Frind, 30, doesn't seem like the sort of fellow who would run a market-leading anything.
Quiet, soft-featured, and ordinary looking, he is the kind of person who can get lost in a roomful of people and who seems to take up less space than his large frame would suggest.
Plentyofish dating service
Frind's parents, German farmers who emigrated just before his fourth birthday, bought a 1,200-acre plot 10 miles from town and initially lived in a trailer without electricity, phones, or running water.
The family's closest neighbors were a mile and a half away, and, apart from a younger brother, Frind had few friends.
When he does engage in conversation, Frind can be disarmingly frank, delivering vitriolic quips with a self-assured cheerfulness that feels almost mean.
Yahoo (NASDAQ: YHOO), he says, is "a complete joke," Google (NASDAQ: GOOG) is "a cult," and Match is "dying." Says Mark Brooks, a marketing consultant who has advised Frind since 2006, "I've never known anybody so competitive.
Like most of his advertising deals, this one found Frind.
He hadn't even heard of Video Egg until a week ago. with more than that." Five years ago, he started Plenty of Fish with no money, no plan, and scant knowledge of how to build a Web business. Its traffic is four times that of dating pioneer Match, which has annual revenue of 0 million and a staff that numbers in the hundreds. Today, he employs just three customer service workers, who check for spam and delete nude images from the Plenty of Fish website while Frind handles everything else.
But then, you tend to attract advertisers' attention when you are serving up 1.6 billion webpages each month.. Today, according to the research firm Hitwise, his creation is the largest dating website in the U. Amazingly, Frind has set up his company so that doing everything else amounts to doing almost nothing at all.
"I usually accomplish everything in the first hour," he says, before pausing for a moment to think this over.
In a way, he's thinking about the company all the time."rind spent his formative years on a grain farm in the northern hinterlands of British Columbia -- "the bush," in local parlance.
His hometown, Hudson's Hope, is a cold, isolated place not far from the starting point of the Alaska Highway.
Frind drops his bag and plops himself down in front of one of them. There's a 0,000 order waiting for his signature.