Everyone Who Pretended To Like Me Is Gone, Part II

Another major life transition has come, with my graduation from this institution last Thursday. The Walkmen gave themselves a perfect album title in 2002, but I don't think the "pretended to" part is applicable this time, as it was two years ago when I temporarily left the working world. The social environment of the newsroom was relatively contrived, but in school, there was a genuine bonding because we all shared one elemental passion -- the city.

I like to think that we're all smart enough to go trade derivatives, but instead chose something much more meaningful and influential: urban design, politics, policy, transportation, housing, art, culture and living. I respect my classmates very much because of this. I also think it would be wildly fun and interesting if we were all dropped into one wayward city -- say Cleveland -- and allowed to work with whoever we wanted on whatever we wanted. Of course, this is an absurd premise because no one would fund this, we'd all be mildly tired of each other, and it's arrogant to think that a bunch of 20-somethings have the right ideas for postwar post-industrial cities. But after two years, I wonder what impact we'd collectively have. It would probably be great.

Above are a couple of photos of us waiting in Gund Hall on Thursday morning to march to Harvard Yard for commencement.

Two and Twenty

Of course a hedge fund manager is buying a minority stake in the Mets -- they're the definition of a distressed asset. The core fundamentals are strong because they're a baseball franchise in New York, which is a perennially valuable asset. Everything else is awry, though: the expensive and sparsely filled ballpark; the consecutive years of poor management; the routinely underwhelming performance of the players, despite the team's outsized payroll; the historically comical brand. This is a high-risk, opportunistic play. What hedge fund investor wouldn't want to make it?

The New Yorker's piece on Fred Wilpon, the patriarch of the Mets' majority owner, captured lots of attention for his ridiculously harsh comments about the team and its star players. Otherwise, though, the article was quite complimentary, portraying him as one of the city's few honest and likable real estate developers who was duped by Bernard Madoff out of about $500 million because their sons happened to be childhood friends on Long Island. The author, Jeffrey Toobin, essentially argues that Irving Picard's pursuit of as much as $1 billion of the Wilpons' fortune (which is essentially all of the family fortune) and related litigation is misguided, overly aggressive and unlikely to hold up in court.

Also poking through the story, though, is the sense that Wilpon is done. His friends describe him as stressed; he doesn't look healthy in the photo; and he doesn't seem to have much of an idea about how to turn things around because all he can do for now is cling to the franchise. (Wilpon probably still controls the Mets only because he hasn't taken money out of them as Frank McCourt has done with the Dodgers to fund his posh lifestyle and divorce. MLB gets what it deserves, I suppose, when you allow a developer to trade some of the Northeast's most expensive parking lots for a baseball team, as McCourt did with the Dodgers.)

This leaves open the question of what happens when the hedge fund manager, David Einhorn, does what hedge funds do when their investments underperform. The Times describes him as a value investor, who finds assets he thinks are underestimated, invests in them for the long term and then earns a profit. He doesn't rattle the boardroom as Carl Icahn or William Ackman most infamously do, though Einhorn presciently called bluff on Lehman Brothers and has offered some tough opinions on the U.S. macroeconomy and the financial industry's reform. Nonetheless, the Mets' payroll is ripe to be cut by at least 40 percent, with several expensive contracts expiring in the next couple of years, providing a chance to restructure just as private equity investors often do. And then, Einhorn has the option in three years to acquire a majority stake. The Mets' institutional future is certainly cloudy.

This post's title refers to the fee structure hedge funds use to manage money -- 2 percent of the principal and 20 percent of the profits -- not a baseball stat, like David Wright having two years of barely passing 20 home runs because of Citi Field.

How It Feels To Be Something On

In last week's New Yorker, the Goings On About Town section describes the band the Feelies like this: "The semi-legendary post-punk group the Feelies formed in Haledon, New Jersey, in 1976, and developed a unique sound based on intricate yet simple guitar rave-ups and yearning vocals that emphasize the ecstatic roots of rock and roll. Despite the catchy and influential sound (R.E.M., among other bands, has acknowledged a debt to the band's 1980 debut record, "Crazy Rhythms"), the Feelies, who disliked live performing, never found commercial success. In 2008, after a hiatus of 17 years, the group got back together, delighting legions of fans. The past few years have been more than a nostalgia trip, however: the group has been working on fresh material, and they have a catchy new release, "Here Before," which makes a strong argument for taking a long time between records."

What a perfect description for a band! On this alone, I bought "Crazy Rhythms" last week and have been thoroughly pleased. Their back story reminds me very much of my band (except that they're widely influential professionals). We both obsess over our songs for far too long and would rather play them for ourselves than for other people; we don't have much interest in promoting ourselves or commercial success; and we take a long time to develop. I also think that if we started a band in 1976, instead of 2006, we would sound very much like the Feelies: brooding and a bit off-kilter, but not disconcertingly so; lots of churning rhythm guitar; long instrumental passages where all of the instruments lock together so that each one matters -- but not too much; and lyrics that blend and are about a mood as much as they are a narrative.

The difference is the Feelies began in the aftermath of punk, so there's a jerking, unstable quality to their music. They take the energy of punk and try to smooth it, but also don't want it to be too docile, so the songs are full of all these hiccups. We started after many others proved you could write great sad and slower songs that take their time to reveal themselves, or maybe never quite do so. But if we'd started 30 years ago and hadn't yet been exposed to this, we probably would've tried to harness punk, which was then the counterculture, and turn it in to something new, just as the Feelies did.

Above is the song "Raised Eyebrows" from Crazy Rhythms. I couldn't find a good live version of it, so for now will stick with the music set to this photo. Thanks to Sunny Day Real Estate for the post's title.

Viewing The World Through The Prism of Kendrick Perkins

Now that the Celtics' postseason finished early, with a disappointing five-game loss to the Miami Heat, everyone has revisited the team's midseason trade of center Kendrick Perkins. Perkins, who had been with the Celtics for eight years, ever since they drafted him out of high school, had ascended to the starting lineup several years ago and become a well-liked supporting player on a perennial championship contender. His gigantic shoulders, frequent scowl and pubescent Southern drawl are a somewhat unexpected combination, but he plays imposing defense on a team that defines itself by its intensity. Teams that win championships, especially on the basis of their defense, need players like him, but there are also quite a few players like him.

Danny Ainge, the Celtics' general manager, shrewdly traded Perkins before last February's deadline to the Oklahoma City Thunder. Perkins was going to be a free agent and had made clear he wanted a more lucrative contract than the Celtics offered. (The Thunder have since signed him to that contract.) In return, the team received Jeff Green, a talented and young small forward who can score easily and move fluidly, neither of which Perkins does. Coincidentally, the Celtics drafted Green in 2007, only to trade him for Ray Allen on draft night, so they'd thought highly of him for the past four years.

The trade has divided Celtics fans into camps nearly as antagonistic as the Jets and Sharks. Those who dislike the trade blame it for ruining the team's season: Perkins' departure fundamentally weakened the team's identity and compromised its chemistry. It was forced to readjust in the middle of the season and never recovered, leading to a mediocre late-season record and the unimpressive playoffs. The opposing side, which includes me, says that players like Perkins don't decide teams' fates. The Celtics played incredibly well without him during the season's first half and faded because that's what veteran teams do in the regular season -- they lose interest, as the Celtics did last year when they advanced to the NBA championship. The Heat defeated them because their three biggest stars didn't perform consistently and their fourth played with a dislocated elbow. Each side talks past the other without resolution.

Nonetheless, the trade contains a more profound element that can be abstracted beyond the basketball floor. Theoretically, Ainge's trade was marvelous. He realized his team needed to add an extra athletic forward, youth and another scorer for the long-term future, and that the Celtics' most fearsome competitors had talented, quick forwards, not big men like Perkins. (As proof, the Los Angeles Lakers and Orlando Magic, the teams with the most talented front lines, lost even faster than the Celtics in the playoffs.) Acquiring Green for Perkins solved all of this in one move. But life doesn't work like this. Our personal relationships, lifelong bonds and levels of comfort are what enable us to realize our goals. Success isn't a formula. It requires an emotional spark to motivate us and maybe that's what Perkins provided, after all. I'll go from being a Jet to a Shark.

Xanadu Urbanism

"Xanadu" is the transliteration of the Chinese city that was once the summer capital of Kublai Khan's Yuan dynasty and is now better known as a metaphor for opulence. Most recently, the symbolism was applied to the massive mall under construction in the New Jersey Meadowlands, which was once known as Xanadu, but after foiling two major commercial developers, was re-branded two weeks ago as the "American Dream @ Meadowlands." Its amenities read like a development proposal from Dubai, circa 2007: water park, ice rink, ski slope and, oh yeah, three million square feet of retail (expanded from the 2.2 million square feet that were originally planned because they must have not been enough), for a total cost of $2.9 billion.

Leave it to the family that owns the Mall of America outside Minnesota and the West Edmonton Mall to believe this development exemplifies the American Dream. That the founding generation of their real estate development company immigrated to the U.S. adds an extra layer of symbolism to be deconstructed. Only in America can such excess exist and be celebrated as success, or so we dream while struggling elsewhere. The fantasies trapped in this project are too many to list: That an unfathomably gigantic mall will bring prosperity to the local economy. That the Meadowlands, down to one active sports facility from three but still saddled with millions of debt, will reinvent itself as a destination because of this mall. That all malls don't eventually slide downmarket. That Xanadu's widely despised architecture will become wonderful under the new ownership. That the state of New Jersey has made a wise investment. That people will want to spend their afternoons on the side of the New Jersey Turnpike, shopping at an environmental mess of a filled meadowland.

Then again, the Ghermezian family, whose company, Triple Five, is the developer, wouldn't be able to finance these projects if they weren't successful on some level. The Times reports that the Mall of America's sales last year were $640 per square foot, compared to an industry average of $385 per square foot. In America, apparently plenty of people jump at the chance to shop at a Michael Kors store under crystal chandeliers, which can now be found at the Mall of America after a recent renovation. The country is filled with remarkably ridiculous developments like this that sound bound to fail when you utter them aloud, yet they somehow manage to succeed. This is "Xanadu Urbanism": Delusional urbanism that loves materialism, gigantism and wealth -- fabricated or real -- over genuine, daily life. The entire city of Las Vegas fits in this category.

New Jersey's governor, Chris Christie, fell in love with it enough to provide $200 million of state subsidies to the Ghermezians' rescue of the development, despite his ardently professed record of fiscal conservatism. Christie says yes to attacking teachers for dragging down state and local budgets, but can't say no a project that is clearly too bloated and preposterous to succeed. Eight years of failure should have clued him in that this won't work, though one can also say that decades of failure in urban education should clue us in that new policy is needed. Dubai went under in fall 2009 after financing too many developments like these and hopefully the same can be said about Christie and the American Dream.

Thanks to Triple Five's Web site -- "americandream.com," which is absolutely brilliant and hopefully cost a lot of money to secure -- for the above photo.

Maybe Matthew McConaughey Was Right

"Dazed and Confused" has long been a cult favorite among people my age, Matthew McConaughey in particular for his performance as the townie David Wooderson. (It was one of his first roles and looking at the cast, I forgot how the actors are such a classic early '90s ensemble: Ben Affleck, Joey Lauren Adams, Milla Jovovich, Adam Goldberg, etc.) I never liked the movie much, but McConaughey's most famous line from the movie -- "That's what I love about these high school girls: I get older, they stay the same age" -- has some sort of cultural corollary, best exemplified by this spring's success of "Fast Five" the fifth installment in "The Fast and the Furious" franchise.

Reading Brooks Barnes' recent dissection in the Times of the movie's success is hilarious. First, in the accompanying photo, Vin Diesel and Dwyane Johnson, look as though they'd love to kiss each other. Then, Barnes chronicles the attempts to remake the franchise's plot as though it were some risky decision that could dismantle international foreign policy, when, really, they're just driving cars. I remember seeing the first movie in the theatre during high school. As I read the article, all I could think was, Haven't people caught on by now? Everyone my age has, but that doesn't mean there aren't millions of teenagers who have filled the void. In short: "The best thing about 'The Fast and the Furious' is as it gets older, high schoolers stay the same age."

There are quite a few practitioners of pop culture whose career exists on the principle that there will always be 14 to 20 year-olds willing to slurp this up. As one group matures, the next remarkably has the same exact emotions and tastes. The more things change, the more they stay the same. And as relatively bad as these artists all are, they might be brilliant for realizing this and mining it for lucrative careers. Other examples are Dave Matthews Band, which is by far the worst offender, Weezer, and the Beastie Boys.

It slightly pains me to put the Beastie Boys in this group, but after listening today to their new record, "Hot Sauce Committee, Part 2," they deserve it. They also deserve respect for using their fame wisely, thinking seriously, promoting worthy causes, and developing their career on their own terms and at their own pace. But the new record, in its return to their early '90s raucous mashup of styles, is tough to swallow. I feel bludgeoned by the loud riffs that don't go anywhere, the rhymes' cadences that repeat over and over again, the empty calories of songs. Weren't we here when I was 12 years old and isn't "Pass the Mic" a much better version of it? Why do we need to trudge through it again? And then a 12-year-old nods along to the new songs.