Author’s program note. In 1962 one of the grandest American musicals hit the cinemas of the Great Republic. It was Meredith Wilson’s “The Music Man”… and we got up and marched as we heard its effervescent score. No high fallutin’ Eye-talian music you had to scratch your head about, understanding hardly a word.

No, this was Iowa music, Kansas music, music every last citizen of Tennessee and Oklahoma could understand, every last word. As for the star, insinuating Robert Preston; we all knew someone like him… scamp, con man, plausible trickster redeemed by the love of a good woman.

Oh, yes, “The Music Man” was something we could get our teeth into… which is why, a mere lad, I was set the onerous task of mastering its “76 Trombones” on the piano; for the next school recital. Anyone but a doting mother and her unctuous piano teacher, who had wife and children (and, I always thought, a bit of a drinking problem) to support would have looked at me on that concrete piano bench (or so it seemed) and blurted out the first words that came to mind: “He stinks!” But those words were not heard until…

… the day of the school recital.

Kids good got up and did their bit… that didn’t take so long, since there weren’t so many of them… and it was obvious which ones had worked hard and deserved the top prizes.

Then kids, carefully turned out in best bib and tucker, got up and did their mediocre bit. A large chunk of my classmates found themselves in this category; having done some work, but not enough to reap the blue ribbons that said “First Prize”. They got the red ribbons… just good enough to assuage anxious parents.

Finally, there were the kids who had to be pushed — umbrella ferule in the small of their back — to get up and recite… or dance… or play an uncooperative instrument. And I — and my ragged rendition of “76 Trombones” — was in this group… stinkers all. But awarded notwithstanding an Honorable Mention and a few seconds of rousing, possibly even sincere applause, lead by mothers who would never admit — much less on school recital day — their little Hannah, Billie and Mike were anything other than paragons; “most likely to succeed” tattooed on their foreheads.

Privately, however, even some of the mothers gave vent to the truth; being Midwestern they just couldn’t help themselves…. “They stink!” I heard them say… and then “Jeffrey stinks!”

And so truth came to River City. Truth, embarrassment, red-faced humiliation… which could not be assuaged by any white ribbon that said Honorable Mention. It all poured out now; how I was horrid… tone deaf… rhythm challenged… note oblivious… absolutely hopeless…. hot words that caused my little brother (who had a lifetime of Jeffrey plaudits to work through) to dance with glee… “Ol’ Jeffrey stinks.” On this day of days he just couldn’t say it enough and knew a profound happiness long deferred. He talks about it to this very day.

I was 15, I was humiliated, I was determined this would not be the end of the story… …. and that’s why I won the next recital prize fair and square… because I was resolved, and fiercely too, that “Jeffrey stinks” would not be the last word on this subject…

… In other words, from abashment and humiliation came triumph and reward. So it worked for me on the grave matter of the school piano recital and so it is about to work for you in your business. For I am about to urge that all your business failures, slothful habits, egregious errors, failure to achieve significant results; that all of these, things which have placed you well and truly amongst the stinkers… be brought out… and publicized to the world; thereby ensuring that your humiliation be thorough and detailed…

Why?

So that you will do everything needful, yes move heaven and earth, to ensure you are never, ever in that shocking place again, your dunce cap retired, your name no more ridiculed but revered, honored and extolled, which is the only way it should be.

Consider how you did “business” yesterday, the day before, the day before that…

Have you done the necessary to profit? Did you get up early to handle all aspects of your prospect-generating machine? Did you generate prospects? Follow up (and especially telephone) prospects? Did you make offers, improve offers, and improve these offers again until you had a deal and the money that accompanies it? If so, you made money… and have every right to be happy with yourself… for you are a true and faithful business impresario and you deserve every penny and every compliment you got.

You did get that profit and those compliments, didn’t you? Well, didn’t you? If not, it’s time for an alternative approach to the business of helping you succeed in business. It’s time for the motivating Failure Awards, a kick in the pants like no other.

Imagine the following scenario. You wake up tomorrow, go to your website, and see emblazoned across it these words

“You have just been dishonored with the

BIG-TIME LOSER OF THE DAY PRIZE.

Trustees of the foundation have selected you because you didn’t do one darn thing yesterday, absolutely nothing, to make money, generate leads, work with leads, make offers, close deals and build your business.

Yep, you are on the bottom of the heap, no money in the till and none expected or possible, until you change the way you do ‘business’ so that you can profit from it.

Then you see a picture of yourself festooned with mulish ears… with a caption that says simply

LOSER OF THE DAY… (then the date).”

Your reaction?

How will you feel when you see this? I’ll tell you, you’ll fly into an unparalleled rage… condemning everyone… everyone, that is, except the one person whose lack of constructive endeavors got you there in the first place: that would be you!

Your lack of effort got you this (boobie) prize. It’s only your constructive efforts that can get you out.

But will you make them?

In my humble opinion you will do so faster, with more energy and determination if you publish the unpalatable truth, shining full, unyielding light on the success you didn’t get, letting the world see your inadequacies. You will hate this situation and rightly so, for being amongst such a passel of losers is humiliating indeed.

That’s why you should award yourself this egregious and sick-making award… and spend the rest of this day and every day doing what is necessary to expunge it and reap the substantial benefits which you’ll get when you do.

Now go to any search engine. Play “76 trombones” and get in the mood for success, joy, and many happy returns of the day, a day where failure is just a word in the dictionary.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Details at worldprofit.com

Author’s program note. I doubt that the subject of today’s article is familiar with the celebrated English novelist E.M. Forster, but he ought to be. Foster’s famous aphorism “Only connect” is the basis for what is already one of the greatest fortunes in the history of the world. Only connect… and the world is your oyster, all the oysters and all the pearls within them, too.

For what is the secret to the vast Zuckerberg fortune but an understanding that people need people, crave connection with them, need togetherness and a place to hang out. And so today I have selected as the incidental music for this article, the song made famous by Barbra Streisand (1964), “People”, composed by Jule Styne; lyrics by Bob Merrill.

Go now to any search engine and listen to that soaring Streisand sound. Forster got it… Streisand got it… and now Zuckerberg has enabled everyone in the world to get it, for no one more than he, in the entire history of mankind, has connected more people than he has, as effortlessly as he has. And that is both good and not good… as we shall see.

Meet Mark Zuckerberg.

Whether you are familiar with Mark Zuckerberg depends to a considerable extent on your age and Internet savvy. The greater the one, the less the other, the more this soon to be iconic name will be unknown… and that, of course, means you’re the oldest of fogies… and must instantly make amends. I intend to make that very easy for you.

Zuckerberg was born on May 14, 1984 in a “Leave It to Beaver” town with the quintessential name of Dobbs Ferry, New York. His life consisted of the very best and most appealing of what suburban life in the Great Republic offers; his father a dentist, his mother (before the birth of her four children), a psychiatrist. His was a loving, close-knit family that valued the most important thing of all: education, and made sure Mark got the best.

He was a prodigy from his earliest days; spurred on by his parents, who supplied tutorial assistance for this gifted boy, who seemed to know from conception that computers were his destiny, as they were for the world. He was sent to one of the Great Republic’s most celebrated prep schools, Phillips Exeter Academy, where he captained the school’s fencing team. Then, like so many of his gifted classmates, he made the expected move to Harvard… There in his now famous dorm room, right across the street from where I am writing, he began the steps that would not only make him one of history’s wealthiest people… Croesus and Midas being pikers by comparison… but a social innovator of literally cosmic significance.

But all that is hindsight. At Harvard, Zuckerberg with his boyish grin that won’t quit, danced administrators a merry measure. Harvard is famous for dealing with exceptional students; they are there, after all, precisely because they are exceptional… and, as often, difficult… as they try the patience of lesser deans charged with riding genius with a deft hand… and a recognition that these students will in due course rule the Great Republic and many other nations, its businesses and nonprofit organizations of every kind, and one tech enterprise after another. Future success — and generous donations to Harvard — must never be forgotten… and never are.

Zuckerberg, hacking meister.

Harvard was, of course, familiar with young men of technical brilliance for whom The World’s Greatest University, though undoubtedly an honor, moved just too slow. Quick, can you say Bill Gates?

Zuckerberg was impatient with things others deemed appropriate and suitable for him; a common Harvard malady. He had a sense, growing clearer by the day, of what he wanted, and it wasn’t writing term papers on recherche’ subjects minutes before they were due.

No, he wanted a career on the Internet, something his young generation “got” which was (and to a considerable extent still is) terra incognita to its woefully clueless parents. Not to put too fine a point on it, he spent his time at Harvard inventing what every red- blooded boy wants: a simple, effortless, infallible way to pick up chicks (and their hunky male equivalents.) And there was the Internet, universal, revolutionary, exhilarating right before him…. How could this force be put to work assisting the massive energies of “the urge to merge,” the most powerful drive in the lives of everyone on this planet, especially adolescents pulsating with untrammeled desire…

Mark, a recognized “go-to” guy at Harvard for solving computer problems, first invented something scholastically useful: “CourseMatch” which gave students absolutely candid (and hence often abashing to instructors) reviews of all courses and professors. It was an instant, irreverent hit…

Then, he invented Facemash, which matched pictures of two students, asking teen-aged connoisseurs to deliver comments on the various merits (and demerits) of each. Needless to say, comments were often rude, crude, hurtful… and funny. Harvard stepped in and killed this enterprise as “inappropriate”. And chastised Zuckerberg, who, to get the personal information Facemash required, hacked into protected areas of Harvard’s sensitive and strictly private computer network. Its popularity was undoubted — 22,000 photo-views in its first four hours alone. But what was equally undoubted was Zuckerberg’s blatant disregard of privacy and misuse of other people’s data, issues which will always be part and parcel of his business life and fortune.

Facebook.

In February, 2004 Zuckerberg launched “Thefacebook” at www.thefacebook.com All hell broke loose amongst Zuckerberg’s classmates — Cameron Winklevoss, Tyler Winklevoss, and Divya Narendra — who complained he was using their ideas. They sued, got a settlement and for the rest of their lives — no matter how successful they may well be — will always be overshadowed by Zuckerberg, and no matter how many bucks they settled for… It Will Never Be Enough. Just as the hapless owner of the domain name facebook.com probably says, getting a mere $200,000 for a name that is now worth untold riches. But it is in the nature of entrepreneurs to see things others don’t and reap an avalanche of benefits as a result… and, why not? For after all they shouldered all the risks which are real enough and daunting.

Young, richer than rich, the apple of Wall Street’s eye.

Mark Zuckerberg is now not merely a role model to every young techie just out of rompers, but a titan amongst plutocrats, whom he can now buy and sell. He is said to be quiet, unassuming, polite, never flaunting his fabulous wealth. But his may be the technical equivalent of “The Portrait of Dorian Gray.” We shall just have to wait and see.

As for Zuckerberg, he should be reminded of the aphorism by Satchel Paige, “Don’t look back. Something may be gaining on you.” Because you can bet on it, Zuckerberg and the wealth of Facebook with over 800,000,000 members, one-third of all the Internet’s ad revenues, and a mailing list worth billions and billions more, is now the target…

With the Initial Public Offering for Facebook stock coming very soon, this month, Zuckerberg has other things on his mind, like what’s a young man, just 27 years old, to do with 28 billion dollars, give or take a buck? There aren’t enough things on our tired old planet to purchase… as he’ll soon find out.

But while he’s wondering how many zeroes there are in all those billions, he should never stop focusing on how to improve his corporate baby, for he must tend its cornucopia of information with strict regards for privacy, and he has a bad record here. He must root out the millions of underaged users (13 being the threshold) and urge them, with all due respect, to do more with their lives then develop oversized posteriors clicking computer keys.

He must urge all members to tell the truth (to be barred if they do not), for the “Veritas” (truth) he learned at Harvard is in lamentable short supply online, with Facebook members amongst the worst offenders…. Finally, he must work assiduously with all law enforcement personnel for Facebook is a haven for every human vice and malefactor on Earth. Use some of your mind-boggling fortune to preserve what is best about Facebook where happy serendipity is a constant occurrence and must remain so.

** We invite you to post your comments to this article below.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Details at worldprofit.com

Author’s program note. Here is the most important four-letter word in the entire English language: home. It conjures up and is connected to every element of the well-lived life: spouse, family, peace, comfort, security. Nothing can match its importance, nothing can duplicate its significance. Nothing is more powerful than our memories of home and their enduring pull, always tugging at our heart strings. Home and its rhythms, its well remembered aspects, its secrets, its traditions, its confidences, its ways so well known and carefully maintained… these have a power over us that never fails, never pales, never wavers, never diminishes, and are always clear, fresh, joyful, unforgettable, bittersweet, haunting, the sweetest memories of our entire life.

This is an article on the moment that comes to each of us… when this home, our very special, irreplaceable place, must be given up because its proprietors can no longer maintain it, now needing particular care themselves. This is an article about a moment poignant, sad, dreadful, irrevocable. It is about the people who take this step first, our parents… then about their children, us, who will trod the difficult road, too, but not yet… and what they must do today, a day of emotional turmoil, distress, a day for which all preparation is inadequate.

For this article I have selected the song “My Old Kentucky Home” (1852) by America’s first great composer, Stephen Foster. It is one of the most wistful, longing songs of our country… and whenever one hears it one thinks, and tearful too, of one’s own home, now gone, far away, never to be replaced, always to be remembered, the more so as the destination you are now going to can never be a home like the one left behind. Go now to any search engine. Find and play it at once. It is the perfect accompaniment to this article.

The call.

The call we all fear, cannot bear thinking about, but must think about — comes the day our aging parents first consider assisted living, whether outwardly calm and willing, or fighting the hopeless battle to avoid this fate, roiled by turbulent emotions deep within, so clearly visible without.

Assisted living.

The words “assisted living” are two of the most frightening and disturbing in our language. It is easy to see why. Assisted living is mostly the province of the retired, the ill, the aging, geriatric survivors of better times. As such it is a venue to be put off and avoided whenever possible, for as long as possible; as much so as if each assisted living facility had posted at its front door this immemorial admonition from Dante’s “Inferno”: “Abandon all hope ye who enter here.”

Such institutions are perceived as the final way station before cosmic extinction; the place one enters unhappy, angry, misunderstood, and which one leaves dead; the place for the irremediably old, those who are past it, marginal, unconsidered, beyond the care and concern of anyone other than those paid to care and be concerned; lonely people of the Eleanor Rigby variety.

All of life…

Assisted living, with its implied inadequacies and dependence, is always and often indignantly compared to the joy of independent living, where you do what you want, when you want, with whom you want, in just the way you want; in other words the kind of living each of us desires, insists upon, and does everything possible to maintain. Assisted living, of course, is widely perceived as the antithesis of the desired independent living.

But this is wrong.

ALL living is assisted living. For unless you are rabidly antisocial and determined to remain that way, alone, isolated, happy and contented in your aloneness, you are assisted — every single day — by people whose aim is to make you reasonably happy, reasonably content, and reasonably comfortable. Thus, in truth, when one moves from living regarded as independent to living regarded as assisted, one is evolving from one kind of care to another kind of care; one is tweaking circumstances the better to ensure the maximum continuation of your desired life style. One is not undergoing metamorphosis, but comparative and necessary improvement.

Sadly, most people undergoing this process are unable to see this, or at least to state it to guilt-ridden relatives who are thus distressed by the painful thought that Aunt Martha is being cast off rather than moved to an appropriate level of care, concern, and consideration. Most assisted living facilities these days resemble college campuses or resorts; they know the grief, anger, recriminations and distress which new residents bring and work hard to create an atmosphere that is at once attractive, even beautiful; livable, practical, and serene, factors which soothe the guilt of those recommending assisted living to those near and dear but are often dismissed as inadequate or unimportant by those being recommended into the facility.

Receiving the intelligence.

Twice in my life, so far, have I been a participant to greater or lesser degree, in conversations surrounding the movement of one near and beloved to assisted living. The first such conversations involved my mother; the second set involved my father. These conversations could hardly have been less similar — or more instructive about the principals involved and affected.

My mother, student of Dylan Thomas that she was, did not, nor could not, go gentle into this good night. She raged, raged against what she was sure was the dying of the light. Despite weakening health and the myriad of problems stemming therefrom my mother fought hard, strenuously, vociferously, painfully against the notion of “incarceration” in an assisted living facility, thereby branded as penal institution, not comfortable necessity. Her transition from living deemed independent to living deemed assisted was therefore protracted, painful, packed with imprecations, denigrations, accusations, maledictions which made Emile Zola’s famous declaration “J’accuse” look sniveling.

My father handled the matter entirely different… and I suspect this was partly because he will have with him his wife Ellie; to be alone at life’s end is painful; to be partnered with a loved mate lessons the pain while increasing the means to combat and to live with it.

Sad, wistful, practical, accepting.

When my father called yesterday to inform me that he and Ellie had made arrangements to share their dwindling, most precious days together in assisted living, I felt a lump in my throat. He extolled the grounds, their private apartment, the food, the friendly residents… but whether he believed all this as stated or was just trying out what would become the stock reason or their move, I cannot say… for I was reflecting on a few words that he had said.

Entering the dining room where they would find their daily meals, he was surprised to find it peopled with the old, feeble, and infirm. Could this be he at 86, Ellie at 87? Or had some mistake occurred? She, knowing how difficult it had to be for him to transform his independent life to one “assisted”, took his hand and reassured him that no mistake was made; they were in the right place, which he would soon know, if he did not know already. And thus these proud, fiercely independent souls, more used to assisting others than being assisted, move into the next phase of their lives, together, facts faced, practical decisions made, gently, calmly, with love and care. And I admired my father so, not merely as son to father, but as man to man. For he faced the difficult, the fearful, the unpalatable, with grace, quietude, reserve, with good judgement, good humor, and a good wife, well stocked and ready for the journey ahead… which they will travel similarly and with kindness, above all with kindless and the help of those glad to assist them, and with kindness too.

** We invite you to post your comments to this article.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Details at worldprofit.com

Author’s program note. In 1894 Captain Alfred Dreyfus, artillery captain for the General Staff of France, was charged with treason and espionage… thereby inaugurating one of the most outrageous and ignoble events in the entire history of France.

It was a story of lies… but not by Dreyfus.

It was the story of evidence made up… evidence tampered with… evidence destroyed… but not by Dreyfus.

It was the story of grave injustice… deliberately done and with malice… but not by Dreyfus.

It was the story of a man attacked, mauled, censored, imprisoned, humiliated, villified because of his religion… but not by Dreyfus.

And above all it is the story of how one man with brilliant, slashing language changed the entire debate… securing at long last freedom, restitution and justice for Dreyfus.

This man was celebrated novelist Emile Zola who took just two words and transformed them into the most powerful weapon on earth… two words that galvanized a nation, securing the attention and support of the good people of France who, because of Zola, were outraged by the terrible and enduring blot on the honor of France… and who joined their voices to his in the service of truth.

J’accuse!

These are the words — I accuse — which by making the outrages clear — began the healing process that saved France from ignominy and redeemed her. Now I intend to use the great model created by Zola and to save you from business ignominy… to redeem you… and enable you to profit online… for you have been doing everything possible to fail… and little or nothing to succeed.

To help you on your way I have selected the soaring 1937 score Max Steiner wrote for the Best Picture of the Year; “The Life of Emile Zola” starring Paul Muni. Such grand music must enable success… so go to any search engine now and play it. We are ready to begin the transforming process that starts with “I accuse…” and ends with “I salute…”, wafted on our way by the grandeur of Steiner’s composition.

I accuse you of not understanding what business is… of understanding that business is now and always will be about two things and two things only: the generation of prospect leads… and following up with each and every one of these leads to make offers and close business.

I accuse you of engaging in endless trivia every day, focusing on anything and everything instead of generating prospects… and calling these prospects, to work with them and begin the development of the business relationships necessary to secure success.

I accuse you of trying to run a business solely by email… trying that is to motivate people to buy without doing the most important thing to profit: picking up the phone, calling prospects, engaging prospects, building relations with prospects.

I accuse you of sloth, laziness, of sitting around and waiting for success, instead of doing what is necessary — everything that’s necessary — to build the business you say you want… but for which there is absolutely no evidence that you have ever done on its behalf any meaningful thing at all.

I accuse you of the sin of inertia… of waiting, waiting, waiting, for, what?, a sign from Heaven, an email from God? I accuse you of not knowing what needs to be done, of not educating yourself so that you know how to do it, and not doing the least thing to secure your success.

I accuse you of spending more time gossiping on the phone with people who cannot make you richer (your best friend, your bowling buddies, the chick you met bar hopping last week) instead of using the phone to do what it does so well… connecting with the people who can buy from you, buy now, and make you money every single day.

I accuse you of trying to build your online business alone, all by yourself, when all the evidence says this is not possible, is absolutely impossible, because there is too much to do…too many things to master… and insufficient time to learn them, then do them. You need a team… and you need it at once.

I accuse you of the sin of talking about success far more than doing the necessary deeds and actions that ensure success. You have become, thereby, a specialist in the endless rhetoric and bombastic language of success, while achieving nothing. It is time, therefore, past time, to cease and censure the flatulent babble and get on with the doing.

I accuse you of not staying at your post every day until you have achieved the financial objective you have set for yourself for this day, focusing, persisting until you have achieved this goal… every penny of this goal.

I accuse you of coddling yourself, of a too prompt tendency to forgive your inadequacies, overlook the negatives, whitewash your poor performances, rationalize your failings, pooh pooh each and every peccadillo, extol too greatly minor triumphs instead of pushing on to make the insignificant significant.

The words used by Zola to end his famous declamation to French president Felix Faure, January 13, 1898:

“I have but one passion: to enlighten those who have been kept in the dark, in the name of humanity which has suffered too much and is entitled to happiness. My fiery protest is simply the cry of my very soul.”

I couldn’t say it better myself, so won’t try. Zola’s letter changed the world… my hope is that this changes yours.

** We invite you to post your comments to this article below.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Details at worldprofit.com

When asked to provide some feedback on how he achieved this, Les said, “Focusing on what is important and that is daily marketing.”

On behalf of everyone at Worldprofit Inc., and the entire Worldprofit Home Business community we offer our congratulations to Les Dunn. We see how hard you are working Less, constantly promoting, we are so pleased to see your hard work is paying off.

And to each of you he is working hard to build your business – keep up the great work! Our Top Sellers didn’t achieve this in a short time, they put in the time and effort and patience to learn and profit. You are in the right place to learn and be supported as you grow your business.

Each week George Kosch, Worldprofit’s Home Business Bootcamp Instructor helps people learn how to earn online using proven effective strategies. Be sure to attend the LIVE training on Friday Feb 3rd at 10 AM CT to learn what YOU need to make consistent income from home. Maybe YOU will be February’s Top Seller? Take the first step toward earning money from home – attend the training. Watch, learn, bring a pen and paper.

* * * * * *

Worldprofit started on a kitchen table back in 1994, in Edmonton, AB. Canada. Since then we have grown to be for many, the #1 source for training, support and resources for building an online business. Get a free Associate Membership at Details at worldprofit.com

Author’s program note. In 1936 the world was transfixed by a story so big, so engrossing, so incredible that only the Second Coming could have topped it. It was the story of Edward VIII, King of England, Emperor of India… and a twice- married American lady from Baltimore, Maryland — Mrs. Simpson. It was billed as history’s greatest love affair… but, as this article unfolds… you may very well draw a very different conclusion.

But let’s start by playing the tune I’ve selected to accompany this article…. “Exactly Like You”. Go to any search engine to find this number. It was written in 1930 by Jimmy McHugh and Dorothy Fields. I swear by the rendition by Louis Armstrong. You won’t be able to get it out of your head; kind of like the king’s catastrophic obsession with his Wallis… for of all the women in the world who wanted him, he had to have her, the very worst choice imaginable.. to the consternation and disgust of the empire on which the sun never set.

The most important boy in the world.

When your great grandmother is Queen Victoria, ruler of half the world; when your grandfather is King Edward VII, called the Uncle of Europe, because his relations ruled over virtually everything; when your father is King George V and your mother is Queen Mary… your birth, life, and every single breath you take is an event… important, eagerly awaited, commented upon, chronicled. In short, it is life in the grandest fish bowl on Earth; for in return for unimaginable wealth, celestial status, and the adoration and veneration of untold millions… you give up any semblance of a personal life… any semblance of privacy. You belong not to yourself… but to your subjects, the people of England and of all the Dominions beyond the seas…

This was Edward Albert Christian George Andrew Patrick David, born in 1894, called David by his family and Your Royal Highness by everyone else. The world envied him… but his life was anything but enviable… his parents saw to that.

George (1865–1936) & Mary (1867-1953).

The argument for monarchy goes like this: in a turbulent, uncertain, unpredictable and therefore alarming world, a sovereign is eternal, stable, stalwart, an institution you can trust to be here tomorrow, because it was here yesterday and the day before that. A sovereign rises above the trivia of today, able to take the long view, high above the fray and the little concerns of little men. Having everything, wanting nothing, monarchs can be trusted with the concerns of the nation they exist to improve, to serve, to uplift and inspire.

This is all very well…. but where do you find such larger than life paragons? Certainly not in the lives of George and Mary, people frightened by their unceasing responsibilities and the constant burden of having to appear just so to a world which evaluated, and minutely too, every move they made, every action, every decision.

Most assuredly neither George nor Mary were such people… and therefore like so many people fearful of making a mistake (and being roundly criticized) they embraced rigid severity… and so sought to cover up their many inadequacies as people by a unceasingly stern and unapproachable demeanor. It looked good on ceremonial occasions… for then they were regal indeed… but life lived this way was tormenting to all concerned… especially for the two young princes Edward and Albert, future Edward VIII and George VI.

They were boys who needed love, tender care, affection… but were ignored by their colder than ice mother for whom a peck on the cheek was excessive… and constantly admonished by their father, a man who became king only because his elder brother died young thereby bequeathing the empire and his expected wife, Mary of Teck, to his younger brother Georgie, a man who rose far above his abilities, a man who knew nothing about human relations and thought that communication was nothing more than the business of barking orders and having them instantly complied with.

In such a world how could the little princes of Windsor emerge as anything other than flawed, wanting… and rebellious.

Prince of change.

All children go through a rebellious stage where “no!” is their favorite word. Do you want this? No! Do you want that? No! How about something else? No, again! But in the fullness of time even the most argumentative three year old comes out of this phase and starts growing up. But David of Windsor never did. Whatever was tried, true, traditional, standard… he wanted nothing to do with, wanted to change it, not slowly and unobtrusively but now in the most jarring and thoughtless of ways. He wanted what he wanted, when he wanted it… and as Prince of Wales from 1910… he was in a position to get it, especially as he came to understand how much the world loved and admired him.

Wobbly monarchy, high-flying adored prince.

World War I saw the demise of the great imperial dynasties of Europe, the Habsburgs of Austria, the Hohenzollerns of Germany, the Romanovs of Russia… all swept away. The only major dynasty left was in England, and it was headed by the uninspiring, unimaginative, fretful George V who was majesty in nothing but name. The dynasty needed youth… glamor… connection to the restive peoples of the empire. And for this role there was only one man available… David, now Prince of Wales… a man who shed glamor and allure on the Roaring Twenties. His world tours (from 1919) made him a world celebrity… and lonely.

He tried women, he tried booze, he tried drugs… but because he could have everything, nothing made him happy. Nothing that is except the thrills and freedoms of the Great Republic, particularly its greatest city, New York. Only there were there sufficient dissipations and indiscretions. Besides, just stepping foot in America enraged both his parents, and that made these trips delicious.

Then he met Wallis Warfield Simpson, a woman with a sordid past and two living husbands… a past that could outrage every convention and agitate the world he was destined to rule… a world that bored and annoyed him. Wallis offered him what he truly craved: submission for that was her secret… she gave the man everyone kow-towed to the gift of abasement…. the power to get the man to whom all knelt to kneel to her….

She, of course, despised him, but using him as he wanted her to use him would make her a world figure, maybe even Queen-Empress. She was ill-advised on this point, and so overplayed her cards. Instead of a boyish sovereign over whom she could rule, she got after his abdication in 1936 a semblance of a man whom she systematically and publicly humiliated for the rest of his life. He cried… he sobbed… he adored. It was the perfect relationship, exactly what he wanted. And, after all, isn’t that what love is for?

For as Louis Armstrong sings,

“I know why I’ve waited Know why I’ve been blue I’ve been waiting each day For someone exactly like you… You make me feel so grand I wanna give this world to you…”

… and he almost did.

Honi soit qui mal y pense.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Details at worldprofit.com

Author’s program note. As far as I can tell, everyone in the world has either run a personal ad (mostly online), is running one at this moment… or will run one before you can say “Jack Robinson.” This means you. The question is not whether you will use personal ads… but whether they’ll deliver the exact person you are seeking. Sadly, the vast majority of personal ads cannot deliver the bacon (or the cheese cake or the beef cake). They just don’t provide enough detail and so are quite capable of delivering the Wrong Prospects. Witness the personal ad celebrated by Jimmy Buffet in the tune that made Pina Coladas mandatory Happy Hour fare as you bar hopped in pursuit of nirvana.

Start by going to any search engine and listen to Buffet’s anthem. It was written by Rupert Holmes and recorded in 1979. It’s official title is “Escape” but hardly anyone knows that except Buffet who became with each insouciant word the recognized master of la dolce far niente… or, since most of you know no Eye-talian, the art of doing absolutely nothing… and doing it with the utmost style and grace, but without ever breaking a sweat.

Buffet’s tune makes it clear why personals as currently structured are silly, pointless, absolutely certain to deliver people you wouldn’t be seen dead with. I mean, who doesn’t like getting caught in the rain (given the right person on your arm)… who doesn’t hate yoga…. and is hardly into health foods… but insists on champagne? Add long walks on a beach, making love at midnight in the dunes of the cape, and holding hands at the cinema… and you’ve got the personal ad in all its banal insipidity.

The wonder is not that they don’t work for most people investing hope, time and money in them; the wonder is that they work for anyone at all… but then there are people (one hopes not you) who can be fully described with a few generic phrases. Avoid them like the plague.

Time for rethinking the personal ad.

In the olden days when personals appeared solely in newspapers and a few progressive publications like the alumni magazine for Harvard and such finicky folk as insisted on making known their preference for classical composers, stock brokers, and obscure holiday destinations; in those days one paid by the word and through the nose. Publishers counted on your desperation and longing to fill their coffers. Even the august Times of London cleaned up with such ads, universally called the agony column and always run on Page 1: “Should the fine lady in the blue mantle with yellow sleeves exiting the horse cars at Grosvenor Square Thursday last at 10:59 a.m. desire the acquaintance of a gentleman of means…”, but you get the picture.

When writing such ads, where each word raised the cost, it was necessary to cultivate the virtues of laconic language, short, sweet, clipped. The objective was always to meet the person ardently desired but spend pennies, not pounds. As a result, it was understandable, even excusable when advertisers slashed words; robust clarity at all times was desirable… but unaffordable.

Enter the Internet.

The very first thing I learned about the ‘net was that it’s boundless, inexhaustible, absolutely unlimited. Thus, it can hold, maintain and preserve infinity. The implications of this fact are fathomless, too… not least on the matter of creating personal ads that get you the long-awaited apple of your eye. For now, since we have an infinity of space, there can be absolutely no excuse for writing and posting ads which are at once jejune, inadequate, and platitudinous in the extreme. They don’t work, can never work, and must be abandoned, jettisoned, abjured, forsaken and, in case you miss the point, tossed into the dustbin of history at once.

Now you can write this all-important ad without being hobbled and restricted. You are at last permitted, nay empowered and directed to write what must be written, the ad, the whole ad, and nothing but the ad.

… but this will take careful thought and planning, for it is doubtful ere now that even one personal advertiser has written the magnificent advertisement you are about to write, edit, post, and benefit from for a lifetime. As such the most scrupulous planning is de rigueur and cannot be stinted.

Two people, two parts.

A good personal ad, which is to say an ad that accomplishes the desired objective, must be divided into two parts: half about who you are; half about what you desire in the person you wish to present the key to your (probably much bruised) heart.

Brainstorming, musing, total honesty.

Now, we all know that everyone, absolutely everyone lies in their personal ads. Excess pounds disappear as if by magic; years are thrust in the dresser drawer; educational degrees are now cited from institutions which scorned the pleasure of your company; financial net worth up, all manner of imperfections down; spouses of decades unmentioned, and the eight darling children, too. This is the nature of the beast… until now. Now you have the space to tell everything… and complete details on the extenuating circumstances. Yes, you were flunked out of Alma Mater, but it was most assuredly not your fault… and you insist upon making the full dossier available right here and now. You have the space; honesty is desirable; and your bringing up the subject at all proves what a gem you are.

Thus instead of lying about the pounds you haven’t lost, cite the reasons why. Honestly own up to the fact that your dietary habits are lax; list all your favorite foods… and the rate you consume them. List your last month’s worth of dinner menus… and be scrupulous, entirely above board with everything you consumed, the kind of dishes on which you served the repast, and exactly what you did with the left-overs. You want your soon-to-be beloved to know you, fully, completely and so ardently; for after all, honesty is the bedrock of every meaningful relationship, don’t you agree?

The desired one.

Once you have gathered all the critical intelligence about yourself, proceed at once to Part 2 of your ad, the absolutely crucial verbiage about the person to whom you wish to extend the glorious honor of sharing bed and board. Your complete and total focus is required. Again, brainstorm every desirable point, giving equal attention to what you do not want and cannot abide, and what you must have, a deal killer if not readily available, and in the desired quantity, too.

Starting this list is easy, almost effortless. You either want a smoker… or you don’t. You either can accept pets (even the most exotic)… or you can’t. But make it a point to move beyond these obvious points. Consider such matters as the odor you desire in a mate; how many showers per day; the kind, frequency and intensity of bodily hygiene. Honesty is required, and so honesty there must be. And if the length of your ad grows long and weighty, what of it? What you are doing here impacts the curvature of two lives, so no apology is necessary.

Post at once, reap your reward.

First, you are to be congratulated. You are a pioneer, a model of integrity and rectitude. Now it’s time to reap the inevitable rewards which must come with posting. Mind, it may take a little time to get the single response this ad is meant to generate, for so thorough have you been that there can only be one response… from that extraordinary person daft enough to put up with you…and love you anyway.

*** We invite you to post your comments to this article below.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Details at worldprofit.com

Author’s program note.

Remember your first crush? The heat! The intensity! The euphoric ups and despondent downs? Of course you do… because while it lasted, we all felt vital! Alive! Complete…. for all that the parents told us, over and over again, that this was nothing but “puppy love” and wouldn’t last. But it did last, didn’t it, in your mind and heart… to the point where you must find this well remembered person and see how they turned out and whether they still remember you, too, and the special song that was your signature and which even today causes reverie and the sharp, bittersweet pangs of remembrance and a bad case of the “what ifs”…

And so, for the fortieth time, you sit down at the keyboard and search the ‘net and its social networks for intelligence… intelligence that will enable you to rediscover your lost love, your youth, and the life you might have had if only… if only…

“Goodnight, sweetheart”.

To put yourself in the mood, go to any search engine and find “Goodnight, sweetheart” written by Calvin Carter and James “Pookie” Hudson in 1953. I recommend the original version by The Spaniels (1954). It was bubble-gum music, a tune that signalled you’d better snuggle up fast and close since your evening and its possibilities were about to end…. Whatever you planned to do needed to be done and done now… You know its lyrics so well… you know just how much time you’ve got left… and you’ve got something important to say and do.

“Goodnight, sweetheart, well, it’s time to go…. I hate to leave you, I really must say, Oh Goodnight, sweet heart, goodnight.”

This is a moment that determines fate… for in this moment the ultimate words of destiny pour out… hot, fast, insistent…. every word of consequence, every word packed with meaning… words of love… desire…. commitment… eternity. You cannot say where these words originate; you didn’t even know they were in you… but they are present now, urgent, eloquent, raw, powerful motivating words delivered in a powerful motivating way.

“Mother oh and your father, Might hear if I stay here too long, One kiss and we’ll part, And I’ll be going You know I hate to go.”

And so, at last, reluctantly, you did part… only to hurry home and call the object of your affections … who might be someone entirely different …thereby continuing the night, its emotions, its possibilities.

It was all a game, an enticing, exhilarating marvel… and you loved every difficult, contorted, thwarted moment of it.

No one more than Doyle Taylor.

In 1955 and for many years to come, Doyle Taylor was a recognized “catch”. Cute, funny, charismatic, Doyle played the dating game with the same manic intensity he brought to the football game. His manifest personal advantages brought him followers, an entourage particularly of the female variety. He liked girls… girls liked him… and these two facts made for exciting, explosive, entirely thrilling times.

Doyle delighted in the messy contortions of his young life; scheduling multiple dates with multiple people; testing his skills, his powers of persuasion and of escape; seeing how far he could push the envelope. Being Doyle, he could always push it just a little bit more…. then a little bit more again. Life was good! Packed with possibilities that caused him to jump up of a brilliant California morning, glad to be alive.

Then he saw Casey… and he knows in the way one does (even if one has never known it before) that this is the person who offers you more in one complete, captivating package than all the others put together, no matter how attractive. And all of a sudden you experience a flood of emotions that weren’t there yesterday: tenderness, compassion, wonder… and in an instant this confusing life becomes more confusing still, more confusing and infinitely more important. Life is no longer just about you and what you can get; life is now about what you can give. And Casey was a girl you wanted to give to… without asking for anything but her love in return.

Blocked by Dad.

But as every novel reader knows, the path of true love is never smooth. And so it was with Casey, whose father was strict and knew the insinuating ways of boys. Doyle was not welcome in his house… and so school with all its limitations became the only place they could meet. Little did they suspect that its very restrictions were precisely what their love needed to flourish; from obstruction grew determination… enhanced at the Friday sock hops they never missed… and which ended with their anthem “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

But this wouldn’t be much of a story if it ended here, two young people captivated by each other who decide to venture forever together. What makes this story a tale worth the telling is what happened next… and what happened after that. Like millions of starry-eyed couples, they split up in high school and went their very separate ways…

… ways that led them to marry others, have children and lives which would only have been dislocated had they connected too early. And so these one-time fierce lovers grew old, apart, and lonely… existing, not living, without love or its magic. And this, too, is the fate of millions. And it might have been their fate, too… but for the fact that out of loneliness they began to think of each other and what had each, so long ago, been for the other. Thus, apart, they began the process of rediscovering each other, beholden to a fate benevolent to them.

One day Casey’s computer crashed; all her personal data obliterated. She called a friend to begin the recovery process and asked if this friend remembered Doyle and possibly knew how to find him. The friend did…. and within minutes Casey with excitement and trepidation had emailed Doyle… who answered her at once… and so two once kindred spirits connected… and found that the excitement they had shared so long ago existed still… this time forever.

They met, as so many long ago lovers have met, compliments of the Internet… and at once, in the very first moment, they knew their long ago destiny was at last to be fulfilled.

And so it was. Two people, now married, forever young in the eyes of their beloved, committed to just one thing: loving each other, everything else insignificant and insubstantial. No more “Goodnight, sweetheart” and separation, but “Could I have this dance for the rest of my life?” No need to ask…they know the answer only too well, and gladly.

To put this touching tune sung by Anne Murray in 1980 to work for you, go to any search engine. As you listen to what Wayland Holyfield and Bob House wrote, think… for isn’t there a very special person you’d like to dance with for the rest of your life? Go ahead… ask them now, before another day is lost forever.

Dedicated by the author to his friends Mr. and Mrs. Doyle Taylor, whose love is such a happy inspiration to the rest of us.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today.

This is about an incident of war; an incident in which four U.S. Marines decided to outrage the vulnerable corpses of some of their tenacious Taliban foes, dead in the dust at their feet. Such incidents — and many worse — have always been a part of war… But such incidents nowadays are not merely rumored or surmised… now they can be seen in your office or home in all their disgusting detail. War, with all its coarseness, vulgarity and shock, is now a thing we cannot escape… for we have now reached the point where every war will take place not just on far-flung battlefields, but — as fast as a video clip can be posted — before your very eyes and in your very mind.

The facts.

On January 11, 2012 an undated video was posted by a YouTube user identified as “semperfi LoneVoice”. It shows four men in U.S. Marine combat gear standing in a semi-circle over 3 bodies. These men were urinating on the bodies.

The entire film clip took just about a minute.

It was not the worst outrage in the long saga of human warfare, where the desecration of corpses was a garden-variety barbarism. But this act of desecration went viral at once, a matter of instant and immediate concern to officials at the very highest reaches of government. In short, it instantly became a Problem that had to be dealt with, responded to, and contained before the next news cycle commenced.

Who would make such a video… and why would they do it?

I can surmise — but do not know — that this video was made for the same reason that 19th Century big game hunters were photographed before the bodies of elephants, tigers and lions… a form of bragging, to show their friends where they had been, what they had done, and, Tarzan-like, beat their breasts and release a primal scream of superiority and glee.

Thus did a fifth marine, perhaps the originator of “what seemed a good idea at the time”, egg on his buddies, “Ah, come on. Don’t be a wuss; the bastards had it coming.” Thus did the idea emerge, spontaneous, ill-considered of course, but an act that would bond the buddies while handing each something to show the admiring folks back home. And so the buddies were positioned just so; zippers opened, a crude video made with cruder remarks about giving the bodies a “shower”, ending with “Have a nice day, buddy” … the final result a video that showed in outrageous detail that these Marines, charged with service to the Great Republic, knew nothing about who we are, how we behave, what being an American is all about…

… Yes, in a minute, just 60 seconds, they had outraged their God, their family values, everything they had ever heard or thought about the shining city on a hill… they had lowered themselves; shown their “Semper Fi” motto to be mere words, not high ideal. And they did this willingly, happily, believing this was suitable for them, unexceptional, a thing right and appropriate to do… good for laughs, another beer, a clap on the back from an appreciative audience back home.

All this was bad enough. But then someone got the bright idea of posting this video. This person had one of two possible objectives in mind; either as a proud trophy…, or shrewder, to show us up as a nation of high words but debased realities and so besmirch the Great Republic, its solders, and the lofty ideals by which we live and for which we fight.

And so the video was posted… its unmistakable image of hubris instantly the property of a world which thereby gained another stick with which to beat us, a stick which our own soldiers had fashioned, completely clueless on what they had done and how destructive to our cause, themselves, and their own buddies, whom the Taliban, biding their time, would serve out worse than the outrage perpetrated upon the bodies of their comrades… for retaliation there must be… swift, sure, painful, revolting. It is as certain as anything can be in the uncertain business of war: some young American Marines, now vibrant and alive, will be captured, tortured, subjected to the most severe pain, killed, then outraged… an unspeakable, horrific end made inevitable by the unconsidered lark of 5 Marines who not just failed us but didn’t even know they were doing so.

High-level condemnation, inadequate response.

To their credit, the Marine Corps immediately named an investigative officer to decide whether charges would be brought. They have already identified two of the four who committed the outrage; they are believed to be members of the 3rd Batallion, 2nd Marines, based at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. It served in Afghanistan from March to September 2011, presumably the time when the video was made.

Officials at the very highest level of government, Leon Panetta, Secretary of Defense; Secretary of State Hillary Clinton as well as other members of the Obama Administration stepped forward to condemn the desecration… and to limit the damage and repercussions.

But they were checkmated by a belief as old as war itself: that all the king’s horses and all the king’s men can never do wrong, whatever they do, so long as it is in defense of the realm; Texas Governor and (then) presidential candidate Rick Perry the case in point.

Perry’s worrisome reaction went like this: “These kids made a mistake. There’s not any doubt about it. They shouldn’t have done it. It’s bad. But to call it a criminal act, I think, is over the top.”

In other words, boys will be boys; they’re our boys so sacrosanct. Yes, the act’s bad… but slapping their wrists constitutes an appropriate punishment; enough said, let’s get back to America’s unending business, the business of war. Such remarks constituted the thin edge of the wedge; mild condemnation of the “kids” (Perry’s grossly inadequate word and description)… their action bad, yes, but not really so very bad… not least because other nations at other times have done far worse, including worse to us. And that, is that.

But it most assuredly is not…. for if we wish to derive a good result from this entirely avoidable incident a very different response is called for. For if we leave this now in this way we shall surely pay for our negligence with more such incidents, frequent and worse.

The curriculum of war as taught at our great military institutions must be enhanced to include tuition, instruction, and practical training on how to handle the urge to maim, murder, desecrate and outrage our opponents. For if you do not make the act reprehensible and make it clear what must be done and how it must be done, you are surely inviting its frequent occurrence. In other words, silence on this aspect of war, every war, is tantamount to condoning what you say is reprehensible. And so swift, positive action is necessary… so that America and the world need never wake up again to graphic, tangible evidence that we say one thing but do and accept another.

Too much brought to our attention, too little time for thoughtful consideration and response. Sadly, the very process that brought us the intelligence on this incidence will bury it and fast. For the shear amount of data on so many subjects of significance and importance acts to sweep this outrage away… replacing it — for just a minute — with others. We once thought that bringing outrages to wide attention would be sufficient to effect reform… but the very ease of disseminating and posting information, its shear volume, has submerged the desired goal. And so, as information explodes and its demands on us grow onerous, the urge neither to see nor to hear evil grows apace… evil proliferating, evil tolerated, evil condoned, thinly condemned, broadly ignored, a fact of life that dismays us but which we will not seriously confront, and less so every single day .

God help us.

* We invite you to post your comments to this article below.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Details at worldprofit.com

Author’s program note. In 1921, that sultry chanteuse with a silken voice seasoned with a touch of honky-tonk and life’s deflating experience — Ethel Waters (1896- 1977) — got up before the microphone one fine day and belted into history a little ditty by Billy Higgins and W. Benton Overstreet. It was a swinging song with attitude… and, it turned out, with “legs”, too; a song so potent in its magic that over 50 major recording artists couldn’t wait to get their vocal chords around it.

It was “There’ll be some changes made”, and it included the resonating line that made us all queasy… “Nobody wants you when you’re old and gray”… the line that justified an ocean or two of wild behavior, the wild oats you’d better indulge in when young and limber… before the Grim Reaper stamped your forehead with the iconic number 65 and measured you for eternity.

Go now to any search engine, review your recorded choices; then “choose your poison” as Grandpa Walt used to say… but, whoever you select, take time to pay homage to Miss Waters, for she was a game old bird and after all was the first to urge us to approach olde age with dignity, composed, resigned, withered hands folded gently in your lap, glass for your false teeth at the ready — not!

Oh, no, Miss Waters celebrated not just the “you” you were… but the “you” you could be with a few deft changes, tweaks and tucks… all necessary so that your “golden” years are even less demure (by a long shot) than your early days; that you don’t just read your Browning — “the best is yet to be” — but live him, with plenitude and a “hey, look me over” edge, your original and unique cocktail of defiance, insight, and allure.

Step-dad Jack and the chocolate box.

He was shrunken, smaller than he had been in life… in form that is, never in spirit. And he asked me –before “forever” took him — for chocolates. He craved them. I didn’t have to think twice about what to do. I was on the phone at once and ordered him an exuberant chocolate feast of Godiva’s best, the kind of assortment that a boy bent on the delights of love gives to the girl he wants to wash his shirts and cheat on for life. Yes, it was that big. And when I called to make sure he had the package… I was informed this man I hardly knew… had the box open, a few already nibbled, sampled, so he could make the best selection. And he was smiling…

But that’s only a part of this tale…

The instant she heard ol’ Jack talking to me, my mother, that force of nature and approved behavior, grabbed the phone and Let Me Have It. Jack was ill, she said; Jack was dying, she said; Jack could die at any moment, she said, and face his Maker, as quick as you could say “Jack Robinson.” What did I mean by giving him, and on his death bed, too, the rich seduction that was chocolate, a food that could not be found amidst his recommended dietary choices, unappetizing all. Why, didn’t I know that could kill him….? Moreover, there was no mention in Emily Post sanctioning death-bed chocolates… and thus they could not be approved, unfitting objects as they were for such an event and its high mysteries and profound enigmas.

“But POM (Poor Old Mother)”, I said. His cancer is terminal, he could indeed die at any moment; every doctor said so, and at such a time if there’s a dance in the old galoot yet he ought to dance it… he ought to have what he wanted, the savor of life, not another moment of the semblance of life, measured out by tea spoons of this medicine, tablets of that. In short he wanted, with an insistence that comes when time is almost gone, one of life’s pleasures, not another indication and token of life’s finality.

… Jack died just hours later…

… POM became the Ice Queen to me for too long…

But I was the gainer here… for Jack had reaffirmed a profound truth we cannot hear and contemplate often enough… that life is for the living, that life must be lived, exulted, extolled, celebrated and savored… and that at the end, if you want chocolates, the very best chocolates (or their equivalent) no one — not even the well-meaning wife and scold — should be allowed even a moment of jeremiad, pontification, finger-pointing and condescension… “Proper behavior” be damned….

Easy to say, difficult to do.

Now, one can damn, and so easily, too, the bug-a-boo of “proper behavior”, but the truth of the matter, an independent course is difficult to pull off. Witness my darlin’ mama’s frosty reaction on the matter of chocolates an instant prior to demise. We geriatric life-savors need to face up to the shibboleths and prejudices of our rigid adversaries… and become as shrewd as we are aged.

Thus, start from the proposition that for the bulk of the world… but never for ones as wicked cool and winsome as we are, Age 65 is regarded as the gate through which one passes, inexorably, inevitably, slowly on account of rheumatism, arthritis and assembled other maladies attendant upon bigger and bigger birthdays; the gate through which we enter aging… through which we depart dead… truly an inviting scenario… if you’re into the macabre pictures of Hieronymus Bosch (1450-1516) and other mediaeval horrors. . But Hieronymus and his scarry ilk have never been my cup of tea, perhaps because of their unremitting focus on the darker side of life, its miseries, regrets, loneliness and angst about the eternity into which each of us must enter, like it or not. I am a creature of life and light… and aim to live my credo to the very last moment… for all that I may be able to do nothing more at that unique moment of finality than nibble a chocolate. Even that is enough to reaffirm my adamant belief in life, not life’s restrictions.

Yet these restrictions are everywhere, built into the very heart of our youth-centered culture. Folks over 65 are lesser beings, unable to do this, incapable of doing that; past it in ways as diverse as eating corn on the cob or satisfying even the least demanding of lovers. Even more than a baby (which after all does not know better) we are held thrall to the do-nots, the should-nots, the could-nots, instead of enjoying the thrills and growth of the why-nots.

But we are not, we crew of 65 plus, babies to be protected and instructed. We are people who have lived life — and often riotously too — with gusto and a zest that only begins when you realize that the life force within you is not unlimited or inexhaustible. It is its very limitation that makes it precious… and which drives us to use it… all of it … never letting a drop of it… any of it… drip away unused and unregarded.

We know the pleasures of life… and intend to explore each and every one of them until the engine that drives our magnificent being can do absolutely nothing more.

That’s why I tell you this: Miss Waters sings her song not for you and me who seize and savor life. For we do not need to make changes…

Rather, these changes must be made by the folks — “age-ists” every one of them — who want us to stop living before our time, pushing us out of life, anxious to get what we have had. These folks are in the business of denial, living to block us, restrict us and chide us for ideas, thoughts and actions they deem unsuitable to our age and station… They are the ones who would remove us from life, not help us engage it.

It is for these folks and their disapproval and disdain that Miss Waters sings her song, for they cannot be reminded often and enough…

“You’re here today and then tomorrow you’re gone” …

Thus I shall live my life while there is a crumb yet to enjoy. And if that bothers you or anyone, get over it… and make the changes which must be made today… for you have far greater need for them than I do…

Envoy

Dr. Lant turns 65 February 16, 2012.

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About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home business training, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting, hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 online Home Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today. Details at worldprofit.com