My gulf of ruins

I grew up on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico, in Texas. I’ve been through hurricanes with my family, crouching in our house as the lights went out and winds howled outside and water filled up the sunken garage area. After I moved away, I watched the area where I grew up get hit by successive hurricanes: Katrina, Rita, Ike. My parents house never suffered too much damage, but I couldn’t bear to see the destruction wrought on the Bolivar Peninsula and Galveston Island.

That said, the destruction that is being visited on the Gulf of Mexico this summer is not a natural disaster. It’s a disaster made by mankind, by greed, by cutting corners. It’s been hard not to get depressed over the wholesale devastation that is going to be tearing up the gulf coast for years, maybe even decades, to come.

Right now, the oilpocalypse doesn’t seem to be affecting Texas’ coast. But that doesn’t mean it won’t. And there’s a pretty sizable shrimping and fishing industry in Galveston and Port Arthur that will be feeling the pain of closed oyster beds.

I’m not necessarily interested in finger-pointing. I just want the thing cleaned up as soon as humanly possible.

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This is not my beautiful house!

Many moons ago in the blogosphere there was a minor writer with the moniker “Bryan S.” who flew the flag of “Arguing with Signposts.” His politics were vaguely conservative, warblogger, humorist, cynic, libertarian. In short, he screwed all that up. So, you might say this is my attempt to set that stuff straight. The flag is flying again. But we’ve set a course that’s at odds with the haze of the last eight years. Onward!

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