Nary Christmas

It wasn't a very satisfying Christmas. Work was a major distraction. We didn't have a very spiritual Christmas Eve. And our family struggled to gather together at one time. But I think I could have gotten over all of those things were it not for the one missing ingredient: I didn't serve. Oh, we tried to do a few things. I bought a couple of gifts, but never really got into it. Lanee and I made almond bark, and the family visited some families to pass out the candy and do a little presentation. I bought a recent widow a book of poetry. And that was it. No real sacrifice. No sustained effort. Not much interest in brightening lives. And a Christmas virtually lost.

It is easy to decry the destructive forces of commercialism in Christmas. It's obvious that we have completely lost the meanings of the symbols we take from the attic every December to decorate our houses. And it's all too convenient to complain about the hustle and bustle every year, and Christmas sneaking up on us, like it does to everyone, every year.

It's easy to sing the carols without being touched. To wrap the gifts as a matter of course. To substitute funny Christmas movies for thoughtful ones.

But the one act that overpowers them all is when we give of ourselves for the sake of others; when our hearts are filled with love and compassion, and our hands are busy trying to make a difference. That is Christmas pure and undefiled, and without it nothing else matters.

It would be painful to have to wait until next year for redemption. Fortunately, only the holiday is confined to December. With that thought, I'm hanging a lovely Christmas ornament in my closet that I will see every morning and every night, to remind me that giving is also a beautiful thing, and that the spirit of Christmas can be all year long, even without the bells and tinsel.

Cha-Ching!

After a month of soliciting and selling, convincing and cajoling, presenting and pleading, and grunting and groveling, we put our financing in place for our retail expansion. Money was wired to us yeterday, and we wired it out to display manufacturers, who wired it to China, who probably started parsing it out to the millions of workers who make stuff over there, to the tune of a few dollars a day.

I suppose I should celebrate, but I never do. It is both a blessing and curse. I breathe deeply for a few minutes, smile about a milestone reached, then immediately begin worrying about what needs to be done next to ward off disaster. I've never been able to enjoy any success for very long. But the bitterness of my failures is a taste that lingers on forever. As a result, I'm not driven by the trappings of success, but rather by the fear of failure.

We're all driven by different things. I've grown comfortable with my motivations and doubt that they will change. I wear them like an old pair of shoes--scuffed tops and worn heels, but they are comfortable and fit me well.

Merritt James

Our second grandchild announced himself to the world this morning. Mom, Sam and I were in the waiting room while Merritt and Stacie finished a long night of labor. He is a handsome little guy (6 lbs. 14 oz.) with lots of dark hair. They named him Merritt James, but plan to call him James.

There is something very mellowing about the birth of a new child--at least, once the birth is concluded! Everyone is softened. We dim the lights and speak in hushed tones. And we gently pass the child from person to person, and stand in line to get our touch of love, as if something magical will rub off on us.

Merritt and Stacie will be wonderful parents and I look forward to watching young James explore this brave new world, and the strange creatures in it. Yesterday I only had one grandchild, who I love with all my heart. But today I have a second who I love just as much. That's the thing about love--you can give all you want without running out.

Christmas Ditty

Last night we visited families in our neighborhood with this message:

'Twas a week before Christmas
And all through our Stake
We thought we'd find out
Just who was awake.

Perhaps you were nestled
All snug in your bed;
And the sound of the doorbell
Brought nothing but dread.

And when you discretely
Glanced from the curtain
And saw it was us,
Well you groaned, I am certain.

Maybe our visit here
Should be explained.
Don't think for a minute
You'll be entertained.

We had visions of caroling--
Our own little choir.
But calling us singers
Would make you a liar.

We considered performing
A play in three acts.
But as thespians go
We're a sad bunch of hacks.

It's not like we're visiting
The entire ward--
Just those that we thought
Might be home and be bored.

So let's get to the point,
Let's get right to the facts:
We wanted to come by
And bring you some snacks.

'Cause a week before Christmas
is a time that is right
To give you our love
On this cold snowy night.

And to bring you some sweets
And a bit of good cheer;
And wish Merry Christmas
And Happy New Year!

Money-Raising Part III

It's not that I'm obsessed with money-raising, but it's been such a big part of my life recently. Today I went to a Speed-Pitching Luncheon, and presented our business to 10 different angel investor groups in rapid succession. There's something a little bit demeaning about summing up your business in five minutes, a little like an obituary, except no one asks nasty questions after you are dead.

The concept was modeled after Speed-Dating gatherings, which have become quite the rage of late. But they did not exist when I was in season. We had Bridgemans, which served great chocolate malts, and a roller skating rink and big parks and hockey games and a five-mile stretch of beach called Park Point. If you couldn't meet a girl in one of these places, you were probably better off single. I doubt that I would have been a good speed dater. I think I'm more of an acquired taste.

Today's Observation: There is nothing more dangerous than a venture capitalist that made money as an entrepreneur selling a business. Now he thinks he's an expert at everything. He was probably awfully lucky, but is convinced it's because he was smarter than everyone else. Do not let these people on your board!

Today's Commitment: If I ever make enough money to be an angel investor I will not be a jerk and will treat people with respect.

Today's Conclusion: Still broke.

All Night Long

I pulled an all-nighter last night. It's been a while since I've done that, and I'm not exactly sure why I did. Maybe to try to trick myself into believing that I'm still young. But I was working at the office and experiencing this highly productive surge of energy and the night grew long and my to-do list grew short and then it was morning. So I grabbed some breakfast, worked out and came home to start my day normally, except for the fact my body kept reminding me that something very strange was going on. And my mind kept deserting me. And all of this has dashed my delusions of the limitless energy of an eternal youth.

Nevertheless, I like the idea of working all night. It screams of passion and dedication. It waves a flag of commitment above and beyond mortals who have chosen paths normal and sane. Yet there is a foolishness to the proposition that can only be attributed to a thirst for excellence, and a hunger for more better faster. There is a chaos in the act that appeals to the anarchist in me, as I pose chin-out in counter-cyclical defiance to the laws of commerce or physics.

I won't be young forever, even in my own mind. But if I am nimble old age can not creep up on me. And then one day I will pass that portal, with a bowed head and creaking knees, in the middle of the night, while the watchman sleeps.

Money Raising: Part II

So there we were, Lee, Matt and me, having an investment discussion with a guy who has made quite a bit of money, and is now in the business of giving short-term loans at usurious interest rates. It's not pretty, but it may be our best option to fund our retail deal.

But here's the thing--this guy likes us and believes in our product. He wants to help. But he knows how onerous his terms are. So he doesn't really want us to take it. He's like a friendly loan shark.

And here's the other thing--he looked miserable. He's making lots of money, but agonizes over possibly making a deal that might not be more lucrative than the last. He looks pained, like a man wrestling with his conscience. We all may be broke and sacrificing paychecks, but I think we sleep well, and we were smiling and comfortable. We all commented that it looked like he hadn't slept in a week.

Investing in us is a moral decision for him. He's known that for some time, as he almost invested a year ago. It doesn't matter nearly as much to us as it does to him, because he is wracked with guilt over choosing money over his desire to help.

Everything in life has a price tag. But wealth is often the worst value.

Raising Money

There are few things so inherently demeaning as raising money. Oh, it's one thing when times are good (OK, like they are now) and you have a great story to tell (I thought we did). Then it's shooting ducks on the pond, as we used to say. But generally the process of fund-raising is a relentless task, filled with endless rejections and excruciating frustration.

One annoying reality is that most people with money to invest think they are brilliant. They made their money because they were smarter than the other guys. And now, in 45 minutes, they can drill down to the very essence of your business and understand the secrets which have eluded the principals for the five years they have labored long and hard to build it. Their reasons for investing in A or rejecting B often can't stand up to any scrutiny but their own. But frankly, they are absolutely entitled to their opinion. It's their money, and how they evaluate investments is their inalienable right.

We have been out pounding on doors now for over a month. We are doubling our volume organically, have a major retail account in hand for 2007 (that will give us another 600% growth), very good momentum, no more legal entanglements and a management team that has, by most accounts, pulled off the seemingly impossible. And we haven't been able to put the cash together to fund the retail expansion.

Admittedly it's not all glitter and fairy dust. Our balance sheet suffered from litigation expenses and we have very tight timing on the raise. (I'm convinced that if we didn't need the money now, we could put together a very nice VC round in March or April.) We're stuck as a "tweener." We don't have time to raise an institutional round, but we need more money than private investors are typically comfortable with.

This is a long sob story, recorded for posterity perhaps. But it is what it is. I have become an organ grinder, playing my heart out on the busy streets of commerce, but my monkey keeps returning with an empty cup.

If we can't fund this retail deal it will blow up in our faces. Our reputation will be shot. And all that we have fought and sacrificed for will be lost. Our success will be our failure. Life is full of ironies, both comic and tragic. But this is only money, and not funny enough to tell at parties, or tragic enough for sympathy cards. Maybe if I could teach the monkey to dance ...

Football Rivalry

BYU beat the University of Utah football team 33-31 yesterday at Rice-Eccles stadium. It was the culmination of a magical season for BYU, and especially senior quarterback John Beck. And it ended another annual "Rivalry Week" between the two schools, which got too heated, too personal, too vituperative, venemous and vindictive.

Angelica and I went to the game and we were fortunate to sit amongst BYU fans, and a few Ute backers that were very nice. In contrast, the line to the men's room (which was interminably long) was over-populated by Ute fans who drank too much beer during the first two quarters, leaving them with full bladders and empty heads.

The Utah fans in front of me also said that last year at BYU they were treated very rudely, so it goes both ways.

We ought to somehow rise above these primitive instincts. We are no longer warrior-tribes that must rise to a feverish pitch for battle; or nomadic hunters who require courage to fill the bellies of our women and children. No, we are a pampered society with too much time on our hands, and too little good sense to know how to use it. So we dress in red and blue and gratify ourselves by cheering the home team to victory, or wallowing in its defeat.

Next year I am going to the game in Provo. I am going to wear blue, and I am going to make it a point to do something nice for Utah fans.

Thankfully

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I like that it doesn't require a lot of preparation, other than cooking for the day. I like that it's always a four-day holiday weekend--the only one of the year. I like the big traditional meal. I like that it involves football. And I especially like the simple and unappreciated idea of remembering all the things we have to be thankful for.

Maybe it's because of these reasons that Thanksgiving has become a major event in our home. Because I like the holiday so much, we try to share it with family and friends. This year we played our traditional Turkey Bowl in our new ward. Rodger Pickett and his daughters were in town, spent Wednesday night with us and played football Thursday morning. Then the customary big dinner with family and friends from Park City and Salt Lake. Followed by lots of games, including something of a Settlers of Cataan marathon. And of course football. And then, as has become another tradition, officially starting the Christmas season by watching the movie Mixed Nuts.

None of these activities are particularly meaningful by themselves. But over time, they become important traditions for our family, anchors to our past that help define us, that give us something to look forward to, that give relevance to our gathering together.

I'm thankful for these traditions. I'm thankful for Thanksgiving. And I'm thankful for family and friends that make them enjoyable and meaningful.

Viva la County!

In 2005 I served on an advisory committee for Summit County to consider a change in our form of government. The seven of us met approximately twice a month for a year, in addition to various public hearings, research interviews and the like. After a year, we recommended a substantial change to our government structure, going from a three-person commission to a five-person council, and hiring a County Manager to assume all executive responsibilities, reporting to the Council.

The current County Commission approved the measure for the ballot this year, and on election day, despite strong opposition from current county employees, voters narrowly passed the recommendation. How narrow? The difference was only 236 votes out of nearly 11,000 cast.

I've always been attracted to politics, and even though I am no longer a Summit County citizen I was asked to serve on the Summit Steps Forward committee to help get the measure passed. I wrote numerous letters to the editor (from myself, and for others), manned a booth at the Farmers Market, did a radio interview and call-in, wrote emails, helped with publicity, etc.

And here's the gratifying thing--what I did mattered. Not just serving on the committee, which anyone could have done. But rather, getting actively involved in the political process. Volunteering. Serving. In fact, the vote was so close, that I suspect that there were hundreds of people who did something in support of the measure that turned out to make a crucial difference.

It's very easy in elections to assume that your efforts are lost in the tidal wave of the majority. And perhaps that is often the case, although I'm sure that someone's contribution is pivotal. But in this case, everyone who raised his or her voice may have provided the deciding call.

We throw our pebbles in the water and hope that in a sea of calm the ripples dance to distant shores.

In Memory of Laurence Lyon

I attended Laurence Lyons' funeral on Tuesday. It was one of the more interesting funerals I have been to. Laurence was a devoted husband and father, a talented musician and composer, and a well-versed LDS scholar. And I learned that his family called him "Laury," which I found surprising because he seemed so formal to me.

There was a lot of music, including several pieces that he had written. We sang one of his hymns. And there was a duet, and a string ensemble and a recording of a choir. It was all very appropriate, given the role music played in his life and heritage.

Sam and I have been home teaching Laurence and Donna for six months. He had been in and out of the hospital quite a bit over the past six weeks. We were by there about a month ago and I sensed a real change in him. He had softened (not that he was ever nasty, just a bit stiff, and perhaps judgmental). But I saw in his demeanor that he had experienced a change, and it occured to me that he was now seeing life from an eternal perspective. As we left the house, I commented that he was acting like a man who didn't have long to live. It was the same when Sam and I visited with them again a week later. He was positively chatty, which was unusual. (When I set up my first appointment, he said he'd like a 20-minute visit, with a lesson, and not much "chit-chat.")

I will remember him mostly by his impish grin, which came from the inside out, and genuinely reflected the pure delight of something he found clever or amusing. It was a boyish smile, and I delighted to see it. At the funeral, his brother described his sense of humor as "Puckish," and hearing that, the pieces fit together.

A great quote from the funeral, from his daughter. She said that as her father got older, he found household fix-it projects to take much more time and energy than previously. As a result, he had resolved to: "Never do anything for the first time." I wish I had said that.

I like funerals. There is such a sweet outpouring of emotions. And what a wonderful cultural tradition to gather together to learn of the best of people and to reflect on our fondest memories. It was good to know Laurence in life, and good as well to know him in death.

Stranger than Fiction

If you've seen the trailers, you know that in Stranger than Fiction, Harold Crick suddenly hears a narrative voice describing the occasional scenes he encounters in life. While one might naturally expect this to be troubling, the urgency to understand this curious phenomenon increases when the narrator drops the off-handed line that Harold's death is imminent. A shallow and boring IRS auditor, he seeks help first from a psychiatrist, then a literature professor (Dustin Hoffman), falls in love with an auditee (Maggie Gyllenhaal), and eventually discovers the author who is trying to finish Harold's story (Emma Thompson).

Maybe they should have called it Eternal Despair in an Author's Mind. Yes, this seemed a lot like the Charlie Kaufman movie that is one of my all-time favorites. And there are too many similarities to be accidental. Fiction is a surreal dramedy about a socially maladroit guy in his 30's (played by a wildly succesful comedic actor trying to make a transition)who has an unlikely romance with a wild and beautiful yet sensitive young woman. And both have a surprise ending.

Stranger than Fiction has a better supporting cast, including Emma Thompson, Dustin Hoffman and Queen Latifah, which adds some heft, but still doesn't make it as good as Eternal Sunshine because, frankly, it isn't written nearly as well. Fiction is also a funnier movie (particularly Hoffman), although most of the audience at my showing didn't recognize the humor. But in the end, Stranger than Fiction is a cool idea searching for a William Goldman to come in and make it a great movie.

Even more disappointing, Will Ferrell is miscast and turns in a woeful performance, either that or he's been watching too many Wes Anderson movies. And both Emma Thompson and Queen Latifah are workmanlike at best. But Maggie Gyllenhaal once again proves her mettle, and Dustin Hoffman (the greatest actor of his generation) further demonstrates his comedic range and extraordinary ability to make every role his own, unique creation. Without him, Stranger than Fiction would be tiresome, although even Hoffman can't overcome an uneven script.

This could have been a great movie. Instead, it is a singularly interesting idea of the interwoven realities of art and life that manages to mildly entertain as it meanders its way to the final chapter.

Crossing Arizona

I don't like propoganda films, especially documentaries.

Monday night we went to the Public Library for a showing of Crossing
Arizona, a documentary about illegal immigration from Mexico over the Arizona border. Producer Danny DeVivo (no, not Devito!) was there to talk about the movie, which purported to show all sides of a sticky and complex issue. But to me, it looked about as fair and balanced as Bill O'Reilly discussing Hillary Clinton.

Nevertheless, the movie had no obvious premise, glossed over the problems and offered no meaningful solutions or insights, except perhaps that George Bush and the conservatives are mean-spirited idiots. How else will the director get invited to the cool Sundance parties?

Tragically, over 3000 people have died on the Arizona border in the past 10 years, wheras prior to that none had. The cinematic finger keeps wanting to point to NAFTA as the cause, suggesting that subsidized U.S. produce flooding into Mexico has crippled the market for competing Mexican goods. Well, maybe that's part of it, but ... even the movie acknowledges that stiffened border policies in California and Texas in the 90's had a siphoning effect, leading more illegals to attempt the more dangerous Arizona route across the deserts. And while U.S. agricultural subsidies make an easy villain, the low prices probably have more to do with the same large-farm production efficiencies that have put most domestic small farmers out of business. And why didn't we learn why Mexico signed NAFTA in the first place? After all, at its conception it was supposed to benefit the Mexican economy. But unfortunately, even with the elimination of tarriffs, the Mexicans can't compete with the Chinese economic juggernaut fueled by ultra-cheap labor.

But somehow the filmmakers made this all look like George Bush's fault, even though Clinton signed NAFTA. I thought Bush was the guy that was at least floating solutions, while ost politicians preferred to ignore the problem as a no-win issue.

But what reallly bothered me was the emotional manipulation to sell a point of view. I didn't like the selective portrayal of the "Minutemen," the armed volunteer border patrol, who came across as racist zealots, hunting Mexicans like so many bucks and does. And I resented the lingering and sensational footage of the dead, pregnant Mexican woman. It's so easy on film to create good guys and bad guys. Give me a camera and a limited budget and I can make you love or hate almost anyone.

Crossing Arizona was at its best when showing the many selfless volunteers that place water along the routes to help save lives. These people aren't for or against illegal immigration. They are humanitarians. And above all, it was these individuals that I found most compelling.

There are no easy political solutions. Afterwards, DeVivo talked about the failed U.S. immigration policy, but without offering up alternatives. He has every right to make a political documentary if he wants, even a manipulative one that feigns impartiality. And I guess the audience had every right to react with anger and indignation, truth and reality notwithstanding. Welcome to America.

For People Who Talk

We often underestimate the importance of our words. Many people will rationalize their words with the explanation that they weren’t intended to be mean (or nasty, disrespectful, critical, etc.) but they were misinterpreted. The fact is, we are continually judged based on what others hear us say. If we’re misinterpreted, it’s our problem. Others can’t read our minds. And besides, almost every time I’ve heard these rationalizations, it occurs to me that they are exactly that—feeble attempts to logically justify poor judgment or thoughtless behavior.

Beyond their preeminent importance as a communication tool, words can be used to shape how we feel and think, to drive the subconscious in directions we would like it to go. It's not what goes in, but what comes out of the mouth that defiles us.

So here are my Ten Principles for People Who Talk, for your consideration:

1. Think before you speak. If I mastered this one principle, I would silence a fourth of my words and change another fourth.

2. The less “I’s” the better. So many of us want to talk about ourselves, not recognizing that the listener is politely bored. How about a few questions?

3. Quit complaining. Complaints are the static in life's radio. Everyone wants to change the channel.

4. Quit making excuses. Your friends don't need them and the rest won't believe them.

5. Don’t criticize. Didn't your mama teach you that if you don't have anything nice to say about someone ...?

6. Graciously give and receive compliments. This takes surprisingly little practice to master. Mainly sincerity. And if you don't immediately see something worth complimenting, look more closely.

7. Resist the urge to correct. Most egregious is that you might be wrong. But really, is it that important? Probably not.

8. Be an active listener. Don't do this to feign interest. Do it to enhance understanding and appreciation.

9. Be honest. It's easier, and usually more fun. And it's one less thing to worry about.

10. Overcome the desire to win. It's always a hollow victory. And in the same vein, only play "I can beat that" at frat parties.

11. Never pretend to know more than you do. 'Cause you don't, OK?

12. Remind yourself to Shut Up! Much better than waiting for someone else to remind you.

Imperfectly Perfect

I have become a fan of imperfection.

Not too much, mind you. But I have discovered that a couple of flaws here or there is preferable to the elusive ideal of exquisite perfection.

I discovered this paradox when we moved to our current house, which is older and smaller than other houses we have had in the past 20 years. The inconveniences became immediately apparent: There is no air conditioning on the main floor and we sometimes need fans in the summer. The living room is cold in the winter. My shower sprays water like a bad radiator hose. Our closet is small, and the door is so narrow you have to walk just right to get through with a laundry basket. There is no fan in the downstairs bathroom. There's not enough cupboard space anywhere. The refrigerator is small. There is a cellar that is accessed from outside the house. And the list goes on.

Day One I started noticing these things, but for some strange reason never really considered them as negatives. They instantly became part of the charm of the house, and I have mostly gotten used to them. But more importantly, I have grown comfortable with the realization the that the house is never going to be perfect. So I'm more relaxed. I don't feel the urge to pick up stuff all the time. I'm OK leaving my laptop on the counter, or a book lying near the fireplace. The old couch and the frayed rugs don't bother me as much in their new context. And I don't feel guilty about the little things that would be quickly attended to by someone more conscientous than myself.

Here's an example--our yard has several different kinds of grass (one of them is "crab"), a couple of bare spots around the edges, and the occasional mushroom patch in wet shady parts. It's the perfect yard to play in, and when Sam and his friends etch home plate into the lawn it's not such a big deal.

I think this is a good strategy for relationships, and probably for self-analysis as well. None of us is perfect, and the sooner we get used to that the happier we will be with our spouses, our children, our family, friends and co-workers, and ourselves.

I like our house. And I appreciate its charming imperfections. In fact, I wouldn't have it any other way. Except maybe the bathroom fan.

My Generations

A simple yet profound thought came to me today.

I suddenly realized that whether I want to or not, I will have a significant influence on dozens, or hundreds, or maybe thousands of lives. This will happen not as a result of my roles in business, or politics, or church or community. Rather, it is an inexorable function of being a father.

If years ago you would have asked me if I had some influence on how my children turned out, I suppose I would have answered in the affirmative. But now I have the privilege of observing living specimens; of seeing my children as fully grown adults. And only now am I beginning to appreciate how much is passed like a dowry from generation to generation--cultures, attitudes, values, interests, tastes, traditions and habits, to name a few. Some of these stick, and will be passed on to my children's children. And some will undoubtedly survive a generation or two beyond that. And in some small yet important way, I suspect that some threads of our parental influence will be woven into the lives of our descendants for many generations to come.

If I have raised my children mostly right, maybe they will be smart enough to eradicate most of the deficient parts of their inheritance. Maybe they will be more patient, will give gifts on time, will have family service activities and sing together. But just as well, I hope that somewhere down the line a child who has only known me by genealogy will nonetheless learn a poem that his father taught him, or camp in remote backcountry with her mother, or read philosophy or play touch football or have big Thanksgiving get-togethers or practice good table manners or have in his or her young life at least one baton that I once held and that had been passed from mother and father to daughter and son.

I will be more careful now with what I am leaving behind. I wish I had thought of this earlier.

Cardinals Win!

I love the World Series.

The St. Louis Cardinals just defeated the Detroit Tigers to win the Series in five games. TV ratings were down again, as Americans turned to Dancing with the Stars instead, and sportswriters grumbled about the small-town teams that lacked star-power and weren't scoring runs. But personally, I found the Cards' victory extremely satisfying.

Jeff Weaver pitched two outstanding victories. This is a guy who the Angels dumped mid-season. Same story with Preston Wilson, who was a mid-season pick-up from waivers and started in the outfield.

Tony LaRussa is a class act as a manager. He's got a brilliant baseball mind, he's a terrific leader and he's got great instincts.

I love Albert Pujols, who is the best player in the game even though he didn't have a great Series. And it was nice to see Jim Edmonds and Scott Rolen come through under the spotlight.

And little David Eckstein was the MVP, with timely hits and a .367 average. He's 5' 7" of scrappy, competitive hustle that is distinguished by his irrepressible will to win. If you're a baseball fan, you can't help but admire David Eckstein, who was cut from his college team. LaRussa says he's the toughest player he's ever managed.

I feel badly for Jim Leyland, who is another great, great manager. But what he's done with the Tigers is not diminished at all by the loss.

I remember watching the Tigers and Cards play the 1968 World Series, with stars such as Bob Gibson, Curt Flood, Roger Maris, Lou Brock, Orlando Cepeda, Al Kaline, Denny McLain and Mickey Lolich. Back then there were day games during the week, but my sixth-grade teacher Mrs. Rudaseal was a baseball fan and had a television wheeled to our rooms where we watched the games. It made the whole thing seem so ... important, like a foreign invasion or presidential election. I can still recall the entire line-ups from both teams. Tiger sluggers Al Kaline and Norm Cash carried Detroit offensively. But Lou Brock had an amazing Series, with 13 hits and 7 stolen bases. He just dominated the attention in every game.

Still, the real storyline was the picthing. Denny McLain won 31 games that year and was the Game 1 starter, losing to Gibson, who had perhaps the finest year ever for a starting pitcher, with a 1.12 ERA. But it was Mickey Lolich (aka The Fat Guy), who won three games to lead the Tigers, beating Bob Gibson 4-1 in Game 7. He also hit the only home run of his career in Game 2, and was the World Series MVP. Both Gibson and Lolich pitched 27 innings and had identical ERA's of 1.67!

It was one of the greatest World Series of all time and I watched every minute of every game and it was that October of my 11th year that I became a baseball fan for life.

Ala Carte Fantasy Football

Business Idea the 3rd

Fantasy Football has become extremely popular in the past few years. According to one research firm, 36 million participate during the pro season. But its strength is also it's weakness--you sign up for a season and slog your way through 16 games, assuming you are fortunate enough to make the playoffs.

So why not have the option to play on a one-week basis? There are a number of ways you could do this, but perhaps the simplest is to pick players against their projections for the week. So basically, can you outsmart the experts. If Peyton Manning is projected to throw for 250 yards and 2 TD's and you think it will be a lot more than that, you pick Peyton as your quarterback.

The beauty of this is you can start anew every week, without paying the price all season long for a weak pre-season draft. You could have season-long leagues, monthly tournaments or simply weekly match-ups.

You could even theme these, maybe picking one team against another, or picking from one conference or division, or even one position, or any QB/WR combo, or whatever.

And of course, the idea could just as easily be expanded to other sports. The software is the toughest part. Then, a little marketing and some momentum and position yourself to be bought.

See Rebecca, I told you that playing fantasy footbal league was good for something.

Honey-Baked Spam

Last night I turned on the computer and read the following email:

hi Karina i hope this is your e-mail.
I was happy to see you the other day. I expect you was excited about New York.
So much so much happening all the time, lots of great opportunities.
And speaking of opportunities, the deal I was speaking you about day before involves a company known as Tex-Homa (TXHE).
It's already growing up, but the big info isn't even out yet, so there's still time. I have got this shares already and made 2000. I recommend you to do the same today.

Hope this helps you out. I'll see you this weekend.
Yours Karina Sterling

The existence of this type of advertising is a function of two things--an exceptionally low distribution cost, and the gullibility of a few very naive individuals. And maybe there's a third factor to consider. Some woman (or some guy) has a unique creative talent to dream up this stuff. Living in some foreign country, comparatively fluent in English, she collects a paycheck every two weeks and takes the train home at 5:00 p.m., puts her kids to bed and watches television as she falls asleep on the couch. And one day she woke up with a new idea, though never intended for me, that greeted me in my mailbox: hi Karina ...

Not only that, but there were three versions of the same, each with different names, and mailed to two of my different accounts. And judging by my sample of one, she'd found a rich vein: She made it through the spam filters and into my inbox. And she got me to open it up and read it. But what are the chances of me actually buying some shares of Tex-Homa? Exactly Zero.

It's hard to go broke underestimating the American male, but he won't buy stocks from an imaginary Asian woman who goes by Karina and sends him emails she has written to herself even when she does promise to see him over the weekend.

I know it's not my idea of a hot tip.

Old Friends

Saturday night we went to dinner at Zinn's Bistro, which is owned and managed by Linda Taylor, a friend of ours from Park City. Linda runs the restaurant with her children and does a consistently terrific job. Saturday we had the chance to visit with Linda, and also with her husband Jim, who came by to pick her up. It was so nice to see them again, and we had a warm reunion.

The importance of friendships increases as I grow older. I remember George Bush (the elder) saying, after he was no longer president, that he now realized that the things that were truly important in life were faith, friends and family.

I wish that I had spent more time in my life cultivating friendships. Like all good things, it takes a little work. And I suppose when time got short it was one of the things that was overlooked. I didn't see the value in it. But retrospect is a devilish prism, and things always look different over time.

I wish all my friends had restaurants.

On the Climb

Yesterday Angelica and I joined Dave and Albert Jarvi for a little climbing trip up Ferguson Canyon, just about 10 minutes from our house. It was a cool, crisp morning and we found a rock face which was perfect for us beginners, about a 5.7. I've only climbed a couple of times before, and not for many years, and Angelica has never climbed at all, so I was a little apprehensive. But no surprise, both Angelica and I really enjoyed it.

Climbing is cool. It's you against the rock, and if it gets too easy, you can dial up the difficulty in a myriad of ways. And the stuff we were doing felt very safe, with a belay there to catch you when you slip, or just need a rest. Still, I am attracted to the feeling of adventure, even though I realize that with a little common sense, there is not much danger. (I'd say canyoneering is a much greater risk than a simple climb.)

It's one of the great joys of my life to try new things, particularly those that involve the outdoors and some physical challenge. It keeps me young, although I fear that I am too old to start anything new and get very good at it. This is all very consistent with the life mission I wrote when I was about 30, to have a life filled with many new and interesting experiences. I have never tired of pursuing this mission. Please bury me when I do.

Video Booths

Business Idea the 2nd:

I think that all those little photo booths that you sit in and get your picture taken with a friend are fast becoming an anachronism with the proliferation of camera phones. So what if you purchased them cheap, left them in their high-traffic locations, and converted them to video booths. You could select music or sound effects and perhaps even different visual backgrounds (put on digitally). You could even add a character that you speak to.

With one push of the button you could have it downloaded to YouTube, registered at that particular booth. Just for fun, you could go to YouTube and look at people who had been in your booth--your neighbors, in a way.

You could receive a copy burned onto a CD or capture one on a USB stick or flash card that you brought with you. Or you could even have it emailed to you, or to a friend.

I'm a little concerned that phones that capture video may do some of the same things, but I think the special effects, higher quality, easy capture and direct to YouTube would make it worthwhile.

Business Idea the First

Guy Kawasaki, the founder of Garage.com, once said that if you had a good business idea you should share it with as many people as possible. Most budding entrepreneurs tend to be very secretive, believing that their idea is so good that if it gets into the wrong hands it is sure to be snatched up and taken to market. (That's Hubris talking, and his evil cousin Delusion.) But the fact is, there are a lot more ideas out there than people willing to act on them. And almost every idea can benefit by the feedback, opinions, criticism and encouragement of others.

So since I've been having a lot of "what if" discussions lately, I thought I'd blog-out some of my ideas and see if anyone wants to comment. Here's the first, and this is mostly Brad's idea, but I like it so much that I've been tinkering with it some.

Mass Predictions (maybe a dumb name, but I just thought of it)

In his book "The Wisdom of Crowds," James Surowiecki outlines how a compilation of mass opinions tends to be far more accurate than betting on any given expert. He cites countless examples of this.

So what if there was a website where we could go to give and get people's predictive opinions on any number of topics, such as political races, wars, the housing market, sports, the stock market, the success of certain products, movies or types of entertainment, etc. etc. etc. Not just opinions, but your best guess as to what will happen.

You can vote as often as you want. But if you want to see the data on any given subject, you have to vote first.

Students would cite the results in papers. Publications would quote you like crazy. You could acknowledge voters who were particularly accurate, and they could use that recognition in their careers (I was in the top 5% of stock predictors, so I'm your best broker!).

You could get local information, national or worldwide. You could just get local voters. Or expert voters. Or recent voters (like for politics--which way it is leaning). You can create your own sample.

A few websites are doing this, but none very well, and none have gotten much traction.

Money would be made in advertising, which could easily be targeted by topic or by user information, such as geography. Companies could pay to have questions added. There might be the possibility of having a higher-level paid service, perhaps diagnostics, cross-tabs, etc. But it should maintain the open-for-the-public, free information, Web 2.0 feel.

I think the key would be to come out of the gates with tremendous credibility and something that captures the public imagination. Maybe you do a $1 million challenge (to charity, or something nice) to some experts. This is all stream-of-consciousness. Tell me what you think, either in the comment box on this blog, or by email privately.

Thanks.

Once on This Island

Last night we all went to Sam's performance of Once on this Island, at Kingsbury Hall. This is a reprise of the same cast and play that was staged about a dozen times this summer at the Babcock Theatre--a significantly smaller venue. But the Kingsbury ambience, staging and sound system made it all feel very big-time.

And I don't know whether it was Kingsbury, the time off over the summer, or the added maturity of the mainly teen-age cast, but the play was really terrific--much better than in June. Sam had a solo which he belted out on-key and with confidence. And the rest of the cast had improved as well, with minor exceptions.

Here's the thing--being in a production of this quality takes a lot of time and effort. I estimate Sam had at least 40 rehearsals at the University of Utah, many of which he took the bus out and back. Like all good things, it required effort and sacrifice. Yet what a wonderful way to develop his skills, and exercise his passion and interest. He does the same with the piano, guitar, history and baseball.

More than any of my children before him, Sam is developing talents in areas that he has chosen and because of his personal interest. I have never been concerned with what talents my kids develop, only that they actively pursue something of value, and that they find joy in the process. I think it's one of the secrets to happiness.

The ClearPlay Reality Show

I've had a couple of experiences in the last few days which have been purifying. Times have been tough at ClearPlay, and while we have some good prospects, we've been scraping our bellies doing the cash crawl. Yesterday we had a meeting with one of our investors, who is a prince of a man. He wasn't expecting us to ask him for more money, but when we were finished I walked him to his car and laid it on the line. I told him that I'd long ago gotten past two things. First, I can ask for money without embarassment, because I know it's my job. And second, if someone refuses me I'm fine with that.

And I completely believed what I was saying. If he would have turned me down, I would not have thought less of him, and I wouldn't have taken it personally. But as it was, he went to his car and wrote the company a check that will help us immensely. Pretty cool.

Today we had a conference call with a group of guys that just took their company public, raising over $100 million in cash. They have been interested in acquiring us for quite a while, and now that they are past their IPO they asked to reignite the discussion. Four of us sat in the room, all a little envious of their success. But we told our story without pretention or embellishment. We didn't hide a thing, and I'm guessing we surprised them with our brutal honesty. It might not have been the best salesmanship, but it felt right. We may not have money, but we have our dignity and our integrity, and we're fearless. If an acquisition is the right move for them, we'll lay our cards on the table and they can play their hand. And if it's not, then let's tip our hats and mosey out of town.

Like Popeye said: "I y'am what I y'am." Unfortunately, sometimes I feel more like his buddy Wimpy, continually trying to buy hamburgers on credit.

Whoa Zion

Sam and I just got back from two days in Zion National Park, accompanied by Dan and Scott Eldredge and Lee, Jonathan and Michael Jarman. We did Birch Hollow/Orderville Canyon one day, and Subway the next. Both are long days, and somewhat challenging, but richly rewarding.

For most of the group, it was the first time they had ever been canyoneering, and Birch Hollow was an exciting experience. And Orderville is, in my opinion, one of the best-kept secrets in Utah outdoors. It is a stunning canyon and makes for an interesting hike, with jumps into pools and challenging downclimbs (for novices like me).

Subway was beautiful, but the water above "The Subway" was chilling, numbing, paralyzingly cold. After Keystone Falls, it took most of us over an hour to stop shivering. On the last semi-technical downclimb, Scott slipped at the bottom and twisted his knee. It could have been disastrous. But we made him a crutch and helped him walk a mile or two and by the end he was doing pretty well.

I enjoy taking people to some of these outdoor wonders. But all the while I am hoping that they enjoy it as much as I do. I am embarassed that I keep repeating such inane questions as "Isn't this beautiful?" I should learn never to ask teenagers about aesthetics. Their standard response is "Yeah."

Lesson from Layla

Every time I greet Layla I break out in an involuntary smile. And almost invariably, she returns the greeting with a grin just as wide. It's become a little ritual that we share, although I'm not bothered a bit that she must do the same with others. But it is something I look forward to, and it seems to lay a foundation for our time together.

It occurred to me that Jasmine and I do the same thing. I come home and she is there to greet me, jumping around anxiously like she hasn't piddled in a week. I open the door and she jumps up while I stoop down and shake her and smile like we are long-lost friends. It's an important part of the role I play in her life.

Surely it works the same with all people. When I'm greeted with a smile I feel energized, like I have been validated. I need to smile more often,. Besides being good for others, it's kind of fun. And it's cheap entertainment.

This is a universal lesson I learned from Layla. Works on almost all of God's creatures, except I think for cats.

Partisan Politics

Today I testified before Congress in our nation’s capital. It reminded me of how silly partisan politics are. The hearing was called by a Commerce subcommittee to discuss the movie editing market, and particularly the recent federal court ruling that made companies like Clean Flicks illegal. I was invited to testify regarding the parental control industry and The Family Movie Act.

There is no pending legislation that we were debating. There were not pressing issues that needed determination. And in fact, there will likely be no action at all. Rather, the whole thing smacked of election-year grandstanding, making the Republicans look strong on family values and giving them an opportunity to kick around Hollywood, represented by a poor underling from the MPAA.

Ostensibly, we were discussing whether companies like Clean Flicks should be protected by Congress. And not surprisingly, the ayes and the nays were split by party. (Not surprisingly, because that’s how things work in Washington. If D.C. were on the ocean, even the surf would break along party lines.) Now I’m not sure why Democrats would tend to favor stronger copyright fair use laws, and Republicans lean for more lax standards in this area, but that’s the way it went. And I doubt that the Democrats on the committee have lower personal standards relative to movie content than the Republicans. I suppose it has something to do with a family value platform and the general left-wing support from Hollywood, but it makes no sense to me.

So everyone had their say and after two hours what we accomplished was mostly talk and I got on a plane and went home. My tax dollars hard at work. Must be a civil service job.

California Driving

For a society that spends most of its waking hours in a car, Californians sure aren't very good at it. Momma taught me that practice makes perfect, but maybe Left Coasters need more theory and less practical experience. This was made clear to me over the weekend where I had the opportunity to drive from Long Beach to Santa Monica, then up Topanga Canyon, east to Tuhunga and then back to Santa Monica and the Long Beach Airport. In Southern California terms, this is a reasonable commute. To me it seemed like driving a gauntlet from Tijuana to Las Vegas.

Don't expect any courtesies from LA drivers. I think they felt inferior to their counterparts in New York, and decided they needed to be nastier to compete. They may be mellow once they arrive, but on the freeway you are fighting for a lane with the offspring of Tonya Harding and Charles Manson. If these people are smoking pot after work, it must be crystal meth with a Starbucks chaser to start the day.

Maybe they all knew I was from out of town. Maybe next time I should drive a Mercedes to blend in, or better yet, get a pimped out rental car. I'll check with Hertz.

Not My Conspiracy

This weekend I was in Los Angeles for business and stayed overnight with Luke, Desi and Mairin. I really enjoy spending time with them and feel completely relaxed in their presence. We told stories, looked at photographs, acted silly at times and at others shared our thoughts on the important things in life.

As the evening wore on past midnight, Luke and I talked about what has become his favorite subjejct--conspiracy theories. If you've never been initiated in this world, your first reaction typically is that they are all wacko (the theorists and the theories!) and you can't believe anyone you actually know could be swallowed up in it. And I suppose that Luke, like his friends and cohorts, is accustomed to encountering thick walls of skepticism.

My reaction wasn't much different, and despite giving Luke virtually no encouragement, he left me with a handful of DVD's to take home. I told him I would watch them because I respect his opinion, and so I have, starting with theories that the Sept. 11th attacks were an inside job, a "false flag" covert operation conducted by our govenment to galvanize public support for the erosion of personal liberties and build resolve for future military action. Watching the DVD's has caused me to think more deeply on the possibility of such a conspiracy.

Surprisingly, the presenters make a very compelling case. In fact, they raised enough inconsistencies and unanswered questions to make me wonder whether something so unthinkable could really happen. And of course everything was presented with facts and supporting science and summed up with undeniable conclusions that indeed something very nefarious had taken place. I can see how intelligent people become converted.

But it has been my experience in life that we often choose what we will believe. And once a world view is adopted, it is only natural to filter virtually everything through those beliefs, finding support and substantiation in random and diverse snippets of information. It happens with politics. It happens with religion. And it certainly happens with conspiracy theories.

I have known a few people attracted to this field. One finds commonalities--they are typically intelligent, well-read, passionate and zealous. But almost without exception, over time they become manically focussed in their pursuit of evidence and secret information. And even if I grant some substance to the theories, I have never seen their efforts result in social or political progress. But I have watched as the obsession begins to rule their lives, leading to no good.

So I won't be joining the ranks of zealots suspicious of the government, the media and those that have the power and the resources to pull upon mighty strings that dictate world events. I won't join them because their notions are ridiculous, because really they are not. I won't join them because I can't take the ridicule--for I have made myself ridiculous enough on occasion to be able to bear the brunt of it in public. But rather, I won't become involved in the pursuit of hidden plots and machinations because it's not how I choose to live my life.

Having said all that, I fully expect that someday, somewhere, someone is going to uncover an awful government conspiracy that will save this great country. Yes, and I suppose that I will then be humbled, grateful and apologetic. But until then, how many more good people will go to their graves angry, suspicious and unfulfilled, having missed so many of the blessings that life has to offer in their single-minded quest for justification of their single-minded quest?

What Dreams May Come

Last night I dreamt that I was driving along a two-lane highway late at night. The dome light in my car was on, but my headlights weren't working. The road was very dark and I literally couldn't see a thing. I was very nervous, but not panicked, although for some strange reason I never slowed down. (Perhaps it didn't occur to me, or maybe I simply couldn't.) I marvelled that I had not hit anything, that somehow my blind steering managed to keep me on the highway. At any moment I knew I could lose the road and barrel into the woods.

I suppose this was a bad dream, but it didn't feel like the nightmares I had occasionally as a child, where I was being chased by some frightening creature and woke up with a voiceless scream. Perhaps this is how nightmares evolve to meet the fears of our middle age, when we are less troubled by things that go bump in the night, and more so by the unknown road that lies ahead.

Long before Joseph foresaw seven lean years people were looking for signs in dreams. And maybe that happens, although it seems like an unreliable courier for an important life message, since I forget most of mine minutes after awakening. I think it is more likely that our dreams are a reflection of our subconscious fears, doubts and silent aspirations. Dreams are parables, drawing on our life's experiences to symbolically illustrate points what we already know, but can't quite articulate in our waking moments. Dreams are ideas trying to emerge, but must sometimes dress in the day's experiences to get past our subconscious security. There is a kernel of truth in dreams, and sometimes an entire meal to digest.

Some years ago I decided to write down a description of my dreams as soon as I awoke. My experiment never led to anything profound, except that I remembered them longer and more vividly. My dreams moved from soon-forgotten rumblings to indelible memories, some cryptic and some meaningful enough to shed light on the darkened highways of my wakefulness.

Remembering 9-11

For most of my life, the tragic moment that haunted our nation was the assassination of President Kennedy. It was a truism that everyone could remember exactly where they were when they heard the news on November 22nd, 1963. I vividly recall the little four-room school I attended in rural Poplar, Wisconsin. I had just finished lunch when at the top of the stairs one of the older kids told us the president had been killed. I recall sitting for hours in front of the black & white television watching the news unfold, including graphic memories of seeing Jack Ruby shoot Lee Harvey Oswald.

Now some 40 years later this generation has its own shared tragedy, and the rest of us have a second one to calibrate our lives to. I am sure all Americans remember the precise details of where and how they learned of the Sept. 11th attacks. I was on a flight bound for Oakland when they occured. The pilots and flight attendants hadn't said a thing, and perhaps they didn't know. But arriving in the airport, I immediately noticed that things weren't normal. Large groups were gathered around the televisions. And looking at the monitors, I saw all the departing and arriving flights were cancelled.

So I asked the first person I saw what was going on. A black woman in her 50's, she looked at me and said: "Terrorists have attacked the World Trade Centers and bombed the Pentagon." She declared this matter-of-factly, without emotion, but nevertheless with a familiarity that struck me as deeply as her words. Thousands of travelers were milling around bewildered and lost, most of us far from home and strangely disoriented. Like me, many were planning to conduct business, but suddenly all bets were off. I did attend one meeting that afternoon, which was almost surreal, but then even the wheels of commerce shut down, as if by mutual affirmation.

We are now left to contemplate how our world has changed. When I was a young child we used to have air raid drills in school. When the siren went off we would kneel down under our desks and put our heads to the ground until it stopped. In retrospect it seems silly, as if somehow our desks could protect us. But the drills managed to leave a profoundly oppressive cloud of nuclear-era uneasiness looming over my generation, reminding us all the time that the world was not a safe place; that we had enemies with the means and the desire to catch us unawares.

After a while we all forgot about the danger of attacks. Even while the Cold War was in full swing we began to believe that there wasn't much likelihood of nuclear war. We found collective comfort in the intellectuallly conceived principle that Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD) was a sufficiently unpalatable deterrent. And for a while we all breathed easy. Now I realize that most of us have been guilty of taking the past few decades for granted, as we went about our ways with little thought to bad guys that might be plotting our destruction. But since the events of 9-11 the fear has returned, and every time we read the newspaper or go to the airport we are reminded that we once again live in a not-so-brave new world. This isn't likely to go away soon, and so we we must get used to the notion that while the end may not be in sight, it could be lurking in any of the dark alleys of our future.

I wish I could do better for my grandchildren, as I would like to see them laugh without care and sleep without concern. The world can be a pretty wonderful place to live. (As Robert Frost said, "I can think of no better.") I'd rather not have to worry about its darker side.

Football Saturdays

College football attracts fans of all ages, sizes and varieties. Of course there are plenty of students, most arriving with wild exuberance, some having painted their faces and many half in the can by game time (not at BYU, of course). And there are alumni with their friends or their spouses, or their children and grandchildren, all dressed in school colors and having established their own rituals for the Saturday games. There are fans that know the game extremely well, and others that go only occasionally, when someone offers them a ticket.

It's a fascinating environment, with instant cameraderie and a shared sense of purpose. When your team wins there is such a positive vibe rifting through the stadium that even the disinterested observer feels euphoric. And when they lose, we commiserate. But always there is a sense that there will be another game to play, even if we must wait until next year.

Angelica and I bought season tickets to BYU this year and I think I'm going to like it. Well, I hate the drive and the traffic, but really like being at the games. Today the Cougars destroyed Tulsa 49-24 and a good time was had by all. I met an older gentleman whose family has season tickets next to ours and by the 3rd quarter we were high-fiving good plays and kibitzing like old friends.

This was quite a contrast with Friday night when Sam and I went to the Bees game. It was the play-offs, but the stands were only about a third full. And while we all root for the home team, the players change so frequently that it's hard to have much emotion over it. Basically, it's just fun to be out on a fine summer night and enjoy the relaxed pace of a minor-league baseball game.

I think I could grow old being a college football fan. But I'll need to get a blue shirt.

Water

One of the beautiful aspects of movies is the extraordinary variety available to the adventurous viewer. I enjoy a great action flick as much as anyone, but it's the lesser-known films that generally have a greater impact on my world view. And while I often approach these with some trepidation, more often than not I discover a work that was well worth my time.

Water is just such a movie. The third in a trilogy written and directed by Deepa Mehta, Water is a moving story about an outcast settlement of Indian widows in the late 1930's, as British colonialism was waning and Gandhi's influence on the rise. Oppressed by traditional Hindu beliefs which leave only doleful and heartbreaking options for widows, Mehta's story unfolds through the fate of three women. At the center is Chuyia (Sarala), a young girl who was married to an older man that she does not remember. Her father painfully leaves her at the widow's temple, driven by law, culture and religion. There she befriends Kalyani (Lisa Ray), a beautiful, spiritual young woman, also married as a young child, and now forced to prostitution to financially support the temple; and Shakantula Didi, a bitter and strong-willed woman who struggles with the conflicts of her faith and her conscience.

Mehta has so much to say--about history, Gandhi, religion, culture, woman and widows, in particular. (For many widows in India things have change surprisingly little, which prompts the speculation about widows everywhere, including those closer to home.) She makes her points emotively, through a deliberately-paced and visually beautiful movie, powerful characters and remarkable performances by a talented cast. Shot on location in India (it's in Hindi with subtitles), the movie faced violent opposition from Hindu traditionalists. Fortunately for all of us, Mehta persevered. Water is a tragic story filled with compassion, humor and hope, and one that I will never forget.

Of Manly Deeds

It was Labor Day yesterday, and Rebecca and I took advantage of the opportunity to hike up Mt. Olympus. We have done it before, and the last time I recall thinking we should have gotten an earlier start. Yesterday I was wishing the same thing, as the mid-morning sun began creeping over the ridge and stealing the precious west-side shade. It is a beautiful climb with a nice pay-off at the end, and perhaps better in the spring when the river is flowing.

But Olympus is also a grueling and relentless hike, climbing nearly 5000 vertical feet in about three miles. After a series of steady switchbacks on the bottom third, the trail heads straight up. A lot of people give up and turn back, sometimes at the river. Some stop at the saddle, which is a nice place to picnic. But the real crown is to clambor up the rocks to the summit, where on a clear day you can see Idaho and Wyoming to the north, and Utah Lake to the south.

Just as I was taking in the panoramic views and exulting in having endured to the end I saw a family beginning their descent, with a three-year-old boy and a seven-year-old girl each making the hike. Uh ... so much for being a manly man.

I have learned through my years on this earth that whenever you let your ego soar it is only a matter of time before it crash lands.

Moral Dilemmas

I suppose that everyone wonders about everyday things, and I'm no exception. But sometimes my ponderings breach the moral realm, and I find myself troubled by questions that I cannot satisfactorily answer. Yet these are questions I find myself asking virtually every day of my life. A few examples:

Is it better for the environment to discard a tissue in the toilet or a waste basket? That is, should I have a water treatment facility address the issue, or a public landfill?

While on the subject of the environment, is it really better to recyle? Has anyone factored in waste and transportation and sorting facilities and the cost of remanufacturing? I must admit to an aversion to throwing away cans, bottles or paper, but when I recycle, I do wonder if we all haven't been duped by a feel-good environmental campaign.

And for that matter, at the grocery store: Paper or plastic? Should I further plunder the world's limited supply of petroleum to save a tree, or vice versa?

But my agonizing isn't limited to environmental issues. Some questions are clearly more profound. I wonder, is it moral to read Sports Illustrated when there are so many better things I could be doing with my time? To watch movies? To read the newspaper?

And I wonder, is it right that I should live in such relative comfort, when so much of the world's population is starving? Should I sell all I have and give to the poor? Should I be a voluntary peasant?

It goes on and on. Every day. Countless decisions. And I can't seem to dismiss the moral implications of these everyday actions.

So many things for me to wonder.

Herding Sheep

September 2, 2006

We stayed in Midway Friday night with Merritt and Stacie, and Saturday we went to the sheep dog competition at Soldier's Hollow. This event attracts top sheep dogs (and their human trainers and traveling companions) from all over the world. Each dog--all border collies--is given about 15 minutes to move a small herd of five sheep through a series of gates and obstacles, and ultimately into a pen. The dog is directed by a trainer, who must remain near a post and communicates by calls and whistles. The dog must not bark or touch the sheep, and so motivates the herd through primal instinct, intimidation and emotional IQ. It's an unusual competition, and I'm glad that I went, although I doubt I shall ever see another.

One image lingers: One dog could not get the sheep to even begin. The trainer blew and blew on his whistle and called and called but neither the dog nor the sheep seemed interested in participating in the planned events. I will always remember the trainer, standing gamely at his post near the spectators, feeling I suppose like I do in a dream when I realize I have worn only my underwear to school.

On Minnesotans

August 30, 2006
I had to make a sudden visit to Minneapolis to meet with Target today. And being back in my home state I am almost profoundly struck by how much I like Minnesotans. The men are friendly, but not gregarious. They are eager to talk to strangers--not to impress, but out of a genuine friendliness, although don't be surprised if the conversation never strays far from the Vikings and the Twins. The men dress plainly, more Field and Stream and less GQ, and even doctors and lawyers appear to have descended from farming stock. A Minnesota woman is happy and friendly, giving textbook definition to the heretofore ineffable term "pleasingly plump." And she will talk to a man like she talks to women--platonically genial, using a photograph of her children as a visual aid.

You get the sense that Minnesotans will give you an honest day's labor, but no more. Come 5:15 they will head home to help coach their son's hockey team or watch their round-bottomed daughter play softball. They all know at least three good jokes, even the women. They have been proved in the frozen kilns of Minnesota winters; and made hearty by enduring youthful rites of passage which require shoveling snow and walking home on dark, icy paths.

I would trust my life to Minnesotans, and more, and would take them in my foxhole before the residents of any other state, including Rhode Island and Oklahoma.

Defensive Driving

This is going to make me sound really old, but ...

On the way home from work today I was nearly hit by other cars three times. No fooling. First, heading north on 300 West, a completely clueless elderly lady cut all the way across the road, directly in front of me, nearly perpendicular across four lanes. Fortunately, I wasn't going very fast and was able to stop before broad-siding her husband, who was in the passenger seat. After she finished crossing my lane, I passed by and noticed in the rear-view mirror that she came to a complete and befuddled stop in the middle of traffic. It was scary to watch.

Next, as I was exiting from I-15 to I-215, a car behind me and to my right realized he was in the wrong lane to stay on I-15, and swerved very suddenly across two lanes, including mine, to avoid gettiing on I-215. Prior to this I had slowed a bit on the exit (like maybe to 60 mph) to make sure the car directly to my right didn't do the same thing. So the car behind me nearly clipped my tail.

And finally, once on 215, a semi truck suddenly shifted to his left, about five feet into my lane, nearly hitting me. I jammed on my horn and he got back. But by this time I was starting to look for aerial attacks.

So, besides feeling like a target, what do I take away from all this? If I would have been driving the same way I did as a teenager I'd very likely have been in an accident. I used to think being a "good driver" meant keen reflexes and the ability to handle a car well. Now, a few years older and perhaps a bit wiser, I understand that my main objective when driving is to not get hurt, and to not hurt anyone else. I've become a "defensive driver." In fact, I've begun to expect other people to do stupid things, especially with the advent of cell phones. I drive like a careful old fogie--exactly like my dad did while I silently laughed at his lack of aggression.

Fortunately, I only have two "good drivers" left to teach. OK, maybe one. And thank goodness for her.

Remembering Dad

August 27, 2006
This afternoon for a family activity we put together a scrapbook for my dad, or Boppa, as the kids knew him by. This was precipitated by a visit last week from my Uncle Wally and Aunt Sue, who were passing through and stayed with us for a night. I took advantage of the opportunity to get out all of Dad's old pictures and memorabilia, which I hadn't looked at since Mom died. And I went through a bunch of pictures with Wally to both identify the subjects and reminisce at the same time. I really enjoyed spending time with him.

So, having all of Dad's stuff in a small stack, I decided to put it in a book--nothing fancy, with flowers or stencils; just some acid-free sleeves, black mounting paper and a big three-ring notebook. Angelica, Rebecca, Lanee and I toiled for several hours, the result of which was a great book that captures a lot of Dad's history, including his ancestors, family, schooling, military, avocational, religious and professional interests. It's the kind of book that will be passed on from one generation to the next, and I am quite happy to have made it. I guess now I need one for my mother.

It is, perhaps, a small way of turning the hearts of the parents to the children, and vice versa.

Microsoft

An executive from Microsoft was in town to visit us today. By so many measures, we have created a legitimate national company. Besides Microsoft, there have been many other major companies come to see us (and we have been to see many, many more). It's a little flattering.

Microsoft represents a good opportunity for us, and I think we can add value to them. But one thing I know from working in a large company is that there are a lot of things that can go wrong. That's one of the beauties of a start-up--when we say we're going to do something, we can get it done. There aren't any veto votes along the way.

On the other hand, there's something to be said for being a 600-pound gorilla.

The Uintas

August 21, 2006
Just spent a couple of days in the Uintas with Sam and the varsity boys from church at Hal McEwan's cabin. He has a great place which was built by his father the year he was born--1930. On Monday we rode horses up to Fish Lake, which was a beautiful trip up the mountain. At the top, a few of us jumped off an old CCC dam into the ice-cold mountain lake. We also saw a herd of 12 mountain goats, including rams and little ones, which was very cool.

I enjoyed the horseback ride. It was up a steep and rocky trail, so it was interesting and you had to pay attention. Several times the trail crossed the fast-moving river, and the horses got skittish and didn't want to do it. And they were all kind enough to canter and trot when the trail was clear and flat--in fact, they seemed to look forward to it.

There is a lot of skill to riding horses that I don't possess. But through my rather limited experience it has struck me that much of it is a leadership challenge. Horses need to know you're in charge and what the expectations are. It helps to have some competence. That's enough to get what you need. But the journey is a lot more pleasant for everyone if you have a caring relationship with the horse. Despite this theory, my butt still hurt at the end of the ride.

Fantasy Football Draft

August 19th, 2006
We had our Fantasy Football draft at our home this morning. I'm the Lou Holtz of fantasy football, always thinking my team is awful and will get trounced. But in this case, I'm sure I'm right. I relied way too heavily on a certain Internet source for my projections, and in many cases they turned out to be a little crazy. So unless Stephen Jackson has a huge year, and Peyton Manning peaks again, it's going to be a long season.

I'm not sure why I do this. It's a ridiculous time bandit. And were I not living the experience, I would laugh out loud at st me checking NFL stats a dozen times on Sunday afternoons, and poring over waiver players deep into the night. But I get a perverse pleasure out of it. And it's fun to kibitz with my family. This year I know everyone in the league--Ryan, Angelica, Zachary, Sam, Tyler, Adam and Trey. So the social value of bragging rights should not be underestimated.

Merritt and I went golfing in the morning. I enjoyed it. I can't believe it, but I may become a golfer. I thought I would wait until my 60's, and maybe my 50's, but here I am schlepping clubs around a cheap municipal course and looking every bit as foolish as I had imagined. But I got a few good tips from Merritt, and for the first time ever I hit the ball straight. It's kind of a cool feeling, and saves money on balls besides.

Sometimes I feel like I am getting to be such an old man. Other times I still wonder what I will do when I grow up.

Lois and Tom

August 17th
Rebecca's mother Lois came to visit today, along with her beau Tom. She met Tom last spring in Arizona and their relationship has developed steadily since. It was the first time we met him and we were all a little apprehensive, especially me. But he is a nice man, very gentle, and kind and complimentary to Lois. He's very different from Jim, and I'm wondering what that would be like after 50 years of marriage. Probably refreshing in some ways. And if you're a big enough person, you can accept the differences that aren't necessarily positive. Anyway, I'm glad they are happy together and hope everything continues to go well.

The Funeral

August 16, 2006
We went to Doug's funeral today in Park City. It was nice to see so many old friends and the place was packed. It looked like the family was hit pretty hard, but I think the funeral was therapeutic. Both Logan and Brennan spoke and did a nice job talking about things their dad had taught them. Scott Thornton also, and Doug's friend Bob Whitman, the CEO of Franklin Covey.

I like funerals, much more than weddings. Weddings have this naive sense of optimism, like now that I've found my spouse everything is going to be great. The fact is, the problems usually start the next day. A wedding should be a more sober affair, when you make commitments and think long and hard about the hard work it will be to make the marriage successful. Of course, maybe no one would ever do it then.

Funerals are different. They are just filled with love and compassion. There is no pretense. We all care deeply for those that mourn, and we comfort those that stand in need of comfort. And in LDS funerals, there is generally this matter-of-fact faith that while we have suffered a loss on earth, we will meet again in the eternities. I'm not planning on going Harold and Maude or anything, but I've never met a funeral I didn't like.

Two great lines there, and I think Doug would have appreciated them both:

Afterwards we were talking to Polly about burying Doug in Kaysville. She said: "I know. Doug's going to be so mad at me!" Which somehow struck me as beautifully faithful and completely hilarious.

Immediately after the funeral, Dan Portwood says to Lee Benson and I: "What an amazing guy. How do you get to be so amazing?" And after he walks away, Lee says: "You die." Not to take a whit away from Doug, but so true.

Doug Jones

Sunday morning I learned that Doug Jones died Saturday night. His car hydroplaned in Parley's Canyon on his way to Salt Lake City to visit his new twin grandchildren in the hospital. I was numbed by the news.

Doug was a true gentleman and a joy to associate with. He was positive, interesting, inquisitive and complimentary. He was such a devoted father and made so many decisions on behalf of his children. He was fun to sit with and watch his kids play sports, and I had the privilege of coaching his daughter Whitney in softball and a little soccer, and I could see the joy he and Polly felt watching her play. He was also a great runner, but it was still fun to run with him because he never made you feel like you were slowing him down. I'm really glad to have known Doug and I will always remember some of the things he said to me.

I have become used to death, but not so suddenly. With Doug, there was no time to contemplate even the possibility of waking to the news that he was gone. You are left to think about how maybe we should have gotten together more, or exchanged more emails, or phone calls. And of course, given to thought about the family--how Polly and the kids must be so lost. And I suppose like many others I'm filled with compassion but uncertain as to what to do. I want to give comfort, and help some way if I can, but not to be a burden or intrude. And I wonder if it is a harder on Polly to recite the story once again for a new set of comforters, or if she would prefer quiet time with her family.

And we are left grasping for our faith as, quite literally, the sole lifeline. I have never felt completely separated from those that recently depart. It was the same with Doug, the sense that now he could see me, when he got around to my spot on his list. And that perhaps I should behave a little better so as not to disappoint him when he does look down.

But despite all this, there is just that leaden feeling in my stomach that I have been carrying around since I heard the news. And whether my prayers have done any good or not I don't know. But I do know that I am sad that he is gone, and I wish this world didn't have to include such tragedies.

Brick

Watched Brick last night. Funky high-school film noir with some creative directing and very hip, high school dialogue. (I didn't understand a lot of the code.) Nice film done on a tiny budget. The story seemed a bit far-fetched and I had a hard time believing any of the actors were in high school. But despite all of these flaws, I was engaged throughout and I more or less liked the enigmatic lead--Joseph Gordon-Levitt as Brendan.

Work has been hectic. Trying to get a proposal to Target that could make us very successful. We're also doing a Home Shopping Network airing on Sunday and Monday. And Microsoft wants to visit. We definitely need to close a couple of these.

I leave for St. Petersburg in the morning. With the new travel restrictions, I'll have to leave my hair gel in my suitcase. Dang!

Happy Birthday Mom!

Our family has never been really good at birthdays. This morning I once again attempted to make a nice breakfast for Mom, but what she really got was a hatchet job of an omelette (spinach, mushroom, green onion and feta cheese), some limp and undercooked English muffins and microwaved bacon. As luck would have it, my omelette turned out great.

I guess the highlight of the day was that after a five-day absence Mom got to see Layla again. I'm pretty sure anything I could have done would pale in significance to her granddaughter.

I am also continuing a long-standing tradition of not having a present in time for the actual birthday. In fact, in our family it's not really a "birthday gift," but rather an "annual gift." You'll get something once a year, with only a random relationship to your actual birthdate.

Diinner tonight at Cafe Trang's, which everyone loved. Angelica, Layla, Merritt, Lanee, Mom and me. The English translations on the menu were definitely done by someone less than intimate with our language. To wit--one dish was described as having "tendons and beef balls." Who knows, maybe with a little ketchup ...

Take me out to the ballgame

Last night what's left of the family at home (four of us, normal size but abnormal composition) went to the Bees game, the local AAA affiliate. A dramatic game which the Bees won 6-5 in the last of the 9th. Featured a great throw by Nick G___, from right field--on the money from about 300 feet to catch the runner tagging from third, but the umpire blinked and called him safe so the home crowd could both cheer heartily and boo lustily over one play.

Sam learned to keep score, which now separates him from 99% of all baseball fans, and can now look down from his lofty perch of being a true afficionado. Unfortunately, while he was scoring a ball bounced nearly at his feet and a grandma in the row in front of us got it. I could have dove over her and beat her to it but that would have been bad manners. Besides, I might have injured myself.

Rebecca and Lanee were good sports, despite only a mild interest in the on-field proceedings. At a particularly crucial moment in the game Lanee asked, "I wonder how much the Bee (mascot) makes."