To me, seeing is believing – in person and in print. There is so much I want from writers who write of beauty and the politics of appearance. I'm not getting it, and so I am doing it. This is the basis of my blog Ugly Is Not an Option.
I want writing that’s worth investing precious minutes of reading, for which I’ll pay any price.
I want to connect with the writer through the writing’s mental monologue.
I want writing that I can’t wait to get back to after being forcibly pulled away.
I want to feel devastated when the piece ends; losing the connection that can’t even be made with lovers or resumed again with another writer.
I want phrases rattling through my head like an obsessive compulsive deprived of her meds who can’t purge her endless thoughts.
I want words to hit me hard like the clanging of a cast iron skillet, which soothes with its brittle coolness to the touch.
I Went To Hell And Back And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt
If you are jealous of another woman, it is only because you don't know her well. People who have suffered envy no one. Once you touch the ugly guts of a lovely facade, there's no enchantment with a beautiful lie.
Experience suffering and we can no longer deceive ourselves. Or deny the lies of others. It's as though this knowledge removes filters to elegant deceptions. Indignant anger turns into cool acceptance.
Our job as successful members of society is to suffer in silence. With a quiet dignity, we wait for this tragedy to pass and its grief to end. Like a red scar, it fades in time. Invisible to all; indelible to us.
We each hurt, wounded inside. Pain is more patient than we are. Loss is inevitable in our lives. We cannot avoid the inexorable truth.
Along our path, we pick up a story to tell. We pray our tale is not told in vain. For others, it remains a secret to keep. A source of shame.
We cannot allow ourselves to become numb. The pain subsides. I promise you. It does. You are not alone.
When we are young, there is tremendous shine on the shell, and a squishy softness in the middle. At some point in maturity, we realize how tender we are on the outside, and how solid is our core. Reality, it seems, turns inside out.
Now you know. The only thing worth fighting for is life itself. Everything else is disposable. Ego, image, vanity. These feints at self-importance are mere delusions and wasteful expenditures.
These lessons came at a cost, though. It is well worth the price I paid. However, it is an involuntary tax imposed on experience.
In the crucible of my time, I asked God "Why me? I'm not Job. I don't matter." The moment was wasted on me. But not for long. It had to matter. This is not for nothing. It can't be.
I started to take an inventory. What was lost? What remains? What next?
Accounting for my meager blessings, I started to be thankful. Then I started seeing goodness all around me. For everything I lost, I regained each of the losses as a tenfold gain. It's as though gratitude is a form of tithing, like mental money.
As I account for the losses, I am amazed at what remains. Good things endure, however ephemeral they seem to be. What survived the storm? Happiness. Love. Talent.
How did these survive? Because they are internal qualities. It is found within me, as if each are a seed in our soul. As such, they can never be taken away. They cannot be given away, either. Only thrown away as ingrattitude.
I thank God every day for what I have. I'm thankful for all that He left for me to rebuild of my life. It's not mansions in paradise and winning lottery tickets, either. But the trials are over, or so it seems. A reprieve is good enough for me.
One thing I know: storm as it might, I'm still standing. Isn't that what we really wonder of ourselves? In the event of a distaster, can I survive? If I survive, will I ever thrive?
Ockham's Razor states that when you hear the sound of hooves - think horses, not zebras. But what if the sound of hooves you hear is The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? That's easy - think zebras, not horses.
Laugh in face of fear. Why not? Imagine the fearsome Pestilence, War, Famine, and Disease clopping along on their little zebras. The imagery is pretty funny. Tragedy has a humor all its own. Thank God.
Experience suffering and we can no longer deceive ourselves. Or deny the lies of others. It's as though this knowledge removes filters to elegant deceptions. Indignant anger turns into cool acceptance.
Our job as successful members of society is to suffer in silence. With a quiet dignity, we wait for this tragedy to pass and its grief to end. Like a red scar, it fades in time. Invisible to all; indelible to us.
We each hurt, wounded inside. Pain is more patient than we are. Loss is inevitable in our lives. We cannot avoid the inexorable truth.
Along our path, we pick up a story to tell. We pray our tale is not told in vain. For others, it remains a secret to keep. A source of shame.
We cannot allow ourselves to become numb. The pain subsides. I promise you. It does. You are not alone.
When we are young, there is tremendous shine on the shell, and a squishy softness in the middle. At some point in maturity, we realize how tender we are on the outside, and how solid is our core. Reality, it seems, turns inside out.
Now you know. The only thing worth fighting for is life itself. Everything else is disposable. Ego, image, vanity. These feints at self-importance are mere delusions and wasteful expenditures.
These lessons came at a cost, though. It is well worth the price I paid. However, it is an involuntary tax imposed on experience.
In the crucible of my time, I asked God "Why me? I'm not Job. I don't matter." The moment was wasted on me. But not for long. It had to matter. This is not for nothing. It can't be.
I started to take an inventory. What was lost? What remains? What next?
Accounting for my meager blessings, I started to be thankful. Then I started seeing goodness all around me. For everything I lost, I regained each of the losses as a tenfold gain. It's as though gratitude is a form of tithing, like mental money.
As I account for the losses, I am amazed at what remains. Good things endure, however ephemeral they seem to be. What survived the storm? Happiness. Love. Talent.
How did these survive? Because they are internal qualities. It is found within me, as if each are a seed in our soul. As such, they can never be taken away. They cannot be given away, either. Only thrown away as ingrattitude.
I thank God every day for what I have. I'm thankful for all that He left for me to rebuild of my life. It's not mansions in paradise and winning lottery tickets, either. But the trials are over, or so it seems. A reprieve is good enough for me.
One thing I know: storm as it might, I'm still standing. Isn't that what we really wonder of ourselves? In the event of a distaster, can I survive? If I survive, will I ever thrive?
Ockham's Razor states that when you hear the sound of hooves - think horses, not zebras. But what if the sound of hooves you hear is The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? That's easy - think zebras, not horses.
Laugh in face of fear. Why not? Imagine the fearsome Pestilence, War, Famine, and Disease clopping along on their little zebras. The imagery is pretty funny. Tragedy has a humor all its own. Thank God.
Invisibility Wastes Womanly Beauty As Human Potential
The hallmark of advanced civilization is its full participation of women in the public sphere. You may find profoundly beautiful women in oppressed regimes. But if you can’t see them about, do they really exist?
Put another way, if a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound? Is sound generated simply by the compression and expansion of air waves? Or is it sound only when one receives the noise signal?
Bounding women in headscarves or draping them in burqas obscures their beauty to be sure. What's worse, it blots them from public expanse like a swarm of blind spots. An invisible woman is a fallen tree that registers no noise in its ruin, so no one notes its demise.
Obliterating women from view has its place in the lowest levels of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. It is the fight for survival. (Perhaps it occupies its own rung in Dante’s Inferno. This where liars are below thieves for stealing from people the truth.)
Women freed from the toil of securing food, shelter, and security can pursue higher levels of self-fulfillment. And maybe fulfill their purpose here on earth.
Tethered to the fear of daily life keeps women penned as unwanted pets, possessing ideas like animals do instincts.
Put another way, if a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound? Is sound generated simply by the compression and expansion of air waves? Or is it sound only when one receives the noise signal?
Bounding women in headscarves or draping them in burqas obscures their beauty to be sure. What's worse, it blots them from public expanse like a swarm of blind spots. An invisible woman is a fallen tree that registers no noise in its ruin, so no one notes its demise.
Obliterating women from view has its place in the lowest levels of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. It is the fight for survival. (Perhaps it occupies its own rung in Dante’s Inferno. This where liars are below thieves for stealing from people the truth.)
Women freed from the toil of securing food, shelter, and security can pursue higher levels of self-fulfillment. And maybe fulfill their purpose here on earth.
Tethered to the fear of daily life keeps women penned as unwanted pets, possessing ideas like animals do instincts.
Freedom = Beautiful. Opppression = Ugly.
Strong free market economies with little governmental corruption have the most beautiful women in the world. Oppressed countries have notoriously ugly women.
Russian women today are what Italian women were before. Beautiful, but only after freed from oppression. Imagine what stunning beauties Arab, Persian, and Afghan women will become once tyranny gives way to freedom.
Italian women emerged as renowned beauties after the fall of Fascism, Russians after the fall of Communism. Arabia must shed its shackles from fanatical Wahhibism and America from radical Feminism.
Russian women today are what Italian women were before. Beautiful, but only after freed from oppression. Imagine what stunning beauties Arab, Persian, and Afghan women will become once tyranny gives way to freedom.
Italian women emerged as renowned beauties after the fall of Fascism, Russians after the fall of Communism. Arabia must shed its shackles from fanatical Wahhibism and America from radical Feminism.
For Some Uglies, Beauty Is Do or Die
In Israel, a homely Palestinian girl experienced grave trauma. Jewish doctors saved her life.
A few months after a full recovery, this Palestinian girl intended to destroy the Israeli hospital in which she recovered. She wanted to kill all the Jewish doctors who helped her heal.
Unable to detonate herself in a botched suicide bombing, a reporter asked an important question:
Since Muslim men are rewarded for martyring themselves (as shahids) by having sex with seventy-two virgins in heaven, what reward is there for her as a woman to martyr herself?
She answered with certainty: I will be one of the seventy-two virgins! Because this girl was no beauty in this life, being beautiful is her gift in the afterlife.
All she wants is to be sexually attractive to men. To be lusted over and fought for by men. To create a legacy by having children with a man who desires her.
She can only fulfill this fantasy in a deal with death. Life dealt her cards with a losing hand.
A few months after a full recovery, this Palestinian girl intended to destroy the Israeli hospital in which she recovered. She wanted to kill all the Jewish doctors who helped her heal.
Unable to detonate herself in a botched suicide bombing, a reporter asked an important question:
Since Muslim men are rewarded for martyring themselves (as shahids) by having sex with seventy-two virgins in heaven, what reward is there for her as a woman to martyr herself?
She answered with certainty: I will be one of the seventy-two virgins! Because this girl was no beauty in this life, being beautiful is her gift in the afterlife.
All she wants is to be sexually attractive to men. To be lusted over and fought for by men. To create a legacy by having children with a man who desires her.
She can only fulfill this fantasy in a deal with death. Life dealt her cards with a losing hand.
Wealthy Whites: Dream. Poor Blacks: Nightmare.
The drive for beautiful wives is to have beautiful daughters who can marry up. She will elevate her whole family into higher status through marriage to a wealthy man. Entire families are supported this way.
That’s why when pretty little white girls from gated communities get abducted, it’s 24-7 international news. You’ve shattered the American dream not only for that bereaved family, but for an entire nation whose streets are paved with gold. (At the heels of an elegant woman goes the image.)
A poor black child lost in the abyss of welfare services makes a pitiful appearance at the tail end of a local news break. This is not because America doesn’t cherish its children. It definitely does. But because this juts forth the flip side of the American dream – the American nightmare.
That’s why when pretty little white girls from gated communities get abducted, it’s 24-7 international news. You’ve shattered the American dream not only for that bereaved family, but for an entire nation whose streets are paved with gold. (At the heels of an elegant woman goes the image.)
A poor black child lost in the abyss of welfare services makes a pitiful appearance at the tail end of a local news break. This is not because America doesn’t cherish its children. It definitely does. But because this juts forth the flip side of the American dream – the American nightmare.
Freedom From Oppressive Poverty Is The American Dream
Individuals create more leisure time when freed from the shackles of poverty requiring endless endeavor to sustain a pitiful life.
Countries with individuals who have more leisure time are affluent and often indulgent.
That affluence and indulgence is expressed as hope, creativity and generosity. All truly American traits and attributes of womanly beauty.
A man’s hope is to be with a beautiful woman for whom he’ll create a family and bestow on them all he has to offer.
Fulfilling that is the American Dream.
Countries with individuals who have more leisure time are affluent and often indulgent.
That affluence and indulgence is expressed as hope, creativity and generosity. All truly American traits and attributes of womanly beauty.
A man’s hope is to be with a beautiful woman for whom he’ll create a family and bestow on them all he has to offer.
Fulfilling that is the American Dream.
Win For Losing And Trying Again
Looking your best makes you feel good. Feeling good makes you confident. Confidence makes you win for the challenges you take on.
You win no matter the loss. Loss is nothing but ridding excess. That excess is often fear itself.
Experience gives us gains. Losing is gaining wisdom along the way. You lose nothing that can't be regained. What can't be regained is probably worth losing.
Iron is made strong through being forged with fire. Its ore is merely dust. Challenge is the crucible that forges us into formidable strength.
The fire from the forge that breaks you and makes you is a light that guides others along the path for finding their own strength. You illuminate the challenges on your path that offers others a way to overcome them.
When you lead by example the world follows. Our eyes follow light. Our hearts follow leaders.
All are inspired and the world is made better. The power of personal beauty is its influence in inspiring others.
You win no matter the loss. Loss is nothing but ridding excess. That excess is often fear itself.
Experience gives us gains. Losing is gaining wisdom along the way. You lose nothing that can't be regained. What can't be regained is probably worth losing.
Iron is made strong through being forged with fire. Its ore is merely dust. Challenge is the crucible that forges us into formidable strength.
The fire from the forge that breaks you and makes you is a light that guides others along the path for finding their own strength. You illuminate the challenges on your path that offers others a way to overcome them.
When you lead by example the world follows. Our eyes follow light. Our hearts follow leaders.
All are inspired and the world is made better. The power of personal beauty is its influence in inspiring others.
So Proud of My Shipmates!
As a viral email "Attaboy!" this is suppossedly the Navy's new recruitment poster. Hilarious. And a huge hurrah for our sailors (and soldiers and airmen and marines) supporting our American way of life.As a Navy Reservist and career Navy Brat, I salute you. My shipmates and especially the SEALs, you are the best and brightest in the world. As a proud and patriotic single woman, call me....
Men Choose Sides With The Siren's Call
In men's minds, women are either Scylla or Charybdis, The Sirens luring Homer's Odysseus and his ship to a watery grave.
The Strait of Messina is the narrow waterway between the island of Sicily and mainland Italy. Odysseus had to sail through the Straits in order to return home to Greece after an endless war in The Odyssey.
On one side sat Scylla on a rock with her six heads that greedily devoured men in her grasp. Meet Gold Digger.
On the other side sat Charybdis with her gaping mouth that sucked in huge amounts of water, creating whirlpools. Meet Super Size Me.
Crossing through the Strait of Messina with Sirens on either side, Odysseus knew getting too close to one while avoiding the other is certain death.
Scylla we know as the quintessential Mean Girl. The stunning beauty that spurs global conquest made ugly by her wake of wrecked lives.
Charybdis is the Fat Chick whose warm bath of amniotic comfort has you swim into blissful abundance. Until the water gets cold.
Odysseus chose to get closer to Scylla and lose a few sailors than Charybdis and lose the whole ship.
When you wonder how that rotten temptress gets so many smitten men, now you know: he chose Scylla. Excitement with fewer losses is greater than comfort with fewer gains.
The Strait of Messina is the narrow waterway between the island of Sicily and mainland Italy. Odysseus had to sail through the Straits in order to return home to Greece after an endless war in The Odyssey.
On one side sat Scylla on a rock with her six heads that greedily devoured men in her grasp. Meet Gold Digger.
On the other side sat Charybdis with her gaping mouth that sucked in huge amounts of water, creating whirlpools. Meet Super Size Me.
Crossing through the Strait of Messina with Sirens on either side, Odysseus knew getting too close to one while avoiding the other is certain death.
Scylla we know as the quintessential Mean Girl. The stunning beauty that spurs global conquest made ugly by her wake of wrecked lives.
Charybdis is the Fat Chick whose warm bath of amniotic comfort has you swim into blissful abundance. Until the water gets cold.
Odysseus chose to get closer to Scylla and lose a few sailors than Charybdis and lose the whole ship.
When you wonder how that rotten temptress gets so many smitten men, now you know: he chose Scylla. Excitement with fewer losses is greater than comfort with fewer gains.
Beauty Traded As Goods In Our Market Economy
A woman’s fortune is her looks because beauty is a commodity, trading on markets of opportunity. To deny that betrays bitter stupidity.
Being beautiful requires a wealth of time, money, effort, and luck. Obvious expenses support a whole host of economies that are overlooked but immensely important to individual lifestyles as they are to global trade.
This is an economy where goods are traded by the invisible hand of consumers. When supply is hope, demand is desire.
Being beautiful requires a wealth of time, money, effort, and luck. Obvious expenses support a whole host of economies that are overlooked but immensely important to individual lifestyles as they are to global trade.
This is an economy where goods are traded by the invisible hand of consumers. When supply is hope, demand is desire.
Big Boobs. Big Brains. Supersize Me!
It is possible to have boobs and brains. Both big. Very big.
There’s a vile myth that women can be either smart or beautiful, but not both. As though God isn’t beneficent enough to offer both attributes in abundance. Or even that being beautiful and smart wasn’t God’s plan when casting us mounds of clay in His image.
In the North, men assume women are smart until a bit of beauty emerges. Then she’s a Bimbo who has to marry for money.
In the South, most men think women are pretty – and most are, unless they are really smart. Then they’re Brainiacs who have to marry for sex.
To exercise their brilliance, the Brains move north to meet up with brainy birds who flock together. And crap on shiny nice cars as petty vengeance for not winning any beauty pageants as chicks.
There’s a vile myth that women can be either smart or beautiful, but not both. As though God isn’t beneficent enough to offer both attributes in abundance. Or even that being beautiful and smart wasn’t God’s plan when casting us mounds of clay in His image.
In the North, men assume women are smart until a bit of beauty emerges. Then she’s a Bimbo who has to marry for money.
In the South, most men think women are pretty – and most are, unless they are really smart. Then they’re Brainiacs who have to marry for sex.
To exercise their brilliance, the Brains move north to meet up with brainy birds who flock together. And crap on shiny nice cars as petty vengeance for not winning any beauty pageants as chicks.
Bare Naked Beauty in Broad Daylight
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.
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.
A Pleasure All Mine
It’s high time I write that Fabuloso Manifesto with clever quips for us Fabulistas to chant, or maybe murmur, or purr when pleasure arrives solo and wants to stay awhile.
I Dream of Fulfilling Femininity
If women become more attractive and improve their attitudes, maybe they would stop being such bitches. If so, I’m hoping there would be less of a compulsion to ruin the gorgeous girl’s career in the next cube.
I wish that with happier women, men would be held in high esteem and shown the respect they so rightly deserve that’s decades overdue. A happy man is a beautiful sight to behold. His woman be held.
I dream of when women reclaim their femininity. That she’ll love her babies, cook nourishing meals, keep clean homes, and satisfy her man. If she can bring home the bacon by hounding that hog with a thirty-ought-six shotgun in what she calls a little “me time,” so much the better.
I wish that with happier women, men would be held in high esteem and shown the respect they so rightly deserve that’s decades overdue. A happy man is a beautiful sight to behold. His woman be held.
I dream of when women reclaim their femininity. That she’ll love her babies, cook nourishing meals, keep clean homes, and satisfy her man. If she can bring home the bacon by hounding that hog with a thirty-ought-six shotgun in what she calls a little “me time,” so much the better.
I Wear Bitter Like a Little Black Dress
I’m bored. I’m pissed. I’m overlooked. And I’m occasionally blue. It's true.
My credit limit is greater than a high-end department store clerk’s yearly income. Still am treated like a cockroach to be spotted and sneered at if not menaced away. I just wanted to buy a liquid eyeliner in plum with matching kohl pencil.
“Uh, hello? Yeah, hi. Uhm, I was wondering… Oh, huh? Okay, great. Yeah, will you show me…. Wah?.... Fuck it.” And so I buy online where I can look at all the eyeliner I want without having been snubbed for anyone less, well for anyone.
I can insult myself good and plenty without a community college dropout adding to the litany of the things I could do for personal improvement. That list I got. It’s the eyeliner I want.
I have too little time and too much intelligence to tolerate, much less process, the eternal snippets of infotainment constantly streaming into visual range from collage-like magazines, cable news segments, perky morning shows, and lonely joke spammers. And that’s just when my coffee is cooling off!
Never mind the drive-by cube chatters of Groundhog Day pointless conversations. Those random Tourette ’s syndrome middle-of-a-great-story interrupters of funnier-than-thou coworkers. The cryptic emails from peeved many masters in Rubics Cube middle management. How about occasional missives from V and C class executives cluing me in to being outsourced at work.
I want to read one fascinating, thorough, relate-able, and well researched article on a topic I am interested in to point me to everything related to that topic for more information. And I want it without having to pay for it with more time that I don’t already have enough of.
And I want to read this great stuff while at work, because that’s where I am for 10 hours of every day whether I’m busy or not. And mostly I’m not but have to look it or will get canned, which will already happen if I interpreted IT Communication correctly in that I’ll be writing my job duties in Sanskrit so it will be easier for someone else to do and pretend they are busy for 10 hours a day also.
I’m sick of getting diet tips from fat chicks. I don’t want beauty advice from wallflowers. I can’t buy into the virtues of 100% raw food from a hairy armpit extreme vegan. The smug comfortable-shoe-wearer who believes high heels are a part of the oppressive patriarchy has no fashion advice for me. And if another drapey, crepey wrinkled eyelids and tufted pillow under eye bags woman preaches to me about the evil that is Botox, I’m going to go Rambo on that Bambi and use her blood for hair conditioner.
My credit limit is greater than a high-end department store clerk’s yearly income. Still am treated like a cockroach to be spotted and sneered at if not menaced away. I just wanted to buy a liquid eyeliner in plum with matching kohl pencil.
“Uh, hello? Yeah, hi. Uhm, I was wondering… Oh, huh? Okay, great. Yeah, will you show me…. Wah?.... Fuck it.” And so I buy online where I can look at all the eyeliner I want without having been snubbed for anyone less, well for anyone.
I can insult myself good and plenty without a community college dropout adding to the litany of the things I could do for personal improvement. That list I got. It’s the eyeliner I want.
I have too little time and too much intelligence to tolerate, much less process, the eternal snippets of infotainment constantly streaming into visual range from collage-like magazines, cable news segments, perky morning shows, and lonely joke spammers. And that’s just when my coffee is cooling off!
Never mind the drive-by cube chatters of Groundhog Day pointless conversations. Those random Tourette ’s syndrome middle-of-a-great-story interrupters of funnier-than-thou coworkers. The cryptic emails from peeved many masters in Rubics Cube middle management. How about occasional missives from V and C class executives cluing me in to being outsourced at work.
I want to read one fascinating, thorough, relate-able, and well researched article on a topic I am interested in to point me to everything related to that topic for more information. And I want it without having to pay for it with more time that I don’t already have enough of.
And I want to read this great stuff while at work, because that’s where I am for 10 hours of every day whether I’m busy or not. And mostly I’m not but have to look it or will get canned, which will already happen if I interpreted IT Communication correctly in that I’ll be writing my job duties in Sanskrit so it will be easier for someone else to do and pretend they are busy for 10 hours a day also.
I’m sick of getting diet tips from fat chicks. I don’t want beauty advice from wallflowers. I can’t buy into the virtues of 100% raw food from a hairy armpit extreme vegan. The smug comfortable-shoe-wearer who believes high heels are a part of the oppressive patriarchy has no fashion advice for me. And if another drapey, crepey wrinkled eyelids and tufted pillow under eye bags woman preaches to me about the evil that is Botox, I’m going to go Rambo on that Bambi and use her blood for hair conditioner.
Fashion Victims of the World, Unite!
I read an occasional magazine and enjoy it when I do. I need something to look at when drying my nails and enjoy the mindless perusal of wealthy pursuits. But my complaints about fashion magazines are… many.
Whoever gave us ‘heroin chic’ should be shot. A hot shot, preferably. Do anything to get them off the editorial board, further confusing normal women like me who wonder why we don’t look fab like emaciated junkies pictured.
Beauty editors lost all credibility with me - forever. I don’t trust their taste, much less their judgment. Beauty editors are blithering idiots on the dole if that’s what they claim as fashion forward. Prostitutes – all.
Don’t show me un-wearable, tacky as hell clothes that fetch more than my monthly salary for an ugly outfit. Show me middle class clothes that respectable professionals should wear. Not high flying, jet setting clothes only an oil tycoon cheating on his fifth wife would buy me as a gift.
And none of that ghetto garbage from a contrived culture lauded as authentically black. Jailhouse fashion is not what I care to pay for, much less buy into. I got an education and a future. I want to look it.
For all my considerable efforts, give me an honest benchmark of what a hot body is. Not some fictional, freakish fantasy that drives me to a bulimia-induced frenzy. I don't understand how some women in print don’t actually have knees, much less fat on them that a surgeon’s lipo tube or an artist’s airbrush kit somehow missed.
Give me a real woman to admire. I want real tits and real ass and honest flat abs to emulate. I’ll diet anyway. Weight Watchers Points, The Fat Flush Plan, The Perricone Promise – I believe, I believe! I’m already exercising. Running marathons and half-marathons, doing Combat Abs and the Magnificent Seven, skiing nowhere on the NordicTrack – I’m sweating and loving it! There are no white pants without Spanx – it’s my religion!
Magazine articles are incomplete, sensational, or blatant adverts for products with outrageous claims that we so desperately want to believe are true. They give you enough information to be interested but not enough to benefit from reading it. What a waste.
Wow, a cup of green goop can erase wrinkles, prevent cancer, spontaneously abort unwanted babies and conceive long wanted ones? At $125.00 on a continuous monthly payment plan, I’ll take it! Who cares that it causes pancreatic cancer, birth defects, eventual blindness, and thick vaginal discharge with continued use? I’ll be thin and wrinkle-free. Screw the unborn progeny!
I want writing that’s worth investing precious minutes of reading, for which I’ll pay any price. I want to connect with the writer through the writing’s mental monologue. I want writing that I can’t wait to get back to after being forcibly pulled away. I want to feel devastated when the piece ends; losing the connection that can’t even be made with lovers or resumed again with another writer. I want phrases rattling through my head like an obsessive compulsive deprived of her meds who can’t purge her endless thoughts. I want words to hit me hard like the clanging of a cast iron skillet, which soothes with its brittle coolness to the touch.
I don’t want filler in print because it’s someone’s full-time job to write when they really want to edit. I want to hear from beautiful women about their continuous efforts, large and small, so I can look great naked. More important, so I can look as good as how I want my man to think I look when I’m naked.
Whoever gave us ‘heroin chic’ should be shot. A hot shot, preferably. Do anything to get them off the editorial board, further confusing normal women like me who wonder why we don’t look fab like emaciated junkies pictured.
Beauty editors lost all credibility with me - forever. I don’t trust their taste, much less their judgment. Beauty editors are blithering idiots on the dole if that’s what they claim as fashion forward. Prostitutes – all.
Don’t show me un-wearable, tacky as hell clothes that fetch more than my monthly salary for an ugly outfit. Show me middle class clothes that respectable professionals should wear. Not high flying, jet setting clothes only an oil tycoon cheating on his fifth wife would buy me as a gift.
And none of that ghetto garbage from a contrived culture lauded as authentically black. Jailhouse fashion is not what I care to pay for, much less buy into. I got an education and a future. I want to look it.
For all my considerable efforts, give me an honest benchmark of what a hot body is. Not some fictional, freakish fantasy that drives me to a bulimia-induced frenzy. I don't understand how some women in print don’t actually have knees, much less fat on them that a surgeon’s lipo tube or an artist’s airbrush kit somehow missed.
Give me a real woman to admire. I want real tits and real ass and honest flat abs to emulate. I’ll diet anyway. Weight Watchers Points, The Fat Flush Plan, The Perricone Promise – I believe, I believe! I’m already exercising. Running marathons and half-marathons, doing Combat Abs and the Magnificent Seven, skiing nowhere on the NordicTrack – I’m sweating and loving it! There are no white pants without Spanx – it’s my religion!
Magazine articles are incomplete, sensational, or blatant adverts for products with outrageous claims that we so desperately want to believe are true. They give you enough information to be interested but not enough to benefit from reading it. What a waste.
Wow, a cup of green goop can erase wrinkles, prevent cancer, spontaneously abort unwanted babies and conceive long wanted ones? At $125.00 on a continuous monthly payment plan, I’ll take it! Who cares that it causes pancreatic cancer, birth defects, eventual blindness, and thick vaginal discharge with continued use? I’ll be thin and wrinkle-free. Screw the unborn progeny!
I want writing that’s worth investing precious minutes of reading, for which I’ll pay any price. I want to connect with the writer through the writing’s mental monologue. I want writing that I can’t wait to get back to after being forcibly pulled away. I want to feel devastated when the piece ends; losing the connection that can’t even be made with lovers or resumed again with another writer. I want phrases rattling through my head like an obsessive compulsive deprived of her meds who can’t purge her endless thoughts. I want words to hit me hard like the clanging of a cast iron skillet, which soothes with its brittle coolness to the touch.
I don’t want filler in print because it’s someone’s full-time job to write when they really want to edit. I want to hear from beautiful women about their continuous efforts, large and small, so I can look great naked. More important, so I can look as good as how I want my man to think I look when I’m naked.
Beauty Secrets: My Advice for Botox and Fillers
Plastic surgery works. Creams don't. The two greatest treatments to maintain a youthful appearance are Botox and fillers.
Botox is a mild, effective, short-term paralytic. That means it paralyzes the muscles that causes wrinkles. Botox enhances most the appearance of eyes. By eliminating or reducing wrinkles in the stress etched forehead, furrows between the eyebrows, and crows feet on the outer corners of the eyes, it creates a younger looking face.
An injection smooths the forehead. Gone are frown lines between the eyebrows. Smiling still allowed, the eyes are smooth when in repose.
Botox works for about 3 - 4 months. Very expressive people or those who metabolize medicine quickly need another round of injections sooner than that. The more injections over time, the longer it lasts so that you can go many more months before needing it again.
Each area treated costs anywhere from $200 to $400, depending on the plastic surgeon and any specials they run. That means if you only treat crows feet, that is one treatment. Zapping the forehead, between the brows, and outer eyes is three treatments. Budget accordingly. And seriously, don't be cheap. Do all of it to get your money's worth or not at all.
If you get an eye lift, Botox is the best way to maintain your results. Botox injected around the eyebrows can also give you an eye lift. This is included in the crows feet injection. Be sure to ask your plastic surgeon to give you an "eye lift" with your treatment.
Botox does not treat under eyes. If you need help with "sinking" under the eyes or dark circles (shadows caused from hollowing out), consider getting fillers. Combining the filler treatment of "Muppet Mouth" with treating your eyes saves money.
I have two favorite cosmetic surgeons here in Atlanta I go to for Botox. I have referred so many of my friends to both of them. All of them have been very pleased with the results. It should be no surprise how beautiful my girlfriends are! I support all our efforts to maintain beauty and bolster confidence.
Botox is a mild, effective, short-term paralytic. That means it paralyzes the muscles that causes wrinkles. Botox enhances most the appearance of eyes. By eliminating or reducing wrinkles in the stress etched forehead, furrows between the eyebrows, and crows feet on the outer corners of the eyes, it creates a younger looking face.
An injection smooths the forehead. Gone are frown lines between the eyebrows. Smiling still allowed, the eyes are smooth when in repose.
Botox works for about 3 - 4 months. Very expressive people or those who metabolize medicine quickly need another round of injections sooner than that. The more injections over time, the longer it lasts so that you can go many more months before needing it again.
Each area treated costs anywhere from $200 to $400, depending on the plastic surgeon and any specials they run. That means if you only treat crows feet, that is one treatment. Zapping the forehead, between the brows, and outer eyes is three treatments. Budget accordingly. And seriously, don't be cheap. Do all of it to get your money's worth or not at all.
If you get an eye lift, Botox is the best way to maintain your results. Botox injected around the eyebrows can also give you an eye lift. This is included in the crows feet injection. Be sure to ask your plastic surgeon to give you an "eye lift" with your treatment.
Botox does not treat under eyes. If you need help with "sinking" under the eyes or dark circles (shadows caused from hollowing out), consider getting fillers. Combining the filler treatment of "Muppet Mouth" with treating your eyes saves money.
I have two favorite cosmetic surgeons here in Atlanta I go to for Botox. I have referred so many of my friends to both of them. All of them have been very pleased with the results. It should be no surprise how beautiful my girlfriends are! I support all our efforts to maintain beauty and bolster confidence.
- I recommend Dr. Petrosky at Plastic Surgery Center of the South. Dr. Petrosky is famous for doing the best at eye lifts. I've seen his work and he is a master. He is such an ethical doctor that he has actually turned me down for services! Who does that? His reasoning was that I wouldn't get the results I wanted for the money it costs and the pain it causes. So when he makes a recommendation, I really believe him.
Another amazing professional on his staff is Marsha Fuller. She treated my acne with Retin-A and microdermabrasion. Best of all, she helped me to restore my happiness. Marsha has also talked me out of unnecessary products and procedures. What she says, I do with absolute confidence knowing she wants the best for me. When people talk you out of wasting money, they fulfill their professional obligations. And earn a place in Heaven, I'm sure. FYI, get on Marsha's email list for invitations to Botox specials. They are great deals performed by great doctors. Also, you can get from Marsha RevitaLash at a price cheaper than ordering it online. That stuff really works! And is so much better than eyelash extensions.
Another master on staff is Pam Stowers who does permanent make-up. She have perfected my face by giving me eyebrows. I'm naturally blonde so my eyebrows are sparse and very light. Tired of stenciling, penciling, and powdering them everyday - always with uneven results - I decided to get permanent brows. I'm also very fair. Alas, the only punishment for being an Irish Rose.... So Pam framed my eyes with permanent eyeliner also. It really showcased by big, beautiful green eyes. So lovely! The final touch was the lip liner with its rosy hue. Get the nerve block when getting your lips done because the discomfort is great. I look great without make-up, a natural beauty at dawn. What a gift.
- I also recommend Dr. Kim at Kim Facial Plastic Surgery. He has given me both a brow lift and eye lift through Botox alone. Dr. Kim also specializes in facial work for Asians. Given how beautiful his office staff is, I believe by seeing for myself. Dr. Kim has also talked me out of unnecessary procedures. That earns considerable credibility and lifelong loyalty with me. At the same time, he has also given me great ideas that I want to pursue in the near future. Ask about his Botox specials and you'll be grateful.
Fillers fill wrinkles. They are used mainly for two purposes. One is smoothing out "muppet mouth" that forms a deep furrow from our nose down past our bottom lips. The other is to plump lips. Juvederm is the most popular filler these days.
My favorite filler is Radiesse for both a nasolabial filler and lip plumper. However, it is very controversial for its use around the lips because it causes nodules or bumps in the lips. With a skillful plastic surgeon - I highly recommend Dr. Petrosky - a deep injection bypasses the problem.
Radiesse and Juvederm lasts for one year or longer. It costs between $500 - $600. Get the nerve block for pain. It is so worth the $50! You'll swell more from the histamine response than from the fillers, but the swelling goes down quickly. Then gorgeous lips emerge.
I get a refill yearly, halving the dosage between my Muppet Mouth and Trout Pout. The results are fantastic! It's addictively delicious.
When you get injections done, I highly recommend SinEcch for fillers. It performs miracles at reducing bruising and swelling. So much so that I have gone to work the next day without that tell-tale bruising around my eyes and lips.
I bruise easily, so really appreciate how well it works. Before they made SinEcch for fillers, I had bruising around my mouth that some people thought were cold sores. Phew.
The scorn felt for women who get plastic surgery is so great, I preferred people think I had herpes! Truly. How pathetic is that? Ugly Americans, indeed. Not me.
God gave me the gift of great genes. Of course I am beautiful. He made me in His image.
Maxing Out On Brains and Beauty As A Consultant
I pursue beauty with dogged determination equal to my intellectual pursuits. I want the benefits of being a beautiful woman, despite the liabilities attached to the privilege of my appearance. In my estimation, there is more to win than there is to lose.
I am a senior technology consultant, working primarily as a quality assurance data architect. My product in large part is my appearance. It shows that I am a capable person consistent with my bill rate.
The first thing my prospective clients see is me. Not my professional reputation. Not my technical skills, certifications, and experience. No, my appearance is the only thing that shows my capability in delivering to them a product they are willing to pay for.
When I present myself well, they rightfully assume that I present my product just as well. I do. Although my product is data, something as impersonal as it gets.
Yet, they way I present the data must be consistent with the way I present myself. Doing so is a vote of confidence. The alternative is unemployment. My job affords my lifestyle, and so it is everything to me.
The beauty standards for consultants are the highest in corporate America. We represent the best in the business and must look it. We have the most experience, knowledge, and influence in our chosen industry. As a result, we get paid the most.
People expect that those with the most credentials and highest income look the part. So it is, the most successful consultants are also the most attractive. Everything from hairstyle and clothing to cars and computers is scrutinized endlessly by bitter rivals, otherwise known as FTEs (Full Time Employees).
We dress to impress, yes, but we must also deliver. Otherwise it is a demotion to full-time work, if we can get it. Not getting the job is our comeuppance. In a word: schadenfreude.
I am a senior technology consultant, working primarily as a quality assurance data architect. My product in large part is my appearance. It shows that I am a capable person consistent with my bill rate.
The first thing my prospective clients see is me. Not my professional reputation. Not my technical skills, certifications, and experience. No, my appearance is the only thing that shows my capability in delivering to them a product they are willing to pay for.
When I present myself well, they rightfully assume that I present my product just as well. I do. Although my product is data, something as impersonal as it gets.
Yet, they way I present the data must be consistent with the way I present myself. Doing so is a vote of confidence. The alternative is unemployment. My job affords my lifestyle, and so it is everything to me.
The beauty standards for consultants are the highest in corporate America. We represent the best in the business and must look it. We have the most experience, knowledge, and influence in our chosen industry. As a result, we get paid the most.
People expect that those with the most credentials and highest income look the part. So it is, the most successful consultants are also the most attractive. Everything from hairstyle and clothing to cars and computers is scrutinized endlessly by bitter rivals, otherwise known as FTEs (Full Time Employees).
We dress to impress, yes, but we must also deliver. Otherwise it is a demotion to full-time work, if we can get it. Not getting the job is our comeuppance. In a word: schadenfreude.
Rape Makes Beauty Dangerous
The true threat to beauty is exploitation. Especially since rape is a successful reproductive strategy of men. It is no coincidence that they select attractive young women of childbearing age.
A study cites that most rape victims have long hair, a signal of abundant health and sign of womanly beauty, and not short hair. What works for you also works against you. This includes a woman's crowning glory.
Despite the dangers, we pursue beauty. We must. The benefits are too great to forfeit to fear.
A study cites that most rape victims have long hair, a signal of abundant health and sign of womanly beauty, and not short hair. What works for you also works against you. This includes a woman's crowning glory.
Despite the dangers, we pursue beauty. We must. The benefits are too great to forfeit to fear.
The Link Between Your Looks and Lifestyle
There is big business in beauty for one reason: demographics. Every human being who isn’t otherwise killing neighbors for food and shelter cares about how they look; more so for those with access to computers. The quest to better one’s life is eternal, universal, and ordained. Yet still pathetically amusing.
The pursuit of beauty determines our lifestyle. We style our lives the way we style our appearance. Groups of women are similarly attractive as groups of men are similarly successful. That's why we have sororities and sports teams. Which ones we pay dues to or cheer on Monday nights is predicated on our looks.
We associate among those whom we most identify with, clustering together socially along the lines of looks. We seek to move to places where we best belong. Where the people look and live most like us. Yet, we belong where we already are. This is why when trailer park lottery winners go broke, they move back to where they came. Same with wealthy people who cling to their country club memberships while eating cat food just to afford the annual dues. Private agonies to support a public appearance.
Social groups converge in collectives called neighborhoods. Neighbors live alike as much as they look alike. The greatest differentiators in the pursuit of beauty gives rise to urban and rural settings. There is no point to wearing mascara when milking cows. Conversely, there's no showing up to work in a corporate setting without a "full face" and suitable attire. Dressing inappropriately is grounds for termination according to that company's dress codes. What we do for a living determines how we dress and where we live, although its determinant ultimately rests on our appearance.
The pursuit of beauty determines our lifestyle. We style our lives the way we style our appearance. Groups of women are similarly attractive as groups of men are similarly successful. That's why we have sororities and sports teams. Which ones we pay dues to or cheer on Monday nights is predicated on our looks.
We associate among those whom we most identify with, clustering together socially along the lines of looks. We seek to move to places where we best belong. Where the people look and live most like us. Yet, we belong where we already are. This is why when trailer park lottery winners go broke, they move back to where they came. Same with wealthy people who cling to their country club memberships while eating cat food just to afford the annual dues. Private agonies to support a public appearance.
Social groups converge in collectives called neighborhoods. Neighbors live alike as much as they look alike. The greatest differentiators in the pursuit of beauty gives rise to urban and rural settings. There is no point to wearing mascara when milking cows. Conversely, there's no showing up to work in a corporate setting without a "full face" and suitable attire. Dressing inappropriately is grounds for termination according to that company's dress codes. What we do for a living determines how we dress and where we live, although its determinant ultimately rests on our appearance.
Sexual Anxiety Causes Eating Disorders
I'm astonished at how people with no personal experience with a problem always know the solution. My incredulity forces me to counter their asinine assertions. I hate blowhards.
I know what I'm talking about. Been there. Done that. Bought the proverbial t-shirt.
Professionals and society alike blame the source eating disorders on media and the emphasis of skinny women in advertising. These people couldn't find the solution out of a paper bag. Not finding a way out of it, they blame the bag for being stupid!
I firmly believe that anxiety over one's sexuality is the source of eating disorders. Avoiding or indulging in intercourse as a rejection of intimacy is really the cause. How a woman deals with her inner conflict manifests itself in an eating disorder, each a reflection of her specific concern.
Americans are overtly sexual in the most immature way. This creates a lot of conflict in our minds (and hearts) individually and as a culture. The result is a seeming epidemic of eating disorders that's decades into its course.
I write more about it in my Amazon book list: So you'd like to...
Overcome Insecurities Over Appearance and Eating Disorders.
The sex-aversion-eating-disorder link is this.
I know what I'm talking about. Been there. Done that. Bought the proverbial t-shirt.
Professionals and society alike blame the source eating disorders on media and the emphasis of skinny women in advertising. These people couldn't find the solution out of a paper bag. Not finding a way out of it, they blame the bag for being stupid!
I firmly believe that anxiety over one's sexuality is the source of eating disorders. Avoiding or indulging in intercourse as a rejection of intimacy is really the cause. How a woman deals with her inner conflict manifests itself in an eating disorder, each a reflection of her specific concern.
Americans are overtly sexual in the most immature way. This creates a lot of conflict in our minds (and hearts) individually and as a culture. The result is a seeming epidemic of eating disorders that's decades into its course.
I write more about it in my Amazon book list: So you'd like to...
Overcome Insecurities Over Appearance and Eating Disorders.
The sex-aversion-eating-disorder link is this.
- Binge-eating: Being fat creates a physical barrier that prevents penetration.
Fat women do not want the rigors of sex; they want the sweetness of affection. They are attractive to men who do not want to compete for their woman with other, more successful men. Their man might feel secure in conquest, but this is a false sense of security. Overweight wives are the primary reason for marital dissatisfaction and subsequent divorce.
- Bulimia: Binging and purging is as emotionally exhausting as maintaining a relationship with a man is.
These attractive, lusty women cannot handle the emotions that sexual encounters elicit. They are physical and intense, yet overwhelmed by the exponential boomerang of their sex appeal. Therefore, they eat in a dual-reality way that mimics their confusion in the feast and famine of sex itself. Having seconds is a perpetual cycle of pleasure and pain, of rejoice and regret, of praise and penance, as indulgences are.
- Anorexia: Withering away oneself into oblivion occurs when these women cannot handle the responsibilities of womanhood.
Sex is threatening because they would break under the weight of normal men. These are delicate children needing protection and secreted away from harm. Daddy's Girls placed upon the lap of a man and held tenderly forever. Baby birds unwanted in their mother's nest. When daughters compete for her father’s eye, she cannot win the contest nor bear the weight of her crown.
On a personal level, I seriously urge people with eating disorders to get help. HOWEVER, get the help the won't hurt you. Please consider my advice.
From the ages of 17 - 27, I couldn't get my own health insurance. When I graduated from college, I had to go without health care coverage when I was unemployed or not covered by my employers. I had to join a big company that had group health insurance, which wouldn't exclude me from coverage.
You can't start or own a business when you're un-insurable. Either you won't be able to get insurance at all, which is what happened to me. Or you'll have a "rider" or waiver that will insure you, but exclude treating any pre-existing conditions. When mental illness is your condition, there's a world of care you are excluded from. If you do get insured, you won't be able to afford the rates.
- Make in-patient care as your very last resort. Typically, extreme anorexics need this type of intensive treatment. This is the same as checking into a hospital and staying there. Bulimics and less serious anorexics should consider out-patient care for rehab instead of in-patient treatment.
Before considering in-treatment rehab, watch the movie Girl, Interrupted. That is so like in-patient rehab it startled me. I didn't do in-patient care, but many of my good friends did. This experience is real, and you want to avoid it unless you are suicidal. I'm talking 'razor blades to wrists' or '60 lbs with ribs sticking out and cutting people kind' of craziness. Not just discomfort or confusion craziness.
Curiously enough, going through bootcamp was freakishly like rehab! Maybe because it is so institutional. Also because of the tremendous camaraderie among the ranks. Nothing like gallows humor to pull you through hell and back.
Checking into rehab is a good thing, but treatment will most assuredly make you un-insurable for a good 10 years - if not longer.
- Try Overeaters Anonymous as your first step. Because of its private nature and anonymity, getting help never gets tracked on insurance forms or employee records. This is terrific!
I found OA to be the most successful with binge eaters and bulimics. Anorexics tend to stubborn as hell, so have a much harder time working the program. But still, I know many who have done very well in their recovery. I am so proud of them!
The issue of insurance covering mental illness is important. Treating mental disorders is very expensive. There's no cap for treating mental illness the way there is for physical conditions like getting a knee replaced or quadruple by-pass.
There's a logical end to physical conditions, but no conceive able end to being nuts. Crazy is for life. But with good help, happiness is also.
If you struggle with an eating disorder, and I can't imagnine not struggling with one, know there is help. But get for yourself the kind of help that won't hurt you.
How Your Country's Culture Codes Defines Beauty
Beauty matters because it inspires human achievement. Profound beauty reveals to us our own potential. So we feel compelled to possess it. To possess its trans-formative powers and call it our own. Yet, possessing beauty is dangerous. As is its pursuit.
Many say that money is the root of all evil. That's misguided for what money affords you. Money buys beauty in all its myriad forms. From the base of Maslow's Hierarchy in terms of securing food and shelter to its pinnacle: time to self-actualize. Beauty is the ultimate privilege and proof of success. Attain beauty and toil no more.
Every country has its own Culture Code. In Italy, beauty is pervasive and celebrated. This is because there is a balance of power between men and woman with its complementary roles. From its people to their cars and the cuisine, everything and everyone is beautiful. Bodies and buildings showcase its sublime design and an aesthetic ideal. Balconies and street-side staircases are adorned with blooming geraniums. A celebration of the sweet life is La Dolce Vita. This is true of all the Mediterranean cultures. Same can be said for Latin American cultures for its Italian influences.
Yet, in America, beauty is secretive in its pursuits and dangerous of its possession. How can it not be when there is a decades long War of the Sexes? Conflict always results from scarcity when people compete for diminishing resources. The core of this conflict is in who owns beauty.
Many say that money is the root of all evil. That's misguided for what money affords you. Money buys beauty in all its myriad forms. From the base of Maslow's Hierarchy in terms of securing food and shelter to its pinnacle: time to self-actualize. Beauty is the ultimate privilege and proof of success. Attain beauty and toil no more.
Every country has its own Culture Code. In Italy, beauty is pervasive and celebrated. This is because there is a balance of power between men and woman with its complementary roles. From its people to their cars and the cuisine, everything and everyone is beautiful. Bodies and buildings showcase its sublime design and an aesthetic ideal. Balconies and street-side staircases are adorned with blooming geraniums. A celebration of the sweet life is La Dolce Vita. This is true of all the Mediterranean cultures. Same can be said for Latin American cultures for its Italian influences.
Yet, in America, beauty is secretive in its pursuits and dangerous of its possession. How can it not be when there is a decades long War of the Sexes? Conflict always results from scarcity when people compete for diminishing resources. The core of this conflict is in who owns beauty.
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