the choice come september

It occurs that with so much of the pending election conversation in Australia focused on the celebrity death match of Julia versus Tony, it would be easy to forget that the office of Prime Minister is not actually an elected position, at least not directly.

No doubt leadership at the top is a factor in choosing a government , even with a parliamentary system, but if we turn our attention away from the race between Gillard and Abbott that's being handicapped daily by the pundits and the polls, we might be able to take a closer look at the actual policies and achievements of the two dominant political parties. 

Stripping away the personalities and styles of these two leaders, neither of whom appear to be very popular with the voters, forces us to focus on the substance of the political debate, and gives us all a better idea of the government we can expect from Liberal or Labor in conjunction with their coalition partners.

Here's one perspective on the core differences that separate the two sides based upon their accomplishments and their stated objectives. Judge for yourselves.


LABOR
・Sponsored an Economic Stimulus Package of government spending, in the face of strong opposition from the Coalition, and as a result saved Australia from a recession during the Global Financial Crisis
・Resisted pressure from the Coalition and the share markets to make massive cuts to the budget in the face of falling revenues, revenues largely reduced by the strength of the Australian dollar, and as a consequence avoided the economic disasters witnessed in Europe from 'austerity' approaches that were posed as the only solution to the GFC
・Transforming the educational system through long overdue reforms suggested by the Gonski Review, including a large increase in spending and an overhaul of the imbalance in government subsidies between private and public schools, reinstituting the basic concept of the “fair go” for all children in Australia, irrespective of their parents' wealth and abilities to pay expensive school fees
・Created the National Disabilities Insurance Scheme to help guarantee a decent standard of care for Australians with disabilities
・Raised the old age pension to a liveable standard
・Introduced Paid Parental Leave that is means tested
・Invested in roads, ports, and infrastructure projects in desperate need after years of Howard government fiscal restraint, and neglect
・Fixed the Murray-Darling River System
・Put a Price on Carbon, and in the process encouraged investment in alternative energies, reducing the national carbon footprint by 8.5% in just six months, all without damaging the economy as the Opposition had predicted in a massive scare campaign
・Improved relations with China while maintaining a strong relationship with the United States
・Created the National Broadband Network that will provide all Australians with the kinds of internet speeds that will be the hallmark utility of a global economy in the next decade, while eliminating a decaying copper network that is increasingly expensive to maintain and incapable with a Fibre To The Node alternative proposed by the Coalition of delivering the data speeds required for Australia's economic future
・Created a Super Profits Mining Tax that takes a portion of the billions in profits by multinational corporations made from removing the nation's finite natural resources and uses it to cover the costs of badly needed infrastructure
・Did all of this as a minority government under constant attack by an Opposition who resisted its every initiative with strong private support from the powerful vested interests of the Murdoch press, which controls 75% of the Australian media landscape, and the multi-billion dollar mining sector
・Has still not endorsed same-sex marriage as many of its progressive party supporters have encouraged
・Under relentless pressure from the Opposition on immigration, has reinstated offshore processing of asylum seekers, and while increasing the number of visas granted to refugees, has taken a stronger stance on detaining those attempting to immigrate by boat, excluding the Australian mainland as a migration zone

LIBERAL - NATIONAL COALITION
・Plans to scrap the Gonski school reforms
・Plans to repeal the Carbon Tax, and abolish the Department of Climate Change, in line with the party leadership’s belief that manmade climate change is a myth
・Plans to repeal the Mining Tax
・Will create an alternative to the current National Broadband Network that features retaining the ageing Telstra-owned copper wire from junction Nodes to individual homes at increasing annual costs for the copper maintenance, while producing far lower data speeds that will limit e-commerce and prevent competition from international media providers from breaking Foxtel's local monopoly with their cable system
・Proposing their own parental leave scheme that will not be means tested, giving as much as $150K a year to executives on leave with the birth of a child
・Plans to make massive cuts to the public service sector, as much as 12,000 jobs lost through attrition in the first year of government
・Plans to sell government owned media outlets ABC and SBS to the private sector giving even greater strength to the Murdoch-monopolized national media
・Made a relentless public outcry to “Stop The Boats”, illegitimately branding asylum seekers and political refugees as illegal immigrants, and exploiting as well as encouraging a climate of racial tension in the country that demonises New Australians in the process
・Continues to oppose same-sex marriage and to prohibit votes of conscience in the caucus

GREENS
・More progressive than Labor on any number of issues, including endorsing same-sex marriage and opposing offshore processing of asylum seekers, but effectively marginalised as a strictly environmental party and far Left of the mainstream by the press, the Liberals, and despite their working relationship in government, by Labor as well, where the two parties disagree
・Seemingly unable to gain a majority, they're forced to continue forming an uneasy alliance with Labor in order to see even a portion of their own policies realised on the environment, immigration, and gambling to name a few

Despite the perception of a growing similarity between the two major parties, largely as a result of the Liberals' attempts to position themselves more at the centre of the political spectrum than their actual policies would support, and Labor's capitulation to elements of the Liberals' more conservative agenda in order to form a government, the differences are substantial on issues that effect the environment, education, infrastructure, and immigration.

While it's easy to be drawn in by the media debate over the leadership, it's important to remind ourselves that the majority party's control of Parliament and their policies will determine what Australia will look like for a number of years to come, not who sits in the PM's chair. 

Ultimately, the Prime Minister will be the figure responsible for managing his or her party's agenda, not designing it. That work has largely been done and is there for all to see.

Whatever your political perspective, THE CHOICE come September is a significant one for Australia's future. As such, it deserves to be treated as more than the personalty contest, the good and the bad that the media's largely been serving up.

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a day at the races

It opens like a celebration. 

Out of the closets, where they’ve been waiting patiently for their moment in the sun come the costumes. An endless parade of bright satins topped with stocks of colored plumage transforms the mares. Tailored wool and silk knots polish up the stallions.

The first cocktails pass the lips before Noon, with expectations already running high. In the paddock, the curtain rises, and there’s bare flesh on display, rippled, tanned, and glistening. The suggestive glances are all hidden behind dark blinders for the moment, but the animals can still sense it. A pause for a quick calculation of the odds, and the smell of sex punctures the air. Everywhere there’s sex, or the promise of it.

Exhilaration arrives at the track before the first post. The anticipation of that quickening of the heart beat as your horse comes around the turn, the nervous sweat that starts to arrive the moment you stand in front of the wall of glass ready to place your bet, the program rolled and crushed in the hand as hooves and hot breath near the line.

For the winners, a rush to the head and fists in the air. The losers sulk back to the bar to summon more courage, then again to the cage with prayers of doubling down. This will all repeat itself.

The sun counts another walk to the gate, another start, and they’re off. Longer and longer shadows of desperation build to a seething madness that creeps in under the skin. Small mountains of spent tobacco form casual centerpieces to the empties that collect on tables scattered carelessly about by the urgency, the terrible urgency.

A confetti of sorts covers the grounds like a field of paper flowers. Spent forms, discarded slips that moments earlier held the promise of fortune are now mingling under foot with the horrible spill from hands and mouths that are becoming increasingly unsteady.

The tension mounts as the opportunities to recoup grow fewer and fewer, and already there’s evidence of those who will fight no more. They’re seated off alone, or with a partner, both in silence, mourning what’s been lost.

Toothy smiles that began the day have now all but faded. Where they still exist, they’re mostly too open, too wide and pumped up artificially by the booze, or simply there to camouflage the pain.

The fascinators have all begun to fail now among the distaff who crowd together for protection or to exchange notes on potential pairings at the after. There are those who will spin and fall, unaccustomed as they are to the mix of heat and gin, and this is where the mascara stained tears all begin their journeys South. Flocks of support staff rally round to give what comfort they can, but mostly commiseration, some cautionary tales, and another round.

By the shank, spears and swords are off crossing themselves against a grate or a barn door, or a wall, steam rising as it does for the thoroughbreds. Voices become louder, stories of the day with details of when and what went down will lengthen, and most without true endings. Your shout, and yours, and is it mine, but make no mistake, the push and the shove will arrive to rupture this company of good cheer. Some fists, blood even, but all amongst best mates, and then after slurred negotiations, all’s forgiven.

At the close of this glorious day, when the last bell has sounded, everyone and everything will be the worse for wear, but with few regrets, for there is but one carnival, one golden slipper, and there will be time for recovery, and time to reflect, and there will always be a next year, and then a next.

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i had a dream

I had a Hollywood dream last night, and when I woke up, I remembered it completely intact as an elaborate comedy routine disguised as a real event.

So I'm watching the Oscars, the broadcast, and it's this year's version coming up at the end of the month. The show is about half way in, after the best supporting roles and all the technical achievements have been handed out, but before the awards for the writers, leading actors, director, and best picture. On to the stage, unannounced walks Stephen Merchant, Ricky Gervais, and Warwick Davis, the dwarf from 'Life's Too Short'. Only Warwick isn't walking, he's being carried by Gervais.

What with all the furore created by Peter Dinklage's speech at the Golden Globes and his tale of a friend, also a dwarf, being tossed and severely injured by a drunk in a pub in England who was imitating the actions of an incident in another pub in Wellington, New Zealand during the Rugby World Cup where members of the England squad tossed dwarfs as a publicity stunt, that and Gervais' own history of what have been viewed by some as inappropriate jokes at awards ceremonies, well the audience erupts in a mixture of nervous, uncomfortable laughter and rather loud booing.

Undaunted, and with very straight faces, the trio approaches the podium and leaning into the microphone from his position tucked under Ricky's arm, Davis says, "Don't worry, I'm not gonna toss 'em".

The line breaks up the room, but this time without the accompanying boos, presumably because a dwarf is allowed to make jokes referencing tragic circumstances occurring to other dwarfs without appearing inappropriate.

Once the laughs have begun to subside, and still with a very straight face, Gervais gestures with a nod of his head over his shoulder to the large screen behind them, and in a very Cockney, South London accent, not his natural speech as he's from Reading I think, he says, " 'ave a look at 'is".

The house lights go immediately dim, and we're all treated to a montage of the best screen moments in the iconic career of Maurice Joseph Micklewhite, otherwise known as Sir Michael Caine.

Now this goes on for several minutes with scenes from 'The Ipcress File', 'Alfie', 'Zulu', 'The Man Who Would Be King', 'California Suite', interesting as it references another Oscar night, his supporting actor Oscar performance in 'Hannah and Her Sisters', 'The Cider House Rules', another supporting actor Oscar, 'Educating Rita', 'The Quiet American', 'The Dark Knight', 'Inception', and so forth.

The montage comes to a stirring finale with a close-up of Caine on the screen, and the audience spontaneously explodes in applause, rising to their feet for an extended ovation as the house lights return and Michael Caine in the flesh walks on to the stage, slowly making his way toward the podium, all the while acknowledging the praise of his peers, or more likely just his fellow performers.

Before the great actor can make it to centre stage, however, Gervais produces an Oscar that's presumably been delivered to him in the dark, during the screening of the film clips. He places it on the podium, gives one of his patented smirks with a nod toward the advancing Caine, says, "career achievement" in a slightly sarcastic voice, and with Merchant in tow and Davis now walking beside them, they make an abrupt exit with the statue left sitting unattended and awaiting Sir Michael.

When Caine finally arrives, he grasps the Oscar with both hands and stands for several minutes, soaking up the thunderous applause.

After the audience has finally settled down, and there's quiet again, Michael drinks in the last few bits of energy with a very pregnant pause before announcing dryly, "I wanted Merchant Ivory, but I'm an actor, and I always take what's available."

Analyse that.

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the 'hood

The first time I set eyes on him, he was stomping up the footpath outside my office window, but on recollection, I’m certain that I’d sensed his presence even before he actually appeared.

A scowling slab of meat for a face and a vicious determination in his stride, he wore prison ink that covered the length of his heavily muscled arms and legs. He was a picture of rage, directed at nothing and no one in particular but at everyone and everything in general. Intimidation radiated from his body in waves, making a visceral impression, even through the glass.

Keeping up the animated pace in their hyperventilated walk-run was his mate, a wiry, undernourished version of the same, with a missing tooth or two thrown into the bargain. Together they looked as if they'd shared a cell at some point in their histories, and it was painfully apparent who had first choice of the bunks.

Somewhat counter intuitively, and I can’t say precisely why, but I came to the conclusion that the two of them were a couple. It wasn’t difficult to imagine that there was probably a good deal of very rough foreplay leading up to the inevitable forced entry that each in his respective role lived for. Stand over men, a love story.

We had just moved into the quiet, tree-lined neighborhood, and the vision of these grunting, power-walking Neanderthals in tracky dacks trodding the walkway couldn't have been more out of place with the surroundings. Some minutes later, they passed by a second time, and I realized that they were doing laps. It occurred to me that if they’d chosen this block, our block to use as their personal drome, then it was conceivable that they lived in the area as well. We might, in fact, be neighbors.

The idea was disturbing, and it took a good bit of the shine off of how happy I was to be calling this our new home. In the subsequent days I was haunted by visions of the butch Aussie Sopranos showing up to the block association meetings, eating all of the cold cuts, and forcefully cutting the queue at the dessert table. That kind of bullying at a communal pot-luck can be terrifying, and I began doing the calculus in my head of how to deal with this imagined new threat.

In the end, and maybe this was just a trick I played on myself to feel more at ease about the situation, I reckoned that despite their aggressive and menacing outward appearances, they were essentially harmless, muscled up, but probably all theater really.

The second sighting, and the first actual encounter was a few weeks later, just a street or two away from home as I walked the dog. At a distance, I spied them coming my way on a collision course, and with an animal of their own. Naively, I thought I'd take advantage of the situation and make the usual small talk with fellow dog owners, just to break the ice. You know, how old is yours, is he/she a purebred, do you live in the neighborhood, what do you think of the new zebra crossing at the children's park, et cetera.

I gathered immediately that these boys weren’t the neighborly kind, nor were they much for chit chat, and neither was their pooch as it turns out. The notion of owners and their dogs bearing a resemblance to one another may be a tired cliché, but it proves to be the case far too often to dismiss as mere coincidence.

While our Staffy cross Cattle Dog is a taller, leaner version of the ground chuck we all know as the English Staffordshire Bull Terrier, replete with the Australian working dog's pointy ears, square jaw, and an intelligence in the eyes gleaned from being only slightly removed from the wild Dingo, the boys were escorting the albino Brit version of the purebred Staffy that looked more like Tommy Cooper after a three day bender. An angry bleached pork roast with pegs would be a flattering description of the beast at the end of their rope, and you couldn't have picked an animal more likely to be accompanying this dynamic duo. The attitude from the three of them was as strong as the smell of cordite after a weapon has been fired, and while I did my best to carry through with my plan for a bit of polite conversation, the dogs had an agenda of their own.

Despite being restrained by their respective leads, the four leggers took up a mutual dislike and immediately proceeded to tear into one another with a vengeance, forcing both the thug and myself to pull them apart. I was fortunately saved by the fact that it was broad daylight on a busy street, but the hot glare and the aroma of steroids in the wind was enough to let me know that malice was a hair's breadth away, and I had better watch my step in future. With a few guttural noises that could almost be mistaken for human speech escaping his clenched teeth, and a threatening look back over his shoulder as the massive neck swiveled on it's base, the crim and his entourage were off again, with me feeling as if I'd dodged the proverbial bullet, for the moment at least.

Round three was a more casual affair, but one that foretold of enough peril to send me contemplating another real estate search just two months into our arrival at the house of our dreams.

One morning, a few weeks after the day of the dogs, I awoke early and with coffee in hand remembered that I'd neglected to retrieve the mail from the previous afternoon. I decided to venture out the front door quickly in my bathrobe and slippers, but the minute I poked my head out, ready to make a dash for the mailbox, there he was, just as he’d been at the first sighting, trudging up the footpath.

As he saw me, he slowed his march, almost passing in slow motion, and drew a forced and vicious smile complimented by a mad gleam in his eye, as if to say, "I know where you live." So much for morning pleasantries, with the net effect that I took to looking cautiously both ways before leaving the house by the front door. It’s not the desired feeling one wants about their home, their sanctuary; no mention of the psychological effect on my manhood.

Now it should be said that I'm no shrinking violet, nor am I a small, non-athletic, timid bookworm, frightened of my own shadow. I'm quite capable of handling myself physically, and can be a threat in my own right when the situation calls for it, thank you very much, but neither am I an ultimate cage fighter with a dark childhood of abuse, a non-existent pain threshold and a bitter grudge against the world. These are the subtle distinctions that I imagined to exist between myself and my malignant new neighbor. The damage to my fragile male ego notwithstanding, I had every intension from that point on of keeping my distance.

Our final encounter began innocently enough. It was several weeks later at that point, and again, I was dog walking, but this time just after dark. I’d decided to let our little prince off leash that night, as he had been so good of late at sticking close, coming when called, staying out of trouble in general, and he dearly loved going free range.

We’d had a good long tour of the streets in the village, which were pretty deserted at that time of the evening, and we were on the home stretch when suddenly, at the far end of the block, I spotted the gorilla and his roast headed our way. I must have frozen for a moment, because by the time I reached to secure my pup, he’d taken off in a headlong dash to meet his adversary. The fight was on for the animals, and even though both the menace and I arrived at the scene simultaneously, less than a few seconds into the skirmish, he chose to dive in feet first, kicking at my boy with an abandon.

Now there are few things in the world that inspire blind and ill-considered bravery more than the protection of loved ones, and the abuse of an animal, even in an attempt to break up a fight, probably makes it on to the list as a very close second. Against all rational thought, I reached with one hand to grab my dog’s collar, and with the other shoved the brute away from the melee. Being the clever beast that he is, my mutt broke free and headed up the street on the trot, fleeing the scene. My escape, however, was halted abruptly by a thudding body block that sent me sideways and the sight of a fist the size of a Christmas ham traveling rapidly in the direction of my face.

I can tell you from experience that fear is a very powerful motivator, and the fight or flight syndrome is well documented in describing the two options that present themselves instantly when danger strikes. What I discovered completely randomly on the streets of my otherwise quiet and peaceful neighborhood is that there are alternatives to the dichotomy of combat or humiliation.

My first and most urgent task was to remove my mug from the path of the flying ham, which I did with greater agility than I would have expected, given my complete lack of experience with street fighting. Even more unexpected was the comic relief that this goon unwittingly provided, miraculously transforming the otherwise frightening circumstances that I was finding myself up against into something more farcical, if no less threatening.

After missing with his first thrust, he retreated somewhat into a pose that bore no small resemblance to the Incredible Hulk, and with his fists raised in what appeared to me to be a boxing stance from the early age of pugilism as an art form, he uttered the immortal words, “Am gonna smosh yow foice in!”

Now I’d be lying if I said that this creature didn’t strike a fair amount of fear in me, mixed with the irony of suffering a potentially fatal, and most probably severe injury in a street fight, over a dog skirmish, in my pristine and otherwise sedate neighborhood, just a few meters from home. The truth is, however, that while rattled by the events that unfolded in a matter of minutes, and finding myself in a jeopardy from which there were no immediate signs of being able to retreat unscathed, either physically, nor certainly with my dignity intact, all I could muster up was an uncontrollable laughter.

As a tribute to the power of comedy, my outburst bore the gift of disarming the mongrel momentarily, and I’m not speaking about his dog. “You fink dis is funnay, do yas?”, he managed to blurt out along with a bit of flying spittle.

While I couldn’t completely erase the smile from my face, which I rightly perceived was further enflaming an already dangerous situation, I could offer up a bit of a surrender in the hope that it would cool his obvious irritation at the fact that I was taking him less seriously than he was accustomed to experiencing when his powers of intimidation were in full bloom. In a gesture reminiscent of Italian soldiers after the invasion of Sicily in WWII, I raised my hands, palms open, turned my body slightly to the side to avoid any further blow that may already have been coming my way and said with as much sincere conviction as I could muster while still uncontrollably amused by his grunt, “I’m not going to fight you.”

He hesitated, as if pondering how someone could back down and hold their ground at the same time, all the while showing amusement in the face of his formidable and violent threat. Like a Warner Brothers cartoon, the wheels were turning over in his brain and beginning to seize up with the contradictions, and as what one might loosely call the mental process was unfolding, he began to visibly and audibly snort.

In his obvious confusion and frustration, I decided to capture the moment and try a rational approach, although looking back, I can’t say what made me think that reasoning would have any effect. “This is a bit absurd really, and after all, we’re neighbors.”

I have no idea what the reminder of our living in the same community triggered in him, but I saw his face and his entire body language change instantly. He dropped his fists and and I reached out my hand. “Let’s put this behind us.”

He hesitated, then reluctantly shook my hand and turned to walk away with his last word on the subject, “Keep yow dog on 'is lead!”

Relief doesn’t begin to describe my emotional state at that moment, and while I was still a bit shaken when I arrived at our door to find my little troublemaker sitting obediently and even sheepishly on the step, I had a strange feeling that I’d just received a great lesson about human nature and preconceptions, especially those based upon appearances.

Later that evening, when I could more calmly reflect upon what had happened, it occurred to me that the man I had encountered in the street was in the end probably just reacting to what he perceived as a threat to his own precious pet, and that while all the trappings of his appearance that I’d observed over several weeks may well have pegged him for what he had been at some point in his life, for the life he had experienced and how he habitually reacted when challenged, he might have moved into the sedate and pristine neighborhood for the very same reasons that we had, perhaps even to try and become someone other than the man he had been.

Despite living only a few houses away, we never encountered one another again after that night, but I did see him from a distance a month or two afterward. He was walking with a woman who appeared to be quite pregnant and a small child. The three of them were holding hands, and the little boy had their white Staffy on his lead.

A short time later, as I was driving along our street on the way home, I spied him helping a couple of moving men load a truck that was parked in front of his terrace. There was a realtor’s sign out front announcing that the home had been sold, and I caught myself wondering what people in his new neighborhood would be imagining when they saw him stomping up the footpath, maybe even with his skinny mate, doing his morning exercise.

downandunder

a couple of stories about energy

Months ago, before the disaster now unfolding in Japan, and just prior to the most recent federal elections here in Australia, I attended a rally in Sydney by various environmental groups attempting to force politicians on all sides of the political spectrum to address the issue of climate change, place a price on carbon, and create an emissions trading scheme. Having been an active participant nearly 40 years ago in a campaign to eradicate nuclear power as an energy option, I was surprised to see in attendance at the rally, and specifically at that rally, a group of people who were placarded and advocating nuclear as the solution to the changes that manmade carbon dioxide was making to our climate.

Along the parade route I had the chance to engage a woman who was holding one of the pro-nuclear power signs aloft and asked her why she thought that nuclear was a viable alternative to coal and natural gas, as opposed to the renewable energies of wind and solar that we were and are advocating. Somewhat surprisingly she drug out the often heard line here among conservatives that the contemporary No Nukes crowd were nothing more than a misinformed 60s and 70s political holdover, and that the technology had advanced to the point that nuclear power was not only completely safe, but the best option financially and the cleanest alternative for the environment, as proven by the number of reactors in Europe, where the Green movement really began. Now this was coming from a woman who otherwise identified herself with the Left, or what one may laughably call the Left in Australia, so I was more than a bit taken aback, and I asked her, if nuclear had somehow off of my radar become such a safe alternative, where did the members of her group and others advocating building more plants intend to store the waste by-product of fuels with radioactive half-lives of millions if not billions of years? Her answer began with the word, "Well . . . " and ended in silence.

I marched on, not thinking at all about the potential for a major seismic occurrence and what cataclysmic events might be set in motion for a nuclear power plant as a result, only about what I considered to be a non-negotiable and unquestionable roadblock to nuclear power ever being a safe alternative to carbon-based or preferably renewable energy fuel consumption, and I naively thought that such a considerable and to my mind virtually unassailable argument was enough.

I was told the other day about a friend, an otherwise intelligent artist who was spreading the story from an article he'd read in an '07 market research report about the carbon footprint of manufacturing a Toyota Prius and the subsequent carbon output needed to replace it's batteries at the end of their too short lifespan as being larger than the energy savings generated by the increased mileage of the hybrid vehicle over the whole of it's likely usable period on the road. The report suggested that in the end, a Hummer, or a Range Rover with its greater lifetime mileage was consequently, and perhaps counterintuitively better for the environment.

Now this report has been thoroughly debunked for the assumptions made in its argument, the errors in math, and any number of other aspects concerning the report, including the affiliations of the research company to those who have vested interests in their argument, but that didn't stop the story going 'round as if it were true.

http://www.pacinst.org/topics/integrity_of_science/case_studies/hummer_versus_prius.htm

Another very close friend pointed out the theory that the carbon energy producers and all the various interests who complete that chain have been operating on for years; that the truth of an argument is not the most important issue in terms of public opinion, rather it's the frequency that it's repeated, and if it's repeated often enough, if it's spread 'virally' in contemporary digital media terms, then it becomes true.

Use less energy, recycle whatever you can, invest in the development of renewable energy resources, support the pricing of carbon and emissions trading as a means of reducing our dependency on carbon-based energy, coal, oil, and natural gas . . . keep repeating those measures, and perhaps, someday, they'll be understood to be true . . . eventually.

In the meantime, I find it helpful to take every opportunity available to question those who have economic and personal agendas that have nothing to do with the truth about global climate change, as well as those who champion methods to generate alternative energy resources to carbon that have the potential to create repercussions harmful to our environment and our very lives. There are free and renewable resources at our disposal to exploit, if only we have the political will to quiet the dissonance of those with private interests and do what's best for the planet as well as for the people who inhabit it.

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