we had our first board meeting this month. it’s sort of like meeting the boyfriend’s parents: you want them to think you’re smart and together; you want them to be impressed; you want them to respect the real you (not just the polished-up you standing before them); and, while it’s not absolutely necessary, part of you does want them to like you. really like you.
oh, and you want them to be comfortable giving you some space, to let you find your way through the relationship all the while knowing they’re right there should you have a question or need some sage advice.
yeah. like that.
so how did it go, you ask? if the board meeting was the dancing with the stars finale, we would’ve strutted away with the disco ball trophy. BUT… it was one board meeting. and early on. so heads will not swell and egos will remain checked and the ‘we did it!’ dance will not be done again for quite some time. still, it was nice to get the positive feedback and encouragement. and to know that i am, indeed, the powerpoint princess.
some other highlights: we got a server. yep, a real live we’re-building-this-thing server. i named him, of course. yes, it’s a him. jock whitney. meet jock whitney, our server. cute, huh? and no i’m not going to explain jock whitney. r’member when the world wide internets used to be called the information superhighway?! take a drive, clive. ;-p
our new server!
hello, jock whitney
what else. . . oh yeah, i left the key to the ladies room IN the ladies room a total of four times. which means i am now acquainted with everyone in our hallway. of course, they all know me as the kooky girl who knocks on their door to borrow a ladies room key to retrieve a ladies room key, but whatev. it’s not such a picnic for me, either.
and, finally, the fred wilson watch 2008 continues. no actual in-person sightings yet. . .but i am still on the case, dignity (somewhat) intact.
so, i crashed steve dunleavy’s retirement party. to be more exact, i instigated and led the crashing of the party. my a current affair friends and i showed up and waltzed in as if we belonged. which, of course, we did.
we had heard it was a closed party with tight security, only for the select few new york post staffers. how can that be, we thought? that was the most un-dunleavy of parties ever. so in true tabloid form we showed up uninvited and managed to get ourselves inside.
and there, inside the bourbon street grille, it was like a tabloid time warp: rupert murdoch, maury povich and connie chung, cristina’s court executive producer (and recent emmy winner) peter brennan, star magazine executive editor barry levine, tabloid baby burt kearns, and so many more.
dunleavy was in his element. drink in one hand, cigarette in another, more like the dunleavy we all remember so well. and i did what i was unable to do when i saw him in penn station: i kissed his cheek, gave him a hug, and wished him well. he was happy, the center of attention, holding court and telling stories as the cigarette smoke swirled up and away, as that long tonight faded into tomorrow.
dunleavy: so you think you can dance (he does and he can). watch part of the video tribute…
nobody does tabloid better than steve dunleavy. he’s equally aussie and new yorker, an old-school street reporter who would dig his heels into a story, kick it around and then polish it up with clever phrasing and pure passion. he always imagined ending his career while out on a story (or a bar stool), but that’s not the way this story goes. his health is failing, and so tomorrow night he closes up shop with a party in his honor.
i met steve in the very early days of fox television’s a current affair. i was young – still in college – and i worked with him for close to 10 years. everyone has an opinion of dunleavy and, more likely, a colorful story. let’s be clear: most of those stories are true. i certainly have my share, one of which involves his perpetually loose tooth and the airplane glue he was going to use to keep it in place until i reminded him that he was a fire-breathing cigarette smoker and the glue — yeah, flammable.
another time i showed up on a sunday for a shoot and could not find him anywhere. the crew was there, it was time to go and still…no dunleavy. i checked the lobby, the corner deli, even called across the road (translation: the racing club bar, our other office). still no steve. by now the crew is loaded up and waiting in the car and we’re running late. finally, i spin around in the office in exasperation and…there he is. sitting upright, asleep in a chair. he was there the entire time and i simply didn’t see him. i woke him up and off we went. a typical sunday shoot.
i remember him savagely hacking away at his typewriter, the way he could rattle off a standup in a single take, and his sheer joy at landing a story and beating the competition. i remember him spending a couple of days with robert downey jr. to “teach” him how to be a tabloid reporter for his role in natural born killers. it was pretty funny, watching dunleavy trying to act like he was not acting like a tabloid reporter. and robert downey jr. nailed it, too. there’s a lot of exaggerated steve in his performance.
some strange things have happened to me lately. i recently spoke with a couple of friends about dunleavy. a few days later, i was rushing through penn station to catch a train. out of the corner of my eye i see something, a familiar flash. thirty seconds earlier or later and i wouldn’t have seen him, but it’s steve dunleavy walking toward the escalator that leads up to the street. still … it wasn’t quite dunleavy. the man i saw looked the same — grey pants, blue sportcoat with brass buttons, crisp white shirt and blue and red striped tie — except, he was not the same. he moved slowly, carefully, a cross between a shuffle and a glide. his skin sallow, his face and eyes…vacant. it was literally like seeing a ghost. i watched him go, but did not move to say hello. i didn’t want to see him that way, to have that in my memory of him. i wanted to remember the man who would do a quick soft shoe or salsa dance, who had a big hacking laugh, who could zero in on the heart of a story and charm his way into any interview.
when i worked with dunleavy, we did stories on elvis, oj, leona helmsley, colombian drug lord pablo escobar…and we even helped free a wrongly convicted teenager. he was hard-working and loyal to a fault. in fact, rupert murdoch may be the only person he was completely faithful to in his entire life.
so steve dunleavy deserves a party, a send-off in style while he is here to enjoy it. it will be as much for everyone else as it is for him. steve dunleavy was many things, to be sure…but i knew him to be generous, kind and respectful. and the next time i see him i may still pause, but i will give him a kiss on the cheek and we will reminisce about the first time i met him and how i really screwed up and almost got fired.
he can, too. la times set a traffic record: 127 million pageviews. but, um, so did gawker media: 257 million pageviews.
henry blodgett put it best: “In five years, what’s left of the LA Times and New York Times will look more like Gawker (in terms of staffing and publishing velocity), or they won’t exist.”
funny how we still hear the term new media….except when we do, it’s usually from someone embalmed in old media.
carl icahn just played the tech version of Let’s Make a Deal. he agreed to end his yahoo proxy fight in exchange for 3 board seats. techcrunch has the details, of course…. but what struck me even more was that, in this extended silicon valley soap opera, carl icahn sorta looks like blake carrington from dynasty. of course, icahn’s ego is bigger than linda evans’ shoulder pads. and his temperament is frostier than joan collins. but he’s got the cat fight down pat, and…well, see for yourself:
billionaire and corporate raider blake carrington (aka john forsythe) and the dynasty dolls
de.tech.ting 
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