The black gold just as its cousin the real gold is well suited to bring out the human condition. Greed, carelessness, the risk fuelling inventiveness and what is commonly considered progress. Petroleum along with coal have propelled the industrial revolution and both have added considerable stories of tragedy and loss to the storybook of mankind. It is telling that at a moment of time when the end of oil is being proclaimed by some and renewable energies are in everybody’s mouth (but barely in anybody’s furnace) that oil is leaking profusely from the earth and into the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. One mile deep under water where it is very cold and very very dense and dark. Inventiveness is being challenged to not only make the earth give up the oil but now also to stop the gushing. Deepwater plumbing sounds awfully similar to the familiar one, cutting and plugging and bending pipes. However, the oil keeps gushing. Although one can see the geyser online, BP is the sole steward of this debacle unlike, say a big industrial fire on land which would bring practiced government response into quick action. Thus, the catastrophe is private but the outcome is public. The consequences from this imbalance are not yet clear. Maybe we will learn that we cannot hand over the world to the big monopolies.
With the smog of winter gone from most of our cities, with cars burning cleaner and the ubiquitous plastics all around having no apparent similarity with the black goo that is petroleum, we so-called industrialized nations have forgotten what a big mess oil really is. The rig that exploded was supposed to be a safe and modern affair until it exploded and sank. Now public opinion is shifting from “drill baby drill” (Republican slogan during the last presidential election) to caution against more offshore drilling. Nobody is clamoring for drilling in the Alaskan reserve right now and Republicans shifted quickly from wanting more drilling to blaming Obama for considering additional off shore oil exploitation in recent months or for not having enough government involvement in the current calamity. There is so much irony in all that that it would be funny weren’t the dimensions of this ecological tragedy on so gigantic that we cannot even fathom them.
Yet, nothing has really changed except that the Gulf calamity shows once more that whatever contraptions humans invent, they will fail once in a while. With an oil carpet of gigantic size floating aimlessly in the sea still fuelled by the flow from the depth it is clear that no plan exists for a disaster of this scale. In effect there was one barrier designed for the case of breakage and it failed, now all bets are off. As land mammals we are most concerned about oil reaching land and feverishly build flimsy barriers so the oil would stay afloat and not wash up on terra firma. We even spray detergents into the mess so it would disperse and sink, out of sight, out of mind. Once the winds shift and storms hit the barriers will be overrun and one day we will discover that oil in the sea or at the bottom of it is as destructive there as on land.
Offshore oil drilling will be “out” for a few years maybe while nuclear is in again because it is supposedly so clean and carbon free. Until a big nuclear accident will occur and will make us remember that the nuclear gamble is even much bigger than the one with oil.
Let’s hope these are the last throws of the dirty age of fossil fuels and nuclear adventures and the beginning of a truly sustainable future. But don’t hold your breath.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Sunday, April 4, 2010
My Little Friend
In his little face one can see the effort, concentration and excitement that comes with discovering, processing and understanding this world. The sharp senses of the newly forming brain register the full sensual range of pleasure and pain with little deflection, no capability for rationalization, suppression or cynicism which each dull the older mind thus enabling it for survival.Nothing is more fun than joining the quests of the now 16 months old young mind. So much to discover, so much to see, so much to learn, so much to feel. Opening up to see the world with his eyes is almost like being reborn. Although the old eyes need glasses which, smudged from his little fingers, actually offer little help, they now see beyond the fine points of optics: An almost forgotten world is flooding the stress-battered old mind. Like in time travel I go back to a simple understanding and direct sensation that was once mine, too, at an age too young to remember.
It feels like sharing the mind of the infant, direct and unfiltered. The glory of it is overpowering for, everyone can see it, we seem to be of one mind while we are unencumbered of the constraints of the daily routine. The new territory of grandfatherly love is almost as confusing as the teenager's crush.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
How many Dimensions?
14 March 2010
String theory adds up to six dimensions to our usual set of three giving room for theoretical physicists and science fictionists alike to speculate about parallel universes which might be folded into our known one like Russian dolls or less convincingly, might coexist outside ours.
We humans don’t usually need quantum scales in our daily life, we nevertheless live in several universes and times at the same moment without all too much thought. I was reminded of this today when I observed Liam and Nina interact, the mother infant universe with a sun and a planet, a complete system the child revolving around the mother, in a stable attraction and on a fairly predictable trajectory, and the mother giving all the warmth and love as well as the gravitas to keep it that way. Concurrent I saw the parallel universe of Nina in Liam’s age with her mother, whom Nina resembles strikingly. Although Liam is quite the boy his demeanor and charme remind me a lot of his mother’s as an infant and when I hold Liam echoes from Nina’s past reverberate through my senses and memories.
Fainter and still discernible are weak reverberations of my own past as a child, the time when my mother was my sun and my life rotated around her. She, still alive and Liams’ great grandmother, now in the late chapter of her life, her own warmth diminishing and she herself in need of the glow of her offspring.
These three universes were all real at the same time just as the big bang is still around in the form of background radiation. We process all these dimensions, times and layers usually flawlessly and in split-seconds. No hourglass shows up on our retina to show overload, if the vibrations get too strong we feel saturated with feeling, sentiment, sorrow, hope and inspiration. This makes us superior to computers and, in spite of our size our brain might match the complexity of the electrons, quarks and gluons, their uncertainties and jitters and quantum entanglements.
Liam can safely sleep in his mother’s orbit on 72nd Street in Manhattan but he also is still here, I encounter his sounds, his expressions and his words at all the places he had just filled with his joy and it is as if they were still warm from the vibrations of life. Nothing better represents life than the young child expressing, exploring and discovering it. Nine dimensions might not even be enough to describe it all.
String theory adds up to six dimensions to our usual set of three giving room for theoretical physicists and science fictionists alike to speculate about parallel universes which might be folded into our known one like Russian dolls or less convincingly, might coexist outside ours.
We humans don’t usually need quantum scales in our daily life, we nevertheless live in several universes and times at the same moment without all too much thought. I was reminded of this today when I observed Liam and Nina interact, the mother infant universe with a sun and a planet, a complete system the child revolving around the mother, in a stable attraction and on a fairly predictable trajectory, and the mother giving all the warmth and love as well as the gravitas to keep it that way. Concurrent I saw the parallel universe of Nina in Liam’s age with her mother, whom Nina resembles strikingly. Although Liam is quite the boy his demeanor and charme remind me a lot of his mother’s as an infant and when I hold Liam echoes from Nina’s past reverberate through my senses and memories.
Fainter and still discernible are weak reverberations of my own past as a child, the time when my mother was my sun and my life rotated around her. She, still alive and Liams’ great grandmother, now in the late chapter of her life, her own warmth diminishing and she herself in need of the glow of her offspring.
These three universes were all real at the same time just as the big bang is still around in the form of background radiation. We process all these dimensions, times and layers usually flawlessly and in split-seconds. No hourglass shows up on our retina to show overload, if the vibrations get too strong we feel saturated with feeling, sentiment, sorrow, hope and inspiration. This makes us superior to computers and, in spite of our size our brain might match the complexity of the electrons, quarks and gluons, their uncertainties and jitters and quantum entanglements.
Liam can safely sleep in his mother’s orbit on 72nd Street in Manhattan but he also is still here, I encounter his sounds, his expressions and his words at all the places he had just filled with his joy and it is as if they were still warm from the vibrations of life. Nothing better represents life than the young child expressing, exploring and discovering it. Nine dimensions might not even be enough to describe it all.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Death of an Architect
The entire architectural community was assembled on the top floor of the new Legg Mason building in trendy Harbor East and waited for the Grand Design award to be announced by the President of the local AIA.
It was Mike Murphy, partner and CEO of Murphy Dittenhafer who was called on the stage once more to receive the grand design award for a whimsy pool house design. Mike, with a full head of gray hair, a wry smile and omnipresent at all events architectural. One that would raise his hand and register disagreement, discontent and at times make blunt statements. One, who wasn't afraid. It was easy to see that his big head was not afraid of a possible wall to run into.
Mike was designer and entrepreneur and he built a lot of stuff. Modern at times, preserving historic structures at others. He fought for the preservation of the Baltimore Masonic Temple when it was slated to give way to a mundane parking garage. He found a way to preserve the Temple AND have the garage.
Tomorrow the architectural community will assemble in the beautifully restored Masonic Temple to celebrate Mike's life and his work as an architect. Mike is dead. Abruptly taken from our midst, way too early and at a time when we need everyone who can dream, everyone who dares and everyone who has the ability and the will to imagine and then realize a better city and a better world. In short men and women like Mike.
It was Mike Murphy, partner and CEO of Murphy Dittenhafer who was called on the stage once more to receive the grand design award for a whimsy pool house design. Mike, with a full head of gray hair, a wry smile and omnipresent at all events architectural. One that would raise his hand and register disagreement, discontent and at times make blunt statements. One, who wasn't afraid. It was easy to see that his big head was not afraid of a possible wall to run into.
Mike was designer and entrepreneur and he built a lot of stuff. Modern at times, preserving historic structures at others. He fought for the preservation of the Baltimore Masonic Temple when it was slated to give way to a mundane parking garage. He found a way to preserve the Temple AND have the garage.
Tomorrow the architectural community will assemble in the beautifully restored Masonic Temple to celebrate Mike's life and his work as an architect. Mike is dead. Abruptly taken from our midst, way too early and at a time when we need everyone who can dream, everyone who dares and everyone who has the ability and the will to imagine and then realize a better city and a better world. In short men and women like Mike.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Mighty nature or embattled nature?
Nature as entertainment and nature as a source of threat and fear are so close together that it is easily understandable how we humans oscillate between conquest and nurture. More accurately, just began adding nurture of nature to our repertoire.
So the announcement of a snowstorm of historical proportions broadcast to us in the comfort of our warm office evokes nothing but incredulity (oh those weather people are hyping up a storm again) or, at best, curiosity. (Let’s see it, bring it on, it should bring welcome change to the uniformity of our daily life. ). So the wet flakes signaling the beginning of the weather event are just a disappointment. The then sticking snow on the way home after dark are just a minor challenge. Then it gets thicker but we have to go to sleep. I wake up at three at night remembering the forecast of three inches per hour and oversee the rather bright snowy scene outside my window. The yard looks unfamiliar with all the bushes flattened and covered in a vast gooey white soft lined mass of snow. I lay back down, to continue my sleep under warm down feathers, alas, the mind begins to churn.
How about our roof, especially at the heavily leaning chimney/fireplace in the dining area? What if all this extra load overstresses the diminished bearing area of the trusses? Then a new thoughts enters my brain, what about the electric wires, the telephone and cable wires? Aren’t they amidst trees and bushes who seem to be so laden out there? Aren’t they about to snap leaving us without phone and internet and at the mercy of our generator?
Already I am up and putting snowpants and boots over top of my night outfit. Traipse through the dark house. Just when I snap the rear sliding door lock open a blue flash illuminates the snowy landscape outside. Ahh, too late I think for a second associating the flash to a shortened power line before thunder sets in and lets me know that this is a blizzard with thunder and lightning, admittedly adding some spookyness to my nightly undertaking. Out there I see immediately that the trees and branches are indeed groaning under heavy loads. Snow is bearing down at a furious clip, wind howls and yes, I hear also breaking tree limbs, quite loud actually. I wonder if something would fall on me while my feet sink into snow way above my knee. I find the 10’ 2x4 and start knocking the branches above the lines. The snow comes down in big clouds spreading over my hood, face and hands which immediately feel quite cold while clamming down on the 2x4. I should have taken my gloves out, I realize. More cracking comes from the juniper whose main trunk had already broken under snowload in December. I wish it would stop snowing right now, but about 8 additional hours of heavy downpour had been forecast and the weathermen seem to have been dead on this time. Now the snow is not just entertainment anymore, it is a threat to my house, my trees and my inner peace. It has reached proportions that are quite outside my regular experience level. When I go back to bed, I am far from calm until the tiredness of the early hour finally wins over.Seven hours later when the snow stops falling, the sun comes out and the streets have seen heavy equipment the snow armageddon looks already much diminished and the winterlandscape outright scenic. The dangeously leaning 70' pine tree notwithstanding.
So the announcement of a snowstorm of historical proportions broadcast to us in the comfort of our warm office evokes nothing but incredulity (oh those weather people are hyping up a storm again) or, at best, curiosity. (Let’s see it, bring it on, it should bring welcome change to the uniformity of our daily life. ). So the wet flakes signaling the beginning of the weather event are just a disappointment. The then sticking snow on the way home after dark are just a minor challenge. Then it gets thicker but we have to go to sleep. I wake up at three at night remembering the forecast of three inches per hour and oversee the rather bright snowy scene outside my window. The yard looks unfamiliar with all the bushes flattened and covered in a vast gooey white soft lined mass of snow. I lay back down, to continue my sleep under warm down feathers, alas, the mind begins to churn.
How about our roof, especially at the heavily leaning chimney/fireplace in the dining area? What if all this extra load overstresses the diminished bearing area of the trusses? Then a new thoughts enters my brain, what about the electric wires, the telephone and cable wires? Aren’t they amidst trees and bushes who seem to be so laden out there? Aren’t they about to snap leaving us without phone and internet and at the mercy of our generator?
Already I am up and putting snowpants and boots over top of my night outfit. Traipse through the dark house. Just when I snap the rear sliding door lock open a blue flash illuminates the snowy landscape outside. Ahh, too late I think for a second associating the flash to a shortened power line before thunder sets in and lets me know that this is a blizzard with thunder and lightning, admittedly adding some spookyness to my nightly undertaking. Out there I see immediately that the trees and branches are indeed groaning under heavy loads. Snow is bearing down at a furious clip, wind howls and yes, I hear also breaking tree limbs, quite loud actually. I wonder if something would fall on me while my feet sink into snow way above my knee. I find the 10’ 2x4 and start knocking the branches above the lines. The snow comes down in big clouds spreading over my hood, face and hands which immediately feel quite cold while clamming down on the 2x4. I should have taken my gloves out, I realize. More cracking comes from the juniper whose main trunk had already broken under snowload in December. I wish it would stop snowing right now, but about 8 additional hours of heavy downpour had been forecast and the weathermen seem to have been dead on this time. Now the snow is not just entertainment anymore, it is a threat to my house, my trees and my inner peace. It has reached proportions that are quite outside my regular experience level. When I go back to bed, I am far from calm until the tiredness of the early hour finally wins over.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
The Cycle of Life
The fallen juniper still needed its last limbs cut up and a sunny Friday afternoon with early departure from the office provided just the right opportunity. The snow had disappeared except for those two tiny spots of white near the driveway that always melt last. Yet it was still cold and wintery and what was early for the office was late for beginning an outdoor task. It didn’t take long and the sun’s last few rays bathed the shed in orange glow masquerading as warmth.
The crows with their persistent ruckus high up in the bare tulip poplars in Ms Smith’s yard fell suddenly silent and stole away. One by one the other birds also lost their voice except one that kept meakly going as if doubting itself. A dog’s bark in a nearby garden, the faint rumbling of an airplane drawing lines across the sky and the steady hum of I-70 were the only sounds in the big silence which sets in when the sun goes down. Here out in the burbs and away from rush hour and city streets where the wired and electrified world proudly marches on 24/7 without missing a beat, dusk still brings on this stillness. With it comes a desire for man and beast alike to look for shelter. Find a warm place, a friend, a shoulder against which to lean and let the thoughts drift like the bunched up wavy clouds against the blue to orange western sky closing out the day.
It’s just this one day which draws the curtain and yet, listening carefully I can hear the cycle of life in the peace that is setting in.
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