So I’ve just got back from the most amazing week in Boston, and I say
amazing in the sense that I’m amazed at one thing – the depths one will go for
BlackBerry service, and how nine days of communication-less activity will test the
very depths of mankind.
Okay, so I’m being dramatic. I’ll save the drama for my Kazinsky-esque letter
to AT&T Wireless, whose customer service gives new meaning to the word
abysmal, and that is being charitable, which you know is a trademark of The
Travel Snob. Well, that and my aversion to children and insects.
The good news is that after about Day Five I finally broke the addiction, no longer
caring who was trying to reach me -- a Phelps-like exercise in itself, I assure you,
as my BlackBerry also doubled as my cell-phone, rendering me completely
incommunicado for an entire week: no email, phone calls, texts, IMs, air horns,
Bat signals, nothing.
And that, folks, is how I finally slayed the dragon, an experience which could
have been an Aerosmith video all its own, except I was in a luxury suite at the Taj
Boston, crying ruefully in a marble tub filled with Molton Brown bubbles, and not in
some needle-laden alley flying the silver highway with Steven Tyler.
But whatever, it was difficult, I got through it, and emerged a stronger person
for having done it (where’s James Frey when you really need him?) And
thankfully so, for I would not have been able to enjoy my long-awaited vacation to
Boston, which included everything from a Duck Tour to a Patriot game, as well as
jaunts through the Common, down Newbury Street and even a mid-morning
shopping spree at Filene’s Basement, which I always considered low rent until
finding a $2700 Brioni leather bomber jacket for $699.
The best part of the trip was staying at The Taj, and indulging in a suite
whose size would quell even a Mizrahi meltdown (Thorizine works too, fyi) Savvy
travelers know this property as one of Boston’s oldest, finest hotels, and its
position as the “Grand Dame on Arlington Street” has never been more firmly
entrenched. Originally opened in 1927 as a Ritz-Carlton, it changed over to Taj in
2007 but its service, charm and idyllic location remain positively top notch, if not
better. Uniquely positioned off Newbury Street, the hotel occupies the single best
real estate in town, with sweeping views of the city skyline, Public Garden, and
the tony shops that surround it. It is the quintessential Boston experience.
And it helped get me through my harrowing BlackBerry mishap, a curse I would
not wish on any of my enemies (except that skank Johanna).
It’s ironic this happened during this particular week because I was fully
prepared to devote my entire column to the joys of using your BlackBerry aboard
American Airlines flights, now that they’ve installed the new “Gogo” in-flight
service on select routes. For $12.95, users can access internet and email on
flights between New York and Los Angeles, San Francisco and Miami.
It was pretty sweet being able to e-mail 30,000 feet in the air, simultaneously
terrorizing your underlings while enjoying a chilled glass of wine. There I was,
firing off messages left and right when I’d normally be a) passed out b) ignoring
the person next to me by feigning deafness c) ignoring the person next to me by
feigning lack of English (which, as an Irishman, takes a certain suspension of
disbelief) or d) ignoring everyone because I’m trashed (see, “Irishman, as an”)
while clapping excitedly for “Seabiscuit,” not realizing I’ve seen the movie a dozen
times before and already know the outcome.
Details, schmetails … the morale of the story is that email aboard planes is a
good thing, and not the apocalypse my assistant has foretold. What I really fear is
cell phone service in mid-air; hearing Goombah Johnny place his OTB wagers is
going to take a really strong glass of Merlot, and a sequel to “Seabiscuit.”
amazing in the sense that I’m amazed at one thing – the depths one will go for
BlackBerry service, and how nine days of communication-less activity will test the
very depths of mankind.
Okay, so I’m being dramatic. I’ll save the drama for my Kazinsky-esque letter
to AT&T Wireless, whose customer service gives new meaning to the word
abysmal, and that is being charitable, which you know is a trademark of The
Travel Snob. Well, that and my aversion to children and insects.
The good news is that after about Day Five I finally broke the addiction, no longer
caring who was trying to reach me -- a Phelps-like exercise in itself, I assure you,
as my BlackBerry also doubled as my cell-phone, rendering me completely
incommunicado for an entire week: no email, phone calls, texts, IMs, air horns,
Bat signals, nothing.
And that, folks, is how I finally slayed the dragon, an experience which could
have been an Aerosmith video all its own, except I was in a luxury suite at the Taj
Boston, crying ruefully in a marble tub filled with Molton Brown bubbles, and not in
some needle-laden alley flying the silver highway with Steven Tyler.
But whatever, it was difficult, I got through it, and emerged a stronger person
for having done it (where’s James Frey when you really need him?) And
thankfully so, for I would not have been able to enjoy my long-awaited vacation to
Boston, which included everything from a Duck Tour to a Patriot game, as well as
jaunts through the Common, down Newbury Street and even a mid-morning
shopping spree at Filene’s Basement, which I always considered low rent until
finding a $2700 Brioni leather bomber jacket for $699.
The best part of the trip was staying at The Taj, and indulging in a suite
whose size would quell even a Mizrahi meltdown (Thorizine works too, fyi) Savvy
travelers know this property as one of Boston’s oldest, finest hotels, and its
position as the “Grand Dame on Arlington Street” has never been more firmly
entrenched. Originally opened in 1927 as a Ritz-Carlton, it changed over to Taj in
2007 but its service, charm and idyllic location remain positively top notch, if not
better. Uniquely positioned off Newbury Street, the hotel occupies the single best
real estate in town, with sweeping views of the city skyline, Public Garden, and
the tony shops that surround it. It is the quintessential Boston experience.
And it helped get me through my harrowing BlackBerry mishap, a curse I would
not wish on any of my enemies (except that skank Johanna).
It’s ironic this happened during this particular week because I was fully
prepared to devote my entire column to the joys of using your BlackBerry aboard
American Airlines flights, now that they’ve installed the new “Gogo” in-flight
service on select routes. For $12.95, users can access internet and email on
flights between New York and Los Angeles, San Francisco and Miami.
It was pretty sweet being able to e-mail 30,000 feet in the air, simultaneously
terrorizing your underlings while enjoying a chilled glass of wine. There I was,
firing off messages left and right when I’d normally be a) passed out b) ignoring
the person next to me by feigning deafness c) ignoring the person next to me by
feigning lack of English (which, as an Irishman, takes a certain suspension of
disbelief) or d) ignoring everyone because I’m trashed (see, “Irishman, as an”)
while clapping excitedly for “Seabiscuit,” not realizing I’ve seen the movie a dozen
times before and already know the outcome.
Details, schmetails … the morale of the story is that email aboard planes is a
good thing, and not the apocalypse my assistant has foretold. What I really fear is
cell phone service in mid-air; hearing Goombah Johnny place his OTB wagers is
going to take a really strong glass of Merlot, and a sequel to “Seabiscuit.”
| The Crackberry Code |
| How Boston and AT&T Wireless Helped the Travel Snob Slay the Dragon |
