Despite its recency, my memories of 2010 are decidedly vague. I spent the first months of the year in the rambling house I lived in at Tufts, mostly in my crawlway of a room where I lay in bed watching hour after hour of cross-country skiing at the Vancouver Olympics, and then, some time later, live-streamed footage of crude oil billowing into the Gulf of Mexico during the Deepwater Horizon disaster. From my perspective, every event that year—the eruption of an Icelandic volcano that stranded flights in Europe, the catastrophic earthquake in Haiti, the crew of Chilean miners trapped for months beneath the Atacama Desert—took place amid a haze of economic depredation, this being, of course, the absolute depths of the Great Recession. Nearly one out of every ten workers were unemployed and, at least in Boston, most storefronts on Newbury Street and in Davis Square had windows made of plywood.
Not So Fast
Not So Fast
Not So Fast
Despite its recency, my memories of 2010 are decidedly vague. I spent the first months of the year in the rambling house I lived in at Tufts, mostly in my crawlway of a room where I lay in bed watching hour after hour of cross-country skiing at the Vancouver Olympics, and then, some time later, live-streamed footage of crude oil billowing into the Gulf of Mexico during the Deepwater Horizon disaster. From my perspective, every event that year—the eruption of an Icelandic volcano that stranded flights in Europe, the catastrophic earthquake in Haiti, the crew of Chilean miners trapped for months beneath the Atacama Desert—took place amid a haze of economic depredation, this being, of course, the absolute depths of the Great Recession. Nearly one out of every ten workers were unemployed and, at least in Boston, most storefronts on Newbury Street and in Davis Square had windows made of plywood.