Today's employers bemoan a dearth of responsibility and talent among young workers. They do it disarmingly, over martinis or while waiting on a flight at the airport. I used to laugh along with them, waiting at the gate and sharing stories about feckless interns and incompetent college graduates: "Ha!" I would chortle, "I know what you mean!"

My stance continued until one gentleman, after heartily insulting the work of the young, pointed toward me and muttered, "No offense." These people weren't just talking about surly teenagers and spoiled Ivy Leaguers; they were talking about me.

They were also talking about my friends. During the last three years as I have built my business, I've also watched not-so-silently as others, more comfortable in the corporate world, have watched their prospects for a career dwindle into those for a mere job, and finally, from a job into mere survival.

Take Corey King, for instance, one of the clearest and most succinct writers I know. I am completely flummoxed at his inability to land a sane job representative of his skills and ambitions.

Chalk it up to the economy, chalk it up to Bush, chalk it up to whomever you like - but as employers and managers, ask yourselves if you're overlooking candidates whose talents may not be apparent from scanning a piece of paper, and may only appear when one's purview is widened.

What follows is Corey's story, told in his own words. Read it and you'll understand why the youth of America are so, as one mature businessman put it, "skeptical".

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I have been going crazy trying to find a job. Everywhere you go, and everyone you talk to - they all say the same thing. Our economy sucks, and for the unlucky people that live in Rhode Island, it sucks even worse. The smallest state has the highest unemployment rate in the nation. That is fucking disgusting.

I was making a joke to a friend earlier that trying to find a job is a job itself. Day after day I scour through newspapers and internet sites like Craig's List trying to find something, anything that will get me out of the house for 8 hours a day and provide some source of income. Who knew it could be so hard to meet those requirements.

The other day my Mom sent me some jobs that she came across. She tries hard, and I appreciate it, but she finds the most random, nonsensical jobs that they couldn't get a homeless person to do if they paid them with drugs and alcohol.

She was all excited about this one job but I was suspicious from the beginning. The title on the listing was something along the lines of "Make $500/wk and Make Your Own Schedule!". As enticing and awesome as it sounds, it screams BULLSHIT. But what can it hurt to call, right?

So I call this place. A really nice guy named Tim answers. I asked him for some information about the company and about the jobs they were offering. "Well, we are called P&G Distributors and we offer home maintenance equipment for residential use. We are looking for people to perform customer relations jobs, managerial positions and a few positions in sales. Base pay starts at $500/wk and can go up from there. Do you want to come and fill out an application?"

Well, it sounded a little better, but I still had my doubts. The place is only 15 minutes from my house so what the hell, I made a 5:00PM appointment with Tim for today.

I walk into this tiny little section of this storefront type building. It couldn't have been more than 400sq. feet. I was greeted by Tim, who looked exactly like I had pictured him. I sat down, filled out an application and attached a copy of my resume to the back of it. I met Tim in his office, handed him my application and he sat me down for a brief interview.

He asked the usual questions.. "What was your last job?", "How soon can you start?", and "How are you with people?". All questions that usually come after you know what job you are applying for. Weird.

Then comes the sentence that was basically like a shot to the heart...

"Let me tell you a little about us then. We are P&G Distributors, and we sell the KIRBY. Have you heard of it before?"

What The FUCK. Vacuum salesperson. That's the job. Are.. you.. fucking.. serious?!?

Of course, I was about to stand up and walk out of the door when I heard that statement. For those of you who don't know, Kirby Vacuums cost in the area of $2,000 and weigh about 25 pounds. They are the most cumbersome, heavy vacuum you will ever touch. Not to mention who the fuck is going to pay 2 grand for a vacuum when half of the country don't even have jobs.

He proceeded to glorify the job - "You only have 15 appointments per week which are already scheduled for you. You make $500/wk regardless of if you sell any vacuums. And if and when you DO sell a vacuum, you can make up to $700 per sale. You get to make your own hours, most guys work 9-5 on M-F and 9-1 on Saturdays."

It sounded better, but I was all set. I was polite and sat through the pitch. By the way, it's pretty sad that they have to give you a sales pitch to accept a job. Tim told me he would call me at 6:30 to let me know if I got the job. Yippee Skippee.

I went home and did some research on Kirby Vacuums and the people that sell them. The first result I see was saying "I worked for Kirby. The are scam artists and take away your weekly pay after about a month and switch you to commissions only."

Even though my decision was pretty much already made that I wasn't going to take this job, that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

6:30 rolls around, and good 'ole Timmy boy calls me to congratulate me on the job. Much to his surprise, after his big congrats I told 'ol Timmy that I did some research on Kirby and it wasn't something I was interested in. He was still his polite self, said thanks for my time, and hung up the phone.

So, ladies and gentlemen, I think I hold the Guinness World of Record for the shortest job EVER. If it were timed on a stopwatch, the official time would be about 2.4 seconds of employment.

Jesus Christ, will someone please just give me a decent job? I don't think that's asking too much.

If you happen to be a twelve year-old girl or a gay boy — or if you will encounter either of these genotypes sometime today — my sincere condolences. David Archuleta failed to capture the American Idol crown last night, leaving these two groups plenty petulant. As for me personally, I'm shocked, dismayed and even a bit disappointed in the text-messaging might of tweens everywhere.

Despite Archuleta's pervasive Utah schoolboy innocence and general cheek-squeezing cuteness, the Other David (Cook) received a surplus of some 18 million votes, as Ryan (smug) Seacrest informed viewers doggedly, as if this were actually important, or something. (Wait: Doesn't AI tally more votes than most Presidential elections? Oh yeah.)

What happened? Conventional wisdom, of course, designated Archuleta the clear victor — kids are more likely to vote, and vote repeatedly, for talent contests — aren't they?

Sure, at least when the votes are not terminal. Think of the American Idol elimination episodes as political primaries: generally speaking (though less so this year), only the hardcore politicos bother to participate. The majority of voting Americans wait until the vote is truly decisive and cast their determinations in the general election, or in this case, after the final elimination episode.

I wouldn't feel too sorry, though, for Archuleta. AI's final vote is largely inconsequential, considering the frequency with which the American public is known for changing its mind (see Ruben vs. Clay, Jennifer Hudson, George Bush); and accounting for the wide net cast in this mega-vote, which includes vast swaths of people that buy very little music in the first place.

In other words, the previous votes are clearer indicators of purchasing preferences, since they are concentrated among a younger base of music-buying individuals.

Archuleta will clear an easy $500K or more opening for the Jonas Brothers or Jesse McCartney and hawking iTunes downloads of treacly, Backstreet Boys-like ballads to counterpoint with the aforementioned artists' teeny dance-pop ditties. He has the sonic sincerity, he has the looks and he barely says a word — he's the perfect fantasy boyfriend. (And bonus for dads: David Archuleta does not look like a kid that would ever violate your daughter, or even know how, for that matter. Nice and swarmy and safe - perfect parental fodder.)

David Cook, on the other hand, comes off like a weaker imprint of Chris Daughtry — just as Ruben came off as a weaker imprint of Luther Vandross.

Despite the massive television exposure, AI contestants are successful in selling units only when they fill a hole in the established music market: Kelly Clarkson, Clay Aiken and even Carrie Underwood were not simply diluted imitations of other, more established artists. They were packaged and exhibited as unique acts in their own right.

This perception, so broadly consumed by the young, coltish, AE-shopping, retainer-wearing music buying public, will always trump the votes of the summer-homing, suit-wearing, tax-paying but non-music-buying class. After all, when 48 year-old men buy concert tickets, it's normally to take their kids to see a show, not their wives. Which means Archuleta will win the vote that truly counts — not the one made with text messages and autodialers, but the far more stealthy suffrage of Visa, MasterCard and American Express.

I just returned from another superior dinner at Sunny Garden on Farber Road - or as I call it, Nobu Princeton. The food is prepared just as carefully, and presented with equal panache; but the experience comes without the pretense, pestilence and sheer patience required at Nobu's better-known namesake, whether in Malibu or New York.

Therefore, I am providing them the highest praise possible of an ad guy: free space.

You must go, if for nothing else but the wonton soup (delicate and authentic) and the ceviche of sorts the sushi chefs present prior to your main dish. The flavors blend so well, a diner further down the bar asked if he could order a meal-sized portion of the little app.

Visit sunnygarden.net for more info, hours and directions. Of course I have to suggest you dine at one of my clients' restaurants 90% of the week, lunch included - but save that last 10 for Sunny G.

Above: Shrimp Grand Marnier at Nobu Princeton...err, I mean, Sunny Garden.

This is a follow-up report. See the original story here.

Big Daddy Bancroft should have been cryogenically frozen so he could come back to life and engage in a cane battle with Rupert Murdoch. Ad Age reported this morning that a deciding majority of the living Bancrofts (38%) voted to approve Murdoch's $5 billion bid to acquire the company they founded, Dow Jones.

Jones is parent of the Wall Street Journal, Barron's and other financial news properties that WSJ's editorial team widely believes will suffer as a result of the News Corp. Chairman's control.

Stay tuned for further updates, but I suggest you open a subscription to the Financial Times now to beat the rush.

According to this morning's Ad Age Daily, Dow Jones & Co. (parent of the Wall Street Journal, Barron's and other financial properties, has tentatively agreed to a $5 billion acquisition by Rupert Murdoch's News Corp., which has brought us such respected media properties as Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire, World's Scariest Police Chases and Cops.

Yes, folks, this week the jokes in M&A are writing themselves. First the unholy marriage of Applebee's and IHOP, and now the Maestro of MySpace managing one of the world's most respected newspapers.

To be fair, Murdoch already owns a fair number of print publications, among them the venerable New York Post, whose infamous Page Six causes me to question whether I really have to place the newspaper's title in italics after all. TV Guide is his, too, along with the Sun in London. Does anyone notice a pattern here? Murdoch's media empire is profitable (with the exception of ailing TV Guide), but it's also pedestrian.

If the Bancrofts, Dow Jones' controlling family, approve this transaction at their Thursday meeting, what's going to happen to the WSJ? Perhaps, in a show of synergy, they'll start running TV listings, along with a business gossip column. Maybe Tom from MySpace can write a column, too - anything to cut costs, you know.

I'm curious to see where this goes and will keep you, dear readers, updated accordingly. In the meantime, brace yourselves for a newer, edgier Journal. How about a Hannity & Colmes point-counterpoint right on the cover? Of course, Hannity would get twenty column inches to Colmes' two, but hey, if you wanted fair and balanced financial news, you would have read The Economist.