“Miss” is back, ready to serve up a juicy tart of academic hijinks, scandals, and misadventures…with a whipped topping of political intrigue, hackery and hypocrisy.
Get out your knives and forks and dig in!
…if you can't say something nice about higher education, say it here…
I could retell the story of Associate Professor Lisa Chavez, the English Department’s resident dominatrix at the University of New Mexico. It’s the tale of a poor creative writing teacher who, post-divorce, turns to phone sex to raise quick cash for the mortgage payment. Phone sex soon turns to sadomasochistic photo shoots with lowly graduate students.
The story reaches its crisis when the departmental chair discovers how Professor Chavez aka Mistress Jade, “a stern teacher ready to punish unruly students,” has been supplementing her niggardly salary. When confronted with her unseemly behavior, the professor/mistress had a ready defense: DISCRIMINATION! You are discriminating against me because I am Hispanic! Because I am bixsexual!
But if I told you this story, you might think I was embellishing a boring and predictable tale of intra-departmental warfare of the kind English Departments everywhere have made their signature strife. So I am urging you to go to the source and read Chronicle yourself. You won’t be sorry you did.
Calling Maureen Dowd! Calling Maureen Dowd! A new age-appropriate man is on the meet ‘n mingle scene. No, I am not talking about the dreamy Karl Rove, who not too long ago divorced his wife. Nor the new-to-the-secondary-market heartthrob SC Governor Mark Sanford. Rumor has it he’s already spoken for, and by an insultingly younger woman, no less. No, I mean the double dreamy Al Gore. Today Al and Tipper, some forty years wed, have announced, via email, their separation.
As a single person it always perplexes me when old marrieds call it quits. Perhaps because I do not understand the marital relationship in the first place, it’s even harder for me to apprehend why couples who literally have seen each other’s dirty underwear, maybe even sniffed it too, would bother with the chaos divorce brings to their private lives and the lives of the people who love them. Ah well, not mine to wonder why.
What I do wonder is how Al will fill out his Match.com and eHarmony.com profiles. Well, actually, first I wonder what he won’t put there. Will he shave off a few years to appeal to, ahem, a broader demographic? Will he shave off a few pounds to attract more buff hotties? Will he discard recent photos posting instead those of his senatorial days to back up his claims? I can’t wait to find out.
Or maybe he’ll try a different dating site, perhaps PlanetEarthSingles.com, which is
Created by environmentalists, for environmentalists! This is a singles dating site designed for environmentally conscious, “green singles” to meet. It is much easier to be in a relationship with someone who recycles, conserves fuel and generally lives a “green lifestyle” that is mindful of our limited resources. Our members tend to be “conscious” in general and value a holistic, healthy lifestyle, buying locally grown, organic food (many are vegetarians and vegans), gardening, spiritual growth, conservation, sustainability, alternative power and doing what they can to help “cool the planet”. Our goal is to provide you with a conducive environment where you can meet like-minded / like-hearted people and, ideally, meet that ONE, special someone to share your life with!
Should Al decide to enter the green scene, he’ll be able to search national and international data bases. That international info will come in handy as he jets from one global hot spot to another. But suppose he meets that someone special? Will he then have yet another moral dilemma to struggle with: What if sparks fly? What if unbridled passions ignite a flame that refuses to be extinguished? What if the friction of two bodies joined in urgent congress heats up to the point that all thoughts of off-setting carbons fly out the window? All that steamy romance can’t possibly be good for a rapidly warming planet.
It’s too much to ask, I think, to expect Al to fly solo for the rest of his life just in order to prevent climate change. Especially when PlanetEarthSingles.com promises he can meet recycling women who are “’conscious.’” (And people tell me my standards are too high!)
If I were Al, I’d forget about the dating sites and remain true to the planet-lover’s creed: reduce, reuse, recycle. Think, Al. Think about your past. Miss Right is there, waiting patiently. Go on. Do it. Give Ali McGraw a call.
I wish Supreme Court Justice-nominee Elena Kagan all the best, just as I do any woman being considered for a tough, important job. I even feel a passing kind of kinship with her, perhaps because she is from New England and the academy and she’s unmarried. Full disclosure: I’m pudgy, too.
But you know what? I also know if I met her, I wouldn’t like her. Because she represents the very worst of academic-lefty do-as-I-say, not-as-I-do kind of double standard. It’s OK for Miss Kagan to keep the details of her private life out of the limelight. Fine. Great. Personally I think she probably doesn’t have time to have much of a private life. But it’s not OK, then, for her to have banned ROTC recruiting from Harvard Law School, when she was dean, because of the persistence of “don’t ask, don’t tell,” President Clinton’s brilliant, Solomonesque solution to keeping homosexuals in the armed services.
Miss Kagan can keep her mouth shut to land the job of her dreams, but she does not accord G.I. Joe or Swabby Sue the same privilege. Score one for the hypocrites.
“Don’t ask, don’t tell” is one of the precious few policies of President Clinton that I respect. Indeed, my respect for the policy, and the president’s wisdom in promulgating it, has only deepened. Here’s why: “don’t ask, don’t tell” actually preserves the recruits’privacy, in exactly the same way that Miss Kagan has so carefully preserved hers.
In practical terms, what I believe this policy acknowledges–and this is why it is so brilliant–is how we behave in groups and as individuals. Imagine a barracks’full of green recruits. Some from the inner city, some from the rust belt, some off the farm. Their degrees of sophistication and of exposure to a world wider than ten city blocks or the north forty are as varied as their skin tones. What’s job one with this untested mass of muscle and testosterone? Assessing then building individual fitness, physically, mentally, and, in the sense of group cohesiveness, socially. Job one point two? Cementing that group cohesiveness, so that this company of men can, in times of duress, think and act as one. These early days of making a fighting force out of young and ignorant strangers are really hard: why make them more difficult by introducing the exotic element that even unto today homosexuality represents? Let group-think prevail, until the group is forged and the individual bonds of its member are strong. At that point, “don’t ask, don’t tell” ceases to matter, because that gay guy over there has become your point man, and you’ve learned he’s a tough fighter and a good poker player. You’ve learned something about diversity that I assure you no college kid attending LGBTQ workshops would recognize if he/she/te fell over it.
Don’t ask. Don’t tell. Don’t change the policy. Do call Elena Kagan on her hypocrisy.
On a different subject entirely: Yes. As a single straight woman of a certain age, it annoys the heck out of me that it’s a common assumption that spinsters are lesbians. Yes. Elena Kagan is entitled to her privacy. But not at the expense of her intellectual honesty.
There ought to be a word that describes the avalanche of emotions that runs rampant through the mind when something nasty happens to someone for whom your opinion is low. I admit that Constance (“Is my bow tie straight?”) McMillen possesses many of the traits I find unattractive in a person. If press accounts and television appearances are to be believed, Miss McMillen is selfish and self-centered, publicity-seeking, and scorched-earth in her approach to interpersonal discord. If you read her MySpace blog, you learn that she is also foul mouthed and a lot of other things not mentioned in the steady stream of ACLU press releases issued on her behalf.
So it was puzzling indeed that yesterday I found myself feeling great sympathy for Constance McMillen. It seems that a few weeks ago—on April 2, the day the infamous Itawamba Agricultural High School prom was to have taken place, before Miss McMillen’s legal antics got it canceled—Miss McMillen and a ringer (due to parental wisdom, her girlfriend stayed home) entered the Fulton Country Club where the privately sponsored “alternative” prom was taking place. Or so she thought. Seven other students had the same thought, eight if you count her “date.” Although the “prom” was chaperoned by IAHS faculty, it was clear that the dancing action was elsewhere. As I understand this sad story, the “original” alternative prom was “canceled” by the parents who organized it, on the grounds that it would be a media circus. Some days before the “canceled” prom was to have taken place, however, the not-so-divine Miss M got wind of an uncanceled prom and asked a fellow student how to get a ticket. She was told the prom was taking place at the country club, so there she went and learned the answer to the age-old question, “what if you gave a prom and nobody came?”
While the indignity Miss McMillen and the hapless seven experienced isn’t as terrible as what happened to Carrie at her prom, the machinations of the IAHS parents rival Dean Wormer’s putting Delta House on double-secret probation. Miss McMillen should not have sued her school. The school was within its rights to cancel the prom. The parents who pulled this stunt are complete idiots. Splendid role models they for their spawn.
So of course, Miss McMillen has chosen to return to court. The ACLU Amended Complaint states that
Constance has suffered mental and emotional hardship, which has required medical attention. Constance also has been publicly humiliated and disparaged not only directly by Defendants, but also by students, parents and teachers in her community as a consequence of Defendants’ unlawful actions. Indeed, the stress and trauma of these events have required Constance to take medical leave from her classes at IAHS and has caused her to seek transfer out of the Itawamba County School District.
A plague on all their houses. If there is anything positive to say about this sorry tale and its pathetic cast of characters, it is that IAHS students have not ratcheted their animosity of Miss McMillen to the level directed at Phoebe Prince. The sticks-and-stones kind of comments directed at Miss McMillen, according to her Complaint, sound pretty mild and—dare I say it—age-appropriate for the classmates dissing her:
“We wanted a drama-free gathering to celebrate 3 great years and 1 lousy one together, and we wanted to lay low. We also wanted to do it without the main cause of the lousy.” “Heard you got the other prom canceled. Good job.” Other texts said, in words or substance, “You don’t even deserve to go to our school,” and “Are you going to ruin graduation too?” Later that day, another classmate sent a text message that said, in words or substance, “I don’t know why you come to this school because no one likes your gay ass anyways.” (from the ACLU Amended Complaint)
Too bad the actions of their dim-witted parents weren’t similarly age appropriate.
Way back in the 1980’s I held a tea party. I broke out the Limoges, I tracked down watercress—no easy trick in 1985—for fancy sandwiches, and I spent hours baking the requisite tiny pastries. As it happens, the guest list was all female, friends and colleagues. The centerpiece of the menu was a lethal brew called “Fish House Punch,” which consisted of liberal but delicious amounts of bourbon, dark rum, and apricot brandy. As I recall, the punch also featured lemon juice and strong, cold tea. Like I said, it was a tea party, and take my word for it, a good time was had by all.
One-quarter century later, having enjoyed all manner of tea in the intervening years, including formal tea with my delightful niece at the old Ritz in Boston and the even older Claridges in London, I fear that this fusty, anachronistic excuse to eat smoked salmon and quaff Champagne in the afternoon is in clear and present danger of being forever tarnished by the co-opting of “tea party” by latter-day grassroots activists.
I know that today’s partying Salada drinkers borrowed their moniker not from the Ritz’s menu, but from our Patriot forbearers in the mean streets of Boston. Even as I agree with the core principles of the Tea Partiers (fiscal responsibility, constitutionally limited government, free markets), though, I cannot warm to this movement.
So I eagerly clicked on “Poll Finds Tea Party Backers Wealthier and More Educated,” in today’s New York Times to educate myself and perhaps pinpoint the reasons for my wariness. It didn’t tell me much that I couldn’t figure out from watching news video of a Tea Party demonstration: men and women generally 45 and up; usually but certainly nowhere near always white; relatively financially OK, judging by their apparel; and moderate to conservative in their outlook, again using sartorial guidelines. But the Times also included this point of comparison between Tea Partiers and everybody else: the partiers are far more likely to have attended college, graduated from college, and gone on to post-graduate study. So much for stereotypes.
The Times’ poll did not shed any light on my take-it-or-leave-it attitude toward the Tea Party, so to find an answer I dug deeper into the article and plumbed the depths of the 1300+ comments the poll received. And while what I found still did not resolve my inner conflict, it did surface the pulsating veins of inchoate logic and racial enmity that flow through readers’ disturbingly similar remarks.
For those of you unfamiliar with readers’ comments in the Times, a quick primer: the Times invites readers to respond to some of its articles and opinion pieces, and also lets readers endorse comments by clicking on a “recommend” button. You can get a pretty good sense of which way the public opinion wind of Times readers is blowing on a given issue by reading comments and checking their recommendations.
Let me give you a sample of the most recommended comments the Times received regarding the Tea Party poll. The numbers in parenthesis indicate the number of “recommendations” that comment received.
Now we’re polling these wackos? Making their racist, hating views even more legit in their eyes? (770)
So these yahoos haven’t figured out that there is no such thing as middle-class anymore? It isn’t about money, it’s about hate. I have always observed that there are two kinds of Republicans. Old money Republicans and selfish, conservative, redneck Republicans. The tea party being the latter of the two. They hate themselves and everyone else. Their lives have always sucked and they have had to struggle so to hell with anybody else that needs help. They’re complaining about universal health care because it benefits the poor and unemployed. Well, what do they think the initial purpose of Social Security was? Are they willing to give that back or not accept it all?? Highly doubtful. Almost everything in this country, when initially brought in to law was considered a ‘liberal’idea, including formal education. People tried to shoot that down as well. So as far as tea party folks are concerned; shut the hell up..the Republicans were in charge for 8 years and did nothing but screw us all up. So shut your pie holes and go away. (1103)
These Tea Party folks are all racist hypocrites. All of their anger is rooted in race. Where the hell were they when President Bush massively expanded the size of the federal government, ran the country into huge deficits and recession, and cut taxes for the wealthiest Americans instead of middle-income families, as President Obama has done? Where were they when Bush threw away the surplus left by President Clinton? Only now after the election of an African-American Democrat are these tea-partiers coming out. Of course it’s about race. They just can’t stand watching a person of color lead our country. (771)
At their core, Tea Partiers resent people racially and ethnically different from themselves who — as they themselves do (Social Security, Medicare, home deductions, etc.) — receive government support, only the “bad” kind, i.e. “welfare” (as in Reagan’s “welfare queens” — code for blacks, who are the minority of recipients, by the way).
In the meantime, Tea Partiers give government the go-ahead to spend more on defense than the rest of the world’s governments combined.
Where’s “waste” to be cut? On domestic services, but only domestic services they don’t get or think they won’t need (and in this economy, they should give that a second thought).
This is a White Nationalist movement.
Fifty-seven percent of whites voted against Obama. When Tea Partiers say they want “their” country back, that “their” concerns are overlooked, that “they” aren’t represented in government, they’re speaking for that aging, diminishing demographic. (573)
Whoa. These folks are scary. To me, they are anti-American. Where is the tapestry of diversity which represents this great country? I don’t see one person of color in this group or any young people. It’s also shocking to think that so many of these folks still insist that Barack Obama is a Muslim or that he is a socialist. Frankly, I’ve not seen this kind of anger and ignorance in my lifetime and it makes me terribly concerned about our country’s future. (1612)
So according to the poll, these older white males take advantage of government services and appreciate those services and value those services and don’t mind paying what they do actually consider a “fair” price for those services … they just hate the president. Who happens to be black. This poll just points out to me that they ARE the racists they say they aren’t. (480)
Whew! It’s obvious to me that these folks did not read the same article that I did, or, if they did, simply ignored its findings while composing their comments. Even if you toss out some of the more unhinged rhetoric (“This is a white nationalist movement.”), you are still left trying to fight your way out of yards of complete and utter fabrication: “these older white males….just hate the president.” It seems to me that the real racism—and by that I mean a world view that assumes the intellectual inferiority of blacks—resides in the hearts and minds of those who seems to believe with total conviction that anyone who challenges the president is doing so simply on the basis of his skin tone. These racists—for that is what they are—are oblivious to their own logic, which categorically posits that no black man, not even the President of the United States, can be challenged on the quality of his record, agenda or beliefs. They look no further than the epidermis, either ignoring the president’s well-articulated platform or assuming that the president has only his skin color with which to lead the country.
Never let it be said that I do not search for common ground. Indeed, as dispiriting as I find these comments, I find myself in total agreement with at least one of the writers. The one who wrote, “Frankly, I’ve not seen this kind of anger and ignorance in my lifetime and it makes me terribly concerned about our country’s future.”
A week or so ago, a report on abstinence education that originally appeared in the Archives of Pediatrics & Adolescent Medicine made headlines. Its authors, Drs. John and Loretta Sweet Jemmott of the University of Pennsylvania, had written about the results of their research in the Philadelphia public schools, in which they found that abstinence education reduces sexual activity of teens and “tweens.” The Jemmotts also found that such a curriculum also upped the use of condoms among students who were determined to have adolescent intercourse.
A layperson’s summary, in the form of an interview with Loretta Sweet Jemmott, PhD, appears on the website of the Black AIDS Institute. I encourage you to read Dr. Jemmott’s sensible and accessible comments, which describe a program for kids that neither attempts to scare or shame them nor patronizes them nor treats them like miniature adults (which, come to think of it, is pretty patronizing too). Dr. Loretta Jemmott sounds like a very wise woman indeed.
What made me think about the Jemmotts’study, and take the time to track it down, was when a friend asked me why I hadn’t written anything about Phoebe Prince, the fifteen-year-old who hanged herself to escape relentless torment from a wolf pack of hormone-fueled girls and boys. Phoebe lived with her family in South Hadley, Massachusetts, and she attended South Hadley High School. The family had recently emigrated from Ireland, and Phoebe had all of three months’ exposure to US-style public schools, their unwritten rules and their impenetrable cliques before her suicide in late January. Phoebe Prince is back in the news this week because the members of the wolf pack have been charged in Juvenile Court with an assortment of crimes. If you are not familiar with Phoebe’s sad story, you can read about in many sources, but here is the Boston Globe‘s initial story; it gives a reasonable account and, like all others, describes Phoebe’s torment as “bullying” and her tormentors as “bullies.” If you are interested enough to read examples of their actual indictments, you can find them here, here, and here.
So what do abstinence education and teenage bullying have to do with one another? In Miss Prince’s case, it turns out, quite a bit. Although the news accounts of what the bullies actually said to Phoebe are hard to come by, one gleans that most if not all of the taunts were sexual in nature. She was called names that would make the mildest feminists cringe in anger and despair. She was invited to perform acts that would gross out all but the hypersexual, hypointelligent teens who suggested them.
What did Miss Prince do to deserve her fate? Nothing she did warranted the targeted, organized campaign of hate that was aimed at her. So why did it happen? Because she was pretty and the girls who went after her were jealous? Probably this was part of the story. Because she was just-off-the-boat Irish and ignorant of the rigid rules the define behavior for American teens? Yes, this probably also had something to do with it. These two factors alone might’ve earned her a few cold shoulders, and a chilly reception when she tried out for cheerleader, but they wouldn’t have led to the unrelenting assaults she endured.
Phoebe the freshman made her first mistake by accepting a date from an “older man,” a football captain who was evidently on hiatus from his usual girlfriend, the alpha female in the wolf pack. Had the “date” been a walk from school to the parking lot for a couple of smooches and a few gropes, chances are Phoebe would have been subject to a few insults and some dirty looks in the hall, but eventually would have ceased to be prey for the pack. But apparently there was more to the relationship between the freshman and the football captain. And apparently the football captain—no gentleman he—blabbed about his conquest. From then on, it was an oft-told tale of all-out war: a strange female wanders to alien land and seeks to join the pack by conjugating with the alpha male. Alpha female gathers her troops and retaliates to the death to rid the pack and its territory of the interloper. Phoebe Prince never had a chance.
If only. If only our society didn’t wink at teenagers having sex. If only our society attached more value to the development of reason and intellect than to the development of curves and muscles. If only we didn’t shrug our shoulders and simply let all those hormones rage because, hey, we can’t stop ‘em and besides we remember what it’s like to be sixteen.
If there were ever a morality tale that illustrates why high school kids should not have sex, it is the terrible story of Phoebe Prince, the girl who is presumed to have had sex with the football captain and paid for it with her life. The big-tough-guy captain himself who was so insecure about his prowess that he felt the need to broadcast his most intimate moments to an audience of his adoring fans. And the alpha female, who like many of her kind, confused copulating with something other than the exchange of bodily fluids, and whose hormone-drenched brain cells were washed clean of all but her most primal, basest instincts.
Until I read about Phoebe Prince and her attackers, I never really understood why teens ought to go the abstinence route. If I thought about teenage sex at all, it was only to cluck with disapproval now and then about teenagers having babies they could not, or would not, support. But if a couple of teens wanted to get it on, I figured that’s their business. I was wrong. The lethal consequences of letting kids do what they want, when they want are just too high a price to pay. More power to the Drs. Jemmott.
As a First Amendment absolutist, I agree completely with the court’s decision, which you can read here. Miss McMillen’s rights have been vindicated. She just can’t exercise them at the prom, which the court also said could remain canceled.
No harm, no foul, no prom.
Surrounded by a flotilla of ACLU attorneys, Constance McMillen made her way into the US District Court House in Aberdeen, Mississippi yesterday. She and her lawyers were there to argue that Itawamba High School should be ordered by the court to un-cancel its prom, once scheduled for Friday, April 2. A federal judge, rather than prom king and queen, presided over this particular court.
Forgetting for the moment the improbable coincidence that my mother’s first name is “Constance” and her birthday happens to be April 2, it occurred to me this morning to wonder how many Itawamba High students would have excused themselves from the dance because it was to have taken place on Good Friday, one of the holiest days in the Christian calendar.
In the mediarama that ensued after Miss McMillen threatened her first suit (the one that brought her to court on Monday was her second), I do not recall a single comment about this unfortunate timing. And that’s as interesting as it is puzzling, since both supporters and detractors of Miss McMillen were quick to point out that Itawamba County is but one of the many notches of the Bible Belt. A reasonable person might assume that any number of devout parents might have frowned on their son or daughter kicking up his or her heels on this day of solemn contemplation. A reasonable person might even wonder why the powers that be did not glance at a calendar: separation of church and state does not preclude sensitivity to individuals’ religious observances. No college or university that I am aware of—private or public—schedules exams on, for example, Good Friday, Yom Kippur or Eid. I am really curious to know why a high school prom in this instance is so different from an exam. Because it’s voluntary?
I might buy that, if it weren’t for the spontaneous outpourings from Miss McMillen’s cheering squad that attending prom is a “right” of passage that high school students absolutely, positively, can’t-possibly-miss must attend. Elevating a school dance to the level of compulsory life experience makes it at least as important as all those tests that do not take place on certain days of sacred significance. Isn’t the prom therefore also worthy of taking place on a day that allows for more inclusion?
So I guess I also wonder why the Christians who presumably could not attend the Itawamba High School prom because of their religious beliefs didn’t get busy with their legal briefs. Why didn’t they round up publicity-seeking lawyers to plead their case that a Good Friday prom for them would be no prom at all? I am sure someone would have taken up the cause.
I’d like to think it is because, unlike Miss McMillen, these students understood that although they can want something desperately they can’t always have it, even if that something is being withheld from them by people who are thoughtless or bigoted or both. I’d like to think these students chose to choose their battles wisely. That’s called “growing up.” Something I hope in time Miss McMillen will do.

Perhaps on Sunday, April 4 Miss McMillen (R) and her date will wear their prom finery in the Easter Parade.
NOTE to readers: A good account of the March 23 hearing appears in today’s Washington Post. And of course CMM!‘s earlier trenchant commentary, Constance McMillen and Barak Obama: Spiritual Prom Dates, for background and context.
For the last several years during Christmas week I have been spending a few nights at the Copley Plaza in Boston, the hotel that once billed itself as “Boston’s Grande Dame.” Specifically, I hole up on its “Gold Floor,” which, according to the introductory patter of the desk clerks, is “patterned after a fine home on Beacon Hill.” And it is true that on the Gold Floor there is a large drawing room complete with fireplace, a paneled library with leather wing chairs (and books), and, best of all, a butler’s pantry. It’s enough faux Brahmin to make one forget that the Gold Floor is just another manifestation of the marketing concept many hotels use to charge more for essentially the same room that’s on any other floor by slapping a name on it (“concierge level,” “grand club”) or providing the illusion of exclusivity by issuing special keys to bring the elevator to the exalted level. Nevertheless, for three days just before New Year’s I happily play let’s pretend and wallow in the artifice.
For a single woman, this is almost dream getaway. You want to be called “Miss”? The obliging staff calls you “Miss.” You want your slippers and robe set out for you? No problem. You want elves to shine your shoes for you overnight and return them gift-wrapped in the morning. Sure thing. Hang a “privacy, please” tag on your door and you can laze around till 3 p.m., go out for a brief constitutional and return to a room freshly made-up by unseen hands.
And then there is that butler’s pantry stocked with every imaginable breakfast item, hot and cold, all morning long, its selections changing daily. Mid-day there are cookies and fruit and come cocktail hour (or on the Gold Floor, cocktail two hours) a lavish display of canapés appears, along with an honor bar that would knock your socks off. You never have to leave the Gold Floor for the duration of your stay!
And this year, I barely did. I was writing, so I alternated between the laptop I brought with me and kept in my room and, when I wanted a change of scenery, the desktop computers tucked away in the drawing room. My meals were there for the taking, as were my adult beverages. So what’s with the “almost”? What’s not to like? Well, a couple of things.
First, the television. When I entered my room I gave a little gasp of joy, for the Copley had finally upgraded to flat screen, high-def models. Great, I thought, the perfect antidote to my chronic insomnia. Silly me. I had forgotten my brother-in-law’s first rule of hostelry: the more expensive the room, the fewer the TV channels. Not only did the Copley spurn many of Boston’s local channels, which meant no nightly hour of Family Guy, but of the measly number of choices it did offer—twenty-five, maybe—a full third to half of them were sports: ESPN, ESPN 2, ESPN HD, ESPN News, ESPN Classic, NESN, something called “Speedway,” and on and on and on. I understand that in the heart of Red Sox nation there is interest in keeping up with the local teams, but to dedicate our precious airways to all sports, all the time, including repeats of games from five years ago? An entire channel for motorcycles? You know what I think? Of course you do. Whatever genius thinks up the television selection for the Copley has got to be a man, programming for all those he-man road warriors out on the hunt to bring home the bacon for the little woman. Me big-man traveling IT consultant. Me want my sports TV. Somebody needs to remind these hospitality experts that women constitute half the workforce, and that most women at the end of a long day working (or, in my case, loafing) are not interested in catching up on curling matches from 1983.
The other drawback that keeps the Gold Floor from delivering single women to the promised land is that for all its luxe amenities it apparently represents a real bargain for families on holiday. For a single person paying the same as a couple or a family of four for a room on the Gold Floor, the cost of that one “complementary” breakfast and a plateful of appetizers is more than built into the price of the room. But for the traveling Griswolds, with multiple hungry mouths to feed, it is an incredible deal. Nothing shatters the illusion of exclusivity faster than a father looking the other way as his kid plunges her hands into a chafing dish of oatmeal. Nothing kills the frisson of that first sip of martini faster than a sullen teenager discovering that mini quiches make great projectiles. And nothing but nothing eliminates the possibility of strangers-that-pass-in-the-night romance faster than a raucous family reunion fueled by an honor bar. Next year I am hoping that the Gold Floor will hire a couple of bouncers.
I know that I could decamp for the Mandarin Oriental that’s just opened, or the Taj that occupies the old Ritz, but I am a creature of habit and tradition. Especially that one about kids being seen and not heard.