I Hate You, David Brooks

I swore I'd never read one of his columns again. I swore I'd never tee off on him in public again. But read Brooks's take on exurbia:

"On the other hand, they are taking a daring leap into the unknown, moving to towns that have barely been built, working often in high-tech office parks doing pioneering work in biotech and nanotechnology."

Daring? DARING?!? Unknown? UNKNOWN?!? I hate you, David Brooks.

"These exurbs are conservative but also utopian - Mayberrys with BlackBerrys."

"Mayberrys with Blackberrys"; oh, so the peasants have moved past the printing press, have they, Brooks?

YOU'RE SO EFFIN' CLEVER. I hate you, DingleBerry.

"The Republicans won in part because Bush and Rove understand this culture. Everybody is giving advice to Democrats these days, and mine is don't take any advice from anybody with access to the media - including me, just to be safe. Get out into the sprawl, into that other conversation. Take your time. It's a new world out there."

I HATE YOU, DAVID BROOKS.

"...don't take any advice from anybody with access to the media - including me, just to be safe." Wha?!? You, David Brooks (whom I hate), are the ultimate irony: a self-loathing conservative.

"Get out into the sprawl." Get out into the sprawl? You think we were born on the Upper West Side? Why do you think we're so pissed off? We've effin' been there!! I grew up in it! Guess what? These effers ran off to the exurbs with their tails between their legs because they wanted to keep all worldly complications at bay. That's it. Find one person with a defensible reason for moving out into Pave-the-Earth land. One! You won't. These effs would go to the moon if it meant they'd be guaranteed to be surrounded with people EXACTLY LIKE THEM.

Last year, I went to see the brother of a good friend of mine who lives in a brand new McMansion in the exurbs. After I negotiated my way through the roundabout at the entrance to the neighborhood--that's right, there's an effin' roundabout at the top of the neighborhood...god forbid these Blackberry-wielding mouthbreathers have to wait an extra millisecond on their way to the five minute (soon to be fifty minute, thank god) commute to their suburban branch of T. Rowe Price--he showed me everything I'd been missing for the last year:

"Hey man, I gotta show you some stuff. Here's my new Mercedes. Isn't it sweet? It's a Kompressor. Come on into the kitchen. Isn't this a great bar? It's granite. Hey, you want to catch a buzz? Cool, man. Come on downsta--oh, hey honey."

"Isn't this flower arrangement great? I had it custom designed. I'm going to put it on the piano in the piano room." ("Piano room?" RUFNKM?)

"Yeah, so I've got this great home entertainment system in the basement. Here sit down, I've got the new Sting Live DVD."

[30 minutes of visions of ropes, razors, ovens, cars in closed garages]

"Cool, let's go upstairs. Isn't this bed great? And the intercom system plays in here--I can even play [my lame ass] CDs on it.

"Oh, and here's my new son."

That's the exurbs, David Brooks. I dare even you to spend 15 minutes there.