GENEROSITY AT THE PUMP

GENEROSITY AT THE PUMP


Gasoline prices are excessively high, but do you know that the price you run up at the pump is not all that you pay for that tank of gasoline?

Oil companies are awash in cash. Some find ways to avoid paying any taxes at all, and as a group  they manage, through the services of skilled lobbyists, to get the government to give them money, lots of money, described as subsidies.

Gasoline consumption in the United States is around 135 billion gallons a year.
Oil company subsidies average about ten billion dollars a year.

Let’s see.... it’s simple arithmetic.

Ten billion dollars is a trillion cents. Divide that by 135 billion gallons and you get .74 cents a gallon. In other words, each time you tank up ( a modest 14 gallons), you tip the oil companies just over a dollar.

Feel better now?

NATURE'S GOVERNORS AND THE HUMAN DILEMMA

                                     
If you own a 1903 edition of the Encyclopedia Brittanica (as I do, but Wikipedia will do) you can learn all one needs to know about Nicholas Otto’s invention of the internal combustion engine during the last decades of the nineteenth century.  Like James Watt with steam engines, he built on developments by preceding inventors, arriving finally at the four cycle engine that underpins most of today’s petroleum fueled power plants (Otto’s early engines burned hydrogen!).

Photos of early engines, steam engines too, taken from the right perspective, will show appended to the engine two or three metal balls, usually shiny brass spheres about the size of tennis balls, on a vertically spinning shaft, contrived with linkage so that with increasing speed, centrifugal force will cause the balls to move radially outward from the spinning shaft. Within the linkage, this movement is used to control the speed of the engine. When there is added load on the engine, it wants to slow down. That causes the balls to retract radially toward the shaft, and mechanical linkage to the fuel supply increases fuel flow to the engine. Similar devices were used to control the speed of steam engines. On some single cylinder engines, called one-lungers, the design provided for saving fuel by skipping firing for several strokes before firing again to keep the speed constant. A big flywheel on the side of the engine provided the momentum to keep the engine smoothly rotating. It was not an unpleasant sound, across the countryside..... a  green John Deere tractor  going chuff, pause, pause, pause, then chuff chuff chuff chuff when it had to work harder.

These spinning brass spheres were called governors. For good reason.... they governed the speed of the engine to respond to whatever load was placed upon it. They still do, but have evolved to improved, often computerized methods. The governor for the automobile engine, however, is the linkage between a person’s brain and foot, responding to whatever the condition is on the road, or the driver’s sense of urgency, thrill, or other emotions.

Nature provides for governors in vast variety to control population. The seasonal movement of lemmings, who reproduce prodigiously, reduces the population by mass migrations across waters. It is a culling process, where the strong emerge to produce the next generation. The rest are fish food.

When deer get numerous, nature’s design is for wolves to move in. In many cases, however, the natural course of events was gummed up by interference of hunters, historically capable of wiping out entire species. Only recently has there been an awakening that mandates humans working with nature if the natural world is to be preserved. There is a moral imperative to act the part of governors.

Nature’s governors are quite remarkable in their variety and flexibility. During my early years when living on a dairy farm there was a period when our barn was infested with rats. There was plenty of food, and the manure pile beneath the barn, fermenting and providing a warm environment, was a perfect place to bear and raise young ones. One day a pair of owls moved in, staring down from the rafters. They hardly had to move to snatch up the next dinner. Three stray cats also took up residence. In short order both parties took care of the rat problem. In the springtime, when the none-too-pleasant job of shoveling the manure beneath the barn was upon us, we noticed a pair of long, gray-hued snakes slithering along the back of the dung pile. Eventually we came upon empty rat nests. The snakes had dined heartily, it seemed, on all the young ones.

Therein lies the problem of large numbers of rats in highly populated areas. Food is plentiful and  nature has been literally squeezed out of opportunities to govern. Natural processes are thwarted. Rat population control has devolved into whatever means humans can devise to keep the problem manageable, with poisons and other practices whenever there is public complaint of a large infestation. Humans and rats grudgingly coexist.

Nature’s ways are both elegant and subtle if left to itself to perform its on-going symphony. But Nature can be helpless when the balance is upset. An impressive example was the introduction of European rabbits to Australia in 1788, and again in 1859 and 1866. Just a few dozen rabbits. In Australia rabbits had no natural enemies. Some rabbits soon went feral and the ensuing problem of millions upon millions of rabbits on the loose has not been fully solved to this date and has resulted in unprecedent ecological disaster for countless other life forms.

 Nature has also struck out on the human scene. Methods available to Nature for population control don’t work on humans. If there was once a natural governor, it turned ineffective centuries ago. The last time there was a real scare was in the 1300’s when the Bubonic plague struck China, and then migrated west along a trade route that led to the Black Sea, where further carriers were believed to be rats on merchant ships. Starting in Mediterranean countries around 1347, the disease spread north to include England and the Scandinavian nations. By the time the black plague, as it came to be known, had run its course in 1352, Europe’s population of 75 million was reduced by a third to 50 million.  But world population, then at about 360 million, was diminished by less than ten percent. In current times, when a deadly virus appears an advanced medical profession around the world immediately takes up the attack, to understand it and to mitigate its effect.

Everything now works to preserve and grow human population. In my lifetime world population has doubled,  and nearly doubled again. The totality of the human mind, the psyche, is to preserve life regardless of cost, but remains blind to an aspect that obligates it also to preserve quality of life. Reproduction and preservation contains darker elements in some areas of the world where children are a commodity to be sold into the workplace and girls into early marriage. Children are their parents’ survival and retirement packages.  Wars have no overall effect on population growth. All the wars and political turmoil of the twentieth century barely made a dent in world population.

There is evidence that humans could self govern, as in more advanced nations birth rate has dropped to levels that maintain steady populations. This appears to correlate with higher levels of intelligence and improved quality of life. So perhaps that is where humanity should head. It would mean major shifts in thought process and abandonment of allegiance to the Good Book, which is okay with wars, relationship between slaves and their masters, retribution, accumulation of riches, concentration of power and superiority of men over women. It would mean ignoring Papal advice that there is no such thing as coincidence, that all is in God’s plan, and commit instead to the reality that we are on our own.

But it would be difficult. Even today, in an advanced nation, we have the spectacle of wannabe Gods who proclaim that an embryo, from the moment of conception has all rights, the same as when born. Where did that come from? In the light of day it appears to be the mischief of those who cling the notion of male superiority over women..... males who were shattered upon learning just a few decades ago that there is an egg involved. 

There is an uncanny parallel between the rabbits of Australia and human occupation of the planet. Ravages on the environment, at tragic cost to other living forms correspond to consumption oriented societies, exploiting resources at a rate that foretells misery for future generations. Paradoxically, humans will eventually devise a governor for the rabbit population. (Scientists are trying to develop viruses to accomplish this. Nothing else has worked).

With humans the solution arguably lies in education, universal improvement of quality of life,  and adoption of mindsets that vilify excessive accumulation of wealth, along with eliminating existing concentrations of private wealth. Movements are underway. There are budding worldwide organizations like GTI Perspectives (www.gtiperspectives.org). That organization is beginning to develop something called “The Great Transition.” This is also the substance of admonitions in lectures by sages like the Dalai Lama, who sees more clearly than most the human dilemma.

As yet, the human scene lacks a dependable governor. God is detached, and we’ve not yet found our way.

ROSE MADNESS

Shades of red from violet
to crimson to pink.
Velvety petals curl
erotically in the sun.
How could you know
you are so beautiful?
How could you know
your sharing
is a human delight?
How could I know if
the snip of your stem
brings anguish, or joy
at being abducted?
How could you know
your disrobing,
one petal at a time
are tears dropping?
For I feel now you have
taken up my sorrows.
How could you know?

© 2012

DRIFT (a book review)

Across a schismatic American political landscape it is no surprise that half the population would align its beliefs and biases with video and audio commentators and journalists who hew to a conservative ideology, and the other to a liberal one.

Rarely does a journalist produce a work that sparks the interest of both sides, but this has just occurred with the publication of Rachel Maddow’s new book, titled “Drift,” that in the space of one week made it to second place on the New York Times best seller list and to first place in the second week.

Although one side or the other consistently treats opposition pundits consistently with scorn, Rachel has climbed the mountain with this work, voicing concerns that apply to everyone. In her case there is little question but that she meets the criteria anyone would want in a reporting journalist: Intelligent? check. Personable? check. Fearless? check. Analytical? check. Inquisitive? check. Sensitive? check. ........ and so on.

“Drift” is about the growth of the military in the last fifty years and exposes how the Congress has abandoned its mandate, as established by the founders, to be sole party that determines whether the nation should go to war. In recent years that power has been ceded to the Executive branch. One man can determine whether the nation goes to war. Instead of studied deliberations in the Congress, as required by the Constitution, the president, by himself or possibly influenced by a close circle, in which individuals may have unrevealed plans, can take the nation to war at any time. In the new scenario war making is limited to the military arm and their families. The rest of the nation is expected to function without feeling much effect.

There is much more, not the least of which is material on the shift from a military that does all its own work to large scale employment of subcontractors for significant roles in guard duty, construction and services such as provision of meals and lodging.... a second tier military that was never needed before.

An informative read for all thoughtful Americans.

HOW TO DEFUSE SUPER PACS

Decide today who gets your vote. Not much will change before election day.

Watch old movies and do other enjoyable things until November.

OILCHANGE

When Lester called this morning, wanting me to accompany him to Lake Murray to fish for captive bass, I begged off, saying I had to get an oil change for my 17 year-old Cadillac.

Lester is my best friend. We were in first grade together, though it was the second time around for him -I can’t imagine how anyone can flunk first grade - and here we are, eighty some-odd years later and we’re still pals.

Lester lives alone – widowed now for almost twenty years. He lives in a jacked-up motor home on the outskirts of Santa Ysabel amongst a scattering of pines and manzanitas. Lester lets his dog lick his dishes clean. “Saves water,” he says. When the big fire came through a few years back, Lester holed up in his motor home, refusing to leave. Truth was all his tires were flat and there wasn’t time to get them inflated. Luckily he survived, as the flames skirted the place. Everyone said it was a miracle. (How is it that things that do not occur are miracles? If true, the number of miracles must be infinite). After the fire Lester said, “It got pretty durn warm in there. “ He held up a couple of sagging candles to show me how warm.

Initially, I thought about stopping at the local oil change emporium where short –termers treat your ten dollar coupon for a twenty five dollar oil change like an entry fee - where in fact they are trained to convince you that your transmission is on the brink of failing (drain, flush and refill - $59.95, special today only) and your radiator needs flushing ( drain, flush and refill. $49.95 , special on that today too.), and so on.

I have mixed feelings about blowing them off and saying: “Just change the oil.” I wonder what they might do just for spite.

I thought instead to drive to the service department of the city’s most successful Cadillac dealer. I had visions of spending a couple of hours with the upper class while seated in a soft carpeted waiting parlor, catching what I could of quiet conversation amidst subdued laughter, clinks of expensive china coffee cups in their saucers, soft background music…. Bach, of course. The anticipated ambiance seemed compelling. So pleasant, furnished by an interior designer who clearly knows the art. And at your service, a comely State University Sophomore, working her way through college, moves from client to client with her cart loaded with stuffed croissants, baklava, freshly brewed coffee. Pouring to your taste, decaf or regular, she asks you if you want sugar and cream. She takes care of that too and departs with a smile you will remember all day.

I drove into the service entry and was immediately greeted by a cheerful , well dressed young man who asked me how my day was going. I thought he was just doing a survey so I told him I didn’t want to participate.

A big guy with a badge that said Assistant Service Manager then appeared and I now figured I was in business. I told him that I only wanted an oil change and he said a car wash goes with it and did I want a car wash? I said that was okay and then mentioned that there was an occasional whirring noise from the engine when I started up at stop lights. He said, with an air of authority, that would be a water pump bearing or an alternator bearing and I said that it couldn’t be because in those cases the noise would be constant and getting worse. I sensed that I was getting off to a bad start, changed the subject and followed him into his kiosk where I signed up officially for an oil change.

I then sauntered across the drive and approached a doorway above which was a sign reading Customer Waiting Room. I felt my jaw drop upon entering. Noisy. A medley of television talk, Muzak in the background and a roaring air conditioning system. And who were these people, a dozen or so, lounging around an ill-furnished room? They didn’t look upper class at all. Tee shirts and dungarees. All but one or two were likely candidates for Weight Watchers. I sat down beside a grizzled old fellow who looked like he had just crawled out of a mine shaft. An outsized man wearing a Padres cap who followed me in was clearly host to a losing battle between a wretched leather belt, valiantly trying to hold his pants up while an overhanging belly was insisting, with the help of gravity, on lowering them to his ankles.

I looked around. It was nothing like what I expected. On a moderately sized television screen a demo-cook was excitedly showing how to prepare a delicious dish starting with a can of beans. A blond woman seated directly before it seemed completely absorbed.

Seating was reasonably comfortable – black vinyl upholstered chairs; not like the folding chairs in the fore-mentioned emporium. There was indeed carpeting - enough so when seated, your feet were insulated from the cold concrete floor. Overhead lighting was recessed, its intensity not enough to read by, so someone had the right idea for encouraging conversation. Buttressing this notion was my observation that there were reading lamps placed above only two of the chairs, and this led to the conclusion that the same person was of the opinion that Cadillac owners are largely illiterate.

I looked for wall decorations. There was a sign by the door that said “Special. Oil Change - $69.95. One painting hung on the wall, an original, signed acrylic that dwelt on arrangements of browns on browns. A magazine rack hung beside it. I speculated on the artist’s feelings, had he known that his masterpiece had been chosen to be hung beside a magazine rack. Actually, the pair looked not too bad together.

There were signs that an interior decorator did have a hand in the design, but likely, in my view, a learner. On a side table were arranged three white blown glass vases. I picked one up to see if I recognized the artisan. It said China. It didn’t ring a bell. On another table a round basket contained a small collection of balls fashioned of strands of fabric of different colors. The depth of the idea somehow escaped me.

My vision of a comely university student dispensing coffee and pastries devolved into a peek next door, where I could fill a free paper cup with coffee, with powdered milk, sugar and stirrer also gratis. For anything else, pastries, Fritos, whatever you find on counters and dispensers at gas stations, one had to step up to a cash register.

The conversations I expected did not materialize. Each person appeared to be cocooned in a private little world. I did get to exchange words with the fellow beside me. It turned out that he really was a miner.

I glanced through the glass entry door and spotted my service manager exiting his kiosk. He saw me at the same instant and waved a paper at me. My car was ready. I approached him and he pointed me toward the cashier’s station.

“Nice place you got here,” I said as I passed him.

“Thank you,” he said. “Hope to see you again, to fix that problem you mentioned.”

The newly washed Cadillac rolled up. The driver extracted the paper floor mat and seat cover and held the door open for me. I got in and drove away.

In retrospect, I do not think badly of the experience. I didn’t expect to fully experience what I had imagined. Still…. I wonder if somewhere……

I think next time I’ll try Lexus.....or maybe Ferrari.

FIND ME A WORD TREE

April being National Poetry Month, I was honored to discover FIND ME A WORD TREE, with a paen to Emily Dickenson, leading the parade of poems on Jayne Laudon Ferrer’s yourdailypoem.com ( April 1 posting).

Find Me A Word Tree

Find me a tree from which

all good words for poetry

hang like cleaner’s tags,

the breeze just right to turn

each one toward me, just as

I need them, just-in-time

delivery, just as modern car

makers stoke with parts their

one-car-every-minute output,

just as Emily, first in the garden,

plucked all the good words,

leaving slim pickings

for gleaners like me.

© 2012 E. Hujsak