So Frum and Baby Buckley are craving the "Strange New Respect" award? All right, all right--so what's new? I've seen worse, with Andy Sullivan, or Larry Johnson. Take the long view, Herr Rot. The lotus position works best for meditation.
The long view is that those Eastern Seaboard schmucks are full of shit and have been for 80 years.
Their commentary is, like their lives, a little parlour-game populated by professors, dwarves and hermaphrodites. They indulge in a sterile repartee-fest they paint as philosophical, the whole time while wishing their party was more similar to Hugh Hefner's.
Of course WFB's party life of the mind was less fun, less smart, and more pretentious than life in the Grotto, but the people and thoughts he entertained indicate that it was no more moral or intellectually coherent.
The "I was wrong? So what?" attitude in the piece is astounding. The nihilism of it all is shocking to me.
At least the communists think that when they come to a conclusion it is either the right thing to do or not, logically and ethically. For these parlour-types, it seems just some meaningless debate in which the positions are decided by the flip of a coin and whoever wins, wins and is a good boy-jump on the yacht!
Did I actually read that WFB's son thinks David Brooks is among the best thinkers on the right? It must be a case of diploma-licking, and it must be genetic.
It must be that the model for NR early on was the Parisian literary magazine, printed by the millionaire father-in-law's firm, to keep the heiress's husband feeling fulfilled intellectually, and for a readership of the salon's regulars.
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So Frum and Baby Buckley are craving the "Strange New Respect" award? All right, all right--so what's new? I've seen worse, with Andy Sullivan, or Larry Johnson. Take the long view, Herr Rot. The lotus position works best for meditation.
The long view is that those Eastern Seaboard schmucks are full of shit and have been for 80 years.
Their commentary is, like their lives, a little parlour-game populated by professors, dwarves and hermaphrodites. They indulge in a sterile repartee-fest they paint as philosophical, the whole time while wishing their party was more similar to Hugh Hefner's.
Of course WFB's party life of the mind was less fun, less smart, and more pretentious than life in the Grotto, but the people and thoughts he entertained indicate that it was no more moral or intellectually coherent.
The "I was wrong? So what?" attitude in the piece is astounding. The nihilism of it all is shocking to me.
At least the communists think that when they come to a conclusion it is either the right thing to do or not, logically and ethically. For these parlour-types, it seems just some meaningless debate in which the positions are decided by the flip of a coin and whoever wins, wins and is a good boy-jump on the yacht!
Did I actually read that WFB's son thinks David Brooks is among the best thinkers on the right? It must be a case of diploma-licking, and it must be genetic.
It must be that the model for NR early on was the Parisian literary magazine, printed by the millionaire father-in-law's firm, to keep the heiress's husband feeling fulfilled intellectually, and for a readership of the salon's regulars.
C'mon, Herr Rot--speaking of lack of logical rigor--are you imputing the sins of the sons on the father? That's about as big a fallacy one can make.
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