So-called "Celebrated" and increasingly depressed Wall Street Journal writer Peggy Noonan apparently doesn't realize she can just walk out of her bad hotel when she realizes it isn't the Ritz-Carlton. Instead, she projects own sadness (probably about Mitt not winning the election, as predicted by her special vibrations about yard signs) and feels moved to write an extended Best-Days-are-Behind-Us metaphor about Apocalypse America because . . . it's Obama's fault.
Apparently she's never visited Trip Advisor. Or perhaps her secretary should.
The Anti-Confidence Man: Just when America needs a boost, we're stuck with Dr. Doom in the White House.online.wsj.com/article/SB1000…— Peggy Noonan (@Peggynoonannyc) March 8, 2013
Wall Street Journal
I'm in Pittsburgh, making my way to the airport hotel. The people movers are broken and we pull our bags along the dingy carpet. There's an increasing sense in America now that the facades are intact but the machinery inside is broken.
The hotel has entrances on two floors. I search for the lobby, find it. Travelers are milling about, but there's no information desk, no doorman, no bellman or concierge, just two harried-looking workers at a front desk on the second level. The man who checked me in put his phones on hold when I asked for someone to accompany me upstairs. As we walked to the room I felt I should explain. I told him a trial attorney had told me a while back that there are more lawsuits involving hotels than is generally known, and more crime, so always try to have someone with you when you first go to your room. I thought the hotel clerk would pooh-pooh this. Instead he said, "That's why we just put up mirrors at each end of the hall, so you can see if someone's coming." He made it sound like an amenity.
"What should we do then, scream?" I asked. He laughed and shrugged: "Yeah."
Things are getting pretty bare-bones in America. Doormen, security, bellmen, people working the floor—that's maybe a dozen jobs that should have been filled, at one little hotel on one day in one town. Everyone's keeping costs down, not hiring.
What that hotel looked like is America without its muscle, its efficiency, its old confidence.
A few hours after this column reached WSJ readers, we learned American businesses added 246,000 jobs in February, and 2.33 million jobs over the last year. It's unfortunate that Noonan received poor service at a hotel, her attempt to extrapolate from that experience misses the mark.
I'll never know why Noonan's editors didn't send her a quick note, saying, "Um, Peggy? Are you sure you want to publish this?"
~ Steve Benen on Maddow Blog
Note the seamless segue from Peggy's statement of the preternaturally boring thing she is doing, straight into an unqualified statement about the "sense" of a nation of 300 million people. Peggy Noonan knows these things. She has traveled from frontier to frontier. Of airport hotels.
Peggy Noonan Didn’t Like Her Hotel Room. Thanks Obama!
. . . Can’t you just smell the mines and poverty and sadness? Can’t you see the little children, their faces unwashed and bodies shriveled, an army of walking Walker Evans photos, making Peggy Noonan sad? Oh, sorry, no, we forgot. There are no waifs in this story, just a dingy carpet.
. . . Why did Obama fire all the hotel workers? Is it because he hates capitalism, and jobs, and wants everyone to be poor so they can all be ACORNs?
Yes. Stupid Obama murdered all the jobs.
"The room had one of those sad clown pictures from 1971, and when I looked closed, I could see a resemblance to America. I gazed longingly for a time in America when a gin and tonic before breakfast was okay, and I realized I was staring at myself in the mirror. When had I become a sad clown? Probably 1972."
~ EatsBabyDingos on Wonkette
The bedbugs heard Peggy was checking in and they left in a huff.
~ Barbara on Wonkette
Ask not for whom the bellhops. It hoppeth not for thee, Peggy.
~ Mumbletypeg on Wonkette
peggy noonan tries to exercise at the ymca: another in a series of tales from barack obama’s degraded amercia
. . . It is Wednesday morning, 8:30 AM, and I find myself carrying a faded pink duffel bag across the beaten and worn floors of my neighborhood YMCA as I search in vain for the duffel bag porter to relieve me of this burden and take it to my locker. A fire, perhaps the same fire that is smothering the very richness of American ingenuity under this blinkered administration, as rendered my usual workout facilities unusable, and I am left without recourse on this bitter morning, as bitter as the shapes of discarded American lives I see strewn all around me as I furtively look for someone, anyone, to assist me. There’s no one to call to, no one who can answer my plaintive cry for help, just as the White House is empty of anyone who can respond in kind to the plaintive cry of America herself in this dark time. There is no information desk, no concierge, no sports drink sommelier at this facility. These are good jobs that are going unfilled because of President Obama’s inability to fill them.
I go to the information desk and ask why there are no valets to take my duffel bag, but I am brusquely told to produce an “identification card” by which I may obtain entry into the facility. Yes, in Obama’s America, we are denied access to that which would nourish the steel and brawn of this nation . . .
~ Parody by FastEddie9318 on Wordpress
Yes, Peggy Noonan will still have a high-paying job tomorrow. It boggles the mind. salon.com/2013/03/08/cel…— William K. Wolfrum (@Wolfrum) March 8, 2013
LOL------->RT “@allanbrauer: Peggy Noonan should stop cutting her cocaine with Ronald Reagan's ashes.”— Cody Jackson (@CowboyCodyJack) March 8, 2013