The New Yorker is having a conference. For twelve hundred bucks you can listen to wisdom from the likes of David Byrne and Barry Diller, and maybe eat dinner at a table near them. What I like about the conference is that only one or two of “our people” are on the speakers list. What I hate about it is the twelve hundred simoleons. That, and Malcolm Gladwell.

[tags]Ricky Gervais[/tags]