David Brooks Mounts Terrible, One-Man, Non-Musical Version of Fiddler on the Roof

Suffering?

Sometimes...it's good for us.

Sometimes...not so much.

That's it.  You have now read David Brooks' entire column for April 8, 2014.  I wonder how many piles had to be sacrificed to bring it into existence?

Mind you, like all of his other fortune-cookie-cutter columns, other than a few citations from previous centuries Mr. Brooks carefully steers clear of mentioning any actual cases of real "people" suffering from specific "things" in the here-and-now because frankly that would just invite trouble: these days, every time he sticks his oar into the troubled waters of current events, someone invariably comes along to shove his inane opinions up his ass, usually gift-wrapped in quotes from his own columns written in the recent past in which he grandly staked out exactly the opposite opinion that he avers today.

Instead he is gradually going into a different line of work -- glide dirigibly above all genuine, grubby human activity, dispensing abstract Centrist Hallmark-card aphorisms.

Meanwhile, here is my own cover of "Fiddler" from 2007 (Jeebus, has it really been seven years?) which I can assure you will never, ever appear in the New York Times :-)

Tradition!

Here, in our little village of Left Blogistan,
you might say
every one of us is a blogger on the cuff.

Trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple post
without going broke.

It isn't easy.

You may ask,
why do we keep doing it
if it's so non-remuneratalicious?

Well, we stay because
Blogging is our passion.

And how do we keep our balance?

That I can tell you in one word!

Tradition!

(Click to play, and to sing along. Loud. Because you know you want to :-)

...
Because of our traditions,
we've kept our balance for many, many years.

Here in Left Blogistan,
we have traditions for everything.

How to do a round-up.

Cat blogging.

Frist!

"What Digby Said."

For instance, we always keep the shit they sling in the MSM covered, and always display a little blogroll.

This shows our constant devotion to Kos.

You may ask, how did this tradition get started?

I'll tell you.

I don't know.

But it's a tradition.

And because of our traditions, every one of us knows who he is and what Kos expects him to do.

Who, day and night, must scramble for a living
Feed a wife and children
on six words per post?

And who has the right as master of the A-List
To let the least yield the most?
The papa
The papa
Tradition
The papa
The papa
Tradition...

Who must know the way to run a proper blog
A quiet blog
A kosher blog?

Who must wham down trolls and run the blog
So Papa's free to read the Holy Book?
The mama
The mama
Tradition
The mama
The mama
Tradition...

At three I started commenting
At ten I launched a blog
I hear they picked a niche for me
I hope
it's chatty.

And who does Mama have
To help her RSS?
Preparing her to link-love
Or post up as Guest?

The daughters
The daughters

Tradition...

The papa...

Mama...

Sons...

The daughters!

Tradition!

And in the circle of our little village,
we've always had our special types.

For instance,

Blue Gal, the matchmaker,

NTodd, the beggar.

And, most important of all, our beloved Digby.

Digby, may I ask you a question?

Certainly, little blogger.

Is there a proper blessing... for Dick Cheney?

A blessing for Dick Cheney?
Of course.
May God bless and keep Dick Cheney
The fuck away from us!

Then there are the others in our village.
They make a much bigger circle.

We don't bother (some of) them
and so far, they don't bother (most of) us.

And among ourselves,
we always get along perfectly well.

Of course, there was the time when he de-listed him
And told him it was just business
When it was really just snobbery.
But now it's all over.
And we all live in simple peace and harmony.

(It really was snobbery.)
(No it wasn't. Blogrolls don't drive traffic!)
(It's not about traffic. It’s about respect!!)

It was...

Tradition!

Tradition
Tradition
Tradition
Tradition
Tradition
Dai dai
Dai dai dai
Dai dai dai dum

Traditions, traditions.
Without our traditions,

our lives would be as shaky as

As...

As Rudy at the Apollo!