because concern for one’s presentation is cause for secrecy, shame, and ridicule – unless you’re a celebrity whose sale is in derision. What secret are we keeping exactly? And why should my efforts at looking great require such clandestine secrecy?
Germany under Hitler and China under Mao had youth squads who would turn in their parents and neighbors if someone spoke ill of the regime. Violators were publicly humiliated and often executed.
The fervid “Gotcha!” attacks against celebrities spotted with puffy upper lips get more media attention than the mass graves from genocidal atrocities of aggrandizing dict-o-crats. As though primping, pricking, and preening is more scandalous, more personally offensive, than slaughtering citizens of your own country.
Women are more emboldened about abortions and bankruptcies than they are about their desire for plastic surgery. And yet more righteous about having the bong water look of limp hair and sallow skin called sexy when it’s clearly not. Beauty is skin deep down to the bone.
The Orwellian campaign to convince us that our ugliest disheveled state is somehow more sublime than a tended to façade would be comical – if the campaigner weren’t so violent. Ruining one’s reputation out of sheer jealousy is murder, just short of snuffing out one’s soul.
Slashing clothes off fur-wearing backs, splashing fast-food diners with bloodied water, hurtling food at faces with malevolent force, setting McMansions on fire to punish the landowner is somehow a tolerable if not celebrated assault in our society. No animals were harmed in the making of this movie, yes. But humans are ritually sacrificed on the altar of righteous indignation.
The jackbooted SS of old is the suede footed Birkenstock of now insisting that they had to destroy the village in order to save it. What’s to save? And my God, what’s been lost?
Beauty is something not talked about because concern for one’s presentation is cause for secrecy, shame, and ridicule – unless you’re a celebrity whose sale is in derision. What secret are we keeping exactly? And why should my efforts at looking great require such clandestine secrecy?
Germany under Hitler and China under Mao had youth squads who would turn in their parents and neighbors if someone spoke ill of the regime. Violators were publicly humiliated and often executed.
The fervid “Gotcha!” attacks against celebrities spotted with puffy upper lips get more media attention than the mass graves from genocidal atrocities of aggrandizing dict-o-crats. As though primping, pricking, and preening is more scandalous, more personally offensive, than slaughtering citizens of your own country.
Women are more emboldened about abortions and bankruptcies than they are about their desire for plastic surgery. And yet more righteous about having the bong water look of limp hair and sallow skin called sexy when it’s clearly not. Beauty is skin deep down to the bone.
The Orwellian campaign to convince us that our ugliest disheveled state is somehow more sublime than a tended to façade would be comical – if the campaigner weren’t so violent. Ruining one’s reputation out of sheer jealousy is murder, just short of snuffing out one’s soul.
Slashing clothes off fur-wearing backs, splashing fast-food diners with bloodied water, hurtling food at faces with malevolent force, setting McMansions on fire to punish the landowner is somehow a tolerable if not celebrated assault in our society. No animals were harmed in the making of this movie, yes. But humans are ritually sacrificed on the altar of righteous indignation.
The jackbooted SS of old is the suede footed Birkenstock of now insisting that they had to destroy the village in order to save it. What’s to save? And my God, what’s been lost?
Friend Alert! Just Found a Woman To Worship: Jen Dziura
Not sure what it is, but people seem to either love me or hate me. No one is ever indifferent when meeting me. Let me clarify this statement. Men love me. Yeay! Women hate me. Boo!
So the women I am friends with are truly amazing. They are beautiful, smart, funny, clever, successful, ambitious, creative. In a word, they are Do-ers. As opposed to all the Don'ts.
I happened upon a blog that I can't stop reading. And watching. And wondering. Where have you been all my life, Jen?
Well, I found you now and I'm not letting go. Not again. This is love. I mean it this time.
The only way I'll let go is if you pry my Verizon Aircard out of my cold, dead hands. I have rights, people. And I'm right about this one. This here is a damned good woman.
Read her blog: Jen Is Famous. She is hilarious. Even her mother gets in on the act.
Jen is a comedian, a blogger, and a spelling bee impresario. Seriously, how can we not fall in love with a woman who creates an adult spelling bee competition and then calls herself an impresario for this fantastical feat?
My favorite parts are her travels to the Middle East to entertain the troops. As a career Navy Brat and former Navy Reservist, I commend you Jen. You are part of what makes America so great. The bigger part of America's greatness are those of us who actually suit up for sit-ups and show up to serve. But hey, really, you're the best.
Welcome, Jen. Granted, this solo reception is a lot like one hand clapping. (Makes it impossible for me to open that blasted bottle and take my meds....) I'm really glad I found you. God bless America. And God bless blogs.
So the women I am friends with are truly amazing. They are beautiful, smart, funny, clever, successful, ambitious, creative. In a word, they are Do-ers. As opposed to all the Don'ts.
I happened upon a blog that I can't stop reading. And watching. And wondering. Where have you been all my life, Jen?
Well, I found you now and I'm not letting go. Not again. This is love. I mean it this time.
The only way I'll let go is if you pry my Verizon Aircard out of my cold, dead hands. I have rights, people. And I'm right about this one. This here is a damned good woman.
Read her blog: Jen Is Famous. She is hilarious. Even her mother gets in on the act.
Jen is a comedian, a blogger, and a spelling bee impresario. Seriously, how can we not fall in love with a woman who creates an adult spelling bee competition and then calls herself an impresario for this fantastical feat?
My favorite parts are her travels to the Middle East to entertain the troops. As a career Navy Brat and former Navy Reservist, I commend you Jen. You are part of what makes America so great. The bigger part of America's greatness are those of us who actually suit up for sit-ups and show up to serve. But hey, really, you're the best.
Welcome, Jen. Granted, this solo reception is a lot like one hand clapping. (Makes it impossible for me to open that blasted bottle and take my meds....) I'm really glad I found you. God bless America. And God bless blogs.
Back By Popular Demand: AJC Editorial "Using Emotion as Ammunition"
Feminism rewards women who run roughshod over men
Alessandra Eakin - For the Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Monday, December 30, 2002
It's about time someone said it: Women are idiots.
I suspect men have known this for a long time and, in their better interest, have kept quiet about it. However, in the face of overwhelming evidence, as a woman, I must conclude that "sistas" all are indeed sniveling, simpering imps.
Feminism, go home. Go back to the bedrooms and kitchens where at least for generations you served a purpose. Only there can you achieve the level of mediocrity not remotely evidenced in boardrooms and cubicles since your forcible entry into the office four decades ago.
The Battle of the Sexes has yielded a simmering stalemate, though men concede women have long won the war. The men quit fighting, stopped trying, and no longer care to please their women because they know they can't. Men have lost plenty. They are no longer significant in the estimation of women.
Here's an example of what happens today. At my job once, there was a team-building activity companywide. Each person was assigned a task only they could do. As each person performed his or her role, the team accomplished its goal. Each team, when done performing its task, was to integrate its piece with another team. Each team contributed to the building of a whole unit, which represented cooperation among all departments within a company.
Instead of achieving corporate nirvana, a shameful quagmire resulted. In an instant, a dozen shrill, power-hungry women converged upon a table and started screaming at subordinates to follow their spontaneous, ill-prepared orders. They hijacked the plan, threw out the rules and imposed a cult of personality where the one who shouted the loudest and the meanest and the most often was the winner. A periphery of impotent employees, mostly men, ringed the dominant table of blond ambition.
How did this happen? When did men become trivial? What makes women think they are at all important? Why are the rational-minded marginalized and not celebrated instead?
The balance of power has shifted so dramatically that women have developed a delusional sense of self-worth. Feminism promised women they could be anything they wanted to be without offering a constructive way to achieve greatness. Initiative, ambition, education, dedication became pitiful ploys in contrast to the effectiveness of exhibiting emotions.
Employing what I call "emotional extortion" offers immediate gratification. Pouting over hurt feelings, throwing temper tantrums and hurling accusations of meanness gets you what you want. Why work hard and try often when a crying jag swiftly gets you what you want? Why risk failure when fearful employers hand you the vestiges of victory?
Simply put, women have run amok. Men are losing their ground as they endure blatant abuse by women day after day, decade after decade. Men are wonderful beings, worthy of much praise and appreciation. I am ready for the Man Movement to begin. Somebody please, stop these women before they ruin our lives. I need a man to save me from the wreckage of stupid women.
Alessandra Eakin - For the Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Monday, December 30, 2002
It's about time someone said it: Women are idiots.
I suspect men have known this for a long time and, in their better interest, have kept quiet about it. However, in the face of overwhelming evidence, as a woman, I must conclude that "sistas" all are indeed sniveling, simpering imps.
Feminism, go home. Go back to the bedrooms and kitchens where at least for generations you served a purpose. Only there can you achieve the level of mediocrity not remotely evidenced in boardrooms and cubicles since your forcible entry into the office four decades ago.
The Battle of the Sexes has yielded a simmering stalemate, though men concede women have long won the war. The men quit fighting, stopped trying, and no longer care to please their women because they know they can't. Men have lost plenty. They are no longer significant in the estimation of women.
Here's an example of what happens today. At my job once, there was a team-building activity companywide. Each person was assigned a task only they could do. As each person performed his or her role, the team accomplished its goal. Each team, when done performing its task, was to integrate its piece with another team. Each team contributed to the building of a whole unit, which represented cooperation among all departments within a company.
Instead of achieving corporate nirvana, a shameful quagmire resulted. In an instant, a dozen shrill, power-hungry women converged upon a table and started screaming at subordinates to follow their spontaneous, ill-prepared orders. They hijacked the plan, threw out the rules and imposed a cult of personality where the one who shouted the loudest and the meanest and the most often was the winner. A periphery of impotent employees, mostly men, ringed the dominant table of blond ambition.
How did this happen? When did men become trivial? What makes women think they are at all important? Why are the rational-minded marginalized and not celebrated instead?
The balance of power has shifted so dramatically that women have developed a delusional sense of self-worth. Feminism promised women they could be anything they wanted to be without offering a constructive way to achieve greatness. Initiative, ambition, education, dedication became pitiful ploys in contrast to the effectiveness of exhibiting emotions.
Employing what I call "emotional extortion" offers immediate gratification. Pouting over hurt feelings, throwing temper tantrums and hurling accusations of meanness gets you what you want. Why work hard and try often when a crying jag swiftly gets you what you want? Why risk failure when fearful employers hand you the vestiges of victory?
Simply put, women have run amok. Men are losing their ground as they endure blatant abuse by women day after day, decade after decade. Men are wonderful beings, worthy of much praise and appreciation. I am ready for the Man Movement to begin. Somebody please, stop these women before they ruin our lives. I need a man to save me from the wreckage of stupid women.
Atlanta City Government: Not Investment Grade
I owned a condo in Buckhead for 7 years. It was on the market for 5 of the last 7 years. This is when our beloved Buckhead became the reviled Buckhood.
Condo owners are first time home buyers who live where they play. High income single professionals pay for a pristine playground. When your playground succumbs to gang-style gunfire, it is a ghetto instead.
I was married for 2 eternal years. We lived in my husband's house in the suburbs. When I divorced, I gave him his house back and moved immediately back intown.
On the advice of my best friend Joe and my parents, I decided to rent an apartment rather than buy a house. I rent for two very good reasons.
1) I started my third business and needed to reserve capital for its incessant demands instead of a house with all its expenses.
2) The real estate market would only plunge deeper, so waiting to "buy when there is blood in the streets and sell at the sound of trumpets" became my strategy.
Now I have an inkling to buy again. The question used to be where do I want to live? Buckhead, Midtown, Brookhaven - all neighborhoods in Atlanta to my liking.
Now my existential angst extends beyond which intown enclave to reside in to living in the city itself. Not just a matter of lifestyle, but about life itself. I ask myself not just where I want to live, but how I want to live.
In reading Warrren Buffett's brilliant biography The Snowball, I look at every purchase as a business issuing shares of stocks for a part of its ownership. For example, I own my own business. Because I alone own all 1000 of its shares, it is privately held. If I owned 500 shares, but the other 500 shares are owned by other people, the business would still be privately owned but not just by me.
However, if any of the shares were available for the public to buy, it would be a publicly traded company. Its share price would first be determined against its IPO - Initial Public Offering. The valuation sets the price per share, but so does public sentiment about the company.
Earnings determines the value of each share. If there were more debts than profits, its value low; its earnings more than its expenses, its value high. The volume of people buying or selling the stock also impacts the share price, raising it with belief in success or lowering it with fear of failure.
I see buying a home as the same thing as buying ownership of the resident's city "stock" price. Buying and holding stocks seems so passe these days of rampant hysteria and leadership betrayal. However, a 30-year fixed mortgage is the ultimate in buying and holding stock. Only this time, its stock ownership is the city itself.
I ask myself, would I "buy and hold" stock in the City of Atlanta if it were a business? Would I buy shares of its business by my belief in its management team, the City Council? Is my long-term view of the State of Georgia bullish in its growth or bearish in its ineptitude?
Could I sell my stock at a profit as others increase their faith in the city and state governance? Or would my stock shares tumble in tandem with my home price? Long term, do I believe Atlanta will earn me a profit or a loss?
I believe in the State of Georgia much more than I do City of Atlanta. The difference between city and state is its cultural values. A "Red State" that espouses conservative values is investment grade to me specifically, and to business in general. Meanwhile, Atlanta promotes a looping rap video, promoting style over substance in all matters of business.
I'll keep putting money into my own business. I believe in myself, owning two other successful businesses. I am not a risk. I am an investment.
As for City of Atlanta, that's risky. So I rent. Yes, I'm renewing my lease. And enjoy my skyline view.
Condo owners are first time home buyers who live where they play. High income single professionals pay for a pristine playground. When your playground succumbs to gang-style gunfire, it is a ghetto instead.
I was married for 2 eternal years. We lived in my husband's house in the suburbs. When I divorced, I gave him his house back and moved immediately back intown.
On the advice of my best friend Joe and my parents, I decided to rent an apartment rather than buy a house. I rent for two very good reasons.
1) I started my third business and needed to reserve capital for its incessant demands instead of a house with all its expenses.
2) The real estate market would only plunge deeper, so waiting to "buy when there is blood in the streets and sell at the sound of trumpets" became my strategy.
Now I have an inkling to buy again. The question used to be where do I want to live? Buckhead, Midtown, Brookhaven - all neighborhoods in Atlanta to my liking.
Now my existential angst extends beyond which intown enclave to reside in to living in the city itself. Not just a matter of lifestyle, but about life itself. I ask myself not just where I want to live, but how I want to live.
In reading Warrren Buffett's brilliant biography The Snowball, I look at every purchase as a business issuing shares of stocks for a part of its ownership. For example, I own my own business. Because I alone own all 1000 of its shares, it is privately held. If I owned 500 shares, but the other 500 shares are owned by other people, the business would still be privately owned but not just by me.
However, if any of the shares were available for the public to buy, it would be a publicly traded company. Its share price would first be determined against its IPO - Initial Public Offering. The valuation sets the price per share, but so does public sentiment about the company.
Earnings determines the value of each share. If there were more debts than profits, its value low; its earnings more than its expenses, its value high. The volume of people buying or selling the stock also impacts the share price, raising it with belief in success or lowering it with fear of failure.
I see buying a home as the same thing as buying ownership of the resident's city "stock" price. Buying and holding stocks seems so passe these days of rampant hysteria and leadership betrayal. However, a 30-year fixed mortgage is the ultimate in buying and holding stock. Only this time, its stock ownership is the city itself.
I ask myself, would I "buy and hold" stock in the City of Atlanta if it were a business? Would I buy shares of its business by my belief in its management team, the City Council? Is my long-term view of the State of Georgia bullish in its growth or bearish in its ineptitude?
Could I sell my stock at a profit as others increase their faith in the city and state governance? Or would my stock shares tumble in tandem with my home price? Long term, do I believe Atlanta will earn me a profit or a loss?
I believe in the State of Georgia much more than I do City of Atlanta. The difference between city and state is its cultural values. A "Red State" that espouses conservative values is investment grade to me specifically, and to business in general. Meanwhile, Atlanta promotes a looping rap video, promoting style over substance in all matters of business.
I'll keep putting money into my own business. I believe in myself, owning two other successful businesses. I am not a risk. I am an investment.
As for City of Atlanta, that's risky. So I rent. Yes, I'm renewing my lease. And enjoy my skyline view.
Atlanta Screwed Up Its Condo Market
I am a city mouse. Always have been. Always will be.
Atlanta is a great city to live in, but we got problems living intown. Big problems. The biggest one is in our rotten housing options for condominiums.
Atlanta condo builders are stupid. Very stupid. They will pay for their stupidity by all the unsold inventory sitting on the market. But we also pay as people who want to live in condos but can't for having no good options.
I know of no exception to this. Every new high rise condominium has the same floor plan, even for its biggest units. The two bedroom/two bathroom roommate plan with a kitchen and living room in the middle. There is everything wrong with this 2/2 Plan for everyone above the age of 22.
Who the 2/2 Succeeds With: Single Young Professionals
Atlanta is a great city to live in, but we got problems living intown. Big problems. The biggest one is in our rotten housing options for condominiums.
Atlanta condo builders are stupid. Very stupid. They will pay for their stupidity by all the unsold inventory sitting on the market. But we also pay as people who want to live in condos but can't for having no good options.
I know of no exception to this. Every new high rise condominium has the same floor plan, even for its biggest units. The two bedroom/two bathroom roommate plan with a kitchen and living room in the middle. There is everything wrong with this 2/2 Plan for everyone above the age of 22.
Who the 2/2 Succeeds With: Single Young Professionals
- It appeals only people who want roommates with relative privacy on either end of the unit.
- It works only for people who want a bedroom of their own and a dedicated office.
- It perpetuates a single person's limited perspective by having great views with no room for growth.
- It creates a glut of condo space once all the available buyers of single professionals are tapped out of money or paired off with roommates.
Who the 2/2 Fails With: Everyone Else Who Needs More Than 2 Bedrooms
Atlanta fancies itself an international city. This is as misguided as Cheeseheads from Wisconsin wearing Venizia! gondola hats in Venice as authentic tourism.
Atlanta is a small town grown tall and wide, that's all. If we were an international city, we would have city-living available to all who want it. What we have now is not by design, but by default.
We should replicate the McMansions of our vast suburbs in the sky. Why not? Land here is cheap, especially compared to cities like New York, D.C., Los Angeles, and Chicago. Space is even cheaper!
We should have flats with comparable living space as our suburban homes. People want condos on one floor that's between 2000 to 5000 square feet per unit. What's the limit here, exactly? Other than imagination.
Plenty of folks prefer to live intown but cannot. Even if they want to downsize, there's no equivalent condo space that can accommodate them and all their stuff. Not when you have a tiny 2/2 with no room for guests and life's other overflow.
If we focused on only one major design flaw that shows how unlivable condos are for older professionals, it would be balconies. Suburban homes have huge decks that accommodate 6-chair tables, 2 chaise lounges, a bison-sized grill, and plenty of potted plants. Add a dog barking at butterflies to complete the idyllic image of domestic bliss.
Most high-rise condos do not have balconies. Floor-to-ceiling windows are not the same thing because there is no outdoor space. Especially when you cannot even open the windows to smell the spring air.
When there are balconies, they cannot even fit a 4-chair table. Add to the precarious wire railings with no overhang to its dismal design. That feature is liability, not livability.
There is no appeal to condos for folks who have simply lived better than rats in a Skinner Box.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)