Jack’s Blog

For those readers who frequented this site yesterday, you probably know what my feeling is.  Bad day.  Really bad day.  To watch Nick give away his three-stroke lead - on the very first hole (he double bogeyed & Dustin Johnson birdied to pull into a tie) - might have signaled Nick’s day wasn’t going to end as well as the day prior.  His misery, though, was more drawn out than what his playing partner, D. Johnson, would experience - but that’s another story for a blog on golf’s rules.  Note: That blog won’t be posted by me as I don’t know or pretend to understand some of the rules of that sport.

As I mentioned, to watch Nick unravel was painful, but not to be able to witness it was even worse.  I checked the paper this morning which said TNT’s coverage would start at 8:00am Pacific time, but that CBS’ coverage wouldn’t start until 1:00pm, joining the tournament in progress after a 49ers preseason football game.  Was a preseason football game more exciting and a greater moneymaker than the final round of the PGA?  Evidently.

This is one of those times that personal preference and emotion got the better of me.  Would I have been upset had Nick not been the leader at the start of the day?  Probably, because through the years, I’ve come to appreciate and enjoy golf, especially when it’s played by the best in the world, more than a somewhat meaningless preseason football game.  I have to admit that there was a day when I’d rather a re-run of a football game would excited me more than watching golf.  Maybe it’s called old age, maybe maturity, maybe expanding my interests.

However, I became more frantic after my friend, Peter Sharkey (see 6/15/10 for a blog on Peter’s induction into a local Hall-of-Fame), called me and was giving me stroke-by-stroke commentary.  Somehow, he was getting the tourney on some remote channel that I couldn’t find, although I searched through about 700 channels - have I ever mentioned that I’m technologically-challenged?  Since I had a meeting with one of my artists for C.U.T.E. Baby Gifts at 1:00pm (please go to www.CuteBabyNameGifts.com for information on the best, personalized, unique baby - and toddler - gifts you’ll ever find), I gave up searching and drove off to my meeting.

By the time I returned, Nick was so far out of contention, they weren’t even showing him.  It wasn’t until much later that, while he was still in a first place tie (heading into the par 3 7th hole), there was a disturbance that caused him to block his tee shot - into Lake Michigan.  It was too late to check and even googling didn’t help uncover what occurred.   The questions remain, “Did Nick succumb to the pressure of leading a major for the first time, did the crowd disturbance ruin his day (he triple bogeyed the 7th and bogeyed both the 8th and 9th), or did he simply fall out of the three-day zone he was in?

One thing about sports - especially individual sports like golf - there will be another day and another tournament.  For Nick Watney, at age 29, there will be many, many more.  Some day, he might even look back on yesterday and feel it was the turning point of his career.  As Robert Allen put it:

“The future you see is the future you get.”

My back pain has been documented in this space ad nauseam, so it should serve as no surprise that when pro scouts come to Fresno and call me to ask if I want to go to watch Fresno State play, I always bow out.  Going to a game - and sitting in a seat - is a little too uncomfortable for me.

Yesterday, a friend of mine who scouts for the Sacramento Kings called me (usually these guys who hook on as pro scouts are former coaches I knew when all of us were coaching in college), said he was coming to town to watch the Dogs play San Jose State and wanted to see me before the game so we could catch up on what each of us have been doing.  Coincidentally, I had a 4:00 pm yoga class downtown which was going to end at about 5:15.  Since it’s a quick shot up the highway to the exit where Fresno State plays, I told him I’d meet him at the restaurant across the street from the SaveMart Center.

We ordered a sandwich but, because it was a game night and this place, the Dog House Grill, is one of the most popular in Fresno, the joint was packed.  We caught up with each other’s lives - standing up.  His hip gives him about as much trouble as my back, so we just had to sit down (two “middle age” guys in pain - another coincidence).  I thought I spotted a table of college kids about to get up and walked over to pounce on the empty table.  No, they told me, we’re not leaving just yet. 

Since there were a couple of vacant seats, I asked if it would be okay if my friend and I sat down, explaining our medical problems.  They said they didn’t mind.  As we sat down, our order number was called.  My buddy came back with the food and, coincidentally, a couple who used to buy tickets on the Fresno State basketball charter trips I organized (15 years ago) came over and told us they had a couple of extra seats at their table.

Amid all these events taking place, and the fact my friend was pushed for time (scouts like getting to the game early), we hurried over to their table.  Something I overlooked, in all this confusion, was that I left my purse, aka “European man bag,” and the portfolio of baby gift examples (you can see these on www.CuteBabyNameGifts.com, which happens to be linked to this site) on the seat at the college kids’ table.  We ate, he left for the game, and I stayed around and chatted with my friends from the charter. 

It wasn’t until I got out of the car in my garage that I realized I left my purse and baby gift picture portfolio.  I tried calling the owner of Dog House (a former player at one of the high schools we competed against during my high school coaching days), but no answer.  When I got there, I was frantic.  My checkbooks (three of them), pills (the only thing of interest to anyone who’d steal it) and other items, while essentially worthless to others, yet which would be difficult to replace, were all gone.

The owner saw me and immediately left the grill where he was working to see if he could help in any way.  He called over his waiters, asking if any of them had seen a bag.  One of the waiters asked if there was a small book of artwork.  “YES!” I said, in a voice people in the arena probably heard.  “I was about to take it and one of the college kids said it was his,” the waiter said.  My heart sank.  Whoever it was who took it knew it wasn’t his, so it was beginning to look like a classic case of some idiot leaving prized possessions behind, inviting someone to snatch them.

The waiter said he knew who the kids were, as they’d been in the night before as well.  Some hope, but now I was grasping.  As I was driving home, I was beating myself up about not taking care of something that was now going to become a major inconvenience in my life.

Just then, my cell phone rang.  The caller ID said “Withheld.”  “Is this Jon, or Jack, Fertig?”

“Speaking.”

“This is the Clovis Police.  Have you . . . ”

“Do you have my black purse?” I interrupted, hoping that was the purpose of the call.

“Yes,” the officer continued.  “Have you been the victim of a theft recently?”

“Yeah, about an hour ago.”

It turned out these punks who stole (or took) the purse I conveniently left behind went to a 7-11 to buy cigarettes and got in a shouting match with the owner - who surreptitiously called 911.  The officer gave me the location, I turned my car around and fifteen minutes later was checking the contents of my bag, while the three young hoods sat on the ground, handcuffed.  Was it a coincidence that these jerks who, naturally, all denied stealing (”We thought it might have been one of our friends - there were a lot of us there”), more or less, turned themselves in by acting the fool?

I can’t complain.  I had property I left when I should have been more attentive.  Maybe I should have looked at it the way C.K. Chesterton did:

“Thieves respect property.  They merely wish the property to become their property that they more perfectly respect it.”    �

For the second time in as many years, I’ll be checking into Stanford Hospital on the Monday of Thanksgiving week (luckily, our school district gives us the whole week of Thanksgiving off).  As anyone who’s read this blog more than a few times is aware, I’ve undergone numerous back surgeries and still have to deal with back pain on a daily basis.

With as many advances as are being made in the medical world - and with the people at Stanford being some of the leaders in research - I know that one of these days, I’ll be leaving there as close to pain-free as someone my age (who’s in generally good health) can be.

I’ll be in the hospital until probably Wednesday, at which time I hope to get released early enough so I can make it back to co-host The Jerry Tarkanian Show which is on ESPN 1430 AM at 6:00 from the Red Zone Sports Grill in Fresno.  Last year I rushed home, was lucky to hit no traffic and made it just before “tipoff.”  Hoping not to have to cut it so close this year. 

So, . . . if all goes well, this blog will return Wednesday night - at the latest Thanksgiving night.  In the meantime, I plan on listening to (the unabridged version of) Larry Bird & Magic Johnson’s book on CD (so far, it’s nearly as good as they were) in the car on the way up and back I’m sure there will be some future blogs come otu of that book), correcting over 100 math tests I gave last Thursday & Friday and taking baby gift orders (the newly designed website should be up and running by December and it will be Awesome! - the capital A for Dick Vitale).  By the way, it will still have the same address: www.CuteBabyNameGifts.com.  Our artists have just completed one (SHANE) for a newborn in LaJolla, a baby (SARAI) born to an NBA starter and his wife, two of them for seven-year old BFF’s (MINDY & LOLA) and are preparing for the Xmas onslaught.

Other than that, it’s catch-up time for typing the book notes that I mail to friends and (mostly former) colleagues, reading (although with the meds I’m on, it makes it difficult to focus as long as I used to - like reading for the entire six-hour flight to Hawaii during my tenure at Fresno State) and my new form of exercise, yoga, which I wish I’d picked up a lot earlier in life.

A friend in town, who reads these posts daily, asked me what I was blogging for today. When I told him, he said it was more of a tweet than a blog.  If someone had made that statement when I was growing up, a fight would have surely followed.  

It seems like a great many of the really good quotes are by “Author Unknown” and this one, regarding the message at this time of year, is certainly on that list:   

“If you haven’t all the things you want, be grateful for the things you don’t have that you wouldn’t want.”

If you read today’s (brief) post, you’d know that some “Force” swallowed up the blog I wrote last night (my last act before going to bed is to type the following day’s blog) just as I hit the “Publish” button, resulting in NOTHING for today’s entry.

So, this morning (after I turned on the computer, hoping the thief put the blog back, but realized that hadn’t happened), I hastily put together a summary of the masterpiece I had posted the previous night.  Since no one will ever know, it’s easy to say how good the original was - but, after you’ve done about 800 of these, you get a different feeling when you think you’ve put out a winner - and that’s how I felt when I finished last night.  So what could be worse than losing 2-3 hours of my work?  I was about to find out. 

This morning, not only did I have back-to-back appointments with the place I’ve reluctantly called my second home since 2005 (the Stanford Pain Management Clinic), but my wife decided, although by no choice of her own, to relinquish her heretofore “I’m with him” label and had a couple of meetings of her own scheduled at Stanford Hospital.  Since our first two meetings (9:30 am for a refill of my morphine pump, followed by a consultation with my “pain” doctor an hour later), we left our house at 6:15 am, armed with, among other things, a portfolio of about 50 baby gift pictures the artists have done (see www.CuteBabyNameGifts.com).  I pitch them every chance I get (within reason - I mean I don’t walk into patients’ rooms showing them off).  But receptionists, doctors and nurses all know people who have babies, so . . . 

Hitting minimal traffic along the way, Jane and I arrived promptly at 9:15 and I checked in.  All went well with the refill (which doesn’t always happen) but when my doctor and I discussed my current situation, she decided a new course of action was necessary, meaning for the second straight year, I will begin my Thanksgiving week by checking into the hospital for a “trial,” hoping the results will lessen my amount of pain - without creating any side effects.  This was necessary due to changes in how I’ve been feeling.  Suffice to say, I hadn’t hoped to start my “vacation” (our school district gives us the whole week of Thanksgiving off) in a hospital room in Palo Alto.

At least we finished relatively quickly and had time to stop at The Creamery (in the Stanford Mall), our favorite place to eat breakfast or lunch.  As I pulled into the parking lot, my cell phone rang, the call coming from a number I recognized - my classroom at Buchanan High School.  I always leave my number for the substitute teacher, but this was the first time any sub had actually called me.

It turned out the teacher who had agreed to take my afternoon class (1:00-2:45 pm) had called in sick herself, so the sub had to teach, not only my morning classes, but this one as well.  She was calling to make sure it was the same lesson plan (Algebra 1) as the two morning classes she’d taught (it was).  When I asked her how it was going, she said the first class she taught was wonderful, but the second was much more difficult. 

This came as no surprise to me as the first one is full of kids (with the exception of two or three) who are really interested in learning the material, work hard at it and understand that doing so will help them 1) pass with a minimum of C (required to move on to geometry next year, 2) gain knowledge of the basic concepts of algebra so they can make it (easily, if they really pay attention) through Algebra 2 - which most plan on taking since, in order to go to a four-year school directly from high school, a student needs geometry and both algebra classes and 3) do well on the state test (STAR) which all algebra 1 students in California must take and on the SAT’s (college entrance exams, one of the three parts being exclusively math).  The other class (with the exception of two or three) were much more immature and didn’t take instruction nearly as seriously.  Now, it was my turn to hand out some bad news, and by no means did I relish it.  Although I fully understand the idea of “self-fulfilling prophecy,” I felt compelled nonetheless to warn her the afternoon class was worse than the one she just taught.

Following lunch, it was on to Stanford Hospital for the first of what was supposed to be Jane’s two appointments, but, as we were informed, would soon morph into three.  The surgeon who was to perform her procedure was called to the ER and we’d have to come back and see him - a few hours later.  Instead, his “Fellow” (or who the rest of the world would call his assistant) came in and described how everything would go (including risk).  He was part of her “team,” for all intents and purposes, a mastermind group who decided how the surgery would be done.  Naturally, there were questions, followed by his answers, triggering more questions.  One thing about being at Stanford: they are thorough and they are competent (something the average person  would expect from anyone dealing in their expertise, yet a trait that’s sorely lacking in today’s world of medicine, business, you name it).

Next stop: the anesthesiologist.  There was a bit of surprise when the anesthesiologist walked in, looking for a female patient, and saw me lying on the table.  My back was acting up and I was tired from having stayed up too late, working on (what turned out to be) today’s (abortive) blog.  Jane cleared up the confusion, assuring the doc that, yes, she was the patient.  I slept through this one, possibly because being in the anesthesiology part of the building put me out.  It turned out to be the best part of my day.

Jane’s final meeting (which was supposed to be her first one), with her surgeon had to be postphoned because he was still in surgery.  We were told it would be at least another hour.  Did we want to go and have Jane talk to him on the phone?  In unison, Jane and I said we’d be back.  When someone is going to perform a surgical procedure on you - independent of how minor it is - discussing it over the phone is not the preferred means of communication. 

We had another task anyway.  Just to make sure she wasn’t missing something, my pain doc requested I get a chest X-ray, showing her all four views (I told you they were thorough), so we trudged out of the hospital, through the parking structure and across to the building where I was told to go for the X-ray.  I must have looked about as good as I felt, judging from the greeting I received from the girl at the check-in desk.

“Are you OK?”  Oh yeah, they’re concerned too.  I explained how the day had started, what we’d been through and that we were far from being done, since our trip home would now be at rush hour (on a Friday), usually adding 30 minutes to an hour to the normal three-hour trip.  I could tell by the look in her eyes, she felt particularly bad about what she was about to lay on me.  

“You need to go to the hospital to get this done.”  As in - back from whence we came.  So, . . .  reverse trudge.  There, the X-ray technician took only two views of my chest, so I had them page my doctor but said she didn’t answer the page.  Luckily, I had her cell phone number (I don’t like bothering my doctors - and as a matter of fact, today was the first time I called her) but I’ve found out it’s a good idea to get their cell numbers. 

We went to meet Jane’s physician, finally, and were shown to a waiting room, but after 15 minutes, the nurse came by and said they were closing the clinic and it would be better for us to wait in the hallway - so we wouldn’t get locked in for the weekend.  I seconded that motion and we waited in the hallway until, 30 minutes later, here he came.  Long day for him too.  Yet, he explained the procedure, much of it echoing his “fellow” and answered all of our questions - of which there were many.  We can be thorough too.

Finally, we left for Fresno and got home at 10:15 pm or 16 hours after we started.  The more I go to Stanford, the more I’m reminded of an event that happened around a quarter of a century ago when I was an assistant coach at the University of Tennessee.

The prestigious Nike summer basketball camp was held on to the campus at Princeton University.  The feeling you get walking on Stanford’s campus is identical to that of stepping foot on Princeton’s campus.  One year, I happened to be next to (the late) Jimmy Valvano (at the time, the head coach at N.C. State) who had a brilliantly imaginative mind. As we strolled on the campus at PU, “V” looked at me, then gazed around and said:

“This place is incredible.  You can FEEL THE ANSWERS here!”Â

Not much of a post today as I took off yesterday from school, got up early, had to drive 3 hours to Stanford Hospital to get there at 11:00 am for a 1:00 pm appointment (still trying to figure out why, since the call to come back to a room didn’t happen until 1:20).  After seeing one of the receptionists was pregnant, I used some of the time showing off our baby gift portfolio (50 or so pictures of actual gifts, which never fails to impress - that website is linked to this one, and by the way, it is undergoing a complete redesigning, which should be up and running by next week at the latest) and wound up with a commitment for a gift.  The trip just became a tax right-off.

Finally got to see the doc and he ordered a CT scan, which one of the underlings came in and said could, in fact, be done that day (avoiding an additional 6-hour round trip), but we would have to wait until 8:00 pm - that they were booked solid.  When I told him he was mistaken, that he must have thought he was talking to another person from Fresno, foolish enough to drive back that late at night so he could get to school at 7 am the next day to teach, he laughed, saying I could take my wife out for a nice dinner.  The intensity of my glare, must have conveyed my true feelings to him that his frail attempt at humor was recognized for what it was.  Another member of the medical staff (most of these people are top notch) asked him whom he’d talked to, so she could “beg,” and when she heard the scheduler’s name, there was an insinuation he owed her a favor.

Sure enough, she came back and said, lo and behold, there was an opening at 4:40 pm.  Got in, got out and made the trek home, stopping at Togo’s (my frail attempt at a nice dinner), and made it home by 9:00.  Absolutely whipped.

A quite well-to-do friend of mine, now long since passed, used to have a phrase that I can assure you he grossly underestimated:

“Money isn’t everything.  Health is 2%.”     Â

So many inventions in the area of technology have been made over the past quarter of a century that both Alexander Graham Bell and Thomas Edison would be bursting at the seems with pride.  It’s just that, with each move we make “modernizing” our communication methods, a little is lost when it comes to actual human interaction.

It’s wonderful that a father who’s on a company trip far away from home, cannot only speak to his young daughter but, through the creation of video conferencing, can see her too.  So far though, nothing has been invented to replace the hug at the end of the conversation.  Maybe that’s next.  It just shows us we’ve not totally conquered the world of faceless-to-faceless communication.  Speaking for I hope, not only myself, my wish is that time never comes.

Working with today’s youth, I see a more and more uncomfortable feeling they have when a conversation is on the most personal of levels: one-to-one, look-someone-in-the-eye sharing of ideas, asking questions, giving or listening to directions.  Progress can’t be stopped; nor should it.  Somehow, though, our young people need to be able to talk to another adult - not email, text, twitter, IM or whatever else takes place of human-to-human exchanging of information, knowledge or values.  Sooner than they realize, they are going to be in a world made up of adults - and one of those adults is going to be none other than themselves.

Tonight is Back-to-School-Night at our high school, an event I particularly enjoy because I get to actually speak directly to, in a “no other agenda” environment (meaning the reason for the conversation is not due to a transgression of the rules or a poor showing on tests).  I’ll explain about the class their child is in, what the expectations are and, time permitting (sessions were cut to ten minutes this year), ask for questions.

My opening remarks will direct the parents to my blog on 9/9/09 about the key to learning.  If you haven’t read it yet, it is definitely worth your time, especially if you are in a position where you are required to get information across to someone else.  Then, I’ll mention that my website (this one, not the one where they can purchase the unique, personalized baby gifts - also worth your time, as long as you’re in the market for a gift for a baby or child up to the age of about five) is called Mr. Quote.  

The reason for that is, quite some time ago, I noticed that many powerful ideas can be summarized in one quotation and that many of these become an effective form of getting across a point without belaboring it.  I’ll tell the parents of the hundreds of quotes on the wall and to not only look at them themselves, but to encourage their kids to do so too - that, in fact, there is an entire education on my walls, possibly even more valuable than the algebra we go over each class period.

At the end of each session tonight, my goal is identical to Warren Buffett’s:

“You should end the day smarter than when you started it.”   Â

Anyone who knows me - even just a little - knows the one possession that is nearest and dearest to my heart (at least the one thing I’m never without) is my cell phone.  During the school day, I have the phone on “vibrate” and it’s on the desk in the back of the room where I sit before and after school and during lunch, which I eat in my room every day, usually joined by a couple of math colleagues.  Yesterday, however, the guys must have gone off campus.  When I walked to the back desk to get my lunch, I picked up my phone to see if I had any missed calls or texts.  Sure enough, there was one call - one that I’d been anxiously waiting for.  I listened to it, saved the message and then put it down on the table and ate my lunch - in the front of the room for the first time in over seven years.

The first couple weeks of school is normally a chaotic period.  When new courses or philosophies are tried, naturally there will be kinks to be worked out.  After lunch yesterday, I had only one class (from Tuesday-Friday, our school is on a schedule such that there is only one class which meets for a two-hour period).  Mine was a new (lower level) math class we were trying out this year.

The bottom line to the story is the administration decided to change my class to the higher level algebra I (the word higher is relative in this case).  In my original sixth period class was a number of kids who were being “moved” into algebra I.  All freshmen who were being moved “up” to the algebra I class were the ones who were moved first, meaning that I had 15 or so new students in my sixth period (the class after lunch yesterday) in addition to the original 31 I’d had since the beginning of the year.  18 of those were going to remain in the “new” math class they had when the school year began, only now it would not be with me nor in my room.

The problem is my room only has 29 desks and there were well over 40 youngsters in there.  I was told to send the original 18 to the Counseling Center once I had taken attendance - always more difficult at the beginning of the year when the teacher is trying to figure out each student’s name.  Eventually, this SNAFU was accomplished and we began class. 

Sixth period is always a difficult period to teach (last year several teachers one-upped each other with 6th period horror stories), possibly because it’s right after lunch and the kids are coming off the first real extended social break of the day - and many are coming off the sugar-high a good deal of them devour at lunch.  This year’s class falls in lock step with that type.  Often, freshmen think they know a good deal more than they do.  Some are in that argumentative stage - where any type of request is going to be challenged and, well, they possess other traits that make teaching challenging - more challenging than in the morning.

It’s also not unusual to get a prankster - or worse - in one of those classes.  Once the period ended and the kids left, I waited for our younger son, Alex, a sophomore, to come to my room so we could ride home.  As I was getting my things together to leave, I couldn’t find my cell phone.  This is not an uncommon occurrence (see my 8/27/09 blog on senior moments) so I wasn’t too worried - until I started retracing my steps.

I remembered the call just before lunch and distinctly recall putting the phone down on the table, in the front of the room, next to my computer.  I thought of what I’d done after that - and started to get that sick feeling when I realized I had not left the room once.  Not even to go to the bathroom.  Needless to say, with about 900 numbers stored in my phones, and pictures of all the recent baby gifts we’d done, this piece of equipment is my lifeline.  My only hope is that either someone inadvertently picked it up or decided to play a joke on me. 

I dread thinking about anything worse.  Probably the thing that bugs me most is inconvenience.  Losing my cell phone - or having it taken - is the ultimate in inconvenience.  Yet, I think of what many people, some very close to me, have been going through recently and I’m reminded of Robert Fulghum’s quote:

“If you break your neck, if you have nothing to eat, if your house is on fire, then you’ve got a problem.  Everything else is inconvenience.”  Â

Starting up a new company can be a feeling of exhilaration.  When I finally got my book (self-) published, I couldn’t get wait to get out on the speaking trail - and make my website more attractive - in order to sell as many books as I could.  As with most new businesses, you tend to find out as you go along, that there were questions that should have been addressed and answered before going to press.

Things like an ISBN number and bar codes - that need to be on the book.  These are not absolutely vital (I mean, I sold 2,000 copies of my book without them).  It’s just that IF I HAD WANTED TO GET MY BOOK IN PLACES LIKE, OH, BARNES & NOBLE OR BORDERS, I WOULD HAVE NEEDED TO HAVE BOTH ON THERE.  OK, live and learn.  If there’s a second printing, you bet they’ll be on there.

Actually, selling 2,000 of the 3,000 printed is rather remarkable considering someone had to know me, hear me or check out my website to buy one.  I knew I’d never make such an elementary mistake again.

Then, it was time for my baby gift business - a concept I’ve been sitting on (hatching?) for over 20 years (when I saw a woman from New Jersey do something similar and I thought, “What a great idea!”)  Yet, when I set up the website, or rather, had the company set it up for me, I wound up with quite an attractive, informative website (www.CuteBabyNameGifts.com), but lacking a few essential pages that would have impoved sales exponentially.

For example, if I had been a little more patient, I might have been able to have what I’m trying to get on there now, i.e. a major improvement.  Over the past three months, I’ve requested changes be made and each time, there’s an excuse why this can’t or didn’t happen.  I try to make as many changes as I can so as not to use the website company’s time.  Still and all, there are instances where I need their expert advice.

However, for the past week and a half especially, I just keep getting the run around.  “OK, it’s set.  Try it now.”  Two more hours or so of frustration and nothing has changed, except I’m that much older. 

This gift is sensational - and perfect for today’s world.  Individualized for the baby (we’re in the era of the individual), personalized (people would like to be remembered, i.e. “it may be the thought that counts, but, please remember where the thought came from and who thought it up.”)  In my recent dealings with a couple potential customers, I had an epiphany. 

First, when I’m showing all these pictures to the new mom - she loves the idea.  But then, reality sets in, and she thinks, “You know, these are beautiful and I wish I had one, but, honestly, it’s not essential and I really need to be getting other, more necessary, items for my family. . . even though, one of those cute pictures in my little sweetie’s room sure would make it look so much nicer.”  Next, I run into the person who’s not a new mom, nor is she pregnant (and seems pretty overjoyed she’s not), but she knows several people in her office, family, neighborhood, company, etc. who are and thinks the gifts are “darling.” Yet, her defense mechanisms spring into gear, because with all the people screwing other people, including friend to friend (right, Bernie?), I get the feeling she’s thinking, “I wonder if this guy’s legit or he’s like the kind on guy on a New York street corner selling $10 knock off Rolexes?”

My solution?  Have the new mothers, or mothers-to-be register on my website - just like couples do when they’re getting married, e.g. she puts her name on my website and tells her friends that, in addition to being registered (for her upcoming shower) at Macy’s and Babies ‘R Us, she’s also registered on www.CuteBabyNameGifts.com.  Now, she’s hoping to get one of these baby gifts, but won’t have to buy it, and her friend is much more likely to get her one, knowing she’s requested it. 

Getting a page on my website to display this has taken two acts of Congress and three resident geniuses (and, unfortunately, I’m not sure I’ve found one).  I’ve asked for instructions, realizing, “This means more to me than anyone else,” and actually get directions on “How to.”  It’s just that whoever’s telling me what’s going on, must not know, . . . because nothing they’ve told me has worked!

It’s the old line:

“I like hitting my head against the world because it feels so good when I stop.”

Each year, July 31 marks the last day to file California State Tax.  Every year since 2002, the first one I was required to file (for the tax I collected on my book, Life’s A Joke, which I include in the pruchase price), I have filled out the one page form and sent in a check for the appropriate amount.  Obviously, it’s more fun to receive checks than to write them, but performing this act makes me feel like I’m a small business owner - the type of entrepreneur (stretching it a bit when applying the term to me) that much of America was - and is - built upon.

This year the process became a tad more time consuming - for a couple of reasons.  First of all, those of you who read my Jan. 1, ‘09 blog, will recall I started a new business, in partnership with an artist who produces a beautiful one-of-a-kind-baby gift in the form of an 11″ x 14″ picture (on illustration board) made up of colorful letters, spelling out the baby’s name - with a symbol (animal, fruit, vegetable, toy, utensil, tool, . . . whatever) that begins with the letter it accompanies.  The quality of these items, along with the fact there are very few personalized gifts any more (and you can get all this done without shopping simply by going to www.CuteBabyNameGifts.com), has made this small business into something of a popular site in a rather short period of time.

Whe I applied for a business license, the account number I was given was identical to the one I had been assigned for Life’s A Joke (which I was told is common practice for an owner of two small businesses).  This meant that, when I went to figure out the state sales tax I owed (sales tax is also included in the cost of the baby gift), I had to combine the revenues and make one check payable for the combined sales tax I owed the state. 

This is where the problem got somewhat convoluted.  Since sales tax went up on April 1 of 2009, it became necessary to calculate the gross profits before April 1 and the those accumulated after April 1 (this is not an April Fool’s joke - but I looked around for the cameras - after the first four times I tried to figure all this out went for naught).  To further confound the issue, products sold out of state are not subject to state tax.  And I have yet mention that different cities and counties have different taxes they charge.  Plus, this was the first year that all business owners were to file online (which a noob like me dreads), as opposed to this nice simple, one-page form that had been requested in the past.

To sum this up, suffice to sat it was a complicated process, there was a column for the amount of gross income I took in for the fiscal year July 1, 2008-June 30, 2009 for my book sales  . . . and a column for the amount of money I collected for the baby gifts.  Beneath that, however, the column was split into how much of each I sold before April 1 and how much I sold after April 1.  Each of those columns were split into amounts of income that were derived from in-state sales as opposed to out-of-state sales.  AND, . . . the in-state column was to be separated into the City of Fresno sales (the company’s address is my home address) and areas where books and gifts were sold outside Fresno city limits but within the state.

I have to admit that, by this time, the filing of what should have been minor business transactions (although it looks as though the baby gift business has the potential to skyrocket) was taking up the majority of my Saturday (I did this a week ago).  Although the following disclosure could possibly get me in trouble with the Board of Equalization, it’s too good to leave out of the story.  There are instances where a colleague of mine requests a baby gift (or, as happened on a few occasions, one or more of my books), and the exchange will take place before school, after school or, possibly, at lunch.  “School” is Buchanan High School - located in Clovis!  Because the mailing address is in Fresno, I consider each of these transactions to have originated in Fresno (at least as far as the BoE is concerned).

I was precise, however, regarding the books I sold to some of the coaches at Michael Jordan’s Camp last summer, claiming, rightfully, that they were sold in the city of Santa Barbara (and don’t go getting technical on me, saying that UCSB is actually in Goleta).  The trio of baby gifts a dear friend, Roger Milstein, from Los Angeles ordered and I delivered the day we got to LA for UCLA’s camp that Alex was invited to attend were properly designated on the state income tax sheet.

The reason I said sheet is because, after trying to calculate the online version, using the instructions provided, I kept seeing a message informing me that my numbers didn’t add up properly. The math major in me stubbornly kept me at it entirely too much longer that it should have taken, but in the end, I surrendered and, this past Monday, I went to the local Board of Equalization office to beg for help.  The employee there was fabulous and told me I had done nearly all of it correctly, but made my mistake calculating the tax for the individual cities (other than Fresno) within the state. 

He easily (with the help of calculators) figured what I owed and I went across the room to pay my fair share of state tax - $62.  I actually felt I had done my part for this wonderful, if poorly governed and horribly managed state (too many whackos with personal agendas that, while they are certainly within their rights, have now branded the state - if you don’t like how you’re being treated, sue, - not only because it’s your right, but because you’ll usually prevail - and win ungodly amounts of money, aiding in the bankruptcy the state is facing).

But, when it comes to the products I sell, along with the tax I pay, I’m reminded of the line I heard Warren Buffett say (and that I use on the FAQ page of the baby gift website):

“Price is what something costs.  Value is what it’s worth.” Â

Most books on parenting tell moms and dads to treat each child equally - or as equally as is reasonable.  I’m aware of this theory and, once again, within reason, I subscribe to it. 

A recent order for our rapidly growing baby gift business (www.CuteBabyNameGifts.com) was for a set of twin girls: ISABELLA & EMMA.  If the general consensus for parents is to treat siblings the same, you can imagine how much more that theory extends to twins!  I emailed the person who ordered the gifts (the grandfather, it turned out) and mentioned to him that our sensationally talented artist (although that description sounds biased, you would be immediately in complete agreement if you saw his work), told me that for names of six letters or longer, he is going to put them on 12″ x 18″ illustration board so as not to crowd the letters and symbols.

A very nice gesture (at no extra cost), but now one grandchild would be getting a bigger present than the other, a probable cause for disharmony in the household.  Since it’s not a good idea to tell a customer (or a boss) bad news without having a potential solution for it, I advised grandpa that it would probably be a good idea to frame the gifts, but do so using either a 12 x 18 frame (and mat EMMA) or use a, for example, 16 x 20 frame and mat both of them.  A nice, considerate touch that few of today’s companies would feel an obligation to do.  And grandad was quite appreciative, I might add.

After using my vast knowledge (aka, common sense) to help divert that potential disaster, I was thrust into a decision-making proposal for something that hit closer to home.  As I posted in my last blog, our younger son, Alex, and I were leaving Saturday morning to go to the Sacramento area to play and watch, (thank the Lord, respectively).  On Sunday, I was awakened at around 7:30 am with a phone call from my wife who told me that our older son, Andy, thought he had food poisoning and had his best friend and fraternity brother, Stratton Constantinides (I guess we’re fortunate we don’t have to do a baby gift for him), drive him to the hospital.  After a CT scan was taken, it was determined Andy was suffering from appendicitis and needed emergency surgery, i.e. that day.

Readers of this blog will remember my good college friends, Paul & Betty Dolinoy, who, after living in Atlanta for a good number of years, decided to return to one of their former residences in Huntington Beach, CA.  Lucky for us they did. 

My call to them disrupted a quiet Sunday afternoon, turning it into a hectic Sunday afternoon.  Paul immediately went to the hospital to have an “experienced presence” in the room - someone who would make Andy feel more at ease, since, with all that was happening - and it doing so rather quickly, Andy was reassured that a parental substitute was there to facilitate, what with him feeling pain, and getting groggy from the meds the nurse had provided.  Paul stayed at the hospital until Andy drifted off and, then went to catch a movie to pass the time, but close enough to get back to the hospital when they wheeled Andy in for the procedure.  All this time, Betty served as Jane’s lifeline, calling my wife with periodic updates and giving her another “mother” to talk to and get advice from since Betty (and Paul) have two grown girls, who had similar experiences at the same age. 

Meanwhile, I left the semi-final game at halftime (Alex told me he was going to “do work” in honor of his older bro)  and when the first half ended, Alex had 15 points and a bunch of assists, proving good on his word.  I made the three hour drive home, to get some clean clothes but mainly for my precription medications.  Then, I drove the 4 1/2 hours to Huntington Beach and got to Paul & Betty’s house only to see Andy lounging in Paul’s Ritz-Carlton robe.

I’ve done favors for the Dolinoys, although I can’t remember anything remotely close to the first class treatment - with no time to plan - they provided Andy.  I guess Zig Ziglar’s signature line is exactly as he (continually) says it: 

“You can get whatever you want out of life if you just help enough other people get what they want.” �