Y Combinator, that mecca for hardcore hackers running on pure Paleo and possibility, has lost one of its own to the dead pool. The door-to-door laundry service Prim, which let San Francisco denizens mimic the perks of their corporate brethren by barking "DO MY LAUNDRY" for $25/bag, is no longer in business.
When children are about old enough to stop vomiting on themselves, we teach them that instant gratification is bad—one of the simpler vices. But if Uber has its way and explodes into the big fat company of its own pipe dreams, it will make it OK for us to demand anything we want, whenever we want it.
Someday, we'll be able to replace the public good with some sort of app or Twitter-connected mug—but for now, tech's strategy seems to be just ignoring notions of "society" and "cooperation." For many powerful figures in Silicon Valley, the federal shutdown was proof they don't need to care about you.
Behold the era of software companies that are literally disgusting: Goldbely, with the name and business sense of a cartoon Bond villain, just snagged a big check for an unfathomably unappetizing idea. For only $100, you can get an authentic Philly cheesesteak shipped to your Silicon Valley office, and then puke.
Tim Draper, by any cursory Wikipedia skim, is a successful man. He's reaped enough through his venture capital endeavors to create his own zany vanity "school," where wannabe Zuckerbergs and Brit Morins pay ten grand apiece to learn startup brilliance. It sounds even crazier when you hear him speak:
A lifetime spent tackling problems that don't exist can leave one wanting more. Perhaps, as Silicon Valley stalwarts realize attaining and facilitating bourgeois comfort isn't the noblest cause, they'll need more vanity projects like Charity: Water, an opportunity to show the internet just how generous they really are. African kids are perfect for Instagramming.