GGOD X

Yes, this was my 10th or Xth Annual Goose Goofs Off Day. I looked it up. I don’t know why I use Roman numerals to count them. I suppose that in my book it is the Super Bowl of holidays. Since the Super Bowl uses Roman numerals to keep track, it logically seemed to be the appropriate way to keep track of my personal GGODs.


And that acronym, GGOD? I only started using it recently, but it also seemed logical and appropriate. After all, Goose Goofs Off Days are Gifts from God. Now some might think that Christmas has the best claim to being a gift from God. But without getting too heretical, I beg to disagree. Perhaps children can view Christmas as a gift, but for grownups Christmas is a huge pile of stress and work. Most of us spend weeks decorating, baking, shopping, cleaning our houses and wrapping presents just to name a few of the tasks leading up to Christmas. Then after Christmas we go back to stores to exchange presents such as clothes that don’t fit, we do more shopping to take advantage of after-Christmas sales, and then we must take down and put away all the decorations for another year. Christmas can be nice, but it’s no GGOD, that’s for sure. The hardest thing about GGOD is figuring out how you’re going to goof off.

The Mattress Factory

This year I just kind of puttered around the house during the morning, and before I could say, “I’m taking it easy today,” it was 1:00 in the afternoon.  I did some searching on the internet and decided to take a trip to the Mattress Factory, which is a museum of modern art on Pittsburgh’s Northside.  Exhibits are housed in three separate buildings within a block of one another.  There are also some outdoor installations.  Since it was a cold day, I stuck to the inside stuff.  I especially enjoyed the installations on the 4^th floor of the main building.  They included “Damn Everything but the Circus,” by Benjamin Sota, the founder of the Zany Umbrella Circus, and “Diaspora,” by Ryder Henry.  Diaspora consists of an intricately constructed miniature futuristic city.  One could spend hours appreciating the architecture and construction of the various structures in that imaginary city. 

After spending a couple hours at the Mattress Factory, I decided to take a ride up the Allegheny River to the borough of Oakmont. Oakmont is mostly famous for the Oakmont Country Club which has hosted the U.S. Open golf tournament several times.  However, I went to Oakmont to visit the Mystery Lovers Bookshop.  Mystery Lovers is a small, independent book store.  I knew of them because they are a sponsor of a lecture series I attend called Literary Evenings.  While the lectures focus on the writing process, Mystery Lovers is there to sell books, which you can get signed by the author.  So I decided to take a GGOD trip to Oakmont to see their actual store.

It’s a far cry from Barnes & Noble, but that’s the whole idea.  In contrast to the big box stores, the owner greeted me when I walked in and offered me coffee and some dessert.  True to their name, they specialize in mystery books, but they also stock current books, especially those featured at the Literary Evenings.  I spent a fair amount of time browsing through the book shelves and finally settled on Plugged, by Eion Colfer.  Colfer is the author of the Artemis Fowl books that my youngest son enjoyed so much as a teenager.  I thought it would be interesting to see what Colfer’s books for adults are like. 

I completed my purchase, left Mystery Lovers and then drove a few blocks to a Panera Bread store.  I have a Panera Rewards card and knew I was due for a free pastry.  So I found a cozy chair and did some reading while enjoying some coffee and a bear claw.  Around 6:00 PM, I decided to head back home.  Dinner was effortless – microwaved leftovers.  Finally, a little time in the hot tub, some wine and a movie provided a perfect end to the perfect holiday.  Now I’m looking forward to taking it easy on GGOD XI!

When You Assume

A few days ago I decided to make myself some toast and tea as a mid-morning snack.  I put some water into the electric kettle and hit the on button to heat it to a boil.  The bread was one of those artisanal loaves where the ends are so small they would get lost in a traditional toaster.  So I popped them into the toaster oven and went into the study to glance at the newspaper while I waited.  I came back in a few minutes and poured the hot water into my mug and buttered my toast.  When my tea had brewed, I added some sugar and opened the refrigerator door to get some milk.  Damn!  The refrigerator light had burned out.  I realized the fridge was at least 3 years old, and I had never changed its light bulb.  I supposed that I was fortunate to have a bulb last that long.

I figured this was something I could fix in a jiffy. So leaving my toast and tea on the kitchen table, I went down to the basement to look for an appliance bulb.  I opened the closet where I keep various light bulbs and rooted around until I determined that I didn’t have the right type of bulb.  So I trudged upstairs to the kitchen and took a bite of toast and sip of tea.  It seemed that while I was downstairs looking for a light bulb, my tea had gotten lukewarm.  I took another sip and finished one of the rounds of toast.  Then I opened the refrigerator door to take a look at the bulb.  Instead of a bulb, I saw a translucent plastic shield that ran from the back to the front of the fridge and covered the light bulb.  I realized I would have to remove the shield to replace the bulb.  I rearranged the food on the shelf below to give me some room to work.  I examined the shield and gave it a tug.  It moved, but showed no signs of coming loose.  I looked at it closer, but could not determine how to get it off.  I decided that using brute force would be a bad idea.  I could end up having to buy a new shield as well as a light bulb.

 

Since this is a relatively new refrigerator, I had hope that I might still have the owner’s manual.  I took another gulp of my tea which was getting cold and a bite of toast and went to the desk drawer where I thought the manual might be located.  I leafed through manuals for items that we had long since discarded.  But my search for the refrigerator manual was rewarded.  I opened it to the section on replacing the light bulb.  It instructed me to squeeze the sides of the shield and pull downward.  I was a little skeptical, but gave it a try and sure enough, it came off revealing the light bulb.

I was pleased to see that the bulb looked pretty normal.  I figured I should take it to the hardware store to be sure I got the correct replacement.  So I gave it a twist.  The bulb refused to budge.  Was I twisting it the right way?  I gave it a twist in the other direction.  No luck that way either.  Now I became concerned that I would end up breaking the bulb in my efforts to unscrew it.  The last thing I wanted was a cut hand and blood and glass shards to clean up.  I went to get a pair of leather gloves.  I tried again, first one way and then the other.  No luck.  The bulb was horizontal with its base toward the refrigerator door.  I walked into the living room and unscrewed the light bulb from one of the lamps.  O.K.  You turn these things counterclockwise to unscrew them.  I mentally turned the lamp on its side with the light bulb facing away from me to determine which direction was counterclockwise when the bulb was facing away from me.  Jokes started popping into my head:  “How many retirees does it take to change a light bulb?”  I went back to the kitchen and downed the dregs of my now cold tea and limp toast.  I opened the door and grasped the bulb with my gloved hand.  I gave it a gentle but firm twist in the direction I determined to be correct.  I felt it give a little.  I tried again with a little more pressure and it began to unscrew.

 

“Success!” I shouted as I unscrewed the bulb and pulled it out of the refrigerator.

 

I realized that to be efficient, I should run a number of other errands besides going to the hardware store for a new bulb.  So I gathered a few things together, put the bulb in a bag to protect it and got ready to leave the house.  It occurred to me that with the distraction of the burned out light bulb, I never did get a chance to enjoy a nice hot cup of tea.  So what would be the harm of making myself another cup?  I could put it in a travel mug and take it with me.  So I put more water in the kettle and flipped the button to start the kettle.  I noticed the light on the kettle did not come on.  A light bulb clicked on – the one in my mind.  I realized that running the tea kettle and toaster oven at the same time had tripped a breaker, and the refrigerator was probably on that same breaker.  I went downstairs, opened the breaker box and saw that one of the breakers had switched off.  I turned it on and walked back upstairs.

I was greeted by the sound of the refrigerator’s motor.  I screwed the light bulb back in and it lit up.  All told, I had probably wasted a half hour solving a problem that didn’t exist.  That might qualify me to be a politician, but certainly not an efficiency expert.  I made a note to pass this experience on to my son, Michael, who gives brief lessons on efficiency in his MichaelMinutes on Facebook.  I figured this could be a lesson in what not to do.

I recalled that old adage, “When you assume, you make an ASS out of U and ME.”  I had assumed that when the light didn’t turn on, it meant the bulb was burned out.  Once I had made that incorrect assumption, I ignored all the other clues – the tea that was never piping hot, the toast that wasn’t quite toasted, the fact that the refrigerator never turned on while I was trying to get the light bulb out.  I’d like to think I learned from this experience and that the next time I’m confronted with a problem, I will test my assumptions and consider all the possibilities – including the possibility that pigs have learned to fly.  

Bang the Drum All Day

My son, Sam, and I recently took a road trip to Canada.  Actually, he had hoped to take a friend or two, but it turned out they all had prior commitments.  So I convinced him to let me come.  He enthusiastically agreed, particularly after I offered to cover most of his expenses 

The reason for the trip was to return a lambeg drum to its owner in suburban Toronto. 

Wikipedia defines lambeg drum as “a large Irish drum beaten with curved Malacca canes . . .used primarily in Northern Ireland by Unionist and the Orange Order.”  The operative word is large.  It had been used in a play produced by PICT Classic Theatre – the company that employs my son as master carpenter.  When one of PICT’s staff drove to Canada to initially pick it up, he had to return to the States empty-handed because the drum was too big to fit into his Kia Soul.  So my son made sure the drum fit into his Subaru Outback, though it didn’t leave much room for anything else. 

A few days before our departure, I began to think about the two of us trying to get into Canada with a huge drum in plain view in the back of his car. I knew that border crossings had become a bit more dicey since security was tightened in the wake of the 9/11 attacks.

“How do you plan to explain the drum to the border guards?” I asked him.

“I hadn’t really thought about it.  Why should it be an issue?”

“Well, a drum that size could contain quite a bit of contraband.  Drugs, guns, a small family of migrant workers.  It would be a good idea to be prepared with an explanation.  Maybe if we had a playbill or some pictures from the production.”

Overhearing our conversation, my wife, working at her computer, went to the theatre company’s website.

“I don’t see any pictures of the drum, but I can download the playbill from the show.  It contains a special thanks to the man who loaned the drum.”

“Does it mention the drum?”

“No, it just lists the owner’s name, and lists Sam’s name as master carpenter.”

“Great, print it.  We’ll also take that playbill from Macbeth, which we saved from the other night.  That will make our story sound a bit more authentic.  I’m probably just being a worrywart, but like I always say, better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it.”

A few days later as we drove toward the border, we briefly considered ignoring the drum, and saying we were just coming into Canada for a day of sightseeing.  I imagined the guard’s first question would be, “So why are you bringing that huge drum into Canada?”

“What drum?” would probably not be the best response.

We decided that honesty would be the best policy.  If that should fail, our back-up plan was to lie like hell.  As we got close to the guard booth, it occurred to me that we probably should have switched drivers.  My son is in his early twenties, has longish hair and a beard that had gotten a bit shaggy.  I, on the other hand, have the appearance of a delightful and charming older gentleman – in other words, a harmless old geezer.  But it was too late.  Changing drivers while waiting our turn at the crossing would just draw additional suspicion. 

We pulled up, and my son handed our passports to the guard.  She studied them for what seemed a long time. 

“So what’s your business in Canada?”

Sam explained that we were representatives of a theatre company in Pittsburgh that had borrowed the drum in the back of the car for a recent production, and that we were traveling into Canada to return it to its owner.

She gave us a skeptical stare.  “What sort of play is this?”

Sam handed her the playbill we had printed from the website.  “It was called Observe the Sons of Ulster Marching Toward the Somme.”

“It was about an Irish battalion preparing to fight in the First World War,” I chimed in. 

“And who are you?”  She gave me a cold stare.

“My dad is on the theatre company’s board,” Sam replied as I leafed through the Macbeth playbill, unable to find where the board members are listed.

She riffled through the papers in her hands.  “What’s in the drum?” she demanded.

“Nothing!” we simultaneously responded, perhaps a bit too quickly. 

“Why did you need a drum from Canada?”

“It’s a very unique drum.  You can see the way it’s painted.  It had to look authentic to the period and this is the closest one we could find.”  OK.  I didn’t know that for a fact, but thought it sounded pretty good.  I felt the ice getting thinner under our skates. 

“Do you have any paperwork showing it’s a Canadian drum?”

“I have an email someplace,” Samuel said looking around his seat, but desperately hoping she wouldn’t ask him to produce it. 

“And whose drum is it?” she asked.

Sam gave her the name of the owner.

“Where does he live?”

“Clarington,” I replied.

“Clarington?  I thought you said you were going to Toronto.”

“Well, we’ll be staying in Toronto after we drop off the drum in Clarington.”

“Good save, Sam,” I thought to myself.

“Will you be coming back to get the drum again?” she asked.

"No, the play is finished.  We won’t be doing it again in the foreseeable future,” Sam replied.

She paused, leafing through the pages of the playbill.  We waited, wondering if her next move would be to have us take the drum out for her inspection or phone for back-up.  We put on our friendliest faces as we continued to wait for her to decide what to do.

“All right, you can go,” she said.  “But if you ever do this again, you need to make sure you have paperwork showing the drum is a Canadian good.”

“Thank you.  We’ll be sure to do that,” I said.

She handed back our passports and the playbill printout.  We quickly drove off, feeling like we had just gotten away with the crime of the century. 

“Wow, I’m glad I didn’t have to do that by myself,” Sam said, sighing with relief.

“I guess having your old man along for the ride was good for something,” I said as we took the on ramp for the QEW. 

We agreed that after we dropped off the drum, there would be no need to mention it on our way back into the U.S.A.

Genesis Retold

In the beginning there was nothingness.  And God filled nothingness.  In nothingness, there was room for naught but God.

And God spoke.  “Let there be light!”  And God’s Word created light.  Light burst forth in countless points of brilliant energy.  What had been nothingness became light, and light raced forth, its points separating and combining.  And space formed between the points in an ever-expanding Divine thought.  God saw the light God’s Word had created.  And God considered the possibilities, and knew that it was good.

And God spoke again.  “Let there be matter!”  And God’s Word brought forth the elements and gave them structure and shape.  And they formed solids, liquids and gases.  And in God’s time, they combined to form stars and planets, comets and asteroids, matter and anti-matter and structures yet unknown to creation, but well known to God.  And God saw the matter God’s Word had created and considered the possibilities.  And God knew that it was good.

And God spoke again.  “Let there be life!”  And God’s Word created life.  Chemicals combined into structures that could use the energy created by God’s Word to sustain and reproduce life, suited to the conditions throughout creation where it could evolve into more complex forms.  Some were suited to living in liquid and others to living in gases or on solid land.  Some forms used the energy of God’s light and others were energized from those forms that used God’s light.  And God saw the life that God’s Word had created, in its simplicity, its complexity and its harmony.  And God considered the possibilities.  And God knew that it was good.

 

And God spoke once more.  “Let there be life in my image!”  And God’s Word created a Divine spark in one of the living creatures.  And the Divine spark made those creatures unlike any of the others created by God’s Word.  By this spark, these creatures received intelligence and memory; reason and wisdom.  And God breathed on this spark, and it grew into a flame that gave these creatures a burning desire to know God and to be with God for all eternity.  And God considered the possibilities.

 

And God rested.

Dream Cars

I love cars.  That’s a difficult confession for a self-proclaimed environmentalist who strongly believes we should do something to address global warming.  But it’s the truth.  I have loved cars since I was a small boy.  There was a time in the 1950s when I could name the make, model and year of almost any car on the road.  The first record I bought with my own money was “Little GTO,” by Ronnie and the Daytonas.  I have vivid memories of every car I ever owned.  I also can describe in a fair amount of detail all of the cars my father owned – at least between the time I was born and the time I moved out as a young man.

I especially like old cars.  Maybe it’s me, but they seem so much more interesting than cars being built today.  Cars from the fifties are my favorites.  I suppose there’s some nostalgia at play since I was born in the early fifties.  But with their tail fins, two-tone paint jobs, big chrome grilles and innovations like push button automatic transmissions, cars from the 1950s just scream, “Look at me!”  Every September, people couldn’t wait to see next year’s models unveiled, since they usually looked far different from the previous year’s cars.  And the difference between a 1947 and a 1957 Chevy was nothing short of astounding.  In contrast, compare a 2014 Honda to a 2004.  It’s almost impossible to tell which is which. 

So I was excited when my brother invited me to the 2014 Carlisle Car Show.  We got there early and spent a fair amount of time looking at what the various vendors had to offer.  But car parts and accessories were not the reason I drove the 200 miles from Pittsburgh to see this show.  I’m not the kind of car guy who loves to get his hands dirty rebuilding carburetors.  I love old cars because of the way they look.  I came to see the cars!

While there were a few cars parked in the vendor stalls, most were in the “car corral.”  We strolled around the corral admiring hundreds of old cars.  Many of those I could walk right past.  Then I’d catch a glimpse of a really neat old car a couple of rows over, and I would make a beeline for that vehicle.  I had fun trying to see how close I could come to guessing its model year.  Nearly all of the cars were for sale, and I was curious to see the asking price.  I was surprised at the number of cars that were being offered at what I considered to be reasonable prices.  Why, I kept asking myself, would anyone spend $10,000 for a 2006 Toyota with 90,000 miles on the odometer when they could get a terrific looking 1963 Mercury Comet driven for only 69,000 miles for less than half that price? 

My favorite at the show

But I think passion for old cars is a guy thing.  Most of the people meandering through the car corral were men.  The women who were there seemed to be tagging along with a husband or boyfriend. I took a picture of my personal favorite.  When I got back home and showed it to my wife, she said, “That’s just like the toy car I bought you, isn’t it?” 

“Uh, they’re both powder blue with a white roof, but you bought me a toy 1957 Ford Thunderbird, not a 1953 Plymouth Savoy,” I replied.  She didn’t care.

Recently, I have had dreams of old cars.  In some, I own several old cars, in others I’m trying to buy one and in still others, I’m looking for someone to help me restore one.  I actually own a 1950 DeSoto, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.  

My normal ride is a 2005 minivan.  Yeah, that’s pretty cruel for

My DeSoto

a guy that loves cars.  I was thinking about trading it in for a new Chevy Volt – now that’s environmentally sensitive, right?  But my wife pointed out how darned practical that minivan was when we had to haul one son’s stuff to new apartment and our other son’s stuff home so he could downsize his storage unit. Environmental protection is a great goal, but practicality is a hard argument to win.  So the Volt will have to wait.  Then again, I saw a pretty awesome looking Volkswagen Microbus in the car corral – very practical and also pretty nice gas mileage. 

“Dream on!” she said.  “Dream on!”

Hot Fun in the Summertime

Summer officially arrives tomorrow.  I am dreading it.  I will be counting the days until the anticipated arrival of the cool crispness of autumn.  My house doesn’t have central air conditioning, and summers in Pittsburgh are most often hot, sticky and extremely uncomfortable.  I will walk out of my air conditioned bedroom in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and as I enter the hallway, the heat and humidity will hit me like a discourteous slap in the face.  Mother Nature will taunt me by causing a jungle to grow in my small yard.  I’ll fight a losing battle with her using a lawnmower and weed whacker as my weapons of choice.  Then I’ll add to the work by planting a small garden only to be disappointed when the weeds overtake the flowers and vegetables despite my efforts to keep them at bay.  Daylight pours into my window at 5:00 AM to disrupt my dreams.  If I can make it to 6:30, I consider it to be a good night’s sleep.


I was thinking about my dislike of summer this morning and wondering when this transition occurred.  As a young boy, summer used to be my favorite season.  School was out, and those long, hot summer days beckoned to me.  They were so full of possibilities.  Back then I could sleep till 9:00 or 10:00 even with the translucent curtains my mother hung in my bedroom.  Back then it was fun to get up really early once in a while to enjoy the cool and quiet of the morning.  On hot summer days, I’d ramble in the woods near my home.  One of my favorite spots in those woods was a spring that formed a small pool.  Many times my friends and I tried to dam up this small pond to create a swimming hole, but someone would always seem to tear down our makeshift structure before the water got deep enough for anything more than wading.

 

Other days, I’d grab one of my brothers to play home run derby with a wiffle ball and bat.  I learned to throw a deceptively slow pitch that, when it was working, guaranteed a swing and a miss.  When it wasn’t working, my brother would hit it a mile.  When we tired of wiffle ball, we might just lie in the grass watching the fluffy, white clouds float across the sky to the distant roar of a neighbor’s lawnmower or the occasional humming of an airplane heading toward the county airport.

 

There were chores, of course, but for most of those hot summer days, we were left to our own devices.  On days too hot to do anything else, I’d spend hours lying on the glider on our front porch engrossed in a good book from the local library.  We never had air conditioning to cool our house or our car.  We just slowed down.  On hot, humid nights my father would bring out the hose and sprinkle my brothers and me as an excuse to water the lawn.  Then when it got dark, we’d play games under the street light in front of our house with other kids from the neighborhood while my parents sat on the front porch talking quietly.  We played tag, hide & seek, release, mother may I and various other games passed down from previous generations of kids.

A few times each summer, we would pack up the station wagon and go on an all day picnic to a nearby state park.  There we’d swim, fish, throw Frisbees and eat a delicious meal of hamburgers, hot dogs, potato salad and baked beans.  Mom would bring a jug filled with Kool-Aid for the kids, and Dad would sneak a few beers when the coast was clear of park rangers.  As dusk was approaching, we would carry everything back to the car and head home.

As I thought about the lazy, hazy summer days of my boyhood, I wondered if I could recapture my youthful love of this season.  So rather than lament the coming heat and humidity, I decided that I should learn from the lessons of my youth and consider all the ways that I might begin to enjoy summer once again.

(For God’s Sake) Give More Power to the People!

That was the title of a 1971 hit song by the Chi-Lites, written by the group’s lead singer, Eugene Record.  It also may be one answer to the question of how we can achieve a more sustainable system for powering our homes in the future.  You might think of it as taking a small step backward to make a giant leap forward.

 

In the early days of America, settlers’ homes were heated by fireplaces that were powered by wood from the surrounding forests.  Light was provided by candles made in the home from tallow.  There were no central utilities delivering light and heat to the homes in a village.  Each homeowner was, in essence, his own utility. 

That model changed with the electrification of America.  In the 1880s the first power generating stations were built.  Within a very short time, homes were wired and began using electricity for lighting, heating and all sorts of appliances.  Today in the USA, about 68% of electricity is generated from the burning of fossil fuels.  The burning of fossil fuels (coal, oil and natural gas) contributes carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases to the atmosphere, which most scientists believe are causing undesirable changes to the earth’s climate.  To reduce greenhouse gas emissions, utilities would have to switch from burning fossil fuels to alternative sources, such as by wind, solar, hydro or nuclear.  Existing homeowners in states with electric choice programs can switch to utilities offering power generated by these alternative sources if they want to do their part to reduce global warming, as described in my previous blog, “Everyone Knows It’s Windy.”

However, what if in the near future homes were built like in the days of the early settlers with the concept that each was a fully (or nearly) sustainable unit from a power standpoint?  Instead of coming with fireplaces designed to heat the home, they would come with individual power plants capable of generating most, if not all, of the household’s electrical needs. 

This is the thought I had after a recent visit to one of my favorite Pittsburgh destinations, the Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens.  Phipps has been open to visitors just about as long as we’ve had centralized electric utilities.  However, over the past 10 – 15 years, Phipps has been involved in a $23 million, multi-year project to upgrade and expand its facilities.  The Center for Sustainable Landscapes is the centerpiece of Phase III of that project.  On its website, Phipps calls the Center “one of Earth’s greenest buildings.”  The Center showcases many systems and techniques that can be incorporated into new buildings, including residential homes.  These include designing and constructing a building to make it incredibly energy efficient, as well as installing equipment to heat and cool the building using a ground source geothermal HVAC system and to power it using photovoltaic panels and a vertical axis wind turbine. 

The technology for installing many of these features already exists.  For example, you could request that the roof of your new house be covered with solar shingles, and you could demand that a small vertical axis wind turbine be included in the home’s design to supply power to your homestead.  If enough new home buyers demanded that such features be incorporated into their houses, or enough towns adopted building ordinances requiring these types of systems, we could reduce the demand on centralized power plants and eventually meet the entire demand for electricity from non-fossil fuel sources. 

Tearing a page from the history books, we would be living again like the original settlers in houses that independently produce the power to light and heat our living spaces.  And that power would be sustainable, non-polluting and would not add to global warming.  For God’s sake, that certainly would give more power to the people!

Everyone Knows It's Windy

I’ve known for some time that I can choose my electricity supplier.  Electric choice came about as a result of power industry deregulation that began in the late 1990s.  By way of background, the power supplier operates the machinery that generates electricity.  The other link in the electric supply chain is the local electric distribution company.  We can’t choose our distribution company.  Electric distribution companies are public utilities that have been granted the exclusive right to run wires overhead or underground that connect to the wires in our homes.  Since distribution companies are monopolies, their rates are regulated by state public utility commissions.  Suppliers, on the other hand, are able to compete with each other to sell us the power that gets delivered by the distribution company.

I had been contacted in the past by various power supply companies seeking my business.  In one case someone came to my door and offered me what seemed to be a good deal.  A few years later, another company offered me what seemed like a slightly better deal, so I switched to them.  In both cases, I did very little research in making my choice, and I never really thought about switching suppliers on my own. 

Recently, however, my power supplier notified me that it was leaving the electrical supply business.  A second letter stated that my supplier was transferring its customers to another company.  The letter told me that the rate would stay the same for one month and then would change from a fixed rate to a variable rate.  I remembered reading horror stories in the newspaper about people receiving shockingly high bills this past winter after signing up for variable rate electricity.  So I decided I’d better do some “power shopping” to figure out the best deal for me.

Now I knew the internet was the place to go to shop for power, but I’d never done it before.  So I went to my favorite search engine and searched for “electricity choice.”  Since I live in Pennsylvania, I looked for websites with a Pennsylvania focus.  I found two that were very helpful.  The first was a site called Electric Shopping Guide.  The Pennsylvania Office of Consumer Advocate runs this site, which seems like a pretty reliable source of information to me.  The site contains a Guide instructing consumers how to shop for electricity.  The Guide advises consumers about what to look for in selecting a supplier.  It also contains charts with rates offered by competing suppliers and other useful information.

I discovered that one of the first things you must decide is whether you want to sign up for fixed rate or variable rate pricing.  Variable rates are often lower than fixed rates but can be increased by the supplier without notice.  If you are interested in looking for the best deal every month, a variable rate may interest you.  Personally, I felt like I had better things to do than monitor the cost of electricity on a monthly basis, so I looked for a fixed rate. 

There are two important factors in choosing a fixed rate.  First of all, you have to decide for how long a term you want the fixed rate.  Terms typically range from 3 months to a year.  Obviously, if you anticipate rates dropping, you may want a shorter term.  Conversely, if you think they may be going up, pick a longer term.  The second important factor in choosing a fixed term is whether the supplier charges an early termination fee.  Just like many mobile phone carriers, some electricity suppliers will hit you with a fee if you decide to leave early.  I noticed that one supplier charges a fee of $295, while others have no early termination fee at all.  An early termination fee is not legally allowed for variable rate plans.

The charts in the Electric Shopping Guide also will tell you if the electricity being supplied is generated from burning fossil fuels like coal or from renewable resources such as wind, solar, water or biomass. 

While the Shopping Guide provided much useful information, I found that the rates quoted in the charts were somewhat outdated.  So I visited the other site that I found to be helpful.  PA Power Switch – Pennsylvania is operated by the Pennsylvania Public Utility Commission and it contains more up-to-date rate comparisons.  Then, if you find a supplier that has what you want, you can click on a link that takes you directly to the supplier’s website.  Once on the supplier’s website, you can see the actual rates being offered and sign up for the plan you want.  The new supplier typically will contact your present supplier and distribution company to advise them of your switch.

As a result of my power shopping, I switched to a supplier offering a fixed price for a one-year term.  My supplier will not charge me a cancellation fee if I should decide to switch again during my contract term.  And the best part is this:  for less than a penny per kilowatt hour more, I am now getting electricity generated exclusively by wind power.  I was so excited that I went out and bought a cordless electric lawn mower.  Now the power of the wind cuts my grass!

So whether you’re interested in reducing your carbon footprint or in just finding the cheapest electricity available, doing some power shopping is a good idea.  And now, when I’m mowing my lawn or dreaming about buying a plug-in hybrid electric vehicle, I’ll be humming that old song by The Association, “Everyone Knows It’s Windy.”  

I Swear

I’d like to talk about swearing.  I don’t mean the kind of swearing that involves taking an oath.  Perhaps the word I am looking for is cursing, though that can also mean uttering “a prayer or invocation for harm or injury to come upon one,” according to Merriam-Webster online.  Believe me; no one would mistake what came out of my mouth a few evenings ago as any kind of “prayer.”  It’s kind of interesting that we don’t have a good English word that the dictionary defines as, “shouting a blue streak of obscene, blasphemous and otherwise profane and offensive words, because something (or someone) has made you extremely frustrated or angry.”  For an example, I’d say, “see, Sergeant Snorkel in Beetle Bailey.”

Actually, I don’t swear very often.  My wife thinks it was a character flaw that I never swore in front of my mother.  “I never had reason to,” I offer, but she’s not buying it.  She thinks it was some kind of Catholic-boy-Madonna complex.  I actually never swore that much growing up.  I suppose it was that Catholic thing again.  I didn’t want to have to confess to our priest – an imposing man with a booming voice – that I’d done something that merited more than the three Hail Marys he usually doled out as penance for my sins. 

Then came high school when a very smart, very moral guy entered my circle of friends.  George swore early and often, and knew more curse words than a Longshoreman.  He didn’t have to be angry.  He cursed in normal conversation.  I figured that if a guy like George could swear like he did, it was high time that I jumped into this game.  Of course, learning to golf helped immensely.  After a few muffed shots, there’s nothing better to accompany some thrown clubs than a bit of projectile cursing.  By the time I was in college and had joined a fraternity, I had learned the art of the casual swear.  All you need to do is add a choice curse word or two in place of any adjective during the course of a conversation. 

Upon entering the professional workforce after college, I had to tone down the swearing.  Sure, there were occasions when a boss or client decided to toss some profanity into the conversation to prove he was a regular, macho guy.  On those occasions I could bring in just enough to make the other guy feel he could trust me, but would dial it back a few notches to let him know he’s the man.

As the years went by I found myself swearing less and less.  I think that when you don’t swear very often, it kind of backs up like a river behind a logjam.  Then something or someone will really frustrate you, which is like throwing a stick of dynamite into the logjam.  The resulting explosion lets loose a torrent of expletives that continue to stream out until the backed up river has run its course.  That happens sometimes when I get cut off by another driver. Then I find that I can go on for five minutes or more with some pretty salty words and phrases.  

The other night I was making coffee and had filled the basket with fresh grounds and set it on the kitchen table.  Then inexplicably my hand bumped the basket and the grounds went flying everywhere.  Dynamite lit, tossed into the logjam and, boom, we have detonation!  After hearing me rant for 5 or 10 minutes, my wife and adult son came into the kitchen to see what was going on.  By then, equilibrium had been restored and I smiled sheepishly.  “Maybe I’m coming down with Tourette’s,” I offered.  “Well,” I thought to myself, “thank goodness I’m Episcopalian now and won’t have to explain this to a priest!”

Ball of Con Fusion – Part 2

In my previous post, I examined our current mix of energy sources and described why our continued reliance on fossil fuels has a wide variety of negative environmental consequences beyond contributing to climate change.  While wind, solar and other renewable sources have the potential to meet a higher percentage of our energy needs, they are not likely to completely fill the gap that would be created by completely abandoning the burning of fossil fuels. My post concluded with a brief discussion of nuclear fusion as a potential fuel for our future energy needs.

Fusion holds the promise of an energy source that does not release CO₂ or other greenhouse gases and generates very little waste.  It would use cheap, abundant seawater as its fuel.  It wouldn’t carry the risks of nuclear fission that led to the accidents at Chernobyl and Three Mile Island.  Of course, after 60 years of trying, scientists have not yet solved the mystery of a controlled fusion reaction that could be used as a source of power generation. 

However, in February 2014 scientists at the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory in California reported that they had achieved a milestone of sorts in the quest to obtain a controlled fusion reaction.  Their experiment resulted in more energy being generated from the fuel core than the amount of energy that went into it.  A Washington Post article by Joel Achenbach described the breakthrough.  In his article, Achenbach quoted a scientist from the Princeton Plasma Physics Laboratory as saying, “In 30 years, we’ll have electricity on the grid produced by fusion energy – absolutely.”  Achenbach pointed out that one of the short-term problems of achieving further progress is lack of funds.  Congress appropriated only $500 million for scientific research into fusion in the federal budget for 2014.  He also quoted a New Jersey Congressman as lamenting the fact that the U.S. is losing leadership in fusion energy research to Europe, Japan, South Korea and China.  One wonders, however, why this has to be a competition.  Wouldn’t breakthroughs in fusion research benefit every country on earth?  This would seem to be an area where nations could pool their resources if it could mean achieving success more rapidly.

So if fusion is 30 years away or more, are there any other glimmers of hope out there that hold the promise of cheap, non-polluting energy?  Perhaps you remember something about “cold fusion” being achieved many years ago.  Way back in 1989, scientists Stanley Pons and Martin Fleischmann reported achieving a fusion reaction.  They claimed to achieve it not at intensely high temperatures like those on the sun, but at normal room temperatures.  The early excitement of their discovery soon faded as other scientists were unable to replicate the results.  Also, the science of what happened in the reaction was murky.  Within a few weeks of the Pons/Fleischmann announcement, their discovery was described as “junk science,” and cold fusion as a concept was declared dead by no less an authority than the New York Times.

Despite the storm of criticism, research continued on cold fusion, or as it was renamed “Low Energy Nuclear Reactions” or “LENR.”  Twenty years after it had been declared dead, CBS News in an April 2009 report on its 60 Minutes program declared that “Cold Fusion Is Hot Again.”  CBS reported on work being done by Michael McKubre at SRI International, which is an independent, nonprofit research institure.  McKubre’s work seemed to confirm that whatever one calls the reaction, it was producing more energy than it was using.  CBS hired a renowned physicist, Robert Duncan, who was (and still is) Vice Chancellor of Research at the University of Missouri.  CBS News asked him to evaluate the results of experiments at Energetics Technologies – a laboratory in Israel that had reported the largest gains in energy as a result of LENR.  After studying their methodology and reviewing their results, Duncan concluded that “the excess heat was quite real.”

More recently, a January 2014 article by David Hambling in the UK edition of Wired magazine concluded that “LENR is fringe science, but continues to progress stealthily into the mainstream.”  According to the article, much of the current work on LENR is being done in the business world rather than by the government.  Italian inventor Andrea Rossi developed a LENR reactor he calls an Energy Catalyzer or E-Cat.  Derided as a hoax by some, it was reported in May 2013 that the E-Cat’s production of energy was verified by a panel of independent scientists.  Yet plenty of skeptics remain. 

Hambling’s Wired article also mentioned that the U.S. Department of Energy recently announced that it was providing some funding for LENR projects, so at least the U.S. government gives some credence to this technology.  Its advocates claim that commercialization of LENR as an energy source is a lot closer than it is for hot fusion. 

As non-scientists, there’s not much any of us can do to hasten the development of a clean energy source to take the place of fossil fuels.  Perhaps the best we can do is encourage efforts in the most promising technologies by asking our representatives in Congress to stop subsidizing fossil fuels and to start subsidizing energy sources that can meet our needs without poisoning our environment and contributing to global warming.  Beyond that, all we can do is continue to hope for a near term breakthrough in one of these technologies that would permit us to stop extracting and burning fossil fuels.