SCHMITTblog

The end has come

I started blogging seven years ago when it was “cool.”  More than 200 blogs later, I will stop.

Technology has moved on; thus, SCHMITT has to move on.  We will leave the blogging to the professor who discovered it just recently.

Please find (as long as these technologies last):

My videos at www.YouTube.com/MeetSchmitt.

My videos, photos, and text at www.facebook.com/MeetSchmitt.

My short views on things at www.twitter.com/MeetSchmitt 

And all sorts of information at my web site, www.MeetSchmitt.com

This blog will be left as a historical document.

 

Cecilia has bad teeth

Let me begin by a disclaimer: I have been dragged into this controversy by my colleague Olivier Toubia (yes, he of King Kong fame) and Schmitt (yes, he of, ahem, smoothness fame) because those two are at odds over Cecilia Sarkozy's dress and U.S. views of France and the French.  I really didn't want to comment, but I've been reading cognitive psychology papers all day so I'm bored senseless.

Frankly, I think that the whole controversy has been drummed up by Schmitt as a way to draw attention to the Schmittblog in these dog days of summer when most people are out getting splashed by the cool jets from an open fire hydrant.  I don't give a hoot about who makes Cecilia's dress (Prada, how passe, it's Boateng or bust), and most self-respecting Frenchmen probably didn't notice because they were too busy planning the next strike to further reduce their work week to 22 hours down from the 25 hours plus ten weeks of vacances that they have now.  Yeah, Toubia, in addition to loving sex and violence, your fellow Frogs love to moan and groan and disrupt an already stagnant economy (take that, Frenchie!). 

My friends, the real issue is not Cecilia's dress (really, Schmitt, you disappoint me on this one).

It's Cecilia's teeth.

Cecilia would be best saving her fourteen hundred plus Euros for some orthodontic work.  Look closely at the photo, and you'll see that her bicuspids look a little bashed in.  Not too hot for a French first lady (even the matronly Laura Bush has nice pearly-whites).   That's why I still believe in Segolene.  She might be 53, but she looks hot as hell in a bikini.  While Cecilia is futzing with her orthodontic retainer, Segolene is working on retaining her tan.  Vive la diference! 

Off to do some google searching...

Levav

Safwan est beau

Hi folks,
It's been quite some time since I've blogged.  What can I say, the English Premier League just doesn't inspire me like the World Cup (not enough Germans to hate or Argentines to love; but did you see Carlos Tevez's goal against Manchester United? Fantastic).
One thing does inspire me however: A Safwan Sighting.
Oh yes, my friends, our lovable colleague was seen on the premises last Thursday for a faculty meeting (Queen Noor gave him the afternoon off).  And let me tell you, he was looking as RAVISHING as ever.  Some background: For years Schmitt  and Safwan, who joined the Columbia Business School together just about the time that I was in eighth grade and still hairless like you-know-who, have been sniping at each other, grappling to achieve the status of Supreme Style Leader of Columbia Business School.  For his part, in the last few years Schmitt has been alleging that Safwan has lost some allure, lost some hair, and picked up some je ne sais quoi around his waistline.   
I beg to differ.
Schmitt might wear Ozwald Boateng, but Safwan is a brand in and of himself, in a suit or out of one.  There's Madonna, and there's Safwan, and like Madonna, Safwan is hot as hell for his age.  And while it is perhaps true that he may have helped himself to a little too much kibbeh over dinner in the Royal Court, in the last 12 months he still got more real estate than Schmitt in the New Yorker. 

Levav

Schadenfreude

Dear friends,

Even though I have no more reason to live, from the nether-reaches of my despair I find the energy to write.  Why?  One word: schadenfreude.  So ironic, that a Kraut word would best describe my feelings about a Kraut loss.  But it's true.  Yesterday, while watching Italy crash the Kraut party 2-0, I started giggling.  There is simply nothing more joyful in seeing all those big Krauts shedding tears of humiliation, all the while knowing the our other bitter enemies, Brazil and England, are also moping at home.  After losing the lottery in the quarterfinals (penalty kicks, as Italian coach Marcelo Lippi said, are a lottery), there is some joy in watching others fall.  Personally I also hate Italy--I hate their boring soccer--but my anti-Kraut sentiments trump my anti-Italian sentiments.  Plus,  Italian midfielder Mauro Camoranesi is actually Argentine, having received his Italian citizenship only in the past few years.  So really, there is some victory here for Argentina after all.

Thank you, Mauro, for making sure that Schmitt in a wig wasn't the lasting image of this Cup.
Thank you, Fabio Grosso, for making Jens Lehman look like a flailing rag in goal.
Thank you, Alessandro del Piero, for driving a stake through the Kraut heart (or the cavity where hearts are supposed to be).

So here goes my prediction.  France should beat the belly-flopping Porties this evening.  But the French dream will end on Sunday, when Italy beats my tricolor geezers.  The Italians simply have much better haircuts.  Speaking of looks, Italy has the look of a world champion--playing well enough to win when it counts, but never good enough to be really convincing.   

OK, back to moping now.  Maybe I'll go see my Argentine psychoanalyst. 

LEVAV

No more reason to live

Dear Friends,

This is the last you'll hear of me.  I have no more reason to live.  Losing to the Krauts in penalty kicks, after having had the chance to win on the field, has left me feeling wretched.  My cousin Sergio called me so that "we can grieve together."  My boy David Pizarro's sister was crying.  Even my mother, who turned off the Mexico game because she didn't know that overtime exists in soccer (I'm not kidding about this), was in mourning.

The Krauts will win this tournament because they're playing at home.  It's a shame because this tournament has lost one of its most attractive teams while the mannschaft soldiers on.  Now all that's left are the dirty Italians, the belly-flopping Porties, and the French. 

Maybe the tricolor will give us some joy next week.  I watched Zidane against Brazil today, and he was truly inspired.  There's nothing like watching a bald guy kick butt because you know that every day that he looks in the mirror the view is that much more grim for him.  My only worry with the French, assuming that they make final, is that they have a distinct tendency to roll over whenever the Germans come marching in to town. 

Zidane, Henry, Vieira, and co.: Let's not make the lasting image of this cup a picture of the topless (and hairless!) Schmitt in a German-flag wig.  S'il vous plait.

Then again, who cares anymore.  I have no more reason to live.

Arriba albicelestes!  I'll see you boys in heaven, wearing my official team jersey.

LEVAV 

Mano de Dios

Dear Friends,

Back to you after 24 hours.  The stress level is building.  I don't believe that I'll sleep too much tonight in anticipation of the game.  Or maybe I won't be able to sleep because the image of my friend Schmitt in a Kraut jersey with a gory Kraut hat will haunt me (but knowing Schmitt, that hat is probably Dolce and Gabanna).

Schmitt's 3-0 prediction and Michael Ballack's recent press conference where he declared that the Krauts have a 60% chance of winning give me hope that my albiceleste boys will squeeze out a win.  There's nothing that works better for a Latin psyche than being an underdog (just tell an Argentine that Texas barbecue was rated better than Argentinean barbecue, and you'll get yourself the asado of a lifetime, touched by the hand of God Himself).  For a Kraut all these psychological Jedi mind-tricks don't matter because emotion is such a tiny of component of Krautness (even the Kraut team's nickname, the Mannschaft, sounds like an engine component).  But for an Argentinean, watch out...

Yes yes, I now think that Crespo will do some serious scoring tomorrow.   Maybe I'm not quite as confident as the great Nader Tavassoli, but even though I wholly agree with Schmitt on Eurotrash architecture, 3-0 simply ain't gonna happen.  It's still going to be 3-2 Krautland, and I'm willing to put my dignity where my mouth is: If Schmitt is right, I'll wear that silly hat and ugly jersey for a day.

In other news, there is some concern in Argentina that the ref for the game will be the same knucklehead who refereed the Brazil-Ghana game.  This is very bad news for Manchester United and albiceleste star defenseman Gabriel "I love yellow cards more than I love women" Heinze.  And bad news for Heinze is bad news for me.  Then again, maybe Heinze's Kraut ancestry will somehow connect him with the local crowd, and maybe as a result he'll play the same sublime, mistake-free game that Roberto Ayala has shown throughout the tournament.

Also noteworthy is that the Argentine press reports that Burdisso and Lucho Gonzalez are back and fit.  This is a good thing.  Otherwise Cufre will have to stop the attacks of wing Bastian Schweinerei, I mean, Schweinsteiger, and that won't be too good.

In 24 hours we will be 35 minutes into the best game of the Cup.  Let's hope that the hand of God intervenes in favor of the majestic light blue and white.  And while we're at it, Schmitt's "Il mano de dio" is some kind of broken Italian.  The line is "mano de dios," and it was uttered in beautifully Argentine Spanish.  This is a critical distinction because it proves, without a doubt, that God is Argentine.

LEVAV

Vamos, vamos Argentina!

Dear friends,

I'm back!

After getting a red card for "unsportsman-like body hair references," which led to my banishment for a few months Schmitt has allowed me back to comment on the world cup.  As the slogan goes, the world cup is "a time to make friends."   

I have to say, Schmitt is right about the stadiums.  Eurotrash architects gone wild (though my sister, who's an architecture student at Hah-vahd, would probably call it "fascinating, evoking themes of rivers, ants, and sauerkraut eating German tourists in Bombay").  It reminds me of Jean Reno's comment to Tom Hanks in the very so-so DaVinci Code.  Hanks asks Reno if he likes I.M. Pei's monstrous glass triangle that defaces the Louvre.  Reno says, "It's awful."  Even though I kind of disagree with Reno, I sure do hate watching my albiceleste boys from down south all washed out in the sun.  Which brings me to my favorite topic these days...

Argentina.
(Ay Maxi, que GOLAZO contra Mexico.  Gracias, dios, por estas lagrimas!  Gracias, dios, por Maxi Rodriguez!)

This is a team that even the most optimistic pundits (in Argentina) had going to the semi-finals, tops.  More than one pundit didn't even have it coming out of its group.  Former US player John Harkes picked them to win the cup, but since he's American, he clearly doesn't know a damn thing about futbol.  So the fact that my boys are headed to a quarterfinal showdown with the Krauts (or should I call them the Poles?  Last I checked, the names "Miroslav (Klose)" and "(Lukas) Podolski" were more Krakow than Kaiserslautern) is actually an achievement in and of itself.

Argentina can beat the Krauts, although it will be tough because the Krauts are the Krauts and they're playing at home.  The Kraut defense is only so-so, and I don't see how it will stop Messi and Tevez when they come in in the 65th minute to replace Saviola and Crespo.  If the Argentine defense is stout, and if super-stud Roberto Ayala's running mate Gabriel "yellow card" Heinze stays out of trouble, and if coach Jose Pekerman solves his right-back problem (let's hope Burdisso comes back from injury because Scaloni just sucks and Coloccini has really bad hair), and if "Pato" Abondanzierri keeps stopping shots (a shocker because he REALLY sucks), then Schmitt might just have to eat his words along with his bratwurst. 

But if we get scored on early then we're hosed because the Latin player's psyche is infinitely more fragile than the Teuton player's psyche.  That's why Argentina is still just known for barbecues and Kraut-land is known for sports cars, efficiency, and sex tourism.  When push comes to shove, sex tourism trumps barbecues.  My prediction: Kraut-land 3, Argentina 2 in a wide open game, with the refs robbing us of a legitimate goal in the first half because of some dubious off-sides call.  It hurts me to say this, but it's mind over heart on this one.  I'm really quite worried that Pekerman's chicos will crack.

A little note on the other teams: Despite what Schmitt says, Brazil is good.  I hate the Brazilians (you have to when you're Argentine), but man they're even good when they're bad.  Germany is terrific.  England is total and utter garbage, as are Italy (the dirtiest, ugliest team left) and the Ukraine.  Portugal isn't going past the semi-finals because they have too many idiots on that team.  The French I have a real affinity for because I spent a year in Paris after college.  Also, you gotta love a team that's pretty much all African with a hint of Argentine (striker David Trezeguet is Argentine), representing the most bigoted country in Europe.  I just love the irony.  I'd love to see the French beating the Krauts in the final.

Man, anyone but the Krauts.  Anyone.  Even Brazil.

Kisses to you all!
LEVAV

Saddened by Censorship

I am writing to explain the recent severe step of… censorship… taken in response to the latest contributor entry on this blog.

Let’s see… um… what would a public statement look like?

“The SCHMITT blog continues to support global aspirations for the ideals of free speech. However, with free speech comes personal responsibility, and the need for leadership… at times even censorship.”

Wait… wait… I’m sounding like a fascist. How would Corporate America, P.R. handle this?

Recently, I received an email from a major conference organizer located in Wisconsin that had included fuzzy handcuffs and sado-masochistic imagery in their branding conference invitation.

As we look forward to another exciting Brandworks University, registration is at a record level and many recipients of our mail invitation have called or emailed with comments such as “Congratulations on a clever and intriguing direct mail piece!” However, we have been saddened to hear concerns from a handful of people about our use of a dominatrix in the invitation.

I’m writing to personally express my regret if our invitation has given you or any of your colleagues pause. Our intent, of course [sic], was never to offend, but rather to create a “jump out of the clutter” direct mail piece, [and] a humorous metaphor …

I laughed at these fellows as uptight Midwesterners, when I got their email. But now, I share their feelings. I guess I’m just an uptight German!

I, too, have been saddened to hear from readers concerned about the recent post on [CENSORED]. I have been saddened as well, by my own step of censorship. I do welcome a diversity of future postings on topics other than [CENSORED], and hope we will not have to return to the subject of [CENSORED] again.

[CENSORED]... airlines, and elections

No no, not another post on Schmitt and [CENSORED BY SCHMITT]... Live and learn.

But before I get to serious substance, a quick airline update: On my flight to London last week American Airlines departed an hour late because the video system was malfunctioning. I thought to myself, who cares?!?!?! I'm going to miss my connection over this. Sometimes airlines, perhaps overly taken by the "experiential marketing" trend, forget that getting people to their destination on a timely basis is the most important experience in air travel. You have to deliver the basic stuff before you deliver the fluff. I barely made my connection on British Airways as a result. Incidentally, BA is simply outstanding. I ate some excellent chicken tikka masala on the plane, and I know my chicken. Unlike Schmitt, I don't fly business class, so I don't get to eat foie gras. I guess that if I got foie gras that I wouldn't care about being late.

So the Israeli election happened last week.  I posted my toughts about it on the actual election day, but for some odd reason they didn't make it onto the regular blog.  So what you're getting now are my POST election thoughts.  This is a country where voting rates are typically in the 70-80% range, and with two hours to go the rates were about 50%, and the final rates about 60%. There seems to be a complete disaffection with politics and politicians. What's especially troubling is that the party that was expected to win (and ultimately did win), Ehud Olmert's Kadima party, advanced a plan to redeploy and evacuate of most of the territory that Israel controls in the West Bank (just like Ariel Sharon did in Gaza). Even though the plan would reverse a 39 year history, people didn't mobilize to vote.  Still, the most stunning aspect of this election are the seven (of 120) seats won by the Retirees' Party.  Yes!  We have a retirees party here in Israel (talk about going out with a bang before you croak).  Well, we never had it before, but now all of a sudden we do.  Most stunningly, much of the electoral strength of the party is actually derived from disaffected twenty and thirty-somethings.  The deal with the Retirees is that they weren't expected to win any seats, but then, once one of the polls showed them winning two seats, everyone who was looking to enter a protest vote voted for them.  Their popularity spread like wildfire, kind of like a Cialdini experiment on social proof.  Overnight it became cool to vote for the Retirees; talk about buzz marketing.  Meanwhile, none of the people who voted for the Reitrees have ANY idea what the party members stand for expect for getting retirees higher pensions.   The funniest quip of the elections was  in fact by the head of the Retirees' Party, Rafi Eitan: "I can't see [points at his glasses], I can't hear [points at his hearing aid], and next week I'm having an angioplasty."  He wasn't kidding.  I guess that the joke is on us.

On Schmitt and body hair

Dear fellow Schmitt groupies,

Today is my first post as an official Schmitt blogger.  I will be posting my thoughts occasionally, and will be answering questions from fellow Schmitt admirers.  Occasionally I might even convince guru-wannabe Gupta to post a thought or two.  I might have to pull him by his moustache to do it, but that's not a problem because I'm bigger than him so I can always threaten to beat him up (I love Gupta, I really do, but sometimes he needs to have his arm--or 'stache-- twisted).

Next week I'm going to Israel, so I should have plenty of things to report.  First there's my flight over, on American Airlines to London and then British Airways to Tel Aviv.  Like Schmitt, I'll also post my thoughts about how bad airlines have gotten.  Unlike Schmitt, I don't fly business class, so you won't hear me complain about how the b-class pijamas cause chafing.  Back where I sit we don't get pj's, only a bag of pretzels served by a flight attendant with enough cellulite to melt an igloo.  Second, there will be a parliamentary election in Israel on March 28th.  It looks like Ehud Olmert will be our next prime minister.  This is an example of a non-brand benefitting from the fact that other candidates have tainted brands.  Olmert is like teflon; he's the most indicted (yes, as in indicted by Jack McCoy on Law and Order) Israeli politician ever, yet he's never been found guilty.  Somehow his legal troubles haven't stuck to him.  Of course non-brands only get to be non-brands for only so long, but in Olmert's case he'll have to pick an identity well after his impending victory in the elections.  Lucky guy.

My last comment of the day has to do with body hair.  All I have to say in that regard is that Schmitt must have some Chinese in his ancestry (maybe Schmitt's real name is Schming).  The guy is smooth like a porn star.  In contrast, our erstwhile hairy friend Sanjay Sood and our balding new product development expert Olivier Toubia are clearly descendants of King Kong.  They remind me of a guy that I used to play basketball in grad school with, Goodloe White.  Goodloe was so hairy that you could flick the sweat off his chest hair in the course of a game.  He was like a human sprinkler system.

Kisses to you all!
Levav