Media writer Ken Auletta explored the purported arrogance of Page and co-founder Sergey Brin in his Google book. From an exceprt in the New Yorker (subscriber-only link):

Diller... recalled visiting Page and Brin in the early days of Google. Diller was disconcerted that Page, even as they talked, stared fixedly at the screen of his P.D.A. "It's one thing if you're in a room with 20 people and someone is using his P.D.A.," Diller recalled.

"I said to Larry, ‘Is this boring?' "

"No. I'm interested. I always do this," Page said.

"Well, you can't do this," Diller said. "Choose."

"I'll do this," Page said matter-of-factly, not lifting his eyes from his handheld device.
"So I talked to Sergey," Diller said. "I left thinking that more than most people they were wildly self-possessed."

Then a couple of years later, the co-founder of Twitter, who used to work at Google, straight up "laughed" at Diller, at a conference. Barry Diller gets no respect from the kids these days.

Gladwell begins with a recitation from the May U.S. Senate hearing on the newspaper industry, the one where David Simon spouted nonsense, and the one that has apparently become a sort of media Woodstock, dividing generations in the big ongoing publishing upheaval. Gladwell places himself firmly on the side of the oldies, and draws a tenuous parallel between the hearings and Anderson's book. Both apparently illustrate the stupidity of West Coast reefer hippies like Jeff Bezos and Arianna Huffington, who just hate selling content, or something.

In Gladwell's review, Anderson is constantly making imaginary pronouncements, which make him look like an idiot. He wants to turn the New York Times into Meals on Wheels, run entirely by volunteers! What a jerk. He says a free price is like "magic!" What?? And Anderson said nice things about YouTube, noted spectacular failure:

When you let people upload and download as many videos as they want, lots of them will take you up on the offer... Although the magic of Free technology means that the cost of serving up each video is "close enough to free to round down" [according to Anderson,] ...a recent report by Credit Suisse estimates that YouTube's bandwidth costs in 2009 will be three hundred and sixty million dollars.

Of course, Credit Suisse numbers may well be grossly overstated, and Gladwell doesn't mention that YouTube is expected to take in $241 million in revenue this year, twice one estimate of last year's sales.

Which isn't to say he's necessarily wrong about Anderson's book, or about Google's user-generated content being "crap." But it does show that, if you're looking for a long-term investment, a Free poster child like Google is probably a better place to park your cash than the magazine group where the two money-losingest titles have big fights over who has less of a grip on the future.

Brushes has a companion app called Brushes Viewer that records the creation of a drawing from start to finish, and we've posted the video of Colombo creating his cover art below.

Washington Post dork Chris Cillizza admitted it.

CNET Newser Caroline McCarthy did not have to see a man about a horse.

Revision3 CEO Jim Louderback attempted to rent a car from a shoe store.

New Yorker Twitter controversialist Susan Orlean complained about an inanimate object, for a change.

Wired research editor Joanna Pearlstein rapped her job applicants' knuckles with a Twitter-shaped ruler.

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So far Orlean is doing the punching, and Baum is just lying back and taking it. No fair!

Baum, who may or may not be using his Twitter experiment to drum up publicity for his new book (does it really matter what his motivations are if the end result is so damn smart and so damn good?), spoke a bit on Monday about the macabre aura present in the vaunted New Yorker fact-checking department...

I particularly liked the fact-checkers, who go way beyond getting names spelled right and actually do a lot of reporting. More than once, the fact-checkers uncovered information I hadn't had, found crucial sources I hadn't interviewed. It's like having a team of back-up reporters. They work like soldier ants, and are invariably cheerful. Their boss, Peter Canby, is a calm and competent gentleman. I must say, though, the office itself is a little creepy. I didn't work there. I live in Colorado. But I'd visit 3-4X a year. Everybody whispers. It's not exactly like being in a library; it's more like being in a hospital room where somebody is dying. Like someone's dying, and everybody feels a little guilty about it. There's a weird tension to the place. If you raise your voice to normal level, heads pop up from cubicles. And from around the stacks of review copies that lie everywhere like a graveyard of writers' aspirations. It always seemed strange. Making it to the New Yorker is an acheivement. It is vastly prestigious, of course. And the work is truly satisfying. Imagine putting out that magazine every week! Yet nobody at the office seems very happy. The atmosphere is vastly strained. I'd get back on the Times Square sidewalk after a visit and feel I needed to flap my arms. Get some air into my lungs, maybe jog half a block. And I came to realize I had a really good job. I could write for the New Yorker, but not have to be of the New Yorker. Therein lies the reason I'm no longer there.

One New Yorker writer took a bit of offense to Baum's assertions...





Susan Orlean later contemplated offering an alternative to what she obviously perceives as Baum's Twitter-trashing of her workplace...





Oh please do Susan. Twitter fight! Please do!

Baum, who won the respect and admiration of many, particularly Louisiana natives like myself, through his post-Katrina dispatches from the ground in the New Yorker's New Orleans Journal, used his Twitter account to detail in 140 character bursts how, among other things, it took him seventeen years of pitching stories to finally break through with the magazine.

First, a little about the job of New Yorker staff writer. "Staff writer" is a bit of a misnomer, as you're not an employee, But rather a contractor. So there's no health insurance, no 401K, and most of all, no guarantee of a job beyond one year. My gig was a straight dollars-for-words arrangement: 30,000 words a year for $90,000. And the contract was year-to-Year. Every September, I was up for review. Turns out, all New Yorker writers work this way, even the bigfeet. It's Just the way the New Yorker chooses to behave. It shows no loyalty to its writers, yet expects full fealty in return. It gets away with it, because writing for the New Yorker is the ne plus ultra of journalism gigs. Like everybody, I Loved it. More later.

It took me seventeen years to break into the New Yorker. I'd been a freelance journalist that long, and had sent in Proposals from time to time. I never even got rejections. The New Yorker doesn't send them. If they don't want the Story, they simply don't respond, so filing to the New Yorker is like filing to the dump. You send in a proposal, and if you're smart, you forget all about it.

Baum went on to detail many of the story ideas he pitched the magazine and the various stop/starts that came along the way, even linking to a number of the proposals he submitted as a freelancer, taking the timeline up to the point where he was getting assignments regularly from the magazine, but anxiously awaiting a seemingly elusive offer to become a full-fledged staff writer. Then came the breakthrough he'd been waiting for.

Then, out of the blue, Rolling Stone called with a jaw-dropping over-the-transom assignment: 30,000 words on missile defense, to run over several issues, and paying $90,000. I was floored. I got the call while I was in San Francisco working on yet another New Yorker assignment about geneticists trying to make people live forever. Right after I hung up with Rolling Stone, John Bennet, my New Yorker editor, called for some reason. In an act of inadvertant brilliance, I mentioned to him my new Rolling Stone assignment. Forty minutes later, David Remnick rang my phone. "Don't do that Rolling Stone piece, he said. "Come to work for me instead, on staff." The heavenly angels burst into song. I'd made it to the staff of the New Yorker.

When you really stop to think about it, this is sort of a watershed moment for Twitter, and storytelling in general, isn't it? I mean, here's a guy, a widely respected writer, using Twitter's 140 character "tweets" to weave a bit of an epic story, a story I can easily see aspiring journalists turning to for years to come as a resource and for inspiration. I certainly can't recall anything else of the sort happening previously.

Anyway, Baum promises to pick up the story with his next chapter later today, so stay tuned.

Internet microcelebrity Julia Allison gazed into the abyss.

Rich Barton, CEO of real-estate startup Zillow, let his iPhone app go to his head.

VH1 pop-culture commentator John Aboud sartorialized.

New Yorker writer Susan Orlean finally turned into a crazy cat lady, as we'd all kind of expected.

MSNBC anchor Tamron Hall feigned objectivity.

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SF Appeal editrix Eve Batey triumphed over musical shame.

Fox Chicago anchor Nancy Loo conducted consumer food-safety research.

Vain, pompous, self-aggrandizing Technology Review editor Jason Pontin couldn't choose just one adjective.

New Yorker writer Susan Orlean had an insight about the likes of Pontin.

By mid-afternoon, Air America radio hostess Ana Marie Cox had once again turned her thoughts to booze.

Did you witness the media elite tweet something indiscreet? Please email us your favorite tweets — or send us more Twitter usernames.

New Yorker music critic Sasha Frere-Jones displayed a "fondness" for "air" "quotes."

Erstwhile checkout-aisle influence-peddler Bonnie Fuller was disappointed in Sarah Palin.

BusinessWeek's Spencer Ante cozied up to some Beatles.

TechCrunch editor Erick Schonfeld spatted with sharp-tongued AllThingsD mommyblogger Kara Swisher.

And Swisher responded in kind.

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Ann Curry of the Today Show accused Matt Lauer of being on drugs.

New Yorker writer Susan Orlean had a drink.

Technology Review fauxmosexual-in-chief Jason Pontin kept up the appearance of working.

Gawker alumnus Alex Balk learned something new.

AllThingsD blogger Peter Kafka tried to keep the music industry afloat.

Did you witness the media elite tweet something indiscreet? Please email us your favorite tweets — or send us more Twitter usernames.

Susan Orlean of the New Yorker deigned to contemplate Facebook's redesign.

BusinessWeek's Jon Fine caught up on year-old Viacom trivia. (Yes, Viacom CEO Philippe Dauman's son works at Google. Duh.)

Washington Times Web columnist Amanda Carpenter wasted time on Twitter to announce she was not wasting time on Twitter.

Former Village Voice writer Tricia Romano began drinking early.

AFP correspondent Olivier Knox confessed to a mancrush on Wired editor Adam Rogers.

See something worth noting on Twitter? Please email us your favorite tweets — or send us more Twitter usernames.

Del.icio.us founder Joshua Schachter, now a Google engineer, contemplated violence. (There's some kind of thing about guns going around on Twitter! We don't get it, but we sure hope that's what Schachter's referring to!)
KNBC TV personality Shira Lazar corrupted the youth of America.
Associated Press managing editor Lou Ferrara expressed an entirely legitimate concern.
Bizarro right-wing conservatrix Michelle Malkin made it official: She is not PC.
New Yorker writer Tad Friend cried in public.

See something worth noting on Twitter? Please email us your favorite tweets — or send us more Twitter usernames.

Senator John McCain, in the course of criticizing wasteful spending, admitted he couldn't manage a beaver — and then was so ashamed that he deleted his tweet and replaced it sans commentary.


Talking Points Memo editor Lila Pearl tattled on a coworker.

Extremely lazy New York Times food writer Amanda Hesser mommyblogged.

Washington Times White House correspondent Christina Bellantoni rode the bus.

New Yorker music critic Sasha Frere-Jones praised stale brownies.

(Many thanks to the screenshot-grabbing McCain tipster, whose browser had different font settings — hence its odd appearance.)

Anyone else's tweets we should keep an eye on? Send us more Twitter usernames, please — or email us your favorite tweets.

Preternaturally hunky Curbed editor Ben Leventhal, ordered by ex-girlfriend Julia Allison to suggest a dinner spot, told her to Google the keywords "sugar daddy restaurants."


ABC newsman George Stephanopoulos felt compelled to clarify after reporting that his White House lunch with the president included "leeks and pot."

Spy cofounder Kurt Andersen's job was amazing today and yours wasn't.

New Yorker writer Susan Orlean caught the flu.

Funnyman John Hodgman announced his hate of the word "meh," and stirred up a fuss among the obstinantly nonchalant.

In lieu of wedding gifts, the couple suggests charitable donations. A good idea — unless you want to buy them a $160 saucepan.

[Update: wedding page removed.]