Seduction, Economic Collapse, and Vacations

Miller’s Genuine Drafts
From the desk of Small Business Data Analysis

Well, it’s been a while since the last edition of MGD. Yours Truly has been on a family “vacation” – which means, of course, that no relaxation occurred whatsoever. Indeed, after about the fifth round of playing a game that my nephew (age 4) calls “Stab Keaton With Household Objects Repeatedly Until Blood Comes Out” I wondered what, exactly, was the point. I mean, sure, I love to have big events with the in-laws and the in-in-laws and the ex-wives and the second-cousins and the people-we-collected-along-the-way-that-we-don’t-even-really-know as much as the next person, but I have my limits.

One of which, apparently, is the volume of circulatory fluid contained within my veins.

Somehow, though, I soldiered through and even got to enjoy brief visit to Charleston, South Carolina where we ate a delightful meal surrounded by people with handle-bar mustaches who were talking about “The War of Northern Aggression” and then got the hell out of there.

Seriously. Those guys are scary.

AND NOW: Has your analytical nature caused problems with your particular desired variety (varieties include straight, gay, and banana-strawberry) of sexual encounters? Do you find yourself trying to use words to remove a woman’s clothing (cash works much better) only to get slapped and walked out on? Do you spend your evenings cuddling up to an anatomically correct mannequin (preferably named Passionate Pam) in the hopes of providing your sad, sad soul with some sort of plastic companionship?

THERE IS AN ANSWER TO YOUR TROUBLES, AND ABC REPORTS!

http://abcnews.go.com/Technology/WhosCounting/story?id=7250901&page=1

Apparently, all you have to do is turn your seduction into a series of logical statements.

FOR INSTANCE (from the article):

Suppose a man flirts with a woman and then asks her, "Will you solemnly promise to give me right now your telephone number if I make a true statement and, conversely, not give me your number if I make a false statement?"
Feeling that this is a flattering and benign request, the woman promises to give him her number if and only if he makes a true statement.
The man then makes his statement: "You will neither give me your telephone number now nor will you sleep with me tonight."
The result is obvious: the woman will look at you, and either have an aneurysm due to the requirement of thought or will simply walk away and eat some strawberry-banana yogurt.

Sorry, I guess analysts are just out of luck.

At least we didn’t screw up this bad

It’s always important to put things in perspective. For example, when I walk out of a bar, alone, thinking of Passionate Pam waiting for me back home, I feel down. However, when I turn to my side and see Sykes another fellow drinker puking his guts out all over an officers shoes while trying to explain that he merely ate a bad piece of sushi, I feel much better about myself.

Thus, it’s important for us to compare our country’s current economic situation to that of Iceland. Sure, we may have run up debts totaling about 350% of our GDP, we may have higher unemployment than any time since the Great Depression, and the Chris Naruto Government Intervention Head Explosion Index may be off-scale high, but it could have been worse.

I present to you the story of Iceland, a country full of fisherman who got their first taste of high finance when, after being isolated from the world for 1100 years, figured out how to securitize their fishing business and decided they could enter the global money market with impunity.

Vanity Fair (shush) has an incredible piece detailing the rise and fall of their financial sector as well as the hardheadedness of the Icelandic male. I highly suggest you go and read http://www.vanityfair.com/politics/features/2009/04/iceland200904

The most telling interview was with a fisherman-turned-financial-wizard-turned-fisherman-again, who spoke of the years it took him to learn how to fish effectively:

This marvelous [fishing] training was as fresh in his mind as if he’d received it yesterday, and the thought of it makes his eyes mist.
“You spent seven years learning every little nuance of the fishing trade before you were granted the gift of learning from this great captain?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“And even then you had to sit at the feet of this great master for many months before you felt as if you knew what you were doing?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you think you could become a banker and speculate in financial markets, without a day of training?”
“That’s a very good question,” he says. He thinks for a minute. “For the first time this evening I lack a word.”
The lesson here is obvious: Iceland has a distinct lack of PR specialists.