Being the continuation of InstaPunk and InstaPunk Rules
The impenetrable NYC Bubble
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Funny as hell and deadly serious
Let me begin on a note we can all agree on. There is a time in our teen lives when we imprint on popular music. What we were listening to during the dramatic changes in our bodies, social lives, and aspirational identities stays with us, regardless of what we come to value and treasure later in life. Everyone has those certain songs that are foundational chords in their lives, and they respond physically to even a few notes of the recordings that gave rise to their libidos and, well, self. Two not unrelated things. This is a constant and nothing new. There are Sinatra imprints, Elvis, Beach Boys, Dylan, Motown, Beatles, Stones, Who, Doors, Bowie, Joni Mitchell, Judy Collins, Pink Floyd, James Taylor, Michael Jackson, Phil Collins, James Brown, Rick James, Springsteen, Metallica, and on and on and on imprints. (Apologies to the imprinters in Country, Disco, Jazz, and Blondie/Madonna Pop, have my own chords there too.) I never judge those. We just all have them. We all have more than one. They’re just the nest of emotions that surrounds the most vulnerable early years of our lives. And, obviously not all the imprints are superstars. Everyone also has hits heard too often heard on car radio, bad songs that were too catchy to forget, and what the hell, I liked it at the time and will never forget it.
And, just as obviously, this imprinting phenomenon is not limited to music. It takes in a lot of factors. Especially in closed communities. The movies make this a melodrama for us. The extent to which the years of high school in particular shape our future lives, the continuing hurts and resentments we live down by besting the popular cliques of jocks and cheerleaders who wind up as gas station attendants and fat fussy disappointed bitches we want to show up at the reunion.
I missed all that. This post shows you where I was instead. And the difference is important. It explains why New York thinks it can look down on the whole rest of the nation. Why there is a bubble bringing down the nation without even thinking about it. They are not exempt from the rule cites above about primary identity shapers. What they are exempt from is the comedowns associated by real life as experienced in high school reunions. Their losers are not gas station attendants and fat peevish ex-cheerleaders. They are just dead in place in still perfect clothes and poses. And they are not thinking about it at all.
We have one important clue. A book published back in 1980 called The Preppy Handbook. NYT bestseller. Hilarious. Passed around. You’d think it would still be alive on Kindle at least. No. That would be déclassé. Only available as original copies, ranging from $150 to $500+. Why I have to show you pictures of pages, which will do. They show you a community apart, one I happen to be very familiar with. And why I’m the only one who can explain to you why the NY-centric lawfare against Trump can continue despite the exorbitant costs it will exact on what was once the greatest city in the world.
Here’s the bubble that contains the fiftyish New York elites who live with each other, can afford to buy the essentials and luxuries, and just look down on Trump because he’s about the only punchline they have left in otherwise blank carbon-copy lives of one another. Everything he’s ever done is just not done. He went to an effing military academy before going to the most grinding industrial unit of, uh, Penn…
What you really really can’t have is your own Boeing 757 and a gold plated toilet.
Just so you don’t get the idea They’re uneducated or not well read.
A really big thing is knowing how to look like you’re not trying,
even if you really aren’t. Sweaters are IMPORTANT.
Overall, you gotta look good. In these particular ways…
How else are you going to marry her and live on the Upper East Side.
Not like they weren’t always preparing themselves for leadership…
Born to run absolutely everything with taste and Topsiders.
Yeah. A 40 year old imprint. They’re in their 50s now. Has anything changed?
How do I expect you to look at all this? I was there. The book names names. Lots of them. Not mine. Which helps me define not resent. There is a community of the top 30 or so schools that survives everything. It’s not even Exeter and Andover, the media version of prep school Harvard and Yale. They are, well, not exactly our kind. We’re talking society here. I keenly remember, with outstanding incredulity, a graduate of Moses Brown School(?) in Providence RI calling NJ’s literarily famous Lawrenceville School a “3rd rate prep school” at a time when Lawrenceville had more Harvard admissions than any single Grottlesex School in New England.
The sin? Absence of a magnetic epicenter in the urban northeast, which excludes Philadelphia and therefore U. Penn as well, because, well, you, know, who’s just better? The definition of the Bubble, which is what Fitzgerald was really talking about way back when in Gatsby:
“They were careless people, Tom and Daisy – they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made.”
What kept them together? Sweaters and shoes and drunk nights on Nantucket and conventions they still believe amount to taste, like no PDOA, but otherwise doing what they want without being indiscreet enough for others to see. And continuously looking down or at least past everyone else whose lives might have a different kind of center.
Am I making a mountain out of a molehill? No. The people described in The Preppy Handbook went to affordable schools in their time. In those days Exeter had a tuition of $1,800. My school had a tuition of $2,700. Today it costs $66,000 to attend my prep school. The middle class is gone from these student bodies. Now we are back to the 1930s, when only the richest and most pampered get to pick which sweaters are de rigeur and which shoes are appropriate for this weekend’s soirées.
I can assure you they don’t care. I can assure they don’t think about why they despise Trump. I can assure you they don’t care about the slaughter on the streets and in the neighborhoods and even the boulevards of New York City. They’ll be in the Hamptons when the bad shit happens. Like as not in unisex salmon-colored cableknit cashmere sweaters atop white Egyptian cotton turtlenecks and whale pants.
The purpose of this post is to remind you that they are also rooted in their own youthful imprints. As a group they have accomplished no great things. They are the lucky parasites they mostly were from the start. They hate Trump for the very small reasons that always obsess untalented snobs. He doesn’t do the right things right. He has unseemly successes. He doesn’t pretend he wasn’t trying. He’s, well, gauche.
Which is worth sending the entire country to hell. No worse than firing the au-pair for putting the wrong forks on the table for the dinner party last week. Some people have some nerve. Not that we’re noticing.
Thing is. It’s a bubble. An important one. Why you can’t buy this book on Kindle. It’s a grimoire, a kind of magic manual, even scripture. I can tell you about it because I was there, survived and prospered in it, documented it, and went on to new kinds of magic rooted to home and land and Detroit horsepower, bootchains, and real world contests not unlike what Trump has spent his life engaged in.
I disengaged myself. As the rest of us should do. This is not a respectable code of life. It’s a phony, made more corrupt every day because actual merit has left the process. When I went to my school it cost $2,700 a year; now it costs $66,000. Same with all the other preppy schools. All that’s left is the children of the pampered class, the only ones left who can afford this level of affectation, however it’s accoutered itself in fashion terms now. What do they do? Not much. Why do they hate Trump? They don’t know. They just do. Trust me. I’ve talked to them. They’re just better. And they will never learn. They concentrate in New York and all the plush environs of their class, where they feel permanently safe. Our job is to make them feel less safe. New York? Drop dead.
How should we envision the current crop, failed parents and stoned progeny? Try this glimpse of the Harvard Legacy Class of 2024:
But the Grotties and Choaties are still producing Muffy’s and Buffy’s to
marry the Chips and Trips and Skips who will win at Nantucket softball.
Exhibit 1. The Myth of Scientific Omniscience Where to start. There are so many places to start, all with consistently alarming intimations of one deep problem. The inference is seditious of rationality as we have deified it in science. I’m going to show you some of the more accessibly evocative starting points, not to drag you into the weeds of higher mathematics, but to stress some elements of simplicity that overthrow the fallacy called Artificial Intelligence. Bear with me. Just look for now. I’ll make connections as we proceed after viewing the items below. Exhibit 2. Turing Test Fallacy Exhibit 3. The Proof of Digital Inferiority (It works. Click where indicated on screen.) Exhibit 4. The Implementation Overreach Exhibit 5. The Implicatuons of “Sensitive Dependence” Exhibit 6. The Measurement Problem Exhibit 7. The Illusion of Control Exhibit 8. The Hammer/Nail Delusion Exhibit 9. The Impossibility of Artificial Intelligence Exhibit 10. The Oversimplification Problem Exhibit 11. ...
[ Before we begin, a word about hyperlinks in this and any Instapunk post. They’re there to help you, not create a series of distracting digressions. Good rule of thumb: note that the link is there, take it if you can’t resist, but try to finish reading the post and then go back to any hyperlinks that still intrigue you. Videos are reader’s now/later choice every time Absolute linearity is the obsession of the obsolete typewriter crowd.] The Preface to this post is here . Göbekli Tepe. 12,500 years old. Belief in the existence of the divine lasted for 12,340 yrs. This is very long. I had to write down what I was thinking in some detail. I’m glad I did, but you don’t have to read it at one sitting. If you like, you can skip all the way down to the Section titled “The Secular Dead End” and get the tone and gist of my perspective, leaving the substance till later or never. Understood? Let’s get down to it. What’s the Big Thing that matters most, more than anything? Answer? The ...
This post was last updated at 11 PM, Wednesday, December 31. Latest entries are “Year End Thoughts on 2025,” “The ‘W’ File from Moon Books,” and “The Cryptkeeper.” The Instapunk Times is hot off the presses! XMAS STRIKE ISSUE! ] Undernet Black was updated December 24. This will be a pinned post in perpetuity, but it will be updated continuously, just like all of our lives. The title — “My World and Welcome to It” — is stolen happily from James Thurber, who is known as a humorist, unabashedly untrained cartoonist, and dog lover. He was also subject to melancholy, a drinker of note, and something of an outsider (in his own damaged eyes at least) as an Ohioan, born and educated, who became a fixture in the glamorous Algonquin Roundtable of Manhattan writers and playwrights. I can relate to all of that but the fame and the lifelong journey to blindness. I believe he was likely the best writer of the gang that gathered in the Algonquin Hotel in the 1930s, and I made...
WW2 Flying Tigers P-40 showing Ace-level kills at “Threads” based on notifications of 50 to 100 Likes for various replies I’ve made to TDS ranters. I’ve been in a down mood as we approach the end of 2025 and the completion of Trump’s first year in office since 2020. My annual End of Year post will describe my big picture view, but this post will fill in a significant part of that picture and can be used as a basis for endorsement or dismissal of my personal perspective. The social network app called Threads has been reference here previously, after my first exploratory encounters with what I’ve termed the “submerged 10 percent of Trump haters” the real percentage is probably much higher than a tenth, but these are the noncelebrity Rosie O’Donnells and Robert De Niros who are so obsessed with Trump that they have to type it out loud at the top of their keyboard lungs on a daily basis. After my first few brushes with them, I began to think that there’s something important goi...
We have one, secretly transmitted to us via the DarkNet… If you’re not allowed to play with DarkNet stuff, go no further. Fair warning. Don’t show this to anybody else. It could damage reputations… Who’s that smirking at Bill from behind the lavender incense cloud? (Don’t click on the pic; we can’t be responsible for what you find)
Most of the TDS we see and react to originates in the figurative space we call Inside-the-Beltway. Politicians, mass media opinion-shapers, deeply entrenched bureaucracies in the federal government, including the judiciary, the intelligence services, the innumerable money-dispensing and regulatory agencies, and the bicoastal social elites generally, who are bound to DC by ties of family, friends, and financial affiliations. We know that this sizeable group of powerful people hates Trump for very personal reasons, mostly fear and envy. He is a direct threat to them in every part of their lives, from career security to potential scandals involving corruption and/or sex. But what about all the people from outside the Beltway? The otherwise ordinary 75 million people who voted for an utterly unqualified candidate in the 2024 election. A woman who rose to the top the old-fashioned pre-feminist way, on her back, and proceeded to fail or phone in every position or responsibility she ha...
Our own Queen Iris Stairway to Heaven A Whiter Shade of Pale (Procol Harum) You Don’t Own Me (Leslie Gore) All I Knead (The Hollies) Take on Me (Aha!) Grand Prize Winner: Bohemian Catsody Got your mind right, yet? Good. Happy Hump Day .
Good ol’ W has put himself back in the news recently, bemoaning the plight of Afghans whose escape route to America via the Biden EZ-Pass might come unglued. A man’s got to have his priorities. Anyhow, I was reminded by his return to the public eye that I had an orphan piece about his 43ness floating around somewhere in the electronic ether I live in. There was a place called Shuteye Town 1999 , in which there was a mall store called Moon Books, in which there was a book for sale titled ‘Loving Ameria 2’ by George Hubert Walker Chevy Snaffle Adidas Bush IV. You had to use your video game savvy to get inside Moon Books w/o getting arrested thiugh… * The Bore Backgrounder exists too. Still needs formatting… For more than 50 of the books sold at Moon, you could click on titles and see the front and back covers. For a lot of those, there was also a representative text sample and background on the writers. Unfortunately, Internet life has been complicated for ST99, and at ...
Michael Smith He has about 10,000 more FB friends than I do. Just posted this on his Facebook page: You posted recently about the problem of what we can really do as individuals to deal with problems you describe capably and suggested a two-part format for addressing this hole in the communication challenge. I replied with this: “There’s an alternate universe to be built out there. For all of us who care about the ones who will come later, the ones who are kids now and the ones who may only be a gleam in your children’s eyes. A deliberate linkage of all that we consider best and inspirational, both intellectually and creatively, including pure entertainments. We have all been taught (programmed?) to regard ourselves as vectors, pushed by economic (egononomic?) needs, working alone with friends, acquaintances, acolytes as support for our labors. But we are limiting ourselves by an engrained habit of clinging to customary means of attracting notice to ourselves. I know there are pr...
Same idea. Turned into a galoop by misplaced trust in wrong’ uns. Christmas was especially generous to the Gateway Pundit yesterday, offering up a bonanza of Punch-and-Judy type slapstick comedy. The stars included both knowns and unknowns in the lefty art of making fools of themselves as they act out some of the dumber parts of the aging Panderer Playbook. Rather than string them together at Facebook as if they were breaking news that mattered, Instapunk decided to string them together here as an entry in his old regular feature, The Friday Follies. No more setup needed. Just sit back and laugh. Dressing up for the Holidays FTA: <<Minnesota Lt. Gov. Peggy Flanagan appeared in a video wearing a hijab while addressing members of the Somali community, gushing about how they’re woven into the “fabric” of the state. Flanagan, of course, is not Muslim. This comes amid growing backlash against Somali-linked fraud scandals in her state, which drained billions in taxpayer dollars. Flan...
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