• President Donald Trump isn't giving up on his plan to rename the Atlantic to the "American Ocean."
• While he said last week that Google's CEO pushed back on the idea, he raised it again at a rally.
• "We have a lake, and we have a gulf. Now we need a river and an ocean," Trump told supporters.

Donald Trump is eyeing up new names for more bodies of water, despite pushback from Google's CEO.

"We have a lake, and we have a gulf. Now we need a river and an ocean," he said at a rally in Mississippi on Monday.

The president spoke about renaming the Atlantic Ocean to the "American Ocean" and quipped: "I think Europe will be thrilled."

Trump previously raised the idea last Wednesday at a rally in South Carolina, where he said that Google CEO Sundar Pichai had tried to change his mind.

Trump said that he called Pichai, joking that Google was "still rattled" from his renaming of the Gulf.

Google Maps previously changed its labels for the Gulf of Mexico and Lake Ontario to the Gulf of America and Lake America following Trump's executive orders. The tech giant said the decision aligns with its policy to draw on official government databases. Users outside the US still see the original names followed by Trump's names in brackets.

However, Trump said that when he pitched the idea of renaming the Atlantic, Pichai replied, "This time I'm not doing it."

"Oceans are different, sir. They cover really a lot of countries. Please don't ask us to do that."

"So I'll probably pass," Trump told the crowd last week. "I think let's keep it the Atlantic Ocean."

The president first brought up the idea at a Tennessee rally earlier this month, where he floated renaming either the Atlantic or the Pacific as "Trump Ocean" or "Ocean of the Americas."

While he also spoke on Monday about renaming a river, he told the Mississippi crowd that the state's namesake river won't be relabeled.

"The Mississippi River, I'm not changing the name of the Mississippi," Trump said. "I promise."

Krill, writes Gordon Peake, are “the least zeitgeisty creatures imaginable”: small, shrimp-like crustaceans whose total population numbers in the hundreds of trillions. Until recently, krill has mostly served as a snack for whales. Now, however, krill is “the latest iteration of capitalism on the frozen frontier,” a health supplement whose market is valued at roughly a billion dollars. Peake spends weeks aboard the Allankay with a crew of vegan activists devoted to ending the krill trade. His dispatch is a brisk history of extractive capitalism in the Antarctic, a fascinating study of an utterly uncool creature, and an uproarious account of a reluctant sailor earning his sea legs. Take the journey with him.

I contemplated the fillets of pink salmon defrosting on my kitchen counter, not too far from the shelf where I keep my supplements, including krill oil, part of my long-established daily routine of taking elixirs with vague but impressive claims about “improved heart health” and “enhanced brain function.” Labels depicting regal seabirds and majestic trawlers and a barmy sense that the more expensive the supplement, the more potent it must be also guided my “decision-making.” I told Hammarstedt I was the sort of fellow who enabled such an industry to exist. He responded with an offer: I should go down to Antarctica to see the krill business for myself.

What does it mean to live in a disappearing place? For Pioneer Works’ Broadcast, Brad Bolman, a professor of history and environmental studies at Tulane University, writes about New Orleans, the shifting borders between land and sea, and the political and economic forces that continue to shape the city’s fate in a time of climate catastrophe.

If Los Angeles is the city that has been imaginatively destroyed again and again in film and TV, as Thom Andersen argues in Los Angeles Plays Itself, New Orleans is the one that has been destroyed countless times in reality. We have survived worse and rebuilt before, many insisted. We’re staying.

It was a reaction as understandable emotionally as it was disconnected from environmental reality. But that gap is a feature of life in the Crescent City. As I watched my first Mardi Gras parade this spring, junk falling in never-ending torrents from brightly decorated floats, a friend sympathetically interjected, “This must be driving you crazy.” What they meant was that as someone who teaches about environmental history but isn’t from here, I must be especially affected by the throwaway culture of the city’s most famous fête and its tons and tons of plastic beads, made from the same fossil fuels that are causing sea levels to rise around us.