VIRTUAL MOAB–AN ALTERNATIVE FUTURE
My apocalyptic vision of the future in the last issue seemed to disturb more than a few of my friends who thought I was being too gloomy—ON THE ONE HAND, they all thought I was right, that 2039 AD would closely resemble my projections, but that it was too disturbing. Well, isn’t that the way it always is? Tell the truth and everybody squirms...when will I learn?
But this time of year, it’s possible to forget about the future, or even the present. Even Moab gets quiet in the wintertime–not like it used to be. But then, what is?
By the time this edition reaches the streets, in fact, the deadly silence will have most left most Moab merchants in a panic, as they do each and every winter, as tourist traffic dwindles to a trickle and the bills continue to pour in. And so sane and serene Moabites will actually look forward to, anticipate, even long for the return of thousands of narcissistic fitness buffs who show up for our annual masochistic rite of Spring, the Half Marathon. Imagine sixteen hundred brightly clad runners pushing and shoving their way down Route 128 along 13 miles of asphalt to the finish line and glory at the Moab City Park. A man recently called one of the race organizers to complain that he could not find a motel room to rent in the entire town of Moab.
"The whole town is booked," he complained. "What am I going to do?"
"About the best you can hope for," explained the weary race official, "is a motel room in Green River and commute to town."
There was a long pause.
"I'm sorry, miss," he said stiffly. "That won't do at all."
So please understand my lack of enthusiasm for The Big Race. I realize, for the most part, that this is my problem. That I didn't come to live in tourist mecca. That, in fact, I am a living anachronism. That I am clinging hopelessly to the past. To a simpler time. To a slower time. I’m screwed.
I'm not completely anti-technology. I’ve had a love/hate relationship with a computer for a decade now. . I know how to push 27 buttons in different combinations to produce copy for the Zephyr. I’ve been getting on the internet for five years, the Zephyr has a web site, I even tried to find True Love on the world wide web. I check the Drudge Report daily, watch the LiveCams in Perth each morning, and finally, after years of fear and vacillation, my friend Lynn Shafer forced me to learn how to scan photos so I could quit bugging Marge at the Printing Place with last second scanning requests.
So, there are certain aspects of this new technology that intrigue me. I am particularly interested in the "virtual reality" concept. I realize that the system is in its early stages of development, but it may be the answer to my prayers. There will be a time in the future, I hope and pray, when a trip to Moab will be as simple as strapping on a pair of goggles and slipping on a pair of gloves. Imagine, if you will, the Virtual Reality Trip to Moab for the Weekend...
You and your loved ones need to do little more than move the kitchen chairs into the living room for the ride of your life. Engage the system and you're on your way. The virtual trip to Moab is a breeze. Your virtual Saab Turbo gets you to Moab in three hours flat. A virtual cop at Soldier Summit makes a futile attempt to pull you over for speeding but you leave him far behind in a virtual cloud of blue smoke. (Your Saab needs a virtual ring job–great news for the virtual mechanic)
As you make the long descent into the Moab Valley, you see for the
first time, Moab's new virtual tram rising majestically behind the
virtual uranium tailings pile, climbing to the top of the Portal.
"What a virtually awesome view," you say to each other. "This is going to be a great day for some serious virtual biking."
"Virtually radical," you all agree.
But first, how about a bite to eat? Unimpressed by all the new virtual fast food chain restaurants that have sprouted like a virtual fungus all over Moab, you head for one of your favorite virtual Moab restaurants, the one that doesn’t even exist anymore---the Dos Amigos Cantina, where you are greeted by the virtual (and versatile) owner of the establishment, Michael J. Marooney.
(Even though Marooney left town more than five years ago and now lives in the lap of luxury in Southern California, there’s no reason, in the Virtual World, to deprive you of a unique and unforgettable experience.)
You are pleasantly relieved to find that the Virtual Marooney is just as frightening as the legend he has become . When he turns to each of you and says, regardless of race, color, creed, gender, or national origin, "Have you ever done it with a virtual fat guy?" before he's even handed you a menu...you know you have a Virtual Reality system that is nothing less than "top of the line."
Elsewhere, other virtual travelers like yourself are buying virtual goods and services from Moab merchants who are squirreling the money away so they can someday retire to Bull Head City, Nevada. Virtual real estate developers are selling virtual condo lots like an elephant goes through peanuts to happy second-home happy buyers from across the nation.
Back at the Dos, two hours and too many virtual Margaritas later, you head for the Slickrock bike trail. But when you get to the virtual Sand Flats, you discover that every virtual law enforcement officer in southern Utah is up there as well, heavily armed with enough virtual fire power to turn your virtual reality into a really bad dream. But upon closer inspection, you discover that your own virtual people, the thousands of virtual party-hearty maniacs that you came here to commune with in the first place, far outnumber the virtual Law. And so you break out your virtual cases of beer, which you consume in massive quantities until you become so ill you think you're going to puke your virtual guts out.
EMTs from the Grand County Search and Rescue Squad discover you and your friends the next morning under your Saab, where you are hovering near virtual death from virtual alcohol poisoning. Your blood alcohol count is an astounding .37 (virtual). A LifeFlite chopper whisks you away to LDS Hospital in Salt Lake, where you make a slow but complete recovery from your virtual brush with death.
About now it's time to take off the goggles. And all you can say is: Wow! What a weekend getaway! Look at all the fun you had. You out ran a cop, you were sexually harassed at a Moab restaurant, you injected much needed cash into the Moab economy, you ate too much, you partied too long, you trashed the Sand Flats, you peddled your butts off, you almost died, and you discovered the secret to Randall Carlisle's weird hair-do. And, best of all, you never left your living room. Back in Moab, virtual profits for the weekend hit an all-time high. Meanwhile the coyotes chase the jack rabbits in the empty alfalfa fields south of town in the very space occupied by those lovely fake-adobe, Santa Fe-style virtual condos.
Maybe the future isn't as grim as I thought it might be.
The virtual future, that is.
CAN SMALL TOWN BUSINESSES SURVIVE?
Ron Maupin has been a regular advertiser in The Zephyr since Volume 1 Number 1, almost 15 years ago. He owns the Haggle of Vendors antiques and collectible store on Main Street in downtown Grand Junction. He also served on the Grand Junction City Council and was its Mayor. Despite massive development on both ends of the
city, the Haggle continues to flourish, but even Ron wonders for how long. Right now, national chain stores are adding one million square feet of new retail space, a couple miles west of downtown and it is bound to have an effect on all small businesses. Everything from sporting goods to name-brand eateries are sprouting in these multiplex malls. As Ron notes, "There are dozens of wonderful restaurants in the downtown area, for example, that are sitting empty or half-filled right now. Meanwhile, people are standing in line to get a seat at the Olive Garden....Why?"
Why is the inclination of most Americans to patronize the bland and the boring? Where every restaurant, every store looks the same from coast to coast? One would think such uniformity would be a detraction, but in American Culture in the 21st Century, it is more than an attraction–it seems to be a necessity.
And the price we pay for our lack of imagination is a world where small privately owned businesses are on the verge of extinction. Imagine a future where the population depends on six or seven stores
for all their needs.
Olive Garden, Sizzler, McDonald’s, Burger King, Taco Bell and Denny’s for food. Blockbuster for entertainment. Time-Warner for news. Home Depot for building needs and hardware, Exxon for fuel, Super Wal-Mart for groceries and everything else. THESE MAY BE YOUR ONLY CHOICES SOMEDAY.
And it’s not just in the large cities. Even towns like Moab are feeling the pressure. Except for Pizza Hut, Moab was franchise-free until 1990 when McDonald’s broke ground and opened a floodgate of copycat fast food restaurants.
The Big Mac genre destroyed many of the small mom & pop cafes in town, like the Westerner Grill and the Canyonland Café. And many indie cafes have come and gone since then as well; they simply could not compete with the corporate big boys.
And what will happen to great restaurants like Buck’s and the Center Café and the Sunset Grill if, someday, national chains like Olive Garden or Sizzler or Red Lobster choose to invade the Moab eatery market?
Many small businesses are going the way of family farm and ranches. Soon no one but already very wealthy people or corporations will be able to afford to start their own business.
For example, in the early 70s, a ranch near Moab sold for $60,000. A man of modest means could afford that price and become a working rancher. By 1990, that same ranch sold for close to a million dollars. Today, with some fairly dramatic ‘improvements,’ that ranch would go for five to seven million dollars. So much for the middle-class cowboy with a dream of owning his own spread.
Until recently, it was still possible in many small towns like Moab, to own a small business and start from scratch and be successful at it. Even that dream is becoming elusive. With skyrocketing rents, and increased labor costs, and the need to create enormous inventories that still sit idle in the winter, only the most resilient (the wealthiest) can survive the inevitable ups and downs of the tourist industry.
And that change has a direct effect on many–it puts people out of business, plain and simple. For others the effect is more subtle, but it’s a trickle down effect we all feel.
Here at the Zephyr, we recently lost an ad that Jim Sarten and North American Rivers had run for almost 14 years. Jim liked the Z and always wanted to be a part of it. And it was only an eighth page ad. But he finally retired and sold the business to OARS, the largest river company in the West. I suppose the phone call that came last spring was inevitable. Somebody from corporate headquarters in California called me and wanted to see a copy of the ad. So I emailed him the latest cartoon ad and the next day, I got this: CANCEL all future ads.
For once, I decided to inquire about their reasons; after all, the river company had been in the Zephyr for 14 years. I received a very terse
reply. They explained that, "there isn’t enough ROI."
ROI? I had to think a moment. What in the hell is ROI? And then it hit me—RETURN ON INVESTMENT. Their bi-monthly $95 ad wasn’t creating enough ROI.
It was enough to make a publisher cry.
So this seems to be the way things are going and I’m not sure there is anything we can do to change it. But it does seem to me that we should try. How many of us complain about Wal-Mart but still go there? How many still pass the mom & pop burger place and opt for a Whopper? And maybe it’s unrealistic to expect a chain store-addicted public to go cold turkey. I’ll even confess here and admit that there are times when I just can’t find what I’m looking for anywhere else BUT at a big ticket store.
What I try to do is avoid the temptation to buy an item that I know I can find at the local store–whether it’s groceries or film processing, or garden hose. It takes a little extra effort, but your friends will appreciate your
support because, in a small town, your friends ARE the small business owners that are struggling to survive.
IRAQ FACTS...#1
I recently heard (yet again) that the regime of Saddam Hussein murdered 300,000 innocent civilians during his 20 year Reign of Terror. That is an average of 15,000 per year. Since the US-led Coalition forces invaded Iraq, a bit more than six months ago, it’s believed that more than 7,000 innocent civilians have died, and that is a low estimate. That would mean that the US presence in Iraq is causing the death of civilians at a rate that matches or exceeds Saddam.
But according to the Administration, it’s not the same because we’re trying to liberate them. Am I missing something?
And then there is this: Secretary of Defense Don Rumsfeld, exasperated by yet another question about the death and destruction and violence in "post-war" Iraq, threw up his arms in frustration recently and said, "Look...it’s their country!"
So let me get this straight: We invade Iraq, bomb their infrastructure to rubble, kill thousands of their citizens, propose to use their oil to rebuild all the damage we’ve done. We encourage a "free and democratic" government for them, as long as it is exactly the way we want it established. A riotous and infuriated Iraqi public openly vents its frustration, the U.S. Military starts to shut down dissent, just like Saddam. And now...
And now...it’s their country?
Is it just me? Or is this insane?
BEATING THE CORPORATION...JUST ONCE.
Every once in a while, the little guy wins one. For instance, The Zephyr was printed by Cortez News in Cortez, Colorado for 14 years, from its very first issue. It was a family-owned paper and the chief press man, Larry Hauser, had been there for decades.
About three years ago, Cortez News sold out to a corporation that owns several papers in the West and Midwest. They built a huge new facility, and for a while, the changes were minimal. But a year ago, their new press man, (Larry had retired) pulled me aside one day to explain that they could no longer print The Zephyr in the size I had used for 14 years. Each page would need to be two inches longer, and I’d need to redesign the entire paper.
I liked the Zephyr’s design and didn’t want to change it, but they told me I had no choice. They didn’t have enough room to story "30" Electrobrite." OK, I said finally..."But at least it’s the same price, right?"
It was going to cost another three thousand dollars a year.
My loyalty goes just so far. And so, after 14 years I said goodbye to Cortez and started looking for another printer.
And I found a great one: Tooele Publishing now does The Zephyr. It’s
family-owned, gave me a great price and they act like human beings. Sometimes things work out.
ANOTHER UTNE NOMINATION
I don’t know how this happened but The Zephyr received another Utne Independent Press Association nomination for best "Local/Regional Coverage." Those Utne people may be completely out of their minds but I’m grateful just the same. Win or lose, we are honored.
