Elayna Syana June 2, 2021 Spreadsheet
I don‘t think so. My husband and I weren‘t a great married couple but we were excellent business partners. We almost never, actually maybe NEVER, fought about money. We agreed on how to raise our kids and were always honest about our finances. He made a lot of money and I had some money of my own from my grandmother and would inherit when my parents died. I knew that we would be able to sort through these things better on our own. Most significantly, he LOVED to make spreadsheets and certainly would not be willing to pay someone else make one for him. I did some research on the internet to see what our options would be. I knew we couldn‘t do it ourselves but that we would need some assistance because our finances were complicated. I learned about divorce mediators, professionals who work with couples at an hourly fee to help them navigate the process. It sounded like it would work for us so we agreed to find one. And we did. Well, I did.
”Rippeto‘s Rendezvous” was only a block away, and attracted patrons from all levels of the social spectrum: Primarily fringe types, college students, and the occasional Young Urban Professional. It was near the University, and close to Civic Arena and Three Rivers Stadium. On clear nights, you could look out Rippeto‘s windows and see the Monongahela River afire in the distance. Two things are striking about Rippeto‘s when one weasels through the wall of humanity standing outside, and plasters oneself against an identical living wall inside: The smoke and the smell.
”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.
In a well-designed spreadsheet, any output can be calculated from the raw data. However, that‘s not always enough. Sometimes the output is fixed and the raw data is variable. Let‘s say you run an investment company and want to offer your clients a fixed return. An Excel expert could create a very complex model to calculate the likely return on investments over a fixed period. You could then calculate the internal rate of return being offered to clients. The problem is that you‘re not interested in the return offered to clients; that is, after all, fixed. Instead you‘re concerned with how much money you expect to draw from the investment fund, whilst still offering your investors a satisfactory return. If you have $1 and owe investors a quarter, you can calculate your profits using a simple formula.
Given this data set imagine trying to find out which Fridays you were busy at an appointment at noon while your partner was also busy at an appointment at noon and the descriptions of both of your appointments contained the phrase down town. If you are not familiar with relational databases and SQL it might surprise you to know that the question can be answered by a single simple SQL query. The database and SQL don‘t have it all their own way however. Spreadsheets come in to their own for tasks that benefit from a visual representation. Traditionally databases do not provide a visual way to browse the data in tables without explicitly requesting data.
He grossed $2,000 a week for his bosses, and earned slightly less than $500 for himself. Still, the wages kept him in seeds, bowling shoes, stick pins, and a Platinum Buddy Holly Fan Club Membership. Lester‘s favorite word was ”crapola,” and he applied it to the ball bearing factory‘s antiquated data processing system in coats as thick as the olive drab membrane clinging to the smudgy glass before him. ”You piteous piece of crapola!” he‘d hiss at the computer when error messages flashed across its screen or its ancient system locked under the demand of crunching numbers to the tenth decimal point. ”Some day I‘ll throw your sorry ass into one of those melting pots out there!”