Bobo’s latest column sounds like a plea for help, so of course I won’t give him any. He gets paid for this:
Within a few years, though, his mood has shifted from smarm to snark. There is no writer so obscure as a 26-year-old writer. So he is suddenly consumed by ambition anxiety — the desperate need to prove that he is superior in sensibility to people who are superior to him in status. Soon he will be writing blog posts marked by coruscating contempt for extremely anodyne people: “Kelly Clarkson: Satan or Merely His Spawn?”
My guess is that the divorce negotiations are not going well. David Brooks is not really my beat and I bow humbly to my betters…
UPDATE 1: As with all things Brooksian there is only one expert: Driftglass who has made throughout his blogging career a study of the major asshole, er, David Brooks. He should be getting his doctorate any day.
UPDATE 2: Mr. Charles Pierce at Esquire, long rumored to be cribbing Driftglass’ Brooks gig, takes a mighty swing at the bloviating piñata, and delivers several blows that should make the kiddies squeal with delight as they are showered with candy.