(Translation: I built a landing page and felt like a tech wizard.) When I was in high school in the late 70’s and early 80’s (my god that’s so long ago!), I took a “Computer Programming” class. We learned to code in COBOL, BASIC, and FORTRAN. My public school didn’t even have its own mainframe — there was only one for all of Baltimore County. Once a month, our class boarded the big orange school bus to Loch Raven High School, toting our punch card decks with our programs. We handed them to some mysterious tech who then ran them.
(or How Comparative Advantage Finally Failed Me) Is it true that many people who enjoy cooking — or who excel at it — had a parent or close relative they watched and learned from? I’ve heard that theory, and it makes sense to me. So what happens when you’re raised by a single mother who not only does not cook, but wouldn’t recognize a fresh vegetable if it came up and bit her on the nose? My mother was a huge fan of TV dinners. And canned vegetables. And other unmemorable meals. On holidays, she made matzah ball soup with
Time has a funny way of giving you perspective — especially once you’ve stepped out of the blender. For years, owning my small business felt like living inside a whirling appliance: loud, chaotic, exhilarating, exhausting. You don’t really see how crazy it all is while you’re in it. You’re just trying not to lose a finger. Now, nearly two years after selling my business, I finally have enough distance to look back and truly see what that life was really like. And I’m in awe. Owning a business is a little like Stockholm Syndrome. You convince yourself that your life