“Words, Words, Words.”
— Hamlet Act 2, Scene 2
I wanted something else out of Obama’s address yesterday. And I’m not certain what precisely. I felt like he was reciting my blog. All the things I wanted was there:
– Hanging the spill around BPs neck like a big, fat, decaying albatross.
– Making it clear that we are past Peak Oil and we have an Issue.
– Making moving to the new source of fuel a point of national pride/Apollo Program-ish.
– And etc.
Here’s the rub. I’m just some jerk who writes on a blog. I can spit out all these things I would like to see — the primary one using this horrible disaster as our “Sputnik” moment to give the entire United States a big jolt of realization that we are losing. Barry is not a blogger. He is President of the United States and I would like something more substantial than words.
I walked away feeling like that’s all we got here: words.
I have been trying not to add my voice to the chorus of “Do Something, Dude” because I know damn well the man is a law professor and now a petroleum engineer but I heard nothing but quibbling pass his lips. I wanted to hear the words “carbon tax.” I wanted to hear that the US is going to start taking over operations because BP is obviously worthless. I wanted to hear something, anything specific. Something to hold on to. Something real.
I know the White House is trying desperately to avoid the Carter “Malaise.” But I want to shake them until beans fall out. The Oval Office is hard core. Why not use the opportunity?
I shake my tiny fist.