Swisher said that she still introduces
Judge and Berg to Silicon Valley insiders such as Dick Costolo, who
might prove useful to the show, “and who won’t be too full of themselves
to take a joke.” One such person was Mark Pincus, who founded the
gaming company Zynga. “When they said they wanted to meet at our office,
I briefly went, ‘Are they just trying to collect the ammunition they
need to make us into caricatures?’ And I cringed a bit when they saw
our—we have this programmable tunnel thing that you walk through. It’s
sort of hard to explain. Later, I did see something similar to the
tunnel on their show. But, look, a lot of what happens out here is
ridiculous. That’s fair game.” The relationship is symbiotic: the
consultants get a small jolt of non-local fame—both Costolo and Pincus
have cameos in an upcoming episode—and a chance to seem
self-deprecating; the show’s creators can gather material, even when
they don’t have their notebooks out. “Mike seems quiet and unassuming,
but his brain is always clicking away, recording everything,” Swisher
told me. “Which is a skill I covet, as a reporter.” Why, I asked, would
it be in the interest of anyone in the tech industry to talk to Judge?
Swisher responded with a rhetorical question: “Why do any of them talk
to me?”

Every
summer, when the previous season has just ended and the next season is
about to be written, “Silicon Valley”’s writers and producers take a
research trip to Northern California. They spend a few nights in a San
Francisco hotel and fill their days with meetings: a morning tour of
GitHub’s office, where the foyer is a full-size replica of the Oval
Office; lunch with Barry Schuler, a former C.E.O. of AOL; an afternoon
on Sand Hill Road, in Menlo Park, visiting the world’s most valuable
venture-capital funds; dinner with Reid Hoffman and Mark Pincus at LB
Steak. “We’ve had a few meals where it was me, Alec, and three or four
billionaires,” Judge told me. “We sit back and observe the dynamic. One
of them might be the alpha billionaire. Or one of them will go to the
bathroom, and the others will lean in and start talking shit about him
while he’s gone.” In an episode from the first season, two tech
titans—former colleagues, now rivals—encounter each other at an LB
Steak-like restaurant. A specific kind of awkwardness ensues: these are
men who make million-dollar decisions without hesitation, but who
struggle mightily with pleasantries. It’s the kind of interaction that
is difficult to get right unless you’ve seen a version of it in real
life.
“They’ve asked me questions
about Richard’s fictional company, like whether it would actually be
fundable,” Marc Andreessen, a Web pioneer and a prominent venture
capitalist, told me. “The technology, as described on the show, would
certainly have a major impact if it existed. Could you turn it into a
viable business? Unknown. But, in fairness, you could say that about
half of the companies we fund.”
Between the show’s first and second seasons, the wri
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