Sisu

I ran across the term "sisu" in a book recently and it struck me.  From the Wikipedia entry:

Sisu is a Finnish term loosely translated into English as strength of will, determination, perseverance, and acting rationally in the face of adversity. However, the word is widely considered to lack a proper translation into any other language. Sisu is about taking action against the odds and displaying courage and resoluteness in the face of adversity. Deciding on a course of action and then sticking to that decision against repeated failures is sisu.

Although I have a Finnish name, I do not have the blood of ancient Finns coursing through my veins.  But my children do, thanks to their mother, and I hope their characters are imbued with sisu, as it seems as fine a quality as any to find your way in this world.

Sorrow

Our friend Brent Scott passed away on Saturday.  I've been asked to conduct his funeral and to say a few words, which I am honored to do.  In preparing my words I ran across this poem, which contains a profound and beautiful truth.

I walked a mile with Pleasure;
She chatted all the way,
But left me none the wiser
For all she had to say.

I walked a mile with Sorrow
And ne'er a word said she;
But oh, the things I learned from her
When Sorrow walked with me.

                      --Robert Browning Hamilton

Slightly Better than a Nigerian Prince

A new twist on an old ploy:

LinkedIn

OPENLINK: YOU HAVE A NEW MESSAGE

From: Ewald Frank

Date: 8/12/2013

Subject: Dear Bill Aho ,

Dear Bill Aho ,

I am Barrister Ewald Frank (Esq.), A solicitor at law. Personal Attorney to late Mr. Robert Aho,was a contractor with European Development Company. Herein after Shall be Referred to My client On the 11th of September 2001 my client was involved in world trade center bombing unfortunately lost his live three month after the incident due to injuries he sustained in the bombing, since then I have made several inquiries to your embassy to locate any of my client extended relatives but this has proved unsuccessful.

After These Several Unsuccessful Attempts, I Decided to Track His Last name to Locate any of His Relatives hence I have contacted you to Assist in repatriating the Fund valued at US $ 10.5 million left Behind by My client before IT Gets confiscated or Declared unserviceable by the Unitrust Security Company in Lome / Togo where this huge amount was deposited in a trunk box under the coverage of family valuables. Security said the company has issued me A Notice to provide the next of Kin or have this Box confiscated within the next Twenty one Official working days as they do not know the content of the Box.

Since I have been unsuccessfully in locating the Relatives for over 2years now, I seek your consent to present you as the next of kin to the deceased, so that the proceedings of these boxes can be transfer to you. Therefore, on receipt of your positive response, we shall then discuss the sharing ratio and Modalities for transfers as I have every legal and Information Necessary Documents needed to back you up for Claim. All I require from you is your honest Cooperation to enable us See this transaction through. I guarantee that will this be executed under legitimate Arrangement that will protect you from any breach of the law. If you are interested kindly contact me Via this E-mail : (ewaldfrank@outlook.fr)

Thanks and God bless
Ewald Frank(Esq).

Learning by Peanuts

You can learn things in the most unlikely of places.   I recall as a kid wondering about the term "dog days."  Now I know, thanks to the remarkably erudite Linus van Pelt.

What's up, Docs?

Not by design I've watched four documentary movies in the past five days, an unprecedented documentary binge (even during Sundance).  In order of preference:

1. 20 Feet from Stardom--Just out in theaters, about female back-up singers. As expected, wonderful music, but also touching stories of these talented women reconciling to their roles.

2. Craigslist Joe--Somehow I missed this when first released. A really fun story about a guy who decides to live for a month off of Craigslist--starting with no money or possessions.  Inspiring.  Keep Shazam handy because the music is also great.

3. Ai Wei Wei--This has been on my list for a while now and we finally got around to watching it. An insightful and candid portrait of the world-famous dissident Chinese artist who is inspiring a movement to reform the repressive policies of the Chinese government.  Processing my reaction to him made for an uneasy brew of admiration, respect and revulsion.

4. Looking for Trouble--I saw a reference to this on my Twitter feed and watched it on the web--about the violence common to Cajun dances in the first half of the 20th century. I love examinations of unique cultures and this was interesting because it is so American, yet felt foreign and almost third-world.

The Sentence

Ryan is going to prison.

I first met him at the Wasatch Youth Center, a lock-up detention facility where I volunteer.  He came to all the meetings on Sundays and Wednesdays.  Ryan was bright, energetic and had a sweet spirit about him.  When he was released, we assigned him a mentor.  Then he made some mistakes and wound up in County Jail, where I have visited with him several times in the past few months.

This morning Ryan was sentenced to zero-to-five in the Big House.  He'll probably serve 18 months. At first I was sad, as I held his weeping grandmother in my arms, both of us knowing what prison can do to a 19-year-old boy.  And then I was angry, having just observed first-hand our legal system at work.

It was a tragic farce. His "Legal Defense Attorney" had not spoken to Ryan since his plea.   He seemed unfamiliar with the history of the case.  He had no idea of Ryan's side of the story.  So when the prosecutor rattled off unsubstantiated allegations in inflammatory language, his attorney was left to fumble through the papers and mumble back and forth with Ryan to formulate feeble responses to the judge.

I had seen the judge handle a dozen cases before Ryan's came up and I was impressed by her fairness and compassion.  But as this scene unfolded I could feel the sentence coming, like the denouement of a Greek tragedy.

If Ryan would have had a real defense--the kind where the lawyer is paid for his services and not compelled to take on pro-bono clients--the outcome would have been different.  Perhaps another six months in the County Jail.  Maybe less.  But the problem was, no one really cared enough about his future to make an effort--one that would result in justice, or in finding the best solution for Ryan.

As he left the courtroom, with tears in his eyes, he quietly said "I love you Grandma," and "Thank you Bill."  That image will haunt me forever.

For Ryan is going to prison.

Conversations

Two conversations from this week.

On the light rail, on our way to the science museum:

MJ: I'm going to be a scientist.
Josie: I'm going to be a ballerina scientist!
Rebecca: What's a ballerina scientist?
Josie: She puts on her ballerina outfit then twirls around while she does science.


When we were running late:

Rebecca: I got a little behind today.
Me: Isn't that what you've always wanted?

Just Try to Pry Me Out of those Cold Wet Canyons

Some really fun days in some fun canyons with lots of swimmers. So thankful for neoprene! Here's the write-up and pics from my friend Ram.

Zion, Full Left Fork:
Hammerhead to Upper Upper Left Fork to Das Boot to Subway.  Four canyons in one long day!

Zion Classics: 
Full Keyhole and Pine Creek.  Really a pretty easy day. But these are beautiful and very accessible canyons.

We also did a few variations of Aardvark Canyon in Escalante one day.  (Aardvark, North Aardvark and South Aardvark.)  But since these canyons are not published, Ram didn't do a write-up.  Good fun, though.  The "Skull Rock" above right is near the top of Aardvark and reminded me of something out of Treasure Island!

The Ballad of the Thin Man

I like Bob Dylan.  I really do. But often when I listen to his music I'm bitten by skepticism.  Like this morning, hearing The Ballad of the Thin Man, which is typical of most of his songs, I think.

It revolves around a wonderful little haunting snippet of a melody with a single penetrating metaphor.  (I call this the Andrew Lloyd Weber syndrome.)

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

Unfortunately, I find the rest of this song completely ineffable, and I bet that Dylan had only a vague notion of what these bizarre ramblings might mean.  They are like a drug-induced riff, where for a fleeting moment they make perfect sense to you, even resembling genius.  But when the psychotropic influences subside, you can only scratch your head and try to recall.  Perhaps his dedication should read: "Something was happening here, but I don't know what is was."

The entire song.  Judge for yourself:

You walk into the room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked
And you say, "Who is that man ?"
You try so hard
But you don't understand
Just what you'll say
When you get home.

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

You raise up your head
And you ask, "Is this where it is ?"
And somebody points to you and says
"It's his"
And you says, "What's mine ?"
And somebody else says, "Where what is ?"
And you say, "Oh my God
Am I here all alone ?"

But something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

You hand in your ticket
And you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you
When he hears you speak
And says, "How does it feel
To be such a freak ?"
And you say, "Impossible"
As he hands you a bone.

And something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

You have many contacts
Among the lumberjacks
To get you facts
When someone attacks your imagination
But nobody has any respect
Anyway they already expect you
To all give a check
To tax-deductible charity organizations.

You've been with the professors
And they've all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have
Discussed lepers and crooks
You've been through all of
F. Scott Fitzgerald's books
You're very well read
It's well known.

But something is happening here
And you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you
And then he kneels
He crosses himself
And then he clicks his high heels
And without further notice
He asks you how it feels
And he says, "Here is your throat back
Thanks for the loan".

And you know something is happening
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

Now you see this one-eyed midget
Shouting the word "NOW"
And you say, "For what reason ?"
And he says, "How ?"
And you say, "What does this mean ?"
And he screams back, "You're a cow
Give me some milk
Or else go home".

Because something is happening
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

Well, you walk into the room
Like a camel and then you frown
You put your eyes in your pocket
And your nose on the ground
There ought to be a law
Against you comin' around
You should be made
To wear earphones.

Does something is happening
And you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones ?

And yet, I have 17 Dylan albums on iTunes, and usually at least 2-3 on my phone. Clearly something is happening here. I just don't know what it is.

On Being Authentic

"When I die and face the heavenly court, if they ask me why I was not more like Abraham, I will say that I didn't have Abraham's intellectual abilities.  If they say, 'Why weren't you more like Moses?' then I will explain that I did not have Moses' talent for leadership.  For every such question I will have an answer, but if they say, 'Zusha, why were you not Zusha?' for that I will have no answer."
            Hassidic Rabbi Meshulan Zusha of Hanipol  (1718 - 1800)

Sibling Tragedy

As the media sought to satisfy our morbid curiosity about the Boston Marathon bombers, my mind kept drifting to the fact that these were brothers.  It is another layer of tragedy on an already depressing event.

Tolstoy's insight is applicable here: "All happy families are alike.  But all unhappy families are unhappy in their own way."  In the best families, siblings will make an effort to encourage one another to be better.  They will resist the natural tendency to try to drag others down to their level, or to attempt to find comfort by sharing a weakness.  Where genuine love exists, one is willing to sacrifice personally to motivate and inspire his brothers and sisters to be better and happier people .  Often this is simply a matter of setting an unwavering example, which is at once the most effective and challenging teaching tool known to man.

 It should be the same with friends.  I visited a boy in jail on Sunday--I'll call him Jason.  He was doing a favor for a friend, giving him a ride.  His friend did something stupid and Jason is now facing multiple felony charges.  His friend failed to appreciate and respect the impact he could have on Jason.  He didn't care enough to act in Jason's best interest.  Instead, he was self-centered, with tragic consequences.

And the principle holds true with spouses as well. In the most successful marriages, each is caring enough to want the very best for her or his spouse.  They will both elevate their characters, not simply in a quest for self-improvement, but as a product of love and devotion, a sacrifice freely given, without promise, but with hope.

Somewhere along the way these young men in Boston lost sight of brotherly love.  Instead, they allowed the curable disease of hate to spread virally, from brother to brother, with fatal consequences.


 

From Joe Gould

During my morning workout I was watching Joe Gould's Secret, a movie I saw at Sundance 13 years ago (co-written, directed by and starring Stanley Tucci--who did not make it to the premiere due to the birth of one of this children).

The movie was based on a book and articles about an extraordinary New York bohemian in the '50's who claimed to have written an oral history of the world--transcriptions of what everyday people said in conversation.  In talking about his history (which was never discovered, and probably never existed), he reflects on his obsession:

"The Oral History is my roof, my scaffold.  My bed, my board.  My wife, my floozy.  My wound and the salt on it.  My whiskey, my aspirin.  My rock, my salvation.  It's the only thing that matters a damn to me.  All else is dross."

Reality and judgment aside, I thought is was a beautifully written and touching line.  Joe Gould is played in this wonderful and moving film by Ian Holm.

Roger Ebert

I was sad to hear that Roger Ebert died.  Our lives intersected a few times over the years.  I used to see him at the Sundance Film Festival.  He'd always go to the weekend premieres at the Eccles Theatre and sit in the same seat, like he was superstitious.

I first met him when I was CEO of ClearPlay and embroiled in battles with the studios.  I introduced myself between movies in the Eccles lobby and we talked about the ClearPlay concept.  After some discussion, he asked to take my picture, which surprised me.  It was a new camera and he hadn't quite figured out how to operate it, so it took him several takes to finally get it right.  All the while we were the focus of attention in the lobby.  Everyone recognized Roger, but had no idea who I was, although the mere fact that Roger Ebert was taking my picture gave me an assumed, if undeserved, celebrity status. 

The next morning in his column in the Chicago Sun-Times Roger referred to me as "a candidate for the most hated man in Hollywood."  (It was a moniker that followed me around for some time, and turned out to be good for publicity!) 

That morning I ran into him again at the Yarrow Hotel.  He had just finished breakfast with Darryl Hannah.  I had read his column and so went up to him with a laugh.  He protested that he thought he had been fair.  Then he introduced me to Darryl Hannah.  (I'm not often starstruck, but when the tall comely blonde extended her hand and said "I'm Darryl," I was quite tongue-tied.)  Anyway, I figured that introduction more than compensated for any negativity in Roger's column.

Also in the column he mentioned that the previous night he was asked to take a picture of Bob Dylan, who was there for the premiere of his most awful movie, "Masked and Anonymous."  (He co-wrote it with Larry Charles--it was really quite bad.)  So now I have two connections to Dylan--we both grew up in Northern Minnesota and we've been on the same roll of film.

I'd see Roger again at Sundance every year.  He was masterful talking about movies.  And occasionally I'd ask him about one--I recall us discussing Southern Comfort, about a rural southern transsexual community that we both found fascinating.  

He was an extraordinary scholar of cinema history.  His voiceover commentary on one of my favorite movies, Casablanca, is really wonderful and has deepened my appreciation for the classic film.   It was sad to see him suffer so badly the past few years, and he has not been to Sundance in quite a while.  He will be missed.

The Auguries of Innocence

While working out today I was watching Jim Jarmusch's "Dead Man,"  a strange, profane, surreal, absurd, slow-moving Kafkaesque "western."  I woke up at 1:30 a.m. and remembered a line in the movie that struck me--Gary Farmer, playing an Indian named "Nobody," beautifully quoting a poem by William Blake (the name of Johnny Depp's character, though he's from Cleveland and is not the eponymous poet).

So I looked up the poem, The Auguries of Innocence, and read it through a number of times.  And now, here I am at three in the morning blogging about a few lines which I thought were beautiful and powerful and filled with the kind of truth that beckons me to sit down with a poem to get to know it.

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born.
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to endless night.

The poem was written in couplets over the course of time and according to one commentator arranged rather randomly for publication.  Blake used several of the couplets as the basis for other poems.  Like all Blake's works, this lyrical stanza has a religious intent; but I prefer it as a simple commentary on the inherent injustices of humanity, the wanton biological means for filling a world with Haves and Have Nots.

Speaking of injustices, my vegetarian sensibilities smiled at this one:

The lamb misused breeds public strife
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

I admit there's a lot more to it than my self-serving interpretation.  Maybe pure allegory, or perhaps some eternal juxtaposition of condemnation, innocence and forgiveness.  I suppose both scholars and preachers could fill a room with opinions on this couplet alone, although I would not want to be in attendance for either one, preferring my private musings.

And another basis for a homily:

A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.

These lines leapt from the page and into my soul, partly because they don't fit with the rest of the verses, but mostly because I felt a stinging condemnation, like Blake knew I'd find the poem eventually so put them in there just for me.  For years I thought truth was sufficient justification for saying anything.  One morning I woke in a cold sweat and realized I'd been living a lie.

And the close, with an insight that every missionary learns his first week in the field, sadly first, and then later with rejoicing:

God appears and God is light
To those poor souls who dwell in night.
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day?

I like poems that ask questions because that is how life reveals herself to me.  I'm neither a learned nor worthy critic, so will reply to Blake's question with a few doggerel couplets of my own, inspired perhaps by the early morning hour.

The morning sun illuminates
What blackened night eviscerates.
Your consciousness, the thoughts you keep,
Depends on when you choose to sleep.

Riddle Me This

I was cleaning out my inbox and ran across this riddle I wrote a few years back:

I’m never at a loss for words
Though silence is my tone.
I’m filled with good ideas,
Though none of them my own.

I like to think I keep my place
Quite neat and orderly.
But you might say I’ve got
A nasty case of OCD.

What am I?

Samurai Movies

I watched a samurai movie (13 Assassins) over the course of a few workouts this week.  I haven't seen many of them, but based on my limited experience, it appears they follow a similar pattern which I have tried to detail in the matrix below. As movie buffs are well aware, the parallels to U.S. westerns are considerable.

Dream On

Two observations I made while dreaming last night:

While watching people dance on a plane: "How high we hold our hands while dancing is hard-wired in us from birth."

While on the receiving end of a sales pitch: "I have decided that opportunities are not worth very much because somebody is always trying to give me one."

I think maybe I'm smarter asleep than awake.

Blogger in Therapy

From the New Yorker.

How Life Works

There's something about this ad that made me laugh. At first I thought it was the pretentiousness of the sponsor's name, How Life Works. And I must admit to being rather impressed by the line-up of information offers: eating whatever you want and staying thin; vacationing in tropical climates while women in bikinis wiggle their butts at you; and remembering more and maintaining your brain.  Gee, it sort of feels like they have most of society's dreams, fears and aspirations covered in one ad.  Nevertheless, I resisted the urge to click.

And then it hit me--the name isn't pretentious at all.  This is something advertisers have known all along--how life really works.  

Success

I just ran across a quote from Seneca: "Failure changes for the better. Success for the worst."

Despite my agreement, I doubt that I will be pursuing failure as a self-improvement tool.  The price is too high.  Instead, I'll take my chances with success.

Which reminds me of the little boy's prayer: "Lord, if you can't make me a better boy, don't worry about it.  I'm having a real good time just the way I am."