A Day at the Movies

It’s as though the Gulf of Mexico is, once again, the stage for a “Cold War” showdown. Unlike the Cuban missile crisis, however, it is hard to get a clear sighting on our enemy. No, as this drama plays out, it’s more like The Manchurian Candidate, though maybe not quite so macabre. Nevertheless, it certainly captures – as did the original manuscript and movie (1962) – television’s role in broadcasting public affairs and shaping opinion and the circus atmosphere that surrounds American politics.

Maj. Bennett Marco (played by Frank Sinatra) was plagued by recurring nightmares. My intelligence informs me with far less drama and surrealism that appearances are not what they seem. So, let us consider this script: If BP Oil is the “enemy,” then government employees (MMS) were the double agents, used by the enemy – like poor brainwashed Sgt. Raymond Shaw. And, top ranking officials play both sides . . . no one’s hands are clean.

Just look at the cast of characters, the conspiracies and covert operations, the propaganda and efforts to control “public information,” the reactionary factions, the uneasy alliances: BP and the other contractors, all levels of government and their legions, industrialists, environmentalists, scientists, engineers, media, and the victims themselves. Try to piece the puzzle together.
At each turn, the plot thickens. Each player, with his own agenda, attempts to persuade, recruit, subvert or politicize . . . using the media to enhance his personal image, to elevate his position, to protect his interests. And, the media, in turn, does the same.

All the while, the policy makers and “deciders” from every side deploy foot soldiers to the front lines, who – without their “uniforms” or identification badges – are citizens like you and me, merely “extras” doing their best given the limitations of their roles. Or, are they brainwashed zombies? Or, dupes sent to distract us? Or, are they willing accomplices, whose motives are as sinister as the faceless enemy’s?

I wager, by Christmas, there will be at least a dozen books published about the BP Deepwater Horizon disaster: eyewitness accounts, photo journals, scientific analyses broken down for the layman. And, someone will – if they don’t already – have movie rights.

All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. . .

-William Shakespeare

Summer’s for the Bugs

Amidst the uncertainty that defines our waking hours and restless nights in this summer of 2010 – the summer of “The Spill” – some things are constant. Some small things, at least.

This I know: summer is for the bugs!

Summer arrives with the junebugs, rattling around the porch light, clinging to the screen door, dancing to the tireless chorus of cicadas. Ancient scarabs heralding the changing season.

Countless grasshoppers – green, yellow and black, large, small – hide in the grass, emerging when my back is turned to devour my roses.

Of course, the mosquitoes have survived the winter and attack relentlessly, dictating when and how we can venture out of doors.

Thankfully, there are also the “mosquito hawks” - the dragonflies, with their gossamer, iridescent wings. Magical, mythical creatures.

All of these bring childhood memories to me – of long summer days and damp summer nights, in an era before air conditioning. Of sunny days that glowed, golden. Of three-dimensional-green woods with shady trails leading to the coulee – a magical setting for young imaginations.

My grandson will learn to mark the seasons and will recognize these harbingers of summer. Alas, lightning bugs have not survived decades of urbanization. I’d gladly trade a junebug or two for just one that he could hold in the palm of his hand and carry to the dark corner of the back yard in a mason jar to release with wishes and wonder.

Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight.

- Author Unknown