Dear Editor,
Well, well, well. Would you look at that? Another year passed and still not one coconut shifted on the Great Bay sand where the so-called Planet Hollywood resort was supposed to rise up like a movie star on premiere night.
Four hundred and fifty rooms, casino, sky lounge, nightclub—what happened? Did Tom Cruise miss his flight?
Since 2018, we have been hearing sweet talk: “State-of-the-art,” “14-story elegance,” “construction starting soon.” Boy, I tell you—if talk could build, we’d have a whole second island by now.
But let me not judge too quickly, eh? Maybe they're just taking the “Hollywood” part seriously and filming a suspense thriller. Title: "Permit Pending: The Sequel Nobody Asked For." Stars: A shovel, a blueprint, and four years of bush growing back.
And I can’t help but smell something familiar, like mildew in an old hotel room.
Remember Mullet Bay? Yes, man—the ghost of resorts past. That once-proud paradise has since transformed into a full-fledged jungle safari since Hurricane Luis in '95. Concrete bones still bleaching in the sun while lawyers play Monopoly with the land. It's been almost 30 years now, and it looks like Jurassic Park without the budget.
So, forgive me if I don’t iron my shirt for the Planet Hollywood ribbon-cutting just yet.
You want development? Ask the people. Ask the sand. Not the PowerPoint presentations with beachfront fantasies and not a jackhammer in sight.
I'm gone now, before my sarcasm overspend the budget too.
Sincerely,
Andrew Dick
Philipsburg (Where construction projects come to tan, not build)
