I participated in a mediation meeting on Tuesday for some personal litigation. It's a funny little lawyer dance that, when well choreographed, can almost substitute for entertainment, given the rather limited range of the legal aesthetic.
At the center is the Mediator, generally a former lawyer with gray-haired credibility and the demeanor of a friendly uncle. He is hired by both sides and his job is to get the two parties to settle. (I asked ours if he "kept score," and he somewhat reluctantly admitted he did. I'm guessing he can compute his batting average quicker than a rookie outfielder standing on first base.) To be successful, a Mediator must be a master of both legal reasoning and litigant psychology. His prospects are significantly enhanced if each side thinks he favors its cause.
After starting with a little background, establishing a rapport, and giving a short-hand assessment of our case, he split us up in separate rooms and proceeded to move back and forth, shuttling offers and counter-offers, always coupled with friendly counsel, sage advice and "inside information," leading almost inexorably to a settlement. After a few of these dosey-dos, each side moving gradually together, we arrived somewhere near the middle, signed a few papers, pledged not to kiss and tell, and went home, relieved if not completely satisfied.
I like the idea of mediation. It skirts the courts and seeks agreement in a contentious environment. And it seems to me that in a world of perfect information--each side being rational and appropriately assessing the risks--you should almost always find a place to settle. It's simply more efficient--you avoid the time and legal expense of a trial. So I was happy to reach an agreement, but happier yet that this somewhat homespun system really worked, that we had managed to avoid the waste and formality and contentiousness of endless litigation.
I think a Mediator would be useful in other parts of life. Like maybe for Congress, or for families with teenagers, or perhaps in the Middle East. I've always had an idealist streak in me, but now that I've seen The Middle, I think it is a good place to meet.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Escalante
Just returned from a long weekend in Escalante with Merritt, Sam and Dave Jarvi. Second Annual Canyons for Guys Memorial Day Weekend, and hopefully many more to come. Arrived late Thursday night after driving about 50 miles of the lonely and desolate Hole-in-the-Rock road by moonlight. Found a spot to lay out our bags and enjoyed an extraordinary star-filled night.
Friday we hiked Llewelyn, a friendly little canyon with plenty of clamboring, a nerve-wracking climb out (OK, for climbers it's easy, but even a 5.2 on an exposed pitch with hiking shoes gets my heart beating), and a torturous, seemingly endless up-and-down traverse back to the trailhead. Found a cool little half-pipe that reminded us of The Subway, and a nifty slide into a pool at the end, which made for a refreshing swim before the climb out.
We were bushed Friday night so opted to sleep on the mesa, leaving a long day in and out of Neon Canyon for Saturday. Neon is a stunningly beautiful canyon, with a gorgeous approach hike all the way in. Once at the Escalante River, we had to climb back up to enter the canyon from the top. It's a canyoneer's dream, with plenty of interesting challenges, cold swims, narrow chimneys, potbelly caverns, meandering climbs, ravens-at-guard, keeper potholes and a transcendent rappel through a hole through the rock and into Golden Cathedral. There we were met by the Sirens of Neon, who beckoned us with the promise of real food. We were undeterred, and pressed forward, with Merritt battling deer flies and Dave and Sam taking an unplanned detour up-river, but all finally arriving on top.
The next day was almost as good, starting at Upper Calf Creek Falls and walking in the river to the Lower Falls, where we set up a rappel and dropped 165 feet into the waterfall, which at times felt as if a torrential force was pounding on your head. It was a glorious rap, and we felt all the more manly by the crowd of swimmers and hikers who had come up from the campground and gathered to applaud our derring-do and photograph our exploits. Met a librarian from Salt Lake City who kindly gave us a ride to our car, thinking wistfully about the lack of adventure in his life, I think.
Decided that Egypt 3 wasn't right for Monday, so on a lark we packed up and drove to Bryce Canyon and hiked about six miles, which was extraordinarily, mystically, magically, enticingly beautiful. We got an early start, before the crowds hit, and got back on top for lunch and the long drive home.
And every day I was thinking of how beautiful this land is and what a joy it is to venture into it, and how different it is climb into its hidden places while the masses park, point and click. I would like to share my discoveries with more of the world. But the sacrifice required is a higher price than most are willing to pay. I am secretly glad for that, so these canyons can remain wild and remote and I can still find solitude there, nestled in my bag with the howl of coyotes in the distance, resting my head on a rolled-up sweatshirt and gazing wondrously at the Milky Way above.
"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." --Henry David Thoreau, Walden.
Friday we hiked Llewelyn, a friendly little canyon with plenty of clamboring, a nerve-wracking climb out (OK, for climbers it's easy, but even a 5.2 on an exposed pitch with hiking shoes gets my heart beating), and a torturous, seemingly endless up-and-down traverse back to the trailhead. Found a cool little half-pipe that reminded us of The Subway, and a nifty slide into a pool at the end, which made for a refreshing swim before the climb out.
We were bushed Friday night so opted to sleep on the mesa, leaving a long day in and out of Neon Canyon for Saturday. Neon is a stunningly beautiful canyon, with a gorgeous approach hike all the way in. Once at the Escalante River, we had to climb back up to enter the canyon from the top. It's a canyoneer's dream, with plenty of interesting challenges, cold swims, narrow chimneys, potbelly caverns, meandering climbs, ravens-at-guard, keeper potholes and a transcendent rappel through a hole through the rock and into Golden Cathedral. There we were met by the Sirens of Neon, who beckoned us with the promise of real food. We were undeterred, and pressed forward, with Merritt battling deer flies and Dave and Sam taking an unplanned detour up-river, but all finally arriving on top.
The next day was almost as good, starting at Upper Calf Creek Falls and walking in the river to the Lower Falls, where we set up a rappel and dropped 165 feet into the waterfall, which at times felt as if a torrential force was pounding on your head. It was a glorious rap, and we felt all the more manly by the crowd of swimmers and hikers who had come up from the campground and gathered to applaud our derring-do and photograph our exploits. Met a librarian from Salt Lake City who kindly gave us a ride to our car, thinking wistfully about the lack of adventure in his life, I think.
Decided that Egypt 3 wasn't right for Monday, so on a lark we packed up and drove to Bryce Canyon and hiked about six miles, which was extraordinarily, mystically, magically, enticingly beautiful. We got an early start, before the crowds hit, and got back on top for lunch and the long drive home.
And every day I was thinking of how beautiful this land is and what a joy it is to venture into it, and how different it is climb into its hidden places while the masses park, point and click. I would like to share my discoveries with more of the world. But the sacrifice required is a higher price than most are willing to pay. I am secretly glad for that, so these canyons can remain wild and remote and I can still find solitude there, nestled in my bag with the howl of coyotes in the distance, resting my head on a rolled-up sweatshirt and gazing wondrously at the Milky Way above.
"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." --Henry David Thoreau, Walden.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Whoops
The thing about technology is that you really don't know how it's going to turn out. I'm not talking about practical applications for pure research, which could fill volumes, but rather the unexpected consequences of technology products that are introduced into the marketplace.
I remember when email was first introduced in the business world. Prior to that, every day many of us battled to make telephone contact, sometimes exchanging messages a half dozen times in an effort to connect with another busy executive. Email solved that, like a true labor-saving technological innovation. But what was never expected, never talked about, never warned against, was that email would create much MORE communication. We communicate more frequently with more people on more topics, most of them unwanted (spam) and many others unnecessary. I bet I spend 2-3 hours a day just reading and replying to emails. And did anyone think that email would so quickly erode our national collective skills in grammar, punctuation and spelling? I don't think so.
When cell phones were introduced, did anyone predict there would be more traffic accidents? Or that it would change the way most people think about photography--taking a lot more photos, virtually all of them awful? Only about seven years ago I did a consulting project and wireless suppliers were all wondering what cell features were going to be popular and marketable. It's amazing how things like text messaging takes off (as it did in Europe and Asia long before the U.S.), leading again, to "always on" communications with more people, but at a much shallower depth.
I have observed another unintended consequence at my local health club. Because everyone wears iPods, no one talks anymore. It used to be that the gym was a more social place, and friendly strangers connected with those around them. Not any more, because even the smallest of comments is a communications event--someone stops, wonders if you said something, pulls the earpiece out so you can repeat it, then awkwardly waits for this interrupting exchange to be finished so he can reconnect. No more small talk.
I love technology, and daily marvel at its capabilities, but I am more afraid of it than ever, because I see it wearing off the edges of our humanity in ways we can't foretell.
I remember when email was first introduced in the business world. Prior to that, every day many of us battled to make telephone contact, sometimes exchanging messages a half dozen times in an effort to connect with another busy executive. Email solved that, like a true labor-saving technological innovation. But what was never expected, never talked about, never warned against, was that email would create much MORE communication. We communicate more frequently with more people on more topics, most of them unwanted (spam) and many others unnecessary. I bet I spend 2-3 hours a day just reading and replying to emails. And did anyone think that email would so quickly erode our national collective skills in grammar, punctuation and spelling? I don't think so.
When cell phones were introduced, did anyone predict there would be more traffic accidents? Or that it would change the way most people think about photography--taking a lot more photos, virtually all of them awful? Only about seven years ago I did a consulting project and wireless suppliers were all wondering what cell features were going to be popular and marketable. It's amazing how things like text messaging takes off (as it did in Europe and Asia long before the U.S.), leading again, to "always on" communications with more people, but at a much shallower depth.
I have observed another unintended consequence at my local health club. Because everyone wears iPods, no one talks anymore. It used to be that the gym was a more social place, and friendly strangers connected with those around them. Not any more, because even the smallest of comments is a communications event--someone stops, wonders if you said something, pulls the earpiece out so you can repeat it, then awkwardly waits for this interrupting exchange to be finished so he can reconnect. No more small talk.
I love technology, and daily marvel at its capabilities, but I am more afraid of it than ever, because I see it wearing off the edges of our humanity in ways we can't foretell.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Dreaming
Woke up this Sunday morning at 4:50 and went downstairs to read in the quiet. While engaged in McCullough's excellent 1776, I fell asleep and dreamed a dream:
I had taken a job back as at Pizza Hut and was beginning my training in a restaurant in Buffalo, NY. As is often done in these situations, my executive status in the company was kept low-key, so my fellow employees assumed I was a new restaurant manager trainee. This Pizza Hut was actually a converted house (a situation I have never seen before) and so I was continually discovering elements that were quite "homey," including made beds and the like. At one point I recall stepping outside and seeing a line-up of rooms that housed elderly people, open to the outside, and watched over by distinguished servants. The location was distinctly reminiscent of one corner of Jackson Square in New Orleans.
Back in the Pizza House I quickly became an object of curiosity and interest. Unfortunately, as has been the case in my dreams many times, I realized I was dressed quite inappropriately for work, and was wearing skinny-legged blue jeans with holes and acid-wash streaks and zippers on the legs. I have never owned pants like this, so I could only presume I had accidentally put on someone else's. In any event, I felt quite self-conscious, being in management and all (plus, you know, completely out of style).
I still looked good in comparison to the rest of the crew, however, which was stranger than any I had remembered from my previous Pizza Hut years. One guy had no teeth, and another 50-ish man came in to get his check wearing a full-length see-through lacey dress that clearly revealed his bright-colored undies.
Overall, it struck me that things had changed and one can never go back, and once awake I was left to contemplate the subconscious meaning of it all: Whether I am facing facing seven fat years or lean years, or whether I was prepared to reenter the food service industry, or at least had the proper clothing to do so.
I had taken a job back as at Pizza Hut and was beginning my training in a restaurant in Buffalo, NY. As is often done in these situations, my executive status in the company was kept low-key, so my fellow employees assumed I was a new restaurant manager trainee. This Pizza Hut was actually a converted house (a situation I have never seen before) and so I was continually discovering elements that were quite "homey," including made beds and the like. At one point I recall stepping outside and seeing a line-up of rooms that housed elderly people, open to the outside, and watched over by distinguished servants. The location was distinctly reminiscent of one corner of Jackson Square in New Orleans.
Back in the Pizza House I quickly became an object of curiosity and interest. Unfortunately, as has been the case in my dreams many times, I realized I was dressed quite inappropriately for work, and was wearing skinny-legged blue jeans with holes and acid-wash streaks and zippers on the legs. I have never owned pants like this, so I could only presume I had accidentally put on someone else's. In any event, I felt quite self-conscious, being in management and all (plus, you know, completely out of style).
I still looked good in comparison to the rest of the crew, however, which was stranger than any I had remembered from my previous Pizza Hut years. One guy had no teeth, and another 50-ish man came in to get his check wearing a full-length see-through lacey dress that clearly revealed his bright-colored undies.
Overall, it struck me that things had changed and one can never go back, and once awake I was left to contemplate the subconscious meaning of it all: Whether I am facing facing seven fat years or lean years, or whether I was prepared to reenter the food service industry, or at least had the proper clothing to do so.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Glenn Beck
Glenn Beck was in town and met with us at our offices on Saturday afternoon. He's a customer and fan of our concept, and several times has mentioned us on his radio show (which is the third most listened to show in the country). Beyond that, he really likes what we do and would like to help, to be involved in some way.
Glenn is as personable, charming and genuine live as he is on TV. He brought his daughter, Mary, with him (about 20 years old) and they held hands, which was very sweet. He is a good story-teller, which made for one of the more entertaining meetings we have had.
We have benefited by people interested in our company and willing to help. And always, it seems, there are the same circumstances. Someone wants to help. Someone really believes in the potential of the company. Someone has what we need at the time. Maybe Glenn is another someone in the line.
It is gratifying to be the beneficiary of such helpfulness, but more satisfying to be that someone that unexpectedly knocks on the door and volunteers to help.
Glenn is as personable, charming and genuine live as he is on TV. He brought his daughter, Mary, with him (about 20 years old) and they held hands, which was very sweet. He is a good story-teller, which made for one of the more entertaining meetings we have had.
We have benefited by people interested in our company and willing to help. And always, it seems, there are the same circumstances. Someone wants to help. Someone really believes in the potential of the company. Someone has what we need at the time. Maybe Glenn is another someone in the line.
It is gratifying to be the beneficiary of such helpfulness, but more satisfying to be that someone that unexpectedly knocks on the door and volunteers to help.
Moonage Daydream
I woke up sick yesterday morning and stayed home from work, which is very rare for me. I think I caught the same bug Rebecca and Lanee had last weekend, which had them worshipping at the porcelain throne for a day and a half. I have a heartier constitution and it didn't hit me quite so hard, but there was plenty of gurgling and churgling inside of me and I was pretty wiped out for about 24 hours.
Mostly I slept. In fact, no matter what activity I engaged in, I would fall asleep. I'd start to read, and fall asleep. Put on my iPod, fall asleep. Watch a movie, asleep. For a guy who rarely sleeps more than six hours a night, this amounts to a surreal experience.
I remember getting sick as a kid, and falling in and out of a dream-like stupor. Then my sleep-sickness would have a theme, almost like a hallucinatory experience. I remember one in particular that took place on a harbor, at night, with ships passing and foghorns blasting. After two days of sweating in bed I could almost feel the sea-air, and struggled to distinguish reality from my visions of darkness.
I didn't have a theme this time, although I did find myself frequently repeating lines from David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust album, which probably reveals something about my psyche, although I shall not attempt an interpretation.
Sickness is the body's effort to cleanse itself, and our natural desires to sleep and drink liquids and not eat are all part of the healing and cleansing process. And I suppose the dreams and hallucinations are the brain's reaction to toxins moving through the system. But I prefer to think of them like the medicine man, inducing a dream-like stupor with herbs and heat and wood-smoke, to have a vision of the world from the inside out, even if it is only to see Ziggy Stardust.
Mostly I slept. In fact, no matter what activity I engaged in, I would fall asleep. I'd start to read, and fall asleep. Put on my iPod, fall asleep. Watch a movie, asleep. For a guy who rarely sleeps more than six hours a night, this amounts to a surreal experience.
I remember getting sick as a kid, and falling in and out of a dream-like stupor. Then my sleep-sickness would have a theme, almost like a hallucinatory experience. I remember one in particular that took place on a harbor, at night, with ships passing and foghorns blasting. After two days of sweating in bed I could almost feel the sea-air, and struggled to distinguish reality from my visions of darkness.
I didn't have a theme this time, although I did find myself frequently repeating lines from David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust album, which probably reveals something about my psyche, although I shall not attempt an interpretation.
Sickness is the body's effort to cleanse itself, and our natural desires to sleep and drink liquids and not eat are all part of the healing and cleansing process. And I suppose the dreams and hallucinations are the brain's reaction to toxins moving through the system. But I prefer to think of them like the medicine man, inducing a dream-like stupor with herbs and heat and wood-smoke, to have a vision of the world from the inside out, even if it is only to see Ziggy Stardust.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Grand Canyon
Last weekend we hiked the Grand Canyon, down the Grandview Trail. I had been in the Canyon once before, with Sam on the much more popular Bright Angel Trail. The Grandview is much less traveled, in rougher condition, somewhat less protected and generally more rugged. Naturally, I liked it much better.
It was originally a copper mining trail, around the turn of the 19th century, and later became one of the early tourist attractions in the Grand Canyon. There is still much evidence of mining down on Horseshoe Mesa, including rusted-out tin cans, evidence of an earlier time when rough men in the wild relied on canned food for survival—mostly beans and fruit, I think. I did the same in my early days of camping, lugging cans into the woods and opening them with big knives, which was immensely satisfying and made me feel like the grizzled men of a more primitive era.
Millions of people visit the Grand Canyon every year, coming from all around the world to stand at some of the many lookouts and gaze down in awe at its grandeur, the extraordinary vastness of it all. It is almost unimaginable to fathom that the ravages of time and the Colorado River could carve a sculpture of such scale. I watched some visitors last week. They look down first in stunned silence, trying to take it all in. Then they reflexively reach for their cameras, despite knowing intuitively that no photograph could possible do justice to the spectacle in front of them.
It is a wonderful thing to hike down into the depths of the Canyon, which only the rarest of visitors take the time to experience. Curiously, it makes the Canyon seem smaller to me, and more intimate. I begin to get a feel for its history, for the ecosystem, the springs and creeks of fresh, clean water that feed ribbons of green vegetation and empty into the surging Colorado. I listen to the territorial caw of the Canyon ravens, and wonder if they have ever been out above the rim. I marvel at the stunning beauty of the cactus flowers, which bloom with increasing frequency as we descend to warmer elevations below. I observe the wildflowers, just starting to reemerge, and how many more appeared on the way back up the trail, after a few warm days in May.
There are countless glories in this world of ours, the Grand Canyon being one of the greatest. I am grateful that it took me in for a few days, and shared with me a few of its secret splendors.
It was originally a copper mining trail, around the turn of the 19th century, and later became one of the early tourist attractions in the Grand Canyon. There is still much evidence of mining down on Horseshoe Mesa, including rusted-out tin cans, evidence of an earlier time when rough men in the wild relied on canned food for survival—mostly beans and fruit, I think. I did the same in my early days of camping, lugging cans into the woods and opening them with big knives, which was immensely satisfying and made me feel like the grizzled men of a more primitive era.
Millions of people visit the Grand Canyon every year, coming from all around the world to stand at some of the many lookouts and gaze down in awe at its grandeur, the extraordinary vastness of it all. It is almost unimaginable to fathom that the ravages of time and the Colorado River could carve a sculpture of such scale. I watched some visitors last week. They look down first in stunned silence, trying to take it all in. Then they reflexively reach for their cameras, despite knowing intuitively that no photograph could possible do justice to the spectacle in front of them.
It is a wonderful thing to hike down into the depths of the Canyon, which only the rarest of visitors take the time to experience. Curiously, it makes the Canyon seem smaller to me, and more intimate. I begin to get a feel for its history, for the ecosystem, the springs and creeks of fresh, clean water that feed ribbons of green vegetation and empty into the surging Colorado. I listen to the territorial caw of the Canyon ravens, and wonder if they have ever been out above the rim. I marvel at the stunning beauty of the cactus flowers, which bloom with increasing frequency as we descend to warmer elevations below. I observe the wildflowers, just starting to reemerge, and how many more appeared on the way back up the trail, after a few warm days in May.
There are countless glories in this world of ours, the Grand Canyon being one of the greatest. I am grateful that it took me in for a few days, and shared with me a few of its secret splendors.
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