Okay, hopefully the cold weather is gone for good. Memorial Weekend is nigh. I’d like to finish off the garden this week, so I can attend to some serious front porch reading. . . . On the docket: Chicks. Simone Weil, a Dorothy Day biography, maybe some Edith Stein. * * * * * * * I might have to start reading The Spectator more often. Not only did they publish my favorite reprobate, Taki, for years, but their biting commentary is awfully clever. Check out this piece: “Why Alain de Botton is a moron.” Excerpt:
When did the playful essayist become so cloyingly dumb? And please, before I say another word, do let’s stop calling him a philosopher. He’s a businessman and a writer whose pop-psych, mind-body-spirit essays make Paulo Coelho look like Dostoevsky. He’s also a writer who thinks Plato was the original self-help guru, for it was the Greek philosopher’s big idea, according to a bizarre Alain tweet – which he subsequently deleted because it was too dumb even for his own timeline – that the wise should be rewarded with fame and elevated status because even the clever need to feel wanted.
The author of the piece doesn’t address de Botton’s theology, but I will: de Botton is an atheist who refuses to accept the limitations of atheism, hence his idiocy. I can respect atheists, but I can’t respect the ones who refuse to, at some point, admit the paradoxes of existence and offer up at least a little skeptical humility * * * * * * * Speaking of Taki, check out this piece from last month, “Don’t Bait the Bears.” It’s filled with Taki ancedotes and great quips. First, the anecdote:
Back in 1961 a CIA agent and I approached Thomas Lejus, who won the 1959 boys’ singles championship for the Soviet Union at Wimbledon. We took him to Café Royal, where Oscar Wilde and Whistler and other such swells used to hang their top hats. The agent spoke first. “Thomas, if you decide to stay in the West, we will give you a Ford car with an automatic reclining roof and a large electric fridge, and make sure your life is comfortable in America.” Thomas was a university graduate and he sort of scratched his head. “You mean you want me to leave the land of Pushkin for a car with an automatic roof and a fridge?”
“Who the hell is Pushkin?” spluttered the agent. “Is he involved?” That’s when I interfered. Let me try it my way, was all I said. The lunch was effectively over.
Second, the great quip: “[T]he Ukraine choosing the EU over Russia was like a man kicking out Ava Gardner from his bed and inviting Hillary Clinton under the sheets.”Bookmark it: del.icio.us | Reddit | Slashdot | Digg | Facebook | Technorati | Google | StumbleUpon | Window Live | Tailrank | Furl | Netscape | Yahoo | BlinkList
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