Life 01 (May 08 - Oct 08)

[winston]

A Beautiful Mosaic by Bob Tschannen-Moran

I was speaking last week with a client in Vietnam who informed me that, yes, the Olympics are as big a deal in Vietnam as they are in the United States. There's something about the idea of competing nonviolently across nations, cultures, and races that is incredibly attractive, and incredibly needed, at this point and time. Here's to the Olympic spirit in all areas of human endeavor!

In watching some of the games, I have been impressed as to how people are approaching different cultural and personal preferences with respect and understanding. That's the way it should be. Instead of objecting to or taking offense at those differences, it is better to appreciate and accommodate them. When Roqaya Al-Gassra of Bahrain, for example, competed in the women's 200 meter race, she did so wearing a neck-to-ankle suit and hijab, a full Muslim headscarf. And she ran that way into the semifinals.

Did her choice cause any problems? No. She found it personally motivating to represent her country and her tradition in such fashion. And she celebrated the fact that at the Olympics there are no obstacles to participation. American Allyson Felix, wearing the more common briefs and singlet top, did not find Al-Gassra's garb to be distracting in the least. She was focused on the competition, the crux of the matter, not the clothing.

On the human-interest side of the Olympics, perhaps some of you saw the story regarding the Panda baby-boom in the wake of the recent Chinese earthquake. Although two Pandas died in the earthquake, the rest were evacuated to a new Panda reserve where they been recovering both physically and emotionally. Through the adoption of a policy called "loving-heart action." This policy involves:
-- pairing up keepers with no more than two Pandas,
-- staying with the Pandas every day until they feel safe and secure again,
-- calling them by name, and
-- patting their fur and head

One keeper, Xie Hao, came with the Pandas to the new reserve. He knows every Panda by name, include the nine newborn Pandas. When asked how he could tell them apart, he said, "From the face characteristics, but I cannot tell you the details. That's a feeling. I just feel every Panda's difference and I can tell which one, one by one." To get them to where they can be reintroduced in the wild, Xie Hao concluded, "We have to have a relationship just like best friends. I must love them and they must love me."

You can watch the story yourself by going to: http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/ ... 4#26327804.

Life is like that. No two creatures are the same. Everyone and everything is unique. Yet we all need genuine caring and love.

That's what empathy is all about: authentic connection. Xie Hao has an authentic connection with those Pandas. Allyson Felix had an authentic connection with Roqaya Al-Gassra. Through noticing and respecting differences we shift from judgment to appreciation, from fear to affirmation, from appearance to engagement. That is the spirit of the Olympic games and that is the spirit our world needs today.

So how do we do that? How do we cultivate genuine love and caring for all, regardless of differences and disagreements? It helps to recognize the universality of human needs. Although everyone is different as to their preferences, cultures, traditions, and talents, everyone is the same when it comes to the needs they are trying to meet. However well and however poorly we choose to express ourselves, the underlying intent of all our actions and words is to get our needs met.

[kennynah]

I witnessed a garoupa being slaughtered alive this afternoon. For most of us, we give very little thought on such matters surely or maybe we should reflect a little in depth about our usefulness to others

(reflected:) )
@7pm, we will be watching the best moments of Beijing olympics before witnessing the historical closing ceremony. Enjoy!!

[winston]

I witnessed a garoupa being slaughtered alive this afternoon.

During Christmas, I purposely brought my boys to a particular seafood restaurant in Sanya.

At this seafood restaurant ( as in most other seafood restaurants ), you first choose your seafood from the fish tanks. Thereafter, they would cook the seafood for you.

As I have been to this restaurant before, I knew that they would be throwing the fish onto the floor, right in front of you, to kill the fish before cooking it.

I wanted my boys to see how they kill the fishes..

They were of course visibly upset. And that night, we ate only clams, crabs and prawns.

Of course, being vegetarian would be best.... If not, at least I want them to know how animals and fishes are being slaughtered for food..

[winston]

Are You an Information Addict?
By Michael Masterson

I hadn't seen Dave in almost 20 years. He was my dentist when we moved to Boca Raton in the early 1980s. He continued to take care of K and the kids after we moved to Delray Beach 10 years later, but I opted for dental care closer to home.

Dave contacted me when he discovered that I was the man behind the "Michael Masterson" pen name. One day, he went to the website and saw my photo. "I know that guy!" he thought. So he got my e-mail address from K. "How about lunch?" he wrote. "I've got a bunch of things I need to ask you."

Several weeks later, we were eating chopped chicken salads at City Oyster on Atlantic Avenue. Dave seemed nervous. It was as if he was intimidated by the Michael Masterson persona. I did my best to assure him I was the same person who used to wince in pain when he cleaned my teeth. We talked a bit about family news, but it was clear he had something else on his mind.

On his mind was a decision he was trying to make: Should he spend $100,000 on the highest level of an Internet marketing program he had been looking at?

"I've been studying their stuff," he told me. "It's really good. But I'm not sure it makes sense for me to invest that kind of money."

"A hundred grand is a lot of money," I said. I felt like Sam Spade talking to Gutman about the price of the Maltese Falcon.

"But you get an awful lot for your money," Dave explained. "They do all the technical stuff for you, which I'm not very good at. All I'd have to do is come up with the ideas."

"Well," I said, practicing my best Sam Spade drawl, "what ideas do you have?"

In fact, Dave didn't have a single one. "All I know is that I am in the wrong business," he said. "I took this self-test online - and I found out I'm in the worst business in the world for me."

At nearly 50 years of age, Dave had just concluded that his entire career had been a waste. "I wanted to be a dentist since I was eight years old," he told me. "If I had known then what a bad business it was for me, I would have done something else."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Like what you do," he said. He was smiling, but he looked serious.

"Look," I told him. "My business is a great business - but I don't think you should conclude that your life has been wasted simply because you took some pop quiz that was probably designed to sell you something."

"But it was right," he insisted. "It proved something I had always known but was afraid to admit."

The waitress filled our drinks. We ate in silence for a while.

"So what I'm thinking is that, since I'm not into the technical stuff, this Internet marketing program would be very good for me."

"How much time have you invested in learning about Internet marketing?" I asked.

"About three years," he answered.

And how many information products on the subject have you bought in that three-year period?" I asked.

Dave laughed. "I can't even count that high," he said.

"How much money have you spent?"

"Tens of thousands. Probably more."

"And yet, you haven't actually started an Internet marketing business," I said.

He nodded, then rattled off the names of every Internet marketing program he'd bought - all the ones that I knew and dozens of others I had never heard of.

"That's a lot of buying," I told him.

"Tell me about it," he said.

Dave explained that when he reads an advertising promotion pitching a new Internet marketing product, he is "totally taken in by it," even though he realizes he is just reading "a sales pitch."

"But even though I know that I'm being seduced by a professional wordsmith, I can't stop myself from buying."

"I hear you," I said. "You are an information junkie."

"You think?"

"I do."

"What about you?" he said. "I read that you read a lot of informational books - about one every week."

"I do," I said, "but I'm not an information junkie. I'm an information user."

"So what's the difference?"

I explained that the difference is huge. An information junkie is addicted to the process of buying information. Although he may delude himself into thinking otherwise, he has no intention of ever using the information he buys.

An information user is very practical about his purchases. He buys information for specific, pragmatic purposes. He uses the information he buys to achieve specific goals - to start or grow a business, to learn a new language, to improve his negotiating skills.

An information junkie is happiest at the moment he is buying the information. His enthusiasm soon wanes, however. Within hours or days of receiving it, the information junkie is on to other things. The new product goes up on the shelf with the old products. He's excited about the next new one.

An information user makes progress. See him reading a book about nutrition, and there's a very good chance (if he likes the book) that his eating habits will change in the immediate future. The information junkie, in contrast, may have 26 books about nutrition in his living room. He may have even read them all - while he was lying on the couch eating potato chips.

An information user is someone who consumes information to profit from it. If he invests $100 in learning about some subject, he expects to see a substantial return on that investment - perhaps a thousand dollars' worth of value, material or spiritual. An information junkie consumes information like drugs or candy bars. It gives him an immediate rush and then nothing afterward. That's why he needs to buy more.

The information user has long-term expectations when it comes to knowledge. He believes the knowledge he acquires now will compound over time as he learns more and is in a better position to leverage what he has learned for greater benefit. The information junkie is in it for the here-and-now. He doesn't believe in saving. He's always on to the next hot thing.

What about you? Are you an information junkie? Take this test and see...

1. In the past year, I've purchased more than 12 books that I haven't read. (If your answer is Yes, give yourself 2 points.)

2. In the past year, I've purchased:

* Only information products that I have used. (Yes = 1 point)
* Between 1 and 3 $100 information products that I haven't used. (Yes = 2 points)
* Between 3 and 5 $100 information products that I haven't used. (Yes = 3 points)
* More than 5 $100 information products that I haven't used. (Yes = 5 points)

3. In the past year, I've purchased at least one $1,000 information product that I didn't use. (Yes = 5 points)

4. I am most excited about the information that I buy:

* When I am ordering it. (Yes = 3 points)
* When I receive it. (Yes = 2 points)
* When I begin using it. (Yes = 1 point)

5. When I read a book, I feel compelled to read it from cover to cover. (Yes = 2 points)

6. I generally take notes when I read something. (Yes = 1 point, No = 2 points)

Well... how did you score?

If you scored 8 or above, you are indeed an information junkie. You might think the good people at ETR would like that (since they are in the business of selling information). But they don't. The people at ETR know that their business will grow most strongly if they develop a customer base of information users rather than junkies. That's because information users benefit from the knowledge they buy. This means they are more discriminating (which favors ETR's products, since they are some of the best in the business), they buy more products in the long run, and they request fewer refunds.

If you are an information junkie, don't despair. You can convert yourself into an information user simply by following two rules:

1. When you buy an information product, set specific deadlines for reading it and implementing what you learn. For instance, set a goal that you will take one of its recommended actions within 24 hours of receiving the product. Then resolve to take at least one more recommended action each week thereafter.

2. Don't buy another product until you have made some progress with the one you previously purchased.

That's all there is to it. Obey these two rules and you'll not only break your addiction, you will radically improve your life.

[kennynah]

w :

I wanted my boys to see how they kill the fishes..

They were of course visibly upset. And that night, we ate only clams, crabs and prawns.

so..what happened to that fish that got killed... and your family didnt eat it eventually...sayang...like dat poor fish died for nothing... hmmm...

and oh...i forgot to mention...that same day, i oso saw how the live crabs were chopped up....

[winston]

so..what happened to that fish that got killed... and your family didnt eat it eventually...sayang...like dat poor fish died for nothing... hmmm...

No lah, the boys saw them killing the fishes ordered by other people.

We did not order any fish that night.

[LenaHuat]

From "The Independence":

Dead at 47, the man who told us how to live life to the full

By Guy Adams in Los Angeles
Wednesday, 27 August 2008
Dave Freeman, the advertising executive whose travel guide 100 Things To Do Before You Die inspired a generation of travellers to treat each day as if it might be their last, has died in a freak accident at the age of 47.


He fell and hit his head at home in Venice, Los Angeles, on 17 August, it emerged yesterday. Relatives said he had only managed to get round to visiting just more than half the places recommended in his famous book.

The guide, subtitled "travel events you can't miss", was based around the revolutionary notion of creating an agenda based on 100 "sites" and marketing it by reminding mortal readers that their time on earth was limited. After becoming a bestseller shortly after publication in 1999, it spawned an entire publishing genre.

"This life is a short journey," read the introduction by Freeman and his co-author Neil Teplica, which summed-up the book's spirit. "How will you make sure that you will fill it with the most fun, and that you visit all the coolest places on earth, before you pack those bags for the very last time?"

204 countries were represented at the Beijing Olympics. Assuming that I have little interest in 50% of them, I hve 100 on my list. If I have visited 50 of them, I've got a remaining 50 for the next 20 walking years of my life. That means 2.5 per annum I have better set my targets. Firstly Macedonia, Albania and Bulgaria (after reading 2day's newspaper). Next, the Baltic states of Lithuania, Estonia and Latvia. Thirdly, more *tans like Tajikistan and Turkmenistan.

[winston]

The True Gentleman by Alexander Green

I've always enjoyed Oscar Wilde's comedy "An Ideal Husband."

But New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd is out to help women find the genuine item.

In a recent column, she shared the wisdom of Father Pat Connor, a 79-year-old Catholic priest with several decades of experience as a marriage counselor.

Too many women marry badly, he says, because infatuation trumps judgment. (I'm sure plenty of men have their own complaints, but today is Ladies' Day.)

Father Conner advises women not to marry a man who has no friends, who is controlling or irresponsible with money, who is overly attached to his mother, or who has no sense of humor. He lists so many qualities to avoid, in fact, that some women responded despairingly that he'd "eliminated everyone."

Not yet...

The column generated a hailstorm of letters to the editor, including one from a Ms. Susan Striker of Easton, CT. The twice-divorced woman offered that Father Conner had only scratched the surface. She warns women:

Never marry a man who yells at you in front of his friends.

Never marry a man who is more affectionate in public than in private.

Never marry a man who notices all of your faults but never notices his own.

Never marry a man whose first wife had to sue him for child support.

Never marry a man who corrects you in public.

Never marry a man who sends birthday cards to his ex-girlfriends.

Never marry a man who doesn't treat his dog nicely.

Never marry a man who is rude to waiters.

Never marry a man who doesn't love music.

Never marry a man whose plants are all dead.

Never marry a man your mother doesn't like.

Never marry a man your children don't like.

Never marry a man who hates his job.And so on...

Reading this laundry list, I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

Clearly, this was the voice of experience. And it made me think what, if anything, I could tell my own daughter to keep her from making a big mistake someday.

Of course, Hannah is only 10 now and looks at boys the way she looks at toadstools after a rainstorm. (Interesting, but not terribly attractive.)

Still, I already identify with comedian Bill Engvall. On his sitcom recently, he told his teenage daughter - to her utter mortification - that her date honking the horn out front needed to come inside and meet her parents first.

He does, but before the boy leaves Engvall pulls him aside and says, "That's my only daughter right there and she is precious to me. So if you've got any ideas about making out or hooking up or whatever you call it these days, I just want you to know I have no problem going back to prison."

I know a few fathers who can identify with that sentiment.

But the problem with the "never marry a man..." list is that it approaches the notion of an ideal man from a purely negative context.

Rather than telling my daughter what to beware of, I'd suggest that she marry a gentleman. But then what, exactly, is a "gentleman" in this day and age?

British born American writer Oliver Herford once remarked that a gentleman is someone "who never hurts anyone's feelings unintentionally." (This is always said with a "wink-wink, nudge-nudge," so that the listener understands that it's still okay, provided the insult is intended and the recipient deserving.)

Another wag defined a gentleman as, "someone who knows how to play the accordion, but chooses not to."

Hmm. I think we need a bit more specificity. And in that department, it's hard to top John Walter Wayland's definition written back in 1899:

"The True Gentleman is the man whose conduct proceeds from good will and an acute sense of propriety,
and whose self-control is equal to all emergencies;
who does not make the poor man conscious of his poverty,
the obscure man of his obscurity, or any man of his inferiority or deformity;
who is himself humbled if necessity compels him to humble another;
who does not flatter wealth, cringe before power, or boast of his own possessions or achievements;
who speaks with frankness but always with sincerity and sympathy;
whose deed follows his word; who thinks of the rights and feelings of others, rather than his own;
and who appears well in any company, a man with whom honor is sacred and virtue safe."

Pretty much says it all, doesn't it?

Perhaps the important thing for all single men and women is to look inward and cultivate these qualities of character.

Doing so would certainly make them worthy to receive the affections of their ideal mate, should they ever have the good fortune of encountering him or her.

One final note... you may have seen that Dr. Randy Pausch - whom I wrote about several months ago - finally succumbed to pancreatic cancer last month at 47.

He, too, struggled with these questions and left behind this time capsule of advice for his daughter Chloe, now 2:

"When men are romantically interested in you, it's really simple. Just ignore everything they say and only pay attention to what they do."

Not bad. And perhaps a good way of sizing up people generally.

[millionairemind]

W - tks for the article above. I enjoyed it very much

[helios]

Was sharing this story with my kid just now. This is long, but worth the read before your pillow rest. Somethíng for everyone - tonight.


The Folded Napkin: A Trucker's Story

I tried not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted one.

I wasn't sure how my customers would react to Stevie. He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Downs Syndrome. I wasn't worried about most of my trucker customers because truckers don't generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade. The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded "truck-stop germ"; the pairs of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants to be with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks.

I shouldn't have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck-stop mascot.

After that, I really didn't care what the rest of the customers thought of him. He was like a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table. Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto his cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met.

Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home.

That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first in three years that Stevie missed work. He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Downs Syndrome often have heart problems at an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.

A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery, and doing fine. Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news. Belle Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table.

Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Belle Ringer a withering look. He grinned. "OK, Frannie, what was that all about?" he asked. "We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay." "I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?"

Frannie quickly told Belle Ringer and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie's surgery, then sighed: "Yeah, I'm glad he is going to be OK," she said. "But I don't know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is."

Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables. Since I hadn't had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn't want to replace him, the girls were busing their own tables that day until we decided what to do.

After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face. "What's up?" I asked. "I didn't get that table where Belle Ringer and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and Tony Tipper were sitting there when I got back to clean it off," she said. "This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup."

She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed "Something For Stevie". "Pony Pete asked me what that was all about," she said, "so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this." She handed me another paper napkin that had "Something For Stevie" scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head, and said simply: "Truckers."

That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work. His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy. I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back.

Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting. "Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast," I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. "Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate you coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!"

I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room. I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins.

"First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess," I said. I tried to sound stern. Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had "Something for Stevie" printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table. Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I turned to his mother. There's more than $10,000 in cash and checks on that table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. "Happy Thanksgiving!"

Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well. But you know what's funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table.

Best worker I ever hired. Plant a seed and watch it grow.