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Sunday, January 27, 2008 - Give Me Drugs!!!
Nineteen ninety-five was a very good year. I ran the Los Angeles Marathon for the very first time, and later on that year, I went skydiving out of a plane. All in the same year! To some people, these might be something you can add to your “bucket list”, the list of things to do before you “kick the bucket”. But at that time, at least for my friends and I who just turned or were about to turn thirty, it was more of a “pre-midlife crisis” mission. We all felt like we needed to accomplish something bigger in our lives. At least that was the consensus. Maybe we were just bored?
On my very first marathon, my training consisted of, are you ready for this? Two weeks of running!
And what sparked the wacky idea? It was a wacky conversation, during an even wackier situation.
For some strange and unknown reason, some friends and I were playing touch football in the middle of a very wide and busy thoroughfare somewhere in Pasadena. We were playing on the grassy island, which was probably at least sixty feet wide. Come to think of it, there is a park nearby called Victory Park. Anyway, one of our friends, Sandra had run the marathon before. She is one of those serious-athlete types, running marathons, playing in soccer and softball leagues well into her forties. She convinced another friend, Pablo and I to try it, because “she knew other friends who’d had the same amount of training, and finished with no problems.” With that vital bit of knowledge, we went into training!
I should add that during that time, I was a gym rat. I worked out, ran and swam for at least an hour-and-a-half at least five times a week. So I was already in shape, and so was my friend Pablo, who trained with me. Sandra gave us a few pointers. One was to run at least ten miles a week before the event, and make sure we don’t do any running twenty-four hours before the run. Her best advise? Don’t finish for time. The goal is to finish, period. (She was right!)
In the course of the two weeks, I read as many magazines about running marathons as much as I possibly can. Having done a “mini-triathlon” three years prior, I read quite a few articles about running, swimming, bicycling, and triathlons, even dreaming of someday doing the Ironman Triathlon in Hawaii! (There’s still time!)
In my readings, I came across an article called “How To Run The Marathon And Still Have Time For Sex”. It was in one of those throwaway running/health magazines. The article was so good, that I made several copies and gave them away to anyone who might want to run the marathon, with or without us! The article stressed the fact that when training for a marathon, how much you can “comfortably run” was the key to good training. For amateurs like Pablo and I, that was a great thing to keep in mind. All other details, like a great pair of shoes, the Vaseline all over the feet and between the legs and arms, what to wear, carbo- loading, etc., we found out by the time the “pre-run expo” came to town. This was held at the LA Convention Center with all the corporate sponsors selling their stuff and where we got to pick-up our number tag, along with our t-shirt and goody bags.
So from the conversation that day on the island, Pablo and I ran five miles every day. A week before the Marathon, we ran ten miles, an incredible feat for me, since I had never ran for more than six miles at one time. Prior to the race, Pablo and I had made a personal goal of averaging about eleven minutes a mile. That would be in the five-hour area. Just imagine, jogging for five hours!
On the day of the marathon, we were nervous and excited. It was a dismal day, having rained the night before. The forecast for the day was even more “cloudy and rainy”. Knowing this, we still didn’t bring plastic rain parkas, which were being sold at the expo. Real men don’t wear parkas!
The start was an incredible experience! You can feel the adrenaline throughout downtown Los Angeles! Runners were coming out of the woodwork, meeting at Seventh Street and Figueroa, where it starts. That year, there were sixteen thousand runners who participated. An amazing sea of people! Wet people!
When the gun sounded, the excitement was intense! You can hear Randy Newman’s “I Love LA” blasting once you reach the starting line area. I was never prouder to be an Angelino! Muhammad Ali and the mayor at the time, Richard Riordan, were waving everyone hello and goodbye! Seeing Ali even made it more inspiring, and I happen to like Richard Riordan, who also owns one of my favorite restaurants in Los Angeles, The Pantry. All this excitement and pride, hearts pumping, adrenaline going, by the time Pablo and I reached the mile one mark, we had never looked at our watches. It read eight minutes, fifty seconds. Less than nine minutes for the first mile, we were already breaking our first rule: don’t run too fast! So we slowed down, and kept a slower pace. By about mile four, Pablo had to go to the restroom! We saw lines upon lines of people waiting for the temporary restrooms. I wasn’t going to stop, especially since it was slightly raining and all I was wearing was a tank top and shorts. Most runners actually wore light plastic parkas and some even had Glad Bags draped on them like t-shirts. Experience always helps!
So the idea of running alone suddenly became a possibility. Around mile seven, we separated. I could tell Pablo was also running slower than the pace we had when we trained. I decided to go for it and started running a little faster than I planned. Even if I ran faster, as long as I am not going faster than a ten-minute mile, I’ll be ok. By about mile twelve, I see my friends who were videotaping us and cheering us on! It was a proud moment. The next mile, I hear a loud radio coming from a house announce that the winner had just crossed the finish line! Pride and humility, all within one mile!
By around mile sixteen, I was feeling great! I was enjoying all the live bands every other mile or so, and all the different cultural communities that cheer on the runners. Many Elvis sightings, and many interesting characters along the way. I strike small conversations with various runners. Make eye contacts with some inspired spectators, inspiring runners with lines like “keep going”, or the ever corny “you’re already winners!”
It was still slightly raining by mile nineteen, and I could tell that the amount of runners at this point was getting sparse by the minute. As you look at the other runners around you, you can see the pain in most of their faces. Around this time was when I met a beautiful, blonde, USC-going pharmacist!
We struck a conversation because there was no one around us by at least one hundred feet. She was ahead of me, but I was on a faster pace. By mile twenty-one, we were just trying to keep each other positive. I was actually going to go faster and maybe leave her, but I thought it was better to run with someone and stay positive than run alone. Plus she made me look good!
Just before we reached mile twenty-two, she broke out with her half-filled Ziploc bag of Tylenol. She offered me some, and I told her no, that I had planned on taking a couple after the marathon when I got home. She said, “That’s it? You’re crazy!”
My response was: “Did I miss something?”
She proceeded to explain that: “if you were sick, you’d be taking two of these babies every four hours. So for the marathon, you should take two just before the start, two four hours later, then another two four hours after that. Actually, during and after running 26.2 miles, your body is pretty much in sick mode anyway. Plus, pro runners take blood thinners so they aren’t so sore the next day!”
I didn’t hesitate. I thought it made much more sense than this whole marathon idea! She offered them to me and we ended up taking not two, but three pills each!
By mile twenty-four, I got a second wind and just ran as fast as I could. I was really starting to get cold and all I could think of was finishing. We said good luck and goodbye and I thanked her for the Tylenols. The finish line came quickly enough but it was very anti-climactic. It ended by the Los Angeles Sports Arena, and by this time, the sky was darker and the rain was falling harder. I finished with an official time of four hours and forty seven minutes! I received my medal with pride and waited for Pablo in the LA Sports Arena for more than an hour. I was cold, proud, relieved, hungry, and blood full of Tylenol!
I was sore for the next three days!
By next year, I followed her instructions about the Tylenols and she was right! I wasn’t as sore the next day, and by the second day, I was able to run again!
It just goes to show, sometimes saying yes to drugs actually helps!
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Saturday, January 26, 2008 - Write Your “Memoir” Today!
So my brain is suddenly consumed with writing! I’ve never been diagnosed, but I think I have some sort of “obsessive-compulsive” disorder. I’m almost sure of it. In my younger days, I was obsessed with sports. I played everything you can imagine, all day. Basketball, baseball, softball, tennis, ping-pong, every form of football, dodge-ball, or “war-ball” as we called it in my neighborhood, soccer, swimming, golfing, and others I will probably remember later. You name it, I played it. If we had snow in Los Angeles, I probably would have been good with the stick! Heck, in the eight grade, I was even in the Bowling Club! My high score that year was 191. Not bad for a fourteen year old. Years later I broke the 200 mark by scoring 220. Not bad for not playing in years!
Towards my mid twenties and early thirties I got obsessed with endurance sports. I ran the “LA Marathon” and biked the “Rosarito/Ensenada 50-Mile Fun Bicycle” five times, biked the San Gabriel River Bike Path from El Monte to Seal Beach (60 miles total) at least four times, and actually finished a triathlon. During that time, I was also obsessed with skiing, going every winter to the local mountains. I actually never tried snowboarding, but I did go snowmobiling a couple of times.
Then in my mid to late thirties, I got obsessed with real estate. Not so much the making money part, even though it was very nice, but actually figuring out the different ways to make money in the business. From doing real estate sales, I became a mortgage loan consultant. During the mid to late nineties I worked for various Savings and Loan companies, mostly due to the fashionable “bank mergers” of the time. In 1999, I got my broker’s license and opened my own real state and loan company. I eventually become an “investor”, buying fixer-uppers and selling them for profit. I also became a “landlord”, owning as many as five four-unit apartments. I even dabbled in teaching real estate, (if you can call five years dabbling!) and would probably someday work in a teaching or training capacity.
In the midst of my real estate obsession, I also became obsessed with learning about my Catholic faith. I read the Bible and everything that has to do with, got very involved and even taught Confirmation for my local Catholic Church.
Yes, obsessive-compulsive, the very first time I heard that phrase, it sounded peculiar. Yes, I think that’s me!
Last year, in January of 2007, on one forgettable early morning, sitting in front of my computer, I started typing a story about a miracle drug that can cure the effects of biological warfare. Three hours of writing that felt like three minutes. I had a title, the main characters, a beginning, a middle, and an end. Eight pages of synopsis, twelve-font on single spacing, I had the idea for “The
Rub”! I even came up with chapter titles of the would-be fictional sci-fi thriller novel. At this moment I am still finding interesting plots to fill its “smart-sci-fi thriller” premise, and trying to finish reading my research books on biochemical warfare.
This was the genesis of my new obsession, writing. Soon to follow was the “calling” of writing the biography of my late grandmother, an unlicensed midwife who delivered thousands of children in my hometown of Manila, Philippines. The obsession takes me to interviewing my parents and my siblings, and a two-week trip to Manila, to do the majority of the research and to interview the countless “Children of Lucia”.
It just dawned on me that I remember writing a “real estate book/manual” that I had written while teaching the real estate and mortgage classes back in 2003. I mentioned it to some of the students and they were very encouraging. One even said, “I should get it published.” Maybe that was the seed?
I had put together a curriculum and gave out the manual, in a bound form. Many lessons were technical, but there were also various “inspirational” pieces that I included in it. One is a one-page list of quotes I called “Real Estatements”, which includes Bill Cosby’s quote “Humans are the only creatures on earth that allow their children to come back home”. (I’ve always loved that). Another is an essay I wrote entitled “How To Make $100,000- Per Year!” Unfortunately, this one was more inspirational than technical.
So that’s another book idea. In the works!
Which brings me to my latest “memoir” idea. Most people with memoirs, published or not, write theirs on average at what age, seventy-five? In most cases, like 99.99%, it is ghost written by someone else! Let’s break the rule, shall we?
So here’s an idea I came up with. The goal is to write interesting, funny, intriguing, or even educational events or moments that’s happened in your life. That would comprise a memoir. The topic could be a small event that happened in one evening, or a major one that took place for two weeks! It really doesn’t matter, as long as it’s worth writing, and worth reading for others! Going on a tangent, or using personal, opinionated references is a great idea. That’s part of the fun! If you ever watch “Family Guy” on television, you’ll never remember which episode a “tangent” or “reference” belongs, because there are so many of them! It’s what makes it all interesting, and what makes “Family Guy” so funny! Kind of like…life, (just not as funny!)
The length of each one should be between 800 to1200 words (just a guideline). Write it as a blog, an article, an essay, whatever you want to call it, and post it on any of the billion blog-sites on the Internet. Make sure you also save them on your hard drive as well as an external drive, CD-RW or one of those memory sticks. (I’ve heard horror stories.) This process might take longer than the life of your computer. (I hope not.) The title has to be memorable, or at least clever, or maybe funny. If you can score a hat trick, good for you! It doesn’t matter how old you are. If you are ten, and you happen to want to write, have had many interesting memories (who am I to judge?), this is a great way to start, or get writing practice! The ultimate goal is to write about one hundred of these! (If I can finish a marathon, you can write a hundred of these!) Okay, if you get to seventy-five, and can’t come up with anymore, that’s ok. That amount of words will be good enough to publish! With an average of about a thousand words per article, that’s seventy-five thousand words. That’s called a book! You might self-publish them and hand them out to family and close friends! I have only completed about thirty of them, and my personal goal of one hundred by the end of this year (2008) seems very attainable, since I’ve been writing like mad! I also have a “topic ideas” page on my Word program, to write down the ideas as they come up in my brain, so I won’t forget! I have another twenty or so in that page. I would even suggest categorizing the stories. For example, Sports, Childhood, Lessons, Careers, Family, you get the point!
Around my fifteenth story, emailed a link of my site to some family and friends, and I got a very positive response from everyone, especially from my sister. She couldn’t believe that I’ve suddenly become a serious writer. After reading one of the stories in which she was mentioned, she commented by telling me, “I never saw it that way!”
That, my friends, is “the ultimate goal of a memoir…realized!”
And as far as my “obsessive-compulsive” disorder?
Nah, I’m pretty sure I’m normal.
Remember: “The lack of curiosity killed a cat of boredom.”
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Sunday, January 20, 2008 - I Speak What?
Most people have no clue about the language they are speaking, or where it came from. We speak English in America. English in America, not Indian, or maybe I should say, Native American. The Mexicans, and most Central and South Americans, speak Spanish. The Brazilians speak Portuguese. That’s the way of the Western World. It’s colonization at its best. As most people know, American history is rich with immigration and missionary events. But then again, so is most of the world!
Being a Filipino native, we are also highly influenced by this “western world” of colonization. Unlike most countries in Far East Asia, The Spanish and Americans got to us, and their influences go very deep. The Spanish colonized us for over three hundred years, and the Americans saved us from the Japanese during World War II. But unlike the Mexicans, or the Americans, we do not speak outside languages like Spanish or English. We speak Tagalog, which is a mish-mash of Spanish, English, Chinese, Sanskrit, Arabic, and the original language from that part of the world, Malay.
As to most people who don’t know where their language came from, I was one of them. When I was in high school, I learned about my own language the hard way. It came from an Indonesian guy named Howard. Of all people, Howard owned and ran a liquor store, only a couple of blocks away from my house in Los Angeles, called the Silver Glen Liquor Store. I was in high school in the early to mid eighties when he gave me my jaw-dropping language lesson.
Howard was a great guy. He gave my brothers Rene and John a job, to work at his store as a cashier. He also hired a couple of other neighborhood kids to work for him, at a time when they needed the job. At the time, Silver Glen Liquor was a local popular stop. Potato chips, sodas, beef jerky, popsicles, and an Atari video game, I would find a reason to go there, even for just a few seconds.
One afternoon, I had a very revealing conversation with Howard. He was telling me about a cousin of his who had just arrived from Indonesia, and how he was in the early process of learning English. He mentioned to me that he knew, being Filipino, that I spoke Tagalog. Then he told me that we spoke the same language, that of Malay.
My respond was: “I speak what?”
“Malay”, he said.
He then explained to me how Indonesians, Malaysians, people from Singapore, and Filipinos all spoke a diluted version of Malay, the Latin of our people. He then told me about how English, Spanish and French are all from Latin. That I already knew, but Malay, I had no clue.
My initial response was disbelief. I almost didn’t want to believe him. I asked him to prove it to me, and he responded by saying:
“How do you say goat in Tagalog?” Kambing, right? Well that’s how we say it in Indonesian, too!”
At this point, I was amazed! I never knew this.
He then starts counting in Indonesian: “Isa, dalawa, tatlo, apat, lima…” “Is that how you count, too?”
At this point, my jaw is on the floor! If an alien landed on Earth, and started speaking a similar language to us, like Arabic, Chinese, or some ancient language, then tells us its similar history, well that’s how I felt!
I simply never knew! The world got smaller at that moment for me. It was as if I found out I had more family than I thought. It started to make sense. It made me want to read and discover more about my cultural background, and made me appreciate this place called America.
After this event, I had a different view of Indonesians, Malaysians, Singaporeans, and people in that part of the world. Even though we have different countries, we all share the same background, going back even before written history.
You take things for granted. You don’t realize how incredibly similar Earthlings are. We have more similarities than differences, and this I am very sure of.
My older sister Beth, whose life in the last eight years have been nothing less than nomadic, (she, her husband and their daughter has visited more countries than most people know!) told me last year something I never realized about America. She said “The minute you live in America, you truly become an American.” There’s no other country on earth where you can do that. She’s lived in India, South Korea, and now lives in The United Emirates, and as she said, she will never call herself Indian, Korean, or Arabic, even if she became their citizen. Yet anyone can go to America, and immediately feel American!
What a great place!
I am very proud to be an American!
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Thursday, January 17, 2008 - The Greatest Scrabble Player That Ever Lived
One of my fondest moments with my dad, oddly enough, is playing Scrabble. He is unbelievably great at it. He knows how to play the game. He’s told us many stories about it, playing against his friends, and the time when he was in the Philippines, managing to “hustle” people out of their moneys.
He hustled people! Yes, playing Scrabble!
My father worked as a pressman for a once staple newspaper in Los Angeles called The Herald Examiner. He was as he called it, the “last and final editor”. It was because once in a great while, he would find a typo on the front page. Yes, newspaper editors do misspell headlines, if you can believe that! He loved the job and took a lot of pride in it, until they closed down in 1989, a truly sad day for him, his co-workers, and countless other Angelinos.
My dad has always had a fondness for words. (Funny, but somehow I have to acknowledge that I get some of that from him.) Not that he has a great vocabulary, or that he’s a language expert, because he barely even finished grade school. A man of the letter, he is not. He just knows how to play Scrabble, like a pro!
Now it seems so incredible, but in all honesty, scoring in the mid four hundreds is pretty normal for him. The only one in my family who can compete toe to toe with him is my older sister, Beth. She beats him once in a very long while. And she should, she is the only one in our family with a Master’s Degree.
There are a few cool “word facts” that we’ve all learned from good old dad. One is that the words remains, marines, and seminar all share the same letters. All have seven letters. (That’s a free one, you’re welcome!)
Words like jo, adz and adze, oxo, aye, and axe all have been challenged by either one of us, only to find them in the dictionary, thus giving him fifty more points! If you’ve ever played Scrabble, you’d know that when a player continually proves you wrong, and scores fifty on you, he or she pretty much can bluff their way into any word they want to use. Like I said, my dad knows how to play Scrabble, beyond just knowing a lot of words and being able to find a word from a group of seven scrambled letters. Remember, he’s hustled people for money!
There are many other words that my dad has used over the years that we never challenged, but our challenge of the word “fez” holds a special place in the Calixto lore.
It happened either in the late seventies or in the early eighties, on an early Tuesday evening. (How did I remember the day? You’ll find out at the end of this story.) My dad, my sister Beth, my brother Rene, and myself found ourselves in an unusually close game of Scrabble. Of course, we were all very aware of dad’s expertise, and for some reason, on that particular evening, we were really trying to gang up on him, making sure he doesn’t dominate us, as usual. Towards the end of the game, when it was to be decided who will get the bragging rights for the rest of the evening, that’s when it happened.
Dad puts up the word “fez”, scoring highly and going ahead of everyone. To our disappointment, we all erupt in protest! We all looked at each other in disbelief, without saying anything, thinking of the same thing:
“Fez isn’t a word! Or is it?”
This was a very crucial moment, because if we challenge, and that word comes up in the dictionary, then our evening’s goal of “not letting him win” would disappear! Obviously, none of us had ever seen or even heard of the word “fez”.
Finally giving in and letting us off the hook, my dad finally declares: “Just trust me, it’s in the dictionary! You don’t want to challenge this one!” After mulling it over between us bewildered kids, we finally gave in and accepted the word. Needless to say, he won the game! None of us losers even bothered to look up the word after the game; like we’ve done with most other impossible words he’s used. Actually, none of us wanted to look it up, thinking maybe he had just cheated us, lessening the blow.
After the game, we all went to the living room to watch one of our favorite shows on television, Happy Days. That’s when Dad became the “Greatest Scrabble Player That Ever Lived!”
Towards the middle of the show, a scene occurred where Mr. Cunningham was trying to leave the house in a hurry. He went back into the house and, as if in slow motion, says: “Wait Marion, I almost forgot my fez!” Then it quickly went into commercial.
In disbelief, we all looked at each other with awe and amazement. My dad’s crowning moment! All he could say was: “See, I told you! A fez is that hat!”
We all could have died in laughter! It was one of the funniest moments our family has ever had.
The story still gets told after all these years!
(By the way, fez is a great Scrabble word! Three letters and fifteen points! Again, you’re welcome!)
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Wednesday, January 16, 2008 - This Is Not A Test!
I’ve always been a sucker for words. Every time I hear a word that sounds like another, I often wonder if they’re connected! Sometimes I end up researching the words, and sometimes the words research me.
If you’ve ever read or purchased a book called “10,000 Baby Names”, or any equivalent or version of it, you’ll realize you’ve just been ripped off! It’s really more like “1000 Baby Names”. Why? Because of Latin. The majority of names in these books are just a variation of the root name; like Michael in English, Miguel in Spanish, and Michel in French, etc. A name like Christine or John, forget about it. These days, the variations are endless.
Ever since I learned how to read, I’ve always thought about being a linguist. I’ve never seriously pursued it, but in truth, I always have been. I’ve been fortunate enough to speak more than one language. I still speak fluent Tagalog from the Philippines, English of course, I know some basic French, (thanks to a quarter of French in college and nine days in France!), and I’m very fair in Spanish, since Tagalog is half Spanish anyway. The two years of Spanish in high school didn’t hurt, either! In other words, when it comes to languages, I’m definitely a Curious George!
Between 2001 and 2005, I got very involved in my local church. I took a class about the Christian Faith, and was asked to teach Confirmation to a group of teenagers about eight months out of a year.
In my first few classes, I found it hard to keep the kids’ attention. This was my first year. I found the curriculum very educational, but it was corny and silly at times. Most lessons were just a little too “churchy”. I needed to put some flair into the lessons and apply them to the kids’ everyday lives.
So I put the focus on the kids. Almost everything we did involved “class participation”. One of my favorite activities was the “get to know each other” part in every beginning of a class. I would get the students to tell the class “who named them, where their names came from, and if they knew what it meant”. This was always a big hit. Once the teenagers warmed up to these types of activities, they were more interested in the rest of the religious lessons.
I also found that most teenagers became more interested when we discussed “definitions” in class. So I would introduce and discuss definitions of big religious words, like faith, religion, revelation, apocalypse, grace, etc. I would look up the root and origin of a word and somehow incorporate them into the lessons. Sometimes the kids would ask for a discussion on a word, and I would do the research right in front of them. I was equipped with a dictionary that included the origin of most words.
One very fateful morning, one of the students wanted to look up the word “testament”. We had discussed the differences between the Old and the New Testaments from a previous class. So when we looked up the word, a Pandora’s box was opened. As it turned out, the definition of the word testament is derived from “testes”, which has to do with circumcision. The word testament means “an agreement, a law, a covenant”. If you know your Old Testament, God’s first test with Abraham had to do with circumcision. It was a test of their agreement. You can look up the details in the Bible yourself, but in simple terms, an agreement, or relationship, doesn’t really exist without some sort of test.
Evidently, as we were discussing the origin of the word testament, there was a loud “buzz” in the classroom. Everyone, especially the boys, were looking at each other with a smile. It was like a light bulb had just turned on in their heads. An “aha” moment!
It’s interesting to note that most of these kids had gone through Catechism all their young lives, and some of them even go to Catholic Schools, and have had very similar lessons. But as we looked up the word “testament” and found its origin together, it was definitely an interesting revelation!
So lo and behold, within the next few minutes, who should walk in to the classroom? Father Ben, the priest who taught me and helped me qualify to teach this class! I immediately asked him, jokingly, what he’s doing there, and that he should leave immediately. He said to pretend that he wasn’t there and just continue to teach. He then turned to the class, with a big smile on his face, and asked: “So what have you learned from Mr. Robert Calixto?”
I could see that the kids were chomping at the bit. I couldn’t help smiling this whole time, not knowing how he would respond. But part of me thought that if anyone would appreciate this moment, it would be Father Ben. He has a great sense of humor, and loves teaching out of the box.
So then one of the kids, Élan, raises his hand, proceeds to explain to Father Ben, very proudly I might add, that we had been discussing the meaning of the word “testament”, and that, in his own words, “it had to do with the testicles of Abraham”! The second he said this; you can hear a gasp in the room!
Father Ben’s response was even more astounding. He said that he never saw the connection, and that it was something that was so obvious, that he should have put these connections together himself! He also said that he was surprised at how the kids were so involved in the class, and congratulated me for doing a good job.
Then he said, “I’ve heard all I needed to hear”, and left.
As soon as he left, I was able to breathe again!
This was a day I’ll never forget. I taught Confirmation for another four years and loved every minute of it. I learned as much as the students, and found the whole experience immensely rewarding.
Isn’t so true? In every agreement, in every relationship, there is always a test.
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Wednesday, January 16, 2008 - Snoopy Would Have Been Proud
Have you ever gone camping? Wasn’t it a great time? I haven’t gone camping since I was in my early twenties. I had a lot of camping experiences as a young guy, but as I got older, I just felt like I had bigger fishes to fry, like seeing the rest of the world!
I sure wouldn’t mind going again, though. Time goes by so fast these days, that I miss the slow pace of camping. Remember that? A weekend felt like a week, a week felt like a month, and no matter where you go camping, everyone will greet you! It’s the unspoken camping rule. Wave and say “Hello, thousand trailers!”
My very first camping experience happened in the summer of 1978. I was twelve years old, and had only been in the United States for a year. I didn’t even know the concept of camping, (no one in my family did) but like a normal kid, I tagged along. Being from the Philippines, I honestly don’t think people in tropical places go camping. I would put money on that. Anyway…
So I tagged along. For some crazy reason, my two oldest sisters Debbie and Beth, my older brother Rene and I, took our family’s brand new Chevy Caprice Classic station wagon from Los Angeles to Lake Tahoe. For some odd reason, my parents didn’t go with us. Maybe it was work related, maybe rebellion on my sisters’ part, I don’t know to this day. My oldest sister Debbie is ten years older than I am. So she was only twenty-two years old when she drove and led us north. I’ll never forget the experience. We had no clue what we were doing. We knew where we were going (we had a map), but as far as camping, no clue at all!
So I was twelve, Rene was sixteen, Beth was nineteen, and Debbie was only twenty-two. It was a different time and a different attitude. Like I’ve always said, back then we didn’t think about the worst thing that can happen to us, but the best thing. It was definitely a different era.
We headed North on the 101 Freeway from Los Angeles and our very first stop was Solvang, California. What a town! If I never get to go to Denmark for the rest of my life, at least I can say I’ve been to Solvang. This ultra-beautiful, very authentic Danish town is as authentic as any “copy” towns I’ve ever been to. (If that makes any sense.) The food was great, and the pastries were even better. It’s a place I’ll never forget. We had lunch there and visited all the interesting shops. I still remember all the windmills and the huge tree in the middle of the street. From that very first visit since, I must have been back at least ten times.
That evening, we arrived at a small campground nearby. I forgot the name, but it was one of those smaller, well-organized campsites that looked like a parking lot, with hardly any trees. You get a space for your car and a space for your tent, and in between, a metal barbeque pit. Our space did not have a tree whatsoever, and this was a major problem. Why? Because being ignoramus campers, we brought sleeping bags, but we had no concept of a tent. We thought that these campgrounds would always have two trees about ten feet apart, where we can then use our so-called “tent” that we bought, then tie it in between the two trees, creating a triangle, a la Snoopy. What we thought was our tent, was actually just a tarp! So that very first evening, we put the tarp on the floor, and slept in our sleeping bags. It was pretty nice at first, looking at the stars, but as it got later in the night, we were all soaking wet, and freezing! As most people know, in the mountains, it gets very cold and wet because of the mountain evening dew. Also the sleeping bags we had were all very cheap cotton fabric. Obviously, we all got so cold that we all ended up sleeping in the station wagon. So much for camping!
The next day, we headed to San Luis Obispo. On the way to San Luis Obispo is Morro Bay. Morro Bay is a small beach and fishing community, with a visible harbor on the bay, where a huge, half moon ball of rock comes out of the beach. It’s called Morro Rock. If you google it, you’ll see what I mean. It is like a ball of rock that fell on the beach.
We then headed to San Luis Obispo and visited the Hearst Castle for the first time. William Randolph Hearst’s Castle sits alone on a hill, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. With its history of excess riches and celebrity visitors, Hearst Castle is definitely one of the most interesting places I’ve ever been to. Besides the countless bedrooms and bathrooms, the hotel-sized castle had two magnificent swimming pools, one indoor with a tennis court above it, and numerous gold plated fawcetts. Gold plated fawcetts! Yes, that’s what really stood out to me! If you’ve ever been to Versailles, France, the excess is very comparable. But Hearst didn’t have to steal the country’s riches, he did it the American way: cutthroat business!
After San Luis Obispo, we headed towards another bay, San Francisco. This was also my first time in San Francisco. It was sometime in July, but man was it cold! A quote from Mark Twain: “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco”. Man, I can attest to that! With our experience the night before, we decided to stay in a hotel that evening. So much for camping!
After seeing most of San Francisco, we stopped by Carmel, Monterey, then headed to Lake Tahoe. When we arrived, we were determined to give camping another try. Lake Tahoe had many beautiful, forest-like campgrounds, with plenty of pine trees, and campsites that had plenty of privacy. Trees, trees, and more trees! We found a great spot at a campground called Camp Richardson. (The fact that I remember the name should tell you how much fun we had at this spot.) In our amazement, we found a spot that had two pine trees, about ten feet apart, perfectly located next to the parking space. We quickly set up our “Snoopy” tent, and felt like real campers! Believe it or not, we toughed out the night and woke up the next morning in our sleeping bags, under our tent! We stayed the rest of the week in the same site and enjoyed Lake Tahoe to the fullest!
Yup, Snoopy would have been proud!
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Tuesday, January 15, 2008 - You Had Me At Apocalypto!
I recently saw Apocalypto on cable, for the third time. It’s Mel Gibson’s brutally realistic take on the Mayan culture. The first time I saw it was on the big screen. After the movie, I felt like running through a jungle. The last time I had that feeling was the very first time I saw a Bruce Lee movie as a young kid in the Philippines. I must have been seven or eight. My dad took my brother and I, and after the movie, we were kicking and karate chopping everything in sight. It was definitely a “guy’s” movie. It’s like watching the Super bowl, then playing catch after the game.
But besides being a guy movie, I loved its historical content. It’s how I imagined the lives of natives were lived, prior to the colonization of Western Europe. Even in that time, I can imagine the differences between city folks and people of the forest, very well depicted in the film. Just when they thought things were already bad, they still didn’t know how worse things can get. In Apocalypto, just as with most of Mel Gibson’s films, there is always a religious and biblical undertone.
I love the risks that Mel Gibson has taken over the years. I saw “The Passion of the Christ” with a church youth group. It was definitely an emotional experience. I would go as far as saying that Mel Gibson is to Christians what Steven Spielberg is to the Jews. They both definitely serve their religions very well. I loved all the dialogue and controversies that Passion created. Even though Mel Gibson was criticized for its blood and brutality, I could tell most filmmakers wished they could have done the film. Not only was the film great, but also from what I remember, Mel made a killing in the box office!
I recently watched Braveheart on cable, and was reminded of how great a job he did on the movie. I remembered that he won a couple of Oscars for it, and that it was his first film as a director. That movie started his “retelling of history” genre, which is a very popular genre in the theatres these days. Mel Gibson also starred in The Patriot, The Bounty, and one of my favorites, The Year of Living Dangerously, all great historical retellings.
Mel has had some honest opinions over the years. When he did the voice of John Smith for the Disney movie Pocahontas, there were many protestors during the red carpet premiere. Mel couldn’t understand why anyone would protest against a cartoon. He approached the protestors and basically told them: “You should all go home. You are protesting a movie in which a raccoon talks!"
I know that if he wasn’t such a stud, at least when he was younger, he’d probably get more credit for his filmmaking. If he looked like, say, Peter Jackson or Stanley Kubrick, you’d probably call Apocalypto a “Gibson film”. Instead, it’s just a “Mel Gibson movie”.
I also know that Mel Gibson has had some negative moments in his personal life. With his drinking problems and his well-documented anti-Jewish comments, it really shows us his human side. It’s actually fitting. Don’t most artistic geniuses have an eccentric side? Yes, after seeing Apocalypto, I would credit Mel Gibson with having some artistic genius. I can almost guarantee that long after he is gone, future filmmakers will look at Passion and Apocalypto and consider them great, underrated films.
So what’s next? I hope something as good and as risky as Apocalypto.
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Monday, January 14, 2008 - The Formula For World Peace
Here it is. I’m throwing in my vote, my priceless two cents. It’s the elusive formula for World Peace. Yes, I believe wholeheartedly that it’s still possible, even with all the “end of the world” talks of global warming, weapons of mass destruction, new nuclear threats, terrorism, blah, blah, blah. Now is the best time to get this movement going! If there can be an America, there can be World Peace!
World Peace. We’ve all wished for it, talked about it, and argued each other on how we can obtain it. Let’s kill eight birds with one stone, shall we?
Here is the formula for world peace: A ONE WORLD GOVERNMENT! Yes, a one-world government. It’s been brewing in my brain ever since I read Charles Van Doren’s ultimate history book called “A History of Knowledge” Past, Present, and Future. It describes “the pivotal events, people and achievements of world history”. What more can you want in a book? If I went Oprah, this would definitely be in my book club. And yes, I gave the book away as a gift quite a few times!
If you’re a “worldly-curious” person like me, love the History and the National Geographic Channels on cable television like me, if you are a quasi-history buff like me, and if you love to “know a little about everything and everyone” like me, then you’ll love “A History of Knowledge”, like me. It goes through the entire history of mankind, from the ancient civilizations, to the various “ages”, and to the emergence of modernity. It describes the various contributions of all ancient civilizations and not so ancient empires. It describes all the world’s religions, their origins, and their differences. It also describes the lives of everyone who’s had any major role in human history, very objectively.
It makes a great point in regards to the progress of human knowledge, in that it is not dependent on technology nor wealth, but in equality. Yes, that’s right, equality. “An advanced civilization depends on how much equality exists between its citizens.” This is what makes this book different from any other history-type reference book, in that “equality” is the ultimate measure of advancement.
In the book, Van Doren describes the progression of equality through “democracy”, from its origins with the Greeks, then the Romans, then the English Puritanism movement, to Abraham Lincoln’s civil war, up to Martin Luther King’s idealism. Van Doren describes how equality progressed through history, reaching the pinnacle moment, with Lincoln’s “Gettysburg Address”. If you didn’t already know Lincoln’s degree of significance in the progress of equality, you should really read this book!
Also in the book, Van Doren states only one formula for World Peace, a one-world government. He doesn’t specifically describe the details of how the government would work, but I’m suggesting a United States-type government, with all its “checks-and-balances” branches of government, where no one really rules supreme. The whole “rule by representation” thing would still apply. I personally believe in the “electoral college” system. The founding fathers put that in for a good reason. Sorry Al Gore, but I don’t think the popular vote is necessarily a good thing, but that’s another article.
In my opinion, the United States is the “model system”, a practice, for the eventual One World Government. We can then call it the United States of Earth, or something cooler. Just think, instead of countries, each “old country” would be become a “state”, under the One World Government, each with it’s governor, other local governments and so on. If one state has a disagreement with another, like Israel versus Lebanon, for example, they would have to answer to the UEA government. World War III will never happen, because it will be downgraded to a civil war. By the way, I always wondered why it’s called “World War”. Was Mexico, Paraguay, or New Zealand involved? I didn’t think so. While we’re at it, why is it called “World Series”?
Is there a possibility for a civil war? Of course there is. But we already have the American civil war to learn from, and our experience with Abraham Lincoln would be a great reference. Also, knowing how the American founding fathers researched the ideal “democratic” system before they finalized the American Constitution, (I know of Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin’s travels to Europe) we can “update” the New Constitution” as well. Not so much change it, but add fine details to it.
So who’s going to introduce this to the world? Of course the Americans will. We are already the model. We can convince everyone else by example! You might ask, how about all this talk about the world hating America? I know it’s not true. Just compare the amount of people on the planet that wants to come here versus the people on the planet that say they hate us! I know it’s not true! The world loves America!
I am not saying that the world would run their system exactly like the US of America. As a matter of fact, America in my opinion could learn from other governments! We still don’t have a universal health program in this country. Yes, we can learn a thing or two from the Canadians! Also, in my opinion there’s just too much “capitalism” in the USA. So much so that the world suffers at our expense of being a very strong capitalistic nation. What is it? We are 5% of the world using 30% of its resources and energy? We should not be proud! A one-world government, focused on one global mission of peace, ending extreme world poverty, eradicating dictatorship and oppression by fake governments (look at what’s happening all over Africa), would lessen the negative effects of capitalism in our country. Money doesn’t have to rule or define America!
As far as religion, under a “state-run” planet, all will be accepted, allowed, respected, etc. Terrorism will definitely be less, because we’ll all be under one umbrella. Doesn’t terrorism exist because there are people fighting causes against hunger and oppression? If both are eradicated, then terrorism will cease to exist, or at least lessen! As far as the bullies of the world, and you know who they are, don’t you wish we had a global government who could just put these people away?
I know this is incredibly idealistic, and maybe even absurd1 But I think now is the perfect time to start discussing and acting on this movement! I’m sure there are negatives, and it might take a couple of generations to accomplish, but just think of all the positives! I can just imagine what that flag would look like! Instead of typing www, we would just type, well nothing. The possibilities are endless!
Didn’t Bill Gates just retire from Microsoft? Let’s get in touch with him! Maybe we can get on Oprah, along with Bono, Dr. Phil, Al Gore, Arnold “the governator” Schwarzenegger, Steven Jobs, the people who run Disney, and whoever wins the presidency! Myspace, YouTube, Facebook, Google, TMZ, we’ll need them too!
Who’s with me?
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Friday, January 11, 2008 - The Children Of Lucia
She lived through two world wars. She grew up poor, as an only child. She got married by force in her teens. She had eight children, all of them girls. She learned childbirth delivery from her mother. At only eighteen years of age, she became a midwife, practicing her own brand of childbirth delivery. The focus was not on the delivery itself, but the education before and after the delivery. She was called “Luciang Hilot”. Literally, it is Tagalog for “Lucia the masseuse”. She gave a healing massage, educating pregnant women during their maternity process. She delivered thousands of children, all the way up to the time of her death.
Lucia Manalo was born as Lucia Anzures in 1896, to her mother, Epipania De La Cruz, and her father, Juan Anzures. As a young child, she was forced to change her last name to “Manalo” because she could not use her father’s name. He and his family were wanted by the Spaniards.
Her own girls all got married, and each one having an average of six children. She delivered every single one of them. She also delivered all of her great grandchildren. As her reputation grew, the entire neighborhood came to her. By the time the Japanese occupied the Philippines in the 1940’s, she was averaging a delivery of one or two children per day. Sometimes she delivered three children, all in one night. Most of her deliveries were in the nighttime. When asked why, she simply said: “It’s because that’s when they were made!”
The neighborhood she lived in was a very poor one. Most people couldn’t afford to pay her any money for her services. She only asked for what families can afford. Most of the time, it was just a simple thank you, a piece of mind. As her popularity grew, so did her legend.
In the neighborhood of San Nicholas, Lucia delivered virtually everyone. There had been many stories of children being delivered stillborn, of which Lucia, for miraculous reasons, was able to revive. She was also able to help many breach deliveries. On one occasion, a woman, who also happened to be her friend, was having an extremely complicated breach delivery. Lucia had already delivered two of her previous children. Since she hadn’t experienced delivering such a complicated breach, she suggested that they go to the local hospital, while there was still plenty of time. To her surprise, the woman tells her: “Lucia, I completely trust your skill. I trust you more than any doctor. If it’s God’s will, so let it be. I would rather leave my life in your hands.” Lucia was able to deliver the baby safely.
So many lives saved, so many stories told. One story involved a stillborn delivery. The baby simply wasn’t breathing. Lucia performed her own brand of CPR. She instructed someone to get two bowls of water, one very hot, one very cold. She dipped the baby back and forth between the bowls, until the baby was revived. The baby survived.
Another revival story involved Lucia holding a stillborn baby by the back of his neck and legs, folding him back and forth, until the baby took his first breath. She was also known to have blown tobacco smoke up into a stillborn’s behind, miraculously reviving another baby.
Perhaps one of the most incredible stories of Lucia’s blessed life occurred in the early seventies, when Lucia was already in her mid seventies. With her legend established and her reputation as an “unlicensed midwife”, a group of maternity doctors invited her to visit a very highly reputable hospital. They had been inviting her to get some form of license for years, but she never obliged. This time, they finally convinced her. The doctors wanted to share with her their “latest and current knowledge” about child delivery. They wanted to educate her about a new method of “cutting and sterilizing the umbilical cord.” When she was shown their new method, Lucia’s response was: “I’ve been doing this since 1915!” As a result, the doctors asked her to consult with maternity doctors all over Manila. She agreed to consult them, and they never bothered her about the license again.
Lucia delivered so many people, that the coincidences grew over time. One of her daughters, Eulalia, married one Ben Barroga, who was twelve years younger than she was. When Lucia met Ben’s family, it occurred to her that she had delivered Ben herself, and remembered Eulalia being in the same room when he was delivered. She happened to be Lucia’s helper that night!
This is a partial story of Lucia Manalo, my grandmother. She delivered so many people in her lifetime. She delivered my father as well. Yes, she delivered two of her eventual son-in-laws. She also delivered my older brother’s wife, Sheila. From about 1915 until the time of her death in 1981, she massaged, educated, advised, and delivered her way into legendary status. She also saved countless lives with her methods!
I lived with her from the day she delivered me, until I came to America just a week short of my eleventh birthday. About a year ago, in a nostalgic conversation with my older brother Rene, his words became a mission, a calling. Rene said: “Her story has to be told. We can't let it die!”
Last summer, I started the process of researching her life. “The Children Of Lucia” was born. This February of 2008, I will be traveling to Manila, Philippines to interview the countless “Children of Lucia”. Her second to the youngest daughter, Ildefonza, who inherited some of her skills, will be a primary study. The goal is twofold. One is to tell Lucia’s story, and the other is to serve the history of the Philippines in her lifetime.
By Robert Calixto “The Children Of Lucia” January 11, 2008
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Thursday, January 10, 2008 - Fun Is Hard Work!
Raise your hand if you’ve ever owned a boat. Ever owned a cabin in the mountains? Ever gone skiing? Or camping? Have you ever traveled to Europe? Ever hosted a party? All fun things, right? All are also hard work! Yes, fun is hard work!
It was the summer of 1985 and I had just finished high school. It was a truly memorable summer. I had just met a new best friend. His name was John Elmassian. He was a very lucky kid. He owned a motorcycle, a new car, and a boat, all before he turned eighteen. He lived in a huge house, with a huge pool, and his parents and brothers had huge bank accounts. He was very lucky, but man did he work hard!
I just so happened to get invited to his graduation party the weekend after graduation. It was a pool party in the middle of June in Los Angeles. Talk about good times! His parents were away for the weekend and he had the house to himself.
I happened to show up late, in the early evening. I had just come home from the beach when another friend called and told me about John’s party. I showed up around seven and most of the people had gone home. Most importantly, most of the girls had gone home. I guess they all had better parties to go to. I happened to call a few girls who eventually showed up. All in all, five girls I knew showed up. I got lucky because they were all juniors, and they weren’t invited to other graduation parties. From that moment on, I was John’s best friend.
After the party, John asked everyone to sleep over. It was a great night for John. One of the girls really liked him, and vice versa. That night, and the days and weeks following, I realized John wasn’t your regular run-of-the-mill teenager. He worked extremely hard. He was constantly picking up his house, without anyone really noticing. I think I was the only one who noticed. He also cleaned the pool the following morning. He was incredibly responsible, and it rubbed off of me.
In the next few days and weeks, John and I became inseparable. He took me everywhere. He took me to Little Tokyo and introduced me to sushi. I had ten dollars in my pocket, and the bill was over seventy dollars between us. Money was not an object to John, but I never took advantage. I always reminded him that I wasn’t as privileged as he was. He was also aware of it, and was very considerate. He took me to his family’s cabin in Big Bear Lake. I had never seen a better cabin. In the mountains he introduced me to riding a dirt bike. I almost killed myself, and never to this day road another bike.
Another time, we took a girl he was dating back to Big Bear Lake. We took his family’s boat with us, and we had a great time learning to water ski. Of course, John was a pro. I managed to stay standing for about ten seconds. The girl, about three seconds. After getting back to a day of boating, we spent three hours cleaning and waxing the boat. Believe it or not, I didn’t mind at all!
What was amazing about all these fun things were that not only were they great fun, but there was so much hard work involved. John always cleaned the house and the cabin we stayed in. It wasn’t just your ordinary cleaning. I mean really serious cleaning. Every inch, from top to bottom we cleaned. He waxed his car and his motorcycle weekly, and when we got back from the boat trips, we would wax the entire boat. He wasn’t a clean-freak lunatic. John was just a hard working, proud guy. He appreciated all his material luxuries, and helped me appreciate them as well. Towards the end of the summer, I helped him paint his older brother’s new office and I’ll never forget the satisfaction of what we accomplished. He later told me, “outside of his family, he hadn’t met too many people who appreciated hard work”. John definitely taught me a great lesson.
After the summer, he went away to college. We kept in touch for another couple of years, and lost contact after that.
John was definitely a rare friend. As I got older, I was lucky enough to have acquired the same things he exposed me to. I’ve owned a cabin in Big Bear Lake, a couple of nice cars, a few houses. I’ve also done plenty of skiing and camping, have traveled the world, and yes, I’ve also owned a boat.
They say the two happiest days in life are the day you buy a boat, and the day you sell it.
Why? Because fun is hard work!
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Thursday, January 10, 2008 - Quantity Is Just As Important As Quality
Yes. It’s true. I said it. I believe it and I know that it is. This is my most recent revelation. It is also a great lesson, as I listen to more musicians and read more and more writers. I have gained a lot of respect for any artist who has a “body of work”.
Think of any artist you know. Anyone. I dare you. Think of any actors, directors, producers, songwriters, musicians, painters, models, sculptors, and any other artists. Anyone. Do they have a “body of work”? Fame and success is not a factor here whatsoever. As long as the artist has a “body of work” they are proud of, that is something to be proud of. In my opinion, that is what amounts to success. I’m sure anyone would agree. There are more failed musicians and writers alive and dead than there are successful ones, alive or dead. As the idea of becoming a published author and an established songwriter and musician overtakes my ambitious and determined mind, I have become very sure of the fact, that “quantity is just as important as quality”.
A year and a half ago, I decided to put together a rock band to do one thing. That is, to record an album that I can be proud of. I found and collaborated with a great singer, found a lead guitar player, and I learned to play bass and recorded most of the acoustic guitar tracks on the album. I also sought out a drummer to record the drum tracks. I bought all the equipment necessary to record and mix the songs. The band recorded eleven songs, and nine of my own songs are in the album. I then found a recording studio and had the songs mixed, edited, and mastered by a professional recording engineer. In the end, everyone in the band, especially myself, were very proud of the result.
But the end result wasn’t enough. The goal went from recording an album, which wasn’t very easy to accomplish, to recording a “body of work” immediately, almost as soon as the album was done. As a band, we played some live gigs locally; worked on some old songs we didn’t record, and wrote some new ones. But from what I can see, the hunger for quantity became just as important as quality.
If you listen to the album, you’d probably “love” a couple of songs, and maybe just “like” a few others, and “not care” for other ones. You might love the album, but you won’t necessarily love every single song. The entire band, including myself, feels the same way, but in the very core, we are proud of the album. But again, this is only one album. Not yet a “body of work”. My goal is to record at least three more full-length albums, with about a dozen songs each. That way, if we are ever asked to play for a two-hour gig (it happens all the time), then it won’t be an issue. It is because, you guessed it: we have a “body of work” we can be proud of.
With every musician’s albums, every writer’s books, every painter’s paintings, etc, all the previously mentioned logic applies!
In the business world, or any world for that matter, the same logic also applies. “It’s a numbers game.” “Practice makes perfect.” You win some, you lose some.” “Never give up.” I truly hate these everyday clichés, but these really do apply. The continuing effort, or quantity, amounts to eventually, more quality. One of my favorite quotes of all time is Winston Churchill’s: “Success is going from failure to failure without any loss of enthusiasm.” He’s also saying: “Quantity is just as important as quality.” And that person who doesn’t want to do anything “unless it’s quality”, doesn’t get anything done whatsoever! Unfortunately, that’s the majority of the world, alive or dead.
As I work on the columns, such as this one you are reading, (I have about twenty now, and the goal is one hundred a year) and the books I’m currently writing, the new songs, I am creating a “body of work”. My only criteria, again, is that will I be proud of them. The quality is secondary, because I am sure not everyone is going to like every column, every book, or every song that I will ever write. As long as I like them, I will eventually be proud of them.
I have always expressed that in writing songs, stories, columns, etc., if you like what you have accomplished, the goal is to put others in your shoes, and they will most likely see the same quality you’ve produced, and like it the same way you like it. Let others see what you see. They might not like every single thing, but I’m sure they’ll like some of what you like. Isn’t that what art is all about? It’s just really about sharing, isn’t it?
I know it’s a very subjective matter, but there aren’t too many artists that I know of that most can say “every thing they did was quality”. Personally, and I do mean personally, I would suggest the Beatles, Shakespeare, Michelangelo, Stanley Kubrick, just to name a few. These artists, if you look at every single thing they created, was absolutely quality. I am a huge Beatles fan, but I don’t particularly think every song they wrote was great. In my opinion every album they recorded was great, but not every song. As for Shakespeare, Michelangelo, and Stanley Kubrick, I would argue that every single work they did was great! (I am even a bigger fan of the band U2, so I personally find quality in everything they’ve done! I honestly don’t know why I like those guys so much!)
If you don’t know whom Stanley Kubrick is, you are missing out on the greatest filmmaker of our time. After Steven Spielberg finished his movie ET-The Extraterrestrial, and became a household name, he was quoted as saying: "I would like to get to the level of Stanley Kubrick”. Talk about quality!
I’ve recently been reading Charles Bukowski’s writings. If you know who Bukowski is or what kind of life he had, it was amazing that he was even able to write at all. He was a self-confessed gambler and a drunk, who was at times a vagrant and a bum. In a lot of ways, he lived a “Franciscan” gospel life. I love some of his poems and stories, but most of them I would argue are pretty silly and ordinary writing. He also found romance and poetry in the most mundane things. Bukowski just wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and the result was: he created an amazing “body of work”. His greatness, in my opinion, is not just in quality, but also in quantity.
Sometimes I think: “ambition is not a blessing, it’s a curse!”
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Wednesday, January 9, 2008 - We’re Hiring Why-Sayers!
I’ve been fortunate enough to have owned and operated a real estate and loan business since 1999. I’ve hired various types of people; from mellow paper-pusher types, working as administrative assistants, to high strung, type-A personality types, working as independent contractors, or salespersons. I’ve also been fortunate enough to work with various types of personalities. From the newspaper industry to the banking world, I’ve worked with almost every type of personality. Somewhere along the line, it dawned on me that “what” a person asks has a direct correlation to their success, or for that matter, their lack of success. I have never done any kind of research on this, and I’m sure if I look hard enough, I can probably find it. An experiment like this sounds like something Dr. Phil would conduct. I’m sure someone will get to it, if it hasn’t already been done.
My conclusion is pretty simple. Here it is:
When it comes to asking any types of question, “why-sayers” are the most successful people and have the most potential for success. Why?
Lets go through the list:
What? - What-Sayers ask for names and things. They are more curious to know what things are called, their names, etc. These are the “useless knowledge” people who love trivia and everything factual. You usually find these people in game shows.
Where? – Where-Sayers ask for places and location. As in: Where did you get that information? Where do we go from here? Where is it?
When? – When-Sayers ask for times, before and after facts. They are apt to get the task over with as soon as possible. As in: When’s lunch? When do I get paid? When can I go home?
How? – How-Sayers always want instructions. As in: How did you do that? How am I going to get this done? How come it goes like that?
Why? - Why-Sayers ask for explanations! They want accountability from both sides. Why-Sayers have a need to see the bigger picture. Asking why something works leads to all the other questions. None of the other questions do that. For example: Why does it do that? The answer always has to start with “because”, and because leads to every answer possible. How-Sayers comes a close second, because asking how (instructions) leads to asking why (explanations). All the other questions stop at the first answer.
Whenever I’m looking for people to work with, I always look for why-Sayers. They are the curious types! They are mostly analytical and driven people who want to get ahead in life. The why questions come because they want explanations for something. Explanations are always a good thing! No one wants to take anything for granted! Explanations bring any type of situation under the surface. Whenever that happens, we all learn more. Why-Sayers learn something new every chance they get. At the end of any interview, the interviewer usually asks the big question: “Why should I hire you?” If you really want the job, you should be glad that they got to this question! Now you can answer the question not only for the interviewer, but for yourself as well!
I once gave a talk to a group of real estate agents, and I talked about this very subject of asking “why”. The topic was very uplifting, and everyone agreed that asking “why” gets you to a better place.
Call it serendipity, but later that afternoon; I went to Ikea to do some shopping. Before I can enter the front door, their “human resources” employees who were trying to recruit more employees approached me. I told them that I wasn’t interested, but I couldn’t believe the t-shirts they wore. They all wore an Ikea-blue t-shirt with the words “We’re Hiring Why-Sayers!” printed across their chest. I couldn’t believe the timing! I couldn’t help asking one of the supervisors about the shirt. She said that it was company policy to recruit people who are “why-sayers”, and that it comes from the very top of the company.
I eventually did some research on Ikea and later learned that they were one of the most successful companies in the world. So much so, that the owner of the company, a Swedish billionaire named Ingvar Kamprad, had surpassed Bill Gates as one of the richest people on the planet! It sounds incredible, but it's absolutely true!
I bet he’s a “why-sayer”!
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Monday, January 7, 2008 - A Sea of Musicians (www.musicianSea.com)
Talent. Artistry. Integrity. Patience. Perseverance. Passion. They are just words. They mean nothing. Yet they mean everything.
Everyone has talent. All of us have talent our mothers can brag about. Some in music, some in art, some in athletics and some in academics. Some nurture the talent, but in most cases, it was just “a promising potential”. The talent never goes away. Ever. Most talent just goes unrealized. All music, all works of art, all forms of expressions, all visible things in the universe, is simply talent realized.
Integrity. You either have it or you don’t. Sometimes you lose it. Sometimes you gain it. Integrity is everything you do outside of talent. Hard work, honesty, consideration, generosity, kindness. All are components of integrity. Integrity is easy to spot. A returned phone call is integrity. So is arriving on time. Simply doing what you say you will do, that’s integrity. A lack of response is a lack of integrity. Most people have plenty of talent, but not an ounce of integrity.
Patience. Perseverence. Passion. They all mean the same thing. To be “patient” means “to suffer”. As human beings, we were born to suffer. I think it’s because we have no choice but to need each other.
Yes, we need each other. More than we ever think. No talent realized has ever been accomplished without the help of another. We have to be patient, we have to persevere, we have to be passionate, not only by ourselves, but with each other.
There are plenty of talent out there. A sea of people with talent.
A sea of musicians.
Keep your integrity, or please acquire it. Persevere until you accomplish your goal. Be passionate. Be patient.
With each other.
-by Robert Calixto - 12/31/2007 www.MusicianSea.com
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Monday, January 7, 2008 - A Two-Hour Bus Ride to Santa Monica Beach
I attended Thomas Starr King Junior High School in Los Angeles, between the years 1980 and 1982, from the seventh grade through the ninth. It was sort of a blur, a not-so-memorable experience. It was definitely very different from high school. I think for most people, junior high is kind of strange anyway. “Awkward” is the best word I can come up with to describe those times. Becoming a pimple-faced, hormone-driven teenager is definitely awkward. The only glorious moments I can remember were being in Band and playing the trombone, the “war ball” games, and the two-hour bus rides to Santa Monica Beach.
We had a pretty good band. King is located close to the Silverlake area of Los Angeles, near the corner of Sunset and Fountain. Back in those early eighties, it still felt like the seventies. I’ve always argued that the first couple of years of a decade still feel like the decade before. It seems that the “style and identity” of a decade doesn’t really become obvious until the last half of that decade. I still remember the early nineties. Up to 1992, most people still had the eighties look, including the eighties hair and the shoulder pads, until the grunge look sort-of took over. If you want proof, just look at your pictures! For those who lived it, there is a huge difference between 1982 and 1986. By 1986, Live-Aid had already happened, and the "New Wave" in music had arrived, just before “hair bands” had their twelve minutes. The identity of the eighties became apparent after 1985, I would argue, just like any other decade.
Like I was saying, we had a pretty good band. Our bandleader was Mrs. Rogahn. She was a force to reckon with. As I remember, she was a petit, ninety-pound, glasses-wearing woman who had the patience, of well, a middle-school band-and-orchestra-leader! She handled over three hundred teenage first-time-instrument-wielding beginners, hardly without any help. Now if that wasn’t a challenge, I don’t know what is? She knew how to play every single instrument and she always defended the existence of each instrument. I loved that about her! I played the trombone, only because I registered late. I reported for school a week late and all the spots for the trumpets were taken. Yes, trumpets, percussion, then saxophone. In that order, the most wanted instruments to play in junior high school at that time. I don’t think that has changed drastically since. The least wanted? You guessed it, the trombone. I would guess the bassoon and the oboe would come in a close second and third. I remember Jimmy Rudy, a relatively big and tall kid, who became a close friend throughout junior high school and high school, ended up playing the tuba, probably because he was the only one who can lift it! Mrs. Rogahn was highly respected in the music community and was well known throughout the school. Our performances were always very popular, even for a junior high Band.
Then there was war ball! Most people call it “dodge-ball”, but when I was in junior high, we always called it war ball. I was such a sport-nut in those days. During nutrition, I pretty much ate my lunch for the day, because the lunch hour was usually spent playing either football or basketball. It didn’t matter whom with, I always found a game during lunchtime, and usually went into fifth period drenched in sweat. But the most memorable days were the rainy days. That meant the entire group for the period was in the gym, playing war ball. Some days even when it wasn’t raining, when the P.E. teacher felt like it, we would end up in the gym anyway. You can bet someone always asked on a daily basis, for us to play war ball in the gym. When the teacher agreed, for some of us “warriors”, the day was made! I was notorious for being called a “head-hunter”. Not that I was a bully or anything, but I was pretty accurate at aiming the ball. Everyone always looked forward to seeing someone get beaned on the head with a ball. If you remember, cruelty was the norm in junior high. Every single story broke the Guinness Book of World’s Record, at least in our neighborhood, which was pretty much inner city. Thank God we didn’t have You Tube then, the cruelty would be even more obvious. Our teachers were always involved as well, making sure we didn’t abuse the less athletic kids. Remember, in the early eighties, the term and the “politically correct” attitude didn’t quite exist just yet.
And finally, the most memorable thing I did in junior high? The two-hour bus ride to Santa Monica Beach! This was sort of my “Stand By Me” moment. It was four adventurous junior high kids; Jaime, Bobby, Kevin and myself, spending a whole day “boogie boarding” at Santa Monica Beach. For some reason, no one ever bothered to ask any parent for a ride. From the Silverlake area where we lived, we would take the 39G to Sunset Boulevard by Echo Park. Then take the 91 or the 94 all the way to Santa Monica Beach. A two-hour bus ride on Sunset and Santa Monica Boulevard, riding through the best and worst parts of Los Angeles. I remember the Beverly Hills and the Century City stops very vividly. I always wondered why the grasses on the sidewalks never grew in those areas. I later realized it was because they were just well manicured.
We always sat in the back of the bus, so we can hang our boogie boards against the handles on the ceiling of the bus. We always brought our boogie boards, and a small duffle bag (backpacks weren’t at all fashionable then), with our change of clothes, a towel, and Johnson’s baby oil inside. For some reason, none of us used real suntan lotion. It was probably because we couldn’t afford it. I still remember the OP shorts, the Op print collared-shirts and the thermals we wore underneath them. We all had the Velcro Hobie wallets, (remember those?) with the school pictures of girls we liked, our bus passes, our school ids, and hardly any monies. I remember getting off the bus around 3rd or 4th Street in Santa Monica, by a McDonald’s. At that time, we never uttered the word “bus”. It was called the RTD. The Rapid Transit District. They were usually yellow, and on the 91/94 route on Santa Monica Boulevard, sometimes you were lucky enough to ride the twice-as-long “limo” busses, as we called them. Riding at the joint where the two busses met was always a treat for a thirteen-year-old.
At first it seemed like a very long ride, but after a few times, it was all just routine. At the end of our long and perfect day, we would all eat at that same McDonald’s and then take the same route back. We would all usually get home after the sun went down. We did this during the summers in between school, and a few times during the school year on weekends. It was always four of us, and none of us went without the other three. When we started high school, Kevin and his family moved out of state. Bobby went to another high school, and Jaime and I remained great friends throughout high school.
And what did our parents think? I honestly don’t remember. It was a different time, when people didn’t walk around scared of one another. Adolescents were very independent. I don’t think we were necessarily safer, but we didn’t feel “endangered.” At that time we always thought about the best things that can happen to us, not the worst.
I’m so glad I was a kid in “those” days!
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Monday, January 7, 2008 - Don’t Sir Me!
I’m driving alone in my convertible. It’s the weekend. I’ve got nothing to do, and all day to do it! I’m feeling very good about things. One of those “It’s gonna be a bright, bright, sun shiny day” days in Southern California. Very typical weather for us spoiled Angelinos! Cool driving music on. Rock and roll with lots of ringing guitars, and cool bass lines, too! I think it was Lenny Kravitz or someone funky like that. Got on some really cool Ray Bans I bought from Costco. Actually just came from 7-11. I’m sippin’ on a medium Coca-Cola Slurpee, a spicy Slim Jim on the other hand, and a medium-sized bag of pork rinds waiting on my lap. Not the regular kind, but the orange-colored, spicy one that leaves orange powdery pieces all over your shirt.
Just driving alone, minding my own business. Surrounded by all kinds of cars, with different types of drivers. An older middle-aged woman on her PT Cruiser passes to my left. A white Ford truck zooms by my right, driven by a couple of young kids. I notice their dirt bikes in the back of the truck, strapped down with chains and bungee cords. A very head-thumpin’ ride indeed! Then the music changes to another cool song! “No need to change stations,” I thought.
Then a nice looking young “chick” on a shiny new BMW drives by to my left and gives me a glance. She’s also driving alone. She must be no more than twenty-one, twenty-two years old, and very attractive. I would go as far as “hot” at this point. She’s a brunette, with thick long hair, wearing one of those oversized designer sunglasses. Probably a Gucci purchased at a mall, unlike my Ray Bans. She looks young and innocent, yet with her long hair and sunglasses, she looks sophisticated and ready for action. I don’t feel that far off, being in my early thirties. And when has age really mattered, anyway?
Of course, I glance back. You always “feel” someone’s glance, no matter who gives it to you. And of course, you have to look. You have to. The only ones that don’t look are those who think they are God’s gift to the opposite sex. You know who you are! Oh, and sorry, but in Southern California “opposite” doesn’t necessarily apply. Sorry, but I have to tell it like it is!
We stop at a red light, and now she is behind the car to my left. I look at my left side-view mirror to glance, but not quite obviously. You have to play that “I’m cool-and I’m too important to look at you-but I will still look anyway” game. In the sales world, they call it a “take-away”.
We keep passing each other as we stop and go through passing green and red lights. In my mind, I say: “whoa, we must be going to the same place.” Then another thought enters: “Cool, I like what I’m wearing today, too. I’m also glad I put on the “Ice” gel, not the cheaper, weaker “I can’t even remember” brand. We keep driving by each other. I glance, and then she glances back, and vice-versa. I’m feeling even better now. Like Quagmire on Family guy would say: Awwlllll riiight!!!
Then we finally stop together at a red light. I look to my left, not quite at her direction, but towards the cars crossing in front of us. This was a big intersection, with at least three lanes on each side. I thought: “It’s going to be a long wait for the green light, maybe more than a minute.” Then I feel her glance again. This time, I turn my head completely around, giving her my “complete and undivided’ attention. She leans towards me with her shy innocence, her hand on the passenger seat, and says: “Excuse me Sir, can you tell me where Whittier Boulevard is?” I say: “Oh, it’s a couple of blocks away, straight ahead. Can’t miss it.” Then she nods, says “thanks”, closes her window and looks straight ahead as if I was some kind of a threat.
What a downer! Suddenly it wasn’t such a sun shiny day! It was my first and most memorable “Sir”! An ultimate blow to the ego! A day ruiner! Suddenly the pork rinds didn’t taste so good! The Slurpee became a flat cola! It was a “Swinger” movie-ending moment! Back to life, back to you know what! A four-letter word called reality. An a-ha, life-is-changing moment! I won’t dare call it a “senior” moment, but it truly was, in every sense of the word!
That forgettable event happened probably close to ten years ago. I’ve been “Sirred” many times since, but like they say: “You never forget the first one!”
Next time you have the urge to “Sir” or “Maam” anyone, please remember: “excuse me” will do!
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Monday, January 7, 2008 - We Weren’t Supposed to Die!
Yes, that’s right! We weren’t supposed to die. Death was never in the plan! It was never supposed to exist. We were supposed to live forever with God! Yes, with God. But what exactly does this all mean?
Like Maria says, let’s start from the very beginning…
Do you remember Genesis in the Bible? Remember the creation story? Do you remember that there are actually two creation stories? The first one involves God “revealing” himself and creating, well you know, everything. Most people forget that Genesis is all about God’s “revelation” to us. Creation is ongoing. Tomorrow is part of the creation story.
Now the second story of creation is incredibly important! It is the fundamental basis of the Christian faith, as well as the Jewish and the Islamic faith. It is the Adam and Eve story, when God created man. Remember that he created man out of the “clay from the ground”. He then created the rule between Him and man. Well as you know, we broke God’s rule!
Our faith is based upon this “relationship”, between God and man.
When you really think about it, in order to have a real relationship, family, friends, spouses, teammates, workmates, there has to be rules. Or else there is really no “relationship” whatsoever. Let's go back to the story.
As man, Adam and Eve broke the rule. It was a very simple rule, not to eat from a certain tree. This episode is what’s called in the Bible as “The Fall of Man”. We fell big time! It made God very upset. He said: “By the sweat of your face shall you get bread to eat, until you return to the ground, from which you were taken; for you are dirt, and to dirt you shall return.
From the very beginning, until this “original sin” occurred, God meant for us to stay with him and be an equal with him. It was supposed to be a true relationship, without any rules broken. So we were then “expelled” away from him, away from the Garden of Eden.
It is important to keep this story with you, always. This is, again, the fundamental basis of the Christian faith. Revelation and Religion. Revelation is God revealing himself to us, and wanting to be with us. Religion, which means, “to bind together” in Greek, is everything we do to go back to God. This is our religious history. It is also called our “Salvation History”. It is man trying to be “saved” from Death and Sin. In this second story of creation, the concept of death is introduced for the very first time. The word sin, Latin for “without”, means that we are simply living “without God”.
So everything we do in our lives has to do with this basis of “relationship”. Every little thing you do in your life, if it’s good and will help another person, you do “with God”. If you do something that hurts a relationship, then you do it “without God”. This is the real concept of sin. It always has to do with God, and what you do to help or hurt another person. (It is actually a sin to be lazy because you are hurting another person by doing nothing, by not contributing to others, you are hurting them! It’s kind of like the “Good Samaritan” law. Actually, the “Good Samaritan” law came after!) Even if you don’t follow the bureaucratic rules of your religion, you are “with God” if you “love one another”, and do not commit sin. I’ve heard many priests suggest this! The word disaster, (dis-aster) meaning to “be removed from the heavens”, is a very revealing word. Most people who commit sin, and live “without God” have disastrous lives. Removed from the heavens! What a word!
So whether we know our faith or not, whether we know a lot, or a little, we all make our choices. Knowing and not knowing are both personal choices. We make our beds, and lie in it. I was lucky enough to learn a little about my Christian faith. When you talk to most people about religion, and share what you know, they think you are preaching to them. I have always looked as sharing any knowledge as simply that, a “sharing of knowledge.” I hope this article enlightens more than anything else. I only really talk passionately about religion when it comes to this story. (Actually that’s not true!)
I think that if you grasp this part of the Bible, you will see the bigger picture. Everything that happens after Genesis is really just “us trying to go back to God, and God trying to get us back”. Yes, the “bible in a nutshell”. Love, love lost, trying to find love again. Build, destroy, rebuild. Rise, fall, redemption. The Cross, Death, then the Resurrection. Every character in the Bible, including all the prophets, saints, even Jesus and Mohamed, everyone…is part of this Salvation History. It is a “universally inclusive” concept. What a concept!
I’ve always loved this fundamental explanation of the Bible. What an a-ha moment! We all have a “Salvation History.” I used to think my history only went back to my personal history, about my own personal past. Then I learned I was under a huge family tree. (I am learning more and more about my amazing grandmother!) Then I learned about my national history, being of Filipino descent. I found out why I look so Hispanic. Then there’s the history of the Malay people. I hadn’t realized that I had many things in common with the Indonesians, the Malaysians, the people from Singapore, and the rest of the people of that region. Then after immigrating to America, now I have an American history to own! Now I learn about the Bible, and now I learn I am a part of this Salvation History! What a revelation!
I wonder what will be revealed tomorrow?
That concludes your religion lesson of the day. There will be a Test! Isn't there always?
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Monday, January 7, 2008 - I Played Bingo with Mother Teresa!
This is my claim to fame. I warn you, it’s a bit absurd, but it is absolutely real! I’ve been telling this story since about the eight grade, when I finally realized the significance of Mother Teresa.
My family migrated from the Philippines to the United States in the mid to late seventies. My mom came here by herself first, arriving in New York in November of 1974. Can you imagine living in a tropical island all your life, then spending your first days nearing winter in New York? Needless to say, within a couple of months of frozen agony, my mom landed in Los Angeles by early 1975. My dad followed near the end of the same year, and then my oldest sister Debbie in early 1976. My next to the oldest sister Beth, my older brother Rene, and myself were next, arriving at LAX in July of 1977! In March, my two youngest brothers, John and Erwin, arrived. The entire Calixto family finally became first generation Americans! I always said my mom was the “Lewis and Clark” of the family. A sacrifice we will always owe her.
So I was ten when I arrived here, exactly on July 29, 1977. I turned eleven soon after on August 8th. The next month, I went to school for the first time as a fifth grader at St. Teresa of Avila Elementary School, in the Silverlake area of Los Angeles. This was a fairly small Catholic school, with nuns as teachers and administrators. I remember hating the Friday masses, and most of the teachers were very strict! They actually held sticks if we didn’t behave! (Oh the good old days!) My teacher’s name was Sister Catherine. She was actually very nice, and I could tell she liked me because I was such an underdog, barely learning how to speak English, and being smaller than everyone else. I remember some kid calling me “TJ” all the time, and I didn’t understand what he was saying, so I thought he was calling me “Cheese-ay”. I remember defending myself by telling him: “Why do you call me that? I don’t even like cheese?” For those of you who don’t know this term “TJ”, it was a derogatory term for Mexican immigrants in the seventies. The funny thing was, I only looked Mexican (and still do, and yeah…those Spanish got us, too!). But he didn’t know. And even funnier, he himself was a Mexican kid!
During the first weeks of school, I remembered one of the subjects we studied: Religion. I still remember the book so vividly. It was a paperback, not very thick, and the print was pretty big. It had pictures of the Pope, the local bishops, and various pictures of saints, including Mother Teresa, whom they called “the living saint” at the time. One particular day, Sister Catherine was talking to us about Mother Teresa, explaining to us who she was, what she’s accomplished. She then looked at the picture, and asked the class if anyone knew who she was.
Before anyone can say anything, I looked at the picture, reacted quickly, and blurted out with excitement: “Oh, I know her! I used to play bingo with her! I remember the entire class looking at me, bewildered, and Sister Catherine, eyebrows wrinkled, saying: “I really don’t think it’s the same lady! I was embarrassed and didn’t say anything after that!
After school, I took the book home and asked my sister Beth who this nun on the picture was, and sure enough, she said she was the one we used to play bingo with!
So here’s the absolute truth: Around the early 1970’s, I don’t know exactly what year, Mother Teresa and her Sisters of Charity set up a mission in the poorer area of Manila, within blocks of the house I grew up in. My aunt, who lived on the first floor of the bodega (a Spanish flat) we lived in, would have Bingo Nights during the weekend, in her fairly big sized living room. I remember the entire neighborhood being there, and of course, Mother Teresa and her Sisters, who got to know everyone in the area, would take in a little bingo once in a while. I honestly remember sitting right next to her on one occasion, and her talking English to everyone. She had really rough skin, her face looked very stressed, as if she had a lot of burden on her shoulders. But she was always smiling. I also remembered that whenever she walked around town, everyone followed her, like the Pied Piper of Hamelin. I always wondered at the time who this strange lady was. Little did I know it was “the” Mother Teresa. I must have been six or seven.
So needless to say, this is my claim to fame:
“I played bingo with a Nobel-Peace-Prize-winning-saint!”
I honestly don’t think I can ever top that.
And you should know, my sister Beth picked me up after school the following day and in front of me, spoke to Sister Catherine, explaining the whole thing to her. She laughed so hard and gave me a hug and apologized to me for not believing me!
What’s your claim to fame?
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Monday, January 7, 2008 - TELL IT LIKE IT IS
I live in semi-suburbia San Gabriel, about ten miles east of downtown Los Angeles. I used to listen to a guy on the radio, named Michael Benner. He always spoke about personal development and basically about making your life easier to live. I’m not quite sure if he’s still on, but I remember one particular morning as I was driving alone in my car. He was talking about why presidents age so much during their four-year term. He said that the main reason is that the job involves so much lying, that the stress level reaches the highest point on a daily basis. He mentioned that there is no such thing as “one lie”. If you lie once, you have to remember that lie and make sure it comes out consistently on the next conversation, hence another lie. Pretty soon, you are living in a web of lies, and that mental effort is incredibly stressful. Sound familiar?
I’ve seen this not only in presidents, but also in most politicians, lawyers, sales people, and many others, including myself. According to Mr. Benner, even the small little white lies can build up and create the same stress levels. What’s the solution?
Like the song says: TELL IT LIKE IT IS.
When you buy something for $3.99, say “I bought it for $3.99”. Don’t say “I bought it for $4.00, don’t say $3.00”. Be exact on the truth. Tell it like it is.
When you tell it like it is; the exact truth, there is no going back to the issue. No arguments, no stress. The same time, effort and energy are used when either telling the truth or telling a lie. Why not just tell the truth? People respect you more because your statements and facts come out consistently. Most successful, respectable people I know share this common thread.
Do you constantly lie about your arrival times? How much effort and work you put into something? The weight you put on your driver’s license?
If you are overweight, and unless you have some kind of medical condition, there are usually two reasons. We all know it. We over eat, and don’t exercise enough! Some people grow up sooner than others. You can quote me on this: “Self- truthfulness is a good indication of growth.”
So on my drive that morning, Michael Benner goes on to talk about The Landers sisters. Ann and Abigail. We all know Dear Abby. We all know Dear Ann. The queens of advice! These two sisters have cornered the market on personal advice worldwide for years! But if you listen carefully and pay attention to their advise to most people’s problems, dilemmas, rants and raves, about eighty percent of them, is to “tell it like it is.” Go to any newspaper, television, or website advice columns. What’s the common advice?
Tell it like it is.
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Monday, January 7, 2008 - Someday Never Comes
I wrote this song sometime in 2003. I found an old notebook I had from the days when I worked as a loan officer with Coast Federal Bank. I found the page I wrote it on, and it didn’t have anything else written on it but “SOMEDAY NEVER COMES!!!!” It was capitalized and underlined several times, like the four exclamation marks weren’t a reminder enough!
So what did these words mean? Here’s the story:
I was lucky enough to go through my banking experiences in the mid to late nineties. Between 1995 and 1999, I worked as a loan officer for (take a deep breath) Great Western Bank, Coast Federal Bank, Home Savings of America, Washington Mutual, Norwest Mortgage, then finally Wells Fargo. Two words: bank mergers. At the time, because of the changes, I considered myself unfortunate, but didn’t realize that all these moves were helping me more than hurting me. From one bank to another, I was absorbing the art of sales and various management methods like a sponge. In June of 1999, I obtained my real estate broker’s license. By early 2000, I started my own real estate and mortgage company. I’ve been self-employed ever since.
With the exception of Great Western Bank, I should mention that never did I quit from any of these banks! I worked for Coast all of eight months, before hearing that Home Savings was going to purchase us. In my days with Coast, I was under a remarkable manager named Mark Chakerian. He was less than forty years old at the time and was already their regional manager, in charge of about forty different loan officers! Like everyone else, I learned a lot from this man, and totally respected and looked up to him. I went to one of his sales meetings, and I will never forget his talk. This, in summary, is what he said:
“Remember when you were young, you’d go to the store with your mother, and you’d see that shining brand new bicycle, and of course, you’d ask her to buy it for you, and she’d say: “someday, son, someday.” Then you get older, and instead of a bike, it’s now a car! “Someday, son, someday.” Then before you know it, you have your own kids, and you hear yourself say: “Someday, son, someday.” You also dream about buying a house, and you say to yourself: “someday”. How often do you hear people say this? All the time! But nobody ever realizes it.
We’ll I’m here to tell you…SOMEDAY NEVER COMES!!!! Let me repeat: SOMEDAY NEVER COMES!!!! (He wrote it on the board exactly how it appears here) You have to go after what you need and want as soon as possible! (Your treasure?) Whenever you catch yourself say “someday”, that means you are procrastinating! Urgency is the most underrated word in the English dictionary! The best time to buy a house is now! The best time to accomplish anything is now, not tomorrow, not later, or “someday”!
Here are my lyrics to “Someday Never Comes”:
The sun shines every morning
Your heart beats like a drum
Sunflowers bloom in the springtime
My dreams, keep you alive
Someday never comes…Someday never comes
Those eyes shine with excuses
These lips whisper with lies
Our lives come with a promise
Though broken, yet tantalize
Someday never comes…Someday never comes
You promised…me the world! You promised me…your soul!
You promised…me the world! You promised me…your soul!
Someday never comes…Someday never comes
Big words give u protection
Deep thoughts keep me at bay
Someday we’ll have everything
Just you listen, to what I say
Someday never comes…Someday never comes
You promised…me the world! You promised me…your soul!
You promised…me the world! You promised me…your soul!
Someday never comes…Someday….. never…..
This is also the title track to XXRub’s first cd!
To hear this song, please go to www.myspace.com/xxrub
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Monday, January 7, 2008 - I'm An Expressive-Driver! You?
I used to teach the “Four Personality Types” in the “marketing” portion of my real estate classes. I’ve used this system for years. It’s embedded into my brain. It is incredibly useful, and best of all it’s simple and accurate. Find out for yourself!
I worked for a time-share company in the mid-nineties for a couple of years. Yes, been there, done that, worn that T-shirt! It was a great experience, too! The job was basically to get a couple to love you in less than two hours, so they’ll buy the program from you. If you want to know if I believed in what I sold, I will tell you it was like selling gym membership. It is only worth it if you use it. Unfortunately, the eighty-twenty rule applies. That means only twenty percent of the members use it eighty percent of the time. Next time you go to your gym, look around. It’s the same twenty percent! This formula is accurate. Unfortunately, I’m one of those eighty percent!
The company I worked for made sure all the salespeople were trained. So they paid a “professional” trainer thousands of dollars to come and train us over a weekend. He was great! He was an older gentleman, and he had a great personality. I think his first name was Floyd, but that’s all I remember about him. I’ve kept the folder he gave us for years, but I only remember the “Four Personality Types” in my head. Everything else was pretty obvious stuff. Come to think of it, everything is obvious once you know and apply it. So here it is: (drum roll please)
The Four Personality Types:
1) The Drivers – These are “driven” people. They measure everything by their accomplishments. They are about results. Drivers are the “risk-takers” of the world. They “release” stress every second of the day. They are easy to sell to. They see the big picture, and they want to be in charge. If you can show them the same initiative and results, they’ll love you. Do you know a driver?
2) The Expressives – These people are driven by “emotions”. They are the social, artist type. They “feel” everything and are very imaginative. Expressives are somewhat of a risk-taker. They release stress very often, but not every second of the day. They can easily be convinced if you speak lively and get very artistic with them. They make decisions quickly, but not as quickly as drivers. Are you an expressive?
3) The Analyticals – These people are driven by numbers. The engineer types. They sometimes are very driven, but they need proof, as in statistics and practicality in numbers. The “numbers” always has to make sense with these people. Analyticals are not risk-takers at all. They will only take risks if it’s a sure thing. They say no often because they over analyze. They release stress very seldom, but if you cross them, they will bury you! If you want them to love you, just give them the “bottom line”. Analyticals are very easy to spot, and everyone knows one!
4) The Amiable – These people are driven by kindness. They are the submissive, church-going types. They often need drivers to make decisions for them. They always talk about “giving to others” and ways to “make this a better world.” They are not risk-takers at all. They release stress “in buckets!" They never say anything, but when they do, it’s in “postal” proportions. When you see the news on television, about a guy who killed someone, and the neighbor comes on saying: “Gee, he was such a nice guy!” Most likely, an Amiable.
Now you know the four personality types. Here are some notable things to remember. Releasing stress is a very common human action. Just like eating and then releasing the food, it is the same thing with human interactions. I never saw it that way until this lesson. We are not robots; our personalities are an indication, or expression, of how we release tension. Most people are a combination of two of these personalities. I am definitely an Expressive-Driver! I hate “accounting”, and indecision bugs me! I am also a risk-taker! Both good and bad for me, but most cases good!
The order matters here because there aren’t going to be too many Amiable-Drivers, because they are somewhat opposite. Most people are either Expressive-Drivers, or Driver-Expressive, or Analytical-Drivers, or Analytical-Amiable. Most people have one dominant personality, and a second or third non-dominant one. Yes, I’ve met Drivers who are both Expressive and Analytical in nature, but that’s kind of rare.
Personal tragedies, or successes, can change some people’s personalities, at least from their appearance. Some Expressives become Drivers after experiencing success or fame. These same Expressive sometimes become Amiable. We all know of celebrities that go through these transformations.
So you are a salesperson. You sell cars, or real estate, or insurance, vacuums, appliances, toner, make-up, anything, and you are trying to make a sale. If you discover the prospective customer person being Analytical, you better show the numbers. If they are a Driver, you better talk big results! If you are talking to an Amiable, you better talk kindly. If they are an Expressive, you better get emotional! If you are talking to a couple, then find out which one the Driver is and which one is the Amiable, (most couples are opposites, or should I say complementary) and talk to each of them in their personality. Sometimes the man is the Amiable, so you never know until they talk. If you get two Drivers, it is an easier sell. If you get two Analytical, or two indecisive Amiables, good luck! Remember in sales, opposites don’t attract, but birds of the same feather definitely flock together!
During the training, Floyd showed us a very revealing video. In it, they showed random people, being asked: What is the first thing they would do if they won a million dollars? The Drivers first wanted to buy a business and invest in real estate. The Expressives talked about how it would “feel” to have a million dollars first, then about buying new sets of clothes, new cars, makeovers, to make themselves look better. The Analyticals immediately asked how much they would really get after taxes. The Amiables first talked about sharing the money with their families and then giving a percentage to a charity or a church. They interviewed about twenty-five different people, and there wasn’t a majority of one personality that stood out. Most people responded with two or more personalities. They would say “invest the money first, then buy luxury items for themselves, then give some away.” So that person is more Driver than Amiable. Some people said: “Help out my family and friends in need, then maybe invest.” Then that person is more Amiable than Driver. The key was what was the “first thing” they would do.
If at this moment you are asking: “Robert, I am not or never will be a sales person. In fact, I truly hate the sales world! How would this help me?”
My response is this: When I first absorbed this “Four Personality Types” in my brain, I didn’t think much of it. Then I slowly realized that these personalities are present in every situation! I was totally applying it on an everyday basis. Look at yourself. You are at least two of these four! Look at you friends and family. Is you mother an amiable? Everyone has an Amiable brother or sister, the one who doesn’t like confrontations. My mother is definitely the Driver! She single-handedly took us all to America. My father is definitely an Amiable! He explodes once in a while! I got my mom’s Driver side, and some of my dad’s Amiable side, the sharing side. Look at the people you know at work, your friends. Who is the Analytical? Who is the Driver who doesn’t share anything, and the Expressive one doing art or music, which one is he? Go to a social gathering, a party, or a nightclub. The Expressives always stand out! The Amiables won’t dance. Neither will the Analyticals! The guy or girl who’s hosting the gathering? Probably an Expressive-Driver!
I will end this column with this story. I was once in line at the supermarket, and I swear to God I saw all four personalities in strangers within two minutes. The Driver kept asking for another cashier to open. The Expressive was trying to strike a conversation with another guy in line. The Amiable was helping the cashier bag her groceries, after giving a dollar to some school function. Then you know what the Analytical was doing? Making sure the prices on his receipt was accurate! If you want to know, I never check the receipt, but I do ask for cashiers to open a new line, and strike conversations with strangers. I’m definitely an Expressive–Driver!
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Monday, January 7, 2008 - To Love Is To Suffer!
I was fortunate enough to learn from a priest! Circa 2000, I met a priest who offered what he called a “What is Faith” class. As he explained, he was only a couple of years removed from the seminary, so he wanted to “regurgitate” what he had learned! He was an engineer prior to “finding his calling”, so his explanations were very well balanced. I, and about ten other fortunate people, we’re at the right place at the right time. The class was on Thursday eves from seven to nine, for six months, and I did not miss one class! I learned “the big picture” about my Christian faith, and understood what the Bible is all about, without having to memorize it!
After the class, I was asked by the Youth Director of the church to teach Confirmation, and I gladly obliged. I taught for five years, from 2001 to 2005. I gained a totally new respect for anyone who taught! At the end of these Confirmation classes, the entire Youth Group were invited to attend a “retreat” up in the mountains, right before they graduate. I was always invited to do a “talk”, and this was one of them. I gave this talk in 2003.
I recently came across the meaning of the word “patient”. It is a Greek derived word, meaning, “to suffer”. “What a cool word”, I thought! Then I came across one of the most famous passages from the Bible, Corinthians 13. If you’ve ever been in a Christian wedding, you most likely have heard of it. It’s the one that goes:
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude and it is not self-seeking. It is not easily angered; it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices in the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres.”
In other words, to love is to suffer! How enlightening! Paul, the man who wrote this letter to the Greeks, was trying to define the word love. So what’s his first and foremost definition? To love is “to suffer”! Paul would eventually be canonized. A saint. But man did he suffer!
Now the fog gets lifted. Patience in love. Patience in growth. Patience in relationships. Patience in healing. Patience in waiting. Isn’t that what our existence is all about? “Always pain before the child is born”, so the saying goes. And how many times have you heard: “You’ve got to pay your dues!” “You’ve got to suffer before you make it, then the treasure is so worth gaining!” So very true.
Have you ever been to Disneyland? It is the happiest place on earth. It is absolutely heaven for most people. The rides, the colors, the childhood characters, the smiles on kids’ faces, the food, the fun, the fun, the fun! You love your kids, so where do you take them? You go to Disneyland!
But if you really think about it, what do you mostly do at Disneyland?
That’s right. You suffer! All the waiting! Your tired feet! Then you wait some more. The prices of everything! Then wait even more!
But like life, it’s worth every second of pain!
To love is to suffer!
Be patient. Keep working hard. Keep going. You’ll make it!
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Monday, January 7, 2008 - We Are All Pirates
We are all pirates. We are all on the high seas. On a ship called Earth. Searching for that treasure. This “treasure”, so what is it? It might be just enough to get us through the day, or the month, or the year. Or it might make us rich and prosperous beyond our wildest dreams, for the rest of our very long lives! It is what makes us get on the ship and travel aimlessly through treacherous seas and storms, do | | |
