Friday, April 30, 2010

"Look, if we are to break free of foreign oil we must drill, baby, drill…

posted by Bill Arnett @ 1:05 PM Permalink

…and all those people who don't believe we can do this without disastrous accidents are wild-eyed lunatics. With our modern technology such an event just isn't going to happen. Harumph! Harumph!

I spent the best years of my youth 15 miles east of Pensacola in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, almost smack dab in the middle of the whitest sands in the world, called "The Miracle Strip." It seems that millions of years ago there was no crustacean life to decompose and dilute the pure white sands. (It's also where the Army tried to keep Geronimo in custody and from which he escaped, swimming the 3-3 1/2 miles across Choctawhatchee Bay to do so. [choc'-taw-hatchee])

With windows up and A/C at full blast you could easily believe you were looking at the most blindingly white snow on earth.

THAT'S where a large part of this oil spill will make landfall, so there goes the sands so white that at every World Fair they used to have they would bring in a few tons of it, just to showcase one of nature's miracles.

I weep for the beautiful and astoundingly white beaches upon which I grew up with water so clear you could count fish and stingrays 60-80 feet down with no difficulty.

But remember - this could not, would not, cannot, and never will be an impending ecological disaster that could prevent 3 to 4 million visitors a year to the Miracle Strip. I imagine those numbers have increased greatly since I was there.

They said so.


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At 6:59 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Fort Walton Beach, Huh?

When I was just a tadpole in first grade, my father was stationed at Ft. Walton, working in Combat Control.

I swear to Jebus on a bicycle, it was one of the most enjoyable times of my young life (Circa, 1961, '62 sic). During our time there, we lived in a beach cottage on the sound. Right off our back yard was an old (but still functional) pier for boats. I actually learned to swim off that pier.

One fine weekend summer morning while my father had some time off from working with the "School for the Americas," Daddy told me to put my swimming trunks on (Mommy-dear was off shopping or somesuch), took me to the end of the pier, and asked me if I knew how to swim ... when I said "no," he summarily picked me up and threw me in the water while calling out: "Swim!"

He then waited more than an eternity (about 25 or 35 seconds) and then jumped in and pulled my head out of the water.

You see, The Dad-dude was a "Special Forces (CCT)" expert swimmer. Occasionally, he would "swim across the sound (about three or four miles I think)" just to keep in shape, That is, when he wasn't teaching South American death squads how to do their job right.

The man was awsome.



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