When I lived in Troy, in upstate New York, I went to the local Wal-Mart often and always felt sleazoid about it, as if I was hurting someone with every “low price” item I chose. I was cognizant that the land that once stood where the ware-box is was once gorgeous farmland. I also knew that the nice, older gentleman who greeted me at the door was a retiree who looked kind of out of place, yet he seemed happy.
The cover story in this month’s Fast Company, called The Wal-Mart You Don’t Know, puts the truth to my uncomfort. While the low prices I admired were quite nice, the economic impact of Wal-Mart’s global pricing strategy is overwhelming. Some stats: almost 10% of all Chinese exports go to Wal-Mart. 12% of the economic gains in the late 1990s “can be traced to Wal-Mart” according to McKinsey. None of this is, in and of itself, terrible. But, in its desire to own world commerce, the company has essentially driven all retail production to factories where labor is hardly an issue to be reckoned with. Moreover, manufacturers like Levi Strauss, one of my favorite brands, is now selling its cheap-o Signature line there, killing its more quality-driven labels, and putting all of its factories across the border. What does all this mean? My guess is that Levi Strauss will be out of business in 5 years. And so will all of its employees, here and abroad. The race to the bottom only goes one way.

Today I received my first email ever from Sprint PCS President Len Lauer that reiterated how happy the company is to have me as a customer. The headline was “Your loyalty is appreciated.” I do appreciate the nicely designed email newsletter that went out to all of its customers today and the facts the email enumerated. They are, for instance, building 1700 new cell towers this year — where I don’t know but probably not in NYC where I live and work.
I also appreciate the fact that they are offering better customer service. And mostly I appreciate that Sprint is the first to line up for my valued loyalty, which on November 24, 2003, will be splintered into a newly traded commodity.

Here is a random series of thoughts that will make sense if I let them:
I just slipped on a small, rubber frog. I bought a new product today called “Miii Milanos” by Pepperidge Farm, but I ended up eating more of them than I would have if I bought regular Milanos. Michael Jackson’s initials are “M.J.” I’m watching the Bachelor choose his wife now; we all know it’s going to be Kelly Jo and that his parents are liars. I had a headache all day today but managed to come up with some really nice designs for a client. My daughter spilled chocolate milk in the bathtub which was kind of beautiful. The rain is coming down hard and they killed another big tree for Rockefeller Center.

I always wondered when an erudite commentator would write a fine article about the illiteral rise and shine of the morning shows. It’s happened in last week’s (or was it two weeks now) issue of The New Republic.
I can’t recommend this piece highly enough. In it, Lee Siegel brilliantly and so cogently deconstructs the awkward ties between the emotional and monetary oddities that play out on shows like The Today Show, where Matt Lauer’s thin hair is a point of dishonest shamefulness (unlike my own) and Katie starts to look a bit like a stuffed animal. Siegel makes the point that, as the morning shows have eclipsed all other “news” programs on television, the strained and self-conscious faces of the commentators have taken on a reality that everyone can bear, particularly in the morning. I’ve always thought that it was odd that these people are pretending to be like our jagged morning selves and because they’re tired and well-paid, they are. Just a few excerpts, which do so much more justice to the entire affair:
Diane Sawyer is the master of the endearing awkwardness, sometimes forgetting which way to walk on the soundstage. (She always remembers when to forget.) There is even a kind of daily duel between her and her office-husband, Charles Gibson, over who is a more flawed and ordinary human being.
and
Matt Lauer makes Sammy Glick look like Khalil Gibran. The new haircut, revealing the thinning hair, gives his anxious pushiness both justification and pathos. His facial expression is always one step ahead of his conversation. He is a man whose eyes have never been introduced to his tongue. If he is talking with someone who just lost a child, his expression indicates that he is thinking about his next guest, who just made a new movie.
and mostly:
Gide said that you cannot appear sincere and be sincere at the same time.