Kindra Arnesen. Badass.

29 07 2010

Kindra Arnesen, of Venice, Louisiana, is what you might call an accidental activist. That’s not to say she’s not wired for the job or not good at it, but I think it’s safe to say it’s not a role she cherishes or ever expected to be thrust into. She’s the wife of a Gulf fisherman and mother to two little children she evacuated from Venice for health reasons, no longer wanting to expose them to the toxic dispersants used by BP, not to mention the, you know, oil. She’s also an inspirational and fearless leader, a voice for the so-called “small people” of South Louisiana’s fishing communities. She’s feisty, sharp, and strong-willed, and I wouldn’t want to go up against her. However, knowing she’s out there, speaking truth to power without any hesitation, makes me feel better.

All of us down here and across the Coast — and, shoot, across this country — owe her a big thank you. So, Kindra, on the off-chance you ever see this, thank you, and please, I know the fight is long and tiring, but we need you. Keep it up.

Here are two videos that can better illustrate Kindra’s strength than I can with words:

Spilling Over  (The Washington Post – a powerful video about the possibility that Venice, LA will cease to exist altogether)

Venice, Louisiana Needs to Evacuate (YouTube — this is a speech Kindra gave back in June and was the first thing I saw about her)





Day 65

24 06 2010

Day 65
The oil continues to flow.
The fish, the turtles, the birds, the dolphins, the crabs continue
to live, to breathe, to breed, to feed,
in the poisonous muck.
Unable to escape it
while here I sit, complaining about the heat from within my air-conditioned nest,
able to forget for just a split second that I have it so good.
That we all have it so good.
That we aren’t living, as they are, in filthy certain death
and decay.

Day 65
A charter boat operator shot himself yesterday over in Alabama
aboard his boat
which no longer shuttled men, and families, and whomever, out to fish
and have fun
on the gorgeous Gulf.
But instead, was supposed to be a sickeningly named “vessel of opportunity” for B.P.
cleaning up what was left of his prior life, what was left of what had been so beautiful.
He couldn’t take it
and he, sadly, won’t be the last.
I say a little prayer for his family.
I know a little something about suicide, but do not pretend
to know anything close to the despair
that all those whose livelihoods depend on fishing and the water
are now feeling.

Day 65
And it’s still not fair, to anyone, to any of us, to all of us.
It’s still not fixed.
It still flows, horrible, ugly, like a growing disease, a cancer, infecting the Gulf,
infecting us all.
The animals still suffer.
The fishermen still suffer.
The families of the 11 dead oil rig workers still suffer.
And now, out beyond the Gulf, far out, but still,
there sits an area of so-called “disturbed weather.”
Talk about disturbed. We are all disturbed.
We are all sick here. Watching. Waiting. Wondering. Wandering. Wishing. Waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

Day 65.





Goodbye, Louisiana oysters

11 06 2010

The oldest oyster processor and distributor in the country, New Orleans’ own P&J, just announced that it’s going to have to start shipping in oysters from the West Coast. The 134 year-old company had to lay off some of its workers and is doing what it can to just hang on in the hopes that the oyster beds in the Gulf of Mexico recover. Other oyster processors around the city are experiencing the same thing, so Louisiana oysters will soon be a relic of the past here in the Big Easy, at least for a time. A horrible state of affairs, if you ask me.

So, to combat my sorrow and to fill my belly, I walked over into the Quarter today and enjoyed two dozen raw oysters, from the remaining P&J stock. I hope they aren’t my final ones ever.

Thanks, again, BP, you bastards.

Ordered a dozen, and got 18. Love that Nola generosity!

And, done!

Monster oyster!

18 just wasn’t enough, so here’s 6, er, 8 more.

A map/placemat depicting the oyster beds in the Gulf that P&J sources from. I took one home as a keepsake. The oysters we ate today were from area 7. And man, were they ever delicious.





Krewe of Dead Pelicans

6 06 2010

Down here, when you pass on to the other side (wherever and whatever that may be), we send you off with style, music, and dancing. Jazz funerals are one of my most favorite traditions here, a bit of culture that is truly and uniquely New Orleans. They are both a mourning for the person’s passing, and a celebration of his or her life. I hope like hell someone sees to it that I get one when I go.

So, then, it’s only right that we have a jazz funeral and “second line” parade for the dearly departed wildlife from the oil spill. It happened yesterday and a handful of photos are below.





Melancholia

4 06 2010

It’s Friday in the Crescent City
and the air is heavy
with angst
with despair
with outrage.

I am overwhelmed with melancholy, with worry.

When will this end?

The skies are dark and have now opened up
the rain pours forth

Appropriate for the heavens to cry alongside the rest of us.





No oyster poboys!

3 06 2010

Damn you, BP. Not only are you contaminating the Gulf, coating the wildlife with sludge, and putting fishermen out of business, but now you’ve gone and robbed New Orleanians of the best oyster poboys in the city. I’m talking about the ones from Parkway, of course. There’s nary an oyster to be found in the place, thanks to volatile and rising prices on the little bivalves. So, I had to make do with shrimp. Not the worst compromise in the world, but still, not oyster!

(I like how those three shrimp off to the side seem to be making a break for it. Not so fast, lil buddies…)





James Carville, I heart you

2 06 2010

The oil continues to flow unabated into the Gulf of Mexico, and now here we are facing hurricane season. Oh joy. I’ve appreciated James Carville’s and Mary Matalin’s fire and fury over this, their true honest emotion on national TV. They get it. And I like that Carville called the President out. He was right to rattle the cage like he did. I have to say I think Anderson Cooper gets it, too. Say what you will about “baby Vanderbilt” (as one of my friends calls him) — the guy sticks with a story and ferrets out lies down here for us. I appreciate that, too.

I came across a letter my hero Hunter S. Thompson wrote to Carville during the 1992 election season and it seems apropos today, thinking about the oil polluting the gorgeous Gulf and all the lying and dirty deeds that went on pre-spill and continue on today. It’s just sickening. I wish Dr. Thompson was around to comment on it. I can only imagine his well-written fury over this mess.

Here’s an excerpt from the letter:

“Cheer up, James. This is the passing lane, and on some days it gets real narrow… Hell, the scum always rises when the water gets hot. They are mean and rich and greedy and bloated with hate and fear after 12 years of power and excess profits. And they will rage against the dying of the light. This is a bad crowd, James, and too many of them would kill to be winners… We are coming down to some very fast days, no matter what happens… They are liars and thieves and forgers and fixers and pimps and slick-living power-junkies who are suddenly confronted with the end of the world as they know it.”





The wildlife weeps. And so do I.

26 05 2010

Today, for some reason, I finally let myself watch the streaming live video of the oil currently pouring into the Gulf of Mexico. I’d been avoiding it, only because I knew how it would break my heart. And this whole mess is already so damn heartbreaking, who needs to pile on more?

Apparently I do.

Because after watching the oil, billowing, black and horrible, I then let myself read this well-written, heart-wrenching Washington Post article — In Louisiana, wildlife show effects of gulf oil spill – and it about did me in. The tears started from pretty much the article’s sad and compelling opening paragraph:

“GRAND ISLE, LA. — In the Louisiana marsh, oil-coated pelicans flap their wings in a futile attempt to dry them. A shorebird repeatedly dunks its face in a puddle, unable to wash off. Lines of dead jellyfish float in the gulf, traces of oil visible in their clear “bells.”

I am sad for everyone involved and affected– the families of the dead oil rig workers, the fishermen wondering what’s to come of their livelihoods… But it’s the animals that are making it hard for me not to cry, making it hard for me to breathe on this gorgeous sunny Wednesday in this beautiful place. The animals, they must be so confused.

Thinking about that one bird repeatedly trying to clean his head in a puddle… How many more birds are going to feel that very thing and not understand? How many more sea turtles will wash up dead? How many more dolphins will fall victim to swimming in — to LIVING in — that hazy mess out there?

They can’t escape it. And they can’t comprehend it. And they didn’t do anything to deserve it. And to me, that makes this whole situation so sad I can hardly bear it. My eyes just keep filling with tears again and again thinking about it.

Lest you label me some rabid, silly, over-the-top environmentalist, I’m not (not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course). I’m just an empathetic human being who hates to see suffering in others, be they human or otherwise. Those animals out there, just trying to eat and breed and fly and swim and exist… in the middle of this maelstrom… Well, I am praying for them. I don’t quite know what else to do. I am praying for them and hoping against hope they make it through this violence, this assault on them, as best they can.

“One thing, all things;
move among and intermingle,
without distinction.”
– from Verses on the Faith Mind, by Seng-Tsan, the third Zen patriarch








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