The Connotation of Stress...

Ongoing stress creates an energetic environment, affecting town and country, spreading from nation to nation, causing disharmony, disease, storms and wars. The heart's intelligence can help to dissipate these negative stressful energies, giving people a fresh start in learning how to get along and live stress free. As enough people learn about emotional fitness, it will cause a global shift into new consciousness that many are talking about, and then quality of life has a chance of becoming better for the whole.

My new toy...

I did a little shopping on the internet and I have spent 8.8 Billion Euro dollars on my new A380-800 toy. It's not exactly going to be ready yet but I do have an order in place and I expect it to land in Hanoi within the end of this year.My initial layout plans was to seat 20 people and have a large indoor street hockey rink so we can play while traveling from Hanoi to Healthrow. After our long exhausting game at 10,000 meters' high, we can watch the NHL finals on the big screen T.V with our specially imported Molson Canadain beverages and a BBQ with a specially designed smoke ventilation system. What do you think? Anyone want in?

"Welcome to Scotty's Airlines, please fasten your seat belt and a sexy flight attendant will shortly come and assist you in making your flight a passionate event you will never forget."

The Metro Sexual adventures continues...

Took the weekend off from any IT devices (Does an I-pod count?) and did absolutely nothing except that Minh Nguyet and I went for a massage at a local high end massage parlor. The experience was amazing and I decided for my readers that I would describe my whole ordeal that happened from 8:00 pm to 10:30 pm.

There are two different kinds of saunas (Dry and Wet)... Pretty weird actually... I would recommend doing the wet experience first before going into the dry. Honestly don't ask me why...

After the sauna, I had this soothing peaceful bath with a Vietnamese male staff (don’t ask questions ok Phil?) wash my back with a wet towel. Vicariously going up and down to the point I was ready to pass out. Once again, I will remind you of the fact I am not gay or metro sexual ok?

Long hot steamy shower where the water comes directly above you instead of mounted on the wall angled towards your head and face. It was sort of something of the scene of survivor with palm trees & coconuts and the scenic ocean in the distance but you know you are not getting voted of the island.

Then the interested Vietnamese male wet towel back rubber asked me to put on a towel and follow him to the elevator. Yes, this place has 10 floors with each floor specialize in a specific function of the treatment cycle. I have to admit I feel like a mad cow going through many examination-test workstations with a Hawaiian Pina Colada in one hand and sun tan lotion in the other. I was greeted by a young Vietnamese women with big hands (I had to do the handshake) as I hoped into the elevator.

On the 6^th floor, there were many massage tables with candles, incense, soft music and white towels everywhere. The Vietnamese women asked me to enter this room where she asked me to take off my towel and lie down on the bed head into the massage table hole. At that time, I was sooo sleepy and relaxed (see above) to know that I was standing there naked in front of the massage therapist ready to be beaten softly to death. She placed a blanket on top of me and started working on various body parts (no funny ideas ok Phil?) with massage oil that smells like I feel down a hole full of flowers petals soft and full of flavor. At this point, I have already passed out.

I woke up to a tap on my shoulder and she already asked me to turn around. Once again I passed out while she was working on the front sections (once again no funny ideas ok Phil?)

Finally everything was done and I took a nice warm soothing shower to wash the oil and went back upstairs to visit my newly wanted to be gay Vietnamese male assistance and put back my clothes on before I went downstairs to pay for the bill. Once again, I am not gay or metro sexual.

So yeah… my whole passionate, gay-want to be loving, aroma smelling, calming, relaxing, soothing, gentle massage after a long stressful week, only cost me a merely 20 US dollars. Honestly where can you beat this price? Huh? Well at least I already convince my friends to join me next time to verify that this story is indeed a chronological event that was experienced by the Passionate traveler.

You were there all the time...

How I feel about my mother is deeper than words can say
I think of courage, beauty, faith, and the kindest person in every way
She helped me feel beautiful and talented when others said I was not
She carried many of my childhood heartaches so a lot of the pain I have now forgot
Unselfishly she concealed her own personal problems so much that to all of us children she always seemed glad
showering color into my life is what she does, especially on days that I am sad
I don't understand how she was able to raise two children all on her own
My mom is truly a queen just minus the throne
There is no word that can define the way I feel about a lady so fine
My mother has taught me about unconditional love, faith and hope
This amazing woman is my mother, my greatest friend, my hero, and I am forever grateful that she is mine

Happy Mother's day!!!!

With Love....
--Scotty
xxoo

The day of agony…

My rookie manager year has taken another hit leaving me with chaos and questionable repercussions from the management of the school. I was privately asked to investigate one of my members of the IT department for a serious matter that can acutely affect the confidence of users in their usage of IT within the workforce. Keeping a long story short, we had to release the employee for overly abusing his administrative rights on the computer systems and reading other people’s emails.

Initially, I was asked if the system was technically competent of producing an error from our limited email server software that maybe perceived as a hic-up. After three days of my cyber-detective skills, I manage to rule-out the technical glitches and found out that one of my own employees did in fact read email transmissions between two senior managers and my communications between myself and my boss. I can visualize the long hours sitting in the Building 7 conference room with older members of the administration who know nothing about technical cyber investigation relying on me to show them the facts in a non-technical way. After proving and securing the hard evidence (yes we did put a tape around the crime scene and dusted for finger prints) I was asked to bring him over to the Head of the School’s office for questioning. After a long two hours, he still denied how he was technically able to read the email messages but finally confessed to opening emails that were not intended to be delivered to him. His final answer was that he was looking for information in regards to the school’s pension plan for the local staff.

My feelings of this event have completely traumatized me where I am trying my best to build and maintain a 300 computer network and protect the data from un-authorized access. It is my responsibility as a manager to be accountable for what happened and to effectively deal with the issues and set the school’s IT systems into a better position. I am currently down one person who was very technically knowledgeable and educated leaving me to perform two job positions until we hire another IT staff member. I have already drafted a re-organization document with more comprehensive job descriptions which hopefully bring more structure into the young IT department. I know it’s something that the school has been loathing for months.

This situation has brought more inspiration and enthusiasm into my job because I am no longer setting up a school’s infrastructure but merely to secure and bring in the policies needed to maintain the infrastructure that gets heavily used by nearly 1000 people per school day.

I am very disappointed of the loss but relieve of the self mental gain in my management skills and realize what is needed to further my career and education in this volatile and dynamic information technology world.

Remembering Tiger's Dad...

The following interview appeared in the February, 2004 issue of Golf Digest.

Clubs like Augusta National don't discriminate. They just don't want you. There's a difference. It's a bitch not being wanted by something or someone, which is why divorces are so difficult. But I've learned to handle rejection very well. If you love yourself enough, you won't give a damn if they want you or not.

Tiger's birthday is Dec. 30, which meant he got presents at Christmas and another batch five days later. When he was 5, he started claiming he got only half a Christmas and half a birthday. He thought we bought one batch of presents and split them. I never could convince him otherwise. He left Santa Claus out of the debate and focused on Tida and me. He did get more presents. Smart kid.

When we Green Berets were in Alaska on maneuvers for a long time, nothing tasted better than hobo coffee. We'd fill a can with water, boil it, pour in some coffee and let it brew. When it was done, we'd throw a little snow in the can, which made the grounds instantly settle to the bottom. At that point we'd dip our cups. Then we'd pour in more water and brew the same grounds. We'd do this over and over. None of the grounds got in the cup, and we'd get 10 batches of coffee from a handful of grounds.

I was in the recovery room after my heart operation, with my wife and Tiger by my side. Suddenly I was in this tunnel with a bright light at the end. It got brighter, but there was no sense of moving toward it. I felt better than I ever did my entire life. Then a voice says, "Are you all right?" and it jarred me back to this Earth. Next thing I know the nurse -- it was her voice; she'd rushed in -- was jacking me full of adrenaline. My blood pressure had gone almost to zero, and I had, in fact, died for a second. It scared the hell out of Tiger. Me, all I felt was a momentary pang of regret that I was back in the hospital. That tunnel was so peaceful, just like people describe. I haven't feared death since.

At age 6, Tiger signed for a wrong scorecard. It was at the Junior World in San Diego, on the par-3 Presidio Hills course. He made a par on a hole, but the scorekeeper for the group put down a birdie. Tiger signed his card and was disqualified. Afterward, making sure Tiger was standing right there, I lectured the scorekeeper. Tiger stood there scowling, like, You tell 'em, Dad. But the lecture was for show; I winked at the scorekeeper as I talked. I wheeled on Tiger, and in a stern tone asked, "Did you sign this?" Tiger said, "Yes." I said, "Did you check it?" Now Tiger looked nervous. "No, Daddy." I told him to never trust anyone else with your scorecard. Never. Tiger's little eyes were as big as teacups. That was the end of it. He hasn't signed a wrong scorecard since.

Tiger was 4. I'd say, "Why are you hitting your ball over there, Tiger?" And he'd say, "Because there's a sand twap." "Why are you going that way?" "Because there's wawa." It was course management. To this day, it may be his greatest strength.

Tiger had a stuttering problem in the first grade. Tida and I couldn't figure out why. Even the speech therapist was stumped. Then it dawned on us: Tida talked to him in Thai, and I talked to him in English. When Tiger spoke, he talked in English. The thing was, he didn't want to listen or speak in Thai. His mind was rebelling. We stopped talking in Thai, and his stuttering ceased.

Here's how you teach a child to putt. Place a ball in their right hand and have them stand sideways, like you do at address. Ask them to swivel their head sideways and look at the hole. Ask them, "Do you see the picture?" Have them look down and back up at the target two more times, allowing them to ingrain that picture in their minds. Now say, "Toss the ball across your body to the picture." It works. It makes putting intuitive. The first time I tried it with Tiger, he tossed the ball to within six inches of the hole. When I eventually handed him a putter, he did even better. He used this technique to make the crucial putt on the third playoff hole against Ernie Els in the Presidents Cup.

When Venus Williams won Wimbledon, there was her father, standing up with a sign that read, "It's Venus' party, and no one's invited." I couldn't imagine doing something like that. It would embarrass Tiger, and it would embarrass me. It infuriates me when people compare me to Richard Williams, because I don't respect him.

If you're seven-eighths Irish and one-eighth Indian, you're Irish. If you're seven-eighths Irish and one-eighth black, you're black. Why is that?

Years ago the Army sent me to Germany. My first wife came with me. A landlord took us downtown to show us an apartment. And we caused a traffic jam. I mean gridlock. People got out of their cars, pointing at us as though we were aliens. I asked the landlord what they were talking about. "They're looking for your tails," he said. "When the white soldiers came through here in World War II, they told us black people had tails." Now, you can't blame the Germans for thinking we had tails. But it bothered me that American soldiers would perpetuate such a thing.

I could quit smoking if I wanted to. I have tremendous willpower. A while back I quit for 18 months. But then I went to my daughter's college graduation. Got stuck in my ex-wife's house with all her relatives. I snapped and lit up. Been smoking ever since.

Lying about your score or cheating at golf is really stealing. They constitute the worst kind of stealing, which is stealing from yourself. There is no end to the misery this brings on a person. I taught this to Tiger at a very young age, and to this day he's incapable of lying. He may not give you a full answer, but he never lies. The one time Tiger lied as a boy, he got physically ill.

When you get angry, you give up power. You allow outside influences to harm your greatest asset -- yourself. That's why I've gotten angry at someone only twice in my life. The subject of my anger I'll keep to myself. But that person said it was very frightening.

My mother told me I was as good as anybody else, but to have an equal chance, I'd have to do better than the next person. She told me never to judge anybody, to devote myself to being proactive, positive and constructive. That's how I've run my life, and as a result I haven't had time to feel bitter or hostile about the inequities associated with being a black man in America.

Race consciousness and prejudice will never disappear in America. It can't, because it's embedded in our language. A minute ago you referred to "little white lies." Why isn't it a "little black lie?" Why is it blackmail and not "whitemail?" Why do good guys wear the white hats? Invariably, the word black is used to refer to something derogatory, dangerous or inferior. It creates a stigma, and so long as it exists -- and I can't imagine it ever changing -- there will be a separation between black and white.

I was watching a documentary about the famine in Ethiopia. Tiger, who was 4, saw the distended bellies and the inability of the children to even swat flies off their faces. Tiger disappeared into his bedroom and came back with his gold-coin collection. "Daddy, can we give this to help those little kids?" I accepted it, and sent the cash equivalent to a doctor friend who was serving in Ethiopia. Tiger doesn't know it, but I still have those gold coins. One day, when the time is right, I'll give them back to him and recall that moment, which brought tears to my eyes.

Food has to taste good, look good and smell good to be good. Collard greens, contrary to what Fuzzy Zoeller said, don't fit the bill.

I love golf, but my first love was baseball. I was a catcher. When I was 12, Roy Campanella and Satchel Paige came through town on a barnstorming tour. They let me be the bat boy because my dad was the scorekeeper. While they were warming up, I asked Roy if I could catch Satchel. He handed me his mitt and said, "Don't hurt yourself, boy." I said, "Don't worry. I've got a major-league arm." Campanella giggled at that. I said, "By the way, tell Satch that after he throws his last pitch, he'd better duck, because I'm gonna throw the ball right through his chest. Roy just shook his head. Satch's first pitch came in real easy. I threw it back harder than he threw it to me. Satch threw the next one harder. So did I. By the time he threw his last warm-up pitch, he was really bringing it. And when I caught it, I sprang out of my crouch and threw it right where Satchel's chest was. You better believe he got out of the way. The second baseman caught the ball ankle-high, on the right-hand side of the bag. Roy said, "Boy, you really do have a major-league arm." I did have a good arm. And I can say that I caught the great Satchel Paige.

My mother insisted that I speak in good, clear English. No sloughing off on my e's, f's and t's. Learn good grammar. If I had said "ax" when I meant "ask," she would have been all over my case. Today, I concur with Thurgood Marshall -- there is nothing wrong with speaking the language of your culture when you're within that culture. But to be upwardly mobile in society, one must learn to speak the best English that one can.

Yes, Tiger is known to swear on the course. You can't have it both ways. You can't have the fire, intensity, competitiveness and aggressiveness if you don't blow off steam. Profanity is the language of youth. I don't say it's right, I just say that's the way it is.

Before I left for my second tour of Vietnam, the Army assigned a demolitions expert to me. This man was an expert at hurting people, and he loved his work. He was a genius at creating special booby traps and tripwires, all sorts of custom-made devices designed to inflict maximum pain and damage. It's all he talked about. We'd send him out to prepare a perimeter, and in an hour he'd come back with a look of great satisfaction on his face. "Nobody's coming through there, sir," he'd say, and I knew he meant it. I was glad he was on our side, but eventually I was glad to get away from him. He scared the hell out of me.

The secret to being a good player is balance. I don't mean keeping your equilibrium. I mean placing an equal emphasis on driving, iron play, short game and putting. It's the most obvious thing, but very few players have balance. And almost nobody works to correct it.

Most people cannot or will not discuss their combat experiences. It's too traumatic and painful for them. I saw all the things you see in war -- dead bodies, brains all over the place, friends dying -- and I can talk about it. I had a mind-set that this was war, and that it doesn't make a lot of sense, but I had a job to do. I didn't overanalyze it. I loved myself too much to let it take something away from me.

Many times I've been in bed and it's 1 a.m. and I'm tired but don't want to go to sleep because I don't want the day to end. My goal is to enjoy every minute of every day, squeeze every bit out of it that I can. I have a hard time looking ahead because I'm so involved with what's going on right now. I love living life.

To a golfer at Tiger's level, a good caddie is as important as a good wife. There has to be a chemistry between the two, and the caddie must have great technical ability. There cannot be one shred of doubt in the player's mind that what the caddie is suggesting is correct. Some people think the caddie is overrated. I see it just the opposite.

Many years ago I attended a self-help seminar. One of the exercises concerned money. They asked us to write down on a piece of paper the material things we desired to have in a two-week period. Then we wrote down what we wanted in a month, three months, six months, a year and five years down the road. I forgot about the seminar, and 10 years later I accidentally came across my lists. I laughed, because I had everything I'd wanted. On the list was a sports car. Well, I had two. I also put down that I wanted $10,000 in the bank. I had a lot more than that. These things seemed as far away as the moon when I wrote them down. They in fact were right around the corner.

The Bible says the love of money is the root of all evil, but I'm not so sure. There are a lot of poor countries with all the evil you'd want. The desire for power is much more corruptive.

The worst part of getting older is realizing what you could have accomplished if you'd known then what you know now. Every old person, no matter how content they seem, feels that sense of regret. It's a bitch, but it's part of life. So be nice to me.

I acquired some knowledge of geopolitics through my two tours of Vietnam. I can unequivocally say that as hairy as things are in Iraq, the situation would be apocalyptic if we pulled out. Civil war, reprisals and bloodshed like you can't imagine. I support our involvement there totally, for humanitarian reasons. At a minimum.

Listen to Tiger when he loses. He does it graciously. He acknowledges that the other guy was the better golfer that day. The one thing he doesn't say is that the other guy was better over all.

Tiger has tried all kinds of creative ways to get me to give up cigarettes. I appreciate that, but he might as well be talking to a tree. We have an understanding. When our plane lands in Hong Kong, Tiger gets the baggage. I go to the curb and smoke.

Tiger and I were in our motel at a junior tournament. He was 11. Out of the blue he asked, "What's male menopause?" We talked about it for an hour. Then he asked, "What's the immigration policy of Australia?" That took another hour. Tiger then said, "Dad, what's ... " I didn't let him finish. I put his butt in bed.

There's one thing about my smoking that Tiger has either forgotten or never listened to in the first place. I don't inhale.

Kindred: Remembering Earl Woods as caring, not carried away

He once predicted his famous golfing son would “do more than any other human in history to change the course of humanity.” He compared Tiger Woods to Gandhi and Nelson Mandela, telling TV Guide that meeting Mandela “was the first time Tiger met a human being who was equal to him … who was as powerful as he is.”

Clearly, Earl Woods could get carried away. That was never much of a secret, even to those of us in the farm belt. So when he came to Bloomington in June 2001, as guest speaker for a BroMenn Foundation event at Illinois Wesleyan, a question begged: Was Woods’ perspective only occasionally missing in action, or lost altogether?

The answer came during an interview hours before Woods’ Shirk Center appearance. A few minutes in, it was apparent this was not a delusional maniac, but a loving father who shared far more than golf with his superstar son.

Earl Woods spoke of a Tiger only he knew on that Thursday afternoon, revealing that beneath the sweet swing and major championships was a guy with vices and flaws, just like you and me.

He told of a Tiger who at 9 years old reveled in playing tackle football with friends on a school parking lot, com-ing home with a broad smile and bloodied elbows and knees. Once, he returned to the doorstep in his friends’ arms, having run into a tree while chasing a punt.

Earl Woods admitted being embarrassed at Tiger’s childhood Christmas programs, saying, “He can’t carry a tune in a bucket.” The elder Woods added his son “has very little rhythm,” and that he grew up loving cartoons, video games, junk food and rap music.

This was a father who groomed his son for greatness on greens and fairways throughout the country, yet also played Nintendo with him (and lost) back at the hotel.

Likely, those moments are foremost in Tiger Woods’ mind today as he deals with his father’s death. Earl Woods died of cancer Wednesday at age 74, having seen his son evolve from a kid who feasted on tacos and McDonald’s hamburgers into the best golfer on the planet.

Earl Woods played a huge role in that development, supplying training, love and support. Tiger Woods was a natural from the beginning, appearing on the “Mike Douglas Show” at age 2 and shooting a 48 on the back nine of a public course as a 3-year-old.

Yet, his father provided the tools to hone those skills and feed Tiger’s passion, part of Earl Woods’ “game plan” for his son. They were in the car and in hotels a lot together, traveling to and from amateur tournaments from their California home.

Eventually, trophies and medals won in relative obscurity were replaced by multimillion-dollar paychecks and titles on a world stage. Earl Woods said in 2001 he saw it coming all along, and was determined to “prepare Tiger for responsibility.”

“I knew what Tiger was going to be … how good he was going to be and what he would do to the game of golf,” Earl Woods said that day. “The plan was for up close and personal support, and then as he matured and was able to handle the responsibility, to turn things over to him and pull back.”

The elder Woods did so in 2000, and Tiger won three of the four major championships. He was ready for what-ever pressures the game and his celebrity status could throw at him, just as Dad envisioned.

Earl Woods also looked forward to the day Tiger, through his charitable Tiger Woods Foundation, could have “an impact on children’s lives throughout the world,” and thus help “change the course of humanity.”

He did not live to realize that dream, and now must oversee its progress from heaven. He earned his place there, not by producing a sports legend, but joining Kultida Woods in raising a respectful and responsible son.

Earl Woods wasn’t crazy … just crazy about his child and what they gave one another.

There is no sweeter victory, even for Tiger Woods...