Scrod.

So what is Scrod, exactly? Haddock? Whitefish? Pollock? Cod? All of the above? Some sources define it simply as "immature" fish - the veal of the sea. In Cape Cod, where my parents used to have a summer cottage, scrod is simply the catch of the day - white, breaded and hopefully, fresh. But to my sister and I, scrod was a state of being. This used to be our lame joke as kids, when we'd be lobbying for pizza and our parents would pick a seafood restaurant and make us eat fish. We'd groan, look at each other and mutter "We're scrod."

Lately, it's occurred to me that we could use more scrod in the vernacular. And not because it's more genteel than "screwed,". When Katrina hit, and New Orleans was left to sink or swim, you might say they were screwed by FEMA and "heckuva job" Brownie. (You could also find some weird reason to blame the Almighty but we have Pat Robertson for that.) 1,836 people died in the hurricane but the survivors kept on keeping on, making gumbo, playing music, and selling real estate to Brangelina. But what about now that the Big Easy is getting coated in petroleum goo? What about the barrier wetlands that were in the process of being rehabilitated and are once again ruined? The three species of endangered sea turtles that may no longer be endangered because they're probably all dead? The lines forming for ten dollar an hour jobs cleaning up beach tar for BP, aka Big Polluter, because the fishing, shrimp and oyster industries have been destroyed?

This time, there's no picking themselves up and pluckily persevering. New Orleans hasn't just been screwed. It's been gutted, scraped, battered and totally fried. New Orleans, and the entire Gulf Coast, is scrod.