Posts
My jaw dropped this morning, as I turned on C-Span during my morning exercise session; lo and behold, a Republican guest on Washington Journal, Representative Roscoe Bartlett (R-Maryland) was talking about peak oil and repeating much of Jim Kunstler's premise regarding the end of cheap oil, found in The Long Emergency.
Here's a link to Bartlett's interview (starts at the 2:04:00 mark) on the C-Span website; I've posted it here, because it's worth watching by anyone who cares to know about the issues facing our nation concerning our lack of a sustainable energy policy. I don't know much about Bartlett, but it's rare to hear any politician speak so honestly, intelligently and from the heart.
On the flipside, our own state's tourism director, Dann Lewis, is bitching about President Bush's request for American's to drive less, in order to conserve gas. Typical of the short-sighted response to any request for shared sacrifice, this state bureaucrat is quoted as saying that "it makes sense for Americans to cut back on unnecessary travel, but that discretionary driving for vacations is different." What? How is discretionary driving different? I rarely if ever find myself in agreement with President Bush; however, on this issue, I agree and hope he's serious in his call to conserve.
All of us can do our part to cut back on our car usage. Due to unforeseen circumstances, I'm stuck driving an older car that isn't the most energy efficient. It's not terrible on gas mileage, but with a large engine and bulky weight, a Toyota Prius it is not. Yesterday, while traveling to Farmington to deliver books and make other visits in the area for my part-time job, I made a conscious effort to obey speed limits (basically, drive 55 mph, which in itself helps to save energy). I also parked in the center of town and walked as much as I could, sometimes up to 1/2 mile away. At the end of the day, I'd saved some gas, and I felt better, having gotten some exercise and imbibed some mountain air.
Possibly, one way that Lewis could get on board, is to partner with travel options like the Maine Eastern Railroad, as an alternative way to bring tourists into the state. Other options might be bus tours, business-sponsored passenger van tours of various foliage loops, which would allow tourists to park their cars, conserve gas (save money, which they might decide to spend locally and help local economies). I'm sure L.L. Bean, Delorme, MBNA, BIW and other large Maine businesses would be happy to hop on board. Of course, that might mean some creativity on his part and if he's like most members of state bureaucracies, that's never one of their strongpoints.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Monday, September 26, 2005
Killing creativity in the Ivory Tower
As everyone knows, those four years of college can be a time that resembles very little of what real life dishes out. What’s worse, the modern college experience appears to be less about learning to think critically about the world and more about being a good little worker bee. Even at the more prestigious schools, it appears that the dumbing-down of the curriculum and maintaining a veneer of political correctness is more important than allowing students an opportunity to reach their greatest potential. Perpetuating consumer chic is more important than peeling back the façade that undergirds much of American culture. As a result, each graduating class marches out into the world, less and less likely to be leaders and people that might make a difference and god forbid—change their world! The production of pod people seems to be the end result of much of what passes for higher education today.
Take for instance the case of my son, now in his senior year, at Wheaton College. Apparently, he’s decided he’d like to do some writing of his own. He’s obviously been quite interested in the entire process of how my book, When Towns Had Teams has come to be. Over the summer, he expressed quite an interest in the nuts and bolts of writing.
When he went back to school and informed my wife and I that he was going to write for the [wire], the official campus media organ for Wheaton College, I won’t deny that I was pleased. Both of us are happy that he is trying to get as much out of his college experience as possible.
As a writer, I think Mark has a lot of potential. He has a wry wit and has written some very interesting and at times, provocative material. He’s not one to shy away from issues, but he also is able to use humor to cut to the core of the matter.
I must say that Wheaton has been much less politically charged and quite a bit more conservative than I thought it would be. The administration appears to want to be as non-controversial as possible—basically, they are good liberals—saying all the right things, maintaining the most politically correct of facades—all the while, making sure that their students don’t upset any of the locals or other arbiters, or those rich benefactors bankrolling their endeavors that play at education. Obviously, keeping those $40,000 checks coming in each year is what matters most, at Wheaton, and most other college campuses.
Mark’s first feature for the [wire] (don’t you just love how “cute” these young journalists think they are with their quirky little name?) was on nightlife in Norton. Titled “A wild Tuesday night”, it was a tongue-in-cheek poking of fun at Norton’s lack of anything that remotely resembles nightlife. This college town tucked into the nondescript corridor of similar towns near Foxborough (home of the New England Patriots) and about 45 minutes southwest of Boston, is a sleepy village of some 18,000 residents. The college (1,600 students), at one time, a women’s seminary, obviously had hoped to cultivate the quiet, pristine environment so important to academia some 150 years ago.
Basically, the entire feature was just Mark out and about town on a Tuesday night, poking fun at Norton’s propensity to “roll up the sidewalks” with the setting of the sun.
Take for example, the following;
“To my surprise, I found something was actually going on. A men’s dart league. I had stumbled across the world’s largest steel tipped dart league (Minute Man Dart League). Jay, one of the players competing that night, had traveled all the way from Rockland, MA to join his team from East Bridgewater in their match against Norton’s dart slingers. Now Bridgewater may not seem that far away to travel, but any distance beyond a two minute walk to the bar seems like a long journey when you’re talking about sticking a few darts in the wall. For a player like Jay to travel from Rockland is like if Ichiro Suzuki still lived in Japan and made the trip across the Pacific Ocean to play baseball. Then again, darts may be one of the few pure sports left in America. Even though Jay’s buddy, Jim, accused him of being “juiced up,” I find it hard to believe you can gain an edge in darts by using performance enhancing drugs.”
Obviously my son is having some fun at the expense of the local dart league, but the article is off to a good start and had me LMAO when I read it—so far, so good.
What caused problems for my budding journalist of a son, is when he departed from poking fun at the working class and decided to move on to the sacred cow of public education, the bright yellow school bus.
The feature continues;
“At 10:22 pm, I found myself sitting inside a bus in the Norton High School parking lot. My goal had been to go into as many busses as I could and start them up, but none of the busses had keys left in the ignitions so that plan was foiled. So, if you are ever really bored, you could always walk down to Norton High School and smoke some weed in a bus or better yet you could bring a person of the opposite sex and have a crazy one night stand aboard a big yellow.”
I would think that anyone reading this article could see the sport and sarcasm dripping from each sentence. Mark, the straight-edge fan of hard-core music, with its very strong anti-drug message, was poking some fun at college life and the propensity of many students who spend much of their four years in a drug and alcohol-fueled haze. Rather than maximizing their four years and taking advantage of the academic opportunities, unencumbered by the cares of life, too many spend their time trying to find the best party, or local bar with the best happy hours.
Instead of this innocuous piece in a rather lame college newspaper, going unnoticed, it got Mark an appointment with both the assistant dean of college life (or something to that effect) and the head of campus safety. Apparently, they took issue with Mark’s boarding of the unlocked school busses (which btw, he had snapped a self portrait of himself at the wheel, with his digital camera—the evidence did him in) and read him the riot act. And of course, rather than the [wire], the high-flying bastion of college journalistic integrity going to bat for one of their writers, they basically caved and left Mark to twist in the wind.
To my son’s credit, he drove down to Norton High School and met with the principal and basically ironed out any issues or hard feelings—he did this on his own, prior to his meeting with the white-bread purveyors of campus morality—i.e., the academic thought and behavior police.
This isn’t the first issue with Mark having to meet with some two-bit censor of creative license. There was another earlier issue involving free expression that got my son in trouble, last year.
Lest you think I’m one of those parents who think that their child can do no wrong, then you obviously don’t know me. Mark and I have banged heads on a number of issues, but when he’s doing what a college student should be given the freedom to do—figure out who he is and what exactly he wants to do—and utilizing a newspaper that is fairly bereft of content of any substance—then I say, “more power to you.”
When we had our Sunday afternoon phone chat, as is our habit, I was a bit perturbed to find out about Mark’s being given the third degree by these pencil-pushers and humorless academic bureaucrats. It’s always my inclination to drive three hours and show up at the Dean’s office on Monday morning and give them a good going-over about their academic house of cards. But, of course, my son’s cooler disposition and level head talks me down off the ledge of my feigned indignance and I realize that he’s learning to navigate his way around the landmines of censorship, status quo and poseurs that he’ll come up against in life, just like I have. And he’ll probably do a hell of a lot better job at it too.
If you’ve read this far, I want to close by saying this. My son has gotten a lot out of his four years at Wheaton. He’s developed into a key member of a very good baseball team, he’s made the Dean’s List, and I’ve seen him mature tremendously over that time. He’s become a fine young man. However, I think it has more to do with his character and integrity, than with any of the so-called prestige that overwrought bastions of academia can impart. Possibly, the contacts Mark’s made might help him, but I think he’s someone that is going to make his own way, regardless.
While Wheaton has been generous in financial aid to make sure that a hard-working (and very deserving) member of the working class can attend this WASPY den of higher learning, I sometimes wish that my son had been given the opportunity to sample a bit more diversity and a more urban experience over the past four years. However, I’m confident that he’s the type of person that will probably seek that out after he’s left the ivy-covered cocoon and found his way in the world.
Take for instance the case of my son, now in his senior year, at Wheaton College. Apparently, he’s decided he’d like to do some writing of his own. He’s obviously been quite interested in the entire process of how my book, When Towns Had Teams has come to be. Over the summer, he expressed quite an interest in the nuts and bolts of writing.
When he went back to school and informed my wife and I that he was going to write for the [wire], the official campus media organ for Wheaton College, I won’t deny that I was pleased. Both of us are happy that he is trying to get as much out of his college experience as possible.
As a writer, I think Mark has a lot of potential. He has a wry wit and has written some very interesting and at times, provocative material. He’s not one to shy away from issues, but he also is able to use humor to cut to the core of the matter.
I must say that Wheaton has been much less politically charged and quite a bit more conservative than I thought it would be. The administration appears to want to be as non-controversial as possible—basically, they are good liberals—saying all the right things, maintaining the most politically correct of facades—all the while, making sure that their students don’t upset any of the locals or other arbiters, or those rich benefactors bankrolling their endeavors that play at education. Obviously, keeping those $40,000 checks coming in each year is what matters most, at Wheaton, and most other college campuses.
Mark’s first feature for the [wire] (don’t you just love how “cute” these young journalists think they are with their quirky little name?) was on nightlife in Norton. Titled “A wild Tuesday night”, it was a tongue-in-cheek poking of fun at Norton’s lack of anything that remotely resembles nightlife. This college town tucked into the nondescript corridor of similar towns near Foxborough (home of the New England Patriots) and about 45 minutes southwest of Boston, is a sleepy village of some 18,000 residents. The college (1,600 students), at one time, a women’s seminary, obviously had hoped to cultivate the quiet, pristine environment so important to academia some 150 years ago.
Basically, the entire feature was just Mark out and about town on a Tuesday night, poking fun at Norton’s propensity to “roll up the sidewalks” with the setting of the sun.
Take for example, the following;
“To my surprise, I found something was actually going on. A men’s dart league. I had stumbled across the world’s largest steel tipped dart league (Minute Man Dart League). Jay, one of the players competing that night, had traveled all the way from Rockland, MA to join his team from East Bridgewater in their match against Norton’s dart slingers. Now Bridgewater may not seem that far away to travel, but any distance beyond a two minute walk to the bar seems like a long journey when you’re talking about sticking a few darts in the wall. For a player like Jay to travel from Rockland is like if Ichiro Suzuki still lived in Japan and made the trip across the Pacific Ocean to play baseball. Then again, darts may be one of the few pure sports left in America. Even though Jay’s buddy, Jim, accused him of being “juiced up,” I find it hard to believe you can gain an edge in darts by using performance enhancing drugs.”
Obviously my son is having some fun at the expense of the local dart league, but the article is off to a good start and had me LMAO when I read it—so far, so good.
What caused problems for my budding journalist of a son, is when he departed from poking fun at the working class and decided to move on to the sacred cow of public education, the bright yellow school bus.
The feature continues;
“At 10:22 pm, I found myself sitting inside a bus in the Norton High School parking lot. My goal had been to go into as many busses as I could and start them up, but none of the busses had keys left in the ignitions so that plan was foiled. So, if you are ever really bored, you could always walk down to Norton High School and smoke some weed in a bus or better yet you could bring a person of the opposite sex and have a crazy one night stand aboard a big yellow.”
I would think that anyone reading this article could see the sport and sarcasm dripping from each sentence. Mark, the straight-edge fan of hard-core music, with its very strong anti-drug message, was poking some fun at college life and the propensity of many students who spend much of their four years in a drug and alcohol-fueled haze. Rather than maximizing their four years and taking advantage of the academic opportunities, unencumbered by the cares of life, too many spend their time trying to find the best party, or local bar with the best happy hours.
Instead of this innocuous piece in a rather lame college newspaper, going unnoticed, it got Mark an appointment with both the assistant dean of college life (or something to that effect) and the head of campus safety. Apparently, they took issue with Mark’s boarding of the unlocked school busses (which btw, he had snapped a self portrait of himself at the wheel, with his digital camera—the evidence did him in) and read him the riot act. And of course, rather than the [wire], the high-flying bastion of college journalistic integrity going to bat for one of their writers, they basically caved and left Mark to twist in the wind.
To my son’s credit, he drove down to Norton High School and met with the principal and basically ironed out any issues or hard feelings—he did this on his own, prior to his meeting with the white-bread purveyors of campus morality—i.e., the academic thought and behavior police.
This isn’t the first issue with Mark having to meet with some two-bit censor of creative license. There was another earlier issue involving free expression that got my son in trouble, last year.
Lest you think I’m one of those parents who think that their child can do no wrong, then you obviously don’t know me. Mark and I have banged heads on a number of issues, but when he’s doing what a college student should be given the freedom to do—figure out who he is and what exactly he wants to do—and utilizing a newspaper that is fairly bereft of content of any substance—then I say, “more power to you.”
When we had our Sunday afternoon phone chat, as is our habit, I was a bit perturbed to find out about Mark’s being given the third degree by these pencil-pushers and humorless academic bureaucrats. It’s always my inclination to drive three hours and show up at the Dean’s office on Monday morning and give them a good going-over about their academic house of cards. But, of course, my son’s cooler disposition and level head talks me down off the ledge of my feigned indignance and I realize that he’s learning to navigate his way around the landmines of censorship, status quo and poseurs that he’ll come up against in life, just like I have. And he’ll probably do a hell of a lot better job at it too.
If you’ve read this far, I want to close by saying this. My son has gotten a lot out of his four years at Wheaton. He’s developed into a key member of a very good baseball team, he’s made the Dean’s List, and I’ve seen him mature tremendously over that time. He’s become a fine young man. However, I think it has more to do with his character and integrity, than with any of the so-called prestige that overwrought bastions of academia can impart. Possibly, the contacts Mark’s made might help him, but I think he’s someone that is going to make his own way, regardless.
While Wheaton has been generous in financial aid to make sure that a hard-working (and very deserving) member of the working class can attend this WASPY den of higher learning, I sometimes wish that my son had been given the opportunity to sample a bit more diversity and a more urban experience over the past four years. However, I’m confident that he’s the type of person that will probably seek that out after he’s left the ivy-covered cocoon and found his way in the world.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Pray for power (steering)
With folks like these praying, it makes me glad I've forsaken the path of righteousness.
While I'd never want to impugn the motives of anyone's faith, knowing there are many good, and sincere believers in petitioning a higher power, the hypocrisy of many pictured on the pages of TPPT stretches my capacity towards graciousness.
While I'd never want to impugn the motives of anyone's faith, knowing there are many good, and sincere believers in petitioning a higher power, the hypocrisy of many pictured on the pages of TPPT stretches my capacity towards graciousness.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Headed for a reckoning
Following on the heels of Katrina, the latest smack down from Mother Nature, Hurricane Rita, has once again exposed the soft, white underbelly of the American way of life. Built upon a model of transportation emphasizing the automobile, at the expense of any other forms of more efficient and less costly models of public transit, the citizens of Houston are sitting in traffic lines stretching for 100 miles, trying to evacuate the fourth largest urban area in the U.S.
Rather than whisking people out from the path of Rita’s fury by a system of infrastructure common in most areas of Europe, Americans time-and-time-again are forced to jump into their hulks of metal (actually, there is very little metal in today’s modern polymer-laden autos) and sit for hours in a veritable parking lot, formerly used as an interstate.
Not only is the evacuation Houston further evidence of our lack of preparedness in dealing with disasters of both a natural cause and heaven help us, one that might be precipitated by terrorism, but it shows the level of absolute incompetence present at all levels of government—local, state, and federal. Our institutions are broken and in desperate need of major reform—hell, we’d be better off to dismantle it entirely and rebuild from the foundations.
On top of this obvious problem with any form of preparedness for events like hurricanes, the amount of debt our nation continues to take on to rebuild the broken lives and devastated communities has ominous implications for the future. The massive amounts of debt required as a result of our failed fiscal policy and continued waging of an empty and futile war in Iraq leaves our nation vulnerable. This debt, financed and underwritten by foreign investors, particularly nations such as China and Japan, continues to destabilize our economy and puts us on the path to economic ruin.
Currently, there doesn’t appear to be a fiscal policy—it’s debt, debt, and even more debt—compounded by our current administration’s tax cuts for the rich and unabated spending associated with war and natural disasters.
As Allan Sloan, the Wall Street editor for Newsweek spoke about this morning on C-Span, we are poised for an economic meltdown. We cannot continue to embrace our current practices of fiscal irresponsibility, without plunging off the cliff at some point. Markets by nature are emotional, and Sloan spoke of some event in the not-too-distant future “spooking” the credit markets. Simply put, “the shit is going to hit the fan—the only question is what (event) triggers it, when it will happen, and the severity of the pain associated with it.”
Many folks (including Sloan) recognize the solution requires fiscal discipline and austerity, but the actuality of that happening is slim to none. Americans want their cake and also want to devour it—decades of affluenza has made us incapable of making the hard choices required at this juncture.
We are in for a tough slog. The winter in places like the northeast will test our mettle; how and even if we can come out the other side unscathed, remains to be seen. Experts aren’t predicting an easy time, particularly with projections regarding gas prices, as well as looming natural gas shortages.
Rather than whisking people out from the path of Rita’s fury by a system of infrastructure common in most areas of Europe, Americans time-and-time-again are forced to jump into their hulks of metal (actually, there is very little metal in today’s modern polymer-laden autos) and sit for hours in a veritable parking lot, formerly used as an interstate.
Not only is the evacuation Houston further evidence of our lack of preparedness in dealing with disasters of both a natural cause and heaven help us, one that might be precipitated by terrorism, but it shows the level of absolute incompetence present at all levels of government—local, state, and federal. Our institutions are broken and in desperate need of major reform—hell, we’d be better off to dismantle it entirely and rebuild from the foundations.
On top of this obvious problem with any form of preparedness for events like hurricanes, the amount of debt our nation continues to take on to rebuild the broken lives and devastated communities has ominous implications for the future. The massive amounts of debt required as a result of our failed fiscal policy and continued waging of an empty and futile war in Iraq leaves our nation vulnerable. This debt, financed and underwritten by foreign investors, particularly nations such as China and Japan, continues to destabilize our economy and puts us on the path to economic ruin.
Currently, there doesn’t appear to be a fiscal policy—it’s debt, debt, and even more debt—compounded by our current administration’s tax cuts for the rich and unabated spending associated with war and natural disasters.
As Allan Sloan, the Wall Street editor for Newsweek spoke about this morning on C-Span, we are poised for an economic meltdown. We cannot continue to embrace our current practices of fiscal irresponsibility, without plunging off the cliff at some point. Markets by nature are emotional, and Sloan spoke of some event in the not-too-distant future “spooking” the credit markets. Simply put, “the shit is going to hit the fan—the only question is what (event) triggers it, when it will happen, and the severity of the pain associated with it.”
Many folks (including Sloan) recognize the solution requires fiscal discipline and austerity, but the actuality of that happening is slim to none. Americans want their cake and also want to devour it—decades of affluenza has made us incapable of making the hard choices required at this juncture.
We are in for a tough slog. The winter in places like the northeast will test our mettle; how and even if we can come out the other side unscathed, remains to be seen. Experts aren’t predicting an easy time, particularly with projections regarding gas prices, as well as looming natural gas shortages.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
In search of King Coffee
I’m an early riser—that’s not a bad thing, but it can be an inconvenience for both me and the one’s I love.
This morning’s early start began at 3:45 am, with my domicile being the beloved Ramada Inn in Bangor. Actually, this was a good thing for my long-suffering better half, in that she didn’t face her usual disturbance of slumber caused by my rustling out of bed and creaking down the stairs to the computer that she regularly faces.
For me, my inconvenience stemmed from the unavailability of coffee in my room, or nearby. In the world of sleep-deprivation that I regularly inhabit, caffeine is the drug of choice and even necessity. While I know those health-experts and holistic types will certainly poo-poo my addiction, I don’t know any way around it. If I greet the day at an ungodly pre-dawn hour, inevitably, I’ll need some java within an hour or two of rising.
Interestingly, my choices here in the outer reaches of the city-planning clusterfuck that is Bangor proper, Odlin Road is truly an example of the modern, car-centric style of urban design. Within view of my hotel was the bright orange Dunkin’ Donuts sign, illuminated in neon regalia. In the other direction, was a convenience store owned by those Canadian interlopers, the Irving family. Preferring the corporate black gold of Dunkin’ Donuts to the truck stop sludge of the convenience store variety, I ventured out in search of a jolt of java to quite my pre-dawn jonesing. Of course, there are no sidewalks on Odlin Road, because the planners who visited this nightmare of road layout and design, didn’t take into account that in 2005, there are still a few individuals that will forego a ¼ mile trip in their car, in order to get the blood pumping and stretch their legs.
I had to negotiate the 4-way intersection at Odlinn Road and the I-395 spur, having to cross four lanes of traffic, much of it of the 18-wheel variety. Upon arriving at my favorite donut shop of the corporate variety, after once again negotiating four lanes of traffic, I was greeted by a locked door—this despite the interior being well-lit and seemingly in the throes of commerce. I of course unleashed a salty stream of profanity at my displeasure of being greeted by a locked coffee shop door at the late hour of 5:20 in the morning!
Back in the other direction, I trudged, ½ mile to my second (and only) choice for caffeine—the Irving Qwik-stop (who comes up with these spellings?). Their coffee was being brewed as I walked in and they had a coffee roll that would have made Bill Clinton proud (before his pre-coronary difficulties, of course).
I’m pleased that I have my coffee for now and my sugar-laden treat to enjoy later; I’m not so pleased at the lack of pedestrian-friendly options available to most business travelers. This isn’t my first early morning fiasco while traveling and it won’t be my last. Most hotels of the variety I can currently afford are usually located in similar industrial cul-de-sacs, whether I’m in Bangor, Maine, or Youngstown, Ohio. Designed during an era that proves the vacuity of a college degree and illustrates how useless most higher education truly has become, these areas scattered across the American landscape are an ode to cheap gasoline and consumptive excess.
In the coming days, it will be interesting to see what happens to areas like these and whether they’ll continue to be sustainable, particularly in light of $4.00/gallon gasoline. At that point, the question will be moot for me, as I won’t be able to afford to travel, even if it’s to schlep my books to distant parts of the state.
This morning’s early start began at 3:45 am, with my domicile being the beloved Ramada Inn in Bangor. Actually, this was a good thing for my long-suffering better half, in that she didn’t face her usual disturbance of slumber caused by my rustling out of bed and creaking down the stairs to the computer that she regularly faces.
For me, my inconvenience stemmed from the unavailability of coffee in my room, or nearby. In the world of sleep-deprivation that I regularly inhabit, caffeine is the drug of choice and even necessity. While I know those health-experts and holistic types will certainly poo-poo my addiction, I don’t know any way around it. If I greet the day at an ungodly pre-dawn hour, inevitably, I’ll need some java within an hour or two of rising.
Interestingly, my choices here in the outer reaches of the city-planning clusterfuck that is Bangor proper, Odlin Road is truly an example of the modern, car-centric style of urban design. Within view of my hotel was the bright orange Dunkin’ Donuts sign, illuminated in neon regalia. In the other direction, was a convenience store owned by those Canadian interlopers, the Irving family. Preferring the corporate black gold of Dunkin’ Donuts to the truck stop sludge of the convenience store variety, I ventured out in search of a jolt of java to quite my pre-dawn jonesing. Of course, there are no sidewalks on Odlin Road, because the planners who visited this nightmare of road layout and design, didn’t take into account that in 2005, there are still a few individuals that will forego a ¼ mile trip in their car, in order to get the blood pumping and stretch their legs.
I had to negotiate the 4-way intersection at Odlinn Road and the I-395 spur, having to cross four lanes of traffic, much of it of the 18-wheel variety. Upon arriving at my favorite donut shop of the corporate variety, after once again negotiating four lanes of traffic, I was greeted by a locked door—this despite the interior being well-lit and seemingly in the throes of commerce. I of course unleashed a salty stream of profanity at my displeasure of being greeted by a locked coffee shop door at the late hour of 5:20 in the morning!
Back in the other direction, I trudged, ½ mile to my second (and only) choice for caffeine—the Irving Qwik-stop (who comes up with these spellings?). Their coffee was being brewed as I walked in and they had a coffee roll that would have made Bill Clinton proud (before his pre-coronary difficulties, of course).
I’m pleased that I have my coffee for now and my sugar-laden treat to enjoy later; I’m not so pleased at the lack of pedestrian-friendly options available to most business travelers. This isn’t my first early morning fiasco while traveling and it won’t be my last. Most hotels of the variety I can currently afford are usually located in similar industrial cul-de-sacs, whether I’m in Bangor, Maine, or Youngstown, Ohio. Designed during an era that proves the vacuity of a college degree and illustrates how useless most higher education truly has become, these areas scattered across the American landscape are an ode to cheap gasoline and consumptive excess.
In the coming days, it will be interesting to see what happens to areas like these and whether they’ll continue to be sustainable, particularly in light of $4.00/gallon gasoline. At that point, the question will be moot for me, as I won’t be able to afford to travel, even if it’s to schlep my books to distant parts of the state.
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