The nuclear disaster associated with the earthquake and tsunami in Japan is a true tragedy. An equal or greater tragedy will be our collective recoil from nuclear power.
Nuclear is not perfect, but wind kills birds, gas is finite, oil kills poor nations (the locals anyway), and green house gasses kill everyone.
My idea: New reactors on Superfund sites. The not in my backyard factor is not an issue. New reactors can be safer than existing ones, and when we screw up, well . . . It's like spilling coffee on your painting shirt.
I know, it's slightly naive, but it's no more naive than thinking there is enough oil, coal, or clean air to heat, cool, and comfort all of us.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Thoughts on Employment
I've had two conversations in the last two weeks that have pretty much blown my mind. Both conversations were related to employment.
Last week, I was talking with My good buddy Pedro, who I don't get to speak to as often as I'd like. He and his wife have left sunny California to relocate to Boston. Pedro is in between jobs and enjoying a little QT with Kimya, his daughter. He said it took him almost two weeks to get the law buzz out of his brain (he's an attorney). I was thinking he was going to say it was just so intese that it consumed him.
Basically though, he indicated that it was stressful, tedious, often borring, and an experience riddled with self doubt. I was shocked at this, because when I find my job engendering exactly the same feelings, I often chastise myself for lacking Pedro's stick-to-it-ivness. He did press on to Law School while I basically fell into teaching, summer camp, and then construction, with a dash of beer and travel. When tedious, or high pressure projects get me down, I find some odd pleasure in convincing myself that I deserve it, because I was too lazy for law school. Not so apparently, no matter the effort, the result seems the same.
Then, just today, my boss and I were discussing some of our clients who seem like they could die at any time. He just blurted out, "that's why you've gotta just keep working forever." I questioned this logic, adding that it might have been our rich client's high powered careers that stressed them to within inches of death. My boss disagreed, he implied that work was our reason for living. I almost automatically blurted, "Are you kidding, work is the one thing that gets in the way of my happiness, I can think of litterally 100 fun things I could be doing right now, and it's raining." Now that might not be all true. My work certainly finances my lifestyle. And it keeps me out of trouble. And it was raining.
Particularly at a time when there are many people that want work and can't get it, I don't want to come off like a whiner. On the contrary, I'm not bitching about my job. I'm just fascinated really. Jobs are like mothers in their irony. I can bitch about the ridiculous stuff my mom says, but no one else can. And you better not try to take either one away.
Humans do lots of odd things. Things that seem odd or insignificant on the surface may have a deeper meaning. These two aforementioned conversations have just made me wonder about that caveat. Maybe it should just read: Humans do some odd things. Things that seem odd or insignificant on the surface probably are, but if someone is willing to pay you for doing it, That's Great!
Last week, I was talking with My good buddy Pedro, who I don't get to speak to as often as I'd like. He and his wife have left sunny California to relocate to Boston. Pedro is in between jobs and enjoying a little QT with Kimya, his daughter. He said it took him almost two weeks to get the law buzz out of his brain (he's an attorney). I was thinking he was going to say it was just so intese that it consumed him.
Basically though, he indicated that it was stressful, tedious, often borring, and an experience riddled with self doubt. I was shocked at this, because when I find my job engendering exactly the same feelings, I often chastise myself for lacking Pedro's stick-to-it-ivness. He did press on to Law School while I basically fell into teaching, summer camp, and then construction, with a dash of beer and travel. When tedious, or high pressure projects get me down, I find some odd pleasure in convincing myself that I deserve it, because I was too lazy for law school. Not so apparently, no matter the effort, the result seems the same.
Then, just today, my boss and I were discussing some of our clients who seem like they could die at any time. He just blurted out, "that's why you've gotta just keep working forever." I questioned this logic, adding that it might have been our rich client's high powered careers that stressed them to within inches of death. My boss disagreed, he implied that work was our reason for living. I almost automatically blurted, "Are you kidding, work is the one thing that gets in the way of my happiness, I can think of litterally 100 fun things I could be doing right now, and it's raining." Now that might not be all true. My work certainly finances my lifestyle. And it keeps me out of trouble. And it was raining.
Particularly at a time when there are many people that want work and can't get it, I don't want to come off like a whiner. On the contrary, I'm not bitching about my job. I'm just fascinated really. Jobs are like mothers in their irony. I can bitch about the ridiculous stuff my mom says, but no one else can. And you better not try to take either one away.
Humans do lots of odd things. Things that seem odd or insignificant on the surface may have a deeper meaning. These two aforementioned conversations have just made me wonder about that caveat. Maybe it should just read: Humans do some odd things. Things that seem odd or insignificant on the surface probably are, but if someone is willing to pay you for doing it, That's Great!
Friday, March 4, 2011
To Call a Thing by its Name
I called someone out tonight. I don't feel any better.
A client of mine was looking for a house, I informed him that I might be putting mine on the market. When he asked how much I'd be deducting for the "Mexicans" next door, I said, "that sounds a little racist." He said, "what? you don't want to deal with a racist?" and hung up.
My neighbor is not Mexican. He's from El Salvador. And not that it should make a difference, but he is a good friend of mine. That may be what gave me the courage, or conviction to say something. As I sit here seathing, I'm troubled by two things. One, I'm not adamant enough about racism. And two, I'm frustrated that I have to be on the lookout for it.
I will be the first to concede that there are dipshits among us. I'll also assert that they tend to follow no ethnic conventions. It's pathetic to assert that someone's mexicanness, or whiteness, or blackness, or asianness makes them do anything. If someone is an asshole, let's just accept that it's a personality flaw--not some genetic defect.
And so I fail on a regular basis. I don't call people out enough. And I am equally frustrated that I have to call people out at all. Unfortunately, I fear racism will alway be with us. It's a cheap form of insecurity. If you are racist you don't have to admit that you have no self confidence, you only have to demean others.
I can't solve the insecurity issue. But, I can commit to be more assertive. To call a thing by its name . . . If you hide behind the generality of ethnicity, positive or negative, and you are in my presence, you will hear about it. And if you are weak enough to have to hang up, or walk away, I'll not be ashamed. I'll be pleased to know that you've consented through silence that you are lacking.
A client of mine was looking for a house, I informed him that I might be putting mine on the market. When he asked how much I'd be deducting for the "Mexicans" next door, I said, "that sounds a little racist." He said, "what? you don't want to deal with a racist?" and hung up.
My neighbor is not Mexican. He's from El Salvador. And not that it should make a difference, but he is a good friend of mine. That may be what gave me the courage, or conviction to say something. As I sit here seathing, I'm troubled by two things. One, I'm not adamant enough about racism. And two, I'm frustrated that I have to be on the lookout for it.
I will be the first to concede that there are dipshits among us. I'll also assert that they tend to follow no ethnic conventions. It's pathetic to assert that someone's mexicanness, or whiteness, or blackness, or asianness makes them do anything. If someone is an asshole, let's just accept that it's a personality flaw--not some genetic defect.
And so I fail on a regular basis. I don't call people out enough. And I am equally frustrated that I have to call people out at all. Unfortunately, I fear racism will alway be with us. It's a cheap form of insecurity. If you are racist you don't have to admit that you have no self confidence, you only have to demean others.
I can't solve the insecurity issue. But, I can commit to be more assertive. To call a thing by its name . . . If you hide behind the generality of ethnicity, positive or negative, and you are in my presence, you will hear about it. And if you are weak enough to have to hang up, or walk away, I'll not be ashamed. I'll be pleased to know that you've consented through silence that you are lacking.
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