Part 3

One-third of being a Peace Corps Volunteer - actually the one-third that lasts for the rest of my life - is sharing your overseas experience with Americans back home. To that end, since returning to America I spoke at my old high school, Kittatinny, gave an interview to my local newspaper, and scheduled a presentation at the Rotary Club in my hometown. I hope that through these activities, and informal conversations with people I meet each day, I can share a little of what I've learned in the Peace Corps.

A note about the article: unfortunately the internet version doesn't show the 6 pictures that were published, one of which was spread across the entire front page, but it still has a couple of typos. Overall, I really liked it.

I also had a blast at my old high school. Despite the fact that there were only a couple of school days left, and the seniors I spoke to certainly had other things on their minds (graduation, summer, FREEDOM!), I think some of them really enjoyed it. And giving out candy for asking or answering a question probably didn't hurt.

Going Away Photos

Forgot to post these photos, taken at various good-byes within the last few days in my village.

Going away party with teachers at School #2.




Last picture taken in Copceac. All my co-workers on the steps of the mayor's office.


My amazing host-family: Katya, Mitya, and our dog, Linda.


Me and Luda.

Home

It's the morning after my first night in my own bed at my parent's house in New Jersey. It was probably the most restful night of sleep I've had in a long time - didn't wake up once.

Even though I actually ended my Peace Corps service on May 9, and left Moldova at 4am that day, I didn't return home to NJ until the May 19. I flew from Chisinau, Moldova to Frankfurt, Germany to Atlanta, Georgia to Tulsa, Oklahoma over a total of 23 hours.

Along the way, I met several Moldova college students who were headed to America for summer jobs through a program called Work and Travel Since I speak Russian and English, I was able to help them fill in their travel documents and direct them toward their connecting flights in Atlanta. I hope they have good, and profitable, experiences in America. I know the fees to get into these kinds of programs are quite high, and many of these students will only earn minimum wage. I've never met anyone who finished such a program, so if anyone can comment here about a past experience, we'd all like to read about it.

Once in Tulsa, I had a few days to readjust my internal clock before hopping in a car to help Krista drive to Rochester, NY where she'll start an accelerated nursing program. In Rochester, I learned how my parents must have felt when they took me to college - so many things to buy and do in order to settle in!

Then I flew to NYC, met my cousin at the airport, and sped away to King of Shish-Kabob, a Dakake family hang-out. I had wanted to surprise my parents, so I never told them that I was in America. They thought I was still in Moldova and would be returning on May 21st. My whole family was in on the scheme, so I hid in the bathroom when my parents came in. I waited for them to sit down, and then came out saying, "There's no toilet paper in there - do you guys have any napkins?" My Mom's chin hit the floor she was so surprised.

So now I've got lots of unpacking to do, housing to find in Philadelphia before school starts at Wharton, a couple weddings to attend, houses to paint, and a million other things.

It's good to be back, but I do miss my friends in Moldova and look forward to going back to visit in a few years.

I haven't decided what to do with this blog. I'll probably leave it up for others to read and learn about Moldova and Uzbekistan and Peace Corps, but I doubt I'll be making further additions. If I start a new one about the "adventures" of a business school student, I'll post a link here.

ps - A few days ago, I received word my village won a grant (that I wrote) from the US Embassy in Moldova. We had already received funds for redoing the local TV station, but needed additional moneys for a new transmitter. Now Copceac will have its own independent local media source.

The End is Nigh

In Peace Corps, approximately three months before the end of a volunteer's service, we attend a COS Conference. COS stands for Close of Service, but at the beginning of our three days in the capital, we learned that it also could be thought of as Continuation of Service. Why? Because one-third of a PCV's job is to share with the American people their experiences abroad. [The other thirds are to share America with our host country and to actually do some work.]

I'm looking forward to beginning, or continuing if you consider this blog an early attempt at that last third of my job, this important part of my service. I've got lots of photos and video that I hope to edit into a short film and/or powerpoint presentation. At this point, my honorarium is very reasonable – turkey sandwich on a toasted bagel. Let the speaking tour begin!

I suppose this was technically my fourth COS Conference - once in Uzbekistan, and twice before in Moldova as a presenter. Another (now departed) PCV and I created a financial planning presentation to help RPCVs (returned) make wise financial decisions as they re-enter the workforce and start earning a salary. This was my first time making the presentation solo, and I think it went very well. Actually, one of the other attendees just told me that she was inspired to take the government bonds that her grandparents have been giving her since forever ago and move them into something with a higher interest rate. Made my day.

Ps – Quote of the conference: “Peace Corps is like wearing a chicken suit in New York City and telling people in broken English how to do things better.”

Germans

A German Rotary Club recently sent three of its members – Joachim, Reinhard, and Juergen – to Copceac in order to lay the groundwork for two projects they will be funding. I've been emailing with them over the last couple months to help set things up, and it was nice to finally meet them. The first project will replace many of the old, drafty wood-frame windows in one of the schools with modern, double-pane, plastic-frame ones. The other is a water project, which will connect a well with three water towers that are 2km away. This will greatly increase the water available to the village. At least until I leave for America, I’m to be their eyes and ears on the ground as these projects move forward.

During their visit, I was occasionally surprised by their surprise that someone from America (me) would be living and working in Moldova as a PCV. Over the course of their visit, we talked about a lot of things including the current administration in America. Other than Moldovans, this was the first time I've really discussed America's reputation with Europeans. Although this probably isn't news to the readers of this blog, it was a bit of a shock to me to see first-hand how far America's standing has fallen since the outpouring of sympathy that came following 9/11.

One Rotarian mentioned that he always liked America because following WWII, he remembered receiving packages from the States with good food and nice, warm clothes. Isn't it amazing how those gifts so many years ago helped shape an opinion that has lasted so long? I wonder how long the aid given by the American people to the world will continue to mold opinions in light of current events?

So what does this mean for me and the Peace Corps? I think it makes our work to attain world peace and friendship much more difficult, and perhaps more important, to say nothing of the threat of terrorism. Though there are only a few people in Copceac who think that I am a spy, some of them are good and intelligent people (who unfortunately have the completely wrong idea about my mission). Can you blame them? If I lived in a country that used to view America as its enemy, and at least partly blamed America for the fall of the USSR, and now saw an America that waged unpopular (if not simply unjustified) wars, what would I think if an American showed up in my village with some vague humanitarian goals?

28

Shouldn't let my 28th birthday go by without notice here. So, I'm 28. Since last year's birthday was a bit of a let-down, I didn't organize any big party in my village. I did, however, wake up to a cake that my host-mother baked for me (pictured here).

The following weekend, however, my fellow-Gagauzian PCVs – who oddly also had April birthdays – held a three-way birthday Toga Olympiad. The toga part didn't really come off; virtually no one brought sheets and it was a little cold. There weren't may games to speak of either; they consisted of one half-field soccer game that some of us played against some foul-mouthed local kids. But, we really nailed the food portion of the weekend – club sandwiches, bean soup, gyros, muffins, and omelets. It was a great weekend.

Flowery Language

From my own experience, mostly in college, when I didn't know what I was talking about I bs-ed. I think it's a human defense mechanism: when we don't want to be embarrassed by our lack of knowledge or understanding, we tend to puff ourselves up and try to convince ourselves and others around us that we know what we're doing [see current White House administration for demonstration of this theory]. In college, I tried to use big words and important sounding sentences. I fiddled with the margins, font size, and font type to make a 3-page paper reach the minimum 5-page length. Some of the papers I wrote were good, but some were garbage (and unfortunately for me, some of my professors knew this, too).

Fast forward six years, to my recent attempt to help a friend translate a document from Russian to English. The specifics are not important; suffice to say it was a description of an organization. I felt like I was reading one of my old, bad papers. There were grandiose and complex sentences that might initially impress, but actually said nothing. There were no concrete, measurable goals – only vague ideals of a pseudo-utopian society.

Of course, I'm not completely without responsibility for this literary "un-masterpiece." I did the translation and type it up. Though I tried to inject my translation with planer language, in the absence of the original author I couldn't do much toward creating anything with a clear strategy for how to bring about social change. As an excuse, I can only say the deadline was nigh and time was short. Sounds just like the excuse I used in college.

Fate

My host-mother, Katya, introduced me to a new Russian word – больтушка (baltyushka), which basically means a very talkative person. I think it's a bit of a derogatory term, but she uses it to describe herself. I have to agree, the woman likes to talk, but I enjoy it, and have dubbed her "my good baltushka."

Recently, our conversations have turned to fate. A lot of the people here believe in checking horoscopes, getting palms read, the evil eye, karma, and just a general feeling that what goes around comes around. Katya has told me numerous stories about how some neighbor did something bad, and several years her family hasn't had any children; or how another person didn't heed the warning in the horoscope and died. It's almost that in her mind, for every (metaphysical) action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

While this might be true for the next life – commit a murder now and you'll pay for it on Judgement Day – I don't agree with Katya's view for this earth. Bad things happen to good people, and vice versa. Priests get in car accidents, child molesters win the lottery. One's degree of piety or baseness won't protect or expose you to all the good and bad fortunes of chance.

To some degree, everything on the planet shares a cause-effect relationship; the wings of a butterfly in China may have contributed to the formation of Hurricane Katrina. But I would hardly blame that butterfly for the havoc wreaked in New Orleans, just as I would hardly blame a slight to a neighbor for the death of a relative 10 years later. I guess it just depends on how far down the "interconnectivity" road you want to go.

Having thus agreed to disagree, Katya and I moved on to foretelling the future. I told her that I don't believe in the ability of any mortal to divine it, specifically that palm reading was a crock. Nearly all attempts to do so are very general and mysterious – "You are entering a period of great difficulty now…" or "You will soon find a new business opportunity." No one ever says, "On Tuesday your car will get a flat tire on the rear passenger side." And why don't they? Because then their predictions wouldn't come true and they would be exposed as frauds. But give a general reading, and almost everyone can claim that to some degree the prediction was correct. I mean, who isn't in a period of difficulty?

Why the difference in Katya's point of view and my own? Undoubtedly, part of it is just that we're different people. I'm sure that in America I could easily find those with a similar outlook to Katya's. But I think that part of it – and I admit that this argument is a bit of a stretch – is that I am in more control of my future than my host-mother. As an American from an upper-middle class, white, loving family, who is about to enter a prestigious business school, my future seems fairly positive. Upon graduation, it's likely that I'll get a decent-paying job and will be able to raise a family of my own. Compare that with Katya's options: some of her children have had to work abroad to make ends meet; she has seen the collapse of her government; it would probably be very difficult for her to find another job should she lose or quit her current one. If I were in Katya's position, I too might be more inclined to see the cause of bad events as fate, instead of poor nutrition, lack of economic opportunity, or the results of an corrupt government. It's easier on the psyche to lay the blame at some mysterious and unstoppable supernatural force than on things that are caused by others around us or, to some degree, are of one's own making.

Part of the reason for our different views might also be a generational shift. I speculate on this because, through an extremely non-scientific process which involved asking one other young person, I can without a doubt state that two young people in the village of Copceac that that palm-reading and future-divining is "bullshit." Maybe we young'ns are just so full of piss and vinegar that we want to believe that we are invincible masters of our own destiny, and fate has no control over our lives.

Switching topics. Since my birthday was last week and someone has been clamoring in the comments section of this blog for me to post reflections on being 28-years old, here goes… I still feel relatively young, compared to the general population, but this is the first time I've ever felt "old." At 28, one can no longer claim to be in one's mid-20s. I'm definitely on the downhill slope to the big three-oh. And 3-0 is exactly how old I'll be by the time I finish business school and start working. I had always pictured myself a little ahead of that curve, finishing with graduate school and embarking on a career around 26 or 27. Nonetheless, I feel pretty good about where I am – college grad, fulfilling work experiences, really good looking – and where I'm going. Actually, though I couldn't nail down exactly what kind of career I want or where I want to live, I feel as though my life has more direction and I am more clear about my personal and professional goals than I have ever been. I think that's one benefit that comes from working at and living in a few different places since graduating college, and from spending countless hours writing graduate school applications, all of which ask "What are your career goals?"

As far as any wisdom I've accrued in my 28 years…

1. Change is hard, but necessary.
2. Travel to distant places and new cultures almost always benefits both sides.
3. It's the economy, stupid.
4. Friendship is best displayed during the breakfast scene in Wedding Crashers [minus the whole undercurrent of disingenuousness that goes with falsely representing oneself at a wedding to which you were not invited in order to bang an attractive woman]

Easter & The Tipping Point

Usually the Orthodox and American (or Anglican? I’m not sure of the proper term) Easters fall one week apart. However, every few years – including this year – these Easters are on the same Sunday.

For the most part, people get together and eat. This in and of itself is cause for celebration for many who were fasting over the last few days, or not eating meat for the last 40 days. Next week, everyone will go to the cemetery and picnic at the graves of their relatives, as documented here last year.

For my part, I had a very relaxing and enjoyable Easter. I had invitations to lots of places. I'd like to think this is because of my natural charisma, but I'm sure a large part is due to the fact that as the lone American, I'm a bit of a celebrity. In the morning, I had a huge breakfast with my host-family. Then, I headed to my friend, Feodr's, for a little English practice and another feast. Next, I rolled up to Dada Borei's (Uncle Bob's) for a sit in the sun and some snacks. Then on my way to Ludmila’s, two men I didn’t really know invited me inside for dinner. Not being in any rush, I obliged. Finally, I took my leave and went to Ludmila's for more eating, this time coupled with a fun debate with one of her guests about which country was richer: America or Russia. I don't think either of us were convinced of the other’s position, but it was fun to try. Lastly, returning home around nine, my host mother tried to stuff even more food into me. I ate a few cucumber slices and went straight to bed. The weather was gorgeous the whole day.

On Monday, I also had the day off, and I basically lounged the whole time. I also made significant progress toward completing the Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell. His basic argument is that events – the drop in crime in NYC during the 1990s, the comeback of Hush Puppies as hip footware, or even Paul Revere's midnight ride to warn American colonists of a British attack – are really epidemics shaped by three things. Those three things are:

1. People, who come in three different subcategories
a. Connectors: Individuals who know a lot of other people
b. Mavens: Individuals who know a lot of information
c. Salesmen: Individuals who can persuade
2. Stickiness – how memorable is the message
3. Context – in what situation is the message delivered

I was reading the part about context on a bench outside my gate when I had an epiphany. Before I explain my insight, first a little more about Malcolm's argument. If we look at Paul Revere's midnight ride, one of the reasons he was able to gather the colonists to fight the following day against the British was simply because of the context in which his message was delivered. Simply by waking up someone in the middle of the night, pounding on a door, that person automatically attaches a greater import to the message than if it were delivered during normal working hours. [Revere’s mission was ultimately successful because his message was also "sticky" – The British are coming! – and Revere was a Connector – many of the people with whom he was speaking already knew him.]

Another example mentioned NYC's drop in crime in the 1990s. Of course there were many reasons, but one seemingly small cause that may have had the greatest effect was cleaning the graffiti off subway cars. The context of the city’s transit system was one of dilapidation. By the so-called "Broken Window" theory, when someone sees a broken window in a house, they automatically assume that no one cares about fixing it, and therefore no one will care about other infractions of the law. By fixing the window, or by cleaning the graffiti off the subway cars, officials greatly reduced the spread of the crime epidemic. Potential criminals were much less likely to commit a crime if they found themselves in a more orderly environment.

Next, NYC cops went after fare-beaters. It was a seemingly tiny crime, costing the city only $1.25. One could argue that at a time when murderers, rapists, and thieves were everywhere, it was a significant waste of a cop’s time to arrest and spend a day booking someone who simply jumped a turnstile. But what the cops soon learned was that for every 10 fare-beaters arrested, one of them had either an outstanding warrant or a concealed weapon. By going after the little guys, they were actually catching big criminals. And, as the public caught on that even small infractions like fare-beating would not be tolerated, the entire context of the subway system changed and crime dropped significantly.

The old view of causes for crime – which Malcolm and I certainly don’t dismiss – are that they're related to education, racism, infrastructure, etc. All these are big things that require huge amounts of resources to change and years to take effect. They are daunting in their size and complexity. Yet by doing something simple – cleaning off graffiti and arresting fare-beaters – NYC made its mass transit system, and later the entire city through application of similar methods, a lot safer.

So, what does this have to do with Moldova? A couple weeks ago I was in Tvarditsa, a village that was clean and ordered. Now I'm back in Copceac, where garbage is strewn helter-skelter on streets and fields. The seeming insignificant act of tossing an empty bottle on the ground has an effect on the way people who later see it perceive their environment. Does it make them take less pride in their village? Does it lead to a sense of hopelessness, that things can never get better or that one can never have a better life or gain new skills? Does it make them more likely to believe that they can get away with a crime?

I don't have any statistics to tell you if there are actually any connections, but I found it very interesting to read about the power of context in creating change, and found it comforting that big change need not come from big events.

Spring in Tvarditsa

Our Gagauz Threesome, Bryan, Amy, and I, completed another Poosk small business seminar in the village of Tvarditsa last weekend. All previous seminars, besides the one done in Copceac, were held in cities. So, I was particularly excited when this opportunity came along because I think students in the villages tend to have fewer opportunities than those in the cities – as is probably true (to a degree) around the world.

The three of us, plus Charles, a volunteer from Chisinau, stayed with PCV Anastasia and her incredibly hospitable host-family. Perhaps I was so enamored with her family because Nastia’s host-mother was a phenomenal cook. I also absolutely loved Tvarditsa, and am convinced it is my favorite village in Moldova. The roads were straight and paved, the public areas were clean with no sign of litter, and you could tell that someone had actually laid out the village according to a plan.

I have to admit that my love for this village suffered a slight setback when on Saturday morning, which was to be the start of our seminar, only one girl showed up. I don’t know exactly why this happened, but I think it had something to do with there being some sort of academic Olympiad in the nearby city of Ceadir-Lunga. In any case, it was a bit of a downer.

Determined to make lemonade out of lemons, we agreed to pack all of the seminar into Sunday, when we were assured more students would show, and set about exploring Tvarditsa. I think we walked about 7-8 miles and saw it all. Charles and I introduced ultimate Frisbee at the local music school (which has a great soccer field out back). Instead of shirts vs. skins, we played hats vs. no-hats. Then we walked out to a natural spring where I drank freely from the cool water (no giardia yet!), and then to some small burrow-like caves where, apparently, monks spend the summer living mostly underground. We capped off the day with a tour of the local cognac factory – man, you could get drunk on just the fumes. Considering that I was there for a business seminar, it was nice to see a locally run, efficient business. All in all, not a bad day.




The seminar did have many more participants the next day. Out of the four student presentations, three involved the creation of some sort of transportation business. It seems that is a service sorely lacking – and I can certainly attest to being tired after walking around the entire previous day instead of hopping into a marshutka. We’ve been invited back for a festival next month, and I definitely want to go. There’s still a brinza (a local cheese) factory to tour, and a host-mother’s cooking to eat.

As folks in Copceac prepare for the growing season, they also prepare for the next winter. Every spring, grapevines must be trimmed to encourage new shoots to sprout. The old, dead wood – mostly twigs – are deposited in front of many villagers houses in huge piles. Here’s a woman who lives on my street, clips the vines into manageable sizes, then bundles them, and stows them away for use next winter in her pechka, essentially a wood stove in the wall of her house. For many, this is a much cheaper alternative to using gas for heating. It’s not uncommon to find monthly gas bills in excess of $75 during the winter, a vast sum when you consider a starting salary for a teacher is about $50 a month.

Also reading the Tipping Point now by Malcolm Gladwell – great book.

Also recently visited by former UZ-18 PCV Taya, on a one-night only vacation from her current post in Ukraine. Now isn't this a good argument in favor of Moldova dropping their visa requirement - she came because a visa wasn't required and brought her (few PCV) tourist dollars with her. Great to see you again, and meet Molly. Thanks for the visit.

Babel

For those who don't know the story of the Tower of Babel, I'll give
you a quick rundown… Back in the day, all of mankind spoke one
language. Folks got together and decided they would build a huge
tower to heaven to skip life and get right to the good stuff. God
disapproved, and so He caused the people to speak in different
tongues. They no longer understood each other, couldn't work
together, and the tower was abandoned or collapsed or both. [If a
greater scholar than I wants to give a better history in the comments
section, go ahead.]

The first time I watched director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu's
latest film, named after the ancient tower, I did so without
subtitles. I thought I remembered reading an article somewhere that
said he had deliberately chosen to go without translations of the
Arabic, Berber, Japanese, Spanish, and sign-language in order to
highlight the barriers that separate us. If the audience struggles
to understand, then they're more participants in the story than
simple observers – or so the theory goes. Turns out, I never read
such an article and somehow created it in my mind, mostly because I
didn't notice the "Turn Subtitles On" button in the program on my
computer I was using to watch the film. Oops. Believe me, the
second time through (with subtitles) is much better.

This film and the story from which it derives its name are in some
ways strikingly similar to my current situation. Yesterday, I went
to the university in Taraclia, a city about a 5-minute taxi ride from
my village center. I've lived in Copceac for a year-and-a-half, but
it was only a week ago that I learned that there was a university
nearby, and only yesterday, when I ventured there on my own, that I
discovered an English Department there AND that from 1992-94 some
woman from Kansas served as a Peace Corps Volunteer there! Am I
speaking some different language? How was I never told about this?
Granted, some of the blame lies with me because I never asked anyone,
"Hey, is there a university in Taraclia?" Then again, I also never
asked anyone, "Hey, is there an underground Olympic-sized swimming
pool with an unlimited supply of chips and salsa in Taraclia?" Maybe
I should.

More striking to me was a question I asked several of the students I
met in one English class. "How many of you speak Gagauz?" Not a
single hand went up. In Copceac, five minutes away, the primary
language is Gagauz. But in Taraclia, nothing.

This was, of course, only one class and not a true cross-section of
the Taraclia population, which I know has significant numbers who do
speak Gagauz. Nonetheless, it was surprising to see that in such a
small area, two villages should have as many languages. That would
be like everyone in my hometown of Fredon speaking Spanish, and five
minutes away in Newton everyone speaking Chinese. I guess I never
cease to be amazed by the number of languages spoken in such a tiny
area. Romania, Russian, Bulgarian, Gagauz, Ukrainian, and some study
English and/or German.

Beef Jerky

Those who know my brother and me will tell you that we're beef jerky
snobs (especially my brother – sorry, Bud, but it's true). We only
go for the all natural stuff – none of that artificial Slim-Jim
crap. From various care packages, I still have about 5.5 packets
left. I spent the last half-packet in self-preservation. By this I
don't mean that I was wasting away with hunger, but rather I gave it
to avoid being eaten by another.

There are two large dogs at my new host family (which is great,
BTW). One is a beautiful black German Shepard, Linda. She's well-
mannered and can even open the front door if it isn't locked and come
inside. Linda sits at the foot of the dinner table and we give her
scraps. The other dog, quite frankly, scared the bejesus out of me.
She's got a striking resemblance to Kujo and showed up from God knows
where about 2 months ago and the family just adopted her.

Knowing that the way to a dogs heart is through its stomach, I've
been tossing scraps of jerky anytime I pass by. I think the plan has
worked, and now I only mildly fear for my life whenever I enter the
gate.

[PS – DON'T send more jerky. I've got plenty.]

Countdown

As many already know, I will be leaving Moldova to return to America
in about two months. This brings on a mix of emotions, not
dissimilar to how I felt a couple months from entering the Peace
Corps. Then, I was reluctant to leave friends, family, and a
familiar way of life. Who wouldn't be? But at the same time, that
reluctance was outweighed by my sense of adventure and desire to make
a difference. I was going to live in a country – first Uzbekistan,
and then Moldova – that few foreigners and fewer Americans ever see.
I was going to meet and help new people, face and overcome
challenges, learn a new language, and see parts of the world that
would (I hoped) forever change my perspective.

Now, I find myself in a nearly identical situation, but reversed. In
Moldova, I have friends, I have important (albeit intermittent) work,
I even have pointy-toed Moldovan shoes. It will not be without some
sense of regret that I leave these behind. On the other hand, I'm
getting pretty excited to be back in America. I'll see old friends,
spend time with my family (including a niece due to arrive in July!),
and begin down a new career path at business school. It's a mixed
bag in wanting these next two months to fly by, and to creep along.

Either way, they will probably be busy months with 2-3 more Poosk
seminars, a close-of-service conference, a grand birthday bash,
visitors from Germany, more computer classes, moving to a new family,
packing, finishing up the TV station project, and all the little
details that go along with transitioning across seven time zones.
I'll just try to enjoy the ride.

Free 411

This comes from the online journal of a current Wharton student. I thought this was a great idea for a business, and encourage you American readers to use it (and save yourself some money) next time you need to call information.

_____________________________________________
I was offered the opportunity to work with a local venture fund, Liberty Associated Partners, based on my work with Wharton's Small Business Development Center (SBDC).

I was at Liberty, a Philadelphia-based evergreen fund with a "few hundred million" in deployed capital, for less than a month. In those four short weeks, though, I had the good fortune to work closely with one of their portfolio companies, Jingle Networks, whose main (actually, currently only) business is 1-800-FREE-411, a free directory assistance service (http://www.free411.com).

As opposed to dialing 411 and paying $1.50-plus to Verizon (VZ) or whomever your landline or cell-phone carrier is, you call 1-800-373-3411 and get your number for free in exchange for listening to a short, usually 10-second, advertisement. It's a slick little Google (GOOG) model and a ridiculous value proposition for end users. As one of the VCs investing in Jingle often remarked, the business model was great because it shrank a large market.
________________________________________________

A Hero, Digging, Women, and Business

First, a moment of silence for the passing of Captain America, my favorite comic book hero. Apparently, he was shot and killed a couple weeks ago (although how many times have comic book heros come back from beyond?) For those who don’t know, Captain America started out as a fairly scrawny lad, unfit for military service during WWII. But, he had heart, and so volunteered to test a special “super soldier serum.” The serum gave him super strength, and he went on to have many adventures attempting to do what most superheroes do, save the world.

The way Captain America got his start is, in my opinion, a bit silly – nothing more than glorified steroids. I stopped collecting comic books when I was about 13, and I can’t say I’m any kind of expert concerning Captain America or that I’ve kept up with his exploits as of late, but I always liked him for his unbending idealism and honesty. He was a real straight shooter, in contrast to other, perhaps more questionable heroes/vigilantes like the Punisher or Wolverine who tended to meat out justice with a heavy hand. Even Captain America’s “weapon,” an indestructible shield which he could throw like a boomerang, was essentially a defensive instrument that could be used offensively when necessary. In a world of gray Captain America was about as close to white as comic book heroes come, and I, for one, will miss him. When I get home, I’ll have to dig out some old comics and relive a bit of my childhood.


Anyway, this blog is supposed to be about my Peace Corps experience, so let’s get to that. Now that the weather is getting warmer and the earth is less frozen, a lot of digging is going on. My host-brother, Vitalik, dug a new toilet and covered up the old, full one. People are planting potatoes and onions in their gardens, and trimming grape vines to encourage new shoots. One of the schools here dug a new well, and I helped out a little one day. These projects are basically carried out with a shovel, bucket, and a rope – very different from the mechanized digging of wells in America. At the school, how many people showed up to help struck me. A few of the workers were being paid, but many were simply the fathers of school children who wanted to make things better for their own. I admire that.

March 8th marked Women’s Day. This is similar to the American Mother’s Day, except that it’s for all women. I had a great time at a concert held in one of the school auditoriums. The local dance troupe performed several times and lots of people sang. The singing is a neat experience because everyone in the audience seems to know all the words to these folk songs. I’d imagine it would be like in America if we all sang “This Land is Your Land” or “Home on the Range.” But I just don’t think we have that sort of culture. Oh yeah – I also got up to sing. There were performances in Russian, Gagauz, and Romanian, so I started out by saying that as March 8th is an international holiday, it was only fitting that there be a performance in English as well. I then proceeded to introduce the audience to the wonder that is The Stray Cats’ “Rock This Town.” I think everyone got a kick out of it, and the whole concert, including my performance, has been replayed several times on the local TV channel.

Bryan and Amy came to Copceac for the weekend to run another of our small business Poosk seminars. Since it was on my turf, I was responsible for all the logistics. I was really worried that all the kids who had signed up to attend wouldn’t show, but on our first day we actually had well more than I had anticipated – actually it made the seminar a bit difficult to conduct with so many people in the room. But, fortunately (???) we had the typical attrition rate so days 2 and 3 were a bit more manageable.

Participants this time came up with creating a movie theater, a pizzeria, and a gym. I thought all of them were good ideas, though each needed to be a little clearer or do a little more research regarding their projected budgets. Nonetheless, the fact that they’re simply making budgets BEFORE beginning a project puts them well ahead of their peers and even some NGO directors. [One such director from another part of Moldova refuses to make a budget for a remodeling project because he/she claims that the costs can only be known once the project is complete.]

This seminar was the first time that Bryan, Amy, and I gave real feedback to students on their presentations and awarded a prize to the group that did the best job. In the past, we simply asked questions as a way to expose weaknesses in the presentations because we didn’t want to offend or discourage participants. Ultimately, we decided that the educational value was worth it – if we don’t flat out tell these students things like (a) not to look at only one person during a presentation, (b) not to have your back to the audience when presenting, or (c) that their budgets are unrealistic, who will?

I really liked having guests at my house, and look forward to an upcoming shared birthday party with Bryan and Amy. Coincidentally, the only three PCVs living in Gagauzia, who happen to be the same three PCVs who run Poosk, also happen to have their birthdays on April 13, 19, and 23. Small world.

100 Questions

A few days ago students voted for me to be the subject of a “game-show” called “100 Questions.” For this game, I sat on a swivel chair in the center of the gym and students sat in a circle surrounding me. I was given two minutes to talk about myself, and then the students could ask any questions they wanted. I had to answer honestly, and was given three passes (which I never used).

I believe I’m only the second person to participate in this activity, the first being the mayor, Oleg. So I feel a bit honored to be considered a VIP of sorts. I think a lot of locals were concerned that I would want to keep some things secret, but I actually loved the idea of this game – it’s exactly what Peace Corps is all about: sharing of oneself and of America with the host community.

I can’t remember all of the questions, but here are a few that I do:
1. What do you like and dislike about our Gagauz culture? I said I liked that there was a real sense of community, that people help their neighbors when there are large projects at home. I also said that I don’t really drink, so I didn’t like how alcohol is such a large part of the culture.

2. If you could live in Copceac with all the amenities that you have in America, would you stay here, or would you still want to go back to America? I said I would still want to return to America because that is where my family and friends are. Frankly, it doesn’t matter what kind of house I live in – ok, well, it matters a little. Much more important is my proximity to those I love.

3. If you were rich, what would be the first project you would do to improve Copceac? I said that I think a common mistake of many projects is that the donor simply gives something without first surveying the community needs, and without involving the community in the completion of the project. So, my first project would be to survey the residents of Copceac to see what was most important to them. That being said, I think two important project ideas would be (1) to complete the school that was started during Soviet times and is currently an empty frame and (2) to improve the computer literacy of the community – especially among students – in typing, Word, Excel, and the Internet.

4. Do you believe in love at first sight? I said that it hasn’t happened to me yet.

5. Where did you learn Russian? Uzbekistan and Moldova

6. What is the goal of your website (this blog)? The main goal is to keep my family and friends in America informed about my life in Moldova. It would be difficult, time-consuming, and expensive to write individual letters or make individual phone calls to every person that I want to stay in touch with. Through my blog, friends and family can see what’s going on with me whenever they want. At the same time, it is certainly open to anyone who can read English and wants to see what I am doing in Moldova. [I didn’t say the following, although I wish I had: I think in general my blog tends to make people nervous. In a culture in which outward appearance is very important, they don’t like the idea that I might present an unflattering picture or opinion to the world (or more realistically, to the 4 people who read my blog). I’ve tried to present things honestly, but I would never write something that I consider inflammatory, derogatory, or embarrassing.]

We ran out of time, and so I was only asked 43 questions instead of 100. At the conclusion, I was able to ask three questions to any members of the audience. I asked #1 to the same boy who asked me, #3 to the same girl who asked me, and finally I asked if another PCV were to be placed in Copceac in the future, how would the people here make that person feel welcome?

Passports are a big deal in Moldova. Unlike in America, which comparatively has a relatively stable passport system, the documents that Moldovans carry have varied greatly over the years. During the Soviet times, all citizens of the USSR carried Soviet Union passports. When that system collapsed in 1991, those documents became (for the most part) invalid. As former republics declared their independence, they also had to create a new passport system (not to mention a billion other kinds of infrastructure, all of which had previously come from Moscow). Most reading this blog have waited in line to renew a driver's license or applied for a passport in America; it takes time and can be a frustrating process. Now magnify that by 5 million citizens of Moldova all applying for new documentation at the same time, add in a non-computerized system, and you can understand why trading in USSR passports for Moldovan ones can take so long to get.

Everyday, several people from my small village come to the mayor's office to apply for some kind of documentation to get an ID card or passport. Many also travel to Romania or Bulgaria to apply for dual citizenship. Why? Since these two nations recently gained entry to the EU, and their citizen may travel freely without visas to any other EU nation. This can be a huge boon for Moldovan citizens looking to find a better-paying jobs abroad. Not only do they need not apply for an expensive visa, but they don't have to return to Moldova every three months when the visa expires (or continue to work abroad illegally). Wait times to get these second passports sometimes exceed three years.

One last interesting thing: a Moldovan passport lists your "ethnicity." By this I don't mean Caucasian, Mongoloid, African, Latino, etc. Rather, one must include one's ancestry, such as Ukrainian, Romanian, Russian, etc. This is not done in America. In my passport, it nowhere states that my family has Italian, Syrian, and Russian roots. Why does Moldova do this and America does not? I think because it simply matters less in America, the (supposed) "melting pot" in which peoples of all nations come together as Americans. In Moldova, I think individuals still much more strongly identify with being Bulgarian, Gagauz, Russian, Ukrainian, or Romanian.

One woman at our last Poosk seminar explained that when her mother applied for her Moldovan passport, she had to choose between listing Romanian or Ukrainian heritage. The woman chose Romanian, and thus her last name ended wish "-ii." Had she chosen Ukrainian, her last name would have ended in "-ay," the feminine ending which exists in Russian/Ukrainian, but does not exist in Romanian. When her daughter came of age to get her own passport, she wanted to chose Ukrainian because her father was Ukrainian, but it would have created all kinds of difficulties should her mother ever need to provide permission for anything because their last names would be different - one ending in "-ii" and one ending in "-ay." So, now they both list Romanian heritage on their Moldovan passports.

My Trip North

Friday I headed further north than I’ve ever been in Moldova before, to its second largest city, Balti (pronounced Belts). I went there to conduct another of my Poosk small business seminars. Of course, it started to snow – the first real snow we’ve had all season – on Thursday night, so I was a little concerned about the 4:30am bus leaving from my village on Friday morning. As luck would have it, my bus was running, and other than traveling a bit slower than usual I made my way to the midpoint of Chisinau without incident. [Ironically Amy, another PCV who lives in a nearby city, was unable to get a bus from her site until later that morning.]

My bus picked up Bryan, the third part of our Poosk triumvirate, on the way to Chisinau and after a brief stop at the PC office we were on our way into uncharted territory. We went to Balti in a van, which was definitely the worst car I’ve been in in Moldova – and that’s saying something. My feet were ice blocks by the time we arrived, the driver lost some sort of documents so we had to sit outside the city limits while some police officer questioned him and presumably received some kind of payment, and when we finally did arrive, the driver had to tear off the door handle from the outside in order to actually open the rear door so passengers could get out.

Although this trip’s beginning left much to be desired, as soon as we arrived in Balti and actually began the seminar, I knew it was going to be a good time. In large part, credit for this belongs to several people who live in Balti and made this weekend possible. First was an amazing young Moldovan woman, Larisa, an alumna of American Council’s FLEX Program. FLEX provides foreign high school students the opportunity to live with a American host-family and attend high school in America for one year. The goal is to help mold these students, the best and brightest (who already know English quite well before they go) that Moldova has to offer, into future leaders for Moldova. If Larisa is any kind of example of the results of this program, then FLEX seems to be working well.

Credit also belongs to Nic and Bridgett, two PCVs in Balti who (a) put us “Pooskers” in touch with Larisa, (b) helped us find locations for our three days of lessons, (c) showed us around their city, and (d) put us up for the weekend and prepared some excellent meals. I had the best pizza in Moldova, cooked lasagna, and had a real American diner breakfast (not in a diner, of course, but in Nic’s kitchen).

As for the actual seminar, I was really impressed by our 16 participants. Several of them were, themselves, FLEX alumni, and most of them had impressive English skills. Their intelligence, inquisitiveness, and language abilities made explaining some concepts easier. On the other hand, it also created some difficulties for us (in a good way) when they were not satisfied with our simplified explanations of complex topics, and we were forced to go more in-depth than before.

I also taught, for the first time, a new chapter I wrote about budgeting. Although still a work in progress, I think it was definitely the right decision to include this topic. At the conclusion of our seminar, student work groups must present their own business plans. Forcing them to include a projected budget of costs and receivables made their plans much more realistic than previous seminars’ groups’ ideas, and provided an excellent opportunity to teach some computer skills on Excel. The work groups’ ideas this time around were: a flower and tree business; a summer job placement agency for youth; a coffee lounge where students can study; and the “Space Café,” a student run concession stand that would sell higher quality food within the school cafeteria.

Our experience in Balti this weekend will hopefully lead to another Poosk seminar in April in Chisinau for FLEX alumni and their friends. This session would be completely in English and would be more in-depth than our typical sessions. In the mean time, there’s still plenty of room for a session here, in Copceac, and in a nearby village where another PCV lives.

The Prodigal Son Returns (for 2 weeks)

For those loyal readers of this blog (all three of you), I apologize for my posting hiatus. I was on vacation in America, and when I’m on vacation, I’m on vacation. That being said, it was a bit of a working holiday, and if you’ll allow me, I’d like to tell you all about it…

I left on Jan 31, flying from Chisinau, Moldova to Budapest, and then after a 5-hour layover, to JFK. Everything went remarkably smoothly. The airline food was plentiful and tasty, the plane was nearly empty so I could stretch out across three seats, and I even made a new friend.

While I was sitting in the Budapest airport, someone asked me for the time, which started a conversation with a 30-something man, Keiran, who happens to be a former-PCV. He served in the second group of volunteers to go to Mongolia, back in 1992. I told him about my previous vacation there last summer to visit a current PCV friend of mine, and later emailed him some of the photos I had snapped. We spoke on the plane for a couple hours, and it was really interesting to hear from him how Mongolia had been when he was there, his life post-PC, and how he is still in touch with many of the people with whom he served. [This last tidbit bodes well for a potential Uzbek-18 reunion, perhaps in January, 2008.]

My folks met me at the airport, and we stopped on the way home to get some Chinese food – awesome. I nearly fell asleep halfway through the meal as the jet lag set in.

The next day I took in the changes in my house since last I was there: my Dad painted the family room (looks really good, and I’ve already signed up to help with the rest of the house when I come home), there’s a new chair in front of the TV, and Mom has several new paintings that adorn the walls. I also drove – yes, driving a car for the first time in two years – into town and there discovered that there’s a Hilton Hotel, an Applebee’s, and a 10-story apartment complex.

Every time I come home there’s always something new, some good some not. I do appreciate things like having a Staples and a Blockbuster in town, but it’s a shame to see so many shuttered shops along Spring Street in Newton. There are, however, some new success stories along the main street, like the Chocolaterie, started by a local couple, that imports fantastic stuff from Europe and recently opened a second store in New York.

I was home for a few days in Jersey, just getting my bearings, sleeping, and eating. My extended family came to visit on Superbowl Sunday for some bagna cauda, the most amazing meal you could ever eat and a Dakake family tradition. As per usual, it rocked and I gorged myself.

Then it was onto the working end of my vacation: train rides up to Boston to see Harvard Business School, then to NYC to check out Columbia, next to Philadelphia for a special Wharton Winter Welcome, and then on to Washington to celebrate my nephew’s 5th birthday. I really liked traveling by train. The seats were wide and comfortable, plenty of storage space overhead, it’s a smooth ride, there’s electricity sockets, and no need to go through all the hassle of “checking-in” as one must at an airport (to check baggage, get your ticket, and go through security). I bought my ticket online and then printed it out from a kiosk at the train station in about 20 seconds.

I’ll say this for the schools: they’re all amazing institutions with a diverse group of intelligent students. Some of the high points for each school, in my opinion, were that Columbia has the added bonus of being in NYC, Harvard is its own awesome compound, and Wharton students are really involved in all aspects of the school.

Although I was initially concerned about seeing three schools in as many days while I’m supposed to be on vacation, it was definitely a good choice. I was able to sit in on classes, tour the facilities, talk with students, and get a general sense of each school. Should I be admitted at more than one place, I will now be able to make a more informed decision. I am definitely leaning toward one place at the moment, but I’ll wait to hear from each school, particularly their financial aid departments, before making a final decision.

In DC I met up with my folks, David & Maria, Krista, and Gabriel. My nephew is more difficult to carry these days, which could be a sign of his increased size (and weight) or my decreased biceps – probably both. David & Maria’s house, like my parent’s and my hometown, had changed since I was last there. There’s a different TV sitting in a different corner, new couches and a new window are on the bottom floor, Gabriel’s room has a new layout, and there’s a new toaster. And there’s wireless internet, which was very nice. I think more change is coming once my second neice/nephew is born in July.

We also went on a tour of DC monuments, mostly just driving by places like the Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, WWII, and Vietnam Monuments; Congress; the Smithsonian Museums; the Supreme Court; and most importantly, the Moldovan Embassy, pictured here.

Then it was back up to NJ for a couple days. I got to make a fire in our fireplace, which I love to do. I showed Krista around my hometown and tried to eat as many bagels with cream cheese as possible. There wasn’t really time to see anyone besides family, but fear not (or consider yourself fortunate that I was so short of time), I’ll be back soon. I flew out on the 13th.

Special thanks to my hosts during my tour – M&C in Beantown, Baldi & Gumby in NYC, Kevin in Philly, and Cito in DC.

Boys' Night Out

As you will recall from my recent "Caroling" entry, we Christmas revelers raised about 1500 lei ($120) by going door-to-door and spreading Moldovan Christmas cheer - or just bothering people until they gave us money to go away.

In the following days we were debating what to do with this money, and ultimately settled on saving it for March 8th, Women's Day, so we could buy some nice presents for all the women in the office. That plan, however, was soon modified to include a little something for us men - namely, a night out at a sauna.

So, Friday night we bought all the necessary foodstuffs, piled into a van, and drove two villages over to some spa. We ate and drank (well, they drank), sang songs, played ping pong, and alternated between an extremely hot sauna and a freezing pool. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday night. My only two regrets were being unable to best Oleg in ping-pong and the fact that I went to sleep at 5am. Why do all the Moldovan social events have to go all night long? Can't we just a little earlier and end at a decent hour?

Come Visit!

As of January 1, 2007, citizens of the United States, European Union,
Canada, Switzerland, and Japan can enter Moldova without a visa. I
hope this will bring an influx of visitors and investment to Moldova,
and any friends or family who wish to step into the village life for
a little vacation. This is a good step for Moldova in terms of
inching closer to EU membership and increasing its integration in the
global economy. Let's hope that other former-Soviet republics
(especially Russia) will follow suit.

My apologies for somewhere on this blog erroneously reporting that
this new law would take effect later in 2007. Somehow, I don't think
I screwed up anyone's travel plans...

Damn Good!

Last night for dinner I fried up some potatoes, onions, and garlic,
then topped it with some brinza, the salty Moldovan cheese. I also
cracked open a new jar of manja - the Moldovan mixture of tomatoes,
eggplant, peppers, and onions - that Krista and I canned over the
summer. That was good.

But what was "damn good," was the jar of strawberry jam I popped open
for desert in order to anoint my ice cream with it. Strawberries are
hard to come by just about anywhere in the middle of January, but not
for me. [See Krista, all that hard work until the wee hours of the
morning washing fruit and vegetables, cutting them, cooking them for
hours, pouring steaming hot liquids into glass jars that had only
recently been sterilized in boiling water, and then grunting with the
strain of sealing the lids on top - it was all worth it! Oh wait,
you're in America and gave your share to me! Sucka!]

In other canning news, I finished my first of five 3-liter jars of
brinza. I'm a bit worried that I overdid it when i purchased 10kg,
or was it 20kg? Well, however much it was, I probably should have
purchased about half as much.

One really has to plan when to eat canned foods. I've got my little
section in the basement, and I'm trying to calculate how much I
should have of my remaining stockpile each week until the end of my
service. Eat too much too quickly, and they'll be nothing left for
later. Eat too slowly, and I'll have to fill my suitcase with jars
of fried peppers instead of presents for family and friends. Plus,
since I'm only one person, I have to time the opening of jars so that
I know I'll be around for a while - don't want the food to spoil.
The equation looks something like this:

Brad's hunger x cans / (time left in Moldova - vacation days) =
817.44

I haven't figured out what the 817.44 means yet. Best suggestion
gets a hunk of brinza...

Another Great Article

Taking Control of Electric Bill, Hour by Hour
by David Cay Johnton
January 8, 2007 - NYTimes

Ten times last year, Judi Kinch, a geologist, got e-mail messages
telling her that the next afternoon any electricity used at her
Chicago apartment would be particularly expensive because hot, steamy
weather was increasing demand for power. Each time, she and her
husband would turn down the air-conditioners — sometimes shutting one
of them off — and let the dinner dishes sit in the washer until
prices fell back late at night.

Most people are not aware that electricity prices fluctuate widely
throughout the day, let alone exactly how much they pay at the moment
they flip a switch. But Ms. Kinch and her husband are among the 1,100
Chicago residents who belong to the Community Energy Cooperative, a
pilot project to encourage energy conservation, and this puts them
among the rare few who are able to save money by shifting their use
of power.

Just as cellphone customers delay personal calls until they become
free at night and on weekends, and just as millions of people fly at
less popular times because air fares are lower, people who know the
price of electricity at any given moment can cut back when prices are
high and use more when prices are low. Participants in the Community
Energy Cooperative program, for example, can check a Web site that
tells them, hour by hour, how much their electricity costs; they get
e-mail alerts when the price is set to rise above 20 cents a kilowatt-
hour.

If just a fraction of all Americans had this information and could
adjust their power use accordingly, the savings would be huge.
Consumers would save nearly $23 billion a year if they shifted just 7
percent of their usage during peak periods to less costly times,
research at Carnegie Mellon University indicates. That is the
equivalent of the entire nation getting a free month of power every
year.

Meters that can read prices every hour or less are widely used in
factories, but are found in only a tiny number of homes, where most
meters are read monthly. The handful of people who do use hourly
meters not only cut their own bills, but also help everyone else by
reducing the need for expensive generating stations that run just a
few days, or hours, each year. Over the long run, such savings could
mean less pollution, because the dirtiest plants could be used less
or not at all.

The vast majority of utility customers know only the average price of
the electricity they used in any given month. But wholesale prices
for electricity are set a day in advance, usually on an hour-by-hour
or quarter-hour basis. Power companies and utilities are keenly aware
of the pricing roller coaster, but they typically blend the numbers
into a single monthly bill for their customers.

For most Chicagoans, the average summer price last year was 8.25
cents a kilowatt-hour. Although Ms. Kinch and her husband at times
paid as much as 36.5 cents a kilowatt-hour — the peak price on the
humid afternoon of Aug. 2 — they paid less than their neighbors over
all. On 38 days, some of their power cost less than a penny a
kilowatt-hour.

Other consumers who know the hourly price of their electricity have
actually been able to get paid by utilities for power they did not
use. In New York City last July, for instance, when there was a
blackout in Queens, residents of one building on Central Park West
voluntarily cut their demand as much as 42 percent and sold the
capacity back into the electricity market so that it could be used
where it was more needed.

Certainly, such situations are a big exception. The fact that most
people have no idea how much their power costs has emerged as a
sticking point in the ongoing effort to restructure the nation's
electricity business, which the federal government is moving from a
system in which legal monopolies charge rates set by state
regulators, toward a competitive system where the market sets the price.

But how does efficient pricing emerge in a business where access to
information is so lopsided? A market, as defined by the courts, is a
place where willing buyers and sellers who both have reasonable
knowledge agree on a price; in the electricity markets, the advantage
lies distinctly with those who make and distribute power.

Under either the traditional system of utility regulation, with
prices set by government, or in the competitive business now in half
the states, companies that generate and distribute power have little
or no incentive to supply customers with hourly meters, which can cut
into their profits. Meters that encourage people to reduce demand at
peak hours will translate to less need for power plants —
particularly ones that are only called into service during streaks of
hot or cold weather. In states where rates are still regulated,
utilities earn a virtually guaranteed profit on their generating
stations. Even if a power plant runs only one hour a year, the
utility earns a healthy return on its cost. In a competitive market,
it is the spikes in demand that cause prices to soar for brief
periods. Flattening out the peaks would be disastrous for some power
plant owners, which could go bankrupt if the profit they get from
peak prices were to ebb significantly.

But as awareness of "smart meters" grows, so does demand for them,
not only from consumers and environmental groups but also from
government bodies responding to public anger over rising power
prices. In Illinois, for example, the legislature passed a law in
December requiring the program Ms. Kinch joined four years ago to be
expanded from 1,100 customers to 110,000. The law also required that
Commonwealth Edison, the Chicago utility, hire a third party to run
the program. It chose Comverge Inc., the largest provider of peak-
load energy management systems in North America.

The smart metering programs are not new, but their continued rarity
speaks in part to the success of power-generating companies in
protecting their profit models. Some utilities did install meters in
a small number of homes as early as three decades ago, pushed by the
environmental movement and a spike in energy prices.

Today, the same set of circumstances seems to be prompting a revival
of interest, and even the utility companies seem resigned to the
eventuality of such programs. Anne R. Pramaggiore, the senior vice
president for regulatory affairs at Commonwealth Edison of Chicago,
said that in the past, interest in hourly meter was transitory.

"We really haven't dealt with these issues for 30 years," she said.

But a sustained effort to install more meters is likely now because
of what Ms. Pramaggiore called a "fundamental change" in the energy
markets. Rising fuel costs and environmental concerns are — once
again — front and center. When consumers know the price of their
electricity in advance and can tailor their use, even minor changes
in behavior can lead to lower home utility bills and less reliance on
marginal power plants, said Kathleen Spees, a graduate student in
engineering and public policy at Carnegie Mellon.

"Small reductions in demand can produce very large savings," said Ms.
Spees, who analyzed prices charged within the PJM Interconnection
grid, which coordinates the movement of wholesale electricity for 51
million people from New Jersey to Illinois.

Consumers who cut back on power use at peak times can do more than
just avoid high prices. They can make money, as people in the
building on Central Park West learned last summer.

Peter Funk Jr., an energy partner at the law firm Duane Morris who
lives in the 48-unit co-op, persuaded his neighbors three years ago
to install a single meter to the Consolidated Edison system and then
to operate their own internal metering system. That made the building
big enough to qualify for hour-by-hour pricing. When the next day's
prices are scheduled to soar, the building superintendent and a few
residents get e-mail messages or phone calls. "We have an orderly
plan all worked out to notify people" so they can reduce their power
use during the designated times, Mr. Funk said. The residents save
more than just the money on power not used during peak periods, when
pricing has been as high as almost 50 cents a kilowatt-hour. During
the blackout in July, when parts of Queens were without electricity
for up to nine days, the building cut demand as much as 42 percent
and sold the unused capacity for about $3,000. That money helps the
building offer a valuable benefit: On most weekend mornings,
electricity for residents is free.

My Commentary:
It seems that this kind of measuring is not yet available everywhere,
but it is worth a little research or at least a call to one's power
company to see if such a program exists in your area... or better
yet, to start a local campaign to create such a program if it does
not already exist. Also, in a graph not displayed on this blog, the
biggest range of prices, and thus the biggest opportunity to save,
occurred in June, July, and August. Most other months were fairly
flat in their hour by hour rates.

"Caroling"

Loyal readers of this blog may recall my "caroling" experience from last year. Well, I did it again this year, and I'm pleased to announce that this time I made it through the entire evening. We started to don our cross-dressing costumes and face paint at 7pm on Christmas Eve (Jan 6) and I was asleep in my bed by 6am on Christmas Day (Jan 7). In between, we drove to all the houses of workers in the mayor's office and other VIPs and basically sang and danced and made lots of noise until the inhabitants came out, no matter the hour.

When they came out - and they always did - they brought food and some form of alcohol. Last year, in my desire to be culturally sensitive during a festive holiday, I for the most part accepted any drink that was offered (read: forced) into

my hand. This year, I decided to put self-preservation ahead of cultural sensitivity and only sipped from the communal wine/vodka/cognac/champaign glass when it came my way. This "sipping" is very different than the typical "all in one shot" Moldovan style of drinking any kind of alcohol. To slightly alter one of the great Tom Hanks film lines, "There's no sipping in Moldova." It's all or nothing. But my plan worked, providing enough cultural adaptation so as to not offend the hosts while keeping the brain and liver functioning quite well.

It's also tradition for the hosts to put some money into the mouth of a wooden goat carried by one of the revelers. The goat's mouth opens and closes, and the host has to try to put the money into the mouth without getting his fingers caught. As a well-trusted outsider, I became the "American bank" and kept all the money that we collected from each household. Whenever kids were present, Santa gave 5 or 10 lei (40-90 cents) presents after making a small withdrawal from the bank - which was quite a leap of faith on the bank's part considering Santa had no identification and was wearing a fake beard. When work resumes on Tuesday, I'll bring all the money to the office and we'll decide what to do with it. We actually collected over $100. I don't know how this money has been used in past years, but I'm hoping that it will be spent on something to improve the efficiency of the office - like a new printer - instead of booze and cookies for future office birthday parties. We'll see...

A Bad Day for Pigs

[Warning: this post is a little more gruesome than my typical
entries. If you're squeamish, you might want to skip reading this.]

Moldovan Christmas, based on the Orthodox calendar, is Jan 7th. On
January 5th, pigs throughout my village were slaughtered for the
holiday feast. When I say slaughtered, I mean the pigs are brought
out of their pens in the backyard, pinned to the ground by several
men, and then a knife is inserted into their jugular and wiggled
around a lot. The pigs squeal/scream (by no means a pleasant sound)
and the blood drains onto the ground. It probably takes about two
minutes for the pig to actually die. I saw my host-brother and
neighbor do this with our pig, and shortly thereafter I heard the
squeals of another pig further down the road. My tutor tells me that
her mother's family also did the same.

I watched the whole slaughtering process [inside joke with DW], which
I will now relay to you. The body is the lifted up on a makeshift
table or grill, and a blowtorch is used to singe off all the hairs.
It takes several rounds of torching, scraping off the skin with a
knife, and rubbing water and salt over the body until the skin is
removed. Then an incision is made along the spine and stomach of the
pig, and several perpendicular cuts between those two create a grid-
like pattern over the pigs body. Pulling at one section with one
hand and cutting the connective tissue with the other, the sections
of fat that surround the pig's body are removed.



This fat is canned
in salt and water, and is eaten throughout the year like you or I
might put cheese on some bread. [I've tried this "sava" and am not a
fan.]

Then the rest of the pig is cut up. Legs are chopped off, the spine
is cut out with an ax, after which (in a pretty amazing way, I
thought), the ribs just fall open revealing all the organs inside.
At least where I was, the heart and lungs were fed to the dogs, but
everything else was saved. The intestines took some doing because
all the digestive juices - which looked like chunky mustard - had to
be cleaned out. They did this by cutting it into 1-meter pieces and
pouring water through it. Then more water was used to turn the
intestine section inside-out and clean it again.

I've yet to see exactly how all this will be prepared, but I now know
the first steps.