“I remember distinctly an image of–we were sitting on his couches, and I was looking at his pant leg and his perfectly creased pant and I’m thinking, a) he’s going to be president and b) he’ll be a very good president.”

Brooks is one of those people whose pretense at self-esteem is based on him fancying himself as being part of and champion of that special “educated class” elite that does NOT drink the sort of coffee served in truck stops and gas stations.

Observe his obvious contempt for those he calls the “grinds.” It is really no different than a typical elitist’s disdain for people such as plumbers and janitors. They grudgingly and abstractly recognize that plumbers and janitors ARE necessary because SOMEONE has to make the volumes of crap and garbage they leave behind magically go away. But they would much prefer not that such unfortunately necessary people stay as out of sight as possible. The only “little people” that they want anything to do with are pathetic, helpless wretches that will enable them to savor a feeling of noblesse oblige.

The “grinds” in his view are little more than unfortunate necessities that help keep this word going – in the same way that factory workers, truck drivers, plumbers and janitors are necessary if the economy and civilization are to continue. but now the “grinds” are bitching and are refusing to do what they are supposed to in order to fulfill their purpose in this world: get back to work in order to produce Brooks and his buddies a good standard of living so that they can get back to their important job of ruling the world and telling everybody else what they need to do.

In Brook’s worldview, the “grinds” are little more than truck stop and gas station coffee drinking types whose money and talent, unfortunately, enables them to buy their way into events, conferences, hotels, restaurants, cocktail parties etc and rub shoulders with their social betters – and threaten to subject people such as Brooks with their boorishness if he is so unfortunate as to end up sitting next to one of them.

Hey David – I’ll bet you spend half your day in your New York Times office googling for mentions of your name and that there is a decent chance you might actually see these comments: If so – well, David, YOU are the one who is vacuous and has little of interest to say. Beneath your pretentious, superficial gloss there is….nothing. Nothing but a bunch of pretentious notions of grandeur to convince yourself that you are important and special and better than the “grinds” of the world. Your writing career is little more than a pathetically public attempt to rationalize your pretense at self-esteem and your alleged superiority.

YOU are the bore – and the boor. YOU are the one who thinks about, writes about and has nothing more to talk about than superficial fluff such as creases on people’s pant legs, the names they are able to drop, the faraway places they have visited, the books praised by your New York Times colleagues that they pretend to have read etc.

Ever pause to consider that the reason you find that the “grinds” you so clearly disdain are “socially inert” is because they have nothing to say to YOU because, unlike you, they are NOT superficial? What VALUE would any of them have get from talking to someone like you who is going to look down their nose at them no matter what anyway?

Perhaps they realize that in any attempt to have a serious conversation with you, you would just go back to superficial nonsense that has little purpose other than to make YOU feel good?

Perhaps they realize that, behind all the smoke, mirrors, posturing and pretentiousness, you are an intellectual LIGHTWEIGHT and that any SERIOUS conversation about anything that they consider to be IMPORTANT would probably go right over the top of your head?

You see, David, it is not the “grinds” who are pathetic and the social inferiors in this world – YOU are. They have self-esteem and self-confidence. You only pretend to have it. THEY are the ones who make the world go around – you and your buddies are nothing more than parasitical poseurs who loudly try to take the credit and, in fact, erect nothing but obstacles and burdens upon those people you despise but who, nevertheless, make your very existence possible.

Gee, David. Probably not a good idea to google your name – you might learn the truth about yourself and have to go through more effort than usual to evade it. So right about now, you just might want to run down the hall and have a nice chit chat over a soy milk latte with one of your Walter Duranty colleagues at the dying, financially troubled newspaper that you work for which is becoming increasingly irrelevant.

You can have a nice conversation about Michelle Obama’s organic garden – and speculate about what sort of books she might be taking with her on her “working vacation” and what sort of dress she will wear at the State Dinner that her husband is really, really wanting to host in order to honor Hugo Chavez. We, of course, already know, thanks to you, that her husband’s pants will be meticulously pressed and creased just right. And, in the end, that’s what REALLY matters in this world, isn’t it?