Earth Day 2010 ironically kicked off with a blazing bonfire at the Deepwater Horizon drilling rig, 66km off the Louisiana coastline. The rig was contracted to a BP plc unit (who faces the brunt of bad PR), but it was owned and operated by Transocean Ltd, the world’s biggest offshore drilling contractor. After the initial explosion the platform burned for two days, then it sank into the Gulf of Mexico. WattsUpWithThat explains the drilling technology and below is a graphic from the Times-Picayune showing how difficult it is to shut off the leak. Images, like the one above, can be found on the boston.com site.

Full-scale investigations are under way to determine the cause of this accident, with all parties using the event to advance their political agendas, particularly with the climate policy negotiations currently raging on the Hill. Notwithstanding repercussions across the entire US ecology and economy, a quick note about the industry and technology:

There are over three thousand oil rigs in the Gulf extracting and moving crude petroleum to production. There has not been (that I’m aware of!) a blowout/spill in 30 years (since Ixtoc I in 1979). These platforms are amazing marvels of technology. Have you seen the National Geographic Megastructures on oil rigs? Their extreme technologies are alternately alarming and awe-inspiring with their attendant high risks and lessons which can only be learned the hard way. That said, accidents are bound to occur. Their use extends beyond extractive industries, and holds a lot of promise for geologic research.

Economically: Louisiana’s only natural defense against Gulf hurricanes (like 2005′s Katrina) is the vast marshlands of the Mississippi Delta. But given the engineering modifications of the Mississippi River and mismanaged agricultural technologies, this rapidly eroding coastal ecosystem today boasts the world’s largest and most notorious dead zone (the geographically larger Baltic Sea area having been a dead zone for millenia, but reversing since the dissolution of the Soviet Union and the collapse of demand on expensive fertilisers, among many things). Rapid coastal erosion removes this buffer zone and exposes to the storm surges 1) the city of New Orleans, 2) the state’s vital oil and gas infrastructure, and 3) its energy distribution infrastructure upon which the entire country relies upon. It is the natural nursery ground for 40% of the country’s seafood. It is the natural habitat for over five million waterfowl and migratory birds, which is a significant tourism draw throughout the year. This watershed disaster will be calamitous for an already besieged economy.

Cleanup: Satellite data analysis boosts the initial crude oil leak estimates up (from an initially announced 1000, then 5000 just days ago) to a *whopping* 25,000 barrels a day, putting us less than two weeks away from eclipsing the Exxon Valdez catastrophe which drained 270,000 barrels into Alaska’s Prince William Sound in 1989. The Sound was a challenge to clean up. How do you correct an environmental disaster of this magnitude in impenetrable swamps?

oh New Orleans… screwed. time and again.

This year on our visit back we were treated to a surprise by some very good friends – tickets to a Saints game at the Superdome, where they beat their biggest rival the Atlanta Falcons. It’s a side of the city I never partook in, not normally being a sports fan, but it’s a subculture as part of the essence of New Orleans as jazz itself.

Here is an excerpt from an excellent piece on the Saints and the Soul of America’s City, by Wright Thompson. It’s a long piece worth reading, for anyone who has ever lived and loved this amazing city.

Where do you even begin? Maybe you describe the couture shops that have replaced the latest fashions on the storefront mannequins with Saints T-shirts? Maybe you tell how vampire novelist and native New Orleanian Anne Rice, never much of a football fan and now living on the West Coast, recently ordered a Drew Brees jersey with “Anne” on the back. Maybe you use numbers: 84 percent of the televisions in town were tuned to the recent Monday night game against the Patriots. Maybe you use bizarre trends, such as an NOPD cop telling me the 911 calls almost stop when the Saints play and there’s been only one murder during a game this year…

All of them — Besh, LeBlanc, Brees, Payton, Bush — they are all part of this first generation of post-Katrina successful New Orleanians. They are building a city from scratch, and people see them every day, working, adopting charities, enjoying life, sitting at the next table or listening to the same band. Katrina almost destroyed the city but, if you look closely, you’ll find that it did something else: It strengthened it, made the people who loved it love it even more. Everyone left the city, so no one is here because of inertia. They chose to come back…

.. the drive out of New Orleans, through a city still battered, past the exits for the Vieux Carre and Uptown, past the Huey Long, which runs narrow and high out to the leaning oyster and chicken shack. ..It is decayed on the outside, but inside there is life. Here is a citizenry that believes in the power of the underdog. New Orleanians fell first and see something the rest of America is blind to right now: a way back into the light.

Not so in New Orleans. The end of the holidays marks the start of another season also tied to the winter solstice, Mardi Gras. The trees and lights don’t go down, they just get the green, purple and gold ornaments added in. Adults get to be kids again and it all starts with the Twelfth Night Revelers bal masque!

Avoid the French Quarter frat scene– where Mardi Gras is reduced to a tacky garish spectacle that metrosexual yupster tourists looking for fast hard fun so they can feel cool lap right up– and you’ll see the magical transformation of N’awlins into a formalised make-believe world of monarchic rule in all its pomp, finery and regalia. Twelfth Night brings to life the Lord of Misrule, the Goddess of Chance, the enchanted courts with its jesters, the aristocratic pompadours and rituals of old…. Any life list should include this Mardi Gras and an invitation from a Krewe to either the Bacchus, Rex or Endymion Ball. These galas are an entire year in the making and are extraordinary sensory events.

I thought about this because K and I went to a dinner party the other night. One of the couples could hardly speak English and we command just a lick and a half of French, so needless to say our conversation with them wasn’t hopping. Then “la galette des Rois” came out, and suddenly conversation knew no boundaries, starting with this most token of culinary traditions associated with the run-up to Fat Tuesday across cultures.

The French “King Cake” is a flaky puff pastry with a dense center of frangipani– totally unlike our King Cake (I sooo want a Gambinos king cake delivery right now!). It’s served traditionally to draw the King to the Epiphany, with the youngest person in the group (likely a child) sent under the table to pick at random who gets the next slice of cake. The slice with the trinket in it (a collectible porcelain baby jesus in olden times) designates that person the new “King” (regardless of sex), and it becomes her/his turn to bring a cake to the next party.

(Ours had a glass duck, and I had the treat of finding the first trinket of the season. And we’re having dinner again with that couple tomorrow!)

So N’awlin’s King Cake (brought over by the French settlers) kicks off the Mardi Gras season, with the Twelfth Night Revelers using it to choose the Queen for their Ball… The Gambinos family is renowned for the past decades for their King Cakes. They will even deliver… So we are in the Carnival spirit, along with all the Tulane alums and Louisianans(sp?) in Phnom Penh. Unfortunately this year won’t be the year of the masqued gala (we’re too busy celebrating Bush’s departure to plan another event!), but the annual festivities must continue– even if it’s just a Pimps and Hoez murder mystery affair ;-)

N’awlins’ reputation precedes it and this is the first impression, before the jazz and blues spin rhythms with the muggy air, before the Cajun spices mount the offensive. Have you been where elegance and refinement consort passionately with the grit and grime? Indolence is King so strap your principles on and hang tight or lose ‘em. It’s a schizophrenic transvestite full of wit, this crazy town. And you’ll never forget her.

Knock back some Southern Comfort. This show will be painful.