Category Archives: Writing

My Day as David Brooks

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By Bill Shein
September 29, 2009

Do you ever wake up and ask, “What is New York Times op-ed columnist David Brooks doing right now? I’ve always wondered what he does all day.”

Short of hiring a private investigator, we can only imagine what it would be like to be David Brooks for a day. Though it would probably go something … like … this:

7:00 a.m. – Wake up from beautiful, recurring dream in which President Obama runs every decision past his smartest advisor, David Brooks.

7:20 a.m. – Put kids on bus: Irving (Kristol), Will (Buckley), and Ron (Reagan).

7:30 a.m. – Enjoy hazelnut-flavored skim double-cappuccino (with extra foam).

7:31 a.m. – Turn on computer. Navigate to nytimes.com. Visit my columnist page. Admire dapper photo showing trendsetting combination of pink Oxford dress shirt and mostly pink necktie.

7:40 a.m. – Shower, shave, flex muscles in bathroom mirror until wife’s giggling becomes unbearable.

7:55 a.m. – Open closet to reveal 400 pink Oxford dress shirts. Pull one out, eyeball it, and put it back. Choose another. Get dressed.

8:05 a.m. – While enjoying egg-white omelet and second hazelnut cappuccino, read four books.

9:00 a.m. – Arrive at New York Times office. Take elevator to Op-Ed department. Note that liberal slackers Dowd, Herbert, Krugman, Collins and Kristof haven’t arrived yet. Scoff in their general direction.

9:05 a.m. – Read the Wall Street Journal, remembering the good old days when I worked at “the daily diary of the American Dream.”

9:20 a.m. – Make notes for possible column, titled, “I Am So Much Smarter Than You, Reader.”

9:30 a.m. – Think about how much I love Barack Obama.

9:31 a.m. – Think about how much I hate Barack Obama.

9:32 a.m. – Unable to reconcile simultaneous love and hatred of Barack Obama, curl up under desk in fetal position.

9:35 a.m. – Think about how much I love pink Oxford dress shirts. Climb out from under desk, happy again.

9:45 a.m. – Read 11 more books.

10:10 a.m. – Drop by Krugman’s office. Look over his shoulder while he writes another column about climate change. Make “hmmm” sounds. Eventually, chuckle and say, “Well, if you say so. Why don’t you just write your column in Swedish, Dr. Nobel Prize Genius!”

10:20 a.m. – Review latest issue of popular magazines Grit and NASCAR Illustrated. Marvel at how in touch I am with regular Americans.

10:45 a.m. – Get pedicure.

11:05 a.m. – Read 22 more books.

12:15 p.m. – Look at calendar. Appreciate that yet another day has passed since I wrote those Weekly Standard columns breathlessly supporting the Iraq invasion while deriding the “peace camp.”

12:20 p.m. – Embrace my Canadian birth, and just-a-regular-guy-ness, by wearing a Toronto Maple Leafs jersey while reading (and mocking) the New York Review of Books.

1:05 p.m. – Drop by Kristof’s office. Look over his shoulder while he writes another column about health care. Make “hmmm” sounds. Eventually, chuckle and say, “Well, if you say so, Mr. Fancy Pants Pulitzer Prize for Commentary winner!”

1:20 p.m. – Re-read all 37 books read earlier today.

3:30 p.m. – E-mail webmaster@mensa.com noting several grammatical errors on Mensa’s home page.

4:10 p.m. – Tell op-ed editor that I’ll file my column after “taking a walk to clear my head.” Get into elevator.

4:20 p.m. – Meet Bill Kristol, editor of the neoconservative Weekly Standard, in parking garage sub-basement. Accept copy of next “David Brooks” column on foreign policy, this one breathlessly urging an escalation of the war in Afghanistan. Return to office.

4:25 p.m. – Edit column slightly. Add suggestion that U.S. soldiers wear bulletproof pink Oxford dress shirts to remind them of the super-genius neoconservative hawks who masterminded the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

4:26 p.m. – Remove suggestion that soldiers wear bulletproof pink dress shirts. File column.

4:55 p.m. – Send e-mail to Times Editor Bill Keller: “Please remind everyone that food in the staff fridge marked ‘David Brooks’ belongs exclusively to David Brooks. Thanks.”

4:57 p.m. – Read 74 more books.

4:59 p.m. – Just before heading home, respond to unusual inquiry from Berkshire Eagle fact-checker, asking how many pink Oxford dress shirts I own.

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Bill Shein once owned a pink Oxford dress shirt. In 1983.

 

The Abridged ‘Harry Potter’

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by Bill Shein
July 26, 2007

With the release last week of “Harry Potter and His Giant Money-Printing Machine,” let’s recap the fantastical story that has enchanted readers (and author J.K. Rowling’s private banker) for a decade. And don’t worry: there aren’t any spoilers here.

Our tale begins in 1998, when “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” lands in American bookstores. In the first volume, we learn that Harry is not only part human and part wizard, but also that he is the great-grandson of Mr. Potter, the nasty business tycoon from “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Who knew?

Kind-hearted and innocent, Harry refuses to join the Potter family business, which now includes Asian sweatshops and military contracting. Instead, he gains entry to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a respected vocational school. He dives into introductory courses like “Fake Lightning-Bolt Scars 101,” “Get Rich Marketing Halloween Costumes of Yourself,” and “How to Sell Your Life Story to Hollywood for Unthinkable Riches.”

The book makes many terrifying references to “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” an evil wizard who hopes to rule the world – but who is, in the late 1990s, hiding underground, possibly working at the neoconservative Project for the New American Century while plotting his return.

Meanwhile, once the book hits the bestseller list, something curious happens. Even though “Harry Potter” was written for pre-teens, many adults think it’s cool to be seen reading “Harry Potter” in coffee shops and on park benches – rather than, say, paying closer attention to the approaching presidential election.

Unfortunately, the “Potter” craze also means that most adults never read my important 1999 book, “Why Choosing a President Based on ‘Who We’d Like to Have a Beer With’ Will Soon Destroy America.”

The second and third “Harry Potter” books provide more of the same: magic spells and Hogwarts intrigue and lots of secret meetings at “The Leaky Cauldron,” a fictional pub located on North Street in Pittsfield. More evidence that Pittsfield is, finally, BACK!

In other developments, Harry discovers that he has just one living relative: Col. Sherman T. Potter, commanding officer of the 4077th “M*A*S*H” unit. Without giving anything away, let me just say that the chapter in which Harry, Hawkeye Pierce, and B.J. Honeycutt steal a jeep and drive into Seoul is pure genius.

By the fourth book, Rowling has clearly decided that editing is for losers. So “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire” clocks in at a whopping 734 pages, big enough to require a warning label: “DANGER: LIFTING THIS BOOK MAY SNAP YOUR SPINE.” It becomes popular at health clubs as a smart, ironic replacement for traditional dumbbells.

In the fifth book, “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,” Harry tires of the cold, damp weather of London and travels to the United States. He takes a job in a Sun Belt retirement community outside Phoenix, using magic spells to cure arthritic knees and cataracts. His legend grows.

In the sixth book, “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince”, the evil “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named” (aka “Lord Voldemort”) has successfully placed his agents throughout government and begins an all-out assault on the values we hold dear: The rule of law, meaningful democracy, and free pancakes for everyone on Saturdays.

Now, after 10 years, the series comes to an end with last week’s release of “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.” And as we’ve heard for months, the climactic battle between Harry and Voldemort is not to be missed – at least according to the book’s publicists.

What else happens in the final volume? Well, without giving anything away, let me just say that it’s disappointing to see so much shameless product placement (Hogwarts is now the “Verizon School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” and Harry’s Nike high-tops are mentioned ad nauseum.)

And the ending? You know, when Lord Voldemort peels off his face to reveal that he is actually Darth Vader, who then removes his helmet to reveal that he is actually Katie Couric? Oops! Spoiler alert!

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Bill Shein’s first young-adult novel, “Turn Off the TV, Clean Your Room, and Eat Your Vegetables!” never really found an audience.

So Long for Now, Berkshires

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by Bill Shein
May 28, 2006

The first column I wrote for The Berkshire Eagle was a bittersweet remembrance of former Illinois Sen. Paul Simon, who died in December 2003.

Paul was one of those rare public servants respected across the political spectrum for his common sense, insight, prescience and passionate commitment to government that makes a real difference in people’s lives.

The path of my life, and my view of the world, was permanently altered by Paul’s entry into the 1988 presidential race in May 1987. A few months later, I dropped out — er, took a “personal leave of absence” — from Tufts University to join his campaign in New Hampshire.

For half a year, I traveled around New England recruiting students for door-to-door canvassing in the Granite State, brimming over with the idealistic spirit that a presidential campaign imbues in its young, perhaps naive, staff members.

In 1988, Paul was the definition of dark-horse candidate: a largely unknown, goofy-looking man who wore a bow tie, spoke in a deep, sonorous voice, and had the audacity to propose both a constitutional amendment requiring a balanced budget and a massive jobs program to give unemployed Americans productive work, and, therefore, a self-esteem-boosting way to contribute to their communities.

As you know, there was never a President Paul Simon. But what he left in his wake, aside from a long list of legislative achievements, are former staffers and American citizens who believe that our political and economic systems can work far better. That whatever today’s challenge, it doesn’t have to be this way. With determination and effort, things can change, and nearly anything is possible.

That’s why this week I’ll leave our beloved Berkshires for Takoma Park, Md., on the edge of Washington, D.C., to work on a project that aims to change the way we elect the president of the United States.

As with 70 percent of Americans, I believe that a national popular vote — where every vote in every state is equal and meaningful — is far better than the current system that makes many of us merely spectators to the quadrennial contest to fill the planet’s most powerful office.

If you’re a Republican in Massachusetts or a Democrat in Texas or a Libertarian in New York or a Green in Wyoming, your vote should matter. No one should have to drive to so-called “battleground states” such as Ohio or Florida to make his or her voice heard.

When choosing the one person who represents all of us, the battleground should be every square inch of the United States of America, the players every single eligible voter who lives here.

In the coming months, I’ll have more to say about the many benefits of direct election and how it would invigorate our democracy at a time when our democracy desperately needs invigorating. But for now, ponder this: That it’s not just who we elect, but how we elect them that establishes the priorities of government and the direction of the nation.

Even though I’ll return to the Berkshires someday, it’s tough to leave my crooked little house on a hill. I’ll miss gazing out my window to see furry woodland creatures strolling about, foraging for food, playing croquet, and smoking their cute little corncob pipes while they sip absinthe from hollowed-out acorns.

I’ll also miss the camaraderie of the regulars at Coffee Shop in Great Barrington, where so much writing was done, so many hyperlinks to hilarious online video clips were shared, and the entertainment value of instant-messaging someone sitting just 3 feet away was firmly established.

Most of all, though, I’ll miss the kind, quirky people I’ve had the wonderful opportunity to get to know up here — and that includes the kind, quirky people who regularly stroll outside my window dressed as furry woodland creatures, often requiring me to call the cops.

And with that, I’m off, fully aware of the challenge ahead. Indeed, after the contested 2000 election, which saw a candidate with the most votes sent home to his Tennessee farm (and fancy Nashville McMansion), even my old boss Paul Simon said, “I think if somebody gets the majority vote, they should be president. But I don’t think the system is going to be changed.”

Thanks to what I first discovered during that long-ago presidential campaign, I respectfully disagree with his prediction. Because with determination and effort, Paul, anything’s possible.