Daily Office: Tuesday

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Morning

¶ Transport: Joe Sharkey, who follows business travel for the Times, writes about the increasingly “upstairs-downstairs” nature of domestic air travel. The “commercial” airlines have lost nearly half of their “premium” customers to “business aviation” — smaller, upscale jets that used to be the preserve of jillionaires and corporations — since 2000.

Noon

¶ Panic: Within the past twenty minutes, I have drifted from a calm inattentiveness into a vortex of panic. How on earth am I going to be ready to leave New York by 1:30 tomorrow afternoon? And how did I manage to forget the Morning Read this morning? Must have been the McChouffe at lunch.

Night

¶ Bronx Cheer: Sex kitteness Dr Ruth Westheimer inducted into the Houston Bronx Walk of Fame, even though she has never lived on Westheimer Boulevard in the Bronx.

Oremus…

Morning, cont’d

§ Transport. Mr Sharkey doesn’t say so, but it’s hard not to foresee in this development the end of commercial aviation as we know it — and, with it, tourism as we know it.

And, heaven knows, the end of tourism as we know it can’t come soon enough. That sounds sniffy, I know; and as someone who can remember what travel was like before cheap jetliner fares, I suppose I ought to come right out and accuse myself of Talleyrandish nostalgia: you can’t imagine how nice it was, for the few who could afford it.

Now that I’ve acknowledged my in-built prejudice, however, I’d like to suggest that aviation is not really a desirable solution to the problem of human transport. For most people, it’s true, the simple act of flying is thrilling. But this thrill has nothing to do with travel. There is absolutely no good reason why this country should not boast superb railroads — clean, comfortable, fast, and efficient, everything that ours are not. The reasons for the wretched state of our railroads overlap almost to the point of identity with our bad habits of energy use and our crazily demented notions of “personal convenience” (ie, the right to be stuck in traffic on your own schedule.) 

I can remember another thing: a time when cars and planes were modes of the future. Still! Cars and planes had been around for about half a century when my little mind began to explore the world beyond my playpen, but they retained the full measure of their gee-whiz sparkle. If anything, they’d become more futuristic with familiarity.

I’m much more comfortable with the fact that telephones, older by far than cars and planes, represent today’s technology of the future. They use up so much less oil, not to mention being easier to carry around.  

Noon, cont’d

§ Panic. This is what comes of trying to take the summer off. It’s also the aftershock of great good news: M le Neveu called this morning to say that a) his dissertation had been successfully defended and accepted and b) he’d been offered a lectureship at a major college. Fantastic! Oh, and, by the way, c) he’s moving out of his Columbia flat this weekend and do we have any extra room at Westphalia.

Well, yes, but why does it have to come up now? That is the fundamental perversity of life without servants. You never know when you’re going to be needed.

McChouffe: the Belgian brew that tastes exactly like the nut-brown ale that I used to make up in the country. Now, how to buy it retail.

Night, cont’d

§ Bronx Cheer. But wait! I grew up in Bronxville! What about me? Oh! Gotta get famous first; I see.