A specter is haunting Chris Anderson — the specter of leisure. On his blog, Wired's editor complains of having suffered countless indignities on his most recent family vacation to England and France. Catching Lyme disease right before he left was bad luck, of course. The freak rainy season? Blame it on climate change, which Anderson's magazine has at least been trying to address. But everything else? Anderson's fault. Here's why.
Anderson, like some pathetic regional sales manager road-warrior type, cashed in frequent-flier miles to get his family to Europe and back. We can think of no earthly reason that Anderson, with a handsome Conde Nast salary and, quite possibly, a low-interest mortgage from his employer, would engage in such an absurd display of frugality.
He got what he paid for, at any rate: Marathon flights, lost luggage, and endless check-in delays. (Oh, and get this: He refused to buy his family new toothbrushes, making them share instead.) We hear that Si Newhouse might have a private jet, Chris. Next time, book it. Or, better yet, like the Wired of old, campaign for a complete digital makeover of the air-traffic control system.