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.