For as long as I can remember, it's been a commonplace device for many pundits and talkingheads on the right. Rather than spend the bulk of their precious time discussing meaningful, nontrivial topics of the day, they frequently devote their attention to the mundane and almost absurd. Why wrestle with Iraq, health care, global warming, etc., when there's a teacher refusing to let a child pray in a classroom or a gay character in Harry Potter to fret over.

In this spirit, yesterday none other than that pillar of intellect, David Brooks, devoted his column to how he's fallen deeply in love with his car's GPS satellite system.

Like many men, I quickly established a romantic attachment to my G.P.S. I found comfort in her tranquil and slightly Anglophilic voice. I felt warm and safe following her thin blue line. More than once I experienced her mercy, for each of my transgressions would be greeted by nothing worse than a gentle, “Make a U-turn if possible.”

After a few weeks, it occurred to me that I could no longer get anywhere without her.

For how long has this guy been a shameful embarrassment to the NY Times? When does someone over there finally get rid of this cotton-head?