Shots in the Dark

Amidst rumors that Ben Bernanke will not accept a third term no matter who wins the election, pundits are speculating who would be Obama’s choice to replace him—and Andrew Ross Sorkin says that Summers is “at the top of the list.”

Sorkin notes that Summers has a reputation for “not playing well with others”—I hate this construction, which really trivializes something much more disturbing than that phrase implies and suggests a lack of serious thought—but adds:

He’s a serious economist who knows his numbers and has a worldview that is similar to the president’s. He would be expected to continue the loose money policy of Mr. Bernanke.

Some people would say that Summers is exactly the kind of person you’d want as Fed chair: “brilliant” and not particularly respectful of popular opinion.

I would argue that Summers is exactly the wrong kind of person for the job; the last person you should appoint to an undemocratic job with enormous power is someone who has no patience for democracy, is contemptuous of those beneath him, and has no sense of self-doubt. Whatever one may think of Bernanke, he gives the impression of having a soul and a heart—that he is empathic. I wouldn’t associate any of those things with Larry Summers.

If I were Obama picking someone to replace Bernanke, I’d go in a very different direction; I’d pick Joe Stiglitz.

Lately when I’ve been checking my Facebook page, the site asks if I’d like to give it my cell phone number to use as a backup password in case I forget my current one.

Give Facebook my cell phone number so that it can create a national directory of cell phone numbers, something no marketer has yet found a way to achieve?

Unlikely.

I see these subtle and not-so-subtle invitations to volunteer personal data more and more frequently. For example: On Friday night, I went to see Lewis Black on Broadway. (Hilarious.) Today I got an email from Ticketmaster asking if I’d like to review the show. What possible good would that do me when I’ve already seen the show? And of course, if I did write a review on Ticketmaster.com, they’d know exactly who wrote that review, because they could link it to my ticket purchase. And presumably that would be part of an effort to collect psychographic information on me and consumers like me. I have no idea what Ticketmaster would use it for—they may not either—but I don’t like the idea.

(I recognize, of course, that I put up far more personal information on this blog, but at least that’s for my purposes, not those of a massive, soulless company.)

I see lots of people volunteering information that sometimes has real financial value, at least when aggregated, and sometimes just stuff that’s very personal. I’m astonished, for example, at how many pictures some people post of their babies on Facebook. It’s one thing to sacrifice your own privacy; another thing altogether to sacrifice that of your child, who doesn’t have a choice.

Remember that line from the film “The Usual Suspects”—”the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist”?

I feel like the greatest trick corporate America has pulled, at least in a long time, is to convince Americans that personal information is something they should “share”….

Here’s a little Lewis Black for some comic relief:

Sometimes our culture is great.

The New York Times has suspended freelancer Andrew Goldman. The reason? After he was criticized as sexist by chick-literian Jennifer Weiner on Twitter, he responded on Twitter by calling her ugly. Didn’t really help his case.

This is stupid all the way around. Jennifer Weiner’s original criticism was dumb, Goldman’s response was dumb, and the Times is dumb. Yes, you don’t want your reporters insulting readers. On the other hand, sounds like the paper didn’t have a policy covering such issues and it’s a bit unfair to penalize the guy after the fact. And Weiner didn’t write her criticism in a letter to the editor, but in a very public forum completely independent of the Times—which was also where Goldman responded. Essentially, they were shouting at each other in a schoolyard.

Plus, the whole reason the Times hired Goldman is because the paper wanted a writer with attitude to conduct weekly interviews. (Full disclosure: A long time ago, Goldman wrote a profile of me. It wasn’t that nice, but at this point, who cares.) So it’s a bit like riding a rodeo bull, then, when it kicks you in the face, shooting it.

All right, it’s not exactly like that, but you take the point.

But the larger point is, Twitter just isn’t a vehicle for serious thought. You can stir the pot on it, lead people to other information, share a quick update. But to use it well requires more discipline than most people seem to have.

…and I get phone calls from publicists, some of which make you wonder how publicists stay in business.

Like the call I just got from a publicist I won’t name, but she works for this Los Angeles-based firm.

I’m sitting at my desk about half an hour ago—around 5:30 PM—and the phone rings. I pick it up. A voice asks if this is Richard Bradley. It is. “Will you hold for our vice-president?” says a woman. Somewhat irritated, somewhat bemused, I say, “I don’t know—who is she?” I get back a name I’ve never heard of. So I decide to go along with it, and say, “Sure, I’ll hold.”

Typically, this just means that you are then connected directly to the person, who apparently is too important and busy to waste those precious seconds and make the call herself. But instead I actually get…hold music. Muzak, actually.

I give that about 20 seconds, then hang up. I’m not super important, but to say that one has better things to do than sit on hold for a PR person who’s called you is setting the bar low indeed.

Maybe ten minutes later, the phone rings again—the same LA number.

I pick it up; it’s the same assistant. “I’m sorry,” she says, “but (insert name here) was on another line.”

I’m thinking, so…PR person calls editor, but is actually on another phone call and expects him to wait on hold until it’s over?

Mmmm…no.

“Will you hold again for (insert name here)?” the caller says.

I’m sort of curious now, so I say yes again, expecting, you know, to be put through.

But no! More hold music.

I give it 30 seconds, which is about 28 seconds too generous, really. And then hang up.

Thank God, they haven’t called back.

I love Los Angeles, but seriously—don’t people know when they’re acting like stereotypes, and not even good ones?

This Yankees post-season has been deeply dispiriting, partly because of the injury to Derek Jeter, partly because of the complete suckage of Yankee hitters such as Nick Swisher, Mark Texeira, Curtis Granderson, Robinson Cano and Alex Rodriguez, and partly because some of them, such as Cano and Rodriguez, don’t seem to care very much—a fact that was driven home (unlike Yankee baserunners) when the New York Post reported that, during the Yankees’ Game 1 loss to Detroit, Alex Rodriguez—currently 3 for 26 in the playoffs, 0 for 18 against right-handers—tried to pick up two women sitting in the stands along the first base line. He had a ballboy bring them a ball on which he’d scribbled a note asking for their phone numbers.

Two things.

First, it’s this kind of story that validates the New York Post’s existence.

Two, A-Rod, it’s time to get the hell out of New York. During the game in which Derek Jeter breaks his ankle—a game the Yankees lose—you’re hitting on women in the stands? That is the antithesis of Jeter-dom. I know, I know-you still have 15 years or so on a ludicrous contract. Doesn’t matter. We’ll trade you to the Dodgers for half a dozen minor leaguers. Just…get out. We never really liked you, but this is the final straw. You are dead to us. Leave.

Granted, the woman is pretty cute—an Australian model named Kyna Treacy, reports the Post in an important follow-up. (Gratuitous photo below.)

I love that the Post website URL contains the address “rod_ballgirl_red_hot_bod.”

Doesn’t matter. There’s a time for that, and it’s not in the middle of a playoff game. Especially when, even with all your money, you can’t buy a hit.

Bleh. I hate to say it, but these Yankees don’t deserve to win. This isn’t quite as bad as chicken and beer, but it’s close. Too close.

Gratuitous photo of Australian model Kyna Treacy.

This is from the NYT’s Dealbook article about the new book by Greg Smith, the former Goldman Sachs guy who’s written a tell-all about the firm:

As for Goldman, it began an internal investigation to check the veracity of Mr. Smith’s claims. Mr. Smith, in the article, said Goldman often referred to its clients as muppets, British slang for a stupid person. Goldman did an e-mail search for the word and found a number of references, but a person briefed on the matter but not authorized to speak on the record said almost every one was referring to the movie of the same name.

The idea that tons of Goldman guys were sitting around emailing about their plans to take their kids to the new Muppets movie—hilarious…. Yet sort of cynically brilliant (or is that brilliantly cynical), in that it not only suggests that Smith’s anecdote is completely clueless and out of the loop, but that Goldman guys are family men who spend time with their children. Mmmm….no.

Oh, one more thing: The idea that you could ascertain the frequency of the use of the term by doing an email search is deeply misleading. Goldman guys aren’t idiots; they remember Henry Blodget.

Oh, and finally—that reporter should ask for more details on that computer search, because—seriously—why would Goldman tell the truth about this? Instead, they just say, “Oh, we did a search and it didn’t turn up very much,” and then the reporter prints that as if it actually means something.

No, I don’t mean their strikeouts and their pathetic offensive production, although that’s a fair question too. What I means is that they are not coming close to selling out home playoff games, and that is just weird.

Here’s Yahoo’s Jeff Passan:

…Game 2 of the ALCS featured thousands of empty seats, like Game 1 before it, and like the do-or-die Game 5 of the ALDS, too. New Yorkers understand a fraud when they see it. They pay for expensive seats, drink overpriced beers, buy exorbitant merchandise and fund a $200 million joke, a team that for the second straight game couldn’t score a measly run off the Detroit Tigers’ Nos. 3 and 4 starting pitchers. These Yankees earned every last boo.

I think that’s a little harsh, but some of it does feel true. Including:

1) Everything about the Yankees costs too much.
2) The Yankees have really sucked in the playoffs, with the exception of—sigh—Derek Jeter and their pitching staff. Oh, and Raul Ibanez.
3) The new Yankee Stadium is a tragic mistake—efficient but charmless and, yes, soulless. It’s designed to make money, not win hearts.

But what explains the empty seats? It could be because Yankee fans have grown blase about the playoffs; though we don’t expect to win the World Series every year, we do expect to be in the playoffs.

And of course the obscenely priced tickets are a problem. How can you justify spending $500 to take your wife and kid to a playoff game (and that’ll get you so-so seats) when you can see A-Rod strike out four times in a row for free? And of course the suits who get tickets for free don’t show up half the time, and when they do, they’re usually gone after five innings.

And maybe there’s the fact that this is not a particularly lovable team. Take away Jeter and Nick Swisher and Ichiro and a few of the pitchers, and it’s hard to really like these guys. A-Rod just drives you up the wall, and Robinson Cano—well, it’s hard to love a player who doesn’t hustle to first base. Please, please, Yankees-don’t sign him to an eight-year contract.

Sigh—Jeter’s broken ankle really does depress me. I think, first of all, that it dooms the Yankees in this post-season. But more than that, it gives a hint of what the Yankees will look like after he’s retired, and that’s something I don’t really want to think about…

On his Twitter feed, Rupert Murdoch calls Brit celebrities who are pushing for stronger privacy laws “scumbags.”

I wonder why they’re pushing for stronger privacy laws….