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]
2 Comments
That’s quite the bitchy rant over Gladwell. Sniping over what way a man’s connections made him famous. Fuck me and the moot horse he rode in on.
There is a difference between championing a cold, hard truth and simply tellin it like it is. It certainly isn’t clear from this piece on which side Gladwell falls, but in any event don’t shoot the messenger.
Oh foo (no, not as in -bar) … I wuz gonna blog that *great* line …having worn many a pair of jeans in my “yout” that hurt, they really hurt, Frank! Ow!