You Can't Reason With a Tunicate

Ive always hated the media. Goddam vultures. They belong in the same category as ambulance chasing lawyers, loan sharks and pawn shop owners. They all make their money off of other peoples misfortunes. The job I have requires some interaction with the media, and I have become hostile and uncooperative with the morons who populate media in the past several years. Let me explain why.

In 2003 we were living over in the bedroom community of Bayview, way out in the brushland. I loved it there. We were surrounded by a resaca on one side, and fields bordered by the wildlife refuge on the other. I had a lush vegetable garden, and life seemed idyllic. We had been living in our 36 foot motor home prior to that time, free as gypsys. We loved the "Queen Mary", and it was a grand experiment in mutual cooperation. Sash had a bunk above the drivers area, and the twins occupied the forward living area, D and I had a rear bedroom. We moved around the coast for three years, enjoying the lifestyle. In April of 2003 we decided to lease a house and go "shoreside" for awhile. The property owner said that we could keep the Queen Mary on shorepower alongside, but I opted not too for economic reasons, but we did keep her parked there, and our solar system kept things charged up. Every now and then I would escape to the solace of the 'home remembering all of the good times aboard. It smelled like us.

In July of 2003 we got our first hurricane warning as Tropical Storm Claudette bore down directly on the South Texas coast. Since the property we were leasing was in a low lying area, subject to flooding, we decided to pack up Queen Mary with all of our most valuable items and bug out west till after the storm passed by. So we spent several days cleaning, inspecting and gathering things up in preparation for the impending tropical storm. The winds increased all the while. As the storm approached ever closer, we finished our task and waited, shore power on, but only powering the 12 volt converter which ran QM's lights and fans. Then, the storm decided to make a northbound turn in the Gulf of Mexico. We were still getting pretty good winds, but no rain, being on the west side, so we decided to stay put. I began my job with the lab full time on that Monday, so we decided to leave things in the motorhome till after work, and we'd start unpacking, putting stuff away. We noticed that the power seemed to be surging in the house, the lights and television would go gray than snap back on, air conditioner would spool down, than suddenly up, but didn't think much else about it.

So off to work I went. D and the girls went to the island that day, and we didn't return till after dark, about 8:30 or 9 pm. When we got close to the place, up the tree lined road, I saw lights, lots of lights, and flashing lights too. I got the idea that maybe the grainfield behind our place had caught on fire, but pulling closer up, D suddenly said in a very scared voice; "Where's my motorhome?....Where's my motorhome? I got a sick feeling. Then I saw the fire trucks and ambulances, and the television crew truck broadcasting from the remnants of what were the things of our lives, still smoldering. Queen Mary totally consumed, house partially burned down. I headed over to them in a fog..."get the fuck off of this property!", "there's a special place in hell for people like you" I spewed at them, glaring them off of the property, but they promply set their shit back up on the caliche road, with the wreckage as background. All the while I could hear the kids crying, D sobbing quietly and Sashas look of disbelief. It was a night, a nightmare without an end, and we were rendered essentially homeless zombies in less than a couple of hours.

Over the course of the next several days, I had time to think about things like the lack of class and style that these media vultures showed. They could've easily turned a tragedy into a triumph, at the very least helped make things a bit better. So I decided to let the station manager, a guy named Ray Alexander (KRGTV 5 in Weslaco) know. I sent him an email. About a day later I got a phonecall from the guy, and he was a total asshole. Told me they had every right to be there, in fact it was their civil duty to do so. I reminded him that they had made assumptions regarding the cause of the fire, based on unsubstantiated observation (it turns out the fire was purely accidental, caused by power surging which produced arcing, causing the fire). It didn't make a difference, in fact this guy ended up yelling at me for coming down on his peoples lack of ethos. A truly admirable human, from a purely Herman Goerring perspective.

I ended up sending him one more email, explaining about our work with tunicates, and how closely related to higher organisms they are, organisms like humans. I told him, they have all of the basic systems, even a rudimentary chordate nervous system. Only thing is you can't reason with them, the have no ability to do so. Sort of like him.

In the two years since that fire we've prospered beyond belief. The community in general came out and showed us a spirit of small town compassion that I didn't think existed anymore. Of course the fucking media never picked up on something that wonderful and unique. Wasn't bloody or tragic.

Our family is truly blessed, and I always try hard and forgive the tunicates that have shown up in my life. But that doesn't mean that I have to cooperate with the buggers.