If this piece fits with any of the current marketing messages we ought to be using, then maybe we need to do more than think of a cute logo. Maybe some marketers need to be shot and their heads mounted on poles, pour encourager les autres. For crying out loud, a chunk in the middle is nothing more than a recitation of jokes using The Other N-Word.
Someone might want to take the guys aside at this golf course and set them straight on how to deal with customers:
I had been warned to "pack an umbrella and maybe some snow boots" by the folks who operate the semi-private, 36-hole Clovelly Golf Course, even though I was going to be visiting in late summer.If the N-word stuff wasn't bad enough, there's talk of the local minstrel shows, otherwise known as "Screech-ins", in which locals adopt the very best Stepin Fetchit attitudes:
To be screeched in is to be officially welcomed as an honorary Newfoundlander. It's an age-old ritual involving rum, a ridiculously nonsensical incantation ("Is ya a Screecher?"; "Indeed I is me ol'cock!"), a chunk of bologna ("Newfie steak") and the kissing of a fish, but as we had no cod, I had to kiss a puffin. A carved one, but about as hygienic as the Blarney Stone on a busy day.The only thing harder to imagine than this thing being written today as opposed to 40 years ago?
That a single traveler in Dallas-Fort Worth will bother to head to a place farther away from DFW than Honolulu.
Notice that fact gets mentioned.
The city Buzz Mcclaine wrote about is not a place to visit; it is a place to read about and avoid.
