Tag Archives: beach

Dear Federal Scientists of Oil Notoriety

5 Aug

Dear Federal Scientists of Oil Notoriety,

Look, it’s nice to know that there’s still some cock-eyed optimism in the world.  But generally I prefer my cock-eyed optimism to come from children and kicksy old folks, not federal scientists in charge of evaluating the damage the worst oil spill in history has done to the environment.

It’s great that “the ‘vast majority’ of the 205.8 million gallons released into the Gulf has either evaporated ‘or been burned, skimmed and recovered from the well head, or dispersed’” (Seattle Times).  Congratulations.  (Idiots.)

So you say 25% evaporated or dissolved.  24% was dispersed into droplets. 26% is on or below the surface in a sheen, tar balls, or has washed up onto shore, or is buried in sand or sediment, or is otherwise just hanging out with its pants undone.

Maybe I’m confused about basic science here, but…when things evaporate, don’t they just change form but you know, not actually disappear?  Couldn’t it potentially be harmful to have millions of gallons of oil in the air?  And the 24% in droplets… does oil change into water just because it’s in a raindrop shape?  And yes, ok, the oil all originally came from the earth, and so if it’s in sand or sediment, it’s returned to the earth (yes, in a biblical sense)—- but don’t birds and turtles and fish lay eggs in sand?  Sit on it?  Sunbathe with tanning oil….oh wait, that’s humans.  I guess that’s the plus side.  No need to bring your own tanning oil/instant cancer maximizer with you to the Gulf Coast anymore.  Just show up and roll around in the sand!

I get that I’m not an expert.  But by my count that’s 75% of the oil that’s almost (but not quite) as loose as Rollergirl.  So while your numbers might be right (doubtful), who taught you how to draw conclusions?  How did you get from the above to the  environmental damage is not as bad as predicted and to the leaking oil well poses little threat to the Gulf of Mexico?

SERIOUSLY, GUYS.  I’d like to know.  Because you’re making Inception look as straightforward as 2+2=4.

STOP THE MADNESS.  SAVE THE BABY (fill in the blank)S.

for the dodos’ sake,

MM

Dear 2010 (New Year’s Resolutions)

2 Jan

Dear 2010 (New Year’s Resolutions),

First. Before we get into the meat of the list of things I may or may not accomplish in 2010 but really will have almost nothing to do with whether or not I decide to do them yesterday or today or six months from now.

What the hell is this decade called? The Teens? It sounds terribly appropriate, like maybe this is the era of Miley Cirus and Selena Gomez. Who I understand may or may not be in their teens. But who wants a decade dedicated to teenagers and their values/idols? (Gah gah I’m an adult. Weird.) What was this called back in the last century? Oh my god I have spanned two centuries. Someday I’ll be all, Back in 1990….and my grandchildren or you know, the neighbor’s children or the kids I find on the street after the apocalypse or whatever, will be all, “Shriek! 1990? What were bras like?” Just like we are about corsets. And horse poop in downtown streets. Did they even have streets in 1890?

Back on track:

1) I will do yoga twice a week. Why do I ever not do yoga? It’s like the most pleasant form of “exercise” ever invented. Hellooo people, stretch and feel your heart center and lie on your mat for fifteen minutes and breathe. The hardest part is not falling asleep. Unlike, say, running, where the hardest part is staying alive. Or swimming, where the hardest part is not drowning.

2) Write more.

3) Bitch less. (Not here. Herein lies my bitching place and so it is and it is good and so it shall be.)

4) Go see the ocean once a week. (Wow, these resolutions are awesome. The key is achievability. This might not be a good goal for you, if you live in Tucson or Denver or Pierre. Then your goal might be to “move someplace where I can go see the ocean once a week”.)

5) Cook. I would put a specific number on this– say, cook dinner three times a week– but I don’t like to fail. It makes me uncomfortable. I’m very Type A. Which brings me to…

6) Learn how to fail. Or at least, learn how to tackle something at which there is a good chance of failure. Like, play a video game. All those buttons. Only two thumbs. How do people do it? Except I really couldn’t care less about video games and certainly don’t care that I don’t know how to play them. But still. Learn how to fail.

7) Fail better. As in, even if I am still not wholly sure of this as fact, learn how to refer to myself as a “poet” rather than as a “poet-type-maybe-sort-of-person-sometimes” or a “student who studies poetry but you know the writing of it not just the reading” or “I wouldn’t call myself a poet, no, but I like poetry and sometimes I take classes and such it’s good times”. As in, keep trying.

8. Be more organized. Ha! Just kidding. Be less organized. No. That’s not going to happen. That’s beyond “good challenge” and into “goes against my nature”. Be more comfortable with other people’s disorganization. Yes. Or at least less audible about it.

Now I’m up to 8, which would normally mean I have to go up to ten. Might as well. But. In the spirit of resolution #8, which is really just about being more flexible (for all you people who just met me this year, I am practically a contortionist compared with how I used to be– my family can testify– (you know those five-year-olds who accidentally are little tyrants because they need their world to be just-so and to stay just-so consistently? I cried when my mom changed the curtains in our living room)– so appreciate y’all), I am going to stop at 8.

2010. Welcome. May you bring joy and movement and quietness in this time of constant noise. May you be peaceful with the fact that I’m going to call you oh-ten even though it makes almost no sense whatsoever. May you see the heralding of health care reform in America (seriously). May we adjust, quickly, to this new time of economics, and find a way to care for and support those who are struggling. Food. Housing. Health care. Education. Employment. Let us not forget the arts, let us forget the wars.

Good day, good year, and good luck,

MM

Dear Pink Boat Shoes

29 Oct

Dear Pink Boat Shoes,

Oh, my lovely things. You would be so much more lovely if you didn’t give me blisters. That make me feel like my toes are ON FIRE.

I like fires. I like bonfires. I like sitting close to them on a cold night at the beach– I don’t even mind how one side gets terribly, uncomfortably hot as the other slowly chills from the wind off the ocean, or the smoke flying into my eyes with little smoky daggers, or the smell of seaweed drifting up from low tide, or the sand drifting determinedly into my pockets and my hair. It’s all part of the magic that a bonfire creates. (Hear that all you people that have said we could bonfire tomorrow? Don’t flake out! I will be sad! I think bonfires are magic! Bonfires with guitars and marshmallows are major magic!)

But on my toes? No, fires on my toes from blisters from my pink boat shoes will not do. Hear that, pink boat shoes? Shape up!

If I can wear you and ignore/embrace the hipster implications of such a thing, I expect you to do me a favor and caress not distress my feet.

Love,

MM

Dear Pelicans

5 Oct

Dear Pelicans,

You are fascinating birds. Your wingspan alone is enough to draw attention, and then you’ve got these crazy long beaks…and those beady little eyes…watching, watching the ocean for the slightest movement from high above, ready to swoop down at any moment in one clean parabola of killing mayhem.

My God, you are freaky close up.

What can you fit in those beaks? A football? A baby watermelon?

A BABY?

Perhaps you could perch somewhere that is not a few feet from my head.

Thanks,

MM

Dear Girls in San Diego

17 Sep

Dear Girls in San Diego,

Your bra situation is out of control. I mean, props for wearing one…but you don’t need to be so proud that you show us.

Put the bras away. I’m not even talking about the boobs here. I’m hoping if you at least cover up the bra, the boobs will be marginally more covered. Bathing suits too– they’re called “bra top suits” for a reason folks, and that’s because unless you’re at the beach, they’re functioning as a bra, and should be treated as such, and as such should be PUT AWAY. UNDER YOUR SHIRT.

I don’t care if it’s San Diego, the entire city is not the beach. It is also not that hot here. It also cannot be that much cooler (temperature-wise) to have your bra hanging out and your shirt sitting below it. Or cut out around it. Or whatever it is that you’re doing. I don’t even know how you are showing that much bra when you are indeed wearing a shirt. It’s baffling.

I do know that I have seen a LOT OF BRAS PEOPLE and if I wanted to see your bra I would tell you. I’m just straightforward like that.

For shame. Get on the classy train. Tickets are free.

MM

PS– If I can see your pockets– if they are below your shorts– your cut-offs are too short. Just a thought.

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