An appreciation for the life of Paul Baran, dead at 84; helped create Internet's precursor Arpanet.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Fellow citizens of the Internet, one of our Founding Fathers, Paul Baran, has died, at 84,  in Palo Alto, California.

Pray, take a moment from your busy day online and have a kind thought for a man, a brilliant man, so far in advance of his times that he was written off as little more than a kook, his idea science fiction, not practical technology.

This is a story about people who see visions that others cannot see. So often spurned, they must instead be cherished.

This is a story about people who should have known better, whose ignorance and  unwillingness to listen nearly cost the world one of its greatest and most important assets. Thankfully wiser heads prevailed.

This is the story of a man who persisted in the face of rejection, wondering why authorities didn't "get it"  but determined to persist until they did. He triumphed and we all won.

This is the story of Paul Baran, and it is a fascinating look at how one man's persistence and unwavering belief can lead to dramatic change and benefits for all.

Born in Poland, April 29,1926.

Paul Baran's first piece of good luck happened when his Jewish parents emigrated from Grodno, Poland (now in Belarus) May 11, 1928. Had his family stayed in Poland, they would almost certainly have gone to a concentration camp and horrible death. But Paul, his two siblings and parents landed in Boston, then moved to Philadelphia where his father opened a grocery store.

Baran graduated from Drexel University in 1949 (then called Drexel Institute of Technology with a degree in electrical engineering. After graduation, he joined the Eckert-Mauchly Computer Company where he did technical work on UNIVAC models. Baran was lucky again, for these models were the first brand of commercial computers in the USA. He had a heady glimpse of the future, a computer-based future.

In 1955, he moved to Los Angeles and worked for Hughes Aircraft on radar systems. He obtained a Master's degree from UCLA. His thesis was on character recognition.

Baran then went to work at the RAND Corporation (1955).  There he took on the task of designing a "survivable" communications system that could maintain communications between end points in the face of damage from nuclear weapons. This was the height of the Cold War and America was vulnerable. Most American military communications used High Frequency connections which could be put out of action for many hours by nuclear attack.

Baran decided to automate RAND director Franklin B. Collbohm's previous work with emergency communication over conventional AM radio networks and showed that a distributed relay mode architecture could be survivable. Moreover, the Rome Air Development Center soon showed that the idea was practical. Paul Baran had a foot on the path that would, in due course, become the Internet we all rely upon and cannot imagine life without.

"Message blocks".

Still at RAND Corp. Baran next outlined the fundamentals for packaging data into discrete bundles, which he called "message blocks". The bundles are then sent on various paths around a network and reassembled at their destination. Such a plan is known as packet switching.

Baran's key idea was to build a distributed communications network, less vulnerable to attack or disruption than conventional networks. In a series of technical papers published in the 1960s, he suggested that networks be designed with redundant routes so that if a particular path failed or was destroyed, messages could still he delivered. He approached AT&T with  the idea to build his proposed network.

AT&/T's response? "Baloney, your idea won't work", and so resoundingly refused.

Had the luck of Paul Baran, the lucky man, run out at last?

Certainly not because Baran had the necessary trait for this unpromising situation: he was dogged, persistent, indefatigable about explaining just what his futuristic invention could do. He never quit.

He needed it all in the face of AT&T's rooted opposition to Baran's idea. What they particularly disliked was this:

Baran's design flew in the face of telephony design of the time, placing inexpensive and unreliable nodes at the center of the network, and more intelligent terminating "multiplexer" devices at the endpoints. In Baran's words, unlike the telephony company's equipment, his design didn't require expensive "gold plated" components to be reliable.

AT&T engineers said over and over that Baran just plain didn't understand the science and technology. But he did...  far more than the AT&T people who couldn't see the bonanza in front of them and so threw away the chance to develop -- and possibly own -- the  Internet, a situation with immense consequences for all of us, not least AT&T which painfully discovered that "big" isn't always right.

"Paul wasn't afraid to go in directions counter to what everyone else thought was the right or only thing to do," said Vinton Cerf, a vice president at Google who was a  colleague and long-time friend of Baran. "AT&T repeatedly said his idea wouldn't work and wouldn't participate  in the Arpanet project."

Arpanet... and vindication.

In 1969, the Department of Defense's Advanced Research Projects Agency built a network that used Baran's ideas along with those of other communications pioneers, the Founding Fathers and Mothers of the 'net.

In due course, Arpanet was replaced by the Internet we know. Paul Baran's crucial invention packet switching still lies at the heart of the network's internal workings, an insight so valuable that President George Bush gave him the National Medal of Technology and Innovation.

One of the nicest things to report is that Baran always said, forthrightly, that credit for development of Arpanet and the Internet should always be distributed as widely as possible. Founding People all needed recognition, not just a few. It was a gesture from the heart.

Now one of the great inventors of the age, a man of intelligence and insight is gone. However Paul Baran's chief invention (amongst his many) lives on, spectacularly so. Lucky himself, we are yet the luckier... for we had him, an avatar for the new, connected world in which we all must make our way. Paul Baran, we have good reason to remember you and rejoice.



About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc. providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling books and conducts daily webinars.
 
Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com



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Does your dead dog smell? Reflections on marketing myths and realities from one who knows.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

In the days when I taught university level marketing, I set my eager-beaver students a task.

Write a classified or space ad... and report on how it draws and what you did to handle any responses  you received. In short, this project, like my teaching in general, was never merely theoretical, detached from reality. It was real! Vital! Truthful... and often, as a result, jolting. In other words, your class project either made money... or it didn't. Much more than your grade depended on it.

The scene of the crime...

All my students were adult practitioners, that is people who were already employed in professional positions or worked in home-based businesses or on the Internet. These were people who had a strong and pressing interest in mastering marketing. These students came because they needed to learn the ins and outs of marketing... or else. To such people one had an obligation, a sacred responsibility, to speak honestly, speak candidly, and address their real world concerns.

And I did.

On one occasion, a bright professional woman (I had lots of them in my classes) had the task of presenting her classified ad to the class... explaining why she wrote the ad she wrote, where she ran it, what the results were, how she followed up the respondents, and (and it was the all-important and) how much money this ad generated.

In other words, it was all real-life stuff.

She wrote her ad, as instructed, on the chalk board, the better for us to see the words which would shortly be shown as either golden, or dross.  Then I became the Joe Friday ("facts, ma'am, just the facts") of the marketing drag-net.

"When did you start running this ad?" (Specific date required.)

"Where do you run this ad?" (Specific publication or venue required.)

"How many responses did you get?" (Specific number required.)

And then the kicker...

"How much money did you make... after deducting all actual costs of running the ad and responding to respondents?" (Exact dollar figures required.)

The lady squirms...

Now the moment of high truth and full disclosure had arrived. What had started as merely a class project had become for the person reporting a matter of life and death. The ad copy, you see, would show whether she had mastered the marketing essentials that either produced bucks... and all that those bucks could buy... or not.

Everything was riding on what she reported.  And she knew it...

Bad, bad, tormentingly bad.

I an inveterate reader of body language, and this student's was typical of those who wish they were in any other place on earth rather than here, the cynosure of every eye in this most unrelenting of classes. Of course I knew she was squirming, mulling over how to disclose and deliver facts which (from that all important body language) were sure to be uncongenial. So... along with every member of the class.... I waited to see what the lady would say and do.

And we waited....

Then, at last, she admitted the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth... and it wasn't pretty. She had run her classified ad six times... had not had a single response... and, of course, and worst of all, hadn't made a single penny.

Now, the lady, this aspiring marketer, stood before her classmates.... abashed, humiliated, at rock bottom, a total marketing failure.

Then I told her the first essential truth of marketing: does your dead dog smell? And does it, day by day, smell worse... until the nauseating stench overpowers everything else?

The ad copy you produce is like a dog. Its job is to go out, your servant, finding and bringing home what it captures; the quarry that sustains you and gives you comfort, even excess.

No dead dogs do this...  neither do ads which fail to produce responses.

The student began to get the picture.

Her ad hadn't pulled and yet she continued to use it, paying good Yankee dollars  to do so.. despite the fact she KNEW the dog was dead, stinking.

Why had she done this?

First, because she was sure, absolutely sure, Her Ad Was Brilliant, the stuff of legend... she was invested in the words... certain that given a chance they would produce the desirable results; aged to perfection, like a fine vintage.

But that is a huge mistake... and now she was willing, and the entire class with her, to find the essential nubbin of truth, that made everything she had done worthwhile.

1) Marketing copy doesn't improve with age. It either works at once, immediately, or it never works at all. Dead dogs never become quick and agile again... they just stink the more.

2) ALL marketing copy, at  ALL times  must be evaluated, starkly , by results and nothing but results.

3) You must never, ever re-run marketing copy without knowing its previous results.

4) The entire business of marketing is about writing copy, testing copy, evaluating the results produced by this copy, then tweaking the copy to improve it and your overall results.

Marketing is and always be an action sport... it is not for the slothful, lazy, or unassertive.

More tips

** Never, ever become invested in, beguiled by the marketing copy  you create. It either works (producing responses and money), or it doesn't. Success isn't everything here... it's the ONLY thing.

** Never re-run ANY marketing copy until  you are certain it works; that is, until you have money in hand.

**  Trash your erroneous but deeply felt belief that you can find marketing copy which is so good, so responsive that you never have to change it, never have to do anything else with it than run it and reap perpetual rewards.

Such copy doesn't exist, never existed, and will never exist.

Marketing is the most active sport in the world. Those who win at this sport, and the rewards can be staggering, are, to a person, people who are bold, active, engaged... not sleepy-heads hoping against hope that they will find and eternally profit from a few magic words artfully strung together. Those words have never been written.

Thus, energize yourself for the marketing you must do today, for if you want the rewards of marketing you must master and remain focused on and dedicated to the unrelenting truths of marketing.

Otherwise you are hunting with a dead dog... a dog that will never produce results. It will simply stink to high heaven. And that will never do.

About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. He is happy to give all readers, 50,000 free guaranteed visitors for attending his live webcast today.
Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com

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An appreciation for the life of Dr. Harry Coover, inventor of Super Glue, dead at 94.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Ever hear of Dr. Harry Coover? Probably not.

Know what cyanoacrylates are? Probably not.

Yet both of them have a place in your life -- under the commercial name Super Glue. You've surely heard of -- and used -- that!

And now you're about to learn the story about a smart man, his accidental invention, and how it holds the world together.

Picture the scene...

It's war time in America - World War II war time that is -- and Dr. Coover is doing his bit. He was working on a project; experimenting with acrylates for use in clear plastic gun sights. Problem was, he had to call it quits because those darned sticky acrylates just kept sticking to everything. Dr. Coover was in sight of his most well known invention... but he missed the forest for the trees. That time.

Fast forward to 1951. 

Fred Joyner, who was working with Dr. Coover at Eastman Kodak's laboratory in Tennessee, was testing compounds looking for a heat- resistant coating for jet cockpits. When Joyner spread the 910th compound on the list  between two lenses on a refractometer to take a reading on the velocity of light through it, he discovered he could not separate the lenses.

His initial reaction was panic at the loss of expensive lab equipment. No wonder. He had just ruined a machine worth $3000, which in 1951 was a fortune.

Yes, panic.

But Dr. Coover, remembering his 1942 problem with sticky cyanoacrylates had an "aha" moment. The forest was beginning to emerge... a moment of insight and perception that happens to every inventor -- especially if they're as smart as Harry Coover.

Yup, Harry Coover was about to break through, with the discovery that we all know and use all the time.

Coover in time-honored inventor fashion looked at cyanoacrylates in a new way. Not as things that ruin things like valuable lab equipment... but rather as adhesives with unique properties. They required no heat or pressure to bond.

Eureka! This was new, different, important.

The team started testing Coover's hypothesis. It must have been fun in the lab as they tried this new substance on various items. Each time the items became permanently bonded... just like Harry Coover and cyanoacrylates.

Kodak knew Harry and his team were on to Something Big. After all everybody and his brother were always attempting to bond things... but they usually didn't stick for very long which was a source of unending annoyance to all sorts of people.

In due course, Coover received patent number 2,768,109 for his "Alcohol-Catalyzed Cyanoacrylate Adhesive Composition/Superglue" and began refining the product for commercialization. His company packaged the adhesive as "Eastman 910" and began marketing it in 1958.

Marketing types quickly realized (faster than the inventive guys) that "Eastman 910" was most assuredly NOT a name to conjure with. What did it mean anyway? Flagging sales for one thing...  A hot new name, a spokesman, and a break were required.

And, hey presto, there was Garry Moore, host of "I've Got A Secret" and Dr. Harry Coover, his guest. Dr. Coover's secret, of course, was that he had invented Super Glue. And then... he was asked to demonstrate. Coover was a natural showman and was eager to show what his baby could do.

A metal bar was lowered onto the stage, and Dr. Coover used a dab of the glue to connect two metal parts. Then he grabbed one and was raised in the air on the strength of his invention.

America took note. But Kodak couldn't make it profitable enough. It sold the business to National Starch in 1980, and things took off. The 1942 accident that started it all had turned into one of America's best-known products... it was the glue that kept the nation together!

But the best use for Super Glue was one you could hardly imagine. During the Vietnam War, it became apparent that cyanoacrylates could be used to treat war wounds. Field surgeons began using the substance by spraying it over open wounds. This stopped bleeding instantly and allowed hurt soldiers to be transported to medical facilities for conventional treatment. This saved lives.

Moreover, in due course, additional medical uses developed: rejoining veins and arteries during surgery, sealing bleeding ulcers, punctures or legions, stopping uncontrollable bleeding of some soft ulcers, and use during dental surgery. Super Glue was a medical marvel, saving lives one dab at a time.

Super Glue wasn't all, however.

Dr Coover was an invention dynamo his entire career. He held over 460 patents by the end of his life. But he had always been an achiever. He studied chemistry at Hobart College in New York and then received a master's degree and doctorate from Cornell University. He took a job with Eastman Kodak Co. and stayed with them his entire professional life; after retirement he stayed on as a consultant.

Dr. Coover understood the business of inventing. He spent his life pushing the envelope, dreaming dreams... and changing the world, one discovery after another. He understood, too, that inventors need optimism. They needed good work habits... persistence... the ability to see things in a different perspective to get results. They needed good team members.... and always, always good humor. When you're going to places no one has ever been before there will be lots of errors... and therefore lots of humor required.

Dr. Harry Coover excelled in them all.

Along the way, his achievements garnered many awards and a lifetime of recognition. He deserved them all... Industrial Research Institute Medal Achievement Award, the Maurice Holland Award, the ACS Earl B. Barnes Award, and the AIC Chemical Pioneers Award. In 2004, he was inducted into the National Inventor's Hall of Fame. And then in 2010, President Obama awarded him the National Medal of Technology and Innovation.

Dr. Harry Coover, dead at 94, March 26, 2011.

Dr. Coover is now gone. But his most famous invention -- Super Glue -- remains. It is a legacy that will stick... a useful legacy beloved of fixer-uppers everywhere. Coover always said he had a special place in his heart for his sticky invention, the invention that gave him the nickname "Mr.  Super Glue." And why shouldn't he?

Inventors are special people. They see the world as it can be... not just as it is. Of these inventors, Dr. Coover was one of the best. He will be missed, of course; such people always are. But he gave us his best... and that was ample.

About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc.
providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses.
Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. 
Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com

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'If we can do this, we can do anything.' An appreciation for the life of Geraldine Ferraro, ex-vice presidential candidate.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

In 1984 a streaked-blond, peanut-butter-and-jelly-making mom made history... before she became an object lesson in unwittingly hurting the candidate and political party she was there to help.

Her name was Geraldine A. Ferraro, and now she is dead at 75, March 26, 2011 of complications from multiple myeloma, a blood cancer she had doggedly battled for 12 years.

Her day of days, July 11, 1984.

Arguably the most important day in at least her public life occurred July 11, 1984 when Walter "Fritz" Mondale made history by selecting U.S. Representative Geraldine Ferraro as his vice presidential running mate. At a stroke, she became the first major-ticket VP candidate... and the first national Italian-American candidate, two facts which proved to be critical in her startling ascent and the muddle, distractions, and stumblings which followed.

A presidential candidate's first important act is the selection of a vice presidential nominee.

Americans look to their presidential candidates to demonstrate executive problem-solving skills and leadership. But such a candidate, unless he is president himself (when he and his record automatically become the focus of the campaign) have a big problem which must be handled early and without error.

While they might have the skills to be  president and even an impressive list of important accomplishments and decisions should they, say, have been governor of a major state (like Reagan and California), voters are still being asked to gamble that a person who has never made presidential- level decisions can, in fact, make them,  not surprise the nation (as has happened often enough) with ineptitude; (like Jimmy Carter, the master of Oval Office missteps and pratfalls.)

The only person immune from this aspect of any given campaign is an incumbent. If there is such an incumbent, he automatically becomes the virtual sole focus of the campaign, pro or con. (Obama take note).  But that problem, in 1984, was Reagan's.

Mondale's problem was the usual one of an out-of-power party... showing America it would be better off with a new president it didn't know much about, instead of retaining  the incumbent they already knew, but who now stood before them no longer fresh, battle-scarred, and, of course, (whatever his achievements) with the usual legion of second-guessing detractors.

For the challengers the selection of the right VP candidate is crucial, couldn't be more important. Yet candidates often (quick, can you say Senator John McCain?) muff this business... and help derail their own campaigns, by turning what should have been a plus into an unexpected minus. America always notes this with alarm, incredulity, disdain, and usually dismissal.

"Fritz" Mondale... the nicest guy in the world... except for Ronald Reagan.

Mondale, Jimmy Carter's vice president, was by common repute a deeply honorable, good natured, well balanced man. He was the boy next door about, so the Democrats hoped, to get the prize ordinarily kept from the nice guys famously finishing last.

But he had a problem. "(Most) everybody loves Ronald" Ray-Gun. He needed a way to lay a finger on the guy and help America wise up. Because the Democrats thought Reagan unsympathetic to women's issues... they needed a candidate who could help galvanize women. Abigail Adams, wife of the second president, had written him "don't forget the ladies." Democrats didn't intend to. But how?

There she is... Mrs. America... Geraldine Ferraro.

She was pert, lively, credible, a real-life mom with real-life mom joys and dilemmas. She was also  a former Queens, New York prosecutor. There she battled the intractable problems of a great city which had them to spare; her daily diet rape, crimes against the elderly, child and wife abuse, so draining she later rote they caused her to develop an ulcer. And the liberal principles which, at her best, defined her. 

At the urging of Mario M. Cuomo, then lieutenant governor of New York and another "Italo" wanting friends for his  own ambitions, suggested she run for Congress. She did, ultimately winning 3 terms, learning fast the tribal rituals of the House of Representatives and, most of all, learning to work with its chiefs. This included House Speaker Thomas O'Neill. He liked her and helped her advance within the establishment to chairwoman of the Democratic Platform Committee, a plum assignment for understanding the party and its players nationwide. In due course, it was O'Neill who urged Mondale to select her as his running mate. It goes without saying that all Democratic congresswomen (they called themselves the A Team)  were in her corner, saying that Geraldine was what they needed to wow the women, and the nation.

"Fritz" bit... and made the calculated decision to put a woman on the ticket. Whether she was the best available woman, or not, will always be argued. She was a gal, she was a great, tireless campaigner with a feisty, upbeat style people liked... all to the good. But... and these were big buts... she knew nothing of the world beyond Queens (a problem most of its denizens have); she had no executive experience at all... and absolutely no foreign policy experience or expertise.

But Mondale selected her anyway. This turned his dull nominating convention into a thrilling celebration of women in America, their inexorable, soul-stirring progress to the heights of the nation. As Ferraro said "If we can do this, we can do anything." Millions felt uplifted, glasses raised, tears shed. It was a signature American event...

... And it began to fall apart within just hours as questions began to be raised about her husband's financial and tax records. There were nasty innuendos, too, about organized crime, god fathers, the paraphernalia of ethnic hate. Mondale learned the hard way that behind every successful woman candidate is a husband... the man he didn't select, but who could cause  an entire campaign to stumble. So it was with Ferraro and the man she loved. Thus, Ferraro and her connections became part of Mondale's problem... instead of the solution she had once appeared to be.

In the end, of course, she probably wasn't the ultimate cause for Mondale's demise. Ronald Reagan was. America loved Reagan (despite lapses and errors). And he was becoming, right before their eyes not merely a president but a statesman, a man they liked, trusted and revered. Fritz never had a chance, and of course Ferraro went down with him.

Now the mom from Queens is gone, a footnote in history, not a chapter. But I prefer to remember the best moment of her busy life: "If we can do this, we can do anything." She was absolutely right about that.

About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com


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OMG Oxford English Dictionary adds LOL and 1900 other entries.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

If you love the English language at all, you're always glad to hear that it's thriving, by far the language with the greatest number of words and senses (that is, how those words are used). We know this in large measure from the hard-working folks at Oxford English Dictionary, which rightly bills itself as "the definitive record of the English language."

March 24, 2011 OED announced its latest update, revising more than 1,900 entries and adding new words from across the dictionary. As chief editor, John Simpson, reported things are hopping at OED.

Item: the new OED website is a gigantic success. In January, 2011 alone over 43% of all OED entries were accessed online at least once.

The most commonly researched words were dictionary itself. Then love, followed closely by culture... and an old favorite, nice.

Item: Over 30% of OED has now been revised and updated.  285,403 out of a total of 796,591 "senses" have been revised.

Item: 45,437 new words and meanings have been added since the last update. That means, over 13% of the dictionary is entirely new.

Item: Of the updated senses, 27% are "scientific" -- or were at least considered to fall within the sections allocated to OED's scientific editors.

All this is good news for people in love with language generally and the English language in particular. The English language is growing at an unprecedented rate. This is at least partly because of the Internet and its galaxy of new time-saving (purist affronting) abbreviations.

A number of these abbreviations --  including LOL, OMG, and IMHO -- are now part of the official English language, but not necessarily because these initialisms are new and widely used.

OMG ("Oh my God" (or sometimes "gosh", "goodness", etc.) isn't a new initialism. According to OED, OMG first appeared in a 1917 personal letter.

LOL ("laughing out loud") had a previous life, starting in 1960 when it meant "little old lady".

Fascinating isn't it?

The minute you start digging into the OED,  not just new entries and senses either, you're hooked. Hours fly by as you get a peek inside the words that define who we are and how we communicate with each other. IMHO ("in my humble opinion") this can never be TMI ("too much information").

What does a word mean? Where does it originate?

OED is a language sleuth. Its daily, never ending task, is finding out what people are saying, what they mean by it, and where both word and meaning originated. It closely monitors language trends and decides when a word should be considered usual English vocabulary. Consider the new OED entry "wag".

In 2002, the Sunday Telegraph newspaper reported that the staff at the England footballers' pre-World Cup training camp referred to the players' partners collectively as "Wags", from the initial letters of "wives and girlfriends."

The term then remained relatively dormant, except for a small and brief revival around the time of Euro 2004, before the 2006 World Cup in Germany saw an explosion of usage, as the women, including Victoria Beckham and Colleen Rooney had a high profile of their own. Debates raged in the newspapers about whether the women's presence was "distracting"  the footballers, alongside an equal fascination with what they were buying and wearing.

"Wag" quickly became a byword for the female partners of male professionals (in football and other spheres), often connoting a glamorous or extravagant lifestyle and a high media profile. By 2007 general readers could be expected to know what it meant... and the word was thus fast tracked to official OED standing.

OED makes a point of noting that it is quite uncommon for new words to reach a level of ubiquity in such a short time after their first appearance. What the rise of "wag" indicates is the importance retained by print media, even in this age of social networking. That surely cheered Fleet Street, where print media circulation and size have been steadily declining.

Other new words in the OED.

"Off the menu".

The culinary appetites of the English-speaking world are ever more diverse. So are the words needed to feed these appetites. The March, 2011 update sees OED adding such far-flung items as "banh mi" (also known as Vietnamese sandwich;  "taquito" (a crisp-fried Tex-Mex snack); "kleftiko" (a Greek dish of slow-cooked lamb. And many other food-related items.

"From a land down under".

OED aims to cover lexical developments from throughout the English- speaking world. In this update, a few new items from Australian English enter the dictionary for the first time: "flat white", a style of espresso drink with finely textured foamed milk; "tragic" (a boring or socially inept person, especially  one with an obsessive interest or hobby); and "yidaki", an Australian Aboriginal term for the musical instrument better known in English as a didgeridoo.

One more factoid.

This set of additions and revisions takes OED to the end of the letter R. In case you're wondering, the biggest entry in this range is "run". The verb alone contains 645 senses and is now the largest single entry in the dictionary; one sense is to run along... which is what I've got to do...

It's all about us.

Frankly, there are few books as riveting as OED. No wonder. It's ALL about us. It's about smart people spending the whole of their productive lives listening to what we say, how we say it, and who said it first. (Maybe you!) What could be better than that?

OED is as vital as the latest email, film, novel, or conversation in the deli. Reading OED you have a comfortable seat for the thing that interests us most about each other: what we are saying right now, new, different, outrageous, crazy, shrewd. It's all in OED.

That's why my OED and I are BBF ("best friends forever"). You should be, too.

About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc. providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. He is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. Dr. Lant is happy to give all readers, 50,000 free guaranteed visitors for attending his live webcast today.
 
Webcast Time: 12:00 PM Pacific - 1:00 PM Mountain - 2:00 PM Central - 3:00 PM Eastern
Our Speaker will be: Dr. Jeffrey Lant
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com

Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com


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'Tell mama... Tell mama all.' An appreciation for the life of Elizabeth Taylor, who did it her way.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
First you saw two of the most beautiful people you had ever seen, Elizabeth Taylor and Montgomery Clift. That was reason enough to pay attention.

Then, all of a sudden, the film made a quantum leap from eye-candy to the profound mysteries of sexuality, eroticism, desire. And Elizabeth Taylor was no longer merely the spoiled teenaged daughter of the country club set. She was a man's ultimate desire... because she understood that desire is not about who you are... it's about understanding what the other person needs, deep down inside... and making it, if only for an instant, temptingly available.

"Tell mama," she whispered, "Tell mama  all."

It was unexpected! It was erotic! It was kinky! This was the woman you'd kill for... as Montgomery Clift's character did... it couldn't be any other way.

This was Elizabeth Taylor... on the prowl, mesmerizing, entrancing, a woman who used her deep psychological insights to ensnare the man she wanted, the man who would ultimately bore her and so trigger another installment of the great game that was hers to play.

Was she just a character in "A Place In The Sun" (1951)... or was this the exciting, desirable woman herself? We didn't know... but we definitely wanted to find out, whatever the cost. And we knew there would be a cost, a terrible cost.

"Tell mama... tell mama all." We wanted the opportunity to do  just that.

And they say the 'fifties were dull....  Not when Elizabeth Taylor was around. She didn't know the meaning of the word and always chose mayhem over the placid and serene.

Now the woman is gone... but her great renown, her celebrity,  the legend all remain to titillate, captivate, thrill. All that will never be gone.

Elizabeth Rosamond Taylor, born February 27, 1932 in London.

Her father was an American art dealer, in London to open a gallery. Her mother,was an actress.  Although only 7 years old when her parents decided to remove her from war-threatened England and return to Los Angeles, there was always a faint hint of an English girl about her. But she was American through and through for all that Queen Elizabeth II in 1999 made her a Dame of the British Empire. And always remember this: at the supreme moment of American hegemony, Elizabeth Taylor was  the woman we  made one of our signature images. We were her co-conspirators every step of the way.

"National Velvet"  (1944).

Taylor's parents wanted her to be an actress.  They packaged her like laundry soap and made the rounds of the studios. She did a successful screen test for Universal Pictures with her eyes -- violet and soon to be world famous -- the subject of comment. They always were.

That contract was brief and undistinguished, although she was paired with Carl Switzer ("Alfalfa" from the "Our Gang" movies) in the comedy "Man or Mouse".  It was the last moment of her life when she would be unknown to the  world... although not the last where both the film and her performance were underwhelming. She got used that.

Her character, Velvet Brown, was a horse crazy adolescent. But what Hollywood and the discerning public saw was the way she talked about horses -- she visibly throbbed with emotion. Her eyes -- those famous eyes -- gleamed, and her whole body shook with passion. "National Velvet" was a great hit... and it made Taylor, the mistress of passion, one of the hottest people on earth. She was just 12 years old, a real life Lolita. People talked about her; people always would.

The real problem was finding the suitable vehicle for her undeniable talent. It took 7 years -- and a series of not-quite-right roles; (can you say "Conspirator" with Robert Taylor, 1949?)... but at last it all came together in "A Place In The  Sun." Velvet Brown no longer was passionate about ponies; now she wanted men... when she wanted them, even if they had to kill so she could have them.

In that moment of profound psychological insight, Taylor realized that power and satisfaction grew out of the ability to be what every person needed. As she leaned into Monty Clift's ear she was telling him she understood him and his needs and was ready to deliver. No wonder audiences thrilled. Women wanted to be her, so they could profit from this insight.

And men?

They would tell mama all; knowing that she would give them just want they wanted... and they would give her the world.

This role, this insight lead to everything that followed. Her motto now was "Let them come to you." And they did... a worldwide caravan of admirers, followers, fans... including the men she selected to share her journey, then discard. Of her 7 husbands (if you count Richard Burton twice), Michael Todd, showman, dynamo, impresario, was the most important. She might not have stayed with him, either. However he would have known how to fight for her... and she would admire that. She understood the crucial difference between men who desired her... and men who knew what she needed: a fighter. Tragically, he died in 1958, in a plane  crash. It was the year of "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof", where she elevated insistent sensuality and the demands of desire to an art form. What "Maggie" wanted, Maggie got. Good women called her a "slut." But, when  honest, women cheered her for doing what they could only dream of doing, with male management on top of the list. Elizabeth Taylor was never a hypocrite, something the hypocrites could never forgive. Her boldness affronted them, irritated them, infuriated them. It made the rest of us admire.

If Elizabeth Taylor cared, she never showed it or complained. It all worked to make her Larger than Life, the world riveted by every little move she made, with new husband in tow, or between "I do's."

Her last role was her finest, using the death of friend Rock Hudson from AIDS (1985) not as something to be ashamed of and forgotten, but as what it was: a  medical challenge to be confronted directly, honestly. If there were any justice, the Vatican would make her a saint. Predictably they vilified her for "erotic vagrancy." It never said that about men and their amatory gyrations...

Dead at 79, March 23, 2011.

Now the lady is dead, a figure of history and lore... a creature of astonishing beauty with those violet eyes and talent, too, though not always seen in her films. Reports said she died of congestive heart failure, but that cannot be right, for she had nothing if not heart. It's what defined her.

That's why we believed her when she said,"Tell mama. Tell mamma all." We knew she meant it and had the heart to carry through, even unto our most secret needs. We had to have such a person in our lives... and would do anything to keep her there. Now she abides with each of us alone, forever.

About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc.,
providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses.
Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books.
Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie 

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http://WeBroadcastToYou.com

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It's official. There is finally a real GOP candidate for 2012: ex-Governor Tim Pawlenty. Did anybody notice?

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Let me tell  you something about presidential candidates: the day they announce for the highest office in the land, they figure they'll be the top story... their mug on the front page of America's great dailies, their story featured on the three major commercial networks... and, of course, the object of endless glib commentary on Fox News and CNN.

For Pawlenty, the first announced Republican candidate, it just didn't happen.

To be sure, there were really major stories being covered  March 21, 2011. Can you say nuclear reactors in Japan? That military dust-up in Libya? But even so, you would have thought Pawlenty would have gotten something.

And what's got to irk Pawlenty good and plenty is that he has at least some credibility, not least that he was a moderately conservative governor (twice!) of a reliably Democratic state. When Pawlenty looks in the mirror, mirror on the wall... who's the one he sees most of all? Can you say Ronald Reagan?

But Pawlenty got skunked... his Hollywood style introduction video ignored...  his message to America undelivered. What a revoltin' development this is. If it had been Tim's predecessor in the Minnesota governor's office -- colorful ex-wrestler and mouth man Jesse Ventura -- you can bet there would have been coverage, lots of coverage.

Tim's gotta wonder...

"Gentlemen prefer blondes" (1926),  Anita Loos said. In the sequel, she told us "But Gentlemen marry brunettes" (1928). Tim can only hope that he's seen as the man America wants to marry. If only he can figure out how to get a date to strut his (good boy) stuff...

Minnesota... always the bridesmaid, never the bride.

Pity the state of Minnesota. It has had a respectable number of presidential candidates... but nary even a one-term president amongst them.

Harold Stassen was the hot stuff in 1938 when he was America's youngest governor. He got a really bad case of Potomac Fever right away (1944) and never did get rid of it. He became a national  joke running for president over and over again, a (bad) joke. Minnesota cringed.

Then there was Hubert Horatio Humphrey Jr., who actually got the Democrat's nomination in 1968... and came within a hair of winning the presidency. "Tricky Dick" Nixon's most important trick was getting the presidency that year. A profoundly decent man, Humphrey learned the hard way that loyalty (to Lyndon Johnson and his Vietnam policy) isn't what gets you elected; hard headed realism is. Nixon had it... Hubert didn't.

The next presidential candidate from Minnesota, Jimmy Carter's vice president Walter Mondale had this fundamental decency and honesty, too, and it killed him.

Right out of the box Mondale, the very essence of the Minnesota boy next door, you know, the one who carries in your groceries with a smile and declines the tip, slaughtered himself. He told America the truth -- that the deficit was unsustainable and there would have to be new taxes. (Deja vu all over again....)

I had to admire the man's guts...  but you knew, right then, he was a goner. Ronald Reagan crushed him... and went on to GOP sainthood, the prototype of how to finesse the truth and become the Big Winner.

Get the picture?

Now there's Timmy Pawlenty, and here's what you need to know about him. His original career choice was... dentist.  I kid you not... and once you know it you can see him in white coat, dazzling smile, personable, confiding manner; the man who says "open wide", "little pinch", "spit here."

He'd have been a cinch for president of the Minnesota Dental Association... and a lifetime achievement award from the Kiwanis.

What's he bring to the table?

The problem with those Boy Scout types, the nice guys, is that nice is what they've got, all they've got. Timmie's got likability all right but anything else?

His ascent.

He was born November 17, 1960, of German and Polish ancestry. You'll hear about his teamster father; his mother who died of cancer when he was 15. And about his meat packing neighborhood with that all-pervasive dead meat smell. (Don't mention that bit too much, Tim; it definitely puts people off. Ask not for whom the smell tolls... it tolls for thee.)

Born Roman Catholic, Pawlenty became an evangelical Christian... a fact he will leverage to the max, to get those all important conservative Republican and Tea Party supporters.  Powerful, they'll demand  a hefty price.

Pawlenty's political career shows what nice guys are capable of achieving. He was elected to the Egan, Minnesota city council in 1989, age 28. Elected to the Minnesota House of Representatives in 1992, he was re-elected five times and was chosen House Majority Leader when Republicans became the majority party in the State Legislature in 1998.

He won a hard fought victory in the Republican gubernatorial primary in 2002... then beat aggressive candidates from the Minnesota Democratic- Farmer-Labor Party and the Independence Party. He was re-elected in 2006. Impressive yes. Memorable no! And the high point of his rhetoric was: "We need to be a party of Sam's Club, not just the country club." Churchillian, he isn't. And America likes its presidents to be masters of soaring speech.

Now the nicest guy aims at the highest office. Everyone will like him. Almost no one with think him the Great White Hope of America, and his poll numbers will always be anemic. Just as they are now.

You see Tim suffers from  Minnesotitis... the disease that takes boys next door and turns them into likable cogs in the wheel... always on the team, hardly ever the captain and never ever champion.  Leo Durocher summed up their plight in 1939 with his immortal line, "Nice guys finish last." Tim Pawlenty is about to discover just how deflatingly true that is, as he joins the list of nice guys from Minnesota who couldn't wow America.

About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc. providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. He is also the author of 18 best-selling business books.  Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com
Check out Local Mobile Monopoly  =>Check Here

On the vernal equinox and the advent of spring. All poets need apply.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
An event occurred just the other day which impacts each and every one of us on Spaceship Earth, but which hardly one of us knows anything about and mentions, if at all, quite casually. Yet so momentous is this occurrence,  coming with clock like precision, that our very existences depend upon it; nothing could be less prosaic, nothing more significant.

It is the vernal equinox...

Hereabouts in old New England, the vernal equinox took place at 7:21 p.m., Eastern Daylight Time, March 20, 2011. The spring we have all been awaiting, the spring that delivers the relief from the oppression of cold and damp and short dull days, the spring that blows soft winds, as so many unexpected kisses -- and flowers, too --  that spring, right on the dot, arrived...

but we were heavy laden and may have been distracted when it came as our new reality.

Good citizens of this galaxy, give an ear now to this great event, which next occurs September 22, 2011 at 10:49 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time.

There is nothing that concerns you more than these great celestial movements, the unheard but momentous, unearthly music of the spheres, awesome, terrible,  the very stuff of grandeur, eternal, too.

Put aside mundane concerns and remember, for an  instant,  who you are,  a one-way passenger on the greatest of galleons, and wither it goes, you go.

What is an equinox anyway?

An equinox occurs twice a year, when the tilt of the Earth's axis is inclined neither away from nor towards the Sun, the center of the Sun being in the same plane as the Earth's equator. The term equinox can also be used in a broader sense, meaning the date when such a passage happens.

The name "equinox" is derived from the Latin "aequus" (equal) and "nox" (night) because around the equinox, the night and day have approximately equal length. Each are, then, about 12 hours long (with the actual time of equal day and night, in  the Northern Hemisphere, occurring a few days before the vernal equinox.) The Sun crosses the celestial equator going northward; it rises exactly due east and sets exactly due west.

But of all  this, we need remember only one thing: the vernal equinox, and the unending adjustments we make to the matter of human time, are all about light and the Sun at the center of our universe. Sol Invictus.

While the celestial movements, now this way, now that, are liable to confuse; we all know the crucial significance of our Sun; even the youngest amongst us looks up, involuntarily to admire, rejoice, and be glad of it. Our Sun, of an immensity and heat unimaginable, is brought nearer to us, and happily so, with the vernal equinox.

We are, all of us, Sun worshippers... for without it there would be nothing here for us, or of us either.

The vernal equinox brings that Sun closer.

Tinkerings with time.

Because of its unexcelled desirability, we humans have long been beguiled with the notion of how to get more of the Sun we crave. All ancient peoples, particularly the Greeks and Persians, the sophisticates of antiquity, gave serious attention to the matter. Sadly, much of their findings are lost; what remains from the works of Greek astronomer and mathematician Hipparchus (ca. 190- ca.120 BC)  and Aristarchus of Samos (around 280 BC) is suggestive of their expertise and insights. But we cannot tell more.

However, we do know about Benjamin Franklin, jack of all trades, master of all.

Franklin, with his unstoppable curiosity, wanted what only God could deliver: more time. It is easy to see why he desired it so: he, long before Edna St. Vincent Millay, burnt the candle at both ends, and not in purely scientific endeavors, either. At the Court of the Bourbons of France there were any number of elegantes who found Franklin, American minister, worthy of closer study. There was never enough time to gratify them all...

And so Franklin advanced the suggestion that became daylight savings. It was a quintessentially American proposal -- bold, audacious, practical, based on science, not theology. Sadly, it is still not clear that it actually works... and each American state, every single one, is by law entitled to adopt it, or not. For God and His equinox time is simple, majestic; humans muddle the matter, to general grumbling and consternation.

But not poets...

All poets worth their salt weigh in with a will on one of their signature topics: the advent of light, of Sun, of spring. So excited are they by this topic, that they are severely prone to skip over the residue of winter that comes in the first spring days of March, concentrating on the riotous, unrestrained days of April and May. This is wrong, and Henry Van Dyke (1852-1933) rightly noted in "Fisherman's Luck" (1899).

"The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is as great as a month."

Having said  this, I confess I, too, want immediate egress from the grim, cold, muddy days of March spring.  I am impatient, like Walt Whiteman:

"Give me the splendid silent sun   with all his beams full-dazzling."

(1819-1892) From "Leaves of Grass" (1855; 1891-92.)

Patient through long, drear winters we can be but as we see relief near at hand, we can be patient no longer, for we know, we all know, what is coming and we cannot longer wait. Still liable to be tripped up by winter... we are adamant that the spring is coming.

"The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day When the sun is out and the wind is still, You're one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, A cloud comes over the sunlit arch, A wind comes off a frozen peak, And you're two months back in the middle of March."

Robert Frost (1874-1963) "Two Tramps in Mud Time" (1936).

But I cannot better end than by urging you to find in any search engine your favorite recording of Aaron Copeland's "Appalachian Spring" (premiered 1944).... It will seize you, uplift you, refresh you... and perfectly position you, in reverence,  as you walk into this springtime of your life, whatever your age or circumstances. We are all young again in springtime... such is the magic of the vernal equinox.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

An event occurred just the other day which impacts each and every one of us on Spaceship Earth, but which hardly one of us knows anything about and mentions, if at all, quite casually. Yet so momentous is this occurrence,  coming with clock like precision, that our very existences depend upon it; nothing could be less prosaic, nothing more significant.

It is the vernal equinox...

Hereabouts in old New England, the vernal equinox took place at 7:21 p.m., Eastern Daylight Time, March 20, 2011. The spring we have all been awaiting, the spring that delivers the relief from the oppression of cold and damp and short dull days, the spring that blows soft winds, as so many unexpected kisses -- and flowers, too --  that spring, right on the dot, arrived...

but we were heavy laden and may have been distracted when it came as our new reality.

Good citizens of this galaxy, give an ear now to this great event, which next occurs September 22, 2011 at 10:49 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time.

There is nothing that concerns you more than these great celestial movements, the unheard but momentous, unearthly music of the spheres, awesome, terrible,  the very stuff of grandeur, eternal, too.

Put aside mundane concerns and remember, for an  instant,  who you are,  a one-way passenger on the greatest of galleons, and wither it goes, you go.

What is an equinox anyway?

An equinox occurs twice a year, when the tilt of the Earth's axis is inclined neither away from nor towards the Sun, the center of the Sun being in the same plane as the Earth's equator. The term equinox can also be used in a broader sense, meaning the date when such a passage happens.

The name "equinox" is derived from the Latin "aequus" (equal) and "nox" (night) because around the equinox, the night and day have approximately equal length. Each are, then, about 12 hours long (with the actual time of equal day and night, in  the Northern Hemisphere, occurring a few days before the vernal equinox.) The Sun crosses the celestial equator going northward; it rises exactly due east and sets exactly due west.

But of all  this, we need remember only one thing: the vernal equinox, and the unending adjustments we make to the matter of human time, are all about light and the Sun at the center of our universe. Sol Invictus.

While the celestial movements, now this way, now that, are liable to confuse; we all know the crucial significance of our Sun; even the youngest amongst us looks up, involuntarily to admire, rejoice, and be glad of it. Our Sun, of an immensity and heat unimaginable, is brought nearer to us, and happily so, with the vernal equinox.

We are, all of us, Sun worshippers... for without it there would be nothing here for us, or of us either.

The vernal equinox brings that Sun closer.

Tinkerings with time.

Because of its unexcelled desirability, we humans have long been beguiled with the notion of how to get more of the Sun we crave. All ancient peoples, particularly the Greeks and Persians, the sophisticates of antiquity, gave serious attention to the matter. Sadly, much of their findings are lost; what remains from the works of Greek astronomer and mathematician Hipparchus (ca. 190- ca.120 BC)  and Aristarchus of Samos (around 280 BC) is suggestive of their expertise and insights. But we cannot tell more.

However, we do know about Benjamin Franklin, jack of all trades, master of all.

Franklin, with his unstoppable curiosity, wanted what only God could deliver: more time. It is easy to see why he desired it so: he, long before Edna St. Vincent Millay, burnt the candle at both ends, and not in purely scientific endeavors, either. At the Court of the Bourbons of France there were any number of elegantes who found Franklin, American minister, worthy of closer study. There was never enough time to gratify them all...

And so Franklin advanced the suggestion that became daylight savings. It was a quintessentially American proposal -- bold, audacious, practical, based on science, not theology. Sadly, it is still not clear that it actually works... and each American state, every single one, is by law entitled to adopt it, or not. For God and His equinox time is simple, majestic; humans muddle the matter, to general grumbling and consternation.

But not poets...

All poets worth their salt weigh in with a will on one of their signature topics: the advent of light, of Sun, of spring. So excited are they by this topic, that they are severely prone to skip over the residue of winter that comes in the first spring days of March, concentrating on the riotous, unrestrained days of April and May. This is wrong, and Henry Van Dyke (1852-1933) rightly noted in "Fisherman's Luck" (1899).

"The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is as great as a month."

Having said  this, I confess I, too, want immediate egress from the grim, cold, muddy days of March spring.  I am impatient, like Walt Whiteman:

"Give me the splendid silent sun   with all his beams full-dazzling."

(1819-1892) From "Leaves of Grass" (1855; 1891-92.)

Patient through long, drear winters we can be but as we see relief near at hand, we can be patient no longer, for we know, we all know, what is coming and we cannot longer wait. Still liable to be tripped up by winter... we are adamant that the spring is coming.

"The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day When the sun is out and the wind is still, You're one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, A cloud comes over the sunlit arch, A wind comes off a frozen peak, And you're two months back in the middle of March."

Robert Frost (1874-1963) "Two Tramps in Mud Time" (1936).

But I cannot better end than by urging you to find in any search engine your favorite recording of Aaron Copeland's "Appalachian Spring" (premiered 1944).... It will seize you, uplift you, refresh you... and perfectly position you, in reverence,  as you walk into this springtime of your life, whatever your age or circumstances. We are all young again in springtime... such is the magic of the vernal equinox.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

An event occurred just the other day which impacts each and every one of us on Spaceship Earth, but which hardly one of us knows anything about and mentions, if at all, quite casually. Yet so momentous is this occurrence,  coming with clock like precision, that our very existences depend upon it; nothing could be less prosaic, nothing more significant.

It is the vernal equinox...

Hereabouts in old New England, the vernal equinox took place at 7:21 p.m., Eastern Daylight Time, March 20, 2011. The spring we have all been awaiting, the spring that delivers the relief from the oppression of cold and damp and short dull days, the spring that blows soft winds, as so many unexpected kisses -- and flowers, too --  that spring, right on the dot, arrived...

but we were heavy laden and may have been distracted when it came as our new reality.

Good citizens of this galaxy, give an ear now to this great event, which next occurs September 22, 2011 at 10:49 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time.

There is nothing that concerns you more than these great celestial movements, the unheard but momentous, unearthly music of the spheres, awesome, terrible,  the very stuff of grandeur, eternal, too.

Put aside mundane concerns and remember, for an  instant,  who you are,  a one-way passenger on the greatest of galleons, and wither it goes, you go.

What is an equinox anyway?

An equinox occurs twice a year, when the tilt of the Earth's axis is inclined neither away from nor towards the Sun, the center of the Sun being in the same plane as the Earth's equator. The term equinox can also be used in a broader sense, meaning the date when such a passage happens.

The name "equinox" is derived from the Latin "aequus" (equal) and "nox" (night) because around the equinox, the night and day have approximately equal length. Each are, then, about 12 hours long (with the actual time of equal day and night, in  the Northern Hemisphere, occurring a few days before the vernal equinox.) The Sun crosses the celestial equator going northward; it rises exactly due east and sets exactly due west.

But of all  this, we need remember only one thing: the vernal equinox, and the unending adjustments we make to the matter of human time, are all about light and the Sun at the center of our universe. Sol Invictus.

While the celestial movements, now this way, now that, are liable to confuse; we all know the crucial significance of our Sun; even the youngest amongst us looks up, involuntarily to admire, rejoice, and be glad of it. Our Sun, of an immensity and heat unimaginable, is brought nearer to us, and happily so, with the vernal equinox.

We are, all of us, Sun worshippers... for without it there would be nothing here for us, or of us either.

The vernal equinox brings that Sun closer.

Tinkerings with time.

Because of its unexcelled desirability, we humans have long been beguiled with the notion of how to get more of the Sun we crave. All ancient peoples, particularly the Greeks and Persians, the sophisticates of antiquity, gave serious attention to the matter. Sadly, much of their findings are lost; what remains from the works of Greek astronomer and mathematician Hipparchus (ca. 190- ca.120 BC)  and Aristarchus of Samos (around 280 BC) is suggestive of their expertise and insights. But we cannot tell more.

However, we do know about Benjamin Franklin, jack of all trades, master of all.

Franklin, with his unstoppable curiosity, wanted what only God could deliver: more time. It is easy to see why he desired it so: he, long before Edna St. Vincent Millay, burnt the candle at both ends, and not in purely scientific endeavors, either. At the Court of the Bourbons of France there were any number of elegantes who found Franklin, American minister, worthy of closer study. There was never enough time to gratify them all...

And so Franklin advanced the suggestion that became daylight savings. It was a quintessentially American proposal -- bold, audacious, practical, based on science, not theology. Sadly, it is still not clear that it actually works... and each American state, every single one, is by law entitled to adopt it, or not. For God and His equinox time is simple, majestic; humans muddle the matter, to general grumbling and consternation.

But not poets...

All poets worth their salt weigh in with a will on one of their signature topics: the advent of light, of Sun, of spring. So excited are they by this topic, that they are severely prone to skip over the residue of winter that comes in the first spring days of March, concentrating on the riotous, unrestrained days of April and May. This is wrong, and Henry Van Dyke (1852-1933) rightly noted in "Fisherman's Luck" (1899).

"The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is as great as a month."

Having said  this, I confess I, too, want immediate egress from the grim, cold, muddy days of March spring.  I am impatient, like Walt Whiteman:

"Give me the splendid silent sun   with all his beams full-dazzling."

(1819-1892) From "Leaves of Grass" (1855; 1891-92.)

Patient through long, drear winters we can be but as we see relief near at hand, we can be patient no longer, for we know, we all know, what is coming and we cannot longer wait. Still liable to be tripped up by winter... we are adamant that the spring is coming.

"The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day When the sun is out and the wind is still, You're one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, A cloud comes over the sunlit arch, A wind comes off a frozen peak, And you're two months back in the middle of March."

Robert Frost (1874-1963) "Two Tramps in Mud Time" (1936).

But I cannot better end than by urging you to find in any search engine your favorite recording of Aaron Copeland's "Appalachian Spring" (premiered 1944).... It will seize you, uplift you, refresh you... and perfectly position you, in reverence,  as you walk into this springtime of your life, whatever your age or circumstances. We are all young again in springtime... such is the magic of the vernal equinox.

About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc. providing a wide range of online services for small and-home based businesses. He is also the author of 18 best-selling business books. Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie

See our live broadcast center
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com    
   
Check out Local Mobile Monopoly  
Click Here

Tufts University president ends Naked Quad run, naked students protest.

Shenanigans at school....

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Pity the president, any president, of Tufts University. Based in Medford, Massachusetts, just a few miles from Harvard  and M.I.T., Tufts is engaged in an ongoing struggle to get out of their shadows and breathe free, a distinguished institution of undergraduate education and research, justifying the Really Big Bucks they charge dazed parents to educate their "not quite Ivy quality" children.

But it just ain't happenin'.

Whatever good things, whatever great things are going on there, today people worldwide want to know only one thing about Tufts: what's the Naked Quad Run and why has it been cancelled?

My research reveals all.

No one seems the know the exact year the Naked Quad Run commenced but authorities agree that it's been going on since the 1970s. It started, as many undergraduate events do, on a dare. You can see sophomore Herbie egging on freshman Bobby in, say, 1970. "Come on, Bobby boy. I dare you." "Gee, Herbie, I don't know. I'm a good boy and what if my mother ever found out?"

"Just as I thought Bobby boy. You're a weenie."

And to prove that he wasn't... Bobby downed a quick one, doffed his clothes and became the first Naked Quad runner, cold (it was December after all), blue, a champion. Herbie, irked, spent the rest of his life pointing out that it was Really His Idea.

Bobby, who went on to being president of a Really Big Bank and a trustee of the university, got all the credit. It made for a great story every once in a while in the Tufts alumni bulletin. And it was no surprise when Bobby,  age 65, recreated his original Naked Quad Run, to whoops of joy from hundreds of naked undergrads; they had to admit Bobby was an inspiration to all and, all unclad, gathered to cheer on their hero, the man who started it all.

Yep, the story had to go something like that. Anyway...

Over the years, the Naked Quad Run became a firmly rooted Tufts tradition. The boys, sheepish, milled aimlessly about, blue and cold (it was December, remember). Of course there was alcohol (there always is at most every collegiate event) and of course some of those boys were underage and over indulged... but boys will be boys...

And so the run went on, gathering adherents and notoriety as it went. Ok, it wasn't exactly the Pulitzer or Nobel prize... but it did generate a bucket of PR and good vibrations for Tufts; when you're firmly planted at #3, you've got to take what you can get.

Cherchez la femme.

Some scholars, with a notably feminist perspective, have a decidedly different view on the subject; (they would). The Naked Quad Run (and they put on a learned symposium to prove it) was not held to celebrate the joys of "Gaudeamus igitur" in the great classical tradition of "mens sana in corpore sano". Rather, and one learned lady was quite adamant about this, rather it was designed for two purposes: to make newly arrived Tufts undergraduate women uncomfortable while at the same time showing off their hot bods, the better to get dates. A poll taken at the symposium registered deep disgust and disapprobation with this male only Naked Quad Run...

... and so supported by vehement feminists, women undergrads were permitted to doff their clothes, too, along with their male undergrad colleagues.

Thus, the ecstatic men of Tufts achieved , with the blessing of the Founding Mothers, a goal of young men everywhere and in all places: official permission to check out naked chicks.

Score another one for Tufts!

What a place!

And all officially sanctioned!

Predictably applications to Tufts soared. It was no doubt the enticing curriculum....

So things might have gone on forever... but all was not roses in this collegiate Eden.

There was more alcohol.

There were (I blush to tell) gropings... not just of young men to young women, but young women to young men; young men to young men... and young women to... but you get the point.

Too, the campus police say they were harassed.

What was going on here anyway?

In time-honored American tradition, the thing had morphed from a youthful, uncomplicated celebration of the end of examinations into an Event, where undergrads from other colleges came to participate (if they were cute so much the better) and where Japanese tourists arrived with their guide and video cams.

The university started to keep -- and release -- the findings of mayhem and dissipation. December, 2010 figures were the worst yet; 12 students were hospitalized for alcohol poisoning.

Tufts University president Lawrence Bacow (no doubt opposed by the admissions department every inch of the way) took action and banned the Naked Quad Run.

Bacow, clearly anguished by his decision, acknowledged (according to an editorial in The Boston Globe (March 16, 2011) that he has "long been uncomfortable with the run, but chose to work with students and  public safety staff to 'manage the run rather than end it'." Food was available... barriers were erected... the course was sanded, etc.

As a result the crowds got worse, drank more, groped with impunity and acted out. When Medford and Somerville police (always irked by hordes of insouciant undergrad nudists) refused to provide security details, the end had at last arrived.

That's why they pay those Big Bucks to Bacow, to make the really tough decisions.

There were student protests, of course. This was Something Really Important, and the creme de la creme at Tufts came out to signify their opposition to this edict and the diminution of the quality of life at Tufts. After all, the right to check out the naked bodies of their friends and colleagues was worth fighting for...

On March 14, 2011 dozens of students engaged in a partially nude run around the Res Quad in a peaceful, sober protect against Bacow's decision. They were not about to go silent into that good night. Text messages, e-mails, Facebook events brought them together, and they vowed, naked, to continue the good fight. And perhaps they will.

For now, however,  the naked paradise that was Tufts on the nights of the run is closed, no more happily ever afterings in Medford. Thus Tufts sinks back into sober, clothed obscurity, while the student affairs office brainstorms alternatives. One of them, as reported by the Tufts Daily newspaper, is a Winter Carnival. Another, a concert.

Hold it!  Kids, the carnival's already done. At Dartmouth.  As for the concert idea... old hat. If I were you, I'd hold out for reviving the Naked Quad Run. It's got eye-popping appeal, and it IS a bona fide Tufts tradition. They are few and far between.

About the Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., where small and home-based businesses learn how to profit online. Attend Dr. Lant's live webcast TODAY and receive 50,000 free guaranteed visitors to the website of your choice! Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books.
Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com

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Easter Eggs.

So what is Easter?
Shocking Easter Truth

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

The older I get, the less current holidays mean to me... and the more those from years, even decades ago. I see the vivid Easter displays; (these days pharmacies seem to have the most and largest.) But these festive aisles and windows, the bags of candy, and, of course, the seasonal cuddlies do not speak to me. They merely mark the calendar as just another day.

That was not always the case, but years and unrelenting death have so thinned the ranks of the significant players in these annual rites that the dead now significantly outnumber the living, of whom, graying, I am yet one.

I do not mind giving up this present holiday; there is little enough to lose.

But I would mind relinquishing my memories of Easter Days gone by, for there are my beloved ghosts, each and every one as vital in my mind's eye as quick, not long defunct.

And because these folks are even more precious to me now than then, I wish this Easter to remember them through the medium of eggs, colored eggs, hidden eggs, Easter eggs.

My mother's Easter eggs.

Without any effort whatsoever, I see her in the way the narrator in Thornton Wilder's play "Our Town"  (1938) saw his characters and Granite state denizens.  She was young and beautiful then, far, far younger than I am now. She worried, as so many women before and since, about whether she was a "good mother" because she had outside work responsibilities. When I was much older, she would ask me if I minded her being away when I came home from school. I was too young to know just what I should have said. .So, I stumbled through an answer I hope gave comfort, but must doubt.  Perhaps it was some scintilla of this guilt (I cannot be sure) that drove the yearly Easter Egg Project, or perhaps it was simply that this messy business was sure to make her laugh.  I was there but perceived little; today I see much more, all impressions secure in my mind's eye.

I quite recall we'd go to Woolworths, first, and then our local general store and post office, run by Mr. and Mrs. Mackey (I never called them anything other); folks who knew all, but were most times (gratefully) discrete.

Both places would have had the Eastern egg coloring kit (by PAAS?) that was de rigueur for this annual kitchen table rite. This kit had the necessary color pellets, special "swirl" colors, too, for advanced egg coloring.... and a host of decals with seasonal themes. We only used the secular ones. Some of these were certain to be later found in my brother's hair and clothes; he tried to do as much to me, but I was older and wise to his tactics. He can hardly laugh about it even now...

At first. there was strict order and efficiency. Uncolored eggs here; table spoons for these eggs for dipping. Hot water (mind it needed vinegar) on the stove... pellets here... decals there. This sensible ordering of the event was gone in an instant, submerged in uncouth behaviors, reachings around and over, and of course clever sibling sabotages.

And always and again, laughter that firmly established more than any query ever could,  that yes she was the best of mothers, how could she even wonder? And so, some telltale signs of the battle still table top, the now colored eggs packed up (except a few)  and driven purposefully to Grammie's house, where we rambunctious and much loved, visited most every day. Grammie had a task for these eggs... and we knew partly what it was, for these rituals were yearly done.

Each year, Grammie and Grampie, their four adult children and their spouses, would mastermind the family Easter Egg Hunt. There was never any question where it would be held. And while it was not so grand as the nation's Egg Rolling at the White House, it was as meticulously arranged and punctiliously celebrated.

All aunts contributed the necessary elements -- colored eggs of course (always the subject of high scrutiny and devastating comments sotto voce); home-made cookies (the honor of their sex ensured we never had  others); and mountains of Easter candy that started with chocolate rabbits and ended with jelly beans. Then circled back to chocolate again. Excess was the order of the day.

Children were encouraged to play outside. Important doings were underway... in the kitchen and in the "rec" room below where the men had the task of determining the hiding places in and out... and carefully writing each location down. These men might grumble... but they never missed this crucial aspect of the affair. They would have been there anyway; we all ended each day in Grammie's house and kitchen perforce, no invitation ever needed.

At the appointed hour Easter Day, after church and a heavy, formal  luncheon which lost nothing of our solid living Hanoverian ancestors, the grandchildren (and that meant every last one of us) were gathered at the starting point in the garage, where on ordinary days Grampie was not above showing off his latest Oldsmobile and his automated garage door. His children, as yet, had neither.  The grandchildren's Easter eggs.

Grampie and his two sons and two sons-in-law including my father were in charge of Order and Efficiency. This year would surely not be a repeat of what happened last year. But it always was...

The children were all sternly and solemnly admonished to put what they found in their Easter basket and, Above All Else, to let one of the hovering adults know Where They Had Found It.

As always, the organizing theory was excellent... but the reality ensured the customary mass chaos (and much laughter).

The youngest grandchildren could never recall where they had found that chocolate bunny, which was already absent an ear. The oldest grandchildren (inspired by me, the oldest of all) were practised predators. We knew all the best hiding places and went to them like a bat from hell, erasing all order as we went.

Such  perhaps was the truest indication that we were a family, each and every one of us.

Unwilling to end this giant game of hide and seek, the grandchildren hid and re-hid the eggs (now mostly broken and inedible)  and candies, too. There were only to be found when one of the uncles was sure to find in humid July in the toe of his winter boots, a very jaundiced and pungent Easter egg artifact.  So, that's where that one went....

No Easter, however, would have been complete without my father taking us to the feed store and reviewing the new colored chicks and ducks (red, blue, purple, green). We were allowed a half a dozen or so; before we left Grammie's we got to show our less fortunate cousins What We Got... pets all, none ever to be eaten.

Now all this exists only in my mind's eye... but, because I've summoned this story, it is all quite clear, so many fond details not lost, but here after all and after all these years.

And so I say to every parent, grandparent and distant aunts and uncles, too: this day, live this day and hug every memory close.  Each one is yours... and precious, too; not one to lose. It all starts with a colored egg, my privilege too long forgot, to do this day, in remembrance of all , each one alive in me as I  in them.

About The Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., where small and home-based businesses learn how to profit online. Attend Dr. Lant's live webcast TODAY and receive 50,000 free guaranteed visitors to the website of your choice! Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books.
Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com

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What we can and must learn from the Great Japanese Earthquake and Tsunami of 2011.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

This week nature in all its brutal savagery punished us, hitting our brothers in Japan with an earthquake of unparalleled strength and a tsunami that was the very definition of awe.

Today the world is rightly focused on the necessary work that follows such a cataclysmic event -- there are still survivors being pulled from the rubble of their lives... there are bodies, thousands of bodies, bobbing in the surf, a sight horrible and mesmerizing.

There are the dispossessed to feed, house, and comfort. Their worlds are gone... and in that instant the great earthquake struck their worlds were eradicated. They are now strangers in a land once theirs, now crushed by the profound power of nature.

These people need assistance, and they need it now.  Fortunately, the governments of this  planet, and the generous peoples of the world, are reasonably equipped to handle even this severe and escalating need.

But let us be very clear with each other: this work, no matter how urgent and pressing, is not the only work to be done regarding this raw and potent occurrence; the real work will be putting this event under a microscope. For the next great earthquake, the next great tsunami is already forming... and we must be better prepared. Here, then, is what we must do.

1) We must first treat these events not merely as crises which diverted our attention and lives but as learning opportunities. We must know which preparations and responses worked and how these things could be improved. We must also be clear on what went wrong, in each and every aspect of the matter. Those who ignore the lessons of the past are compelled to relive its horrors, unnecessarily so.

2) There must be a review of all in place tsunami reporting methods. Every time we improve our warning systems, by even a single minute, the lives of real people are saved. Thus, we must be certain that the latest tsunami warning technologies are in place and that adequate provision has been made for their improvement.

3) The world's nuclear nations must gather, with grave and serious intent, to review in the most minute detail, each and every nuclear installation on this planet. This scrutiny must be scientific, dispassionate, thorough.  

The events of this week in Japan will undoubtedly fuel acute hostility to nuclear power. Many will wish, indeed insist, on throwing the baby of nuclear power out with its bath water. Now is the moment when calmer heads must prevail.

The great nations, you see, rely upon this power source. The question should be how to ensure its safety, not how to facilitate its removal. Now, then, is the right and proper moment to review, in full detail, each aspect of each facility. These facilities were created with human limitations. Today, therefore, some of these facilities are at more risk than others. So, let us resolve, not to condemn, but to scrutinize and improve.

4) Communications must be better understood and improved. Leaders of the world must understand and review their role in the dissemination of crucial details. Questions about what information should be distributed and how are far too important to be left to commercial news media, which have different objectives.

The minute the earthquake happened, the minute the tsunami  occurred, the  Internet was full of concern, anxiety -- and waves of disinformation which continue to this minute.

This was the moment for President Obama and other world leaders to take control of the story... and, understanding the anxiety of the people, to assuage it with up-to-the-minute accuracies; timely facts, not sound bites from off-the-cuff pundits.

This did not happen and as a result there were moments approaching hysteria not merely in Japan but around Asia to Hawaii and the West Coast of the United States. There is absolutely no excuse for this. Ronald Reagan was called the Great Communicator... but every president and head of state must be such a practised communicator and must never merely allow the news media to follow their natural bent.

These media want the lurid, the melodramatic, the ghastly and horrifying. Leaders want to inform and calm the people, never inflame them. But we had too little such leadership and such communications to the people on this occasion. Into such a void, it is easy for Chicken Little to rise and frighten. President Obama let this happen... and he must accept responsibility for a lack of leadership that resulted in much avoidable pain and agitation.

Why didn't he use his powers to calm the nation? It seems to me an address to America was well and truly necessary. The president could and should have understood what people were feeling and taken action to inform and comfort them, minimizing the dread and uncertainty when the subject turns to nuclear power and the unseen killer that is radioactivity.

The president no doubt knowing these things slept soundly. His citizens, assailed by the endless drumbeat of horrible details, did not. Second terms have been derailed for less... and rightly so.

What is occurring now is not merely a Japanese issue, an Asian issue, an American issue. It is an issue of worldwide importance, one affecting not merely our comfort and security today, but the very essence and maintenance of our civilization.

That is why the people, unsettled, inadequately and confusingly informed, cry out for Leadership as today's headlines blare: "U.S. shows growing alarm over Japan nuclear crisis."  (March 17, 2011.)

For days now, the news media of the world have dished out a diet of alarm along with ersatz "experts", old and stale "facts", slip shod analysis and details which do everything except inform and assure. It has been an embarrassment on a cosmic scale... and it was all avoidable if the officials at the highest reaches of government had been clear on the objective: keeping us all reliably and timely informed.

Meanwhile the situation in Japan continues to deteriorate as we all, every last one of us, wonder about what will happen next. And whether, once this series of interlocking crises has passed, the leaders of the world will remember their charge: to do what's necessary to solve the problem, not merely apply a patch and be glad they'll be out of office when the next such crisis hits. God help us all should we get no better service than that.

About The Author
Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc.,
where small and home-based businesses learn how to profit online.
Dr. Lant is also the author of 18 best-selling business books.

Republished with author's permission by Sylvia Kinzie
http://WeBroadcastToYou.com.  

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