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As we move toward the Thanksgiving season, please do not forget those less fortunate than you. For decades, homeless, lonely people have been able to find warmth, shelter, and a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner at the Nashville Rescue Mission. In a letter I just received, the mission writes, “About 5,000 people will find their way here on Thanksgiving Day alone.” To make sure they receive love, friendship, and a nice meal, please call (615) 255-2475 or visit Nashvillerescuemission.org.  Thank you.

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Dissing Neil Young at Bongo Java

by Dave Carew

The other day I was over at Bongo Java, waiting on the front porch for Kenny Bernstein and another friend. My friend had a performance idea for Bongo Java After Hours Theatre she wanted to discuss with Kenny. While I waited, I suddenly became an inadvertent eaves-dropper to a conversation going on behind me.

“I mean, Neil Young, right? What’s up with that? Here’s a guy who’s one of the greatest songwriters who ever lived . . . and he hasn’t put out a decent album in 30 years!  Are you kidding me?”

I turned and looked over my shoulder, to get a glimpse of Mr. Young-Disser. From his Elliott Smith-esque features (complete with scruffy beanie) and over-all Gen Next vibe, I’d say he was about minus-10 the last time Neil Young put out a decent album. He was talking to a sweet-looking girl attempting heroically not to cringe at his every word.

“I mean, you know? If you’re a great songwriter, isn’t it because, in part, you know how NOT to be a CRAPPY one? Does he have so little self-awareness that he’s forgotten why his own first albums were so great? I mean, now, with Young, it’s just dreck after dreck after dreck.”

At that point, I’d pretty much taken in the gist of the guy’s rant, so I let my mind wander away. I’m pretty sure he went on to set the Guinness World Record for “most frequent use of the word ‘dreck’ in a five-minute period.”

God, I love hanging out at Bongo Java.

David M. (Dave) Carew is editor of “Underground Nashville” and the author of the novels “Everything Means Nothing to Me: A Novel of Underground Nashville” and “Voice from the Gutter.”

Happy HalloWeekend!

I couldn’t help but laugh when I typed that, because it reminded me of my sorority days when we would volunteer during HalloWeekends at Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio. Have you guys ever been there? It’s the most ridiculous place on Earth. We would pack into a few cars, drive a couple of hours, and work in their haunted houses for the weekend. They would give each of us $200 or so to donate to our charity. Good times!

It has been the perfect fall day in Nashville. My boyfriend lives here, so I visit often, but this is Elizabeth’s first visit. We went walking in the neighborhood this morning, so I’ll give you a tour of East Nashville…

The fire house…

Top O’ Woodland, a Bed & Breakfast…

I love that it’s decorated for Halloween!

Sweet 16th Bakery, which is definitely worth visiting if you’re ever in town…

Pumpkin cream cheese bars? Yes, please!

I got the egg and cheese casserole on a cheddar biscuit. So good!

Some treats to go… they are waiting for us in the fridge!

The little hot dog stand that could…

I’ve never “eaten” there, but it’s normally pretty busy…

Margot, a great French restaurant…

Bongo Java, the coffee shop…

I got an iced coffee with soy milk and Tobey got a tamarind palata.

It’s finally fall in the South!

We’re having a Halloween party tonight, so I thought that I’d leave you with a preview of the front yard…

More to come! The trick or treaters are arriving, so I need to put my costume on. I just heard a little boy say, “You have a spider in your yard.” So cute.

I hope that you enjoy the night!

-Laura

there’s no need to go to your local coffee shop anymore for a fine espresso beverage and in a second, i will tell you why. but first, i must promote all the wonderful local places i support wholeheartedly and love to visit:

bongo java east – located on my street, this is a lovely place to really get the full coffee experience. this is the place they roast all the beans for both bongo’s and fido’s. they also have a mean bagel with peanut butter. yum yum! don’t forget to try to homemade granola too.  http://www.bongojava.com/bongo_east.php

fido’s – also owned and operated by bongo java. not only do they have fun espresso drinks like the pink poodle but their food is outstanding! best fish taco’s i’ve ever had, and that’s coming from someone who used to live in TX & CA. http://www.bongojava.com/fido.php

crema – if you’re looking for a FINE cup then this is your place. they pride themselves on quality and that’s exactly what you’ll get. my drink of choice: the cuban.  http://crema-coffee.com/

ugly mugs – if you’re a night owl, this is the place to go. they are open late, good for you laptop users since they haven’t plenty of outlets, and just a great place to hang. they frequently have live music here and lift the garage doors to bring the outside in. jason love’s their iced coffee. http://www.uglymugsnashville.com

sweet 16th bakery – my fav place to get a cup of coffee (drew’s brews to be exact). they don’t serve espresso there folks but their baked items are out of this world! you won’t want to pass this place up, which you’ll do if you blink. it’s located on the corner of 16th street in the historic lockland springs neighborhood. http://www.sweet16th.com/

——

so what is this amazing espresso i am talking about? it’s simply called NESPRESSO. jason stumbled upon this while he was in korea, just to find out that they are also sold here in the US. sure, you can go to william sonoma and buy one for $400, but why would you do that when ebay is selling them for $150? so that’s what we did. $150 and a week later we staring at this…

now that, is the le cube espresso machine from nespresso and those little multi colored things are the capsules, filled with espresso. this machine comes with cup holders and warmers on the side too! all you do is fill the water compartment, press on, and go and you’ve got one of the best cups of espresso you’ll ever be able to make at home. and… when you get adventurous enough, you can buy all kinds of roasts like we did… they even come with their own display case! fancy

For the past two months, I’ve been working at a local coffee shop called Cafe Latte in the Cool Springs Galleria (Franklin, TN – also a location in Murfreesboro).

First of all, we have GREAT drinks. I recommend anyone to come there.

It may not be the first thought of a GF consumer to worry about beverages, but its especially important to be concerned with what’s in your coffee. It used to be as simple as a cup-a-joe, but now coffee involves milk or soy, flavored syrups, espresso and mysterious powders. With everything going into the drinks, there’s always a possibility of hidden gluten ingredients or cross-contamination, so I decided to look into it…

The products Cafe Latte uses are from the following companies:

Big Train (powders for smoothies, chai and frozen coffees)

Torani Flavored Syrups

Ghirardelli (ground white and semi-sweet chocolate, caramel sauce)

Jet Smoothies

I have personally contacted these companies and all have verified for me whether their products are or are not GF and good news! They’re ALL GLUTEN FREE!!!

Big Train products are GF, but are not completely void of cross-contamination.

There are only 4 flavors of Torani syrups that contain gluten (Toasted Marshmallow, Sugar-free French Vanilla, Sugar-free Classic Caramel and Classic Caramel). All other flavors are GF.

Jet Smoothies and Ghirardelli powders are GF and contaminate free.

I would not recommend someone who is extremely gluten intolerant to have anything but our fresh brewed coffee, or a latte with no flavors. There is too much powder dust flying through the air, re-use of dishes, and drops of liquid flying around to risk your health. But for the most part, Cafe Latte is a safe place to get a blended mocha freezuccino, a mango madness smoothie or a chai tea latte. And of course our drinks are delicious!  (I recommend and iced soy coconut latte or amaretto and steamed milk in your coffee – delish!)

So, stop by the coffee stand in the Galleria or the NEW Cafe Latte Coffee Co. in Murfreesboro and rest assured you’re gonna get a GREAT GF drink!

live well,

Katie

The coffee community typically gets a bad rap. Most consider coffee lovers, “coffee snobs.” But since beginning this blog in October 2008, I have received comments, especially from home roasters, that are extremely supportive. I’m just in an appreciative mood right now. So thanks to Rich at Aldo Coffee, Phil and John at La Prima, Derek at Bongo Java, Stephen Leighton, and many others.  While I’m at it, thanks to my brother-in-law for letting me smoke up his house, and to John and Chris at work for helping me brainstorm while on our coffee breaks at work. My point is this: I really like having this blog.

www.wordle.net

I felt like such an imposter.  Exposed.  Naked.  And in the very place I thought would be the answer to all my dreams.

Feeling like I didn’t belong wasn’t about money.  Thankfully, I’d never been a gold digger.  I was too much a romantic for that.  I’d take Heathcliff over Edgar every time.  If I married, it would be for love, not for cash.  For a soul mate, not a sole provider.  My prince could be a pauper as long as he had character and intelligence… and an edge that made him a little fearless and a lot fun.  I would never be a “kept woman” because depending on someone else for money seemed the opposite of freedom.

Raised on the Beatles, I knew money couldn’t buy me love.  Or at least not new money.  Jay Gatsby had the biggest house and car, even a pink suit, but he was snubbed in East Egg (the West End of Nashville) where old money lived. And like his character, F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote himself to death trying to maintain the high life to which his debutante wife, Zelda, was accustomed.

Like Gatsby and Fitzgerald, I was chasing down a dream.  I had mapped my quest to not just any Starbucks but the one in Belle Meade.  Why?  Because I associated it with The Best.   Even their Kroger carried rare cheeses I’d discovered in Italy.  In Belle Meade people obviously had it all together.  The place where little girls wore smocked dresses and wore big bows in their bouncing bobs.  The place where the J.Crew sipped on coffee and leisurely read newspapers or wrote novels all day in the middle of a workweek. The place where couples in North Face jackets and custom running shoes grabbed a hot chocolate together.  They all looked like winners, golden boys and girls,  and I wanted to be one, too.

I needed to write a bestseller—to pay off debt, fund my kids’ college, and insure I could one day retire.  I needed to write a best seller to free my schedule, free my mind, and maybe free others by giving them an escape—an excuse to laugh or cry.  I wanted to tell them they mattered to God.  And I wanted to write a bestseller…to matter.

The girl who used to joke that if she had money, it would have to be old money to count.

The girl who teared up watching the Academy Awards because she knew even if she were a movie star, she wouldn’t be enough unless she won an Oscar.

The girl who knew even if she had graduated first in her class, it wouldn’t matter unless the degree was from Oxford.

The girl who had always had such big dreams that she often felt she had accomplished so little.  The girl who set the bar so high she was always straining to reach it–sadly obscuring her vision so she often lost sight of the blessings that surrounded her.

And as for the A Team,  my insecurities hadn’t ambushed me that day in Starbucks.  The stowaways followed me from home, escaped from the glovebox, and pulled up a chair once I finally stayed at one table.

“Just look at them,” they whispered—“the stay-at-home moms who aren’t staying at home.   Isn’t it enough that they get to sip their coffee Monday-Friday from here or from china tea cups in their breakfast nooks  while you’re chugging yours from a thermos on the way to work?  How can they afford to give up a paycheck and treat themselves and their children to Starbucks when you have a fulltime job and do good to get here once a week?  But of course, they have husbands to support and love them.    Wouldn’t it be sweet to have their lives?  Bet they have maids and nannies who watch the kids while they get their facials, massages, and manicures.  And even if they don’t, they can give their kids 100% because they are never torn between their little ones and their jobs.”

And then the cruelest cut of all…”Bet they’re even caught up on their scrapbooking.”

Trying to dismiss such miserable thoughts, I turned to hopeful ones:
That available looking guy over there is cute.    He’s reading a book even. Maybe he’ll look my way.  I don’t feel like writing anymore and I’ve got to get home, but maybe the day won’t be a total bust.

And then, just as I willed him to look up, he did…at some skinny, plain, smug girl who strolled over and hugged him.  No doubt my feeling naked and exposed had turned into feeling jealous and angry. I was sick of being alone, of being rejected—by everyone but my own insecurities, that is.  By the misery that loves my company…

The A Team was now tuning up for a full-on opera:

“Well what do you expect?  Your divorce has benched you and your kids for life.  So you’re on the B team.  That’s really not so bad.”

“At least you realize now, before embarrassing yourself further by putting it all out there, that best leave this writing thing to others.  To those who really have something to offer.

You gave it your best shot.  I mean, since you were, what, twelve, you’ve told yourself that God is supposed to be enough?  That is, you thought it, but you’ve never felt it–at least not for long, right?”

Despite my trying to ignore them, I realized that through the years, I had worked on myself and my faith… and I had not worked on myself and my faith—trying instead to rest in God since only He can show me the acceptance and unconditional love for which I ache.  I really wanted God to be the lover of my soul, my truest soul mate, but I still struggled because I wanted a flesh and blood lover as well.  He’d shown me I could survive—that I didn’t need a man.  But He hadn’t stopped me from wanting one.

Still, I tried to refocus.  A best seller would be my new Grail.  Since my divorce, I’d been disappointed by too many gentleman callers.  I’d depended on the kindness of strangers and been badly burned.   I’d learned the lesson of  Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie, that finding The One or the Whatever we think will make us happy—that “long delayed but always expected something that we live for”— is dangerous territory.  Because when our dreams are deferred, we can become bitter.  While it may seem we have more control over building a career than finding a mate, there’s danger in basing our joy on any one person, on any one goal.  Especially when we see neither realized.

Then the A Team belted out the biggest lie of all…

“Wonder why God is withholding from you?  I thought that Bible of yours says he gives good gifts to his children?  Wonder why so many have been married off to good guys, but you’re still alone?  It’s kind of like it’s Christmas morning and your sister just got a new bike, but you just got a stocking full of oranges.  Or maybe you’re the female Charlie Brown…it’s Halloween and you’re left holding a bag of rocks.”

They really were cracking themselves up.

And honestly, I didn’t have the strength to pray.  Maybe this writing thing was a bad idea…just like thinking I’d ever find The One.  Just like thinking I’d ever had anything to offer…

And that’s when He cleared the seats at my table.

He left the agitators to find their own ride– but not to my home.  One of my favorite college professors once teased me about my faith:  “Do you really think Jesus shows up at your barbeques?”   I told him I did, and we agreed to disagree.  I’d love to see him after all these years and tell him that He even shows up at Starbucks.

Somehow, my panic-turned-resentment attack had subsided.  And while some might understandably give credit to Jack Johnson singing softly from the speakers or to my own emotional exhaustion, I give credit to the only One who can ever really straighten me out and calm me down.

I saw the  Starbucks crowd through neutral eyes.  I saw them for who they were—no more, no less.

There were the bikers, the businessmen, the boy doing his summer reading.  There were the fifty to sixtysomething guys in untucked, dress shirts, madras shorts, and loafers without socks—those who’ve retired and those who make their own hours.  I even smiled rather than rolled my eyes when I (and everyone else in the room) heard an obnoxious guy loudly seal a deal from his headset.  I couldn’t believe he was actually saying: “I get it—ok—NOW SHOW ME THE MONEY!”

There were artists and students in t- shirts, baggy cargo shorts, and flip flops.  There were thirty and fortysomething career women who were well groomed, well exercised, well fed.  There was even the occasional surprise, like the confident, twentysomething girl who looked like she might be a dancer at Ken’s Gold Club or Christie’s Cabaret—platinum hair, fake breasts, killer calves, dark tan.
They all put on their pants, skirts, shorts, and g-strings one leg at a time, I thought. God levels the playing field.  Their worth and mine rests in having one thing only: a God who loves us.  Any true security and confidence we have has but one source.

Success doesn’t come from physical strength, riches or brains.  It comes from knowing God as He really is—as He really wants to be known–kind, just, and loving.   It comes from trusting that He is good even when my circumstances aren’t.   That He is God and that I’m not. As much as I want a writing career to spell success, to be my Holy Grail, as much as I want to live somewhere between being too full of myself and cowering in a corner, the only thing I really need to remember is that I matter just because God loves me.

Later that summer, I met the author I’d seen get her book deal in Starbucks back in ’04. Turned out we had a mutual friend, so I asked her if she had time to read this very piece and give me some feedback.  She declined, saying she was swamped with her own work.  Though I had shaken my posse, I was tempted for a moment to recoil into my old imposter pose—the fetal position.  To be fair, I realize now I may have seemed like a stalker. I had rattled off names of our mutual acquaintances and must have seemed like people who stake out local places where Keith Urban and Nicole Kidman drink their coffee.  Or worse, like Kathy Bates in Misery just before she pulls out the sledgehammer.

Even if we hadn’t become fast friends and grabbed a Cappuccino, one of her books helped me that first Wednesday in Starbucks. She had dedicated it to every woman who had ever felt like a wallflower and said Christ invites us to dance.  He’s wild about us.   With Him, there is no rejection.

I already knew but had forgotten that His passionate love can even free imposters …something we all are when we persistently pose or push our way into some imaginary club where we think winners huddle. Whether we’re married or single, have kids or don’t; whether we live in Donelson or in Green Hills; whether we were a geek at a community college or a Greek at Vanderbilt, whether we’re a stay-at-home mom who stays at Starbucks or a career mom who doesn’t, none of it matters.

When I remember Christ loves me deeply and passionately just because I’m His child, I feel deeply accepted.  And I know that he wants me to write—because of rather than in spite of—my imperfections and insecurities.  He uses broken people—which we all are whether we realize it or not.

I called Brooke at the end of that summer to make plans to visit her in Chicago during my fall break.  I shared with her that Starbucks hadn’t been the writer’s silent sanctuary, magical muse, or direct path to the Holy Grail I had hoped it would be, but it had been an arena for slaying inner dragons that huffed and puffed against me as a writer and as a person.

Without missing a beat, as a problem solver and PR major, my friend suggested I try instead Fido, a hip, privately owned coffee shop near Vanderbilt’s campus. And I should try Bongo Java…and Frothy Monkey near Belmont where songwriters gather. Creativity was bound to be in the air if not in the coffee.

I wondered…maybe I’d be inspired there, what with a younger, smarter, and more beautiful crowd.  And I can report, now three years later, that I have written at all three places she suggested.  Next on my list is a new shop in East Nashville… but honestly, I now really enjoy writing as I am now—my twelve-year-old golden retriever by my side, my son in his room, my cat staring at me from the other couch.

I’ve realized—and I’m not proud to admit this– that my insecurities aren’t always stowaways.  They sometimes disguise themselves as pretentions, and I am ashamed to admit I often invite them along for the ride.  Acting ugly or not, I often assert my Southern self (a paradox in terms), and tell them I will write without their escort.  But I know they’ll come calling again.

I learned in the Summer of ’06 that I was already a writer. I knew I had no great revelations—only the desire to remind others of what I have to remind myself every hour of every day.  That the holy grail of Life Ideal—or as close as we can get to it in this life—is not achieved by finding the golden key or magical portal, by running to keep step with the culture, by looking across at the competition, or by hanging behind in regret.  It’s learning to live within the paradox of finding self worth and contentment in gratefully seizing this day—ordinary though it may be— while still trusting that God will fulfill dreams He has placed in our hearts in future days.  Mid-life is just that—the middle– not the end.

And I must remember that even Type A girls with Team B complexes can rest in a little less striving and a lot more trust.

Sara (who invited me to be the World's Oldest Bridesmaid), Me, and Brooke in Chicago '06 in the fall that followed my Starbucks Summer of My Discontent

This is a long overdue post since it occurred about three weeks ago. I have actually succeeded in roasting coffee at home. But for the sake of documentation and posterity, I’m still going to include this  post.

So after seeing Derek working his roaster and getting some green Sumatra coffee beans from Bongo Java for ourselves, my brother-in-law and I were fired up to give home roasting a try. Hopefully this would be a better experience than my personal fiasco with my oven.

Target Chefmate Popcorn Popper

CHEFMATE POPCORN POPPER–So I went to Target and purchased a cheap Chefmate Popcorn Popper for $14.99. According to what I read on the internet about roasting with a popcorn popper, I was expecting to get a reasonable roast after 5-7 minutes. So I went to the deck at the back of my brother-in-law’s house, just in case a lot of smoke was generated again. I had a metal collander to pour the beans into, when it was time to cool them off. I was ready.

I poured a quarter cup of beans into the popper and turned it on. It was actually quite exciting to hear the whirring of the hot air blowing and the beans swirling around in the popper. I waited for the first crack – should sound like popcorn popping. I don’t think I heard anything until about 8 minutes. So it’s late. Second crack should come in another minute or two. Well, not knowing any better, I stopped the popper after 10 minutes. Poured the beans out into the collander, let them cool.

beans cooling in the collander

The beans actually looked a little too raw. I let the beans sit for 5-6 hours and made some coffee in my french press with it. Verdict: still tastes green and raw.

10 minutes in Chefmate Popcorn Popper

I tried it again in the popper, letting it go until 20 minutes.

20 minutes in Chefmate Popcorn Popper

These beans were a little darker than the 10 minute batch. But again, after making a cup, the beans still tasted green and raw.

Judgment on the $14.99 Target Chefmate Popcorn Popper: NEVER GOT HOT ENOUGH! The amount of watts that the popper put out was not high enough. So I cleaned it up and returned the popper to Target.

Derek @ Bongo Java

Over Christmas and New Years, my family and I went to Nashville, TN to visit my brother-in-law and his family. My brother-in-law and I went to check out a local roaster called Bongo Java. We saw Derek roast three batches of coffee: a blend, a central American coffee, and a Sumatra. We could tell that Derek must have been experienced since he could talk to us very casually, but when the critical time came to watch the roast of the beans, he was right there. He never missed a beat. Derek was very cool and helpful.

We left with a pound of green Sumatra beans. Derek’s advice was “Don’t start a fire.”

If you ever go to Bongo Java Roasting Co. in Nashville, don’t forget to check out the bathroom. The animated painting is intense!

Bongo Java's men's room

The fabulous Ms. Florida Transplant has tagged me for a meme!

With this fun exercise, I am to list my favorites of the following 11 items.  So without further ado…

1.  Clothing Store:

I’m not too hard to please here…

2. Furniture Store:

Last time I bought any…

But usually…

3. City:

The one where it all started… Miami

Where I’ve been more than half my life… Nashville (photo by Chris Wage)

Favorite city I’ve ever visited (to date)…

Prague

4. Sweet:

Always ice cream, but currently…

mmmmmm…a core of soft, luscious caramel encircled by chocolate and caramel ice cream and fudge chips…pure pleasure in your mouth.

5. Drink:

Unleaded…

Fully leaded…

6. Music:

No need for comment…

With an Honorable Mention…

7. TV Series:

“House”

8.  Film:

I can’t choose just one…

9. Workout:

10. Pastries:

Oh, pastries, not pasties…

I’m not a big fan of pastries, so how about this amazing chocolate torte…

11.  Coffee:

Bongo Java

Home of the famous Nun Bun… (which actually counts as a pastry!)

I am now tagging Bad Bad Ivy, Lady Jaye, Kathy T, and Marie Millard…and anybody else who wants to join in!

Mom fighting the good fight

I never got around to posting anything about when mom and I held signs out in East Nashville last weekend.  Not much to say about it.  It was a lot more exciting than I thought it would be just to see peoples’ enthusiasm for our candidate and to witness people getting registered.

The most amazing thing about the whole experience was Cyrus Shick (community organizer!), the 12-year-old who organized the thing.  When we arrived at Bongo Java, this kid was on the phone sounding like some high-powered agent – “I need people over on Trinity Lane…”  I hate to harp on the fact that he’s a kid – I’m sure that’s been done over and over, but it really caught us off guard.  If I had a kid like that, I’d be so proud.  Also, he was intimidating.  I would not want to cross him.

Since I only had to work one job today, I spent a good chunk of the evening with Ashley and Watson at Bongo Java, an infamous Nashville coffee shop. Besides attracting local weirdos (always my fave!), Bongo roasts and brews their own coffee, has veggie sausage in the morning, sells Fancy Grilled Cheese sandwiches (thanks Ash!), and is the home of the Nun Bun (check out the website for details…it’s pretty spectacular!).

We sat on the porch, underneath the overhang for a couple of hours reading while it rained. I drank a soy Mochahontes. It was delicious. Watson made some new friends. 

When you come to visit for our wedding, we heartily recommend supporting locally owned businesses and seeing Nashville’s finest! Enjoy!

In this episode of the Patrons of Change podcast we sat down with Dr. Jeffrey R. Cornwall who is the Jack C. Massey Chair in Entrepreneurship at Belmont University’s Center for Entrepreneurship. One of the great ways to change the world is through business, and understanding the dynamics of how to start and run your own business can be overwhelming.

Dr. Cornwall discusses what makes an entrepreneur, what it takes to be an entrepreneur, the current business climate and dispels some popular myths about entrepreneurship. We hope you enjoy listening to the conversation, and join in yourself by commenting on our blog, leaving a voicemail anytime by dialing (615) 212-2184, or emailing us at patronsofchange@gmail.com.

If you’re a founder of a business anywhere in the Nashville area, remember to come out and join us at our next Entrepreneurial Meetup which will be on Tuesday, May the 13th, 7:00pm at the Sportsman’s Lodge in Brentwood/Cool Springs. This is a place for entrepreneurs to informally discuss their business free of customers, investors, employees and spouses to help and encourage others to move forward in their businesses. Come on out and have a beer, it is always a good time. We look forward to seeing you there!

SHOW LINKS:

• Dr. Cornwall’s Blog
• Success rate myth
• Dot com era
• Average startup capital
• Social Entrepreneurship
• Bongo Java & Fido
• Non-profit entities and 501(c)(3)
• Second Harvest Food Bank
• Sam Davidson of Cool People Care
• Pura Vida Coffee
• Generation Y’s calling
• Green/Environmental Movement
• Recession
• AMEX survey on small business
• Inflation of 1970’s v. 2000’s
• Global economy

Running Time: 0:32:01
Podcast Record Date: Apr. 28th, 2008
Download Episode | Subscribe with iTunes!