Posted on

Planet Split Over Plan to Support Human Life

In the category of parallel universes, consensus continues to jell around the idea that measures to counter catastrophic climate change are really a bothersome nuisance thinking people would be better off ignoring. And while there is some psychological credence to accepting this plan, the downsides are also a tad unsettling.

How should one navigate this quagmire of conflicted opinion? With an automatic locking rear differential and an EPA est. 15/21 city/hwy? By contracting a conglomerate’s Greek Letter-plated consulting arm in order to reduce your company’s energy and water waste? Or how about an individual bubble all your own to ride out all those frosty Inland mornings when the tide washes in over the Handy-mart parking lot and you can’t find your crocs in time to leap over the puddles for your first Burp-y of the day? Okay… went a little too far with that last one, but for a Sunday we’re really putting our best cognitive dissonance on display.

While we’re putting our commercial proclivities to such good use, we might imagine a few ways to distract ourselves with causes that matter. Or the gymnastic possibility (nimble, strong) exists that we might not be able to this on our own. In tribute to an equality of possibilities, where no great consequence may outweigh another, where time is a mere illusion, a subtle question rests: when is a distraction not a distraction?

Posted on

Green Business

Green business is through the roof! What does that mean, asketh thee? (scoff) It means all kinds of things.

But mostly it means that we need to get on top of this thing before it gets away from us. That means healthcare trains between central cities; that means whole suburban enclaves recycled into biodiesel; it means tilting at chicken litter windmills and staring directly into the solar fireball until your eyes burn and night falls, and we have to feel around for Braille texts to get our daily ration of Turgenev. Yes, Turgenev.

This is from his short story Enough, a fragment from the note-book of a dead artist.

VII
It was at the end of March before Annunciation, soon after I had seen
thee for the first time and–not yet dreaming of what thou wouldst be to
me–already, silently, secretly, I bore thee in my heart. I chanced to
cross one of the great rivers of Russia. The ice had not yet broken up,
but looked swollen and dark; it was the fourth day of thaw. The snow was
melting everywhere–steadily but slowly; there was the running of water
on all sides; a noiseless wind strayed in the soft air. Earth and sky
alike were steeped in one unvarying milky hue; there was not fog nor was
there light; not one object stood out clear in the general whiteness,
everything looked both close and indistinct. I left my cart far behind
and walked swiftly over the ice of the river, and except the muffled
thud of my own steps heard not a sound. I went on enfolded on all sides
by the first breath, the first thrill, of early spring… and gradually
gaining force with every step, with every movement forwards, a glad
tremour sprang up and grew, all uncomprehended within me… it drew me
on, it hastened me, and so strong was the flood of gladness within me,
that I stood still at last and with questioning eyes looked round me, as
I would seek some outer cause of my mood of rapture…. All was soft,
white, slumbering, but I lifted my eyes; high in the heavens floated a
flock of birds flying back to us…. ‘Spring! welcome spring!’ I shouted
aloud: ‘welcome, life and love and happiness!’ And at that instance,
with sweetly troubling shock, suddenly like a cactus flower thy image
blossomed aflame within me, blossomed and grew, bewilderingly fair and
radiant, and I knew that I love thee, thee only–that I am all filled
full of thee….
VIII
I think of thee… and many other memories, other pictures float before
me with thee everywhere, at every turn of my life I meet thee. Now an
old Russian garden rises up before me on the slope of a hillside,
lighted up by the last rays of the summer sun. Behind the silver poplars
peeps out the wooden roof of the manor-house with a thin curl of reddish
smoke above the white chimney, and in the fence a little gate stands
just ajar, as though some one had drawn it to with faltering hand; and I
stand and wait and gaze at that gate and the sand of the garden
path–wonder and rapture in my heart. All that I behold seems new and
different; over all a breath of some glad, brooding mystery, and already
I catch the swift rustle of steps, and I stand intent and alert as a
bird with wings folded ready to take flight anew, and my heart burns and
shudders in joyous dread before the approaching, the alighting
rapture….

IX
Then I see an ancient cathedral in a beautiful, far-off land. In rows
kneel the close packed people; a breath of prayerful chill, of something
grave and melancholy is wafted from the high, bare roof, from the huge,
branching columns. Thou standest at my side, mute, apart, as though
knowing me not. Each fold of thy dark cloak hangs motionless as carved

in stone. Motionless, too, lie the bright patches cast by the stained
windows at thy feet on the worn flags. And lo, violently thrilling the
incense-clouded air, thrilling us within, rolled out the mighty flood of
the organ’s notes… and I saw thee paler, rigid–thy glance caressed
me, glided higher and rose heavenwards–while to me it seemed none but
an immortal soul could look so, with such eyes…
X
Another picture comes back to me.

No old-world temple subdues us with its stern magnificence; the low
walls of a little snug room shut us off from the whole world. What am I
saying? We are alone, alone in the whole world; except us two there is
nothing living–outside these friendly walls darkness and death and
emptiness… It is not the wind that howls without, not the rain
streaming in floods; without, Chaos wails and moans, his sightless eyes
are weeping. But with us all is peaceful and light and warm and
welcoming; something droll, something of childish innocence, like a
butterfly–isn’t it so?–flutters about us. We nestle close to one
another, we lean our heads together and both read a favourite book. I
feel the delicate vein beating in thy soft forehead; I hear that thou
livest, thou hearest that I am living, thy smile is born on my face
before it is on thine, thou makest mute answer to my mute question, thy
thoughts, my thoughts are like the two wings of one bird, lost in the
infinite blue… the last barriers have fallen–and so soothed, so
deepened is our love, so utterly has all apartness vanished that we have
no need for word or look to pass between us…. Only to breathe, to
breathe together is all we want, to be together and scarcely to be
conscious that we are together….

Posted on

90 Acres Per Hour

So… I’m flipping through Corn & Soybean Digest the other day and… this image sort of jumped out at me.

Actually it was the cover story, so I flipped over to the article.

Depending on field conditions, the DB120 should plant 90-100 acres/hour at the recommended 5-5½ mph, according to Rippchen.

Near the end, the reporter gets to the essential question:

So, is this the limit for planter size? At least for a while, according to Rippchen and Bauer. “At this point, 120 ft. is a practical limit. You need to go in 30- or 40-ft. increments and I have a hard time getting my head around a 150-ft. planter,” he says. “The issue isn’t the weight in the field, but transporting the unit down the road. That puts the most load on the drawbar at the highest speed. We won’t introduce anything that our tractors can’t handle.”

I have a hard time getting my head around taking this seriously, even though I know it’s a real piece of machinery, written up in an honest-to-goodness, real live magazine with a masthead and a sub-title (‘Maximizing Production and Marketing for Profit’). Aren’t we all, buddy.

I also know that we’re about as interested in what takes place behind the grocery store shelves and where the food comes from as we are what happens on the other end of the line when we flip on a light switch. The orange juice commercial comes to mind, where the lady reaches her hand through the empty shelving all the way back to the tree in the orchard just on the other side of the wall. We’ve got other things to communicate in truncated language about, after all.

Like how we’ve got to feed the world, and that to do so, we’ll need, among other things, the world’s largest planter. Also, a gigantic reset button for the nitrogen cycle would be nice, while we’re at it.

Posted on

90 Acres Per Hour

So… I’m flipping through Corn & Soybean Digest the other day and… this image sort of jumped out at me.

Actually it was the cover story, so I flipped over to the article.

Depending on field conditions, the DB120 should plant 90-100 acres/hour at the recommended 5-5½ mph, according to Rippchen.

Near the end, the reporter gets to the essential question:

So, is this the limit for planter size? At least for a while, according to Rippchen and Bauer. “At this point, 120 ft. is a practical limit. You need to go in 30- or 40-ft. increments and I have a hard time getting my head around a 150-ft. planter,” he says. “The issue isn’t the weight in the field, but transporting the unit down the road. That puts the most load on the drawbar at the highest speed. We won’t introduce anything that our tractors can’t handle.”

I have a hard time getting my head around taking this seriously, even though I know it’s a real piece of machinery, written up in an honest-to-goodness, real live magazine with a masthead and a sub-title (‘Maximizing Production and Marketing for Profit’). Aren’t we all, buddy.

I also know that we’re about as interested in what takes place behind the grocery store shelves and where the food comes from as we are what happens on the other end of the line when we flip on a light switch. The orange juice commercial comes to mind, where the lady reaches her hand through the empty shelving all the way back to the tree in the orchard just on the other side of the wall. We’ve got other things to communicate in truncated language about, after all.

Like how we’ve got to feed the world, and that to do so, we’ll need, among other things, the world’s largest planter. Also, a gigantic reset button for the nitrogen cycle would be nice, while we’re at it.

Posted on

Veri-Hustle

New Flagpole column is up on the intersphere. I’ve always wondered about those ‘trust, but verify’ caveats in major arms control treaties and prenuptial agreements. They make a lot more sense when you see them as mere, though hardly just, contradictions.

Posted on

Veri-Hustle

New Flagpole column is up on the intersphere. I’ve always wondered about those ‘trust, but verify’ caveats in major arms control treaties and prenuptial agreements. They make a lot more sense when you see them as mere, though hardly just, contradictions.

Posted on

Ongoing Investigation

So, it’s funny how this oil derrick just looks like an I-beam with a few other chunks of steel welded to it, connected by a hinge to a sort of gallows. If you spend any time at all examining the picture for its constituent parts, it almost begins to break itself down. What other kinds of things might be made with these materials?

Many more pictures here of what happens to a place when a boom goes bust, especially one based on oil production. The sociological connection to everything required for extraction is not far removed from this idea; but neither is the way we shield ourselves and our tender sensibilities from the extraction costs when they include exploding bodies and flag-draped coffins. It’s scandalous how we permitted the government to ban photographs of soldiers returning home in cargo planes. That’s the extent of our honor right there. Look away, indeed. These are the costs of our dependence strategies, the further externalities, if you will, and if we can’t handle them then we should perhaps think twice about tying our liberty and freedom to gassing up.

These are among the cautionary guidelines we should consult in our decision-making. Without them, we’re just walking in front of cartoon scenery. You can’t section off moral hazard as though it’s a completely separate consideration. Unless you’re able to do that. Then, you’re all set!

I hope they’re making this up. According to wikipedia, the derrick device was named for its resemblance to a hangman’s gallows; the derrick-type gallows was itself named for an Elizabethan Era executioner.

Posted on

Turning Japanese

I try to resist the impulse to use pop songs in post titles, but I’m only human. My disdain for Wally what’shisname, however, remains in tact. S’why I get feverish in certain airports, methinks.

So Krugman believes we are fiscally morphing into our seemingly reserved and genuflective brethren. But if you look at what is meant by the words Japanese, economic and model in the 1990’s vintage, you’ll see that what people refer to as the ‘lost decade’ was merely a decade of flat growth. Well, tell you what:

Get. Used. To. It.

Otherwise called a starting place, for most of what is going to follow. The dissonance of what’s happening in the financial economy right now, talk of recovery and longing for normal times is all due to the fact that there’s no going back. And we shouldn’t see this as a bad thing. Our pent-up imaginations have all the rough stuff shoved to the fore, and we’ve conditioned ourselves to be righteously afraid of it. But it’s just us, our dogs, cats and cattle, and back in there somewhere also is the idyllic train rides to see your lover and long walks to the park, stolen flowers, broken kisses and other things you can’t put on a price tag on without them seeming like an old lady‘s hat. The fact is old ladies are people and hats are things they wear out in the sun.

We’re trying to understand the tunnel of love from a technical standpoint and well, the two just don’t mix. You can’t say where or how we’ll come out of this, but seeing that as the fun part takes a little more than the promise of low, low prices or assembly-line built excitement. Sorry.

Technical note: I discovered posterous, and am trying to make the most out of the sweet spot of not knowing what it’s for before that, too, passes.

Posted on

World’s Longest Undefended Border

Between Canada and the United States? Between clever and stupid? You’re getting warmer. Try the critical dividing line between credit creation and value creation. Seeing these as one in the same is like, well, looking at the huge land mass between Panama and the North Pole and seeing a single, harmonious country. It’s not all the same, though it would change much if some solidarity formed around being North Americans, not all of it good.

There is some good, bad and wrong in this article. The author points to some interesting distinctions that have been missed, or at least underplayed, concerning credit and value.

There are some simple rules for sound banking and sound economies that need to be followed: Whenever credit is created and used to increase the amount of goods and services provided, it will be noninflationary: more money comes about, but also more goods and services. This is boring banking, without excessive bankers’ bonuses. But it is the kind of stable banking that created the postwar German and Japanese economic miracles, and also explains the rise of China and other East Asian so-called miracle economies.

But whenever credit is created and used for unproductive purposes, inflation comes about: more money chases a limited amount of goods or assets. The unproductive credit creation can take two forms: When credit is extended for consumption, it will result in consumer price inflation. When credit is extended for non-gross domestic product transactions (which means mainly financial and real estate transactions), there will be asset inflation. Both cases are unsustainable and if sufficiently large, result in banking and economic crises.

We can be more or less strict about any of this from a regulatory point of view, but what banks create with credit largely defines how we lope from bubbles to busts to bubbles again. Bankers were once (and will be again soon) the stiff, uptight types whose very boringness epitomized financial prudence featuring risk aversion, right down to their Brooks Brothers’ suits. This is the boring banking of low, constant annual returns – you may have heard of it. Though they may have been disparaged from time to time as prudish stereotypes, there was a certain reliance on them as a personification of the confidence we could place in the system. Credit was slow moving for a reason. But when, as the writer points out, credit is created and used for unproductive purposes, all manner of skulduggery becomes possible.

And here’s the civics class section that coach skipped over – when something involving money becomes possible in our system, it’s as good as mandatory.

We get exotic financial instruments and bankers in Zegna and Armani spinning a whole different kind of confidence game. These episodes, if that’s all they are, point back to an economy abandoned of its fundamentals, where people are making money off of money that, it turns out, isn’t real money. Inflated value is not real money, so you should not be able to get easy cash (more debt) in return for not having it.

Q: How can you afford a $789,000 home financed at 5.8% if you’re not an anesthesiologist?

A: You can’t.

There are all manner of warning signs that no one wants to believe (Dow 36,000?) and it’s easy to look back and say well, we should have known, what with all those e*trade commercials during breaks in ‘Flip that House’, you could see greed getting the best of the least among us first*. Yes, we should have and in fact many, many people did refuse the basic temptation to jump in and not get left out of the gold rush, which was based on nothing more than self-conjured pool of suckers-R-us.

* I’m thinking of the conscience-challenged here, first, but there’s a growing body of evidence which suggests some preternatural disposition toward not asking questions if the answers keep coming at a 30% annual rate of return.

Posted on

Home Grown Power

Somewhat counter-intuitive take on the new electrical grid that’s been bandied about as an infrastructure project within the stimulus bill(s) set to appear at State House near you.

But there are better — and cheaper — ways to get more clean power flowing to the big cities. Renewable energy resources are found all across the country; they don’t need to be harnessed from just one place. In the Northwest, the largest amount of green power comes from hydroelectricity. In the Northeast, the best source may be the wind over the ocean, because it blows harder and more consistently there than on land. Offshore wind farms have been proposed for Delaware, Massachusetts, New Jersey and Rhode Island. In the Southwest, solar energy can be tapped on a large scale. And in the Southeast, biomass from forests may one day be a major source of sustainable power. In each area, developing these power sources would be cheaper than piping in clean energy from thousands of miles away.

As his omniscient narrator, I’ll say this is predicated on using far less power to make any of these suggested power solutions work, as we should begin to stipulate about every single thing. The writer draws a distinction between a smart grid and high-capacity transmission lines, the former distinguishing itself as a locally-deployed system within a multi-dimensional strategy against waste and inefficiency. Which is the only way to really address waste or efficiency. Once we get into what some of these concepts – a smart grid, for instance – mean, they begin to define long-term solutions in the only way in which they can be defined as viable – on a local scale. Ideas can come from anywhere, but they have to make sense there, first. Then a next-step Mandlebrot set in reverse motion can begin – leading the way toward more grander-scale solutions as we pan out. Or, luck be your lady tonight, altering their urgency into something more manageable.

Of course, changing how we think about a big new electrical grid for the country opens up more space to think about trains, SUPER and otherwise. Which is as it should be.