Persistance being a virtue
I cannot let pass
The many eager laments to markets capital
You pen with such quick ease
Without comment or recognition.
Few DealBook entries on hedge funds or private equity pass without your lightening quick response. I know it is you long before I reach your familiar multi-lettered monogram, complete with the finance credibility building "M.D." suffix. I know so very many financially astute M.D.'s, after all. How could your unique and distinctive tone- a tinge of paranoia, suggesting perhaps recreational reading preferences that, no doubt, include cautious publications exploring the shadowy actors behind the scenes of life, a soft but palpable bitterness the source of which I often wonder after- fail to delivery the delight of a rueful shake of my head and a soft, sad smile?
And what of this Mattheauesque crankiness? Where is its root? Perhaps the prominent "M.D." in your monogram hides a subtle clue? For you are far too quick to the comment draw to be in practice now. A lost patient? Screaming horror as anesthesia inadvertently wears off mid-procedure? Too many fat cats with warm and sticky heart disease? Too much blood, fatty tissue, blackened lungs? Or perhaps the vapid triteness of plastic surgery, a decade of enduring the legions of kept women desperately fighting the doomed battle against time, but spending tens of thousands doing it. Bedside manner never was your thing, maybe. Or did the futility of it all, surgery in pursuit of vanity, caused you to snap?
These are but uneducated guesses, I admit, but I can hear the omnious ticking if
I inadvertantly venture too close. The relentless marching towards an episode of postal proportions. At first, I back away, frightened, but am hauntingly
drawn back to look. That familiar sinister and black curiosity: Did
anyone die in the highway accident? What's under that crimson stained
white sheet in the road? Is there a good horror flick on cable
tonight? Why doesn't the search feature on DealBook include the comments? Scary. But safely distant. But then I wonder: What if you
live in my neighborhood? Last desperate act to leave the gas main open
and take half the block away rather than give the beloved townhouse- years of medical school and 10 years of practice to finally acquire it-
to your soon to be ex-wife? And if the inclusion of the occasional medical related term in context ("No better example of my belief NBC is total poison for GE shares," for example) is perhaps cause for alarm, then full-blown diagnosis without the benefit of a patient exam ("There’s a good chance, unless he was initially diagnosed with biliary
obstruction by an advanced cancer of the head of the pancreas, he
survived for years fighting it.") certainly pegs the threat board straight to red.
Whatever the source of your dark tone, your omnipresence within DealBook is precious. The entry with but one comment is almost universally yours. In the sphere of multiple comments, yours is almost always first. Your message is consistent. The deck stacked against the powerless citizens of the impotent kingdom which you ineffectively rule from behind the glowing LCD display: The ranks of the disaffected and disillusioned lower-upper class. You have just enough to realize how little you have. Defined wonderfully and contemptuously as "...some $400,000-a-year Wall Street stiff... flying first class and being comfortable" by your fictional nemesis, Gordon Gekko.
Your laments are unified by a pervasive and willing helplessness. What purpose would you have if your enemies, the titans of corporate management and capital markets, were not omnipotent and universally dedicated to your personal ruin? No, you must not win. Your audience would shrink away to nothing. Your fame, what of it there is, would fade quietly.
I salute your unwinable fight, Dr. Mark Klein, M.D., but I fear I must wish you no luck.