©
Which way to the future? Is it on a bicycle back to an organic farm? Or driving into a chrome-plated city inside a plastic bubble? Given the current state of the economy, these aren’t particularly pressing questions.
But the future has a funny way of sneaking into the present. I was standing in line at the checkout counter at the grocery store when a friend asked when I’d write a column about the looming LNG plans for the area. To be honest, I’ve always been conflicted about the LNG (liquefied natural gas) issue. Our entire economy runs on fossil fuel, and with oil reserves dwindling, natural gas is quickly becoming our best hope for the immediate future.
This hasn’t escaped the Irvings. Their new LNG plant are well underway, with a new pipeline to the US nearing completion. On the other side of the globe, the Russian economy is hot due to their vast reserves of natural gas—as large in scale, it’s reported, as the oil fields in Saudi Arabia once were. Like it or not, natural gas is a part of our immediate future.
On the home front, we’ve just converted our house to natural gas. Now, instead of a cobbled together system with an oil heater, propane water heater and propane range, we now have everything on a single, natural gas system. Everything is working more efficiently, with everything heating up more quickly.
The instant heat is a real plus with our recent cold snap. Years ago I lived in a little country house heated by a woodstove, so the “instant-on” convenience of a modern heating system isn’t lost on me.
I admit I don’t know the source of our local natural gas. I expect it’s coming from western Canada, but I couldn’t say. But our neighbours to the south are obviously going to need more of the stuff than we Canadians have underground. Like oil, natural gas is another bulk commodity being traded worldwide—supertankers and all.
The whole idea of world trade is a future-shaping idea. As I was waiting in line (in one of those rare occasions when I decided to use the drive-thru at Tim’s), I caught a piece on NPR about the crippling impacts of the US financial meltdown on the Chinese manufacturing sector. Apparently, their over-production capacity is directly linked to consumer over-spending in the States. So when the housing bubble collapsed and the American consumer stopped spending, the Chinese plants began shutting down. Over the past couple of months over 1000 factories have gone out of business in southern China.
Interestingly, this was exactly the same situation that occurred at the start of the Great Depression—except that it was the European consumer who was over-extended, and the American manufacturing sector that was over-producing.
To deal with the problem back then, the US government started fiddling with the import tax structure, which further worsened the situation, deepening the depression. So, I suppose, the caution to China is not to adopt isolationist policies, scale back on production, share the cutbacks and the pain of the American consumer, and ride it out.
In other words, with globalization there’s no way to escape the fact that we’re all in this energy thing together. My friend and I, as I mentioned, were standing in the checkout line of the grocery store. Everything, other than this newspaper and the Ganong candy section, has been imported from elsewhere, and stocked on the shelves of this giant, inefficiently-built, energy-sucking box store. Today, our very survival is dependent on the global trading system. There is no way off the energy merry-go-round.
This fact comes clear at the gas-pumps, too. As the gas prices went up at the same time as bank foreclosures on homes in the US, the American consumers started driving less. Immediately, gas prices went down. But, predictably, no one stopped eating. So the transport trucks still kept rolling. And here’s the kicker. Gasoline prices in the States dropped below $1.80 a gallon, but diesel prices for trucks is still hovering around the $3.00 per gallon level. Now, what’s up with that?
For most of my life diesel has cost less per gallon that gas—and all of a sudden diesel is being sold a premium? Could it be that our entire system depends on trucking, and trucking depends on diesel? It seems that the fuel companies have us over a barrel, if you’ll pardon the pun.
So, back to LNG. Natural gas, as a fuel, is going to be one of the major energy “bridges” as we move from fossil fuels to other sources of energy. If we somehow, collectively, manage to plan the transition, we may end up with a far better energy future, with electrical power supplied from the sun, the wind, the tides, the waves and our biological waste. But first we’ll need natural gas. That said, I suppose I’d have to say I’m a reluctant proponent of LNG.
On the other hand, there is one overriding factor in locating LNG plants along Passamaquoddy Bay and the St. Croix River. No, it’s not the unsightly tankers. And no, it’s not the hazardous nature of the cargo (there are lots of hazardous materials traveling our highways). What really puts a fork in the LNG plans for this area are the whales.
This area is one of the few whale sanctuaries on the planet. I think estimates put the right whale population at about 350 individuals. Ironically, it was the original oil industry, the whale oil industry, that put this entire species at risk. The discovery of oil in Pennsylvania in the 1800s probably saved the whales.
Ship strikes are a leading cause of injury and death to whales. To increase ship traffic in these waters is simply unethical. But so, too, is the long-term lack of jobs in northeastern Maine. There’s no way around it. If we’re going to continue living here, connected to the global economy, we’re going to have to be far more creative at developing new businesses and job opportunities.
LNG is knocking at our door because the people of this region have lacked the creative skills to adapt to the changing global economy. Lacking this, even the LNG terminals won’t save us from extinction. We’re still as vulnerable as the whales.
Don’t believe it? Just look at the riverbanks and all the broken piers to see all the industry that has left the region over the past 100 years. LNG won’t save us. But a more creative worldview can.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
Too much doo-doo-doo
©
Call it a “Borat” moment—the realization that life is just too complicated. If you check out the Borat DVD and you’ll see what I mean. In one of the out-takes Borat—a vulgar Kazakhstani tourist—takes a stroll with a clerk through the packaged cheese isle in an American grocery store. He stops at each package and asks the clerk what’s inside. “Cheese. More cheese. Yes, cheese,” says the clerk patiently, over and over again. The frustrating gag goes on for ten minutes.
The point Borat makes not so subtly is, at what point is too much too much? When it comes to Borat’s America, there is no such thing as too much, apparently.
Likely we’re all suffering from choice fatigue. And it’s not just an overabundance of products. There’s the new overabundance of people, too. Turn on the television and there are hundreds of new TV personalities who weren’t there a couple of years ago. But the most amazing development is the Internet. For the first time in history you can literally meet millions of people online. The world is available at a keystroke—for just $9.95 a month. The downside is the sad realization that almost all of the people online are posting the most banal stuff, and how few truly original ideas are being explored.
So I find myself in search of breakthrough ideas. What does a breakthrough look like? Take rock and roll. The rock genre of music has been around since the early 1950s. It had its first flowering with Elvis and the Everlys, and all the black cats in the background like Sam and Dave, Bo Diddley, James Brown, the Shirelles and the Ronettes. Just when it looked as if rock had plateaued, the Brits reinvented it and exported it back to the States. From the mid-60s to the late 70s rock music swallowed up all other genres, consuming everything from folk to jazz to disco. Rock had moved from “classic” to “renaissance” all the way to “rococo” with the glitter bands like Queen. Where could rock go from there?
What followed was punk, and later by grunge. Both of these idioms offered fans less rather than more. When the Police put out De Doo Doo Doo, the back-to-basics sound and lyrics were almost shocking. The song had the perfect effect. It offended older listeners, and was unforgettable to younger listeners. To me it typifies the concept of “breakthrough.”
These days the entertainment world seems to be anything but breakthrough. Ironically, American Idol , a show that portends to dig up unsung (pardon the pun) rock stars, is one of the most overly-managed, overly-produced, talent-smothering creations ever to be foisted on the American public. And you know it’s desperate when music critics cite Kurt Cobain as the last great rock star. For those of you who don’t follow this nonsense, Cobain committed suicide over 14 years ago. That’s a long time for rock groupies to be without a reigning superstar. But truth be told, Cobain was the last breakthrough rock artist that I can remember. He was the Arthur Rimbaud of his generation.
Rimbaud, himself, was a breakthrough artist. According to Wikipedia, “(he) was a French poet and anarchist… As part of the decadent movement, his influence on modern literature, music and art has been enduring and pervasive. He produced his best known works while still in his late teens—Victor Hugo described him at the time as "an infant Shakespeare"—and gave up creative writing altogether before he reached 21. He remained a prolific letter-writer all his life. Rimbaud was a restless soul, travelling extensively on three continents before his premature death from cancer less than a month after his 37th birthday.” Well, I guess that pretty much says it all. Except that Rimbaud’s poems were written in free verse and were far ahead of most of the rhyming poetry of the day.
The Police, Cobain and Rimbaud all ripped away the existing stylistic overlay to uncover a raw new voice. They chose the simpler path.
This craving for simplicity is why I’ve been a fan of modernism. Since the invention of photography modern art has adopted a more minimalist language. Picasso’s paintings have more in common with the prehistoric cave paintings at Lascaux than they do with the art preceding his generation.
A lot has changed since Picasso though. For one thing, visual art isn’t such a big deal. Frankly, the galleries and museums are overflowing with the stuff, and there are far too few customers to buy up even a tenth of the art produced. For another, we either don’t value art enough, or the art has become too remote for the ordinary viewer.
This was brought home to me a few weeks ago when my editor sent me a letter and suggested I might do a follow-up story on it. The letter was an introduction to a former St. Stephen–St. Andrews artist, Keith Bentley. Keith is now living in Toronto, where he manages an art gallery and makes art. One of his projects involves collecting horsehair from slaughterhouses and weaving it into blankets, which he drapes over model horses. It’s very cool. Yet, however arcane it might seem to the average person, in the art world these kinds of didactic social critiques have become fairly common. How else could one explain UK artist Damien Hirst’s 18th Century human scull encrusted with $30 million in diamonds that recently sold for nearly $100 million? I think that we’ve hit the limit of “didactic rococo” in visual art with that one.
I recently picked up a book titled The Architecture of Happiness. I thought, “wouldn’t it be nice to focus on happiness for a change.” And here was a little book illustrating how architecture the world over has been designed to foster happiness.
Inside was a photo of the simplest building I’d ever seen. A Japanese architect built a plain box with a low pyramid roof and with one large window facing the landscape—a grassy field. The simplicity of the structure in that environment was simply—sublime. It was a breakthrough.
More to the point, it made me question the values that shape our local communities.
Call it a “Borat” moment—the realization that life is just too complicated. If you check out the Borat DVD and you’ll see what I mean. In one of the out-takes Borat—a vulgar Kazakhstani tourist—takes a stroll with a clerk through the packaged cheese isle in an American grocery store. He stops at each package and asks the clerk what’s inside. “Cheese. More cheese. Yes, cheese,” says the clerk patiently, over and over again. The frustrating gag goes on for ten minutes.
The point Borat makes not so subtly is, at what point is too much too much? When it comes to Borat’s America, there is no such thing as too much, apparently.
Likely we’re all suffering from choice fatigue. And it’s not just an overabundance of products. There’s the new overabundance of people, too. Turn on the television and there are hundreds of new TV personalities who weren’t there a couple of years ago. But the most amazing development is the Internet. For the first time in history you can literally meet millions of people online. The world is available at a keystroke—for just $9.95 a month. The downside is the sad realization that almost all of the people online are posting the most banal stuff, and how few truly original ideas are being explored.
So I find myself in search of breakthrough ideas. What does a breakthrough look like? Take rock and roll. The rock genre of music has been around since the early 1950s. It had its first flowering with Elvis and the Everlys, and all the black cats in the background like Sam and Dave, Bo Diddley, James Brown, the Shirelles and the Ronettes. Just when it looked as if rock had plateaued, the Brits reinvented it and exported it back to the States. From the mid-60s to the late 70s rock music swallowed up all other genres, consuming everything from folk to jazz to disco. Rock had moved from “classic” to “renaissance” all the way to “rococo” with the glitter bands like Queen. Where could rock go from there?
What followed was punk, and later by grunge. Both of these idioms offered fans less rather than more. When the Police put out De Doo Doo Doo, the back-to-basics sound and lyrics were almost shocking. The song had the perfect effect. It offended older listeners, and was unforgettable to younger listeners. To me it typifies the concept of “breakthrough.”
These days the entertainment world seems to be anything but breakthrough. Ironically, American Idol , a show that portends to dig up unsung (pardon the pun) rock stars, is one of the most overly-managed, overly-produced, talent-smothering creations ever to be foisted on the American public. And you know it’s desperate when music critics cite Kurt Cobain as the last great rock star. For those of you who don’t follow this nonsense, Cobain committed suicide over 14 years ago. That’s a long time for rock groupies to be without a reigning superstar. But truth be told, Cobain was the last breakthrough rock artist that I can remember. He was the Arthur Rimbaud of his generation.
Rimbaud, himself, was a breakthrough artist. According to Wikipedia, “(he) was a French poet and anarchist… As part of the decadent movement, his influence on modern literature, music and art has been enduring and pervasive. He produced his best known works while still in his late teens—Victor Hugo described him at the time as "an infant Shakespeare"—and gave up creative writing altogether before he reached 21. He remained a prolific letter-writer all his life. Rimbaud was a restless soul, travelling extensively on three continents before his premature death from cancer less than a month after his 37th birthday.” Well, I guess that pretty much says it all. Except that Rimbaud’s poems were written in free verse and were far ahead of most of the rhyming poetry of the day.
The Police, Cobain and Rimbaud all ripped away the existing stylistic overlay to uncover a raw new voice. They chose the simpler path.
This craving for simplicity is why I’ve been a fan of modernism. Since the invention of photography modern art has adopted a more minimalist language. Picasso’s paintings have more in common with the prehistoric cave paintings at Lascaux than they do with the art preceding his generation.
A lot has changed since Picasso though. For one thing, visual art isn’t such a big deal. Frankly, the galleries and museums are overflowing with the stuff, and there are far too few customers to buy up even a tenth of the art produced. For another, we either don’t value art enough, or the art has become too remote for the ordinary viewer.
This was brought home to me a few weeks ago when my editor sent me a letter and suggested I might do a follow-up story on it. The letter was an introduction to a former St. Stephen–St. Andrews artist, Keith Bentley. Keith is now living in Toronto, where he manages an art gallery and makes art. One of his projects involves collecting horsehair from slaughterhouses and weaving it into blankets, which he drapes over model horses. It’s very cool. Yet, however arcane it might seem to the average person, in the art world these kinds of didactic social critiques have become fairly common. How else could one explain UK artist Damien Hirst’s 18th Century human scull encrusted with $30 million in diamonds that recently sold for nearly $100 million? I think that we’ve hit the limit of “didactic rococo” in visual art with that one.
I recently picked up a book titled The Architecture of Happiness. I thought, “wouldn’t it be nice to focus on happiness for a change.” And here was a little book illustrating how architecture the world over has been designed to foster happiness.
Inside was a photo of the simplest building I’d ever seen. A Japanese architect built a plain box with a low pyramid roof and with one large window facing the landscape—a grassy field. The simplicity of the structure in that environment was simply—sublime. It was a breakthrough.
More to the point, it made me question the values that shape our local communities.
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