Maybe it's better if you just talked about baseball

I got into a conversation today with a co-worker about the GOM spill. It didn't go that well. Here's the deal...

I was wearing this nifty shirt my mom got me from onenola.com (buy stuffz, k?)

and someone at work noticed it and struck up a conversation with me about the oil spill.  And that's cool, at least, I thought it was.

I had gotten used to this sort of conversation by now, I've had 5 years of practice with it. The basic template is person A, who is well intentioned but can't really comprehend, trying to talk to person B, who has heard all the statement's person A is making 100 times before, can't really explain, and doesn't have answers that fit into 5 minutes of small talk. Not to place myself anywhere near these shoes, but I must imagine it's a feeling that a surviving spouse at a funeral would be able to relate to. I've spoken to several NOLA expatriates and the conversation seems to be a pretty universal one, dating all the way back to Katrina

Them: So, where are you from?
Me: New Orleans
Them: Oh! How are things down there now?
Me: It's heartbreaking, tragic, a war zone, gut wrenching, a mess, horrifying, heartbreaking, it still makes me cry, heartbreaking  getting better, I guess...


Now, don't get me wrong, I love that these people care, and that the status of my hometown is of concern to them, even if it's just dinner party concern in some cases. It's just.... when it comes to Katrina, and now this oil spill, and the countries view of my state overall, it's a pretty deep issue. It brings up some pretty heavy stuff, some raw emotional depths that really aren't suited to a 5 minute co-worker to co-worker chat. And you find yourself reacting in weird ways. Like today.

He brings up this video footage of the oil slick making it's trip around Florida to the Atlantic coast



And then he says, now That would be a real f*ckin tragedy. And I know, I know, I know what he meant. And I know that's NOT how he meant it, but when he looked at as if to say, "the conversational ball is now in your court, my friend." I found the words coming out of mouth almost before I knew what they were.

"You know, a part of me, a small tiny part of me, wants to say good. If this HAS to happen, it's about time someone besides Louisiana gets fucked in the ass for America's addiction to cheap oil."

And he looked at me like I grew horns, and joined the Taliban, and rooted for the Red Sox. And he's right! To think any part of this could come close to something labeled "good" is horrific, but I know I'm not alone, everyone from Louisiana can relate to my response.

We've all felt, at one point, this anger, this isolation, this feeling that our home is drowning, either in flood waters or in oil, and that the Yankees(read people north of I-10) just don't get it. They want an evening news sized story that can be framed into an idealogical 'side' and well never get more complicated then that. "Well, why rebuild the city if it's underwater, why not just move?" or "Well, if it's such a tragedy why do you even drill for oil there?" and you just want to pull your hair out. It's an emotion that is excellently captured by John Goodman in Treme, and it's why we so quickly adopt and are fiercely loyal to people like Anderson Cooper, Brian Williams, Harry Shearer, Brad Pitt(try to find one person in NOLA that has a bad thing to say about Brad Pitt, I dare you), people that we feel GET it.


My response was wrong, he was right to look at me like I was crazy, I don't feel that way. But... I can't have a quick pleasantries level conversation with people about this spill, anymore then I couldn't do it about Katrina. If you want to talk about it, seriously talk about it, we can do that. But be prepared to be surprised if you're one of my liberal friends, and be prepared to hear a good bit of ranting either way. Failing that, we can just talk about video games. It's probably safer.

*This is my first one of these blogs. We'll see if I make another one. I started off wondering if I'd have enough stuff to talk about to fill a paragraph, and it's now 3am and way past my bedtime.