Apparently I was never able to accurately do this from the ages of 6 to about 13.  I didn’t live the safest, cleanest neighborhood in the city which had shit sprawled across the local football field from the neighboring homes that weaved their dogs in and out of the heavy sandbags players pushed during practice.  There was also the corner store that would become abandoned every three months or so following an intense robbery or drug deal gone wrong leaving behind empty freezers and gang graffiti spelling out a person’s name with the last letter “cleverly” replaced the a “Z;”  ”Lucus” became “Lucuz” in the Fall and Winter while “Stephen” became “Stephez” in the Spring and Summer.  My parents knew of what went on in our neighborhood and I was never allowed to play outside for fear that I may get kidnapped and sold into little Asian girl slavery or have my head blown off by an assault rifle whilst riding my tricycle up and down the street.  But this rule only applied to me, of course, as my brother was happy to do as he pleased outdoors.  Each year when it snowed he played football with his friends two blocks away in their backyard.  Do they not care about my brother being held as a slave? I would think to myself.  Sure girls are longed after for sexual purposes and viewed as weaker of the two sexes but my brother was no Hercules as he stood shorter than average boys his age and was approximately 10lbs overweight at this time.  I figured someone could always use a small boy to chain down in their backyard to break up rocks with a hammer or scrub off the sidewalk on a humid, dry day.  And I knew my brother was not invincible against bullets. Sure he probably runs faster than me because his legs are longer and boys would push themselves to the brink of spontaneous combustion to beat their sisters at a race but no one is faster than a bullet (besides Superman of course) and so I went on being bitter and resentful.
I had decided to ask my mother about all of this during a monthly trip to the Asian supermarket.  I was also always expected to join my parents when they would run errands which I didn’t mind because the Asian Supermarket was far more entertaining than a standard American market.  Everything was fresh and alive and I found humor in making faces at all the fish waiting to be decapitated and taken home swimming in murky water.  These supermarkets always held a musty smell from these fish which mixed with the odor of an old freezer stuck with dried Coke that had exploded from an absentminded individual too impatient to cool down their drink with ice and too distracted to remember they were thirsty.  The live produce was also sad at times and made me happy to not have barbaric Vietnamese parents who would bash frogs’ heads with rolling pins or tear out the soft bodies of turtles from their shells.  I always begged for candy and was allowed to purchase one bag of white rabbit candy which was vanilla flavored taffy wrapped in rice paper that dissolved and melted into a warm sugar jolt puddle on my tongue.  Whilst holding onto my candy and strolling with my mother past the pork butt and wonton wrappers I brought up the topic of my brother not because I believed there was a alternative explanation but because I wanted justification and some form of honesty from my parents.
“Mom,” I asked “Why does Luan (pronounced Lung) get to do things with his friends and I don’t?”"Don’t ask that question” my mother replied, pushing the cart and acknowledging the fish monger waving to her  down the aisle.”Why not? He gets to play outside and go over his friend’s houses but I can’t do that.”"Don’t compare.”"Well I want to know,” I began to whine “it’s just not fair.”"Not fair, not fair that’s all you ever say.” She mocked, “He is your brother that is why he can do those things.”"So is it because he is a boy?” I asked as I eagerly looked up towards my mother who had stopped her cart and began rummaging through a pile of plastic wrapped dried fish.She took a deep sigh and shook her head, pursing her lips as her eyebrows frowned and refused to answer me.
I no longer asked from this point forward and went about staying indoors playing with my plastic kitchen and learning all about American culture from “The Wonder Years” and “MTV” while my brother ran up and down the street dousing his friends with water from his Super Soaker.  
When I was about 10 or so I began to partake in sleep overs at my best friends home.  She was one of few white girls who lived in my neighborhood and everyone at school, along with my family, knew she was my best friend.  We did pretty much everything together; wore the same types of clothing, had similar lunch boxes, listened to the same music and, evidently, spoke the same as well.  I truly enjoyed spending time with her and never found there to be anything wrong with us being friends.  I knew we were racially and ethnically different but from all of the television shows I watched on WHYY this wasn’t an issue; I was just expected to be a nice person which, being young and having no bills or real responsibilities to measure this, I thought I was.  Fellow classmates disagreed to what was shown on television and read to them in books about Pocohontas and the colors of the wind.  To them my race mattered which essentially made up a large part of who I was and I was expected to “act where I came from.”  
I learned this whilst sitting in my language arts class next with a boy named Anthony.  Anthony had been in my previous grades but I paid him no mind as he never paid me any of his.  He was somewhat of a bully in school; the type of kid that pushed smaller kids around in a fit to make himself feel better about his weight, copied off of everyone else’s test paper, stole lunches from people’s back packs and ate them in their faced while he laughed and spit crumbs all over their desks.  I was never victim to any of these things but I did not like him and chose to stay away from him in a way that Hush Puppy stayed away from Charlie Horse during an episode of Lambchop’s Play Along I watched over the summer.  I had most of my classes with him and he had a few with my best friend so he frequently saw us spend time with one another.  We were completing reading exercises where we read a short story and answered several open ended questions.  We were expected to answer these properly, meaning we had to reiterate in the answer in our questions.   I took great pride in being an A student and thoroughly enjoyed being proper whilst following the instructions.  I often volunteered to read my answers when we reviewed the questions.
“Why did Mr. Frog and Mr. Pig walk to the end of the forest instead of crossing the river for their food and shelter?” my teacher asked.I diligently raised my hand up high and the teacher scoured the outstretched arms, calling on a student who gave the incorrect answer then it was my turn.”Mr. Frog and Mr. Pig walked to the end of the forest instead of crossing the river for their food and shelter because they wanted to visit lonely Mr. Rabbit to make him feel better and be his friend.” I answered.”That is correct!” the teacher exclaimed.
“That is correct,” Anthony mocked, “white girl!”The class began to chuckle while the teacher moved on, attempting to ignore what was said.
A few more questions had been answered but only raised my hand for a few as I was slightly confused by the remark Anthony had made.  When I was called upon to read what I had written again he continued with the heckling.”Way to go white girl” he cheered and more laughter ensued, this time at a higher volume and more people joining in.”Focus class!  Anthony stop it!” the teacher attempted to reconcile the laughter.

I sat completely embarrassed and bewildered.  I had been in this school since the first grade and not one person had ever spoken to me about race.  It became a topic that was used to educate others through scenarios developed for entertainment but something I had dismissed as ever happening to me.  It was one of those scary situations where I would place myself into the shoes of the victim and attempted to find comfort in knowing since I was nice no one would ever have the heart to painfully tell me I was different.  I knew I was Asian and was always proud of it and while there was nothing wrong in being white my classmates said it in a cruel way, pairing with other insults that suggested it was negative to be told you are another race when you are, in fact, not.  It struck a chord of shame in me as if I was placing great insult on my family and culture for speaking and acting a certain way which was the only way I ever learned how to be.  More and more people began to call me “white girl.”  When I refused to help someone cheat on a test or “have” my mechanical Hello Kitty pencil they insulted me.
“You’re so mean white girl.” a Korean boy would say.”I’m not white” I yelled back “I’m Vietnamese!”"Then why do you talk white?” he asked sticking up his nose and closing his eyes as if he had just made a statement that would end all arguments we had from that point forward.
I didn’t have an answer but I was baffled by this response.  Talk white? I thought to myself.  How can you speak like a color?  The difficult part was even my father would claim I was “white” one evening whilst watching an episode of “The Simpsons.”
“What is this cartoons?  Are you too old for cartoons?” he asked in Vietnamese.”But I like this show.” I told my dad who was motioning for me to hand over the remote.”Yeah?  You watch this over your friend house too?  You are white just like them.” And he switched programming over to CNN.  
I truly disliked that so many people were calling me “white girl” and even tried to stay home with my mother so I wouldn’t have to hear it.  When she asked me why I wanted stay home I made up lies about throwing up in the toilet or having temporary blindness.  I was too ashamed to say people were calling me “white” for fear that she would also tell me I was and only make me feel worse.  She yelled and threw my clothes at me telling me to get dressed.  I did this and soon I felt as if I only had one friend, my white friend, and all others had isolated me; treating me as if I was a trader of  my tribe choosing to take part in the slavery of my indigenous, ethnic people for wealth and companionship.  When my best friend moved the following year and attended another school the name calling continued and I was left with little options.  I wanted to know what exactly I could do to change their perceptions of me so I tried to not “talk white.”  
According to my classmates, this meant that I was to “talk black” which, in turn, was how the rappers spoke on the MTV music videos I had watched. Seeing as in my neighborhood everyone spoke this way, black or not, I was expected too as well.  I watched reruns of “The Jeffersons” and “The Fresh Prince of Bel Air” attempting to learn what it meant to do this.  I also listened to my brothers Bone Thugs-N-Harmony CDs and read the lyrics from Tupac albums.  I believe I learned more about “bitches,” “40s” and how people had parties during the first of the month more than anything else.  I had no idea what I was doing and felt completely uncomfortable speaking in broken slang but I wanted to try my best to let everyone know I was Asian.  I briefly contemplated turning over to broken English which was common among many of the Cambodian and Korean students in my class.

“I walk-ded to da store” I would say to myself twisting my hand towards the ground and making a scissor motion with my index and ring finger.
“Teacha! I dun undastand! Why you no halp me?” I yelled flailing my arms in the air.  I didn’t imagine I could do this for much longer and believe my teachers would have an anerism listening to me read aloud so it was out of the question.
The following morning when my father dropped me off at school I entered the school yard and searched for classmates who had led the brigade of insults.  I saw Anthony who was standing against the wall closest to the front door, one knee bent with his foot on the side of the building the other planted on the floor talking to another boy who often joined in on the laughing.
“Anthony!” I said, walking towards him.
“Hey, like, how it is going white girl?” he put his hands on his hip and tilted his neck, twirling his finger at the base of his neck.”Yo, don’t call me dat aight?” I immediately snapped, staring him down placing my hands on my hips and pushing my neck forward.”Ummm what?”I sucked on my teeth, “I saaaaaid don’t call me dat!  I ain’t white, aight?” Anthony and the boy stared at me, their mouths slightly open as I hoped they would and beam with pride that I was finally not “talking white.”  Instead they burst into laughter.”What? Now you’re trying to talk black?  You so crazy white girl” he scoffed and walked to stand in our designated class lines.
I was at a lost of what to do with the concept of fitting in, “talking white,” having friends or anything else that involved engaging with people who only acknowledged how I spoke and acted not what I said or did.  I eventually stuck to myself and my teachers who cared about how I did in school, constantly telling me I was a great person and had tremendous talent.  It was more of a self esteem boost than I ever received at home or from my classmates.  Eventually, about a year before I began high school, people stopped calling me names because I realized I stopped allowing it to bother me.  I believe I over came all of it once I acknowledged that some people are born and bred to define others by what their eyes can only see.  Every so often I hear a person in passing call me white and it brings back these memories to remind me of what it meant to lose the innocence in believing the world was created equal, something I have come to ensure my children understand is possible in their hearts and how they treat others, in spite of backlash they themselves may receive.

I will always take pride in being from North Philadelphia and the unsightly images and richness I was exposed to where changes were not left just to the seasons.  A part of this city taught me how to love myself because it always loved me and I plan to continue holding responsibility to that faithfulness.

Regardless of the powers of the kite, it is necessary that they are thrown into the air before they can gain heights. Therefore, a little bit of encouragement and motivation is enough to make the persons take huge risks of flying in thin air, with just a thin thread of lifeline for them.

2. Make Best Use of Resources:

Kites do not have wings, but they fly in air. They do not have feathers to control the flow of air, but they still navigate through the winds. This is because the kite-flier would know how to make good use of the winds and drafts in not just retaining their object in air, but also to make it go higher than anybody else’.

3. Overcome Shortcomings:

Kites are bound to the ground with the strand of thread. They have tails but cannot control them. They are not live flying creatures with naturally embedded gyroscopes to know which one is upside and right side… and they still make it to the heights and make the heads turn to the skies in awe and happiness. For every shortcoming, there is a great power instilled in each of the beings on earth. Those who find out the unique strength would go places and it requires a little support from those in their social circle as well.

4. Strings Attached:

Regardless of the heights that the kites can fathom, they are still stringed to their owners. Life is beautiful… conditions apply. Learn to handle the conditions and sail through the waters that the life has to offer. There is no free meal in nature and everything has strings attached. Remember… life will be boring otherwise!

5. Take Criticism Constructively:

The kite flier pulls their kite down, not to bring it back to earth, but to encourage the kite to gather more wind and go higher than it earlier was. Similarly, when people take time to give feedback or criticize someone, it has to be understood that that someone is very important to them that they spend their precious time in passing their thoughts. Appreciate the feedback and take criticism positively, without worrying about the intent behind it. The intent would become the teller’s problem if the listener takes it in the right spirit.

6. Stay Connected, Always!

While people tend to fly high in their lives, they would tend to forget their roots easily and would not mind to let go of their old friendships and relationships that they would have nurtured for years, even if it means that they have to lose a marriage over a divorce! What could success bring to those who do not care about the feelings of others? Therefore, just as the kite links itself to their owners through the strings, it is necessary for people to respect and regard all their relationships.

7. Be Flexible, But Never Break:

The sturdy kite would either fall down or break if the gusts of winds are strong enough. It has to show some degree of sturdiness and flexibility to allow the wind to do what it has got to do… lift the spirits of the kite and the altitude as well.

8. Pulled Down, Move Up:

Life will keep throwing challenges and ensure that the persons would stay in their knees as long as they think that they cannot rise up. Imagine being a kite, which is always being pulled down by its owner, but never gives up and keeps gaining better heights always. Similarly, when life pulls down, the persons should emerge hitting higher altitudes than their earlier position.

9. Ask for Help!

Kites may get stuck in trees, but would be rescued by the owners or the passing gusts of winds. Even those that are permanently stuck would become part of the canopy. Therefore, it is necessary to understand that the help is there, if one asks, or else they would be stuck in the branch or the post permanently like a kite!

10. Release or Lose!

The kite owners know that whenever they pull their kites down, they have to let go of some length of the strings to ensure that the kites stay in air. Similarly, parents and mentors should also know when to let go of their children and pupils and what length they can release at a time, since release of too much string also would bring down the kite.

While kite flying is too much fun, one has to notice the things that they can learn by just observing kites. Make use of these lessons and fly free in life and enjoy the wind in the face!

Without Guilt, and not bothering about the Plagiarism or copyright issues, I went ahead placing an order for the yarn from the link provided by the same blog.The yarn arrived and I couldn’t wait to start …The colors were tempting and inviting, thanks to my mother who had taught me how to use the Crochet hook, and with a great desire to achieve the same, I embarked on this journey to fulfill my dark ambitious pursuit, I sat on my chair to pen down the details of this unknown design, With hitches and glitches, with more Huff’s and few Oops, finally I cracked the design and made my way into transforming nothing into a little something and started pouring  life into the yarn. 

With days passing by, I was more excited,With chain by chain, step by step, it continued to grow, minute by minute, day by day and it soon became a part of my life,   

I forgot to eat, it affected my sleep, sometimes, it kept me away from the things which I otherwise would do, it became an addiction. To hook!

Now surprise,Everyone would agree with me when i write that a person’s thinking usually shapes his personality.

To read further Pls Click on Next Page,Thanks.

While this blanket was taking a shape, I saw my happiness getting reduced, I started feeling guilty in taking pride to own something that  dint belong to me. To borrow someones work was not me.

 With time and with a difference to my otherwise straight approach, the journey soon saw some hurdles. It made me restless; day after day, the speed came down. I became impatient and I wanted this blanket to get over soon, so that I could free myself from this unpleasant tiresome journey.

              Still,i continued the travel on this blanket,as giving up something was again not I.But now with a guilt.Positive thinking can build creativity,and the opposite can collapse it.                 My journey with guilt couldn’t proceed long, as the time went by, I developed a love-hate relationship with this blanket, and one day when positive thinking overtook the dark shade of my desire, I felt threatened and I stopped working on this blanket.Those beautiful colours disappeared and they lost charm in my eyes. 

They reduced to  only bundles of pale yarn.

               For days,i ignored them,for monthsi dint see them,they sat quietly in the closet wrapped tightly in a plastic, no complains, no noise, accidentally I would come across them, they would stare at me, I felt more guilty at their silence.To weave love into the yarn was the most difficult thing, not hooking.

 Another Surprise:One day, suddenly something came flying into my head, I thought to myself,

 “One can copy someone’s idea, but not the Interest”. Even copying involves one to apply his mind, apply his head working,It required my time, it involved my attention, to think, to see the exact product of someone Else’s creation.Not to offend Creativity,it involves seeing the result of one’s imagination even before someone has actually started to design it or create it.

And a more compromised definition meant which appeared to me then was-If someone offers a readymade picture of their imagination, then its half job done.Idea can be copied, but not the interest and certainly not the product.

I beg your apologies,here, I was not just hitting the lifeless keys on the keyboard pasting some one’s exact lines into my article. and I’m not even advocating or favouring anybody to copy, Mind you!

I just  accepted something  which convinced me, and I pulled out the yarn from the suffocating plastic, and now I was at a serious task, a task of wanting to see the blanket grow again, while I resumed back to my work, something stroke my rhythm, it was the involvement which I started to have with this blanket, Now it became a sweet addiction, it was no more some body’s idea to me, it required dedication, it needed me to take time to pay attention towards all the minute details which resulted in a look-alike product of someone Else’s creation, I’m not defending,but it required patience, and moreover it asked for my  interest. This hook set me into the moment, it was as if, it was playing with my hands, yarn after yarn; row after row; color after color, it helped me get over my guilt and a kind of harmony set in.I learnt to make Peace with my Guilt. 

 And what a journey it was, from a beautiful mess to a Cozy Bliss!

Moral of my journey -The only way is to get over Guilt is to Proceed.     And here it is, Take a look.

    PS: To own this Bliss, click on the  link  below and don’t have a guilt,

                                            http://attic24.typepad.com/weblog/neat-ripple-pattern.html

    Thank you Lucy for your inspiration. Hope you had a fulfilling Journey!

Bon-Voyage!  Good Reading!

Image via Wikipedia

Red – The color that gives the impression of luxury, passion, and make the room look more interesting and alive. This color is also synonymous with the celebration of Christmas Day. You can apliaksikan red as an accent color which can display a remarkable feeling of Christmas that warm in your living room.

Green – The color that symbolizes new life, future, hope and rejuvenation. The green color is also associated with justice and perdamaian.Jadi you can frame the living room in your house using colors to create a peaceful atmosphere of Christmas.

White – The color that symbolizes purity. Suitable for making an impression peaceful Christmas. This color will also make your living room looks calm and comfortable.

Orange – The color that has a character similar to the color red, but more feminine and friendly. The color that symbolizes socialization, hopeful and confident.

Yellow – the right color if you choose to create the impression of joy in the living room so it feels togetherness on Christmas Day more fun. These colors are suitable for use as a base color that makes the room look good.

Symbolism of the Color Purple

Purple embodies the balance of red simulation and blue calm. This dichotomy can cause unrest or uneasiness unless the undertone is clearly defined at which point the purple takes on the characteristics of its undertone. A sense of mystic and royal qualities, purple is a color often well liked by very creative or eccentric types and is the favorite color of adolescent girls.

Effects of the Color Purple

How the color purple affects us mentally and physically

• Uplifting
• Calming to mind and nerves
• Offers a sense of spirituality
• Encourages creativity

Purple Around the World

• A “purple heart” is a U.S. military decoration for soldiers wounded or killed in battle
• In Thailand, purple is worn by a widow mourning her husband’s death
• In Tibet, amethyst is considered to be sacred to Buddha and rosaries are often fashioned from it
• In Japan the color purple signifies wealth and position
• Purple denotes virtue and faith in Egypt

Fun Facts About the Color Purple

• Purple represents the planet Jupiter
• February is the month associated with the color purple and the birthstone for those born is February is Amethyst
• Purple Stones: Amethyst, Ametrine, Sugilite, Lavender Jade, Sugilite, Selenite, Iolite, Lavender Quartz, Lepidolite
• In 1999, formal moral majority spokesman Reverand Jerry Farwell, came out publicly against the children’s show Teletubbies. He believed that it’s character “Tinky-Winky” was gay– stating that he was purple- the colour of gay pride and that his antennae was triangle shaped- the symbol of gay pride
• In stained glass the color purple or violet are seen as the uniting of the “wisdom” of blue and the “love” of red and symbolizesr justice and of royalty

Quotes on Color Purple

• “I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.” –Alice Walker
• “Born in the scientific purple.” –George Howard Darwin
• “But, luckily, he kept his wits and his Purple crayon.” –from Harold and the Purple Crayon (1955)
• “Oh, I love red. I’m very loyal to my colors. I love violet.” –Elizabeth Taylor

Colorful Phrases: Purple

• Purple Prose: an elabrorately written poem or paragraph in liteature
• Purple Heart: a medal awarded to a U.S. soldier wounded in battle
• Born to the Purple: a person who is born into a noble or royal family
• Lay It Out in Lavender: very cool, relaxed and in control

Color Trends: Passionate Purple

Purple has been called the “it” color or the “hottest” hue for more than a year but purple continues to reign supreme as the go-to color for fall and holiday. This passionate hue has held its own as a color trend with longevity in the market.

Purple: The Color of the Crown Chakra

Violet (purple) is the color of the Crown chakra, also known as the Sahasrara. This chakra is located at the top of the head. The Crown chakra is linked to the crown of the head, the nervous system, and the brain, and is representative of pure thought.This chakra connects one with the infinite consciousness. Opening this chakra will help tap into a deep spiritual understanding.

Prior to this incident, one should also not forget the attack against the Israeli Consulate, not to mention the gross reversal of the peace pact between Egypt and Israel that has been violated by letting Hamas use the Sinai as a springboard to attack Israel.

It is hoped that the Arab Spring is not the Arab Autumn when the leaves of democracy would begin to fall, much to the regret of those that wished otherwise.

The once so-called persuers of democracy in Egypt is finally revealing its true colors.  The bloodletting violence against the Christians seems to be the outcome of an animosity about which Hosni Mubarak was particularly  concerned. His prediction that his outster would not quieten the monster of racism and bigotry, spurred by religious fanatacism, rooted in the heart and soul of a belief that ones religion is supreme and, therefore, advocates a justifiable violence against the other.  Lest we forget, these are the people that vociferously rebelled against their president who had himself warned the rest of the world to beware of the sleeping monster that doesn’t care about the finer nuances of democracy that include the civil rights of all citizens. Perhaps, his prediction is now ringing true.

Prior to this incident, one should also not forget the attack against the Israeli Consulate, not to mention the gross reversal of the peace pact between Egypt and Israel that has been violated by letting Hamas use the Sinai as a springboard to attack Israel.

It is hoped that the Arab Spring is not the Arab Autumn when the leaves of democracy would begin to fall, much to the regret of those that wished otherwise. 

Whilst women have been aware of it for centuries, men had probably never thought much about colour preference, but new research is showing clearly that one colour long associated with sex and love, red. also governs processes and behavior in the male of the species, to the extent that ladies flaunting themselves in red outfits are guaranteed not only to capture male eyes, but also see much more rapid responses.

Whilst society has always seen red equating to sexual relations, as far back as pre-history being sported by humans in the form of red ocher body decoration, modern researchers Andrew Elliot and Daniela Niesta wanted to create a study testing whether red truly has aphrodisiac properties, the European Journal of Social Psychology.publishing their findings

To begin with, various males saw images of moderately good-looking women, in both blue and red dresses, the men asked what questions they would put to her, and those seeing her in red were much more forward in their queries, as well as consistently rating the same woman sexier when in a red dress than a blue one. 

Another element of the study had the men supposedly meeting women privately, and those seeing her in red consistently moved their seats nearer to that which was meant to occupy. As a secondary test, a woman in a different colored dress was pictured against various colored backgrounds, and once more the one with a red background was found to be the most desirable.

Perhaps the most fascinating finding of all was the one of the men involved believing absolutely that  colour made no difference whatever to the choices they made, meaning that the preference has to be subconscious, in parallel, oddly, with  nonhuman male primates responses to the colour red, thus appearing to demonstrate, to some degree, that preferences and predilections are genetically coded, in the sexual sense, and never really a matter of conscious choice.

The findings will inevitably lead to women saying I told you so, because there is little doubt that animal passions are aroused in human males when they know that a woman is in the middle of her monthly cycle, because they scent the blood, even if they know nothing of the smell. Women wearing red shirt or on a date with a desirable man are more likely to get what they want, and those using dating services online will almost certainly get more positive responses if they post pictures of themselves wearing red.

As a matter of interesting fact, yet another research project showed that the ladies also have a passion for the colour red, so men who have red accessories, like ties and handkerchiefs, red cars and clothing, can find themselves the objects of more female attention than their more conservatively dressed peers.

 Any way you care to look at it, nature has decreed, through evolution, that the more basic instincts of our nature should be associated with the colour of the stuff of life, blood, and males simply cannot resist these ancient natural inclinations, even if they have no idea of their existence. You now know exactly what you need o be wearing to be the man or woman at the center of all that sexual attention, so start putting on those gorgeous red glad-rags and having yourself a ball.

There’s an old song that goes “the fellas are crazy about the Lady in Red.”  Now, there’s scientific evidence that red can indeed drive men wild.

In a study by researchers at the University of Rochester (U.K.), men were shown to be attracted to the color red.  More, men were found to be significantly more … shall we say passionate … toward women when red was the color motif.  And the men didn’t even know that red helped create their attraction to the opposite sex.

Red History

The color red has historically been viewed as a symbol of sin and passion – do we ever see portrayals of the devil in anything but red?  In biblical times there are many references such as “though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow” in Isaiah.  In literature, there’s The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. And, of course, the color red when used endearingly, say with roses, indicates love.  Red is also used as a symbol of courage and patriotism, not to mention its marketing uses (such as “red tag sales”).

The researchers theorized that the effect of red has a strong biological root in humans.  They point to primates, such as chimpanzees, that are attracted to their mates when females display red.  Men act similarly, they say.

Men Asked About Dating Women in Various Colors

In their study, more evidence of the power of red was demonstrated through five experiments.  First, they had men look at women’s photos in differing color settings.  For example, they had men look at a woman’s photo when the picture was in a frame with a red or white border.  The men were then asked how attractive the woman was.  In another experiment, the women’s blouse was colorized in red or blue.  When the men were shown the photo, they were asked how much of $100 would they be willing to spend on a date with either women shown.

The results were that no matter what the men were shown in terms of the colors used in the photographs, in any of the experiments, the women who appeared in a red setting, or dressed in red, were found by the men to be more attractive and desirable – even though the pictures showed the very same woman.

Curiously, the color red didn’t have the same affect on women. When women were shown pictures of men in various red circumstances and asked to judge them on the basis of likeability, intelligence or kindness, red had no affect on their opinion.

So, when it comes to birthdays, anniversaries, Valentines Day, or just the desire for a “special night,” red says it all.

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Let me see…a melodic art form of our emotional connections and the ensuing roller coaster ride. So now we come to art forms.

How does the art form connect to us? Art truly expressed is an emotional outburst of creation. Of taking something that we feel and breaking it into some type of components towards reconfiguring either the system or components into an original piece that generates an emotional response in others. There is another form of art, when someone takes what they know how to do beyond perfection and into self-expression. Aesthetics is the key here. If you look at it from the melodic arena, there are only seven notes with differences in octaves, duration, flat or sharp, rhythm and harmonies. This is a limited or finite set of rules that produces an infinite combination. This leaves alot of room for creativity to connect or express.

Some people never learn how to express themselves. Some people try to make up for everyone else’s inability to express themselves. But no matter if you do or don’t know how to express yourself there is something that we can all agree on. We like it when things are made look nice. Whether its people, a thing you own, a symphony you have created out of your work environment; everything gives off better vibes or makes people feel better to be around this one item or place or person that looks good. The other symphonies we are drawn to are sometimes the music we use to generate a soundtrack that accompanies our very lives.

There have been studies that define what we like to look at or what we are drawn to. Symmetry and colors are prevalent along with upbeat rhythms. Did you know the first make up was for statues? Around six thousand years ago makeup was put on the statues of the gods to make them look alive. Then people started to put it on their faces to animate their images, create more symmetry and to use as sun block. Paint was also used to produce pictures and recording of our history began even before makeup. The advent of architecture was the combination of utility and beauty in symmetry and sometimes color that really showcased the Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, Royalty and Catholics in a very tangible way. Flutes from around 35,000BC have been found in Europe and Germany to denote musical inclinations in prehistoric man.

We have found multiple venues for generating and expressing ourselves through art. Not only are we the most adaptable species on earth, there is a spirit and logistics within the ability to take aspects of the everyday life and find a focus of beauty. Even with feet of clay there are transcendental moments or sounds to brighten the day.

A best friend takes a picture of a rainbow on his phone and sends it.  The daughter comes in and offers to do the dishes while you put her newest drawing on the refrigerator. You sit on the front porch to watch the sunset. The newest great song comes on the radio and you just tap the rhythm while you smile and let the music move your body. The greatest musical art form is the inspiration to generate new music. The ability to focus on the beauty of the day instead of all the tragedy is a great gift that can help you manage the day. It is not a waste of time…but truly a gift you not only give to yourself but share with all you interact with daily.