Dr. Lant Passed Away April 16, 2023
“It’s In His Kiss.” How To Survive Valentine’s Day and Avoid Your Fair Lady Telling You “You’re No Good”!
Preface / Introduction
Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, and the way you’re going, you can expect a pink slip at the end of the day… and not the titillating one at Victoria’s Secret either.
Fortunately you’re lucky enough to have a friend like me, somebody who knows the ropes and is willing to share techniques that work. I’m here to help you, buddy, so long as you are willing to do your homework and be meticulous in your planning.
Now before digging in, I want you to read a story of one of my best love students. His name is Bill, and it looks amazingly like this year he’ll be sitting out the big day all by himself… all because he didn’t think everything through, practice morning, noon, and night, listening carefully to me. Pay close attention. This could be YOU!
In other words he assumed he knew everything… a Big Shot… the man who thought mastering the “Cliff Notes” would deliver what the French call “the last favors”. And because he was so confident of victory, he arranged for a camera and Internet hook-up. He wanted to show off, to make it clear to the world and all his colleagues and pals just how good he was. And mostly that meant preening for me, because there’s nothing quite so satisfying as showing that you, so young, too, know more than your prof and advisor.
I begged him, implored, go slow and easy. Don Juans, after all, aren’t turned out in a day, Billy Boy. But Billy Boy knew better; telling me off in no uncertain terms. He knew better alright…
And for a while as we watched in rapt fascination he sailed ahead; the right clothes, the right flowers, the right degree of cosmopolitan finesse, the perfect wine, just enough to enhance his libido and her desire. He was good. Damn good…. then it happened…
He had Cathy in his arms, the lights were dimmed, the sublime mood enhanced by “Misty”, (released 1959), the ultimate seduction tune that made Johnny Mathis Love Apollo.
Both Cathy and Bill knew they were going to take it higher. He leaned over, smooth as silk, ready to claim the gold metal, a gentleman no longer.
“I love you, Margie….” and the whole crowd gasped. I bet you’re gasping too.
I don’t have to tell you what happened next. It was a hullabaloo of historic dimensions, instantly viral on the unforgiving ‘net which ensured that this Kodak moment would be preserved forever.
Because I am a nice guy I gave him a dollop of sympathy, but only that. He didn’t deserve any more, and I only offered some to rub salt in this massive blow to his much diminished ego “I told you so” never felt better.
He should have listened to Betty Everett and the Shoop Shoop Song. (released 1964).
“If you want to know if he loves you so It’s in his kiss.” Friend Billy learned this the hard way.
All YOU have to do is read this book with the utmost care and consideration, or you’ll find yourself in the soup and quite probably humiliated by the feminist wrath of Betty Everett (1939-2001), singing these acid lyrics from “You’re No Good” just for you. And you won’t like that one little bit..
“I’m telling you now baby, that I’m goin’ my way Forget about me baby, ’cause I’m leaving this day You’re no good, you’re no good, you’re no good.” Act now to avoid this sad amatory epitaph. Otherwise you’ll certainly deserve it.
Chapter 1
“Don’t change a hair for me. Not if you care for me” Your Extreme Valentine.
Chapter 2
No Valentines today? What did you do to deserve them? Two penguins have some advice for you…
and so do I!
Chapter 3
“I’m doing what I’m doing for love.” Valentine’s Day 2016.
“It’s In His Kiss” How To Survive Valentine’s Day and Avoid Your Fair Lady Telling You “You’re No Good”!
Chapter 1
“Don’t change a hair for me. Not if you care for me” Your Extreme Valentine.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author’s program note. Men, it’s time for your annual Valentine’s Day update and reminder. For, as you will recall, Valentine’s Day (along with her dog Pookie’s birthday) is the most important event of her year. If you get it right (or as right as any man can get this minefield) you’re in like Flynn for another year; your right to nookie safe and secure for another 365 glorious days. But…
if you muff this, like you did last year and the year before that, you are in for another prolonged rough patch… and you know very well how rough that will be. To avoid this fate worse than death, extreme measures are required, and these extreme measures must be taken NOW! Men, have I got your full attention? Your Love Doctor is here for you… and OMG, you know you need it.
The Facts.
As we have discussed in prior years (and many of you have attended this critical training year after year, with, sad to say, spotty results) Valentine’s Day is a world-wide conspiracy. It first began as the brainchild of a highly paid consultant who was charged with the task of selling a particularly noxious chocolate with a vile, disgusting taste… That didn’t bother the consultant at all; it was the kind of challenge he lived for.
Even the fact that the chocolatier couldn’t pay him even a token amount up front didn’t bother our fearless consultant one iota. He still inked a contract that said he’d receive 25% of the gross on all new business stimulated by his best ideas. In other words, he would (in the best macho consultant tradition) forgo certain (albeit lower) payment in return for a whopping share of the gross… and so long as he could move the obnoxious chocolate that everybody loathed…. he’d be a big winner.
Frankly, the folks at the chocolate company (who pretty much loathed their product, too, and banned it from the company candy machine) thought they’d made the perfect deal. After all, they got the consultant to work for them for free… and gave away revenues that didn’t exist, would probably never exist. But before claiming a huge write-off and throwing the offending chocs in the garbage, they needed — so their accountant said — to give it the Good Ol’ College Try. His name was
Valentine…
Now our audacious consultant sat down to business, and because he was a very clever fellow, the ideas flowed fast and furious. Thus after just a few days, the consultant was ready to see the CEO and present the all-important concept. As it turned out not only was this meeting important for the chocolate company; it was a crucial turning point in the relations of all men with their women… it thereby launched a movement creating millions of jobs and huge corporate profits worldwide. The consultant’s name was Valentinos Kariotes… known as Val… and he is the man who set the high standards for Valentine’s Day…
Yes, it is because of this single man and his insight that the conjugal rights and ecstasies of millions of hapless guys are put at risk every single friggin’ year, to be reaffirmed by shelling out for chocolate, making ever richer the corporate smarty pants who dreamed up this baby. Down to business.
Val, a straight talking, no nonsense, “let’s stick to business” kind of guy got right to the point. To sell the chocs everyone acknowledged as disgusting, they’d have to have a bigger idea, something huge, clever, larger than life…. here Val paused…. because he knew that his next words would not only sell chocolates nobody could abide, but get men by the millions to line up in front of the company’s packed stores to plunk down big bucks for a product they despised. Before stating what would become his abiding claim to fame, Val paused, looked around the room, the better to get their attention and keep the memory of this supreme moment forever green in his mind. Then he said
“To sell chocolates you must get women to tell men that the purchase of these chocolates and the size of the box will be construed by every gal on earth as an indication of how ardently they are desired, loved, and wanted. In short, the target for their advertising campaign would not be the men who would actually buy the chocolates… but the women who would ‘motivate’ them to do so, in EVERY way at their command. Yes, in EVERY way.”
Val then unveiled his first ad, a classic soon destined for the Advertising Hall of Fame. It went like this:
“The size of the box”, it read, “indicates how much he loves you.”
The image showed two boxes of chocolate. The five-pound box had a big black X through it. The 20-pound box was circled in a bright, bright red heart with exclamation point. Just awesome!
Val’s incredible idea at last gave women what they have always wanted, for thousands of years: a way to know, to measure, even weigh just how much their menfolk REALLY love them; the proof to be as easy to acquire as the simple purchase of chocolates. “Brilliant” was the least of it.
In the lives of each of us, there come but a handful of moments of transcendence, moments of destiny, moments you are surpassingly glad to be alive. Our man Val knew such a moment this day… and as the astonished executives surged around him with their most ardent congratulations, they knew it, too. And immediately increased the box size and weight of their obnoxious product… for they knew at once that Val, their boy, was a genius. And so unanimously voted to create a day named for him — St. Valentine’s Day — a day worth billions to love capitalists worldwide. It was the least they could do and so Val got filthy rich.
Every time a woman got a two-pound box of chocs from her beloved, she knew that the donor was dead meat, a cheap, two-timin’ low-life… who had then to go out and at once to get the 20 pound box… thereby passing the loved test… and making Val richer and richer still. Eureka!
Of course, other companies watched this phenomenon, this cornucopia of riches with the closest conceivable attention; Val ensured they did, for in due course, he made sweet deals with florists, pastry companies, every diamond purveyor in the land… always with the same awesome results. Which is why you’ll live today like a cat on a hot tin roof, spending good money you don’t have to appease the little woman who controls your life. Be sure, too, to sing “My Funny Valentine” the right way, the feminist way, with the words about you, not her, for women have always hated this tune and its cock-eyed sentiment.
Thus, “my looks are laughable, unphotographable….” because that’s what she wants you to say, just after she’s looked at the size of the box.
(You’ll find the inimitable “My Funny Valentine”, released 1940, in any search engine; music by
Richard Rodgers, lyrics by Lorenz Hart. I prefer the original version — and the original words — by Frank Sinatra.)
Chapter 2
No Valentines today? What did you do to deserve them? Two penguins have some advice for you… and so do I!
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Today, February 14, 2011, is Valentine’s Day. Millions of people worldwide will participate in this essential rite of love which usually involves men standing in lines for hours at expensive candy shops and florists with overburdened, surly help… then trekking their purchases home, very self-consciously, with more hope than expectation that She Who Must Be Obeyed will be, for an instant, completely satisfied with him.
Millions of people today will get some such token of affection, usually of the hackneyed chocolate or red rose variety. But the sad fact is, millions more will get no affectionate sentiment or token of any kind today… and they will deserve the slight. To deal with this irritating, indeed humiliating situation, of the “what a revolting development this is” variety, I have called upon two love birds of my acquaintance, Penguins Ishaboe and Spheniscus, inhabitants at the New England Aquarium, Boston, Massachusetts. They know a thing or two on the subject of love and affection… and being helpful critters they are happy to share what they know…
Ishaboe (male) and Spheniscus (female) are a mating pair of African penguins, a bird so rare that it may well become extinct in the next 15 years. Concerned researchers at institutions worldwide are engaged in a strenuous effort to save the breed while they still can. This means taking an obsessive interest in their amatory habits. What they’ve learned is instructive… not just for the penguins but for their love-challenged human keepers as well. First of all, they like each other… and they’re never afraid to show it, even with hundreds of prying eyes looking at them. Ol’ Blue Eyes, crooning Sinatra, the chairman of the board, knew just how exciting Total Focus on your love interest can be:
Are the stars out tonight? I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright. ‘Cause I only have eyes for you, dear.
(Release date 1949). Or, if you prefer a more insistent beat, try this punchy line from the Miracles…
I’m just a love machine… and I won’t work for nobody but YOU! (Released 1975.)
These smart penguins practice what they preach. Why just the other day, marooned together on their high-class desert island (scrubbed clean every single day), splashing care-free in the 150,000 gallons of Boston Harbor water, constantly filtered, they literally couldn’t take their eyes off each other… and didn’t. Even experienced researchers, used to penguin fidelity, found this total attention worthy of note.
When was the last time, you gave your love interest your total, unqualified focus? Stumped? Can’t remember? That’s where your problems begin… and it doesn’t matter how old you are, either.
Why, in my Harvard Square neighborhood in Cambridge, Massachusetts the students at the World’s Greatest University think nothing of holding hands with Love Interest #1, while furiously text messaging Love Interest #2. Thus they always have a back-up when their togetherness shreds, a thing they anticipate, expect, and plan for. And some dare call this love!
So, Rule #1 to make this day special… don’t just give a card with printed sentiments written for the poetically destitute. Don’t merely plunk down a few bucks for a box of Fannie May or Whitman’s quaint Sampler and think its “good enough”. As that wag Sir Percy Blakeney, baronet, said in “The Scarlet Pimpernel” (published 1905) “There is nothing that is quite so bad as that which is good enough.” Exactly.
You selected your would-be Valentine for a reason. Recall that reason now…
Then move out of the dull and dreary to the new, energized, alluring you, the fountainhead of dreams, seductions, shared pleasures. Instead of the unexciting red rose, lay down a trail of rose petals that lead to a pulsating, provocative……… YOU!
Or do a Hansel and Gretel number (from the story by the Brothers Grimm published 1812). Lay down one tell-tale chocolate after another, until X marks the spot where your one and only finds…..YOU and nothing but you, exciting, uninhibited, memorable….
If you’ve let your relationship grow stale, shame on you when just a little such inventiveness is required to revivify and re-ignite.
Our penguin pair knows this. When one is away for a moment, they tenderly call a la Jeanette McDonald. Upon returning, they bow to each other, polite, thrilled to be rejoined. To make clear their interest, they preen, they posture, they give food to demonstrate affection… they are assiduous, inventive, playful… and from their unceasing inventiveness comes a helluva good time; they enjoy seeing how they can top their own creative efforts and show the profound affection they so obviously feel for each other.
Our penguin pair knows, too, that the secret of this day is the line from “My Funny Valentine” (from the musical “Babes in Arms,” Rodgers and Hart, 1937.) Each day is Valentine’s Day.
Here the penguins excel. Today they will act towards each other, the way they act every day. They will neither note nor care that this is a day dedicated to the arts of love. Should someone say so, they would laugh, wondering why any creature, any place limit to a single day the fond sentiments and delights which are best given every day, in all places. They will then go back to their tried and true ways of love, oblivious to you and me.
It is more than sad that such creatures are imperiled, the victims of over fishing and changes in ocean currents which remove the penguins from their foods. Catastrophe looms as their once vast numbers plummet. If these are, indeed, their last days (though human friends are helping), they mean to go out as they have lived these generations past, engrossed in each other, loving as if there was no tomorrow. And so should we all.
Chapter 3
“I’m doing what I’m doing for love.” Valentine’s Day 2016.
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author’s program note. She was the best of wives and the best of mothers. She was such a Yiddishe momme right out of Sophie Tucker, we used to laugh about it. She was the life support for a feckless husband born into cozy wealth who discovered at mid-life that he wanted to be a mime (no, I am not making this up) and left her to explain as best she could to her inquisitive Brookline neighbors that Joel had selected grease paint, vacant stare, and rigid immobility in preference to her and the 3 kids.
She was on the cutting edge of every progressive issue, as every good Jewish mother is. And this meant the whole feminist shtick, especially gender equality. She was also a card-carrying member of the “Thatsa my boy” club in which the beloved elder son accepts for a pampered lifetime not just praise but sacred veneration and constant service. And that’s why I’m starting my story here, the place you discover just how very splendored love can really be.
The first part takes place the year Ruth and Joel finally hit the divorce courts in the most amiable of actions. She was down but most assuredly not out and wanted to show her nosey friends and relations that she still had what it takes; that she’d had it with clowns of any age or shape, and that she’d snagged herself a wow of a man for her big come-back, one impressive dude, a Harvard man, someone cute and brainy, a goy of a boy, and what a kisser.
Using these enticing features and a slew of others made up to enhance the brew soon had her BBF Marie salivating, a Wagnerian sized shrew who hadn’t a single feminine attribute or charm of any kind, but made up for these unfortunate lapses by being really REALLY rich. Marie, interested, became Marie, nagging. When could she meet this prodigy who put her own male lapdog in the shade? And the sooner, the better… “So, stop with the excuses, already”. It was put-up or shut up. How about a Valentine’s Day dinner for 4 at the Cafe Budapest in Boston? There would be their famous cherry soup, Tokay and Gypsy violinists, all on Marie of course. As I told you, she was REALLY rich. “Jeffrey, I have a BIG favor to ask you.”
The white stretch limousine was on time to the minute, 7:30 p.m. All the characters were present. Marie was over dressed in what she called a Hungarian hussar costume; a tight fitting blue bodice with miles of gold thread and epaulettes that would have made a minor Habsburg archduke proud. I didn’t know whether to laugh or salute… so I muttered the usual “glad to meet yous” and scrunched down to get in the Guido-mobile. But where was Marie’s ’til death do us part?
Marie later told me she thought it would be “fun” if she dressed him as a Viennese coachman, circa 1880. No symbolism here, of course. He looked ridiculous, of course. Maybe that was Marie’s intention. If so, she got her wish. His uniform was clearly two or three sizes too big for him. His top hat fell over his eyes… and his boots, while polished, were like flip-flops. I saluted him and tried to limit my smile to the appropriate length Emily Post recommended when you meet hubby the lap dog. I made it just a bit bigger because I felt sorry for the schlemiel. After all, he looked like Marie’s lunch.
Ruth looked… well, I was bowled over. She was cute as a bug in a rug with a (was it?) mink collar. “Ruthie,” Marie said, “you look…” and then she said it again as if she didn’t quite believe what she was seeing “Henny, doesn’t Ruthie look…” As her eyes took in every feature of my winsome self, you could see she was licking her lips, thinking Mazel tov… Mazel tov! And as if to answer Marie and establish ownership, my friend Ruth planted a kiss on me that was a lollapalooza of the genre, the real deal. I never saw it coming.
Okay, I looked terrific that evening. For a guy as disinterested in clothes as I was, (except for the blue cape with red silk lining I got on Carnaby Street in London), I could look like the well turned out gentleman my mother always demanded. I was wearing black tie evening dress, the duds cut by Oxford University’s comme il faut tailor.
I was washed, brushed, combed, ironed, buttoned, zipped, bow-tied, with a smile nicely calibrated to be just proper enough to meet her friends and just wicked enough that she’d want to dump them as soon as possible. Rarely has any friend done so much to achieve the desired result. As I was complimenting myself, extolling my finesse and magnanimity Ruthie snuggled up as if there was no tomorrow. As for Marie, she never took her eyes off Ruth, which meant she never took her eyes off me. There was certainly a lot to look at…
“Madam, I understand today is a very special day. These flowers have just arrived for you.” With that the waiter handed over the biggest, most entrancing bouquet I had ever seen. And I got a real smacker as thanks. My initial was on the card… along with that fatal word “love.” Only problem is, I didn’t send them. I could guess of course, but I couldn’t ask. The sender counted on my discretion, on not blurting anything out but playing my part in the play with consummate skill… and I did.
Ruth got up and hoisted a piece of exquisite crystal which featured the double-headed imperial eagle. The sommelier, standing by, filled it with the finest Tokay, and then filled the other three glasses, too.
She never looked more beautiful, more determined, more certain of what she must say or how she would say it. The game had suddenly become very serious indeed. And every diner in the Cafe Budapest that memorable evening, immersed as they were in their own rituals of love, knew it.
Ruth, a practised thespian of so many years, had what every actor wants… a dedicated and sympathetic audience, in rapt attention, waiting expectantly for whatever she might say or do. She took her knife and hit her glass three times in prescribed fashion… then she turned and looked at me… her song beginning.
” I am one of those the world looked down on. I’m not what they think I ought to be. Love has made me do things people frown on. But love is life and everything to me.” She was singing to me. Her hands stroked my hair. Her eyes locked on mine. Her look was plaintive. She wanted me to know her, love her. She needed me to know that love wasn’t just an important thing…. it was the only thing.
She breathed, she loved. She laughed, she loved. She cried, she loved. It was who she was… what she did. There was no beginning to it… no end. She was the Biblical Ruth of old… whither thou goest, I goeth.
Every person in the restaurant knew he was hearing searing honesty… total integrity. There was no art… no artifice… nothing but one woman and the man she had selected, giving everything, hoping for everything, too proud to ask for anything.
Then the song was over, its last words hanging in the air, “If the after years bring me tears, it’s all right, I’m satisfied. I’ve broken man made laws, but heaven will forgive me because I’m doing what I’m doing for love.” I wanted to say something, but everything that needed to be said had been said. She knew. And so before I opened my mouth, she touched my lips and whispered “Thanks for tonight. Thanks for everything.” I should have gone down on one knee and said them to her…
Envoi. Sophie Tucker (1886-1966) was known for her brassy, over-the-top style… Where men were concerned her tastes were insistent and voracious, entirely appropriate for the “Last of the Red Hot Mammas.” But in 1929 she showed the world a very different, tender, beseeching side. The song was “I’m Doing What I’m Doing For Love”, and it was that song that was sung for me that evening that is one of a handful of perfect occasions of my eventful life. 67 this year, I haven’t married. Go now to any search engine and play this tune and remember your perfect moment and what you did for love… or might still do.
Resource
About the Author Dr. Jeffrey Lant is known worldwide. He started in the media business when he was 5 years old, a Kindergartner in Downers Grove, Illinois, publishing his first newspaper article. Since then Dr. Lant has earned four college degrees, including the Ph.D. from Harvard. He has taught at over 40 colleges and universities, quite possibly the first to offer satellite courses. He has written over 20 books, thousands of articles and been a welcome guest on hundreds of radio and television programs. He has founded several successful corporations and businesses including his latest at … www.writerssecrets.com His memoirs “A Connoisseur’s Journey” have garnered five prizes that ensure its classic status. Its subtitle is “Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck, and joy.” You’ll enjoy the read by this man of so many letters. Such a man can offer you thousands of insights into the business of becoming a successful writer. Be sure to sign up now at www.writerssecrets.com
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It was a great honor to work with Dr. Jeffrey Lant during his tenure as CEO of Worldprofit. This
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