"The writer David Foster Wallace was once assigned to compose an essay on the resplendent, mindless pleasures of a luxury cruise ship."

"He reported instead feeling profound despair and emptiness in the face of so much unfathomable pampering."

Writes WaPo staff writer Monica Hesse about the newly opened Trump International Hotel in Washington, D.C. and I'd just like to say:

1. You're not David Foster Wallace, and you couldn't write like David Foster Wallace if you tried — if you (I want to say) killed yourself — and referring to something he was able to do is not even trying.

2. David Foster Wallace was horribly depressed, so the fact that he felt "profound despair and emptiness" somewhere doesn't say all that much about a place.

3. David Foster Wallace had endless fascinating things to say about that cruise ship — here, see for yourself — and it's just infuriating to read it summarized in a few words in a hack piece of journalism that seems designed to take a shot at a political candidate the reader is expected to hate reflexively.

4. Nothing was "unfathomable" to David Foster Wallace. He fathomed the hell out of everything.

5. Very expensive hotels are fancy and posh. That's utterly banal. If you look into the depths of your own banality and have something fresh to say about that, you might begin to deserve to invoke the name of David Foster Wallace — who, by the way, didn't put down other people for being tourists with a bit of extra money to spend on something that excited or comforted them with the promise of luxury.