"Crude Oil" is a Good Name For It

I don't think we can argue with the fact that what is happening to the Gulf right now is "crude" in every sense of the word. Here are a few definitions of the word "crude" from various sources:

"not carefully or expertly made"

Yeah, you can say that again...someone forgot to engineer a shut off valve on that multi-million dollar piece of extraction equipment. Things go wrong and all, and not being a trained engineer in petroleum transfer technology, I'm sure I'm jumping the gun by suggesting that there should have been, let's say a "switch" or something like that to shut the thing down below the surface...but you know what they say about hindsight.

conspicuously and tastelessly indecent as in "coarse language"

"a crude joke"; "crude behavior"; "an earthy sense of humor"; "a revoltingly gross expletive";"full of language so vulgar it should have been edited.

I don't think it's a stretch to suggest that what is happening, or not happening, in the Gulf is in the neighborhood of "indecent." To boot, phrases like "drill baby drill" fall into the classification of "crude language." If we look at the this whole business of puncturing holes beneath the surface of a large--really large--body of water to extract a coarse soup of sticky, toxic hydrocarbons so that we can run the combustion engines of commerce and war, "crude behavior" is not far off the mark. I would go as far as to say it is indeed "revolting." I can only hope that we humans will "edit" our actions and evolve to the point where future generations will look back on us cave people and say, "Our predecessors were clever but awfully crude...now we run our engines on solar and steam and we have no use for weapons any more, but we thank the idiots of yesteryear for creating the foundations of true civilization at long last."

"unrefined: not refined or processed"

Relating directly not only to the oil itself but also the human state of mind in creating ingenious inventions that ruin basic living systems...kind of cancels out the ingenious part and leaves us with "crude."

"belonging to an early stage of technical development; characterized by simplicity and (often) crudeness; "the crude weapons and rude agricultural implements of early man."

Poetic...Speaks for itself...needs no commentary, like a series of thematically related Haiku.

"blunt: devoid of any qualifications or disguise or adornment; "the blunt truth"; "the crude facts"; "facing the stark reality of the deadline"petroleum: a dark oil consisting mainly of hydrocarbons not processed or subjected to analysis; "raw data"; "the raw cost of production"; "only the crude vital statistics."

What is the "blunt truth" about this situation? Well, I hate staring at truth as much as the next guy, but here goes: "I have found the enemy and he is us." That's right, it's not BP or the Gov'ment, or Terrorism ( or even Socialism) that's to blame for this nightmare in our own backyard swimming pool. To illustrate this reality, my wife has just informed me that we are "out of milk and half and half" so I have to now end this blog entry to drive to the store and pick up more provisions. I live in a remote town at the end of winding foothill roads. How did the milk even get to our little country store in the first place? Maybe it's time I get a cow? In any case, if I have to go to the store anyway, I might as well pick up a 6-pack to get through Memorial Day.

Ode to Gary Coleman

Gary Coleman is really gone. What 'chu talkin' 'bout? I'd gotten used to hearing about how messed up his post-child stardom life was and from now on whenever his name is mentioned, no more stories about going broke, getting hired as a mall cop and punching an autograph hunter, no bad marriages or sick kidneys...just plain dead. I was surprised at my reaction to the news of his mysterious fatal brain hemorrhage in his remote Utah home.

I've dwelled on Gary for the last few days and it's made me reminiscent of my late 70's early 80s life as a boy, born in the same year as Gary, watching Diff'rent Strokes with my family while eating tuna sandwiches or tearing into a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Gary, or rather, Arnold Jackson, made us laugh after a long day of work and confusion. His character role, the young, clever black kid with perfect comedic timing epitomized hope. Always, the dark question looming for Arnold and his older brother Willis in that show was what might have happened to them if rich, white, Phillip Drummond hadn't taken them into his Park Avenue home. Hell, they might have become rappers or drug dealers or something without their great white father. Also, what might have happened to Mr. Drummond if he hadn't found these boys? Who knows, as a widower with no life purpose besides filling his bank, maybe he'd have become a regular martini sipper in the local hotel bar?

In any case, the show was important as it reflected an attempt by mainstream America to bring racial and economic integration to another level besides just public schooling and commerce. The concept put forth was that Americans, whatever their color or background, are actually capable of treating one another as a family--struggling, offering support and nourishment and, of course, laughing together. A criticism of the show could be that the best America has to offer is provided, still, by the white aristocracy.

I have been, somewhat tearfully, watching Diff'rent Strokes episodes on Hulu for the last couple of days and the thing that strikes me most about little Gary Coleman, is the sparkle in his perfect, brown eyes. Watch some episodes and you'll see what I mean. In posting the news of Gary's death, many media outlets have been juxtaposing Gary's bright and youthful face against his older, dejected, gone-through-rehab-face. The story indicated in that simple photo comparison says more than any words could. It's another Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe tale about the irony of what happens when someone actually reaches the pinnacle of fame. What happens when you reach it before you are ready? Can anyone ever be ready for such a life? It's about the voracity of America, the raw ability of our pop culture to chew up and spit out its most beloved and that's not the worst of it: there are more "stars" to come: Who's next? Gary, thank you for making us laugh off the 70s. I will always be a fan and may you rest, finally, in peace.