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Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Back From The Berkshires
Well, that was pleasant. Shortly it will be "back to the regular grind," but first a few lines of reportage from that hotbed of sociopolitical intrigue, the Berkshires of Massachusetts.
1. The Economy.
Things are bleak for the hospitality / vacation industry, at least in the Berkshires.
The hotel at which we stayed, which had never previously had any vacancies over a summer weekend, had a total of five guests -- at a 300-unit hotel. The restaurants at which we ate were equally depopulated. Nor were there many "foreign" license plates to be found at any of the tourist destinations we passed.
There was one spot of visible activity: the outlet mall. But even there, prices were being jacked downward almost too fast for the eye to follow. Merchants at the Berkshire Mall, a conventional shopping center, have very little traffic -- for a typical store, a couple of dozen walk-ins per day, with actual purchases in the single digits.
But this is the "Summer of Recovery," right? Right?
2. "Sister Cities."
Pittsfield, Massachusetts has apparently gone the way of Berkeley, California in adopting "sister cities." There were signs at all the roads into town enumerating those "sister cities" -- four in all -- which one must assume the Pittsfield city council regards as like-minded or like-charactered in significant ways:
- Ballina, County Mayo, Ireland
- Cava de' Tirreni, Italy
- Cheongju, South Korea
- Malpaisillo, Nicaragua
Berkeley adopts "sister cities" on the basis of political alignment (hard left, of course). On what basis Pittsfield chose its foreign siblings, I do not know. But judging from the proliferation of Priuses, Birkenstocks, and unshaved female legs, I have my surmises.
3. WiFi.
Contrary to what one might expect -- or hope -- wireless Internet access in hotels is not yet universal.
Our hotel is divided into three separate buildings. I was assured that the one in which we stayed had continuous, reliable WiFi. Well, that turned out not to be the case, at least in our rooms, where the connection was extremely slow and as unpredictable as the affections of a politician.
There was one spot in the building where access was continuous, fast, and reliable: a second-floor conference room that was unused throughout the weekend. However, that room was unlighted and un-air-conditioned, which made it less than pleasant for the purpose.
It was also the room we had to go to for our "complimentary Continental breakfast." More than coincidence?
4. Small Town Journalism.
The regional daily newspaper, the Berkshire Eagle, carries a small amount of national news, but mostly covers local developments. For example, the edition for Saturday paralleled a story on the collapse of American birth rates with a story about a single employee of a local concern who'd been fired, unjustly in his opinion, and was protesting the dismissal -- both front page, above-the fold.
There's something refreshing about that. Not every media organ aspires to national significance; not every newspaper relentlessly mimics the New York Times. When a paper's reporters must produce news items of importance to the daily lives of its proximate readers, those reporters must commit actual investigative journalism: they must look for what's happening, capture it in process or shortly thereafter, and relate the facts essentially without editing or "framing," so that the reader can grasp their relevance to him as a resident of the area.
A dear friend has written extensively about the faults and essential insufficiency of broadcast journalism: the sort of organ that attempts to cover all (and only) the biggest stories from around the world. I think he'd approve of the Berkshire Eagle. Its attitude toward journalism could spark a revival of interest in it...hopefully, among journalists.
5. Frame of Mind.
Monday morning, as we prepared to depart the Berkshires for Long Island, I realized a terrible thing: I had relaxed.
I was in a totally unsuitable frame of mind for returning to the hurly-burly of my job, my home, my animals, and my several pursuits. There was no way I could re-immerse myself in my usual life without first "gearing up." That would be like requiring a community organizer with no other job experience to undertake the responsibilities of president of the United States.
It weighed on me all through our drive south. When we stopped for a bite of lunch, I resolved to use the one and only technique available to get back into the required state of anxiety.
I let the C.S.O. drive the rest of the way.
Don't get me wrong: I love my wife. But she regards the highways as her personal property, and the laws of physics as suspensible by sheer willpower (hers, of course). To her, to leave ten feet between cars moving at 75 mph is wasteful; six or seven feet is more than sufficient. Of course, any speed below that is an affront to the gods of internal combustion. And so, after 100 miles of heart-in-mouth derring-do on high-speed roads populated by creatures from every page of the automotive bestiary, I found myself back on Long Island, blood pressure once again grazing four digits, and in need of a really big drink.
And how was your weekend?
Comments
There was one other spot of visible activity: the Lincoln Memorial.
Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 08/31/2010 at 01:48 PMI B GLAD U R BACK, brief I know but to the point.
VETTOM III
we are everywherePosted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 08/31/2010 at 03:21 PMGood to see you back in one piece, FP!
The economy here is in deep trouble but everybody—especially the government—seems to be in deep denial about it. We’re moving to Australia and I very much doubt we’ll find a buyer for the house.Posted by KG on 08/31/2010 at 07:01 PMGeez, your wife drives just like mine! Does she sit up straight or lean forward grasping the wheel with both hands at all times? And glaring at the car in front? HEh HEH HEH!
Posted by Everett Littlefield on 08/31/2010 at 08:59 PM
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