Custom Boat Seats Texas
Best Christmas present I ever had
"Everything we do, the environment should be the centerpiece"
Wangari Maathai, Nobel Peace Prize Winner
Prologue
Most people who participate in the economy as capitalism lives outside of our budget environment. Our buildings consume more materials, our air conditioners more energy, and our cars more features than any human being can explain in a natural balance.
It's a tribal thing driven by ego more than the ego-driven among us succumb to the vices darkest and most common humanity -. accumulation and flaunting of money and a capacity to consume in a desperate attempt to demonstrate the "value".
Just as the addict heroin addicts money to do whatever it takes to meet the need.
Lacking in basic human values, a value becomes a numbers game, consuming more of our land resources that anyone can rationalize. The more money the credit card finance, the greater the ability to consume, feeding that self harm with a stronger need than cocaine. Rumors of money cruelest end bearing its material wealth – to complicate things, millions of people follow ward Thorsten Veblen in a frenzy of conspicuous consumption "prove" that I also did this. "
There is nothing wrong with money, unless someone makes more than they can spend at the expense of workers, customers and the environment. We have all the money in the world, but that does not buy position in human decency or environmental balance.
Unwavering, over-consumption against both our species and our planet. Elegant understatement is the key to our survival as a species.
Working in Hawai'i meeting rooms, I learned that we need not be ruthless predators ego-driven to be successful. My heroes deal had big hearts and down-to-earth low resources consumption. They realized that honey attracts more flies vinegar, and managers are tough cookie simply hide their incompetence. Coincidentally, they spent more time giving your money than they did do that.
As this vignette demonstrates, there are more ways to measure its value than money.
"The Best Christmas Gift I've ever had."
On days the stock exchange, the times were lean. Breaks school found me my backpack and thumbing a ride somewhere accessible from Los Angeles in the quarter system, breaks Winter UCLA were almost a month, enough time to hitchhike depth in Mexico.
I had $ 50 and a backpack full of peanut butter to last a month and wanted to see how far I could go south. Were twelve pesos to the dollar, and I could live forever in peanut butter and cooking corn tortillas hot straight from the village tortilla. Each village has a tortilla, but is a real treat to find a village with banana bread in a clay oven. He comes every hour on the hour, so good when you're cooking that I can inspire two loafs immediately – no butter jelly, or a knife – just stuff it and "broke" the mouth, Brah "I learned how to say later in Hawaii. Even a poor student can live forever in banana bread and tortillas with peanut butter.
Just outside Mazatlan, I got a ride with a trucker to Mexico City. I could be there overnight and then a few small fishing village in the lush south coast of Acapulco.
We stopped at a red light two hours south of Mazatlan. A stand of oysters were out of the cabin. I could almost reach the window and get some oysters, but I have a phobia lifelong eating shellfish, fish guts and all. No matter how the chef decorates Oysters Rockefeller, they remain slimy creatures with no substance.
For some unknown reason I decided to try these molluscs. On impulse, I gave my ride, said Muchas Gracias, grabbed my backpack and jumped from the taxi stand up to the oyster.
The light turned green. My new friend gave me a last gesture, said goodbye and disappeared into a cloud of dust. What was I thinking? There it was my ride Cuidad Mexico.
I turned and grabbed the tray of oysters. What a stupid fool. I only gave up one of the best rides of my life to discover Mexican oysters were the same as their cousins in California. It is Rocket Science!
I surveyed the surroundings, a stoplight at the intersection of Highway One, the main artery for East Mexico West Coast was indoors. – I had no interest however, was the road west to the coast, literally, an extension cord .. ran sticks stuck in the ground, snaking along the road as far as I could see. The length was unusual for such apparatus fragile, so I asked the oyster-monger story.
I learned there was a fishing village 40 km on the road. The extension would bring electricity to the village, and the lights were scheduled to light the village for the first time on Christmas Eve, nearly a week away.
What sort Xmas Break! I've been in three villages at the time of electrification now, but this was my first. This could be a real adventure, so I turned right and stretched his thumb on a road with almost no traffic. The road accessed several farming villages along the road. – Not much traffic and all stops short I was a rather imposing figure in my late 20s – rugby fit, almost two meters, with hair and beard to my waist almost as far. On campus, beautiful women told me they were jealous of my hair, very bright. In fact, I was a mountain man more Scruffy than a fashion statement, and when I asked the Mexican coast ride I was always Jesus Christ, or Santa Claus for the locals!
It took half a dozen trips through this country agriculture plan to reach the end of the road. Every driver in this unusual hitchhiked where it was heading. Every time I said I was just following the thread extension. Their faces lit up – Oh, you're going to the village that goes electric on Christmas Eve!
It was big news in this neighborhood.
I finally came to town. He was not much. Green fields stretched out behind the village, formed around a town square austere facade of a beach and an estuary where the road ended and the fishing boats began.
This place was so simple as it gets – and there was another American anthropologist from Texas. Ph.D. candidate was ending a six-month study. He chose the perfect coastal fishing village for their studies, and then discovered it was primarily agricultural. He did not realize it, but the academic egghead broken Spanish was considered by residents as a kind of clown, and they were always playing with his studies, responding to their "observations" with jokes and ridiculous stories in Instead of getting to an event of anthropological truth. – The electrification of their village study – our future anthropologist went home for Christmas dinner. The villagers graciously bid him goodbye, but I silently questioned his academic commitment.
I instinctively camped on the beach 200 meters from the village and passed the House the Boat captain shrimp every day. The richest and most powerful of the village with the largest "home" on the beach, the captain had a barrel full of shrimp dry beside the table in the walled courtyard, and a lot of warm beer. On my third day, he invited me for a beer and shrimp, a ritual enjoyed every afternoon for the next three weeks.
Soon, college students in Guadalajara and Ciudad Mexico joined us. I know from Mexico emerging modern in the early '70s, the sons of farmers go to university to train as engineers, teachers, doctors and pharmacists to see the benefits of the "Water Drinking "projects that I had seen fifteen years earlier.
Forty years after Pancho Villa, Mexico grew and, thanks to the adventures my family, I felt it from the ground in the late 50s, now the first generation the advantage went to college -. My drinking buddies.
The scene was still the traditional Mexico. The captain has a real kick out of hosting the Gringo. Within its adobe walls, we sat in a heavy wooden table with non-stop beer and shrimp coffin. Across the courtyard, the women of the family sat at the kitchen door to decide if I was Santa Claus, or Jesus. In this culture Macho Rural women were light years away from the Women's Lib. I wonder if his sisters UCLA understand the difference between the two neighboring worlds, or appreciated their own incredible opportunities within California progressive society.
I still had a good time, flirting with the distance of my 20-something generation, fully understanding that it is as much as he could go.
The anthropologist was the big theme at the patio table. The students had great joy to tell stories of the lead scientist for nothing dusty roads to the sites of "great significance" of how they invented agriculture and absurd fishing techniques and humorous tales of adolescent courtship strategies in an era of an emerging society. They found the unsuspecting anthropologist I have no idea about his antics tongue-in-cheek.
Worth University faces around the world have a mischievous streak that shows whit innocent and creativity, especially in a rural village in Mexico are still without electricity.
When my new friends, learned from Los Angeles, or Hollywood, they asked if I knew Tom Jones, Englebert Humperdink and Carlos Santana was not surprising. – These three were the stars of Mexican pop culture of the day. Carlos did photograph the scene of an concert Farm Workers, and took my pictures classic every time I hitch-hiked Mexico, both close up and full stage arm in arm with Cesar Chavez Guys went crazy, and I certainly gained acceptance in local society -. no anthropologist bonehead here.
But Tom Jones and Englebert Humperdink?
We definitely connected, and then came the big day – Christmas Eve.
The sequence of 20 very basic electric light hanging from a rope sockets and electrical wires were strung around the town square. Even if that were the main village in this district end-of-the-road, the city still was not crowded, but the people sat on the day appointed for the square hours before complete darkness, waiting to turn on the lights.
The University met at the Boys beach and had a beautiful sunset, passing around bottles of cerveza skinny donated by the shrimp boat captain. They went to school in Guadalajara and had seen it all before.
As the red last disappeared from the horizon, we walked to the square. Obviously, everybody was there. As the last light of day fell in darkness, the mayor pushed the button and the square came to life. Unlike the University boys, most residents had never left his village, and never When he had seen the light bulbs happened. – In an instant – a universal sigh energized the square unfrosted The lights were definitely brighter ..
Someone started to walk around the square counter-clockwise. outpatient Each member of the village, including me, soon joined him. It was very good. I was a head higher than anything else, and had hair enough to meet everyone combined, so I looked into a sea of sombreros as we all walked the same direction.
When I was bored with walking in a circle, it was time to play Santa Claus. I got a red shirt, red cap, a spray of white hair and small backpack.
Where I was in Mexico for Christmas Eve, I bought all the candy wrapped penny I could find. Armed with long white hair and beard, red hat and shirt, and a 10 pound bag of candy over my shoulder, I walked into a Mexican town square different every Christmas Eve in the early 70's. The script always played the same.
Village children see pictures of Santa, but never a real live Santa Claus.
When I walked into a town square and start distributing sweets, the children were brought up naturally ordered for about a minute. Every child under 12 could smell the sweet stuff, and I gave up the pieces at first, placing a candy on a palm tree and a smile on his brain. I was soon surrounded by a sea of jumping, screaming, laughing kids. At this point, I just reached into his bag, grabbed a handful and started throwing candy as raindrops (hence wrapped candy only). The scene has become a madhouse of laughter as children took to the air sweet dove fly to most sweets, which ended on the floor.
Then, the smartest kids to find out where the sweet came. Kids go to the top bag holding my arms and legs, moving up toward my shoulder. I kept playing and grabbing sweets up to three children hanging in each arm, praying that I would run out of bullets before I was surrounded by a sea of children laughing and screaming! "Santa Claus" Santa Claus! "Eventually, they always dominated me and I collapsed in a sea of excited children.
It was very good. What a wonderful and positive way to celebrate Christmas – much better than any turkey dinner with calm and polite people I've only seen once a year.
This time, a real life Santa appeared in the village the same night as electric light. What a miracle, perhaps more to me than the children of the village!
On Christmas morning it was hotter than hell, a great day for the city's rock concert in the first place, complete with a rock 'n roll.
Well, almost a band. They do not speak English but did a heroic attempt to memorize the words. They do not talk about music either, but made a valiant attempt to do so. The group was far from the great California Flower Power shows the 60 and 70, but still gave them points for even attempting a band around here.
I'll never forget his version of Tom Jones "She's The Lady "by far the worst piece of music I ever heard – but one of the best memories.
The band formed against the side of a store, the dance floor was a dirt road, and the band earned money by running a rope on the dance floor all the songs. When dancers stepped over the rope, they paid a weight. About a dozen of us boys sat in a restaurant University of coconut fronds passed the hat every half hour so we could buy a cerveza thin take a sip, and pass it on. Our topic was to find just the model of the string collection that we could dance without pay.
In the middle of later, two major Winnebago crossed the town square, complete with all the bells and whistles. Both motor scooters were mounted on the front bumper and dragged small outboard boats. It was a shock. No residents had seen anything like it, so they were very excited that I had a more ominous feeling. – Central America could muck until this Christmas perfect. The caravan continued down to the estuary and that is where I hoped they would.
These devices simply do not resembled its occupants fit the local people, and this was a very special Christmas.
About an hour later, the Louisiana rednecks invaded our party Christmas. Reached almost comic fashion;. a fat, young, middle-aged and overweight in each bike's husband was driving, definitely drunk, laughing with their wives in the bank the rump as they headed for the party in the patterns of corkscrews, almost falling over several times.
The first moto led to right in the middle of dancers, where he fell in the middle of the dance floor. What a great, typically rustic, with absolutely embarrassing. Remember, this age group is the basis of Bush policy. Right now, "W" was a frat boy alcoholic escape National Guard while Nixon was expanding the Vietnam War, as long as possible.
Despite his shameful behavior, educated Mexicans villagers reached out to help drunken motorcyclists that came screaming about how dancers came into their path. Refusing helping hands, the couple stood up, dusted himself off, and left his bike on the ground in the middle of the dance floor, leaking gasoline the floor. The husband started screaming dancers pushing their way to clear an open space to dance without tripping over his own bike. Went straight from Hollyweird, but this scene was tragically real.
When the rope came from a drunken husband stumbled across the chain, without realizing their purpose. When the manager explained with gestures, the millionaire pulled a wad of pocket money, and shouted: "I have all the money in the world, but I'm not paying a weight for this shit music." He then stumbled upon a couple trying to politely ignore it.
They were loud, rude, and spoke of the South, literally, the guy had a neck red, arrogant type, without knowing the people who voted for Bush in the White House and was stupid enough to reelect him. It was one of those moments that make decent people ashamed being American, so I slid over on the bench in the shade, trying to be invisible.
We spent our umbrella itself, Slim bought another beer and I took my drink. It would be more than a sip of beer to lessen the embarrassment created by my countrymen.
Then the Redneck saw me. He froze in his rounds, stopped dancing and marched straight to our table, fists clenched, arms swinging like a certain cartoon Porky Pig. I never said a word and tried to ignore it, but did not work. He walked under the leaves of coconut, across the table from me. I was glad of the table between us. I was 28, playing rugby national championship, and he was a small, fat drunk middle-aged. I do not want to be forced into a physical confrontation unilateral Christmas.
"You know what's wrong with you hippies fucking? You just do not give a damn about the money."
"It Christmas. "I replied." Let's relax and have a good time. Where you from? "
Mr. Redneck back to me. "I am a millionaire Louisiana oil and I know that money is all you hippie shit is not even dog shit. – - – Because you simply do not care about the money ".
All the boys were sitting on the University of wooden table, six on each side. While Red Neck harassed me, my friends were asking, in Spanish, "You two are American. Why is he making a problem for you?"
Rural Mexicans are very polite to consider such behavior.
As I explained to him that all Americans are not the same Mr Red Neck shouted: "Hey Hippie, I'm talking to you. You just do not give a damn about the money. "
"Listen, I am a scholar at the University of California, and I worry about money, but not all, and this is Christmas. Just relax and let these people enjoy their holiday. "
"Fucking Hippie, it's all about money. "
The shameful sloppy redneck was starting to bother me, but not in a physical form. This was Christmas, and I just wanted the town to enjoy the biggest day in its history.
I replied: "Money can buy material things, but can not buy the most important things in life, like love. "
"Want to bet? Honey, come here." He grabbed the woman by the arm, pulled him close, looked me in the eye and said: "Money can buy love," said Mr. Redneck. "It's not honey!" Squeezing shame his wife on the shoulder so tightly I worried about the head may pop up. I felt truly sorry and embarrassed for her.
"Well, maybe money can buy what you think is love, but certainly money can not buy friendship."
"Oh, really? "Said Louisiana." Watch this. "
"Beer for everyone on the house!" Mr. Millionaire gallantly waved his arm over the whole table, like a magic wand.
It was a gimmick. The day was hot, the table was full of young college male, and were so poor they only had a beer bottle on the table lean -. We were all empty sweating in the heat, and a cold beer at Christmas for each student to be Paradise.
I was willing to play the peacemaker. If this guy bought a round for everyone, he can shut up and that would satisfy our thirst.
I said in Spanish "Come on, guys, forget this idiot, take the opportunity to mellow this idiot and enjoy a cold beer."
I I was surprised when they all shook their heads "no."
In Spanish, I explained, "Each of us wants a cold beer. We all know this guy is a total idiot, so it will not change our friendship is a pint. "
Long still faces rocked the head there.
"OK, guys, just consider beer a Christmas present."
Nothing worked. So in perfect English I never heard the previous week, an engineering student replied, "Hey, Gringo We really do not care how much money you have, but you hurt our friend -.. and you're not good enough to drink with us first!
"We do not want your beer millionaire."
Mr. Redneck was in shock. Like many of the rich and powerful, he bought a comfort zone of panderers did not want his friendship, but were willing to pull a bag of money. For this, they sold their dignity and friendship. It is a common clique, the tycoon and his "trust" handlers say what he wants to hear.
However, this small Mexican village electrified poor to less than 24 hours before, Mr. Millionaire finally met people so proud that they could not be bought.
He looked at his wife and said, "Come, dear, let's get outta here." Met the other couple and both motorcycles careened away from the party and vice versa for the estuary.
An hour later, two Winnebago is out of town.
The integrity of those simple villagers refuse a free beer cold on a hot day left me with a feeling of friendship and character no money can ever buy. Up Today, it remains a very important Christmas gift than any material gift
I stayed in the village ten more days until school started to New in Guadalajara. Every night, the boys went to the University Square to watch their village walk around the fountain until midnight.
It was always anti-clockwise, but the boys at the University at least everyone knew that once the electricity came, there was no turning back the clock.
# # # # #
A decade later, I attended Fortune 500 meeting rooms. Not in Louisiana, but not in Honolulu Aloha shirts, coats and ties are the standard attire, and management practices are professionals who are – maybe more. At least until I leave Alohaland in 1989, the typical to play hard-ass idiot had no chance of becoming a director of a Hawaii-based corporation (except for Harry Weinburg, which bought its way into the Alexander & Baldwin Board).
My clients highly successful had money to burn, but never bought a friendship. Filled with Aloha Spirit, do not need.
About the Author
John “Caveman” Gray, AKA Ling Yai (Thai for Big Monkey)was first published nationally in the USA in 1957 in Parade Magazine. He’s been writing, photographing and producing videos ever since. His stories have appeared in numerous national and international magazines and newspapers on everything from Science to politics and travel. You can catch many more stories in the “Readings” section at www.johngray-seacanoe.com
Fort Worth Texas Personal Injury Attorneys Jose, Henry, Brantley, Maclean & Alvarado
