Gerri Yang had known Stephen Ballmer for a long time.
They used to go to the same parties. They would watch the same, lesser people smoke substances on terraces facing the golden sunset.
But neither of them ever thought they would end up together.
Gerri thought she would marry someone younger, someone with the body of a builder and the mind of an astrophysicist.
The reverse had never crossed her mind.
Now, here she was, in her later years, knowing in her heart that Mr. Right had passed her by and all that was left was a selection of Mr. Ohnos. And not one of them Apollo.
All of them, in fact, were not quite as buff as they used to be, which was a little disturbing.
Gerri and Stephen knew that, at least in some ways, they made a good, sensible match.
But when they were alone together, they argued a lot.
They didn't argue about whether they loved each other, or how many kids they should have.
They had, after all, been around the block so many times that the block was now a freeway.
(Credit:
Suleiman Poher)
No, the only times they raised their voices was when the subject was money.
"But, Stephen, I am used to certain standards. If you left me, I would need to know that those standards would be maintained," said Gerri.
"I'm not going to leave you," said Stephen in an unusual whisper. "Our families are coming together to create a new dynasty, one that will rise up against the Brin-Pages and make the Ballmer-Yangs the First Family of Tech."
"You mean the Yang-Ballmers, don't you, buttercup?" said Gerri, furiously batting her eyelids.
"Whatever you say, sweetums," said Stephen.
"Well, why can't you give me $37 a second for the rest of my life? Or even $38?" griped Gerri gently. "I am a loyal and faithful partner. And you, well, you do have a bit of a history, don't you?"
"I've been young. I've been impetuous. But that is all behind me. All I have in front of me is you and our marriage," declared Stephen. "You know I am giving you everything I have. And if you don't agree to this pre-nup, I will talk to your parents."
"To my parents?" shrieked a shocked Gerri.
"In fact, I already have," blurted Stephen, his impetuousness having not quite left the building. "They agree that I am being more than fair, given your age and, you know, your, um, internal problems."
"I am as fit as a fiddle," said Gerri, her bottom lip hanging dangerously low.
"Fiddle-dee-dee is what my inner circle tells me. And your inner circle appears to be steadily deserting you," said a suddenly calm Stephen.
"They are not deserting me. They simply don't think I will need them as much any more. Because I will be spending all of my time with you," explained Gerri.
"That's not what your Uncle Carl says," said Stephen, evenly. "He says some of your family, especially your cousins and nephews, are turning against you. He says you need new mentors to help you conclude a successful marriage. And a successful marriage starts with a successful pre-nup. Uncle Carl wants what's best for you."
"HE'S NOT MY UNCLE!" shouted Gerri. "That's just what my parents told me to call him."
"Because your parents trust him. And he has told them that the Trust Fund I have prepared especially for you, my precious, is a fund that can be trusted."
"Oh, I am lost," sniffled a forlorn Gerri. "I never thought that love would be like this."
Stephen allowed a silence to fall gently, like a dusk at summer solstice.
Then he whispered: "Perhaps I could add free vet visits, all expenses paid plastic surgery, including any scientific advancements in facial, bodily or cryogenic preservation. And a new Maserati every year."
"And a Tesla and a hybrid Smart car?" said Gerri with renewed excitement.
"A Smart car? Of course, my ever-clever petal. Of course," said Stephen.
Gerri took Stephen's hand in hers.
They both smiled.
"Now, then," said Gerri. "How many guests? I was thinking something small and intimate. Say, 30,000 people?"
So now even the New York Times is telling Yahoo's Jerry Yang that he has done wrong.
He has, apparently, shafted his shareholders, shown them nothing other than contempt.
But it was one line in the article that diverted me from my coffee and thoughts of Tiger Woods' irrational passion: "Your feelings aren't supposed to divert you from your fiduciary duty."
I don't know about you, but I'm quite big on feelings. They seem, somehow, to make humans a little more, well, human. And a little less like several of the more suspect participants at the Singularity Summit, where one speaker offered that "immoral behavior is really just irrational behavior".
It isn't just Mr. Nocera, but the majority of commenters on the myriad tech sites that my handlers are now encouraging me to read, who declare that Mr. Yang's behavior has been nothing short of scandalous.
Because it is irrational.
Shareholders like to think they are owners. A rational concept.
In fact, they are gamblers. The invitation to buy a share is an invitation to gamble on every single decision taken by a company's board. And every single mental skip taken by that company's customers, competitors, world economic conditions and, hey, what do you know, critics.
Some of those shareholders enjoy exalted positions at their own companies.
Where they make rational decisions such as hiring those who they know will be no threat to their hegemony, even if they know these people will not advance the company's prospects.
Such as hiring their friends, even though they know them to be professionally deficient.
Such as reducing their headcount in order to make this quarter's figures look good, even if they know customer service will slide over the following twelve months as a result.
Perhaps they will have moved on to their next jobs by then, leaving someone else to clean up the mess.
(Credit:
jurvetson)
Everyone can (and does) theorize about Jerry Yang's motivations. About his feelings, indeed. And I'm sure he has plenty.
But if feelings have no place in fiduciary duty, then every corporate decision should only be judged according to its score on the Rationality Meter.
And any number of apparently rational decisions have proved to be utterly misguided. The Ford Edsel, the Fashion Cafe and BenGay aspirin all seemed very rational at the time.
Rigorous rationality policing would mean no one would ever write books about how decisions based on feelings, sometimes said to be generated in the intestinal area, created great and lasting organizations. Yes, even public entities.
The truth is that gamblers are very accepting of others' feelings, if the results of those feelings are that the gamblers make more money.
The other important ingredient in the 'make more money' segment is the question "When?"Perhaps the results of Mr. Yang's feelings will be that shareholders will have less value for the next six months, the next nine.
Perhaps, if shareholders hold on to their shares, an unexpected outcome will suddenly make them very rich. And, no doubt, very silent.
Rationality really doesn't have such a great sway on human development.
If you haven't already, I recommend a day spent with "The Black Swan" by Nassim Nicholas Taleb, a man who knows a thing or two about investing (and also has the ugliest home page on the web.)
At the very least, he suggests that the randomness of humanity has a far greater effect on our financial system than many would care to admit. (He is particularly loving towards economists.)
Shareholders knew something of Mr. Yang's feelings when they invested in Yahoo in the first place. Many of these shareholders are large, monied institutions.
They were surely very well-versed by the time Mr. Yang came back to lead the company again.
They were certainly entitled to remove their money at any time and put it into more rational places.
They didn't. And now they complain because Mr. Yang takes decisions that are reflective of his own personality, his own dastardly human feelings. Didn't he always?
And didn't some of these same people feel that Rupert Murdoch was mad to pay all those millions for MySpace? Wasn't he being irrational with his shareholders' money?
Now, they all admire his gut feeling.
How rational.
The Chief Yahooey, Jerry Yang, has had enough.
Enough of journalists, bloggers, analysts, and all those who claim to know more about running his business than he does.
The simple fact is that he should have slipped down to Shutters on the Beach last weekend and met with two of the world's most important people, people who themselves have endured criticism from Lesser Beings.
Actor Tom Cruise and President Hugo Chavez of Venezuela.
Is there any question that these two could help Mr. Yang solve the Yahoo crisis? Here's how it might have gone.
"I am glad you called me," begins Mr. Cruise. "As I've said before, when you see a car crash, only a Scientologist can help."
"I'm don't know what Ballmer believes," replies Yang, "so that explains a lot.... Hold on, Yahoo is NOT a wreck. We're very profitable."
"Have you ever had an audit?" asks Cruise.
"Of course. Our numbers are great," protests Yang.
"I mean an audit from the great firm of L, Ron and Hubbard," says Cruise.
"Who?"
"In the Church of Scientology, we give you an audit that looks at your purity, your morals, your ethics. You know, the big stuff," explains Cruise.
"Everyone knows I am completely ethical," insists Yang.
"That severance plan, though," says Cruise. "I mean, come on, Jerry. That wasn't exactly helping your would-be Thetans, er, I mean, shareholders."
Before Yang can answer, President Chavez, who has been smiling beatifically in his direction, leans forward, gesticulating wildly: "Man, I LOVED that severance thing you did. Now that was socialism at its finest. Just when the Great Satan wants to take you over, you give your people an extra incentive to leave. I tried that with my enemies in Venezuela. But you're doing it with your friends. Incredible."
"Oh, thank you," says a touched Yang.
"Now you need to rise above all those capitalists," continues Chavez.
"How do you mean?" asks Yang, chewing on his second strawberry shortcake.
"Well, I have a brother who's education minister, a cousin who is in charge at our oil company and my Dad is a state governor. You must have SOME family you can put in charge of everything.."
"There's my wife," says Yang.
"Ah, I've had two of them. I prefer blood relations. Just remove your Board of Directors and keep it all in the family. You know, cousins, uncles, that sort of thing."
(Credit:
Danny Sullivan)
At this point, Mr. Cruise chimes in again: "I love that family part. Can you go on Oprah, jump up and down on her sofa and tell the world how much you love your wife?"
"Won't people think I'm crazy?" wonders Yang.
"There's no such thing as crazy, Jerry. Just don't take any anti-depressants."
"Well, I've been a little stressed lately," admits Mr. Yang.
"Jerry, you are an immortal, spiritual being," says Mr. Cruise, firmly.
"Unless the Great Satan tries to eliminate you," gruffs Chavez, looking a little tired of Cruise's science fiction.
"You can survive elimination, Jerry. Go to scientology.org. Life is eight dynamics. You just get all eight to work in harmony and you will survive anything."
"How do I do that?" asked Yang, temporarily mesmerized.
"By selling Yahoo to the Church of Scientology, Jerry," says Cruise. "We can help your searchers find. We can help your groups discover everlasting union. And we can show you how to make a lot more money. I mean, do you know how much Travolta gives the Church every time he makes a movie?"
"Callate, hijo!" exclaims a suddenly heated Chavez. "I came here to make an offer myself. I want to buy Yahoo on behalf of my country. I would make it compulsory for everyone in Venezuela to become a Yahoo member. That's 26 million new customers. And each would have a share in the company. Naturally, my family would have all the voting shares."
"But that's corrupt."
"No, business is corrupt, my friend. I am talking the Ideal Paternalistic Socialism. Like your original Yahoo. Think about it. No more Wall Street. No more bigmouth shareholders. No more uncertainty. And we can find out what Jenna Bush is writing to her friends," concludes Chavez, a sweet smile imposing a military coup on his lips.
As Jerry looks on, wondering how it is that these are his two remaining white knights, Mr. Cruise gets up on the hotel sofa and screams: "YES, ICAHN!!!! NO, HE CAHN'T!!!"
The Venezuelan President joins in the chant. But at this very moment, Jerry Yang decides to go with Tom Cruise. The man was in Mission Impossible, after all.
- prev
- 1
- next
