From the Editor
I’ve been in the nation's capital for the past few days. The heat and congestion leave me wondering whether any sane decisions can be made here in the summertime. The Decider-In-Chief is, of course, holed up in air-cooled comfort and if he decides to go anywhere he doesn't have to fight traffic. Still, might the miasma around him, like Digger, the dermatophyte, stealthily invade his brain?
The whole world seems to be getting overheated, in action as well as rhetoric.
I went over the weekend to the Tyson's Corner shopping mall. I can remember, believe it or not, when Tyson’s Corner was actually a country crossroads, with an old wooden general store sitting sleepily near the intersection. The difference between what it was then and what it is now provides my definition of maniacal transformation. It’s not that its current manifestation fails to be pleasant, in the way of slick, massed produced wealth. But strolling along its comfortable halls, it’s hard not to ask yourself how many barrels of oil it takes each year to keep the operation cranking. And, then, if you allow your mind to descend even further to what the patriot Bill O’Reilly would call crackpot left-wing ideation, you wonder how many lives are destroyed each year to maintain the smooth, artificial brilliance of a Tyson’s Corner.
Still, to prove myself that I’m not a moralist, I went to Starbuck’s, drank a cup of coffee, ate an oatmeal raison cookie and enjoyed myself well enough.
Next week, I’ll be back in Vermont, where it will be cooler and where there are as yet no Tyson’s Corners. I used to console myself with the thought that if the world went perfectly berserk I could retreat so far into the northern climes as to leave the craziness behind me. It would be primitive there and a bit uncomfortable, but it would, at least, be sane. Yet now the prophets of economic progress are erasing even that dream. And, I like everyone else, am left with no place to flee to. Development will track me down wherever I go.
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