When Marco Rubio became Florida’s Speaker of the House in 2005, Governor Jeb Bush welcomed him by bestowing upon him the sword of “Chang,” who Bush described as “a mythical conservative warrior.” It’s odd how mythology develops: Bush was almost certainly, if unwittingly, talking about Chiang Kai-Shek, the Chinese nationalist leader best known for losing a civil war to the Chinese Communist Party and retreating to Taiwan. Chiang was, notably, not democracy’s number-one fan.
It's been at least a few seconds since we last checked in on Sarah Palin's Tour de Grift, which stopped yesterday in Olde Boston Towne. Her bus visited such historical sights as Paul Revere's old shack, where Palin explained the colonist's famous "midnight ride" before the 1775 battles at Lexington and Concord.
That Elizabeth Wurtzel had some thing with David Foster Wallace in the nineties is the type of news flash I'd like to have failed detecting this week. Namely because to blog about Elizabeth Wurtzel is to tempt oneself to unwind the various tranches of disquietude summoned when someone like me conducts a Wurtzel Google Image Search. There's the first tranche of familiarity; I've conducted this search before; the second: I remember quickly that I will invariably, though tempted by the grainy topless shots from Bitch, like Radar before me quickly settle on the hottest color photo available, the one she used for the cover of her 2001 addiction memoir More, Now, Again, even though Wurtzel has graciously offered us photographic evidence that she has, in the intervening (ohgod) seven and a half years, aged. For this is not a new asset, this story; the underlying episode dates back to the nineties, when Wurtzel was still dressing up her faculties and skills with too much blue eyeliner and too many mood-altering substances in lieu of the appropriate degree of risk management and/or clothes.So let's examine that tranche for a second: here we have Wurtzel, drawn to David and his big, serious, ambitious, meaty, unfrivolous gold standard of a book; David, drawn to Wurtzel by her fucking leotard and perhaps her nebulous promise to impart upon his serious asset some sort of value-unlocking sense of "buzz"…signing onto one of those confusing, fuzzy subprime relationships that were all the rage, still are. The fine print is almost amusing to us now: the hazy fundamentals and wild histrionics and bombastic promises dependent on "trajectories" neither has any clue how — neither is socialized to have any clue how — to redirect toward a soft landing. Yes, you have done that sort of fucking. From a 1996 account of his reading at the KGB Bar:
Sequoia Capital never invested in Facebook. But Sequoia partner Mark Kvamme said at an ad conference today that the venture firm did take a meeting with founder Mark Zuckerberg early on. Problem was, according to Kvamme, Zuckerberg had forgotten about the appointment and woke up just before it started. So Zuck showed up at the meeting and made his pitch wearing pajamas. Sequoia passed — perhaps understandably, but definitely unfortunately, Kvamme told the crowd. "You kind of have to look past those things," he said. One could say the same about Kvamme's rewriting of history. We hear it's Facebook that passed on Sequoia — mostly due to a feud between the VC firm and Facebook backer Peter Thiel. (Photo by sunshinecity)