Party's over, Geeks

No more worshiping Geeks  Not for me.

Or you, either, if you're smart (but not too smart).

Not after what I read yesterday on the Wall Street Journal site. Normally, you would only want one of their guys to write an editorial for your birdcage, but not this time.  Reporter Scott Patterson outs the Geeks in his book "The Quants" and published an article about it for those of us who can't get through a whole book.

Maybe that "Quants" designation is short for Quantum Theorists but it basically means "Geeks".

You think the world is topsy turvy now?  Then it was turvy topsy before it became the current tospsy turvy.  Wall Street used to run by investment bankers, security lawyers and people so rich they owned the bankers and lawyers.  Somewhere along the line, it appears, the Geeks took over.  It took a while, as they gradually crafted all the programs that controlled buying, selling and inflating stocks.  Pretty soon, the Geeks had their own investment vehicles and, no, not mint '57 Chevy's.  And those Geeks drove their fancy vehicles right into the East River in late 2007, faster than a recalled Camry.

Which is fine, except they dragged the rest of us pedestrian investor types with them.

Time was, you wanted your precious daughters to marry doctors, quarterbacks, even security lawyers.  Now, you'd jump at an assistant manager of the Geek Squad or a master of Grand Theft Auto.  Geeks have their own TV shows, too.  On the one I  watch, "Chuck", the head geek is at least as spy, too.  The geek on "Numbers" is practically FBI.  But along comes "The Big Bang Theory", raising geeks who are just geeks to near-Emmy status.

And we loved all the damned geeks. Me, too.

Not any more, pal.

The geeks are the ones who modeled harmless mortgage-backed securities into the derivatives that even Greenspan didn't understand.  And they created a virtual stock market that acted so much like the real thing, they thought it was the real thing.  Only, they weren't smart enough to program their own panic into their algorithms.  Thanks to them, your 401K is worth less than a truckload of wet Chinese drywall.

So lock up your daughters--and maybe your wife, for that matter--when the next nerd comes over to reboot your WiFi-n router or make your Bluetooth mouse actually point at something.  Do not let your kids watch "Big Bang Theory".  No more video games like Resident Evil 5 or Guitar Heroes, Beatles or not.  Get them  "War and Peace" or a catcher's mitt.

I'm not saying geeks are evil or not funny, but if one lives next door, quietly report him to TIDE or the local neighbor watch, at least. Remember, it's your daughters we're talking about.

Save the Dying Whales

No, not those whales.  At least, not today.  But like that.

I mean the big newspapers.  The Internet is killing them, along with music, TV and  books, while monetizing teenage chatter.  More and more people, especially those who chatter, get their news from the Web.  I know I do.  Until recently, it was a lot of AP, but Google doesn't need them anymore, either.

We all used to get papers.  We even had to recycle them.  Some of us read them.

Now, I'll bet people line their bird cages with disposable plastic liners instead of that day's Wall Street Journal Editorial Page.  Surely this accounts for the sad, smart-assed birds who still quote Alan Greenspan as an authority on--what was it?--economics.

French President Nicolas Sarkozy--the guy with the supermodel wife--wants Google to pay to a tax to save French newspapers.  And maybe French music, if there has been any since Edith Piaf.

Of course, it sounds silly.

Every once in a long while, a chance comes up to save something big on the verge, as the in the Marine Biologist episode of "Seinfeld".  This one is my latest chance.

Have Google buy everyone a cat.  There are lots of them.

That simple.  Test in France if you want.

People who have or had cats know exactly what I mean.  Open a paper and a cat will walk on it, maybe sleep on it, right over whatever you were reading.  What good is a cat that won't sit in your lap?  Like they actually kill mice very often.

Here's the key.  One of my cats, Lucy Liu, will not sit on my lap.  Six years.  I still have a lap, I know because her sister, Lila, uses it frequently.  Not Lucy Liu. She'll jump up on my desk, my chair, my bed, any table.  My lap?  Nope.

Unless there is newsprint on it.  Even a day old USA Today I oft... once borrowed from a coffee shop.  No matter, Lucy Liu is right there. And Lila watches and waits her turn, however impatiently.

We cat people all know this.  If you have a cat--here comes Google's part--you have to have a newspaper. End of "Dying Whales" crisis.

Oh, yes.  Deprive a cat of his/her newspaper and PETA will send some naked women to spray paint your door.