Musings
I always believed my calling was to be a Doge, ever since I saw the Doge's Palace in Venice. There are problems with that, of course, though the position is vacant. The Palace is drafty and poorly lighted, and the entire shebang is run by the government. As Lincoln Steffens once observed, "If we had had good kings, we'd all still be monarchists."
My fallback position is to become a pundit. Pundits, as you probably know, quack, waddle, and paddle like ducks, but deny they are ducks. (Even if ducks could talk, I doubt they would try to convince us they're eagles, but who knows?) Pundits are those rare folk whose responsibilities bear no accountabilities. That's right, their occupation has no performance evaluation because they are never held accountable for poor performance.
Even ignoring the more egregious ones, such as the New York newspaper with a front page, banner headline declaring Dewey the winner when Truman was in fact elected President, we are surrounded by people making serious money prognosticating on politics, sports, entertainment, societal trends, and every other thing which can be guessed at with no credentials whatsoever.
Remember when computers were going to create the "paperless office" and the "checkless" society? I don't know about you, but a large part of my Staples bill represents paper and the people printing checks have had a succession of banner years. Nothing adverse happens to the commentators who incorrectly choose sports outcomes (I'm not talking about bookies, who at least are honest about what they do) or financial analysts who consistently predict the wrong trends for the economy. (Or who utter such deep evaluations as, "People are waiting to see if the employment numbers are real and the economy proves sincere." Do you know what that means? I don't.)
Shouldn't there be a weekly television show called, "Reality Pundits" or "America's (fill in the appropriate country) Most Wanted Pundits"? Perhaps "Funniest Pundit Home Videos" would be the right venue. My thinking is that every week, before they get a chance to cover their tracks and sweep bad predictions under the rug, we expose the sorry state of punditry by exposing the track record. I agree that it would have to be in Prime Time, after the youngsters have gone to bed.
I am utterly convinced that most financial analysts have no idea what the economy--or even a given stock--is going to do tomorrow or next month, and that they have no valid means for making their determinations. Even those temporarily successful would fail to impress over the long-term. I think that most art critics haven't a clue about any objective assessment, and merely vote their gut, or their bias, or their sense of humor, not unlike Olympic figure skating judges. Occasionally, some pundits get it right. Nesbitt was correct about "high tech, high touch" 25 years ago, but I've found that if I place the stock quotes flat on the floor, my dog, Koufax, will sometimes put his paw on what I think is a very attractive issue. That doesn't mean he's ready to work for Charles Schwab in any capacity other than security, where at least he knows an intruder when he smells one.
Lacking these accountability trials for pundits, the job is really starting to appeal to me. The Doge had no higher power to which to report, and acted pretty much on whim. As long as they were fed and protected, the Venetians didn't seem to mind.
So here's my next prediction: Some of you will like this column, and some of you won't. I'm absolutely certain of it. And you can hold me to it.