LOLZ PPL

"Whatever we do, the environment must be the central piece," Wangari Maathai, Nobel Peace Prize winner Prologue Most of us live to participate in the capitalist economy far beyond our environmental budget. Our buildings consume more materials, our air-con is more energy, and our cars more resources than any single human being can justify an ecological balance. It's a tribal thing driven by ego. The ego-driven among us succumb to one of the darkest and most widespread addictions of humanity – and raise money for the show far beyond the ability, in a desperate attempt to show that use a "value" is. Just like heroin addicts, no money Addicts, what it takes to meet the demand. Absent fundamental human values, then a value of a numbers game, consume more resources on this earth than any person can rationalize. The more money in the financial credit, the greater is the ability to consume, feeding that evil selves with a greater need than cocaine. The ruthless money Mongers at the end of their material wealth to show – the thing does not turn out millions more to follow ala Thorsten Veblen in a frenzy of conspicuous consumption "And I did it. "There is nothing wrong with the money, if someone more than they spend making at the expense of employees, customers and the environment. We can have all the money in the world, but do not buy position on the human decency or environmental balance. Unabated, excessive consumption Dooms both our species and our planet. Elegant understatement is the key to our survival as a species. Is working in the boardroom Hawaii, I learned that we do not need to be ruthless ego-driven thieves to be successful. My business hero had a great heart and down-to-earth low resource consumption. They realized that flying honey attracts more than vinegar, and hard-ass managers are easy to hide their incompetence. Coincidentally, they spent more time wasted their money when they do not do. Since this case study shows, there are more ways to measure a value than money. "The Best Christmas Present I ever had." The scholarship day, were lean times. School took me and my backpack thumbed a ride somewhere accessible to LA on the UCLA quarterly accounts were almost winter break for a month, a lot of time into it to hitchhike to Mexico. I had $ 50 and a backpack full of peanut butter for a month, and wanted to know how far south I could still be seen. Were twelve pesos to the dollar, and I could always live on peanut butter and steaming corn tortillas from the village Tortillaria. Each village has a tortillaria, but it's a real pleasure to find a village with earth-oven banana bread. It comes every hour, so good, if I can have two loaves of steaming immediately – no butter, jelly, or knife – especially in property and "broke" as the mouth, Brah breathe "as I learned to say later in Hawaii . Even a poor student can continue to live on banana bread and peanut butter tortillas. At the gates of Mazatlan, I got a ride with a trucker all the way to Mexico City. I could do it over night and then south after a few small fishing village on the green coast of Acapulco. We stopped at a red light south two hours from Mazatlan. An oyster stand outside the cabin SA, I could almost reach out the window and grab a few oysters, but I have a lifelong phobia, eating shellfish, courage and all that. No matter how you decorate the chef Oysters Rockefeller, slimy creatures, they remain without substance. For unknown reasons, I decided to try this shellfish. On an impulse, I gave up my trip, "said Muchas Gracias, grabbed my backpack and jumped from the cab of the oyster stand. The light became green. My new friend gave me a final gesture, waved and disappeared into a cloud of dust. What am I thinking? It was my trip to Ciudad Mexico. I turned around and grabbed an oyster from the tray. What an idiot. I gave one of the best rides of my life discovering Mexican oysters were the same as their cousins, California. It's Rocket Science! I, the environment, interviewed a cross traffic light on Highway One, the main artery of the West Coast Mexico. River East was – I had no interest. However, the road went west to the coast. An extension cord was literally sticks stuck into the ground snakes alongside the road as far as I could see. The track was unusually thin for such a device, so that the oyster-monger, I asked the 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 designed to shed light into the village for the first time on Christmas Eve, almost a week away. Xmas Break What luck! I have now in three villages at the time of electrification, but this was my first. This could be a real adventure, I turned right and put my thumb on a street with little traffic. The road reaches several farming villages on the way – not much traffic and all short stops. I was a pretty imposing figure in my late 20's – Rugby-fit, almost six feet, almost as much with hair and beard to my waist. On campus, beautiful women told me that she my long, shiny hair jealous. In reality, I was a scruffy mountain man more than a fashion statement, and when I hitchhiked wandered the Mexican coast, I was always Jesus Christ or Santa Claus with the locals! It took half a dozen trips through the flat farmlands road reach the end. Each of these unusual hitchhiker driver asked where I went. Every time I said I was just after the extension. Their faces lit – Ah, do you want the village, which goes electric on Christmas Eve! It was big news in this area. I finally reached the city. There was not much. Green fields stretched out behind the village to a strict square fronted by a beach formed, and ended at the mouth of the street and started the fishing boats. This place was as simple as it gets – and it was another American. An anthropologist, Texas Ph. D. candidate was just a six-month study. He chose the perfect coastal fishing village for his studies, and then discovered was primarily agricultural. He did not notice it, but the egghead academic space broken Spanish has been regarded by the villagers as something of a fool, and they were always playing games with his studies, response to his "observations" with inside jokes and ridiculous stories. Rather than was a real anthropological event – the electrification of a student village – our future anthropologist, headed home for Christmas dinner. The villagers adopt a friendly leave of him, but I still questioned his academic commitment. Instinctively I camped on the beach 200 meters from the village, and went to the house of the Shrimp Boat Captain's every day. The richest and most powerful man in the village, with the greatest "casa" right on the beach, the captain had a full barrel of dried shrimp next to the table in the walled courtyard and lots of warm beer. On my third day he invited me in the beer and shrimp, a ritual we enjoyed every afternoon for the next three weeks. Soon came the student from Guadalajara and Mexico Ciudad us. I learned from modern Mexico, to train in the early '70s, the sons of farmers go to university to serve as engineers, teachers, doctors and pharmacists, the benefits of "Agua Potable" projects that I had fifteen years earlier times . Forty years after Pancho Villa, was raised in Mexico, and thanks to my family adventure I experienced it from the ground floor in the late '50s. Now the first generation to benefit has been drinking from the university – my friends. The setting was still traditional Mexico. The captain was a real kick out of hosting gringo. In its mud walls, we sat on a large, heavy wooden table with non-stop beer and the box of shrimp. About the court, the women sat down in the kitchen of the family to decide if I was Santa or Jesus. In this rural macho culture, the women light years from the emancipation of women. I wondered if her sisters, UCLA, the difference between the two neighboring worlds understand or appreciate their own remarkable opportunities in California, progressive society. I'd understand it a good time, flirting from a distance with the 20-year-old of my generation, not to mention that as far as it could go. The anthropologist was the major item on the patio table. The students have great pleasure to tell stories of the leading scientists in defining dusty roads to nowhere, to the areas of "great importance" as they invent absurd, agriculture and fishing techniques, and humorous stories about young people promotes strategies in the era of an emerging society. They do not check the unsuspecting anthropologists have a clue about her tongue-in-cheek antics. Rewarding University of guys around the world have an innocent mischievous train, Whit Monday and creativity, especially in a rural Mexican village shows still without electricity. With my new friends I have learned from Los Angeles, ie, Hollywood, asked her if I Tom Jones, Engelbert Humperdinck and Carlos Santana knew. It was not surprising – these three were the stars of Mexican pop culture of the day. I have photographs Carlos on stage at a United Farm Workers concert and was wearing my classic photos every time I hitch-hiked Mexico, both local and full stage arm in arm with Cesar Chavez. The guys went nuts, and I certainly gained acceptance in the local society – no fool anthropologist here. But Tom Jones and Engelbert Humperdinck? We definitely bonded, and then came the big day – Christmas Eve. A series of 20 very simple electric bulbs hung from a number of sockets and electrical cables were strung around the square. Even though it was the capital of this end-of-the-road district, the city is still not overcrowded, but on the appointed day, the men sat on the square for hours before total darkness, waiting for the traffic light. The University of boys gathered on the beach and enjoyed a beautiful sunset, donated by the cerveza bottles for a mere shrimp captain. She attended school in Guadalajara and had seen everything. As the last red disappeared from the horizon, we walked on the court. Of course, all were there. When was the last light of day in the darkness, the mayor threw the switch and the place back to life. Unlike the University of boys, most villagers have never had their village, and never before seen leaving artificial light. If it happened – in a moment – a universal excitement trains the square. Unfrosted The lights were bright in any case. Someone began to walk around the plaza counterclockwise. Each hospital member of the village, including me, soon joined him. It was great. I got the head higher than everyone else and had enough hair to fit together all the others, so I looked into a sea of sombreros, as we all went in the same direction. When I was bored while walking in circles, it was time to play Santa Claus. I grabbed a red T-shirt has red socks, spray a can of white hair and a small duffel bag. Where I was in Mexico for Christmas Eve, I bought all wrapped penny candy I could find. Armed with long white hair and beard, red hat and shirt, and a 10-kilo bag over his shoulder, I went to another Mexican town square every Christmas Eve in the early 70s. The script always played the same. Village children see pictures of Santa, but never a real live Santa Claus. When I went into a town square and start distributing sweets, the children were, of course, politely ordered for about a minute. Every child under the age of 12 could smell the sweet stuff, and I gave the first bite of one at a time by a piece of candy in one hand and a smile in her brain. Soon I was surrounded by a sea of jumping, screaming, laughing children. At this point, I just reached into his pocket, took a handful and started throwing the sweets like raindrops therefore (only wrapped candy). The scene was a madhouse of laughter as children fly the air, reaching for candy or Dove for most of the sweets, which ended on the floor. Then the smartest kids would find out where the candy came. Children go to grab the bag to begin my arms and legs, climbs on my shoulder. I sat gripping and throwing sweets up to three kids hanging on each arm, I was praying for sweets before I by a sea of children laughing and shouting "Santa Claus"! Santa Claus! Finally, they are always overwhelmed me and I was swarmed broke out in a sea of enthusiastic children. It was great. What a wonderful, positive way to celebrate Christmas – far better than any set and politely Turkey dinner with people I saw only once a year. This time a real, live the village of Santa appeared in the same night, when electric light. What a miracle, children perhaps for me more than the village! Christmas morning was hotter than hell, complete a great day for the first rock concert of the city, with a live rock n 'roll band. Well, almost a band. She spoke no English, but made a valiant attempt, the words by heart. They did not talk music either, but to a valiant attempt. The group was far from the great California Flower Power concerts of the 60's and 70's, but I also gave them just trying to point for a band in this region. I will never forget her rendition of Tom Jones' "She's A Lady," by far the worst piece of music I've ever heard – but one of the best memories. The band formed at the side of a shop, the dance floor was a dirt road, and the band makes money by using a rope across the dance floor every few songs. As a dancer stepped over the rope, they pay a Peso. Were seated about a dozen of us boys at University of coconut palm restaurant every half hour so we could buy a cerveza thin, take a sip, and it indicates. Our only issue was figuring out the pattern so we could pay for the collection of rope without dance. By late afternoon, two major Winnebago's drove through the town square, complete with all the trimmings. Both scooters were mounted above the front bumper and towed small boats, outboard engines. It was quite a shock. No farmer had seen anything, they were very excited. I had a suspicious feeling might mess up – Central America this perfect Christmas. The mobile homes further down to the mouth, and I hoped that, where they would stay. The platforms do not just look how their neighbors would fit in with the local population, and that was a very special Christmas present. About an hour later, the Louisiana fell Rednecks our Christmas party. They came in almost comical way, a fat, overweight, middle aged couple on each bike. The men drove drunk in any case, with their wives, laughing on the passenger seat as she drove in the direction of the party in corkscrew patterns, almost falling over several times. The first motorcycle drove right into the middle of the dancers, where he crashed in the middle of the dance floor. What a wonderful, typical redneck, embarrassing entrance. Remember, this is the demographic base of the Bush policy. At this moment, "W" was an alcoholic fraternity boys around Nixon National Guard duty during the Vietnam War was to extend as long as possible. Despite her shameful behavior, courteous Mexican helping villagers to reach the drunken cyclists who came up screaming, like the dancers in his path. Denial of helping hands, the couple got up, dusted off and left her bicycle on the ground in the middle of the dance floor, leaking gasoline into the ground. The man began to scream pushing dancers out of their way to an open dance hall without tripping over his own bike delete them. It was just out of Hollyweird, unless that scene was really tragic. If the rope came by, knowing the drunken man on the strings without knowing its purpose stumbled. If the manager says, with gestures, the millionaire took a thick wad of money from his pocket and shouted: "I have all the money in the world, but I do not pay a peso for this shit music." He stumbled into a couple of politely trying to ignore him. They were loud, rude, and Southern said the man was literally red neck, the arrogant, without suspecting kind of people who voted Bush into the White House and were stupid enough to elect him again. It was one of those moments that make decent people ashamed to be American, so I slid on the bench even deeper into the shadows and tried to be invisible. We arrived at our own "hat", bought a thin beer, and I took my drink. It would take more than a sip of beer in order to reduce the embarrassment created by my countrymen. Then the Redneck will see me. He persisted in his turns, stopped dancing and walked straight to our table, fists clenched, arms swaying like a determined Porky Pig cartoon. I never said a word and tries to ignore him, but it didn 't work. He went under the coconut leaves, directly across the table from me. I was happy, the table that separated us. I was 28, playing National League rugby, and he was a mean short, fat old drunk. I do not want to be forced into a one-sided physical confrontation at Christmas. "You know what's wrong with you fucking hippies? You just do not give a shit about money. "" It's Christmas. "I replied. "Let's just relax and have a good time. Where you from? Mr. Redneck came back to me. "I am a Louisiana oil millionaire, and I know that money is everything. You fucking hippies are not even dog shit – - – because you just don 't care about money. "All the boys sat at university that wood table, six on each side. While the Red Neck bothering me, my friends were asking, in Spanish, "They're both Americans. Why is it a problem that for you? "Rural Mexicans are much too polite to consider such a behavior. When I explained that all Americans are not the same, Mr. Red Neck shouted: "Hey hippie, I'm talking to you. You just do not give a shit about money. "" Listen, I am a scholar at UCLA, and I'm about money, but it is not everything, and that is Christmas. Relax and let these people enjoy their holiday. "Fucking Hippie, everything revolves around money. "The shame of shoddy redneck started to bother me, but not in a physical way. It was Christmas and I just wanted to enjoy the village to the biggest day in their history. I answered, "Money can buy material things, but it can not buy, the most important things in life, like love. "" Want to make a bet? Honey, come here. "He grabbed his wife by the arm, pulled her to him, I looked into his eyes and said," sure money can buy love, "said Mr. Redneck. "Does not it honey!" painfully squeezed his wife so hard over my shoulder, I was worried my head would pop straight up. I felt really sad and embarrassing for them. "Well, maybe money can buy, what do you think is love, but money sure can not buy friendship." "Oh, really?" said Louisiana. "Watch this." Cerveza for everyone on the house! Mr. Millionaire gallantly waved his arm across the table like a magic wand. It was a clever ploy. The day was hot, the table was packed with young male students, and we were so poor, there was only a skinny bottle of beer on the table is empty -. We were all sweating in the heat, and a cold beer at Christmas for each student would be heaven. I was ready to play the peacemaker. When this guy bought a round for everyone, he had his mouth and we would satisfy our thirst. I said, in Spanish "Come on, guys, we can use this asshole, the opportunity to smooth this jerk, and enjoy a cold beer." I was surprised when all the heads shaking "no." In Spanish I said: "Each of us wants a cold beer. We all know this guy is a total jerk, so it will not change our friendship if we enjoy a beer. "Sour faces still shaking her head. "OK, guys, just think of the beer a Christmas present. "Nothing worked. Then, in perfect English, I have never in the past week, said an engineering student. "Hey, gringo. We really do not care how much money you have, but you insulted our friend – and you're not good enough to drink with us in the first place! "We want your millionaire beer." Mr. Redneck was in shock. Like many of the rich and powerful, he bought a comfort zone of panderers, will not really think that his friendship, but were willing to brown, nose-for some of his money. For this, they sold their friendship and dignity. It is a common clique, the tycoon and his "trusted" handlers tell him what he wants to hear. But in this small, poor Mexican village of less than 24 hours before electrified, with Mr. Millionaire Finally, people so proud, they are not purchased. He looked at his wife and said, "on, Honey, Come let's get out of here. "They gathered the other pair, and both bikes raced away from the party and return to the mouth. An hour later, two Winnebago's traveled out of town. The integrity of the simple villagers deny a free cold beer on a hot day left to buy me with a feeling of friendship and nature of any money ever. To this day it remains a much greater Christmas gift than any material gift that I stayed in the village for ten days until the school came back to Guadalajara. Each night, the boys went to the University Plaza to see their village to walk around the fountain until midnight. It was always rotate counter-clockwise, but the university boys, knew at least all that once electricity arrived there was no turning back the clock. # # # # # A decade later, I went to Fortune 500 boardrooms, not in Louisiana, but in Honolulu. Aloha shirts, skirts and ties do not, are the standard attire, and the management practices are as professional as they get – maybe even more. At least until I left Alohaland in 1989, the typical power-playing hard-ass jerk did not stand a chance as a director in a Hawaii-based companies (with the exception of Harry Weinburg, who bought his way to the Alexander & Baldwin board.) My very successful people had money to burn, but they never have a friendship. meets with Aloha spirit, they have not.