As I write this, good American people all along the shores of the Gulf of Mexico are finding their lives turned upside down by what the media is calling “Oil-A-Rama 2010.” Alright, no one is actually calling the spill “Oil-A-Rama”, but if they want to, I certainly won’t object. I also won’t object to “Petrol-Gate”, “Dead Sea-West”, and “Gulf Shores Chili Cook-Off and Oil Catastrophe: Featuring a Thin Lizzy tribute band and the Saturday Night Live Orchestra.” It’s like my deadbeat Uncle Terry always said, “If you can’t use a man-made natural disaster to sell a few t-shirts, then what’s the point?” And also, it means the terrorists have won.
A lot of people have used the word “tragic.” Is the BP oil spill tragic? Eh. Oedipus killing his dad and schtupping his mother – now that’s tragic. This spill? Messy. Very, very messy.
Please don’t take this positive outlook for callousness. I understand what it is like to have your life turned flipside because of human error. Last summer, my dip stick cousin Rex Man tried to build a water slide in our backyard but instead busted open a drain pipe and flooded my man cave. For two weeks, I had to watch TV with my kids. It was as bad as it sounds. So I sympathize, but I also see some good that can come from this.
For example, CNN keeps reporting on “the end of the Gulf’s fishing industry.” But is it ruined, or did it just become a whole lot easier and more efficient? If I’m not mistaken, before the oil spill, catching a fish meant having to pull in something from below the water’s surface. But now, big money and lazy days in the fishing industry are as simple as one, two, three. 1. Get boat and/or extra long lacrosse stick. 2. Scoop the fish floating on water. 3. Trade in boatload of fish for cash money and respect of crusty old guy with eye patch and tiny fishing cabin. Even better, unlike your grandpa’s Gulf fish, the guppies of today are already dead when you bring them in, which totally cuts out a big part of the process.
But what about the animals? Recent pictures of oil-soaked wildlife are compelling enough to have snatched the nation’s attention away from the equally tragic story of Gary Coleman’s marital problems. And yes, the pictures are hard to view, but so far, a bright spot is that I’ve only seen pelicans. It could have been worse. If we were talking about pretty, bright canaries or Macaws, then maybe “tragic” would fit the bill (pun totally intended). But pelicans? With those necks? All the hanging flesh – they look like a four-term Senator. I mean, pelicans don’t even swallow their food. They just toss is into that nasty gullet and hope for the best. That isn’t nature – it’s gross.
Concerns over a loss of tourism dollars? I say good riddance. Have you ever watched COPS: Mardi Gras? It’s like a week-long cast party for To Catch a Predator. Sorry, Gulf Coast tourism, but I think this spill just did you a prime-time solid.
And I know at least one person who thinks this spill is pretty great – the guy who everyone said was crazy for building a DIY refinery in his backyard. Laugh all you like, but he’ll never pay for gas again.
So come on, Gulf coast. How about instead of arguing over who spilled what and on whom and who looked past what safety measures in the hopes of somehow topping 200 billion dollars in profit, why not show us disgruntled old city folk some of that bayou charm we hear so much about. I know I’m ready to move forward. In fact, while everyone else has been calling for the heads of British Petroleum’s management, I’ve been saving up my prepaid minutes, just so I can give those folks across the pond a ring-a-ding to say “thanks.” Now, if I can just get someone to show me how to make an international call.
Matt Roberson | Contributor
Matt Roberson is a writer and works in the theatres of New York. His work has appeared on McSweeney’s, and he is a frequent contributor to Nytheatre.com. He is currently writing a history of the 1983 production The Gospel at Colonus.
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