Bernadea Elyana June 3, 2021 Spreadsheet
So why does data that inevitably finds its way into a Microsoft Excel spreadsheet often suffer from the problems outlined above. The reasons are many. If the data is imported, it may have been sourced from a combination of other spreadsheets, databases, systems, reports, word documents, emails or web pages. If the data has been entered manually it may have been poorly done so by an inexperienced computer users such as administrative or junior staff with a lack of understanding for data structures. Excel is easy to use and widely accessible, so an inexperienced colleague can quite easily update your spreadsheet with a false sense of confidence and inadvertently enter new data incorrectly. And finally, unlike a fully functional software system, data entry in Excel generally has no automatic validating rules, unless carefully setup by the spreadsheet‘s creator.
Oh my goodness, it‘s not surprising that so many couples who want to get divorced just stay separated for years. The process is daunting, expensive and, frankly, ridiculous. Basically I had to stop communicating with my husband immediately. Going forward all communication would be between my lawyer and his lawyer. We would turn in all of our financial documents and her paralegals would put them into spreadsheet form and then we would go about dividing everything up. We would have to come up with a parenting plan, my husband and I, with these two lawyers translating for us. We would have to get employment contracts from his employers so I knew that I was getting a fair share of all of his assets. It was going to be long and drawn out and messy. And the cost, somewhere between $15,000-$100,000, minimum.
There seems to be a move on the Internet to have only terminals for Internet users and all the hard drive would be saved at giant Internet hubs. Microsoft would like to have all their programs at get their location and users would pay a monthly subscription fee for things like Microsoft Word and Microsoft XL. This way people could do there creating at their terminal and all the data would be backed up that Microsoft. Also, everyone could interface together since they all had the latest version with the latest features. It makes a lot of sense to do it this way.
Lester loved his numeric universe, but this was not how he had envisioned his life unfolding; flying hither and thither from his hometown of Hershey to wherever his firm wished to send him. Just because he was 38, single, and still living with his folks didn‘t mean his employer should take advantage of him which, in fact, his company did on a regular basis. After all, Lester had other important interests, too. The ”Four Bs” he called them: Botany, bowling, bugs and Buddy Holly. Myriad plants crowded his tiny room in his parent‘s house, forcibly sucking carbon dioxide out of anyone who entered. Bowling trophies – ranging in size from tiny silver cups to massive bronze edifices shaped like the Empire State Building – claimed space not dominated by flower pots, planter boxes, and hanging baskets.
”Happy crapola!” he exclaimed, rising from the rollered chair and scooping accordion folds of printouts into his tattered briefcase. He snatched his worn black suit coat from a hanger on the back of the office door, switched off the fluorescent overheads, and walked to the executive offices in the adjoining building. When his audit week ended, Lester typically teamed with Lance Lott for a tour of the local watering holes. Lance was a marketing guy he‘d met when he first worked the Bourgeois account. Lance also was single, and resembled Keanu Reeves on a bad hair day. Lester considered him a ”chick magnet,” and although he himself never got lucky on their semi-annual expeditions, the other always disappeared with a babe on his arm. Lester decided, tonight would be HIS night.
His entomological collection occupied any open areas large enough to accept skewered insects. And his Buddy Holly collection consisted of three scritchy albums the talented tunester recorded before dying at 22 when his plane crashed in Iowa. Lester wore black horn-rimmed classes identical to those of the late singer, and considered these a statement to the world that a ”cool” persona existed within his ”bean counter‘s” body. Too, Lester was a college graduate: Penn State, class of ‘78. He maintained a solid ”C” average over four years, and finally earned ”Certified Public Accountant” status on his fifth try. ”Reversing entries are hemorrhoids in the ass of accounting,” he remarked flatly during a first interview with his present employer, who dwelled briefly on his gradepoint average and numerous shots at CPA accreditation. ”They tricked me every time!” In spite of his lackluster academic record, the firm hired Lester and beginning Day One sacrificed him to Bourgeois and 20 other mediocre accounts.
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