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(c) Elliott Publishing.

I'm Watching You
The Occidental Tourist · June 22, 2003

Again, the on-the-spot snipings of a most jaded but dogged traveler, the Tourist. Yes to you - you apathetic hotel operators, you aggressively hostile airlines, you inept resort clerks, you clueless waiters, you worthless rental car counter clerks - the Tourist is still out there. And he is watching ...

  • Yes, even the home of the first American president is far from immune - when it comes to shameless, blatant attempts to sell lots of crud. The Tourist took the wee lad and missus to Mount Vernon, Va., (for the historically challenged, that would be the home of George Washington). A great time was had by all, touring the home, strolling the grounds, checking out the family tombs and learning that - unlike Jefferson - Washington was a savvy investor and didn't die deep in debt. (But, then again, he didn't have to navigate today's equities via a 401(K) either.) At any rate, as the Tourist crew was about to head to the parking lot, we noticed signs indicating that the only way to exit was - you guessed it - via an out-of-the-way, twisted path that went straight through the gift shop area. What a crock! The Tourist, of course, noticed that the entrance gate was closer to the parking lot and wide open. And he also observed that it was staffed by elderly ladies who weren't exactly going to tackle him and his family if he went 'out' through the 'in' door. So that's exactly what he did. Nobody said a word.

  • Call the Tourist crazy, but when he pays for a room-service item that is supposed to have blue crab in it, he actually expects to find visually representative chunks of, well, blue crab in it. Apparently, the Hyatt in Cambridge, Md., has an alternative view of this universe. The Tourist ordered egg's benedict done in classic, Eastern Shore style - with lumps of blue crab underneath the hollandaise. Turned out the dish had enough crab to fill a thimble. In the old days, the Tourist would have gotten indignantly angry and demanded a new order free of charge. But fatherhood and old age must be mellowing him out. He kept his mouth shut and ate his damn breakfast. These days, he figures, he'll live longer by picking his battles. Still, $14.50 for a poached egg on a muffin with hollandaise is a bit much.
OK, enough with the negativity. Ticked readers know the Tourist is no fan of the way professional sports teams and players are taking cities hostage, all in the name of greed. Well, if sports fans really want to protest in a meaningful way, they can stay away from the ticket gates.

But, by all means, you can still enjoy sports. Sports of all kinds, played with vigor, passion and sportsmanship.

Go to a high school playoff. Go to a college game. Heck, catch Little League sometime, or, better yet, volunteer to help coach. Or go to a minor-league baseball game. That's where you'll see the essence of sport played out, with hunger and determination to win. Not to mention having a more up-close-and-personal fan experience with the athletes.

To wit: The Tourist took the lil lad to the national championship of men's lacrosse on Memorial Day weekend at the Baltimore Ravens' stadium. (No, sorry. Not going to call it by its corporate shill name. Besides, those names seem to change by the minute.)

What a thrill, to see young men from two great institutions of higher learning - Johns Hopkins and the University of Virginia - take on each other in a game marked by passion and respect for the game; great sportsmanship shared between both opposing teams; and an absolutely relentless zeal to emerge as champion. It was a great game played well, on both sides, with Virginia winning in the end. And it was comforting to know that not one of those young men on the field were going to make a fortune off of fans by going pro, that they were there as students first and athletes second, knowing that the 'gift' that the game had given them was that of an education. Nothing more. Nothing less.

In Park City, Utah, over the holiday break, spending New Year's 2003 on a snowy mountain: The Tourist's wee lad didn't have the stomach yet for going up a mountain. So he didn't. We took advantage of the free, tiny practice area (with snow hills) and got him just a little bit used to being on the skis every day. Ten minutes one day, 20 minutes the next. He'll go up a mountain when he's ready.

Better that way than to put him through what the Tourist saw other parents putting their toddlers through - the 'toss them into the pool' approach. The Tourist was heartbroken (and sickened) to see one parent at the top of a mountain urging his terrified, weeping child to go down the mountain. Hey parents, get a grip: Your kid isn't going to be ostracized by his peers; considered developmentally slow; or otherwise rejected by Harvard if he doesn't get down a mountain on skis by age 5. So let it go. The kiddies will go down the mountain when they're ready.

The Occidental Tourist is a magazine writer in Washington, DC. E-mail him at tourist@ticked.com.