Better Place

Years ago a fortuneteller told me that a man with ocean blue eyes will take me to a better place. I was nineteen, a college student, celebrating my birthday in a frenzy of newly found freedom. Roaming the streets of Height Ashbury, a San Francisco neighborhood where eccentrics are the norm, I entered a cubical no bigger than a mid-sized bed, where an old fortune teller with gnarled hands and wrinkled chin read my palm and consulted astrological charts before pronouncing my fate. I was naïve and should not have taken her seriously, but I did.

I graduated from University of California in Berkley with honors, and started working for the First Bank of America as an investment banker. I was driven, worked 14 hour days, and in five years I became the youngest Vice President in the history of the bank. My days filled with business events and the evenings with social activities. The walls in my apartment were soon covered with the honors I accumulated, but my heart was empty. At night my thoughts often returned to the old fortuneteller and the promise of a better place.

I met Rick in a party. He was a cop, tall and handsome in a rugged sort of way. I loved the masculine smell of motorcycles and boats, I loved the clean-cut good and bad views of the world, and I loved that he adored me. Shawn was born three years later. I had everything a woman could want, but my heart still searched for that elusive better place.

Shawn grew from a crying baby into a precocious five year old. I wish I could take credit for my son, but I was busy trotting the globe. My specialty was to find a company in distress and sell it to a predator who would take it down piece by piece, selling assets, firing people, and pay me lots of money. In the office they called me the Volcano; at home I was simply absent.

Saturday morning started as usual, with Rick making breakfast and Shawn hovering around him like a yearling clamoring for the anticipated feed. I walked out of the bedroom, stood at the entrance to the kitchen, and knew I no longer belonged. The serenity of father and son, memorabilia of camping trips, golf clubs in the corner, all belonged to Rick and Shawn. I was an outsider in my home.

“I’m leaving.” I said quietly. “A European Bank offered me a job.”

Rick’s brown eyes darkened and the creases around his mouth deepened, “Why don’t we drive to the lake? Take the boat for a spin.”

“Don’t.” I used to love the simplicity of my husband. Rick wanted to watch football with his buddies, teach his son to golf, and spend time with me. He didn’t care for a bigger house, the elaborate parties, or half-year salary vacation. The yes-and-no attitude that once seemed a fountain of strength today was just boring. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew I wanted more. I wanted my better place.

We discussed the separation for hours. I left Rick the house, a monthly allowance, the life insurance, and Shawn. Then I booked a flight to Paris.

There was only one thing left to do. I had to tell my five year old son that his mother is leaving him.

I drove him to playground.

The weather turn crisp cold as the wind fumbled between the wooden structures. The playground was full with kids and Shawn waved to a group of two girls and a boy, none of which I recognized. I tried to put his coat on but he shrugged it off, leaving the loose tee shirt that was twice his size to protect him from the cold. I said, “Shawn, I love you.”

He nodded and his eyes darted toward the swings. “I love you too, Mommy.”

“Shawn, Mommy and Daddy don’t love each other the same way...” I was stumbling. “I’m moving out of the house, but that does not mean I love you any less.”

He started jumping up and down, “Mommy, can I go on the big slide?”

“Shawn,” I tried again, “We’re going to be partners.”

“Mommy,” my son turned serious and for a moment I saw my five year old son as a grown adult, smart, focused, and a much better parent than his mother, “I want to play.”

“Sure.” I let him go and watched him climb easily on the biggest rail. I wondered if my child understood that when I pack up my suitcase tonight and leave, I will not be coming back.

An hour later, we drove home. Shawn fumbled with the robot he got for his birthday, “Mommy, are you going to be like Daddy’s partner?”

Rick and his partner were inseparable. During countless robberies and assaults, the two cops watched the other’s back. They were best friends, finishing each other’s sentences. Sometimes I wished I had that kind of relationship with the man who shared my bed for the past ten years.

I fought the tears. Think of a better place, I encouraged myself. “Yes, I will.”

“Partners take care of each other,” Shawn was repeating his Daddy’s words.

“Yes, they do,” I said, hoping my son will not grow up hating his mother for leaving him for a fairy tale of unfulfilled dreams.

“Can I have ice cream?”

“Sure.” I spotted a gas station and turned the car into the almost deserted parking area. Shawn flicked me one of his heart-melting smiles, jumped out of the car and ran into the store.

My little boy was rummaging the ice cream bin when I opened the door and stepped inside.

The Pakistani man standing behind the counter nodded in a frightened surprise when I turned my head and saw the man dressed in black. The man was tall, with shoulders like a bull and legs like tree stumps. He had dark features and sullen cheekbones, sending an aurora of desperation and lost hope. In his right hand, he held a gun.

Shawn found his ice cream cone, and held it high in the air with triumph. Then he saw the gun turning toward him and screamed in a high pitch voice, “Mommy!”

I jumped. The crack of the gun shrieked the air as I cuddled my son in a protective cocoon. The bullet raced toward me and I turned seeing the abyss in the ocean blue eyes of the man who killed me. Pain exploded in my veins and dark red blood gushed out of the hole in my heart, but I felt peaceful. I knew my son was safe and I was forgiven. I walked into the white light, toward my better place.

Phantom of the Boat Show

(Short Story) Marianne Robinson prepared her Pina Coladas with precision. She poured the mix into the blender, added five shots of rum, and filled ice to the rim. She let the blender run exactly seven seconds until the mix turned into a blend of white. She poured the puree into four colorful plastic martini glasses and handed them around. Then she raised her cup in salute. “To us girls, may we be healthy and happy.”
“Here, here,” nodded Carolyn, throwing her blond pony tail backwards as she jiggled her drink down her throat. “To a lovely Sunday afternoon. To friendship!”
“Enjoy it while we can,” Dorothy groaned from the comfort of the sunken cushions on the upper deck of the speedboat. The Sea Breeze tilted slightly as the wind simmered to cool off the Florida heat. “This Boat Show sucks, and if the economy continues downhill, we may not be here next year.”
“Water Kids is suffering,” Natalie said quietly.
Marianne protectively looked at her daughter as Natalie rearranged her skirt to cover the long legs that seemed to cross the boat from stern to starboard. Natalie said softly, “We’re down twenty percent in contributions from last year.”
“Lucky the Phantom tucked the Queen in the mud,” Carolyn said, flexing her muscles to stretch the lean athletic build that came with a titanic amount of energy. “If Bobby Snooty had his way, the fundraiser would have been cancelled.”
“Robert Snow is a big contributor,” Natalie objected slightly, sipping slowly from her soda water.
“Robert Snow is one big floozy,” Dorothy said, wiping a bit of Pina Colada from her jeans. “A hundred grand is child’s play for him, and I for one am glad someone knocked his precious boat and put it exactly where it belonged - in the mud!”
“It was wrong,” Natalie said.
“Wrong?” Dorothy launched one of her famous stares. “What’s so morally wrong about hurting a greedy narcissist like Bobby Snooty?”
“Sweetie, the Phantom saved your fundraiser,” Carolyn said softly.
“Programming a speedboat to hit the Queen is not a right thing to do,” Natalie fluttered her eyebrows in a way teenage girls do when they are told they cannot stay out all night and play. “It’s illegal. Besides, the Phantom could go to jail. Luckily the Queen didn’t suffer serious damages only a scratch.”
“The scratch was enough to keep Snooty from bailing out,” Carolyn gulped down her drink. “He couldn’t tell the media swarms he was cancelling a fundraiser for kids with disabilities because some Wall Street schmucks wanted a private playground.”
“Putting your hubby down?” Dorothy slapped her friend’s wrist down in a friendly gesture.
“I love my Peter,” Carolyn said playfully, “It doesn’t mean he’s not a schmuck.”
“I’m one grateful client,” Marianne said. “If Peter had not warned us in time, we would have lost half our money.” The Sea Breeze was her pride and joy, a place she cherished as the paradise away from the grind. The mere thought of losing the yacht was frightening. “Enough of this morbid talk, how about a little race next weekend?”
“Peter will go for it,” Carolyn husband’s thirst for the fast and furious was well known in the boating community.
“Jake too,” Dorothy said.
“It settled then,” Marianne said. “Next weekend, we’ll let the guys start, then…” She smiled as Carolyn and Dorothy started laughing. The guys always raced first but things got really interesting when the girls took over. Then the fun began.
“You are so bad,” Natalie said, twisting her nose as sign of slight disapproval.
“And you are so, so good, sweetie,” Carolyn winked. “How did you came out of your mother, I don’t know.”
“Her daddy had something to do with it,” Marianne patted her daughter.
“Hey, look who is coming over,” Dorothy said. “It’s that gorgeous cop, the one that looks like that singer, you know the one with the throaty voice. What’s his name? Pinto? Pintos?”
“Carlo Fuentes,” Natalie said. “Detective Fuentes.”
“Detective Pronto?” Carolyn laughed. As a distinctive board member of Broward County Hospital, Carolyn knew everyone that was anyone in Fort Lauderdale. Marianne had the utmost admiration of her friend’s ability to make friends and avoid enemies despite her witty and sometime painfully honest commentary. “That man has an eye for details and the highest solved crime rate in the county. The downside, there’s only black and white in that man‘s mind. No shades of gray. And he’s always on time - hence Pronto.”
“That’s not nice,” Natalie said. “You should be worried. He’s been asking questions about the Phantom.”
“Detective Pronto sounds…delicious,” Dorothy said. “Marianne, make another round of your famous Pina Colada. We need juice to face Captain Pronto.”
“Sure,” Marianne said. As she bent down to open the half hidden freezer and take out the Pina Colada mix, she saw in the corner of her eye the black shirt seeping out of the bottom drawer. Slowly, as if she was picking up an imaginary strand of trash from the spotless floor, she pushed the black shirt into the drawer, rolling away the hole on the left sleeve. She shut the door tightly. She hid an inner sigh of relief and added one more thing to her to-do-list as Detective Carlo Fuentes stepped onto the boat.
“Ladies,” Detective Fuentes voice carried the same milky soothing that his olive tanned body projected. “I’d like to ask you a few questions regarding an incident on Friday night, here on the marina.”
“You mean the Phantom who launched a little speedboat into the mighty Queen,” Dorothy shook her curly hair. “We can’t say we’re sorry.”
“You must excuse my friend,” Carolyn said. “Hello detective, remember me?”
“Yes, Ms. Heller,” Detective Fuentes said calmly. “It’s hard to forget someone who has done so much for injured policemen. Yet justice must be done, regardless of the people involved.”
“Of course,” Carolyn nodded as if she was in complete agreement. “How can we help, Detective?”
Detective Fuentes scoured the Sea Breeze deck, the driver seat Marianne commanded, the passenger seat where Natalie sat straight and tall, and the wide cushions where Dorothy slouched on one side and Carolyn stretched on the other. Next to Marianne was a large cupboard topped with glasses, bottles and a blender. Behind the seats stretched a wide dashboard full of electronic gadgets that only hinted at the Sea Breeze role as the fastest speedboat in the marina. “Why would someone want to hit the Queen?”
“The Queen is just a boat, a big beautiful, exquisite boat, but just a boat,” Carolyn said. “There’s no reason why would anyone want to damage the Queen but I can give you a long list of people who would want to hurt Robert Snow.”
“Snooty is a seriously unpleasant person,” Dorothy agreed.
“Yet Robert Snow lent his Queen for the Water Kids fundraiser?” Detective Fuentes turned to Natalie who was rearranging coasters and glasses.
“Yes,” Natalie tilted her model-like legs back and forth, unaware of the slight blush in the young detective’s cheeks. “The Queen is the only yacht in the boat show with a big enough deck to host 150 people. We have been promoting the fundraiser for months.”
“You were angry when Robert Snow changed his mind at the last minute?”
Natalie was about to answer when Marianne stepped forward. “We were all angry. Robert came over on Friday morning and said he needed the boat for the weekend and he was pulling out of the boatshow.”
“That’s unusual?”
“That’s unheard off,” Carolyn jumped in. “No one has ever pulled out such a big boat at the last minute, and for money no less. If Snow had moved the Queen he would have significantly hurt the reputation of the Fort Lauderdale Boat Show.”
“As I understand it, moving the Queen would have hurt the standing of the current Chair, Ms. Robinson?”
“Yes it would,” Marianne said, reasserting her stature as the decision maker who makes the tough calls. “With all due respect to this logic, Detective, as it may have hurt my standing as the Chairperson, it would have hurt Robert Snow even more. This is a small community. If Robert Snow left the boat show, he would have never been invited back.”
“That’s like a death-sentence,” Dorothy echoed. “Socially speaking.”
“And yet, the Rockers who dock directly across from the speedboat that was launched at the Queen, believe they saw a shadowy figure. A Phantom who is not only petite enough to hide in the speedboat but also an expert racer, otherwise how would the speedboat hit the Queen without damaging the yacht yet creating just the slightest disturbance to shove it into the mud.”
“Marianne may have the correct build and the skills necessary to be the Phantom,” Carolyn said, “But we were here, on the Sea Breeze, sitting just as we’re now, on the deck, enjoying a fine evening.”
Detective Fuentes took out a slight notebook from his jacket’s left pocket and stirred the pages. “There were two people sitting on the deck.”
“At night you only see clearly those who sit on the side catering to the dock,” Carolyn said.
“We did have some candles,” Dorothy observed. “The husbands played poker on my boat, two docks down, and we hung around here.”
“Ms. Heller, you were quite visible,” the detective read from his note and looked up at Carolyn, “but the others were not, except for a… green coat.”
“Aha,” Carolyn jumped and ran down to the lower level returning with a green coat laced with black shingles, “Marianne’s latest.”
“What about you, Ms. Brenner?” Detective Fuentes asked Dorothy.
“Oh, I’m about jeans and tee shirts. You won’t catch me in those crazy outfits.”
“Ms. Brenner as owner of a yacht company you have the expertise to operate the speedboat that damaged the Queen.”
“I build yachts.“ Dorothy pouted her lips. “But if you think I’m the Phantom - as much as I would have loved to have been a suspect in such a merry adventure - but when it comes to sailing I’m a klutz.”
“Dorothy, you’re not a klutz,” Marianne said warmly.
“Stop mothering me,” Dorothy protested. “I can’t drive a tug boat without banging into a bridge.”
“No, you can’t sail,” Marianne agreed, “but you know everything there is to know about boats. Without you we would have been lost.”
“Well that’s that,” Carolyn stumped her feet in a sign of finality, “we were here on the Sea Breeze on Friday night, any more questions?”
“There is one member in the Robinson family unaccounted for, “Detective Fuentes looked at Natalie. “Sinking the Queen into the mud allowed the Water Kids fundraiser to continue. Also, you’re a skilled sailor, and you have been seen walking down the dock toward the Queen.”
“What are you saying?”, Dorothy demanded.
“He’s saying motive, skills and opportunity,” Carolyn said, puzzled.
“Natalie had nothing to do with it,” Marianne said forcefully, “Nothing!”
“Mom, please,” Natalie begged. She turned to Detective Fuentes. “Water Kids is a non-profit dedicated to kids with disabilities. We take them out on the water, teach them to sail, teach them that they can do something amazing. These kids are not pictures in the newspaper somewhere far away, they are real, and they are a part of our community. Daniel was born with a deformity that took away one hand and twisted the other. Jason at 10 years old had been in more surgeries than most people have visited the dentist. And Ali, this sweet beautiful kid has a year to live if she’s lucky. Water Kids gives dignity to those kids.”
“Natalie, did you launch the speedboat at the Queen?” Detective Fuentes asked gently.
“Natalie had nothing to do with it,” Marianne said as panic took over. Natalie said she was going for a late night stroll and Marianne did not anticipate that her daughter would not have an alibi. The detective was determined and Natalie did not stand a chance.
Marianne knew she would not let her daughter take the blame for her decision. She pushed away thoughts of the shame on her husband’s face, the scorn of her community, and the possibility that she might end up in jail. She could not even imagine what that would do to Carolyn and Dorothy. Right or wrong she had broken the law, and fearful or not it was time to face the consequences. “I’m the Phantom.”
“Mom, please, stop.” Natalie looked at Detective Fuentes. “I did walk toward the Queen, but not to sabotage the yacht. I went to see Jake Snow.” Natalie turned to her mother, her eyes sad, “I’m sorry mom. I’m sorry.”
Marianne realized what her beautiful daughter had done. She protected her offspring like a lioness, but Natalie was always a pleaser, trying to make everyone else happy first. “Oh honey, I’m the one who should be sorry.”
“It was my choice. Mine.”
“What happened?” Detective Fuentes asked again.
“Jake Snow said he would convince his father not to pull out the Queen if I…”
“You are one brave girl,” Dorothy broke the silence that ensued.
“No, I’m a coward,” Natalie wiped a small tear. “I couldn’t do it. I could not bring myself to give up on my principles and save my kids. By saying no to Jake, I sealed the fate of Water Kids. We would have had to cut fifty percent of activities at best without the fundraiser. I don‘t feel proud that I didn‘t have the strength to save my kids.”
She gave Fuentes a sad smile. “Jake and I were arguing on the upper deck when the speedboat hit the Queen. Ask him, he’ll verify we were together.”
Detective Fuentes nodded, looking relieved.
“Do you have other suspects, Detective?” Carolyn asked.
“No.”
“We may never know who the phantom really is,” Dorothy concluded.
“Natalie, I still need an official statement,” Detective Fuentes said, his cheeks blushing. “Would you mind coming down to the station with me?”
“Not at all,” Natalie smiled brilliantly. “I would like a moment with my mother.”
“Of course.” Detective Carlo Fuentes bowed slightly, “Ladies,” and navigated his way off the boat and down the dock, his hair blowing slightly against the simmering winds that accompanied the Florida sunset.
Once the Detective was firmly out of earshot, Natalie open the side drawer and took out the black shirt with a hole in its left sleeve. Calmly she took off her jacket, put the black shirt on, then put back the jacket in half open way, sleeves rolled up.
“What are you doing, dear?” Marianne asked.
“It’s getting a bit cold. This black shirt will do nicely, although I will probably throw it in the garbage later tonight. After all it is a bit torn.”
“How did you know,” Carolyn asked.
“Mom made such a big fuss over her new coat that I found it odd she gave it to Ms. Tee-shirts and Jeans. No offence, Dorothy, you fooled many with your impression of my mom sitting on the upper deck of Sea Breeze, taking her coat and pinning up your hair, but you could not fool me.
“As Detective Fuentes realized, the Phantom had to have a small build to fit into the speedboat without being detected and she also had to have the expertise to pull such a stunt. I don’t know anyone who could fit both descriptions except my mother.”
Natalie hugged her speechless mother, “Next time Mom, stick to tennis.”
She blew a kiss at Carolyn and Dorothy and walked out, the black shirt tucked in under the blue jacket.
“Seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Dorothy nodded approvingly. “I’d say she earned a seat at our Sunday get together.”
Carolyn raised her almost empty glass, “To Natalie.”
Marianne picked up the blender and poured the rest of the Pina Colada puree into the empty three glasses. “To true friends.”

2008 in Context

2008 was a difficult year. It was a year of financial turmoil, of a poisonous election, and of war. It was also a year that Change and Hope themes dominated… at least until the economy collapsed.

2008 was a year when individuals soured and soared. It was the year of greedy executives, hypocritical governors, corruption and just plain stupid behavior. But it was also a year of Barak Obama, and Ben Benerke, and Hank Paulson.

Yet, if I had to choose my person of the year it would be America – the system that is America, where law and freedom and errors and hopes are all mixed together. To me, Change is what drives America - the land of opportunity - and what a wonderful country it is.

Gloom and Doom this Holiday Season

I'm in a post-election depression. No more bickering between the candidates made the media refocus on the latest sensation – the gloom and doom of the American Consumer.

Shopping is a respected past time in America. If the kids are bored, take them shopping. If the husband nags, send him on a quest for some new toy. And if a bit of moodiness sinks in, then a dash to the store for a new shirt. Take away Christmas shopping and America is in shock.

Don't worry, say our glorified leaders, the White Knight government is here to help – we will spend money. How about a trillion dollar of bailouts?

Okay, okay, these are special times, and yes, government spending is the key to put a stop on a deteriorating economy, but… and there is always a BUT… government money comes with the parental catch – take the money, give us control. If they could give the money, reframe what we can and cannot do, then get out of the way, that's great. Innovation needs space, and the ability to make an error. Let's not make the mistake of mixing regulation with strangulation.

Dear Government, this is my holiday wish – give the money, set the rules, and stay out of my living room.

The Clue That Was Not There

(A short story) Casey Case walked her dog every day at 6:45am and this humid Floridian morning started like any other day. She put on her walking shoes, choosing the pink laced socks that matched the stripes on her shorts, straightened the sleeves- cut top, picked the leash and let Dandy take the lead out the door. The Border Collie waited patiently as Casey locked the white door to her tiny one bedroom duplex; then the dog turned east and wagged her tail as the two embraced the sidewalk that would take them to the ocean.

South Beach at dawn was a mix of regulars, surfers who started the day with a splash, elderly gentlemen who strolled along the polished promenade and enthusiastic tourists who for some unfathomed reason decided that a vacation is not to be wasted in bed. The morning walks were part exercise, part social ritual, and part self-therapy, an inducement to start the day with vigor and excitement.

Casey was the assistant to the assistant to the first assistant of the famed designer Gianni Versace. It was not a small job – yes she picked up coffee mugs and ran errands for the crowd that made a celebrity famous – but because of Casey, nothing seemed out of reach or impossible to get, whether a yacht for a cruise on the Mediterranean or a specialty chocolate cake that only one chef in France can make. Because of Casey, Versace ensured his guests and admirers their desires were met without much ado. Casey Case made dreams come true.

As Casey turned into the northern corner of Ocean Drive, she saw the rooftop of her employer's mansion. Hidden behind the trees and steel gate was a marvel of architecture and texture; a cavern of high ceilings and wide windows, where the sun rode the breeze into a cacophony of original arts and rainbow furniture. A manual of perfection made possible by the man walking slowly down the street. In his customary early morning walk, Gianni Versace was removed from the genius of his daily activity into the drabness of simplicity. A middle-aged man walking leisurely to get the newspaper… a man accosted by another, a younger man who raised a gun and shot.

Casey watched in horror as the assailant pushed his hand inside the falling Versace's shirt and fled. Her employer slumped down. By the time Casey and Dandy had reached the designer the hole of blood was spreading quickly, but Gianni Versace was still alive. He grasped her hand, "Destroy the Jewel of Frame! Destroy it! Tell no one." The air bubbled out in horse whispers, and his grip grew tighter. "Promise me. Destroy this evil. Promise me!" Casey exhaled in acquiescence; then the famed designer was gone.

Casey held the hand of the man she admired, remembering the lush red and orange of his living room chairs, the tall ceilings that called the sky down, the golden pool of merriness, the courtyard of blue and white marble floors, and the designer's meticulous attention to details that turned fabric and stone into a fantasia of desire. Then she remembered the shooter.

The rest of the morning was hazy. There were people, a crowd of onlookers, crying, shouting in anger, and there were police officers, and so many questions. Casey sat cross-legged on the sidewalk, hugging Dandy, when Mike Segarra walked toward her.

The policeman was not too tall, not too burly, but his stance was steady and his blue eyes twinkled in the early morning sun. "Hi Casey. Remember me, we went to the same high school."

Casey looked up. He did look familiar. "You dated my sister!"

"I don't think fifth grade counts as dating," he laughed. Mike moved toward Dandy who bowed her head and let him pet her. ""You saw the murder?" He asked casually.

"Yes."

"You said you recognized the shooter?"

"I had seen him before."

"Where?"

"In a bar. Don Quixote about a week ago." Don Quixote was a prestigious gay bar in South Beach.

"What were you doing there?" He asked gently.

"Working. I work for Gianni Versace."

"I think of him as a Floater," Casey said later to Mike Segarra as they sat in the detective's cubical, one of many among the central havoc of the downtown police station. She picked up a picture from the dozens of mug shots that Mike had spread on the desk. The assailant's name was Andrew Cunanan and he already killed three people, leaving a trail of death from San Diego to Chicago and Pennsylvania.

"He went where the rich guys were," Mike said.

"Not money. Fame." Casey said. "Floaters seek publicity, and no one gave a better shove to celebrity than Gianni Versace. If a person was a member of the Versace crowd, he had made. It is an exclusive club, by invitation only."

"We're always searching for something and sometimes we need a reminder what is important." Mike handed her the guest list. "Is destroying the rest of your life really worth fifteen minutes of fame?"

Casey shrugged but she did know what the Floater took and she did not say. Gianni Versace had a jewel charmed with Fame. One night she overheard her employer tell the story of the necklace. It was a long tale that Casey did not remember, but Versace dying words played repeatedly in her mind. "Promise me. Destroy the jewel. Do not tell anyone. Promise me, Casey."

She thanked Mike for his kindness and walked Dandy out of the police station. Looking back she saw the the police officer standing at the station's stairs. Did he know, she wondered, did Mike Segarra know that Casey Case knew where to find the murderous Floater.

She recognized the name on the guest list. The person whom Versace had told the tale. The person who came from the West Coast where the Floater had started his murderous trail. Both worked the same party scene. Both craved fame. One was a murderer. The other had a houseboat.

At night Casey left Dandy at home and walked the two blocks to the docks. She peered at the houseboat. With the shades down, the houseboat looked empty, boxy and uninviting. She sheepishly looked around and except for the old caretaker at the other end of the dock no one was around. She moved closer and tried the door. It was unlocked, the key broken, and she went in.

The houseboat was one big room, with a sofa, two chairs, a table and a small galley. It was empty but the food crumbs on the counter told the story that someone had recently been here. The sound alerted her but before she could move the door opened. They stared at each other. The murderer and Casey. She recognized the Jewel of Fame dangling from the Floater's neck as he took out the gun.

Casey bolted out the door, knocking the Floater down, ignoring the breeze of steel swooshing her arm. She ran, first north, then south, then west until she reached her duplex. Back home, she shivered as Dandy licked her for comfort. But Casey's thoughts were consumed by a gold necklace with a big red serpent with green eyes.

The next couple of days passed quickly. At work, the murder of their leader shook the Versace family to its core. After the initial questioning about being at the scene of the crime Casey was left alone, and she did not encourage questions. Mike Segarra came over one day, and she wanted to tell him everything but did not. She withdrew from her friends and her family. She even stopped walking Dandy. She spent most of her time at home, sitting in the dark, dreaming, fantasizing, and desiring a big red serpent with green eyes.

One night she got out of bed. She dressed in black pants and a matching black shirt, and walked out the door, leaving behind her whimpering dog. It took ten minutes to reach the houseboat. The darkness was deep but Casey knew where she was going.

She burst in and yanked the necklace from the sleeping man on the sofa. As she turned he grabbed her ankle and dropped her to the floor. Consumed with madness and desire, they struggled back and forth, kicking, biting, and rolling on the bare floor. Then she saw the gun on the counter. She got up but he was faster.

"Give it to me."

"No." Casey held the necklace tight in her hand.

"Give it to me or I will shot."

"No." Casey held her hand out the window. "I'm going to drop it into the water."

"Nooooo…., " he screamed and ran toward her but Casey shook her hand and the Jewel of Fame was gone. Seeing her empty palm, the Floater screamed in agony, put the gun to his head and pressed the pistol.

As blood splattered on her black cloths, Casey stared at the dead man. Then she searched her pocket and took out the gold necklace with a big blue serpent and red eyes, the Jewel of Fame.

Silently thanking her father for teaching her magic tricks, she walked home in a daze, holding the necklace close to her heart. When she arrived home, she saw nothing but the trinket in her hands.

The first ray of light found Casey rocking back and forth on the floor, holding the jewel, and mumbling, "I'm famous, I'm famous." When Dandy came closer, Casey shoved the dog away, "I'm famous, you will see, everyone will see!"

Casey closed her eyes. In a second, Dandy ripped the necklace out of Casey's shaking hands and dashed into the bathroom. Screaming like a child who lost her candy, Casey saw the dog push down the handle.

As the Jewel of Fame disappeared into the swirl of the toilet, Casey realized how silly she was. To seek something that is true only to those who read supermarket tabloids to feed the emptiness of their lives was bordering insanity. What she wanted, what she envied in Gianni Versace was not his fame, or his fortune, but his love for textures, his quest for the perfect match of colors, his magic for turning cloth and wood into a fantasia of design. What Casey desired was not the false power of Oz but the Yellow Brick Road, the journey to seek, to explore, to share with those she loved.

The Border Collie seemed to nod in forgiveness and moved closer. Casey lovingly patted her dog and said, "Let's go for a walk, my best friend." She opened the front door and stepped out into the sunshine.

The ‘Change’ of Obama

I've been busy. I was so busy at work and life in general that I hardly watched the news. I was tired of the endless speeches, the 'who said what and why', and I was really tired of the pettiness. Until I stood at the election booth – I had two choices, both were bad, and both were good. I can't say that I am happy with the outcome. I can't say I'm not.

Barak Obama is smart, poised, and a lot of good comes from America choosing an African-American as its President. He's also a socialist who believes in Big Government and high taxes, and a democrat who had never voted against his party. If Barak Obama has its way, America will become France, beautiful, erudite, but staid. Barak Obama is the American Dream - he is also the man who could destroy it with populism.

In the cult of Obama, Change is good. But Change is a conundrum. We know we don't like where we are. We know we don't like war. We know we have serious economic problems. We know that something must be done. But what? To the person on the street, giving money to Wall Street was a bad move, but liquidity breeds trust, and without trust there is no financial system. If history is any indication, the 700 billion bailout is the least bad step. Bailing out the car industry sounds like déjà vu, but if the money is geared toward building green cars then we will all benefit at the long run. Health care is a problem. McCain wants to rain costs; Obama wants to socialize medicine. And the list goes on and on. Good and bad, Change is here.

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How the Democrats are Losing My Vote

I feel robed.

I had high expectations for the 2008 election. This was to be the year that a centrist Democrat will return sanity to government. This was to be the year when America will regain focus on building its economy and avoiding the righteousness that come with the right's version of 'values'. And this was the year when a woman will be on the ticket.

None happened.

Instead the Democrats chose a populist who forayed into international relationship with an attack on Canada (NAFTA is bad!), who used too many words smelling of World War 2 appeasement (Talk to Iran!), and who has the experience of lecturing not governing (Sorry Obama but McCain celebrity ad hit a cord).

And now no woman at the top but yet another white male.

As much as I have a problem with many of McCain's opinions, at least he has a proven record of a rebel. For Obama, Change is only a slogan.

Florida’s Sugar-Everglades $1.75 Billion Deal in Context

It is hot outside, and humid, but under the shaded perch of concrete with the fans blazing, surround by wickers of white and blue, and plants of all colors and sizes, and as the birds scrambling their saplings for their first flight, it is hard not to fall in love with Florida. But Florida today is not the Florida I first met eighteen years ago. There are cities in places where alligators once dwell, the suburbs are full with restaurants, and stores, and supermarkets, and so many, many people. To meet someone who was born here is an occasion worth celebrating.

The State Florida recently signed a contract to buy United States Sugar for $1.75 Billion. The deal allows water, held back by dams and irrigation, to flow south and essentially save the Everglades. It is a monumental environmental victory. But hold on a second. Florida has many budget problems, first and foremost in education. We're at the bottom of the list in test scores and other indicators. The deal is good for the environment but is it worth taking away $1.75 from education? Is a river of grass worth the education of our children?

Taken in a narrow context, the answer is no. Education should come first. But there is much more to the equation. Florida population grew, our supply of water did not. The deal doesn't only save the Everglades; it hedges the need for water against the draughts that plugged our water supply to dangerous levels.

The Everglades is at heart of Florida's history. Hot and humid as it is, this is a good day indeed.

In London for Business with the Undercover Economist

London – There's something magical about traveling to London for business while reading the Undercover Economist. Tim Harford works for the Financial Times and the book explains economics in layman terms.

When Harford talks about 'What supermarkets don't want you to know', in which he explains how pricing serves as a communication device to create efficient free markets where no one could be better off without harming others, all I could think about was Tesco. In the last decade the supermarket chain grew from a follower to a leader, for a good reason. Tesco is the most customer-attuned retailer I know where technology goes hand in hand with business goals. The caliber of its people and that tightness of technology and business is the reason for Tesco's success. It should be admired, and emulated.

When Harford explains scarcity, all I could think about was Time. If I had to pinpoint one dictator of modern life it would be the lack of time. I almost never eat fast food. But at 8pm, when a long night of work awaited, Burger King sounded like a really good meal. And, brilliantly, I was delighted to pay the 6 pounds for their Angus Burger, a lot of money for the right food in the right time.

When Harford described the affects of the Green Belt on the cost of living in London (small space high real estate costs), all I could think about was the three hours it took to drive the 45 miles from Reading to downtown London. Sometimes I wish Americans would be as conscious about the environment as are the Britons, but sometimes I'm happy to be a gas-guzzling suburbanite with a large house and a water thirsty lawn.

London had a surprise for me. When you meet people for the first time - in a different corner of the world - and they tell you they had read the blog and they feel they know you, and of course they have something to say about what you wrote, it is an amazing feeling. Sometimes, the world indeed feels flat.

Ambivalent about Barak Obama

Barak Obama clinched the Democratic nomination to President of the United States.

I love that Senator Obama is African-American. It is time. I hate that he 'stole' the election Hillary Clinton because I really, really wanted to see a woman in the White House.

I love that Senator Obama is charismatic, eloquent and intelligent. I hate that he is all talk and no experience. After all, the Senator never managed a big organization and doesn't have a political track record. Campaigning builds to Senator Obama's strength as orator, but the presidency needs an organizer and political hardness.

I love that Senator Obama objected to the war in Iraq when we were too busy being frightened after 9/11. I hate that he is stuck in the past and does not recognize the present circumstances. He ignores the realities of Iraq and wants to get out without understanding that a fast withdrawal today will make a bad problem worse.

I love that Senator Obama is not a Republican with a socially-righteous agenda and a good vs. evil point of view. I hate that he is a Democrat who believes in Big Government and against globalization. I'm always amazed that the far-left who hate Big Business do not recognize that government is the biggest monopoly of all. Worse, government is usually the last type of organization to adapt. Healthcare needs creative solutions, not a bigger bureaucracy.

I love that Senator Obama is loved the world. But what is good for our allies and enemies is not necessarily good for America. Soft foreign policy must be backed by the hard power of economics and military. It sounds great to negate cowboy diplomacy, but Obama's engagement ideology sounds too much like appeasement. If I have to describe Senator Obama's view of the world in one word it would be naïve.

I love that Senator Obama is young and energetic and talks about change. I hate that Obama's Change is rhetoric and not backed by actions. He is not John McCain, a true agent of change, a maverick who from fought for change in the political system for many years and is one of the stabilizing forces in the senate.

I'm glad for America that Senator Barak Obama won the nomination, but if the elections were held today I'll not vote for him.

Should we negotiate with Iran?

Should we negotiate with terrorists? No.

Do Iran's leaders plan, finance and support terror operations? Yes.

Therefore should we negotiate with Iran? Yes and No. Yes, there are many ways to negotiate as our deal with Iran on Afghanistan shows. But No, the President of United States should not ask Iran's Ahmadinejad for breakfast in the White House.

I wonder if Senator Obama would be so self-righteous about Iran if instead of saying 'I want to destroy Israel' and 'the Holocaust did not exist' Ahmadinejad would have said 'I want to hang the niggers by the noose'. And if those words send a shiver down your spine then now you understand how I feel when Ahmadinejad bellows anti-Semite rhetoric.

Iran finances Hezbollah and Hamas, both nationalistic groups representing grieved populations (in Lebanon and Gaza respectively), both militant Islamic (Hezbollah is Shia but Hamas is Sunni), and both have a mission derived from political cunning – destroy Israel.

The best way to deal with Hezbollah is to let the Arab World take the lead. Lebanon is a microcosm of the power struggles in the Middle East and Western intervention such as the UN's UNIFIL had not done much. The best way to deal with Hamas is to think of it not as a terrorist group (they terrorize Israel but Gaza is a different story), not as a democratically elected government accounted to its people, but as a crime gang. And the best way to deal with Iran is to play sticks and carrots – punish them with UN sections for violating the nuclear agreements, pinpoint on the Republican Guard, but offer Iran (in a hush-hush manner) the financial incentives for some kind of status quo for no nuclear bombs and no terrorism.

The focus on diplomacy works as long as 'soft power' and 'hard power' (military and economic strength) go together. If Senator Obama thinks American diplomacy will solve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict then he misunderstands Israel's peace agreements with Egypt and Jordan, which were both done by strong leaders and well-defined national interests. The road to solving the conflict is not in sitting Israel's Olmert and Palestinians' Abbas to the table but changing the nature of their self-interest. And if Senator Obama thinks that Iran will mend its ways because he speaks nicely then he's naive.

Telling Iran's leaders that the President of United States would conduct direct diplomacy while Iran bluntly seeks a nuclear bomb and publicly threatens Israel is admitting capitulation, a no-no in a male dominated society.

As Senator Obama says, words matter!

Update: Tom Friedman, as usual, eloquently explains the issue: "When you have leverage, talk. When you don’t have leverage, get some. Then talk."

Why Politics 2008 are great for America?

Everyone seems to be in a bad mood. The democrats bemoan of a contentious primary, the republicans bewail in indifference, the media is being... well....the media, and people on the street fear the high price of food and oil, but for America as a whole this is the best political season for a long time. We're finally asking ourselves some tough questions.

Obama brought fresh air to politics. Yet, if there is a lesson to be learned from the latest marry-go-round is that despite the call for Change, a good politician is a good politician, spinning and all. Finally the question of race is out there without the camouflage of a beating or a killing i.e. Rodney King and O.J Simpson. So yes, racism exists but it is not where it was. Many young people just don't care about color. They care about a dream. But dreams raise expectations. And that's Obama's downfall – reality tends to get in the way of dreams.

Many women want to see a woman in the White House, Hillary or not. Hillary's 'I don't quit' resonates so strongly with women that any attempt to take her out of the race by force is seen as unfair, even as a direct attack. My advice to the Democratic establishment – let it be. I already tasted bitterness when you ignored the Florida vote. There's something about Hillary.

The most interesting candidate is John McCain. He carries the Bush stigma and the burden of Iraq, but the McCain candidacy is primarily a challenge to the agreement between the religious right and the free market crowd to join forces in politics. If you're looking for a radical shift, that's the one. 2008 will test this tacit bond, and its failure would shake the political system at its core.

Are there really Two Americas? Yes and no. Yes in the sense that the urban, education driven, always-on life is different than the rural, get up at 4am to farm, go to church every Sunday, small town life. No in the sense that it is still relatively easy (compare to other countries) to move up the social, educational and financial scale. I think the new wave of mobile gadgets and the awareness of 'living green' will shift some of the educated back to rural settings. In a decade, America will be a different America yet once again.

Behind the character debate sit the issues. Immigration is currently mute but will probably erupt since it tackles issues such as security and globalization. Healthcare is a biggie, but the democrats call for more government falls flat on the ears of those who just had to deal with the IRS. Ending the war in Iraq is not a question of 'if' but 'when' and 'how'. As prices rise, the call to 'do something' grows louder. But again, watching Congress, the idea of the White Knight of Government scares me more.

At least the allure of going green due to global warming and the pain the pump due to high oil prices is shaking people out of complacency. So, can we talk now about energy policy?

What I learned in Algonkian Writer Conferences from Paige Wheeler, Robert Bausch and Michael Neff

The Algonkian writer conferences teach advance writers what they need to get published. During the week we worked on pitches, story lines, and the craft of writing. Michael Neff did a fantastic job of winnowing the applicants and our group bonded, cried, laughed, ate, drank and wrote. The workshop had many benefits because Patrick, Craig, Mona, Dianne, Ann, Kate, Giana, Jo, Katie, Jennifer and Donna were great people and skilled writers.

Publishing is first and foremost a Business

Throughout the week, Michael hammered that publishing is a business. For me the point did not sink until Paige Wheeler explained that the reason publishers gear towards 90,000 words thriller instead of 100,000 words because it costs less to ship. Think about it - the way books are shipped impacts the words count, wow!

In contrast to other writing conferences, Michael teaches writing for publication, and he does not mince words. He probed and questioned stories and narratives. He gave us tightly scripted exercises to challenge the imagination and skill. He tackled assumptions and beliefs. And he dozed with stories of the real world. Luckily, under the gruff exterior was a warm heart who wants to help. The trick was listening and understanding, even if sometimes we didn't agree… yes Michael but…

Also, if there was a lesson to be learned from Robert Bausch misfortunes (he wrote the book that inspired the movie Bruce Almighty but didn't get paid) is that a good agent makes the difference between getting paid or not. A great agent will increase the money pie.

Agents and Writers

Finding an agent is like finding a husband (or a spouse if you want to be politically correct). It's hard, time-consuming and basically a mystery. If I had to describe the process in one word, I'd say it is all about timing. Paige Wheeler had a baby six weeks ago and she's ready to start the process of adopting new writers. But the odds are hard to swallow. Last year she took 4 people of a slash pile of 500 queries a week! On the other hand, publishing is a small world and those of us who have been around for a while have similar stories about the same agents. A rude and obnoxious individual carries fame just as the good ones do. Publishing is full of charlatans, so be patient. If your work is publishable, it will be picked up.

A publishable work must have a catchy high-concept pitch. Okay, okay, don't jump. I was skeptical at the notion that the value of six years worth of work depends on one sentence, but after listing the high concepts of 30 books and reading the New York Times and Washington Post book reviews, I must admit that there is something magical in the log line. A good sentence tells the publisher how to position the book (i.e. thriller or novel). More important, the log line stirs readers into picking up a book from an unknown author. Despite the eyebrows, high-concept works for readers. So swallow your pride and ask yourself if your story has a catchy log line. If you don't (in my case, Paige says that anything that has to do with dot com or computers as humans is trite), go back to the drawing board and find another story.

Writing is a profession with rules that beginning writers must follow. Take a look at the bestsellers and see that there's no debate over the first five pages or pushing the action forward or creating sympathy for the protagonist. However, publishing is also subjective. For example, Michael hated my title for a work of fiction, Paige loved it. As a result, I may have a new book in a couple of months but my title stays as Surfing on Silicon Waves.

Tidbits of from the Craft of Writing

Another eye opening experience came from the writing exercises. Take 12 writers, give specific characters, settings, conflict and a technique, and put them under a tight schedule, and you will get 12 different stories, with different tones and styles. Amazing! I didn't believe it until I heard it – each writer has a unique style. In other words, imitation simply doesn't work. For me, some of the jargon was new but I was already using many of the techniques. For example, my dialog scene was energetic because I pay attention to the tags lines (and writers should know about tags lines).

Robert Bausch solved my antagonist problem. I love my characters. I hate my antagonist and I could not figure out how to write him. I don't think the way he does. I disagree with everything he stands for. How to write from a bad guy point of view? Simple, Bausch said, the bad guy doesn't change. Contrary to the protagonist who must change from the beginning to the end of the book, the antagonist may change tactics but he cannot change in nature. In Surfing, the bad guy is narcissistic. His badness results from a narcissistic point of view in the beginning, middle and end. Bingo, problem solved. As Donna said to me, such insight was worth the whole workshop.

The Craft versus Getting Published

Are writers made or born? Can MFA programs manufacture authors? Will self-publishing continue to be a death knell? Those questions haunt the business and serve as a good jumping point for an interesting debate. Michael believes a publishable manuscript will get published. I agree. As in any profession, the rules emerge from experience. The first five pages are important not because the publisher said so but because the readers stop reading if they don't care about the protagonist by page five.

My opinion - writing is a craft; storytelling is an art. Enjoy the process, otherwise you will breakdown.

Most Writers Don't Make It

Most writers don't make it because they give up. Writing for publication is a profession; it takes time and maturity. I may not be a published writer (yet!) but I'm a better writer today than I was a year ago, and I'm significantly better than three years ago. Paige said most writers were picked up after their fifth project! Michael told us that a good reader is worth two or three years of work, and his comments on my story were dead on. Only 0.01% of aspiring writers are published. With such odds, the only difference between good writers and published authors is tenacity.

On Saturday morning, I more or less decided that I'm done with this merry go around. On Saturday night, the girls pounded on me and I changed my mind. On Sunday morning, I was utterly confused. By Monday, I started fixing my book. Surfing stands today at 108,000 words. On the airplane ride back to Florida, I realized that if I move the action scenes forward and cut the fat from the story, I end up around 90,000 words. Now that was an eye opening exercise.

I went to Algonkian thinking I have a great story and I'm a so-so writer. I came out knowing I have a lousy story but I'm a good enough writer to be a published author. So I'm back into planning, writing and revising. As the gals of cabin 6 would say, "Go get them, Saccharine Posy!"

The Battle Cry of Print-On-Demand

Just when I thought publishing could not get more interesting, Amazon launches the next salvo in the Print-On-Demand (POD) war. Now if you want to sell a POD book on Amazon, you need to use the company's printing services. It means that if you self-publish in Lulu or you're a small publisher, you can no longer wait for an order, print and ship to Amazon. It means that an Amazon customer is an Amazon customer, not only in retail but also in publishing.

Publishing is a complicated business where publishers, distributors, retailers, agents, writers and readers compete and cooperate. Yes, everyone has the same interest – to read better books. But the business of reading is rife with conflicts of interest. Publishers make money on best-selling books. Distributors save by shipping in bulk. Retails are mostly in trouble. Agents need the writers to pay the bills but the publishers to survive. Writers just want to eat. And readers are simple time-short.

Amazon says the customer comes first and POD on site saves time and money. The publishers view the policy as an insidious way to chop down their control and profits. Most writers are just happy when someone buys their book. Between being the first website to successfully sell books, and then the first company to build a popular e-Book reader, I'd say Amazon's way is here to stay.

And if you want to learn more about the impact of technology on the publishing business, check out Joe Wilkert blog. Books as a form of complex storytelling are not going to disappear, but the selling and reading platforms are already evolving from the paper-bound to the digital. And the evolution is only beginning.

Update: According to the Times online, the Society of Authors believes that "Internet book piracy will drive authors to stop writing", but if you look at the comments most authors say otherwise. If there something writers would like is for the publishing industry to avoid the pitfalls of music and find a new business model, fast.

Update: Follow the music..the virtual store Apple's iTune now sells more music than Wal-Mart.

Self-Interest and the Rule of Law

According to the Economist, in the last decade the rule of law has become "the motherhood and apple pie of development economics". As a political idea the Rule of Law is widely accepted, but as an economic concept it replaced the crumbling "Washington Consensus" after the 1997-8 Asian Crisis. Since then the emphasis shifted from policies to institutions. In other words, the trick is not the strategy but the rules of the game.

The stakes are huge. The World Bank considers it the 300% dividend – in the long run, a country's income per head rises by roughly 300% if it improves its governance by one standard deviation. It is the different between Spain and South Africa, or Chile and India. However, it is not been proven that the Rule of Law is a precondition to growth.

The problem is in the definition - does the rule of law "defends human rights or guarantees property rights?" Moreover, does growth helps the rule of law, or is it the other way around. And the real puzzle is to explain the success of crony capitalism in Asia or Russia. As the Economist notes "... the more economists find out about the rule of law, the more desirable it seems – and the more problematic as a universal economic guide."

It seems to me the problem is not in the definition of the Rule of Law but of Economics. Money is a consistent and transparent way to establish relationship among individuals and societies. People are motivated by self-interest and economics frames the incentives.

Two things work to the advantage of crony capitalism. First, if the country has natural resources than the economic output doesn't require much input and therefore it is easier for the insiders to take more than their fair share. There is simply enough wealth to spill over and pacify the poor. A push for talent is not a necessity. Second, if the country has a history of bowing to authority, than the culture impedes not only the push for democracy but also the fight against corruption. In a sense, the poor accepts that the rich have the right to be rich because they have always been in a position of authority.

Therefore, if economics is a system of incentives and there are no strong motivations to fight the political apparatus than the Rule of Law as defined by the Insiders will bring economic growth. And it will last until something changes, either in the commodities markets or in the political will.

What is a Business Mystery?

Like many other industries, publishing is searching for the Next Big Idea. However, if the Idea requires imagination and some chutzpha, people buck out. That's the story of Surfing on Silicon Waves. No one understands how to sell a Business Mystery.

Publishing subdivides between fiction and non-fiction. Fiction is an imaginary narrative. Non-fiction is the book format of data told by an 'expert'. Lately the emphasis on narrative seeped into non-fiction from memoirs to popular science. Even business books are littered with narratives such as Rich Dad Poor Dad and The World is Flat.

On the same token, business found its way into fiction. A good example is Joseph Finder corporate thrillers where the setting is business. While the story deals with an industry or a company and a gun is involved, there's no discussion over a business issue. Joseph Finder writes thrillers with a business background, that's it.

A Business Mystery is a different beast. First it is fiction, specifically a mystery. Second it deals with a business topic, dilemma or strategy. Think a CEO that follows the rules of Good to Great. Think a plot that exemplifies the Wisdom of the Crowds or the Tipping Point.

As a business book, Surfing challenges the notion of Rationality. As the story progresses, each scene is accompanied by a relevant theory, from supply and demand to positive feedback. And I offer a new theory of choice dubbed as Reciprocity.

I first thought of Surfing as Business Thriller, but thrillers focus on action and imminent danger. It sounds great but in real life the dilemmas of business are mostly tactical and strategic. Mysteries focus on solving the crime.

In a business mystery, the crime is not that someone killed someone but that someone violated the rules. The bad guy created a business dilemma that the protagonist must solve. In Surfing the story follows the Internet Bubble and the predicaments of choice.

Surfing is good enough to be sold as a simple mystery. The story is enticing, the plot surprising and the characters interesting. However, if I took out the economic, business, software and philosophy annotations, Surfing's uniqueness would disappear. It would no longer be a Big Idea.

The Expert versus the Amateur

"Is User-Generated content is out?" Newsweek asks. Are we witnessing the return of experts? Is the Cult of the Amateur over and the Wisdom of the Crowds a myth? According to Terry Heaton, no such war exists. "That defection is more illustrative of the failure of traditional, institutional media than anything else, along with the arrogance-gone-to-seed of anyone claiming exclusive access to "truth."

We can rephrase the debate by asking – can we trust the source? If you read the NY Times, you should expect a liberal bias, although the opinion pages do their best to provide both sides. If you read an interesting article in the Christian Science Monitor or the National Review, it doesn't mean they're wrong or bad journalism but they do have a historical point of view. If you read a blog by Guy Kawasaki because he offers marketing insights, it doesn't mean that he won't try to plug his companies.

Moreover, if you're influential does that mean you're an expert? Is Andrew Sullivan an expert? What makes Instapundit such a popular blog despite the fact it has almost no original content.

We can also rephrase the question as - how much expertise worth? If you're a professional statistician than a Wikipedia entry would not help that much. But if had learned statistics and 15-20 years later a need arises than the Wikipedia entry is helpful, simply because it refreshes and guides.

In the realm of specialized knowledge only experts can judge other experts. But by opening the door, experts that are not part of the organization that created the information have the option to analyze the original data and comment. In other words, benefits arise when the mob becomes the expert.

The Campaigns of Feel Good, Don’t Give up, and Find Victory

The 2008 presidential campaign is historical in many ways. For the first time an African-American and a woman have a good chance to be President. But the campaign is more than the candidates; it is also about what Americans see in the mirror.

I love that fact that Barak Obama exists. I love who he is. I love that he is fighting the rhetoric of blame and hate. Barak Obama feels good.

Until I actually listen to what he says.

Hillary sounds like a preacher, but Obama actually does. He lectures about working together, but when he picks up a fight, he lets loose on Canada. Canada!

If there is anything to learn from the latest brouhaha is that the other side always feels like a 'monster'. Demonizing the enemy is human nature. The trick is in the perceptions of a fair fight.

Hillary Clinton's message of 'I don't give up' resonates. It shows determination, tenacity, steel and a healthy dose of chutzpah – too bad they are a warrior traits and Hillary Clinton happens to be a woman and a democrat.

I - and I suspect most Americans - want to vote Democrat. I'm tired of social conservatism and the politics of fear. I want Change!

But I don't want government intervention and business bashing and more taxes. I want pragmatism, not idealism. I want socially conscience programs that won't bankrupt the future. Oh and there is that voting mess in Florida. In their rhetoric, the Democrats are loosing my vote.

If there is a true agent of change in this race it is John McCain. He has the history of a political rebel from political funding to bipartisanship. Many Democrats actually like him. Sadly, he's an old, white man with a temper and a Republican.

In a time when the economy is in trouble, the song of 'war against terror' sounds out of date. The problem with Iraq today is not why we went in but rather should we stay and for how long. To most of the world, and especially in the Middle East, the Iraq War smacks of imperialism. So what exactly are we winning? The Iraqi oil fields. A Democracy kidnapped by Islamic Fundamentalists. What? If McCain has a good answer, he will win. Otherwise, he won't.

So that's the choice. Barak Obama for feeling good but fighting with friends and cowing to enemies. Hillary Clinton for not giving up but not elevating either. And John McCain for an aging rebel leading the strayed. It least the campaign is interesting. Now that is Change.

The Sad Saga of 3Com

Recently, concerns over national security prevented the sale of 3Com to private capital and a Chinese company for $2.2 Billion. Reading the WSJ article brought back memories both happy and sad.

I worked in 3Com as a sales analyst back in 1998. It was the same time that Fortune listed 3Com as one of the top places to work for and a friend was fired in conference call. It was the same time that 3Com a $5-6 Billion company and a respected rival to Cisco fell apart. In many ways, that year in 3Com served as my inspiration for Surfing on Silicon Waves.

Here's what happened. One of my tasks was to put together the data from the commission system into a financial format. The commission system used by 3Com at the time was a patchwork of programming and a decision was made to buy and customize a top notch commission software package. Sadly, after a year the new system was still far away and the old system suffered from a lack of proper attention as both the financial manager and the information system manager left 3Com. The new managers were trained on the new system that so far was not working and the sales force was paid on forecasts not actual sales. After six months, it was time to check forecast against actual. The numbers smelled wrong.

Meanwhile, Cisco was busting 3Com in the market place and people started to defect. Confidence was eroding. When the rumors starting floating around that the sales force was overpaid and the sales numbers were wrong, it had a vicious affect on moral.

To cut a long story short, the culprit was a minor (really minor) programming slip that miscalculated a formula. I don't remember what it was exactly but I do remember it was a plus instead of a minus, or maybe a minus instead of a plus. Either way, the programming error was minute; the affect on 3Com was devastating

Was there wrongdoing? No. Was there negligence? A tiny bit, but no, not really. Top management had made a good decision to acquire the new commission system. There was quibbling among the finance managers but no more then the common office politics. The failure was caused by a confluence of events.

You might say that 3Com fell apart because a plus turned minus, literally.

Software As Service

Surfing on Silicon Waves deals the business of software. One of the most pronounced trends in software is the move away from selling 'engines' to the hybrid of developing software but selling services and solutions. I dubbed that trend Software As Service.

I was catching up on my blog feeds when I stumbled on a post from Jonathan Schwartz, CEO of Sun Microsystems, that beautifully describes the business forces behind Software As Service.

Not a single company in the CTO (Chief Technology Officer – RM) room paid for software…. In contrast, not a single company in the CIO (Chief Information Officer – RM) room allowed free software without a commercial support contract. Not one.

Microsoft Goes (Slightly) Open

Six years ago, when I started writing about the travails of my fictional CEO of the Big Company, James Vermont, to step away from a proprietary strategy into a hybrid of services and openness, no one would have believed me that was based on what I thought would happen to Microsoft. Well, it did. Microsoft today announced it is going (slightly) open.

Microsoft announced a set of broad-reaching changes to its technology and business practices …These changes are codified into four new interoperability principles and corresponding actions: 1) ensuring open connections; 2) promoting data portability; 3) enhancing support for industry standards; and 4) fostering more open engagement with customers and the industry, including open source communities.

In retrospect Microsoft's move is obvious. The Internet is just too big and too porous to control. Web 1.0 strategies of dominating the gateways (i.e. AOL) didn't work in the collaborative Web 2.0. Will the business model of organizing information (Google) continue to thrive once we move the Semantic Web of tagged data remains to be seen. In a complex ecosystem such as the Internet, standards create order, and standards emerge from cooperation.

In Surfing on Silicon Waves, James Vermont takes the Internet one step forward. He accepts the notion that by moving away from Alan Turing's computing into the more chaotic reciprocal problems (problems solved as probabilities), the World Wide Web became intelligent.

Is this Fidel Castro Last Act?

Fidel Castro resigned as Cuba's President, but…

Mr. Castro also made it clear he is not fading into the sunset but pledged to continue to be a force in Cuban politics through his writings, just as he has over the last year and a half. "I am not saying goodbye to you," he wrote. "I only wish to fight as a soldier of ideas." (NY Times)

What are Castro's ideas? Cuba flaunts its universal healthcare but most Cubans are poor and the economy depends on commodities. Now that Communism proved as a defunct economical model and most people recognize it not as the champion of equality but rather as an excuse for a dictatorship, the only idea Fidel Castro successfully promotes is his Anti-Americanism.

Ten years ago, I was at a party where a heated discussion erupted between twenty-something and forty-something Cubans. While the younger generation favored the cancelation of economic sanctions, their older compatriots said no way, not as long as Castro is in power. The arguments centered on whether we should punish Fidel Castro or help the Cuban people.

But the debate had a deeper undertone – should we punish a dictator and therefore the people he controls, or should we bow to a dictator in the hope that we can ease the suffering? Sadly, there are no good answers.

During the Elian Gonzales episode, I got stuck in the middle of a very excited crowd at Little Havana. I don't feel such enthusiasm today. Maybe that's good. Maybe the best response is to shrug it off. Maybe the best course of action is to wait and see where the Cubans take Cuba.

Sony Wins the High-Definition Movie Format War

Toshiba formally bowed to Sony's victory in the High-Definition Movie format war by announcing the withdrawal of its HD DVD from the market. Sony's Blu-ray wins.

How did Sony win? In Information Rules, Carl Shapiro and Hal Varian explain that "Standard wars are unique to network markets with powerful positive feedback." To win, they say, a company depends on seven key assets: 1) Control over an installed base of users. 2) Intellectual property rights. 3) Ability to innovate. 4) First-mover advantage. 5) Manufacturing abilities. 6) Strength in complements, and 7) Brand name and reputation.

The market for HD movies ranges from DVD players ruled by retailers, movie formats set by the studios, and game consoles. In the DVD arena, for two years most retailers offered both formats, hence the sales numbers evened out around a million DVDs per format. The movie studios were divided with 75% favoring Sony's Blu-ray, but Toshiba held on with Universal, Paramount and DreamWorks. But in game consoles, Sony's PlayStation dominance trounced Microsoft's X-Box HD DVD format. The avalanche started with Best Buy and Netflix. It ended when Wal-Mart, the granddaddy of DVD players, said it would phase out HD DVD and offer only movies in the Blu-ray format.

Why now? This is the most interesting aspect of the story – the need to choose a winner quickly emerges from the realization that DVD may be a dying industry. Although bandwidth is still a major obstacle, many expect the migration to downloaded movies. Retailers wanted to end the DVD war so they can focus on the next frontier.

In Surfing on Silicon Waves, a fictional standard war exists in network communication protocols, between the proprietary Referential Directory and the open-source Q Comm. In the real world, TCP/IP has long been the Internet standard, but you get the idea.

The (Fictional) Flexoid Web

In 11 Things to Know about Semantic Web, Bernard Lunn explains that Web 3.0 is "the combination of Web 2.0 mass collaboration with structured databases". In the Semantic Web, we will move away from relational databases that input and output data in set structures into databases individually organized using global standards.

Lunn remarks that relational databases were "good for enterprise scale performance and reliability but for Internet scale it falls short…. Don't look for the killer application. This implies a client/consumer win. This is much more likely to be a server/platform/enterprise win." In my fictional world, this is a point driven home by the dilemma facing the CEO of America Computer Technologies (ACT), James Vermont.

Moreover in Surfing on Silicon Waves, I take the Semantic Web one step further. In essence, the Flexoid Web is the Semantic Web that solves problems by probabilities.

What is Surfing on Silicon Waves?

Surfing on Silicon Waves is a business mystery.

Surfing unlocks the mystery behind business, specifically the business of software. It challenges the idea of Rationality and offers an alternate theory of Choice. Setting the Internet Bubble as the background, I show that economics is the mathematics of social affairs. And I assume that if the Computation Theory of the Mind declares that our brains process information using symbols, then we can analyze software as a mirror to society.

Surfing is also a mystery about business, in particular about Silicon Valley. Using the heydays of the Internet Bubble as backdrop, Surfing is a story about choice, courage and commitment. Like Alice in Wonderland, when Mica Thomas arrives in Silicon Valley she confronts a human-like software program, people who run fast but do not reach anywhere, the hyperbole of technology and business, and the kings of the Golden Guild.