The Rocky, but beautiful, California coast

Heading west from San Jose to Santa Cruz, one can pick up California Hwy 1, affectionately known as “the PCH” which stands for ‘Pacific Coastal  Highway.”  For the next 250 odd miles, your car snakes its way between the Pacific Ocean, anywhere from 25 feet to 1000 feet below you on your west side and the mountains of the California coast on your east side.

Your first major stop is Monterey, which is home to the world-class Monterey Bay Aquarium, with brilliant displays in darkened rooms with backlit water tanks showing the gentle movements of the ‘jellies’, a live kelp forest which your accompanying audio-guide explanation tells you is critical to the life of the creatures along the coast, a penguin exhibit with those cute little birds diving in and out of the water, and a round room where schools of anchovies swim around in never-ending circles, making you dizzy as you try to follow each one with your eyes in its rapid movements.

Another tank shows tuna (which are huge, at least the yellow find variety), sharks, barracuda and sea turtles. In a third, you can reach down and put your hand on the back of a sting ray (which I didn’t manage to do.)

And, as a final act of poetic justice, the entire aquarium is built in what was once the largest cannery in Monterey Bay.

Outside of Monterey is the somewhat famous 17-mile drive, which takes you past exclusive beachfront homes, Pebble Beach-the site of the US Open for golf, and affords you your first breathtaking views of the rocky Pacific coast.

Most people we told informed us that the drive along the PCH would be “by far, the best part of the trip” and with that high degree of expectation, we were happy to see that in many ways, it lived up to its billing.

In contrast to the Atlantic coast, the Pacific coast is rocky, with steep cliffs, and jagged points. There are jutting rocks and even mini-hills which stick out of the ocean for distances up to 200 feet out in the water. These are the rocks where the sea otters (saw them in the aquarium) and the elephant seals (we had heard of one place north of Santa Cruz where you could see them, but forgot about it until it was too late) play on the shoreline.  There are numerous scenic overlooks where you can just stop the car, look out over the ocean, feel the strong wind coming in from the water and just feel the raw power of nature and its creation.

I am sure that the PCH is the site of the filming of many car commercials as it would be a perfect road from which to have an aerial shot of a sports car going up the mountainous road adjacent to the sea.  We had a mixed blessing in terms of weather.  It was funny, actually. All along our trip out west, we had had spectacular weather (you may have noticed, it’s now snowing in many parts of the country which we just left), but when we got to California, we only had limited sunshine and many overcast days.

The same was true on the PCH, but it happened in quite rapid succession.  It was sunny as we left the hills of Santa Cruz and into Monterey. Then, it got gray and cloudy, a little misty even. Then, sun again. Then, the fog would roll in and I’m talking real fog here. We saw the wisps in front of us as we drove, which gave the ride a somewhat eerie feeling. This feeling intensified as the two-lane road became darker and darker as day turned into dusk turned into night. For some stretches, we were the only car on the road, kind of like in Nevada, except there it was straight, here and one wrong turn and you’re in the ocean (600 feet below).

We drove through Carmel by the Sea, the town made famous by the fact that Clint Eastwood had been the mayor there. What it really felt like was a west coast version of the Hamptons. It had the fancy boutiques along the main thoroughfare and my sister tells me that eating ice cream on the street is prohibited as it creates too much of a danger of a mess.

That’s another point worth mentioning. California has a lot going for it, but there are a lot of lifestyle prohibitions. They’re not necessarily wrong or bad, just noticeable or maybe just new to me. For example…

In San Francisco, you can’t smoke in ANY bar or restaurant.

In Santa Barbara, houses can only be a certain height and I believe they must all have those red tiles on the roof (or maybe just everyone likes it).

In Venice Beach, there’s a similar zoning law against buildings….

And In Beverly Hills, you can’t park on the street overnight.

But I digress and get too far ahead of myself.

The most famous stretch of the coast is Big Sur, where the views are supposedly magnificent. We wouldn’t know since we couldn’t see that much, though we did have a few moments of sun light.

The most attractive part of the ride, particularly as the day gets later and the sun starts to set is the play of the light off the water. You feel like you are looking into an Impressionist painting, maybe a Monet, with the water in the background, some rocks in the foreground and a sunny runway of light that comes from the distance and looks like it is meant just for you at that moment.

Tamar drove for a while, but found the constant turning back and forth and drivers who wanted to pass her to be a bit much, but she put in a good 1.5 hours on the day (the drive from San Jose to San Simeon—about 50% of the way to LA-took us, with stops, about 7 hours.)  You could do the drive in 5 hours to LA, but if you have the time, why would you?

Seeing the anti-Iraqi invasion protesters in Berkeley and a few other places, plus what I consider to be a rabid anti-American feeling among members of the far left in the US and Europe, I was thinking about some of the lesser appreciated values of this country and how we can learn a lot from the strangest places, in this case, I am referring to traffic signs.

I’ve been on roads on 5 continents and one thing I will say that is true throughout the US is that the government and road people really do care about your safety. Many of us are so use to this that we take it for granted, but there are many places around the world where the signs and street markings are not nearly as well indicated as they are here.

Think about it. There are signs for Speed Limit, Crosswalk, Signals approaching, Exits, Slippery When Wet. There are reflectors on bridges and on roads to make it easier to drive at night. There are flashing yellow yield signs. There are radio stations devoted to traffic information. There are areas for resting and for the bathroom. There are sections of the roads in the mountains just for you to put chains on your tires when it snows. And I’m sure there are more that I haven’t even mentioned. Trust me, you don’t have this same degree or warning or concern for safety in a lot of other countries.

Then, let’s just think about the amount of land and energy that the country devotes to nature. There are national, state, and city parks. There are fisheries and wildlife refuges. There are designated campgrounds and beaches, which are kept quite clean.

All along our 4,400 mile route (to date), we have seen signs of this and I guess it has made me feel a bit more appreciative of the United States.
There are so many stories here. When you get to California and you see the raw number immigrants and people who are trying to build a better life for themselves and the little things, like the road signs, I guess I just can’t understand why there are those who really think that the US is “out to get the world” or something of the sort.

About halfway down the coast lies the town of San Simeon, uneventful save for the fact that William Randolph Hearst, he the founder of the Hearst Corporation, and one of the wealthiest people in the world during his time, decided that it was in this area of California that he would build the palace of his dreams.

The IMAX movie talked about the influence of an 18 month long trip to Europe at the age of 10 and the impressions from the glorious sites there to make a unique house, really a castle, as it is commonly referred to as the “Hearst Castle.”  The book, which Tamar read, said that the fact that his father had made it big, with a silver mine discovery in the mid 1800’s raised the bar in terms of what was expected of him and what he expected of himself. The guide, when asked about the psychological profile, claimed that he merely loved beautiful things and wanted to do something with his wealth.

Well, whatever the motivation, the Hearst Castle shows once again that no matter how much money you have, you can always find something on which to spend it.

The castle sits on an 1100 foot hill overlooking the Pacific Ocean and during its heyday served as the playground for the rich and famous, whom Hearst loved to entertain. The entire castle is set up to mirror a Mediterranean village complete with village square and a church. Only in this case, the church is his house, the so-called ‘Casa Grande’ complete with two bell towers, a 100 seat movie theater, a dining room that is straight out of a medieval castle, a billiards room, a reception area, and many others.  But it is more than that. Each room is an art museum unto itself. Hearst was a rabid collector and we were told that only 10% of his collection was on display at any one time. In fact, he was happy when something needed repairs, as it provided him another opportunity to showcase his belongings.

Every item in every room is some antique. The ceilings were imported wood from Italian church near Siena; massive Flemish tapestries covered the walls. The punch bowl was made of the purest of silver for Queen Victoria, and on and on and on.  It’s unbelievable. And that’s just the main house.

There are multiple guest houses (each has its own name, e.g. ‘Casa del Mar’
as it faces the ocean) with multiple bedrooms within each as well as bathrooms and showers. There are two pools. One indoor (heated, of course) and one outdoor (in the shadow of a full Roman temple which was brought over from Italy).

Oh yes, the entire house sits within a ranch that at one time had a zoo, a number of head of cattle, its own airstrip, and is part of the 480 square miles of land within the central California coast owned by the Hearst family.

No detail was overlooked and Hearst seemed to want to do everything to the utmost possibility. He had fireplaces that were the size of a small RV brought over from Europe, paintings by Botticelli, brass lions, and Egyptian god statues. Italian and Vermont marble fountains were aflowing, orange and palm trees were blooming, as well as an elevator to his private room and secret doors so his guests wouldn’t know how he entered a room.  He didn’t smoke at all, considering it to be a ‘nasty habit’ contrary to the claims of the day by the tobacco companies claiming it aided digestion and improved your heart (though he permitted it in the house for his guests as it was in
vogue) and preferred that people not get drunk, so he would allow them only one drink before dinner.

There was a tennis court, a stable, and other amusements—apparently, he was a great host, always looking to have his guests entertain themselves.

There’s really no end to the amount of possible description for this epic work of architecture (how they built it on top of a hill is a whole different story—it required laborers 7 days a week for 15 years). By my estimates (using the rule of money doubling every 7 years), he spent over $1 billion dollars in today’s money on this home and at the end of his life, he willed it to the University of California-Berkeley as an outdoor art museum.
After seeing the property, however, they decided that without an endowment for maintenance, there was no way that they could afford it. So, the state of California took over and has charged admission ever since (reasonable, given what you see—you can, and should, also make online reservations for the tour, as last year, over 800,000 people visited).

Curiously, or maybe not, Hearst’s personal life didn’t get much mention.
None at all in the movie and on the tour (there are four of those alone, we took the General newcomers tour), the guide said he was married, had five children, then separated but never divorced his wife and lived with an actress, whose name I forget, fairly openly for the last 20 odd years of his life.  The famous Patty Hearst was his granddaughter.

One thing I should have asked, but did not, was about Citizen Kane. I feel like there has to be some connection, though I don’t know enough about either to say for sure.  Hearst ran for mayor of New York at one point, even ran for President (may have been a Senator as well), and new the Who’s Who of his day.

What Hearst chose to do with his money is quite different from what J. Paul Getty chose to do with his, but we’ll cover that in the next email about L.A.

P.S. I’m always looking for feedback on the quality of the writing. I hope that these emails are getting better with time like a good wine, and not worse, like Godfather III.

P.P.S. A number of people wrote in to tell me that:

The Presidio used to be an Army post (Spanish word). It actually used to have a nice medical center. But the military drawdown at the dawn of the 1990s closed it.

City by the Bay

“I left my heart in San Francisco” is probably about an older guy who decided he wanted to “walk the earth” in order to see the city and, after taking the hills multiple times, went into cardiac arrest, requiring a transplant, rendering his previous one useless and causing it to be disposed of somewhere in the vicinity.

As New Yorkers and people who consider themselves to be generally fit (though 3 weeks of Slurpees do take their toll) and despite the fact that I had visited the “City by the Bay” at least twice before (I was ready for the massive temperature shifts that occur every minute or so), we were quite worn out after 2 days in Ess Eff.

I had been lauding San Francisco as “my 2nd favorite American city” (after NYC, of course) since the time we left New Jersey and it had the unfortunate consequence of getting Tamar’s expectations so high that she would have needed to see a city full of people who can levitate on command in order to be impressed.

What’s more, on Friday morning when we first arrived, while I met with 2 business associates, Tamar went off on her own to see what the city had to offer. First, she saw the business district, which she described as ‘similar to New York, but a little more elegant.”

However, a few blocks to the south of the financial area is Market and 8th Sts., where she soon found herself.  This area is the San Franciscan equivalent to the more dangerous and dilapidated areas of Harlem or the south Bronx (or those seedy areas within any major metropolis.)

As the average number of homeless people per block increased to 5 or 6, she started to wonder what it was exactly that I found so intriguing about this city. And then, in the afternoon, after we settled in our motel, we ended up in the Fisherman’s Wharf area, which is across the Bay from Alcatraz (we did not go-you need reservations), and is basically an area devoted just to tourists (which is bad.) As my friend, Sarah Jordan, a local and valued tour guide said, “It’s the dregs of San Francisco.”

Well, by this time, S.F. was averaging about a D- in Tamar’s book, so over the course of the next 2 days, I did my best to elevate the city’s standing in Tamar’s mind.

We climbed to the top of the Coit Tower, which was built with the money bequeathed by Elizabeth Hancock Coit, a late 19th century S.F. socialite, whose parents died in a fire when she was young and ultimately became the mascot of the San Francisco Fire Department. Even as a little girl, she would never miss the call to go out with the fire engines to an emergency and thus earned the position of mascot for the city’s fire department.

She married well and after a few years in Paris, returned to San Francisco, where she died. Her funeral was attended by numerous firemen and she donated over 1/3rd of her estate (if I recall correctly) to create a monument that looks like the end of a fire hose as a way of demonstrating her appreciation to those who risk their lives to save the lives of others.

Coit Tower stands up on a hill and provides a wonderful panoramic vista of the Bay Area.  To the West is the Pacific Ocean. To the north, connecting with the Golden Gate Bridge (we walked halfway across it), is hilly/mountainous Marin County (home of the glorious, centuries old Redwoods in Muir Woods, where we also visited and where a tree’s rings can be traced back to events like the American revolution, Columbus sailing for the New World, and the fall of the Roman Empire. The only reason why these redwoods were not cut down is because they were too far removed from easy modes of transportation. Then, in the early 1900’s, a rich philanthropist purchased the land, donated it to the federal government and had them named for John Muir-a noted conservationist).

To the northeast and east are the cities of Berkeley and Oakland (keep in mind that this is across one of the largest Bays around) where you can see the two connecting suspension bridges that allow you to commute (slowly and with patience) from Oakland to San Fran and back.

Looking at the harbor, you can see why San Fran became so wealthy, important, and strategic.  The city is on a peninsula, with the ocean to the West, the Bay to the east, and only a thin strait, relatively that is, separating it from the land on the north (Marin county), and thus the avenue through which huge ships can come into the Bay and be protected from the natural elements of the Ocean.

After Coit Tower and the Golden Gate Bridge (which was probably Tamar’s favorite site, since it was a clear day, at that point, the wind was blowing, we got to see the whole city and the sailboats blow, and have the experience of being so far up in the air), Tamar’s ranking for SF had improved a little bit (it didn’t help, however, that we would look on a map to see that although the shortest distance from Point A to Point B may be a line, the map didn’t show 3 dimensional differences) and, as we ascended significant hills, Tamar’s fatigue (and mine to be fair) grew with the heights of the hills.

We did have some flat land to walk on, in the Marina district and the newly restored Crissy Field area along the waterfront, which was full of joggers, artists, sailboats (there were hundreds out on the water taking advantage of the very strong winds and clear skies), and through Fort Mason, an old brick fort built by the US Army and which was a part of a series of fortifications designed to protect the western US from enemy attack. It was used in WW II to help mine the harbor of San Fran and as a final port of embarkation for troops going to fight the Japanese in the Pacific.

The area to the south of the Golden Gate Bridge is called the Presidio. Now, I’m not sure what that means or what the area is supposed to do (it’s like a large park, but it has some houses and small buildings which are clearly in use. It could have some military significance.)

I had planned with Sarah Jordan and her boyfriend, Ted, to meet them briefly on the other side of the Presidio and be a part of the larger San Francisco community as the first game of the World Series between the local Giants and the Anaheim Angels was to be played. So once again, I consulted the map and said ‘ah-ha, straight through the Presidio.”

Well, that turned out to be a stupid idea, because the hills are STEEP and the roads are not so well marked, even though the area is quite nice.  By this time, the weather had shifted and I was wearing 3 layers on my chest and a ski cap on my head.

After a few roads that led us only up really, we did manage to make our way out of the area, I met up with my friends, and saw Barry Bonds hit a homerun. We also managed to climb to the top of the hill where Lombard Street descends in a diagonal snake-like way in between flower gardens in one of the more unusual streets in any city of the world, which is appropriate for one of the more unusual cities in the world.

All in all, I think the city has a lot of charm. It’s built on tremendous hills, has a variety of climates (within the span of hours), is full of interesting people (large Chinese and Gay populations among others), sits at the crossroads of the world and the exit to the Pacific Rim, and is close to so many different attractions. Tamar…well, that’s another story, but if there’s anything the two of us have really learned or shall I say, had reinforced during these past two weeks on the road, it’s that the saying ‘different strokes for different folks’ is something you just need to live by.

Before we arrived in SF, we stayed for two nights with the Foote family of Alameda, CA, who perhaps should be the poster family for “How to Raise Your Children Well.”  Their children are outgoing, friendly, interested, and good communicators, a real pleasure for us to share our trips with them and learn from them.

Hale Foote was a long-time colleague of my father’s when he and his wife lived in the DC area and they have maintained a good relationship in the 12 years or so since they moved out West. The Footes generously offered their glorious house as a way station on our travels and we took them up on it for two nights, where we shared stories, pictures (they saw our wedding video), and of course, the bonus- we did laundry.

Beth is studying at the Episcopal Seminary at Berkeley and we attended our first Episcopalian service with them, where Beth gave a presentation on Psalm 116. Tamar had a good time when she pulled out her copy of the Bible and followed along in Hebrew.

Earlier in the day, we had spent some time in Berkeley. Walking up and down Telegraph Road, I was looking for the signs of the activism for which Berkeley was quite famous and, while I did see one guy with flowing white hair, a beat up Volvo with a Nader sticker on it, and another fellow selling “Abort Bush” bumper stickers and displaying a Palestinian flag, I didn’t get as much as I had hoped for. It seemed like Berkeley had a contingent of die-hard liberals (I’m told the city council is still quite far left wing) that want to keep the 60’s alive, but when you get to the actual campus (yes, there are some activists), it’s really just a tremendous number of Asian engineering and sciences students.

I was hoping to get into a good political argument with somebody, but instead, I got very good, cheap sushi.
Our final stop in the Bay Area was San Jose, from which we set off for the coast. I got fond of saying “Yesterday we were in San Jose, but today we’re on our way to Monterey.” Tamar just barely tolerated it.

In San Jose, we had the good fortune to see my cousin Kevin Epstein, his wife, Lisa, and their two beautiful daughters, Sabrina and Jocelyn. It was nice to see the first California generation of the Epstein family take root and to see how my cousins were doing.  Also, another set of familiar faces after being so long in no man’s land (and no cell phone land).  Hearing about life in San Jose during the height of the Internet boom (San Jose is as close to the epicenter you can get) was very interesting, as was watching football at 10am on a Sunday morning (something I had dreamed about doing for years since I was a kid.)

We saw on the weather report how all of the parts of the country we visited last week are now receiving their first bits of snow for the year and we are continually feeling blessed for the opportunities we have had on the trip.

I am also feeling quite fortunate to count you and all of the other people who receive this email as a friend.  You know, it’s strange. Sometimes I wonder if people actually read this. I wonder sometimes why I bother writing these, or at least sending them out. I have moments of judging my self-worth about the number of responses I get to a given email, but then feel terrible that there is no way I can possibly respond to each person individually and in-depth. I guess that’s why I like to know as many people’s birthdays as possible. At least that way, I’ll be in touch on a personal level on an annual basis and what I’ve found is that when I find an article or something that reminds me of you, that’s when I forward it along to say hi.

I realize that I have been sending a lot of email, but hey, when you are driving across Nevada, there’s not much else to do.  I do hope that you’ll occasionally take the time to read these notes and share your thoughts, no matter how long or short, when you do have a moment.

To me, the value of these emails pays out over time. It’s being able to have a great dinner in Sacramento, or staying with a friend in Santa Barbara (as we are tonight), or having a friend from Tokyo or Toronto sleep on our couch, or sitting with a friend from Australia on a park bench.

Without these emails, in my opinion, there’s just no way I could or would keep in touch with people whom I have felt were “good value” (a John Mackay of Tokyo phrase) over time and distance.

I am writing to you and have included you on this list of “Friends of Jer”
(coined by Jen Fox Pearlman about 7 years ago), to tell you that I think you are “good value” and I expect that when I see you again, you will continue to be “good value.”

Next email:
The California Coastline and Hearst Castle How Tamar and I are polar opposites in some ways and similar in others

Of Mormons, Gamblers, and Barren Land

If there were to be a book on the Masters of Marketing, I think the Mormon Church would get a pretty big section of it.

We entered Temple Square in Salt Lake and found guides with open arms greeting us, each wearing the flag of the language they spoke-Korean, German, Russian, English, Dutch, etc.

We joined the tour of the compound, which includes visitor centers explaining the Mormon philosophy and outlook on life. This is a polished building. It has enormous paintings with scenes from the New and Old Testaments. It has a room where you sit looking up at a starry sky in the presence of a massive statue of Jesus. The guides turn on a sound system that starts…

“Have you ever wondered about the meaning of LIFE?” and proceeds from there.

The tour basically went something like this…. “To your right, you will see the beautiful stonework of the columns supporting the Temple (into which only Mormons can go). These stones were made possible by the fact that Jesus Christ, our savior, died for our sins. Of course, this is why you should want to read the Book of Mormon.”

OK, so I’m exaggerating, and their presentation was a lot smoother than that, but they were mildly forceful in their efforts to recruit.

On the other hand, you can’t argue with their success, and they have a lot of it. The women (all of the guides were women) were dressed quite modestly, exceedingly polite, and quite clear in their firm commitment to their faith.
The Mormons set aside special time just for the family on a regular basis.
They are firm believers in education and abhor welfare. They have achieved remarkable material successes, are not flamboyant about it, and have built a thriving, modern city in a spectacular setting. Their ethics are quite impeccable, particularly their work ethic. It's really quite admirable.

I subsequently heard that Utah is 70% Mormon and is essentially a theocracy, but that was one man’s opinion (a wise man, but still one man’s opinion.)

The last room on the tour of the compound had a crisp 4 minute film showing how Jesus had appeared to the Native Americans (yes, the people on the American continent.) It was quite powerful and even got me a bit emotional.

Now, obviously I don’t affirm the idea that Jesus died for our sins and was resurrected three days later, but for the sake of argument, let’s say he did.  To say that he was crucified in Jerusalem and then resurrected in Jerusalem, well….ok, but to say that he died, was resurrected and then subsequently appeared to peoples in North America just seems to be a stretch… on the surface. On the other hand, if you believe that G-d can perform miracles (which I do), I guess anything is possible.

>From my perspective, it did seem strange.

The last step we had, before we were “Mormoned-out” was in the Beehive house. We had noticed coming into Utah from Idaho that all of the state highway signs were beehives.

Brigham Young had built and named the house in Salt Lake because he considered the Beehive a sign of industriousness, a trait which he and the Mormons valued.  He lived by the credo of giving work to people who were unemployed and insisting that people make a contribution to society.  He was clearly a learned man, particularly erudite; he did not waste time that could be spent learning, teaching, or spending time with his family.

After 2.5 hours there, we felt like we had enough (though I did read the story of Joseph Smith’s divine inspiration while in Nevada) and moved on out of town. I do have to say, however, that Salt Lake is a beautiful city. It’s quite clean and it’s location, right at the foot of the Wasatch Mountains and basically in the middle of nowhere, makes it quite impressive.

As you leave Salt Lake and head towards Nevada, the land gets more and more barren. I had thought, as we entered each state from South Dakota on “It can ’t get any more remote than this” but as we entered Wyoming and then Idaho, I realized I was wrong.

I should have held my tongue, because western Utah and Nevada is like nothing I’ve ever seen.

The salt flats of the western part of Utah prompted Tamar to say “this is probably what it was like after Sodom and Gemmorah were destroyed.”  Save a few hills, it is flat, dry, wide, and just empty, devoid of people, and when there are exits, there are really nothing more than a few houses, most exits don’t even have gas stations or convenience stores, which is obviously a rarity.

Now, when you cross into Nevada, you think…”I wonder if all of the people who got tired of living with the Mormons just decided to come to Nevada and be the anti-Mormons.”

For miles before the state line and everywhere in between, all you see are billboards for Casinos and their ‘loose slots.” The gas stations have video poker in them (when you get to one of course.) Tamar didn’t believe me that prostitution is legal in Nevada and I didn’t get a chance to disprove her, but you just have to wonder about what is going on in that state.

However, when you do the drive on I-80 from Salt Lake to Reno, you will invariably come to two realizations.

The first is: It’s no wonder we bury our nuclear waste out here.

The second is: how come every prisoner in America isn’t kept out here. Heck, you wouldn’t even need walls. Put them 100 miles from anybody and see how long they last.
You enter Nevada and it says “Reno, 547 miles”. We left SLC at 4.30pm (mountain time) and crossed into Pacific Time roughly at the border. We thought we could make it to Reno by 11.30pm, but it was just too much, so we stayed in…

Winnemucca, Nevada.  (That’s Win-Neh-Muck-ka). It was by far the crappiest motel we’d visited, probably because people in Nevada spend all of their time at the slot machines.

I have to say, we got to Reno the next morning and went to the Hilton to use the Internet connection to send/check email and walked through the casino.
It just got me so depressed. I saw so many people just pushing coins into a machine, wasting their lives away, in my opinion. There were no neurons being fired. Sad. And we haven’t even made it to Vegas yet, though I suspect that’s a different experience.

Leaving Nevada’s deserts and mountains and nothingness, we hit the Sierras, heading for Lake Tahoe, which is apparently the highest alpine lake in North America.  When I was 9 years old, I went with my father to Lake Tahoe in the summer and I can still remember opening my eyes under the water, seeing how clear it was. I was intent on reliving that experience and I wanted Tamar to do it as well.

Well, this time it’s October and the water isn’t as warm. By some estimates, it was about 50 degrees. Now, remember we are Polar Bears, so we had trained for this moment (though Tamar preferred not to put her training to use), so I changed into my bathing suit, waded into the lake and put my head under the water, opened my eyes and once again was astounded at its clarity.

Unfortunately, by this time, my legs had gone numb and I could feel my heart pounding and I thought I was having a small heart attack, so I went back to shore after my 90 seconds or so in the water, feeling refreshed for the experience.

We headed over the Donner Pass at an elevation of 8500 feet, where in the 1860’s or so, a pioneer party led by a person name Donner (or a family named
Donner) made a miscalculation about the time it would take to cross, subsequently were stuck up in the mountains for the winter and ultimately resorted to cannibalism in order to survive (which I’m not sure any of them did any way).

Fortunately, our car has been relatively well stocked, thanks to our VP of Food Procurement and we didn’t have to resort to anything that gruesome. We did celebrate the return of our cell phone coverage after six days without it, by talking to my parents while stopping at the Donner summit.

Our next goal was Sacramento, the state capital, and it was on the outskirts of that city where we had the true California experience, as well as something we hadn’t seen since we left Chicago, namely, traffic.  After spending days rolling along at 80 or 85 mph, it was a strange feeling to be back at snail’s pace of 5mph or so.

In Sacramento, we were joined for dinner by Jesse Szeto, a friend of mine from IUJ in Japan, who works in the state’s department of economic planning.
He told us that Route 99, which covers the central part of the state, including famous places like Fresno and Stockton, is the focus of the government’s efforts since the rate of teenage pregnancy and high school dropouts tend to be quite high. It seems that businesses have few reasons to invest in that portion of the state and Jesse is trying to improve their lives.

He met us at Bob’s Kosher Deli, our first taste of kosher meat since we left Chicago, which was enjoyed by all (including Jesse, I believe) and over turkey and pastrami sandwiches, we discussed the beauty of email and how it had enabled us to maintain a relationship over the past four years without seeing each other once.

Our dinner with Jesse reiterated once again (as if it was really needed), that it is the people who make the trip, not just the destination. And in this case, if Life is the trip, it really is the people who make it for you.

Next email: The San Francisco Bay Area

Before signing off, a quick word of thanks to all of the members of the Etymology Hall of Fame (names below) on the word ‘Geyser’.

Most popular answer:
Geyser - 1780, from Icelandic Geysir, name of a hot spring in the valley of Haukadal, from O.N. geysa "to gush," from P.Gmc. *gausjan, from I.E. *gheus-, from root *gheu- "to pour."

Another answer from Zehava Cohn:
geyser (GIE-zuhr) noun
   1. A natural hot spring that intermittently ejects a column of water and
      steam into the air.
   2. (GEE-zuhr). Chiefly British. A gas-operated hot-water heater.
[After Icelandic Geysir, name of a hot spring of southwest Iceland, from geysa, to gush, from Old Norse.]

   "With Old Faithful erupting less frequently and less regularly, scientists
   speculate that its underground feeder system is literally losing steam.
   For the moment, only seasoned geyser gazers notice the difference."
   Old Faithful becoming, well, less faithful // Eruptions grow less regular;
   scientists say it may be losing steam, Star Tribune, 5 Feb 1996.

>From "A Word A Day"

And some comments from Ariela Freedman

I learned about the origin of this word in my Algo-Saxon Lit class at Lawrence.  Geyser is one of about three words in the English language that came from Icelandic culture about a thousand years ago.  I did a search for the word online and came up with this definition:

There are not many geysers on earth. They are rare geologic features that get their names from a large geyser in Iceland. The namesake for all the world's geysers is the great Geysir. In Danish the name means "gusher" or "spouter." The Icelandic people are very proud of their geyser. In fact its name, Geysir, is copyrighted so it cannot be used as the name of any other geyser.

Here's the website, if you want to check it out:
http://click.topica.com/maaaAGsaaT2r1ba5BxCb/

I also think geyser would be a great name for a kid, so long as it wasn't confused with "geezer."  Anyway, good luck in your continued travels - thanks for putting us on your list.  We always have interesting discussions about your emails.

The Etymology Hall of Fame
Leo Lipis
Ariela Freedman
Barak Epstein
Amy Berks
Alan Gersch
Michael Merwitz
Michael Kellman
Ben Gris
Zehava Cohn
Josh Pines
Greg Teitel

Thanks for reading and keep those suggestions coming. I am only sorry that I don't have the time to respond to each one individually.

Friends in the Rocky Mountains

All along, we’ve been saying ‘it’s the people that make the journey’ but when we said that, we meant the people we’d meet in the hotels, barber shops, and convenience stores of our trip.

What we did not mean were the people who were our virtual travel companions, namely all of our friends who have volunteered to receive our travel reports and offer advice about destinations.

What’s been so inspiring is not just the response to the places we have been, the encouragement and support for taking advantage of this time in our lives, but really, the wealth of knowledge lodged in the brains of our friends.

Lee Smith told us about the Bighorn mountains, Laura Sheppard suggested we go to Dubois, Wyoming (too bad we don’t have wireless email since we got it too late) and the Beehive Museum in Salt Lake (which we will do today), Cheilaugh Garvey told us to get depressed in Driggs, Idaho (and we almost did, but it was getting very late and we were tired, so we went the other way-no offense, Cheilaugh), a number of people have given us suggestions for Lake Tahoe, Dennis McGreevey and Eran Megiddo told us to go to Washington (alas, too far out of the way on this trip), and my cousin Leonard reminisced about being in Idaho Falls when McGovern was nominated.

We’ve also been rebuked. Ferrel Atkins, a professor and a park ranger at Rocky Mtn. National Park whom I met in May writes “Don't let anyone in Yellowstone hear you referring to management of the national parks by the Forest Service!!!  Jer, the Forest Service is in the Department of Agriculture -- they're basically "tree farmers".  The national parks are managed by the National Park Service, established in 1916, in the Department of the Interior. Ranger Ferrel”

Lewis and Clark may have had more meetings with the natives than we’ve had (by the way, we’re almost done with the book and will be listening to Lonesome Dove next), but we have such a wonderful support group, full of information, ideas, support, and suggestions. More than anything, the fact that you are traveling with us makes us appreciate you even more. Thank you very much and keep them coming!

Now onto the events of the day.

After spending Sunday night in Cody, Wyoming (named for Buffalo Bill Cody, who was one of the town’s original founders and biggest investors), we walked through the gift shop of the Cody Wild West Museum. Considering we were heading to Yellowstone, we balked at the $15 admission fee per person since we were going to afford ourselves about 1 hour there, so we read some books in the gift shop instead.

This opened up an interesting debate for the two of us.  On the one hand, we were most likely never going to be in Cody, WY ever again and the museum did look interesting, but somehow we felt the price was more than we were willing to spend.  This is an ongoing question. On a trip of this length, where we don’t really have a budget per se, but our goal is to spend money as judiciously as possible without being cheap (sometimes difficult for me), how do you decide what is ‘worth it’ and what is ‘not worth it’? Obviously, we don’t want to forego an experience, but obviously our budget is not unlimited.

Anyway, after reading the bulk of two books on the life of Buffalo Bill in the Gift shop, we decided that a $5 donation to the museum was the right course of action in addition to the purchase of two lapel pins (my one significant hobby collection-I’ve got 574 as of right now. They are great souvenirs-easy to find, relatively low cost, and easy to transport).

Then, perhaps the greatest discovery of the trip occurred. Tamar found out about Walmart.

As we drove out of Cody, Tamar wanted to find some fresh produce for the road and I suggested Walmart. “They don’t have groceries,” she said. “They are the world’s largest company, they have everything,” I replied, but even I was shocked to see they could do oil changes, which we needed anyway, for $19.

One hour and $100 later, Tamar was in a state of Euphoria (and that’s with a capital E). We have these Motorola talk-abouts which we carry with us when we split up (cell phone service with T-Mobile, between Rochester, MN and Idaho Falls was non-existent) and as I was listening into the Monday morning staff meeting (the store did $314,000 in business over the weekend in Cody- a town of 8000, which was slow), she kept radioing to me:

“Sweetie, you’ve GOT to see this produce aisle”
“Sweetie, I’ve never seen this many of Product X”
“These prices are UNBELIEVABLE!”

My new method of getting out of Tamar’s doghouse is to take her to Walmart.
I joked that when we got back people would ask about the trip and Tamar would say “Mt. Rushmore was nice and the Badlands were cool, but Walmart was the highlight!”

At last we extricated ourselves from the store and made our way to Yellowstone National Park, which was America’s first National Park. The land was ‘discovered’ by Private John Colter, of the Lewis and Clark expedition, who left Lewis and Clark in South Dakota on the return trip to join a private party going back into the Louisiana territory.

Yellowstone-what can I say? Describing the natural beauty of this country is proving to be the most challenging part of recording our journey. It is a mix of high, snow-covered, ragged mountains, with one huge, and I mean massive, lake, called, appropriately enough, Lake Yellowstone, which is so clear and blue. It is simply the purest of mountain water.

We saw bison (two of the males were duking it out by ramming their heads and horns into each other), a coyote, a Grizzly bear, some mule deer (which are pretty big animals), as well as numerous birds.

>From the east entrance of the park to Old Faithful (of course the
>primary
destination and our northernmost point on our travels) is about 65 miles; it took us about 2 hours because we kept pulling over to look up at some mountains, down at some valleys, observe the wildlife, stare at the trees, or, as I am wont to do, just take deep breaths of very, very fresh air.

Old Faithful is by all accounts, a beautiful work of nature. Approximately every 2.5 hours, a jet of water, which is scalding hot and looks more like a steam hose than anything else, emerges from the ground. It’s in a field of geysers (2 points for anyone who can provide the etymology of this word—we don’t know it) which erupt at intervals ranging from hours to weeks. You can take a boardwalked hike through this field of natural hot springs and geysers. The geology is certainly unique.

Unfortunately, however, Old Faithful falls into the category of over-hyped experiences. I wish it didn’t, but I mean, all of the signs point to it, there is a semi-circular viewing area with benches, the information in the ranger station tell you that it will erupt within 10 minutes of a specified time (the average time between eruptions seems to be getting longer for a variety of reasons-including people who throw trash down it), and as the time approaches, the excitement, anticipation, and throngs grow. We could only imagine what it would be like in the height of the summer season, packed with Japanese and European tourists.

I don’t want to take away anything from the natural splendor and impressiveness of God’s creation and work, but it was just our impression that this is one of those examples where the human tendency to exaggerate and over-commercialize builds expectations to such a point that you walk away thinking “that’s it?”

Speaking of natural splendor, the Tetons fall into that category. Exiting Yellowstone from the south and heading towards Jackson Hole (so called because it is literally a hole formed by a volcano that is surrounded by
mountains) you drive along a rode bordered by the Tetons (a part of the Rocky Mountains) along your western edge.

We did it at a perfect time of the day, right around 4pm;  the sun coming in over the tops of the mountains, with their tremendous peaks, through a barren valley, almost alone on the road, proved to be a virtual spiritual experience.

Back in Colorado (in May, when we flew in for the Davis/Handis wedding), at least in Denver, we were close to the mountains often on the highway, but this road was arguably the most scenic (it also wasn’t an interstate) view of any mountain range we’d ever experienced.  The highest mountain in the range is called, surprisingly enough, Grand Teton, with Middle and Lower Teton filling out the highest peaks.

If you ever have the chance, do this drive.

In Jackson, we saw something we hadn’t seen for a while and it only dawned on us later. Using the bathroom at a gas station, the attendant was an African-American. We realized that since we had left Chicago (with the exception of one woman walking along the street in Mitchell, SD), we had not seen any other black people.

We’d seen a few Hispanics in the Black Hills and met one 20 year old guy in Wyoming whose grandparents had come from Mexico, but for the most part, it only then dawned on us how “white” middle America –or at least this part of
it- really is.

This morning, checking out of the motel in Idaho Falls, I saw the housekeeping staff fixing up the rooms and they were white as well. That’s certainly not the norm in most of the East Coast and I bet the West coast as well.

Jackson seemed a bit too touristy for us, so Tamar took us over the Teton Pass at 8429 ft. and into Idaho. By the way, Tamar’s driving skills are improving significantly. She lacked a little confidence coming in, but taking us over the Bighorn and Rocky Mountains and driving the Plains @80mph has helped cure her of that notion.

It was getting darker, but as we crossed the mountains, it felt like we were chasing the sun, keeping the daylight in our favor as we raced westward.

The landscape in Idaho was more fertile and we saw crops for the first time since South Dakota really. I looked for potatoes, but don’t have any idea what a potato field looks like and as it was dark, so it was difficult to see anyway. Also, the mountains here (not sure of the name) are a bit different. They are not as jagged, they are high, but they seem to roll a bit more (if you get my drift)- and have more color to their vegetation.

In Idaho, we were treated to yet another fabulous sunset, a hallmark of the western states in this part, not challenged as much by pollution and certainly fewer tall buildings, not as many people and consequently fewer lights to obstruct the view. Then, when the sun goes down, you are treated to a night sky full of stars, that is so clear, you feel like you are in a Planetarium. It’s really a glorious feeling.

I was just thinking that we’re going to LA from Idaho (and of all of the places in between) and that the people who live there and here in Idaho are all part of the same country. It’s so difficult to assign a national culture to America, because so many miles separate everyone. It’s not like Europe or smaller countries where there’s a national culture (and even there are regional differences in those countries). It’s just neat to think about everyone sharing the American experience, whatever that is, in the fall of
2002 (though we may have an answer for you in 2 weeks).

Well, we have just passed Brigham City, Utah and caught our first glimpse of the Great Salt Lake (more on that later) and we are continually inspired and grateful for the opportunity to do this now.

Thanks for sharing the voyage with us.

From the Plains to the Prairies to the Range and into the Mountains

The primary challenge with our motto of “it’s the people, not the places” is that as you start going west on I-90 from Rochester, MN is that the number of people diminishes significantly and the distances between them increases.
In Rochester, however, we were treated to the best of Northwestern hospitality from the Freedman family and were treated to an enlightening and fabulous tour, from their future son-in-law, Casey, of the world famous, and extremely impressive Mayo Clinic.

For example, the entire state of South Dakota has only 600,000 people and in the land between two of the larger cities, Sioux Falls and Rapid City, you are looking at a distance of about 500 miles and where the larger, more significant towns have populations that average in the 800 range, with only a few exceptions.

One of them is Mitchell, South Dakota, home of the ‘world-famous’ Mitchell Corn Palace, where murals on the outside and inside are made from various colors of corn into differently themed motifs every year.  Aside from the Corn Palace, Mitchell served as a destination of another sort. Since South Dakota was really the first state we were to visit where I was sure we would not know anyone since we left New York, I had told Tamar that it was the state where I would get my hair cut, something for which she had been pleading since we exited Manhattan. Complete with old-fashioned rotating Barber pole, Dave, the local barber, served as our introduction to the people and culture of South Dakota.

His family had arrived from Iowa in 1900 and he says that “South Dakotans must have pride in themselves, since no one else has pride in us.”  I confirmed his belief that the rest of the country spends little time thinking about South Dakota. He also told me that the recent crime wave in the state, which had been the headlines in the local paper, was most likely the work of Hispanic and other immigrant workers.  His explanation: native South Dakotans all know each other or know someone who knows someone and this has built a deep, strong bond between the locals such as to minimize crime. The foreigners, however, don’t have this sense of community and thus don’t feel the bond of social responsibility to the community.

South Dakota is in the midst of a fierce set of political races right now, for the lone congressperson, the Governor, and for Senator. The local commercials are non-stop political ads, many of them supported/paid for by outside interests. On the surface, you wonder why, but if you think about it, having the incumbent Democrat Senator, Tim Johnson, defeated by John Thune (he the current congressman), could change the direction of the entire United States.

Chamberlain, South Dakota sits on the banks of the Missouri River, about halfway across the state, and with its 1100 foot high bluffs overlooking what is a very wide body of water, makes for a dynamic vista. It’s also at this point that the plains of South Dakota and Minnesota, which had been covered by corn, soy, and wheat, give way to the prairies, hills, and cattle ranches of western South Dakota.  Lastly, Chamberlain was a major stop on Lewis and Clark’s’ voyage; they were there for 3 days to dry out provisions.

When you cross the Missouri River, you enter a different America. The distances become even greater and the population even sparser. This is the Prairie.

The lone signs on the highway drive home the message about Wall Drug (which is South Dakota’s equivalent of Zabar’s as Dave put it, but is really just a themed department store selling everything from Fudge to leather goods to clothing, but it is an attraction, that’s for sure. We took advantage of the town to get one of those old-time historical photos, where Tamar was dressed as a Saloon girl and I was an outlaw bandit. I’ll email if you like.)

On the outskirts of Wall, S.D. are the Badlands, which now ranks up there with one of the most impressive places I have been. They are called the Badlands because of the rough terrain and harsh conditions which exist there.  Once upon a time, it was a lake, but over the centuries, the water gave way, leaving different sedimentary layers and hills and canyons of unique rock formations. Think of those rainbow colored cakes where you can see each layer and you have a mild interpretation of the colors and layers of the Badlands. More impressively, however, are the different shapes which have been left. Some are cliffs, some are mounds, other hills, others still valleys and canyons, but as you drive through, you can’t help but feel the serenity of the place. You can imagine what it must have been like for the Indians and for the first white settlers to try and cross this forsaken wilderness. It’s really like a desert, but with rock formations that astound the imagination. Words can’t do it justice. Look up Badlands online.

I’m going to take a moment to thank G-d right now, because until we reached Rapid City, SD, which is about 70 miles from the Badlands and 15 minutes from Mt. Rushmore, we had nothing but perfect traveling and driving weather.

When we arrived in Rapid City, it started to drizzle, but nothing serious.
Soon, thereafter, we got to Mt. Rushmore. A cold rain and some fog had moved in, but the faces were clearly visible and while some people surely have come, looked, and left, I could not do that. The Visitor Center was excellently done and showed the single-minded determination of Lutzon Borglum, the sculptor whose contract was the result of a tourism idea of a South Dakota state historian to try and draw revenues to the Black Hills of South Dakota.

(Newsflash: Tamar and I are now driving through Wyoming, which is by far the biggest of the “Big Sky Country” we have seen to date and the radio is playing Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again,” our theme song if there ever was one, considering we have gone 2,115 miles to date. And if that is not enough, we’ve just caught our first glimpse of the Big Horn Mountains.)

Not only did the Visitor Center show what one person is capable of doing with enough focus and determination; it also made me feel very patriotic and appreciative. Washington’s face was there because of his contribution to the independence of the country, Jefferson for opening up the West (even though Ambrose-who died today we heard on the radio-comments that Jefferson’s initial policy of friendship and trade with the Indians was basically overrun by settlers on the frontier, whom he could not control, whose attitude became “get out of the way or be killed”), Lincoln for his commitment to liberty, and Roosevelt, because in the minds of the originators of the concept, he represented he enlightened man of the 20th century.

Each face is over 60 feet high and the work took over 15 years to complete (if I recall correctly).  It really is a triumphant work of human skill.

We spent the Sabbath relaxing in the Black Hills National Forest and took a
4 mile hike through the woods. It’s called the Black Hills because the trees are so thick as to make them look black. We were in the town of Hill City (pop. 600) and enjoyed the day of not driving and resting.

The American Indian influence is quite strongly felt and it seems that the modern day South Dakotans make a point of honoring the Native Americans. For example, this coming Monday, which is Columbus Day, is called Native American Day there and is a holiday.  Though we did not make it, there is a memorial to Crazy Horse being carved into another mountain, which is a project which will take over 30-40 years to complete. Further, there are many museums and a few reservations (which we did not visit either) and the Badlands made a point of mentioning the Massacre of Wounded Knee, which was the last of the great battles between the US Army and the Lakota Sioux, who were the primary tribe in the Dakota territory.

As you get out on the open road of I-90, with no cars in sight as far as the eye can see, driving 85mph (no faster since we’re in an SUV), you really start to get an appreciation for just how big this country really is.  We also look out over the horizon into a beautiful sunset with no buildings blocking our view, look to either side and see prairies as far as we can look, with a few cattle dispersed throughout, but what really makes an impression is the ferocity of the wind. You see it whipping the occasional tree on the prairie, the grass bending, and feel its impact on the car as you drive along. Make a stop for gas or the bathroom and you have trouble opening the car door against it.  And this is October.

The Prairie House Museum showed how a settler in the 1880’s lived here and it makes you wonder how it was done. This is Little House on the Prairie country as we are reminded so often, more in Iowa and Minnesota, but you see the attempts to make money off the Ingalls’ name.

Early Sunday morning, we headed into Wyoming, thinking that it would be more of the same, but as we have learned time and time again in this beautiful country, there is no ‘more of the same.’ Every state, town and area has something unique about it.

Dave Gottesman, who has traveled across the US over 10 times, told us that Wyoming was the most beautiful state he had seen and now we are beginning to understand why.

It’s got everything. Outstretched prairies, hills covered with trees, high snow-capped mountains (the Big Horn), barren ranges almost desert-like in their appearance (the Big Horn basin between the Big Horn Mountains and the Rockies), and many other fascinating red (plus other colors) rock geological formations (we visited Devil’s Tower which was the first national monument in the US. We’re on our way to Yellowstone, which was the first national park in the US. Kudos to the US Forest Service, they do a great job of managing the National Parks.) Who knew that there was so much in Wyoming?
But I’ll tell you something…there is A LOT of land out here. There were more than a few times when we were literally the only car on the road and that lasted for more than a  few minutes.

But it’s really the sky in Wyoming that does it. You can see for miles in any direction, there is not a cloud to be seen (at least today-again good
weather) and the panoramas are splendid.  We see a bit more rugged terrain on either side, not so much the grass prairies of South Dakota, but more of those little bushes (sagebrush?) and rolling hills, some quite barren, with the occasional cattle, horses or even buffalo, and best of all, a cowboy on horseback! That is the Wyoming license plate, after all.

The country is definitely getting a bit tougher, as are the cops, as it was in Sundance, Wyoming (home of the Sundance Kid), where I got my first traffic ticket of the trip. No, it wasn’t for speeding! It was about 9am on a Sunday morning in a town of 1200 people and I didn’t see a stop sign.
Expensive ($60) it was, but the policeman was very kind. So kind in fact that when we went back to look for the sign and we couldn’t find it, we tracked him down (not hard to do) he drove us over to it. Then, I asked him if he would pose for a picture with me and my ticket underneath the stop sign ----as a souvenir. Saying that this picture was by far “the craziest thing he’d ever seen,” he agreed, which led us into a long conversation about the history of the Wyoming country, the people who live there today, and his own aspirations.  It was an expensive tour guide, but hey, 2100 miles and only one ticket! Not bad, if I do say so myself.

We’re done with Part 1 of Undaunted Courage, we had our first big fight of the trip, and we’re on our way to Yellowstone National Park (hoping it doesn ’t snow)…on the road again.

Into the Heartland: NYC-Chicago-Minnesota

In this issue: NYC-Chicago-Rochester, MN Next few days (suggestions welcome): Rochester, MN, to Black Hills/Mt.
Rushmore, South Dakota

Tamar and I have been looking for the appropriate title for our trip across America and back.  I had started calling it "Tamar and Jer's Excellent Adventure" or alternatively, the "Journey in Search of America."  I had settled on the latter until I found out that ABCNews and Peter Jennings were promoting some trip of the same name.

No matter what, our 'search for America' has commenced and is in full force and this attitude, that it is not so much destinations (though some are
important) as it is people, has fueled us to this point.

Just to bring you up to date (I am writing this in the Ellen R. Epstein Ford Explorer with a car lighter adapter for my Dell laptop-compliments of the Dell Computer corporation--I kid you not, they gave it to me), we are now on the road from Dubuque, Iowa to Rochester, Minnesota.

We just left the Bison farm of Gary Lenz, yes you read that correctly, the Bison farm, where we met his 2 year old, 1100 lbs., pet buffalo--Bogey, who enjoys Miller Lite beer (I have a picture of me pouring beer into Bogey's mouth).

In our search, we couldn’t have asked for more than to find Gary.  He dropped out of high school after 9th grade, has traveled all over the world and the US, but decided to settle down about 2 miles from where he grew up.
He is involved in at least 10 different businesses and has done rather well for himself, but his attitude is simple, down to earth, common sense, and pure generosity.

We were not even planning on coming through Iowa (though now I find myself waving at kids on school buses throughout this state), but at the suggestion of some Bears fans in Chicago (if you remember the old Saturday Night Live skits about 'Da Bears', well then, these guys fit the bill to a tee-except for the fact that they were Orthodox Jews, but otherwise right there), we changed our plan to go through Madison, Wisconsin and come to Iowa instead.

>From Chicago, where we spent 2 glorious food-filled days with Tamar’s
extended family (including Aunt/Uncle, Sister/Brother-in-law, niece, and
Grandmother) as well as my 93 year old Great Great Aunt, we drove across the northern portion of Illinois (look for Rockford) and stopped in Galena, Illinois, which was the adult home (sort of) of President U.S. Grant (whose tomb is on 122nd and Riverside Dr. in NYC). Though we had certainly seen some farmland in parts of Ohio and Indiana, we didn’t really feel like the trip had begun in earnest until we left Chicago. Now, we are watching farmers harvest their fields, the land is flattening out around us, and the distances are feeling greater.

Chicago, in addition to being the place where we visited family, was also our staging point for the trip westward. Much like St. Louis was for Lewis and Clark (about whom the book Undaunted Courage by Stephen E. Ambrose is written and to which we have been listening while driving), Chicago was for us.  It was the last place where we really knew anyone (aside from Rochster, MN where our connection to our hosts is a bit more loose); it was the last place where we could count on buying kosher food; it was probably the last place where we’d stay for more than one day.  So, when we left Chicago, we were really ready to find America.

Now back to Gary Lenz. Gary is a customer of a man I met in Chicago, David Weinstock, at whose home I watched the Bears play the Packers. David told me that my proposed route through Madison and Wisconsin to Rochester, MN was stupid.

Illinois, he told me, was far more scenic (it was scenic) and Gary was  “a trip.”  And a trip he really was.

We arrived at the Buffalo Ridge Ranch around 1.30pm on Wednesday.  Now, I’ve never been much of a beer drinker, not even when I lived in Germany, but that didn’t matter to Gary. After he pulled up in his mini-tractor, he went to a big soda vending machine, which he had converted into a beer dispenser.
A look at his recycling bin indicated that when it comes to beer, Gary does not joke around.

I thought I could get out of drinking too much beer by giving mine to Bogey (the pet buffalo), but that just became an excuse for Gary to give me another one.

Anyway, in between beers, Gary answered our numerous questions about the life of a bison (interchangeable with buffalo) farmer, the growth in popularity (leaner, less fatty, lower cholesterol), the price of the market (significantly higher than beef), why Buffalo survive the winter better than cattle (they face the wind and use their manes to break the wind, cattle turn their backs to the wind and thus freeze), and at what point they slaughter the buffalo (around 1200 lbs.).

Then, Gary took us to the neighboring Abbey called ‘Our Lady of the Mississippi’ (remember the Mississippi river goes all the way up to Minneapolis), where they make homemade caramel candy, and to the bar he owns called “Fisherman’s Wharf” in a small inlet off the River.

Now, in a bazillion years, we NEVER would have found this bar and if we had, I am not sure we would have gone in, but Gary is the BMOC and we sat and spoke with the local Iowans.  One thing that pervaded the conversation, in my mind, was that plain, common-sensical approach to life for which Midwesterners are so well known.  I was thinking about the Iowa caucuses and why it’s a good winnowing ground for would-be presidential candidates.

Everyone we met was Caucasian, so in that respect some would argue that they can’t be representative, but from the way they spoke, the Iowans just don’t have time or energy for bullsh*t. They approach things directly and expect direct answers.

For example, Gary stopped by the side of the road to ask a friend how much he wanted for a tractor he had for sale.

Gary: “What do you expect for it?”
Friend: “I’d like about $16000.”
Gary: “I know you’d like $16000, but what do you EXPECT for it?”
Friend: “If you’re serious, I’ll give it to you for $15000, but no lower.”

Business, and we saw more than one transaction discussed or conducted in our
2 hours with Gary, was not complicated. He knows everyone and everyone knows him. As Gary says, “I try to work hard and not screw the other guy.”  That pretty much sums up his philosophy.

Gary kept handing me beers and I kept trying to not drink them (fortunately I had driven in the morning and Tamar was slated for the afternoon shift), and we eventually departed for the afternoon shift (we did leave him with some of Tamar’s banana-chocolate chip muffins) and began our way up the Mississippi River Valley across the corn fields and rolling hills of northeastern Iowa.

Now, of all of the things you would expect to see while driving through this part of the country, a kosher restaurant and kosher grocery store is not one of them, but that is exactly what you will find as you come along US Route
52 North and arrive in Postville, Iowa.

About 12 years ago, a bunch of Orthodox Jews from Brooklyn found out about an abandoned meat packing plan and brought a number of their community with them. This plant, Rubashkin’s, is apparently the largest kosher meat packing plant in the world and produces something like 80% of the kosher meat in America.

Beyond that, however, is how this little town of 1300 people has been transformed over the last ten years.

Now, there are 200 Jews there, and we’re talking about hard-core, black hat, Jews. What’s more, though, is that the town has doubled to 2600 people and now has representatives of 27 different nationalities, with a lot of immigrants having been attracted to the jobs in the meat packing industry.

Postville has become a poster town for multi-cultural America and will soon have a radio station that broadcasts in Spanish, Russian, English, and Hebrew. 25% of the students in the high school are minorities and 50% of the elementary students are minorities.

It’s just such cognitive dissonance. Here you are in the middle of Iowa and you see one town that is straight out of Brooklyn, from so many perspectives.

We spoke with the proprietor of the grocery store, Shulamith, who gave us a t-shirt and who told us that anti-Semitism had been rampant a few years back, when no one would sell her a building, which has since changed. This fact was mildly confirmed by the woman at the Tourist Information Office who told us that when the non-caucasians moved in, that some people couldn’t take it, so they left town. Since then, and this is confirmed by all parties, things have gotten much better, but no matter how you slice it, it’
s just weird.

Out here, as we are on the fringes of ‘big sky’ country and we move quickly through small towns of one or no stoplights, we think about the types of people who live here, what we share with them, and how we differ.  Each person in his own way a part of the American experience.

I’ll tell you, though, compared to Lewis and Clark, we have it pretty darn good. While it took them a full day to move 20 miles (and that was on exceptionally good days), we cover that in 15 minutes.  We have two cell phones, a laptop (alas, no wireless email though I tried, but in reality most of the time, we’re not going to have any cell coverage anyway), we have a driver’s seat chair massager (thanks Marianne for the wedding present), and a plethora of other devices (I synced my Palm Pilot @70mph the other
day) to keep us in touch and to keep us comfortable.

Nevertheless, we are seeing America as it is in October of 2002 and appreciating every moment, feeling nostalgia for a mythic frontier past of which we have no direct relation and a strange affinity for the people going about their daily lives, as we, the travelers who pass through just for a moment, watch them and try to learn something about them and ourselves as a result.

Most of all, I find myself most appreciative for this opportunity, for the chance to drive to California and back alone with my wife at this special time in our lives, to celebrate 18 months together, to prepare for our new lives in the DC area, and to think about our future together. This is marriage therapy of the greatest kind.

Did I make it here? Trying to Recap 4 years in NYC

I am honored to send you the final "Friends of Jer" Newsletter from NYC
because, at some point, and in some way, you have been a part of my travels
here. Don't dispute me, if I didn't think so, I wouldn't be sending you this
email ;-) Thank you for your contribution to this part of my life's journey.

When I arrived in the Big Apple, I wanted to live both as a traveler and as
a New Yorker and I think I've made a good effort at it, though I am now
struggling with one question about moving on.

The one part of the implied question by Sinatra that is left unanswered is:
what is the objective standard for making it here, so that you know if you
can really make it anywhere?

I mean, we can't have subjective standards, because if you think you have
made it here, but you really haven't, and then you don't make it somewhere
else, well then, imagine the fiasco we'd have at that point.  The
revisionists would try to get the song banned.

Ok, I'm getting a bit excited here, but that's probably because all I know
is that I want to write something down to summarize my experiences here over
the past four years, but how do you do that? How can you look back at four
formative years of your life in which you saw so much good and some
significant evil and learned so much and just jot it down?

Not that it is similar by a longshot, but imagine how difficult it must be
to write a great eulogy or a biography.  How do we know all that has
happened within the hearts and minds of men? (read: men and women)

I'm torn because on the one hand, I know this is a turning point in my life,
but on the other hand, I know this is LIFE. Dealing with big changes is
LIFE, as is having your long distance telephone service disconnected for no
reason whatsoever and having to spend hours trying to figure out why and
more importantly, get it restored.  Is this the game of Life?

Are the special moments, the weddings, the births, the holidays, the big
games, what life is lived for or is it really any moment that you step back
and take that deep breath and just appreciate the fact that you are alive?

The preciousness and fragility of life has been driven into our minds in
ways that we could hardly expect over the past year, but have we integrated
those lessons into our minds as well as we could have?

I don't really know, but I do know that I appreciate Life for Life's sake
more these days. Is it me? Is it NYC? Is it this period in my life?

But more importantly, how do I know if I've made it here (or what 'making
it' means anyway)? Does anyone ever actually *make it* ?

Just for kicks, I'll share my stock answer (I'm open to suggestions): You
have made it in New York if:
1. you have withstood the process of searching for an apartment and moved in
(bonus points for more than twice)
2. you can find a parking space on the street without being stressed about
it

If that's indeed the criteria, I've made it, which bodes well for the
future, I guess. Maybe I just set criteria I knew I could achieve. Hmm....

Those of you who have followed my travels throughout Europe and Asia know by
now that I have a mildly disguised desire to view my own life in "epic"
terms and to engage in "epic" activities.  "Epic" being my word of choice
for reasons unknown to me, like our 'epic cross country trip in October.'
(Title Sponsorships is still available)

Maybe that's the way I give meaning and significance to what I do or perhaps
it is my own delusions of grandeur, but as Emily Waldman Ebner says "when I
listen to my walkman, I hear it as the soundtrack to the movie that is my
life," I guess I see people, places, events, and periods as chapters in some
great unfolding literary novel of grand proportions, a la War and Peace
(which took me one year to read)

So, now, as this chapter closes, and we see two more chapters on the horizon
(one the month-long cross-country trip with Tamar and two, our new life in
the DC area), it is a perfect time for some reflection and retrospection.
Whether I can actually do that or not, remains to be seen.

As I sat listening to the chords of Beethoven's 9th Symphony at Avery Fisher
Hall last night being played by the New York Philharmonic, I thought to
myself "THIS is how I want to go out. "

I read the words in both German and English..."Wem der grosse Wurf gelungen,
Eines Freundes Freund zu sein, Wer ein holdes Weib werunge, Mische seinen
Jubel ein!"

(He who has won in that great gamble Of being friend unto a friend, He who
has found a goodly woman, Let him add his jubilation too!")

It was a magnificent (dare I say epic) performance, the symphony lasting
about an hour, but hardly seeming like a stretch at all, culminating with
the monumental efforts of 4 soloists, a full orchestra, and a full chorus,
rising into a crescendo and then stopping just like that.

There should be a word for that brief moment of total silence after an
orchestra has finished playing and before the audience begins to applaud. So
many emotions are taking place, like a collective pregnant pause. It's
similar to the pause between the end of one chapter in a page-turner and the
beginning of the next.

Or perhaps the completion of one book and the beginning of the next.

This weekend, in the synagogue, Jews celebrate the completion of the fifth
book of Moses (Deuteronomy) and the immediately begin to read the first part
of the book of Genesis.  I will have the honor of reading this in front of
my congregation, as not only we complete the cycle and begin again, but also
as my final public reading in front of my fellow congregants at KOE on 103rd
and Amsterdam, or as Michael Kellman has put it my "last hurrah."

Last night's concert was another last hurrah of sorts. It was the final
disbursement of the New York City culture tax which my co-New Yorkers (who
rent) pay. We pay for the opportunity to get a phone call at 7.15pm for a
show that starts at 8 and to say "ok, I'll be there."

I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

Actually, that could be said for my entire experience here in New York.

I arrived, fresh from Japan, knowing something about myself as a person,
something about the Internet and business, something about my Jewish
identity, and very little about the world of romance and women.

Now, I know more about myself as a person, a bit more about business, am
more clear about my Jewish identity and still very little about women
(though I do know how to romance them ;-)

I've
-walked from Battery Park to the Bronx on Broadway (not all at once)
-visited all 5 boroughs on bike
-been to the top of the World Trade Center, looked out my office window upon
it, and watched it fall down
-seen plays on Broadway and human dramas in the subway that rival that of
the theater
-walked through museums housing some of the greatest art in the world and
seen the daily art worn and made by people from every country in the world
on the sidewalks that are the canvases of this metropolis
-been to Yankee Stadium and to Shea (on the field)
-fallen in love, fell out of love, and fallen in love again, this time
forever
-experienced an economic boom and bust
-signed my first lease
-gotten married
-had a sigmoidoscopy (ouch)
-climbed to the top of the Statue of Liberty and visited the Transit Museum
-attended weddings and funerals
-sat in Prospect Park, Central Park, Riverside Park, and Van Cortlandt Park
(just to name a few)
-talked with incense vendors, homeless people, subway conductors, taxi
drivers, and more than a few doormen
-been to Little Brazil, Chinatown, Little India, Little Italy, Crown Heights
-paddled a canoe in the Hudson, went swimming in the Atlantic Ocean on New
Year's Day (twice), took a boat on the East River
-walked the Brooklyn and GW bridges
-gotten hired, resigned, and started my own company
-seen world class ballet and opera and been to Carnegie Hall and the Met
-celebrated life being given and mourned about life being taken away
-picked up Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and now look up to see if a plane
is falling almost every time I hear one above me
-woke up at 4am to visit the Fulton St. Fish market
-eaten the food (a lot of it)
-sweated in the Russian-Turkish bathhouse
-walked through Greenwich Village
-watched the sunset from my roof
-ridden almost every subway line (I don't think I've been on the M train)
-seen the Xmas lights at Rockefeller Center

...just to name a few. Though it's impossible to ever "do New York," I'm
satisfied with my accomplishments here.

You know, it just occurred to me now that when I was watching the World
Trade Center collapse, I was so overwhelmed by the enormity of the building
and its demise, that it never dawned on me that there were people inside
whose lives were being extinguished at that moment. It's like two parts of
my brain. One says "people were killed on 9/11" the other says "I saw the
World Trade Center collapse" but it seems like a part of my brain didn't put
those two together.

Which is strangely ironic in some way, because the past 4 years in New York
have been, when you boil it all down, about people.  To quote Johnny B "New
York is the greatest City on the planet, with 22 million people jammed into
the metro area doing more diverse and interesting things, and from more
diverse and interesting backgrounds and places, than any other community the
world has ever seen."

I couldn't agree with him more. People think New Yorkers are rude, but to
paraphrase my sister Dina, "New Yorkers have more interactions with other
people per minute than almost anybody, yet we get angry at roughly the same
intervals as everyone else from a time perspective. In reality, New Yorkers
are the most polite people around."

In New York you learn how to communicate, and I'm not just talking about
using Spanish with the flower guy, Korean in the grocery, almost any other
language in the cabs, I'm talking about getting along with people. With so
many people here, from so many different backgrounds, it's amazing that this
city functions at all, but in reality, in functions quite well. The subways
and buses work, the stores get supplied, things get done and get done
quickly. New Yorkers assume that you want to get where you are going with a
minimum of delays and aggravation, so we unconsciously help each other
achieve our goals that way.

Besides, you meet so many different and interesting people here that you
just can't help have your eyes opened about new ideas and philosophies.

It's really a lesson in sensitivity as well as communication, since not
everyone is just like you, you need to work at understanding others.  But
what makes New York unique is the tolerance here. As opposed to some
countries in Europe or other places where 'tolerance' and 'mutual
understanding' is discussed and bandied about, here it just happens and no
one really thinks about it. Why should we? It's not that big of deal. Just
do it.

Sure there are whackos, but when you have this type of number, it's bound to
happen.

What I also learned about this city is that it is a city that is always
growing. In other areas, you'll have "the Old Town" or buildings that serve
as relics of another age which are main attractions. Here, the attractions
are the new buildings and the people. This is not a city stuck in time, it
is a city that is moving toward the future-and aggressively at that.

It's not the most beautiful city on earth from an architectural perspective,
but it represents the most beautiful of possibilities for people to live and
work together in harmony and safety.

We're going to miss the two all-night pharmacies and two 24 hour grocery
stores within 2 blocks of our apartment and all of the other amenities that
only this city can truly offer, but even though we won't be a part of New
York, it will always be a part of us.

Now, it's time for us to move on and, as my cousin Clay Epstein says "see
that there is life beyond the Hudson."

Again, thanks for sharing this chapter with me.

Jeremy

P.S. I'll be posting reports from our trip from the road (they may not be
personalized since I'm going to use a bulk emailing program for the month)

P.P.S. If the quality in this email isn't so high, it's because I'm writing
it with a fever. Or maybe, I'm forcing it. Or maybe, I'm just not a good
writer.

Most Interesting Observation
-Saw a business card the other day WITHOUT an email address on it. That
person really wants to do business, huh?

We got a nice little mention in the Wall St. Journal this week
http://online.wsj.com/article/0,,SB1030481469229503435.djm,00.html



August 28, 2002


PERSONAL JOURNAL

To Shuttle Kids, Busy Parents
Seek Out Chauffeur Services

By RON LIEBER
Staff Reporter of THE WALL STREET JOURNAL




Working parents have deftly outsourced cooking, cleaning and yardwork. But one chore is proving tougher to unload: the carpool.

A parent's fantasy service -- door-to-door rides from home to school to soccer practice and back -- does exist in some areas. For about $200 a month for daily transport, scores of kiddie-cab companies dispatch vans to shuttle children around. The services are popular in the bustling suburbs of California and Colorado, but they've also succeeded in places like Gainesville, Fla., and Columbus, Neb.


Outsourcing your carpool: Kidz Karz totes little commuters around Boulder, Colo.


With names like Kids on Wheels and Beeline Shuttle, the companies promise seatbelts at every seat, drivers who've passed criminal background checks and long lists of rules to enforce backseat order. States often require these services to carry a hefty amount of insurance coverage. And nabbing a spot in the vans can be tough. Kidshuttle, based in California's Orange County, has 20 vans, 400 families as clients and another 500 families on the waiting list. Other services don't even bother counting the number they turn away.

It may sound like a sure-fire business, but kiddie cab companies frequently flame out after underestimating the logistics of route-planning. Or the wear and tear of demanding parents. Michael Newton ran a Kids Kab franchise for several years in Cookeville, Tenn., but gave it up last year. Now he works with freight, instead of children. "It wasn't the kids who were the problem," he says. "It was the moms. The phone would ring at 11 or 12 at night and five in the morning, with changes on top of changes."

One thing that's driving demand: The trusty school bus isn't so reliable anymore. Many districts have cut back on bus service or stopped picking up kids who live within a couple of miles of school. And few, if any, school buses will take a child to an afternoon doctor's appointment one day and piano lessons the next.

With demand far oustripping supply, many families are scrambling to jury-rig other commuting solutions, including hiring private drivers and pleading for help on local Web sites.

The shift to private chauffeur services has generated some safety concerns. A new study by an arm of the National Research Council found that passenger vehicles -- whether driven by parents or paid drivers -- were more dangerous than buses on trips to and from school. The vehicles had 490 injuries per 100 million student trips -- or nearly fives times more than school buses did.

And three years ago, the National Transportation Safety Board recommended that states require any vehicle that carries more than 10 kids to and from school to meet the same safety standards as school buses. Since then, some states have toughened rules for large vans that transport students. Other states are considering similar actions.

Meantime, parents are trying to find some set of wheels that works. For a year, Susan Kincaid, a single mother in Gainesville, Fla., used her hour-long lunch break to dash across town at 2 p.m., pick her 14-year-old daughter up from school and bring her home. She had to wolf down lunch at the wheel. Then she tried Kids on Wheels. "It's been a blessing," says Ms. Kincaid, who now drives her daughter, Katie, to school and pays $100 per month to have her driven home.

In Boulder, Colo., Christine LaMar pays about $550 a month for her three children to be driven 15 minutes to and from their Catholic school. She uses Kidz Karz, a seven-year-old service that operates with military precision. Almost all of its service is scheduled. It accepts credit cards, charges fees for no-shows, and will kick kids out who refuse to wear their seatbelts. But it hires drivers with a soft side, too. "They'll hand out candy if the kids are behaving," says owner Deborah O'Gara-Schultz.

Some parents, unable to find a children's transport service in their area, have sought creative ways to outsource the carpool. They cast about for local drivers who can pick kids up on an ad hoc basis. John Fossetta, an ex-limousine driver who is now a postman, works as a driver in his spare time along with a business partner. For a while, Mr. Fossetta did a regular run, shuttling two boys between the houses of their divorced parents.

To find people like Mr. Fossetta, some parents go begging on the Web. Last week, there were two plaintive posts on silentfrog.com1, a matchmaking service for people with odd jobs and those who do them, from parents seeking drivers for their children. The site, which launched in Washington and has since spread elsewhere, has seen dozens of similar requests since it started last year.

Then there's Abby Polin, a Chicago mortgage broker. She tried driving her daughter to her suburban school each day, but it was eating up eight hours a week. Then she figured she was losing more money missing work than she would spend for a car service, though it cost more than $3,000 a school year.

Now her daughter commutes with several other school kids. The chariot? Says Ms. Polin, "A big black stretch limousine comes and picks her up every day."

Write to Ron Lieber at ron.lieber@wsj.com2


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everybody Into the (Car) Pool
Busy parents are seeking out chauffeur services for their children. Here are some of the options.

Name/Location Cost Features
Kidshuttle
Orange County, Calif. Forty-five round-trips per month cost $382.50 (must be less than 10 miles each) Drivers know CPR and first-aid, and satisfied parents can invest in the company (the offering memorandum is on the companyÕs Web site).
Kids on Wheels
Gainesville, Fla. $220 per month for daily round-trips Older kids get to bring their own CDs along for the ride, but if they misbehave, the Barney tape goes on the stereo.
Kiddie Cab
Columbus, Neb. $30 per week for daily round-trips Riders get after-school snacks, including granola bars and Rice Krispies treats. Kids get presents on their birthdays, too.
Kidz Karz
Boulder, Colo. area Depends on mileage, since some vans take kids an hour each way to schools in Denver Will take kids to the orthodontist for midday appointments for $5 to $10.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

URL for this article:
http://online.wsj.com/article/0,,SB1030481469229503435.djm,00.html


Hyperlinks in this Article:
(1) http://silentfrog.com/services/welcome.jsp
(2) mailto:ron.lieber@wsj.com

Updated August 28, 2002





Copyright 2002 Dow Jones & Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved

Printing, distribution, and use of this material is governed by your Subscription agreement and Copyright laws.

For information about subscribing go to http://www.wsj.com

Rules for Tomorrow's Interview

1. THINK BEFORE YOU ANSWER THE QUESTION

2. Be WHAT YOU ARE

3. Admit it when you don't know something

4. It's not what I have done only, it's what I can do.

Consultant Bingo
competent
CXO level
aggressive
results-oriented
communication skills
thoughtful
team player
goal-oriented
creative
driven
business technologist
look for challenges

The other good thing about this book was the way it delineates and explains strategy vs. tactics. These terms are thrown around a lot, but it's not always clear exactly what they mean.

The authors point out that strategy follows tactics in the same way that form follows functions. That is, "the achievement of tactical results is the ulitmate and only goal of a strategy....strategy should be developed from the bottom up, not the top down."

They continue..."while strategy evolves from an intimate understanding of tactics, the paradox is that good strategy doesn't depend on superlative tactics. The essence of a sound strategy is to be able to win the marketing war without tactical brilliance."

"At any given point in time, one objective should dominate a company's strategic plans."

Another good point they mention is that "Action is not independent of strategy...the action IS the strategy."

The last mistake that many companies make is trying to divorce strategy from tactics. They say it cannot be done because the strategy implies the tactics. For example, they say that once Miller Brewing company decides to have Miller High Life and Miller Genuine Draft, that they then force the advertising agency's hand in terms of how they will build each brand, without any consideration given to the fact that building two brands is more difficult than building one.

Just finished Marketing Warfare by Al Ries and Jack Trout. GREAT book. Here are the relevant ideas. Most of them are quotes from Karl von Clausewitz's
'On War' on which the marketing book is based. Great parallels and ideas.

The principle of force: "the greatest possible number of troops whould be brought into action at the decisive point"

The superiority of the defense: " the defensive form of war is in itself stronger than then offense"

The strategic square. Four types of warfare (with their principles)
1.defensive
a.only the market leader should consider playing defense
b. the best defensive strategy is the courage to attack yourself
c. strong competitive moves should always be blocked

2. attacking
a.the main consideration is the strength of the leader's position
b. find a weakness in the leader's strength and attack at that point
c. launch the attack on as narrow a front as possible

3 flanking
a. a good flanking move must be made into an uncontested area
b. tactical surprise out to be an important element of the plan
c. the pursuit is just as critical as the attack itself

4. guerilla
a. find a segment of the market small enough to defend
b.no matter how successfuly you become, never act like the leader
c. be prepared to bug out at a moment's notice

"take notes on the world, there will be a test"

we got $5k worth of free advertising for it though!

had my chest shaved on the Z100 morning zoo today

71. every meeting must have an agenda
72. every meeting must have an objective
73. punctuality is a measure of a person’s level of business commitment and capability
74. plan the work, work the plan
75. spend a little bit of extra upfront time making sure you do things right
76. not everything has to be done right now
77. you’re always selling
78. learn how to read people better
79. Guerilla marketing works
80. the buck stops with me
81. get a clear and memorable tag line
82. develop an audio logo
83. follow up promptly or be forgotten
84. always confirm meetings w/in 24 hours
85. people don’t read; keep it super brief
86. answer the question WIIFM---what’s in it for me
87. focus on You not on Me

cont'd....
50. importance of iterative development
51. importance of testing slowly and cost-effectively
52. individual accountability
53. there’s no such thing as a stable job
54. individual accountability
55. the need to go the extra mile
56. doing things right
57. persistence
58. patience
59. losing the fear of failure
60. self-discipline
61. work from home and get things done
62. stay focused on the goal
63. ask what is core and what is not
64. think outside the box (i.e. sending a singing telegram to the pres. of eBay)
65. secure meetings more rapidly
66. sell to the top of the food chain
67. handle rejection better
68. be less anxious
69. be more polite
70. put myself in the position of others more frequently

What I learned as a result of my experience with SilentFrog (part 1)
1. write a businesss plan
2. do market research (sort of)
3. think about selling benefits not features
4. write press releases
5. pitch stories to journalists
6. develop a marketing plan
7. develop a sales strategy
8. manage time more efficiently
9. be customer focused and handle customer service
10. beta test a software
11. relate to a board of directors
12. pitch an idea to investors
13. email marketing
14. understand the difference between sales and marketing
15. understand the value of copywriting
16. understand what advertising is about
17. understand how it is to be on the client side
18. think like an owner
19. think about the impact of one decision on multiple aspects of a company
20. understand what burn rate
21. what break even
22. what profitability is
23. the process of getting a patent
24. communicating with investors
25. communicating with customers
26. communicating with partners
27. how to work with my brother
28. how to work with my father
29. the rush of owning something and wanting to make it succeed
30. the belief in entrepreneurship-making value out of absolutely nothing
31. the value of wise/effective time management
32. the feeling of being part of a great voyage
33. the difference between those who dare to be owners and those who don’t
34. how to conduct a survey
35. the importance of maintaining a Zen like attitude about the ups and downs
36. the importance of criteria in making decisions
37. the importance of taking notes from meetings and conferences
38. the importance of having a checklist for recurring events
39. the importance of automating recurring tasks
40. the importance of delegation (programming, customer service) when possible
41. not to waste money, but not hoard it pointlessly either
42. listen to the needs of customers better
43. listen to the concerns of partners
44. what business development is
45. how to structure incentive deals with partners
46. to get to the decision maker
47. think about the needs of clients
48. think about the needs of my clients’ clients
49. business cold calling skills

Of course, the thing that gets me going is that here I am, safe and sound in the US, worried about my next job, while my brothers and sisters are being killed by terrorists, who are supported by people who are not interested in peace, just in annihiliating the Jews. That's what I'm talking about with the perspective, since it's so easy for me to lose it on the one hand and get overwhelmed by it on the other.

Perspective is botha good and a dangerous thing. On the one hand, I amfocused on what is happening in my own life and not fretting about it. My company is doing well, but I have to be realistic and recognize that it may not make it. So what am I doing about that? I am looking for a full-time job in Dc where my wife and I will be moving come November timeframe. The question then becomes what type of work should I be doing once I get there. I obvious love technology and how it makes things operate more efficiently, but the question is, what aspect of it do I like. Is software sales where I want to be? Will I find that to be creative enough? As far as the "big idea" consulting firms, first of all, I don't really want to travel all that much (overnight at least). Day trips are fine and in those places, you need to come in as a consultant first and then work your way up into sales. So that may not work for me. The thing about products is that it seems less glamorous and "sophisticated" and possibly less sexy than some of the more "creative" arts that the management consultants purvey.

Asher thinks that the management consulting firms would be a waste of my time. He also challenges the idea, which is getting ingrained in my head, that I need to give the big, bad corporate world a whirl. He thinks I would hate it. I don't know, but I feel like it's a mystery to me and it's something I'd like to understand better and learn from more.

Right now, if I had to pick a vertical, I'd say I'm most intrigued by healthcare. There's so much that can be done and needs to be done, because at the end of the day, you are really helping people by using technology to make their lives better. It's about profits and savings, but also real savings...of lives.

If I had to pick a cross-industry, it would be security. I think it's critical for the safety of our country and our civilization and every person on the earth.

Maybe Michael Herskovitz was right...there are a lot of people who need to simply e-ify their businesses. It's not so much about the big ideas right now, it's about the implementation of the basics, keeping things simple. There are always opportunities for innovation, according to Drucker, it's just a question of keeping my eye open for them. So, no matter where I am, I should be able to find something "creative" It's about attitude, not atmosphere. Maybe.