At this point, it is hardly a novel observation that Thomas Friedman, the mustachioed gentleman sitting atop some of the loftiest real estate in all of journalism (and also some pretty swanky residential real estate), is The Worst.
We know. We know about his simpering defense of the Iraq invasion, about his comical taxicab journalism, about his techno-triumphalism and snake-oil jargony neologisms and the relentless and vapid celebration of globalized capitalism. We know because of the hilarious work of Belén Fernández, and the dogged antagonism of Hamilton Nolan and Matt Taibbi, and the world-flattening technological triumph that is the Friedman column-generating algorithm. Jesus, it is 2013. Fish. Barrels. We know. And yet …
Did you know that Thomas Friedman is convening a Global Forum for the New York Times called Thomas L. Friedman’s The Next New World?
Did you watch the promotional video on that page about how we all feel that the plumbing got hyperconnected while we were sleeping but we’re not talking about it? Did you watch it all the way to the end? Did you snarf your coffee when Thomas Friedman dropped the knowledge that “If you don’t start your day every day by asking this question, ‘What world am I living in?’, you’re going to get yourself in a lot of trouble?”
Did you know that agenda items will include such gnomic mysteries as
Did you note approvingly how well the speakers list at this one-day Global Forum matches the demographics of our globe itself, whose human population is composed of 85 percent white guys?
Did you know that if you act now, you can attend for the discounted rate of $995, joining 400 other invitees “drawn from the C-suite, from banking and V.C., from government and think tanks?”
You can. You could. You should. What world are you living in?
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