Global Warming

Now that nearly everyone on the planet believes in the gospel according to St. Al (Gore, of course) and agrees that civilization hangs in the balance because of global warming, it is time for me to confess to being a skeptic. Since we are in the midst of the most severe winter in half a century in many parts of the World and ice build up in Antarctica stands at one third more than normal, I think I have picked a good time to come out of the closet.

In the spirit of full disclosure I must confess that I have always had difficulty in accepting anything out of the mouth of Veep Gore. Would you buy a used car from a guy who claimed to have invented the Internet? Or, was the inspiration for the movie “Love Story”? And, let’s not forget, he wanted to ban the internal combustion engine. Of course, St. Al is but a missionary in a movement that has swept the world, gaining momentum like a run-away truck on a steep slope.

I have several problems with global warming that have prevented me from jumping on the bandwagon (or buying a Prius). First, it is an undeniable fact that in the distant past, much of North America, including northern Canada, was alternately a dismal tropical swamp and repeatedly covered with several hundred feet of ice. This alternate heating and cooling of the planet occurred over millions of years before the invention of the internal combustion engine or, for that matter, the discovery of fire. Secondly, I have seen in my lifetime (and so have you) dire predictions that have been spectacularly wrong. In April 1975, for example, scientists warned us that the next ice age was coming! You can look this up. “Newsweek” magazine did a feature story and scary cover warning us to get prepared-- the glaciers would be marching down the continent soon.

I will remind you of some other famously wrong predictions later. But first, this might be a good time to stop and read Michael Crichton's speech to the Commonwealth Club called "Environmentalism as Religion". In one of the most perceptive pieces I have ever read Crichton explains that, in our increasingly urbanized and secular society, environmentalism has become a religion. He observes that, like religious beliefs, environmentalism relies on faith, often in the face of significant contrary evidence. He believes that the greatest challenge facing mankind is “distinguishing reality from fantasy, truth from propaganda”. He said think of today as the “disinformation age”. This is especially evident with today’s 24/7 news and the herd mentality of sloppy journalists.

As an example, Mike points out the dire predictions of Professor Paul Ehrlich. In the 1980s Ehrlich predicted massive starvation from over population and that we would run out of critical resources including oil and gas. Wrong. Over the years he has made many such prognostications and all proved dead wrong. So, who would listen to this guy? Turns out, lots of people. He’s a respected spokesman for the environmental movement and often sought for his insight on TV shows.

Rachel Carlson and her famous Silent Spring brought about the emotional ban of DDT throughout the world and resulted in the death of tens of millions from malaria in Africa and other poor countries. Although repeatedly proven to be harmless to humans (and birds too, for that matter) this DDT myth persists to this day. (Editor's note: thin shells on eggs can be a sign of calcium deficiency.)

Over the years we have all witnessed countless examples of breathless warnings of this or that danger that turned out to be bogus. Remember the alar scare? And, what about butter?
For years we were told not to eat butter but instead smear that goop, margarine, on our morning toast. Oops. Years later we are told that margarine contains “trans fats”, lethal to the heart and butter was the better choice all along. Transmission power lines cause cancer? (Or, was it erectile dysfunction? I forget.) Later, of course, we learned that power lines cause poor radio reception and nothing else. The list goes on.

If you really want to get into this subject you might want to read The Skeptical Environmentalist by Bjorn Lonborg, although I warn you, it’s heavy going. It is a massive tome and reads like a college text on statistics, economics and biology. Ol’ Bjorn is a college professor of statistics in Denmark. He was once a member of Greenpeace until he wrote a couple of articles complaining that the environmentalists were drawing incorrect conclusions and misrepresenting the results of various scientific studies. Greenpeace kicked him out of the club and the environmentalists treated him like a leper. So, he decided to write a book and in excruciating detail describes their errors.

Lonborg’s take on global warming is that although the Earth may be going through a warming phase, it is far from clear what is causing it. He points out that scientists differ on whether increased concentrations of CO2 can be blamed. And, in any event, he shows that none of the draconian solutions put forward will have any significant effect. He goes into detail on the cost of these proposals and the comparative costs of dealing with the problem. He also enumerates the advantages of global warming. As importantly, he debunks the dire warnings of Al and his ilk by citing in detail the science disproving the alarmist positions. Sorry, New York City will not be destroyed in a tidal wave. Lonborg spends some time on the politics of the global warming movement and how the press deals with it. It should come as no surprise that the people behind this movement are the same folks who believe government should run everything.

In my four years at Cornell I studied just about every science course offered. None of that makes me an expert on climatology, of course. But, it does give me some basis for critical thinking about science and reminds me of one important tenant…. “You can’t draw a trend line through a single data point”. Let me ‘splain. If you create a graph with the history of the Earth on the horizontal axis (time) and temperature on the vertical and you plot the temperature readings of the last hundred years on that graph, you have essentially a single dot. In other words, the sample everyone is considering is so small compared to the history of the Earth that it represents a single data point. You can draw a trend line in any direction through a single data point!

The problem now is that this global warming thing has gotten to be such an accepted fact that everyone has jumped on the bandwagon and no amount of contrary information will change anyone’s mind. As Crichton has pointed out, it has become a religion; a matter of faith. And, you can’t argue with anyone’s faith. The next glacier could be creeping down 4th Avenue in Seattle and some people would be out in front of it waving “Stop Global Warming” signs.

Tammy Max Image of Profile

Jim, my roommate for the last three of our college years, arrived for our senior year in 1963 with two new possessions: a beat up red pick-up truck and a Great Dane. Jim and I had become roommates in our sophomore year when we both foolishly decided to live in the fraternity house. We both worked in the kitchen- Jim on dishes, and me on pots; jobs we would keep for the duration.

The pick-up was certainly a welcome addition to our meager existence. It had experienced better days. For example, it refused to stay in third gear, so Jim, being an engineering student, had attached a chain-spring gizmo to the floor that held the lever in gear, leaving our hands free for more important duties. It was unclear to me then, or now, why Jim thought a dog was a necessary addition to our senior year.

His name was Tammy Max Image of Profile. He possessed that impressive moniker because of his exceptional bloodlines that clearly had not taken intelligence into consideration. I have owned very smart dogs and dumb dogs. Pro, as we called him, slid off the scale on the stupid end of the chart. He was goofy too, like a big dumb teenager. “Big” perhaps did not do him justice. Even for a Great Dane he was huge, being the approximate size (and color) of a mature white tailed deer.

For our senior year five of us had rented a ramshackle house in Collegetown just off the Cornell campus. Jim and I would share the largest bedroom on the second floor. Most of our furniture and wall hangings were constructed from salvaged doors from the boy’s freshman dorms. These hollow, laminates failed to survive the predations of angry and drunk freshman and were being replaced by more substantial solid doors. We bought the cast offs for $.50 and turned them into desks, beds and canvasses for our crude, lewd impressionist art.

In those days, dogs freely roamed the campus. It seemed every one of the sixty or so fraternities, sororities and group housing establishments owned a dog. Rumor had it that an eccentric, dog-loving woman had given the university many millions with the stipulation that dogs be given free reign on campus. Maybe. But, in any case, dogs wandered freely and could be found in the classrooms, the student union and even in the cafeterias. Pro, as we called ol’ Tammy Max, joined these wandering packs of mongrels and pure breeds that roamed the campus.

Pro liked to ride in the truck and preferred to sit in the middle between Jim and me. With his butt on the seat and his feet on the floor, he had his huge muzzle pressed against the windscreen on which he deposited copious amounts of slobber. Like all Great Danes, his greatest skill was drooling. When he took off with his gangly lope, gobs of this goop could be seen flying in all directions.

Squirt guns were the fad of our senior year and squirt gun wars common study breaks. Sneak attacks on our studying roommates also provided a welcome diversion. Pro became a frequent target. He’d be sitting there staring at you so you’d hit him with a couple of shots square in his huge muzzle. He’d just sit there with water running off his nose with a puzzled look on his face. After a while though, it started to really piss him off and he would aggressively go after the transgressor. He became so annoyed by squirt guns that if you made a “tsk, tsk” sound, imitating the noise of a squirt gun, he would awaken from a sound sleep and run around barking, looking for the culprit.

Other than drooling and sleeping, Pro’s greatest skill was farting. Jim fed him scraps from the kitchen where we worked, and the gravy and meat scraps had a profound effect on his digestive system. Of course, with a beast that size you also had quantity as well as potency in his deadly emissions. Jim and I frequently evacuated the room in haste when Pro released one of his silent killers.

Pro had bad timing with this skill. One evening Jim and I were entertaining a couple of young ladies in our room. We were sitting around chatting and drinking very bad, cheap wine while Pro napped in the middle of the room. One of the gals commented on the good looks of the magnificent beast before her. Pro, apparently hearing himself complimented, woke up. He rose up on his toes and then stretched his paws out in front of him, raising his ass in the air, aiming his butt directly at Jim’s date. He then emitted what I called the “fluttering death” fart. It was not silent, but rather had tonal quality to go with volume and potency. One of his better efforts, as I recall. The scramble for the door was reminiscent of the run for the lifeboats and pretty much brought the evenings festivities to a close. Part of the problem may have been that Jim and I beat the girls to the door by a good five feet.

For all his goofiness, the beast did possess a decent sense of smell. When classes let out, hundreds of students would be criss-crossing the quads on their way to the next class. Pro would be romping on the grass with some other mutts while either Jim or I attempted to sneak across. He would stop what he was doing, raise that great head and sniff the air. Gotcha! Catching our scent, he would come bounding over like an overgrown kid. It seemed as if he was saying, “Hey, Dick, howya doin’? Goin’ to class? Chemistry? Boy, I love chemistry class. Great! Let’s go!” He’d bounce around you and there was no getting rid of him. So, off we’d go to class together where he would usually just sleep beside you. Sometimes the professors were exceptionally boring and we’d both catch a little nap.

Occasionally, Pro’s visits to class were not uneventful. On one visit with Jim, Pro fell asleep head down on a sloping auditorium aisle. When class ended, everyone crowed for the exit, Pro at the forefront of the pack. Apparently, the head down position had adversely affected Pro’s touchy digestive system and he deposited a copious quantity of vomit right in the doorway. Students skidded and stumbled through the mess swearing all the way. Jim pretended he didn’t know the dog.

Jim and I both signed up for The History of Western Civilizations, a required class, so plenty of students. Classes were held in an auditorium with a stage containing only a lectern and a blackboard. We called it the “book of the week club” since it seemed that we had to read one each week. The professor may have had a personality, although we never got a chance to find out. He arrived promptly at the top of the hour, opened his notes and spoke for 50 minutes, whereupon he closed his notes and walked out. The book for the week was written on the blackboard. Since he gave no clues as to what would be on the tests, we pretty much wrote down every word out of his mouth.

Pro followed us to history class one day and slept in the aisle. Except for the scratching of pens and the drone of the professor, the place was dead quiet. Jim looked up and Pro had gone. He looked on in horror as Pro ascended the stairs and walked onto the stage. Although he was impossible to ignore, the professor never missed a beat. By now, many students had spotted the dog on the stage. Pro sniffed the blackboard, moved over to the professor and sniffed his twiggy tweed coat. At this point, everyone was watching Pro. He sat down beside the professor, gazed out at the audience and….. gave a huge yawn.

The place erupted in a roar of laughter, for that yawn reflected our collective sentiments of the professor precisely. The prof finally said something that was not contained in his notes, “Get that G.D. dog out of here!” Jim hustled Pro off the stage and out the door while the laughter continued.

Funny, I can’t remember what courses I took that senior year—except history.

The Price of Gas

Note: This piece was originally written in August of 2006 when the price of a barrel of oil stood at $78. Now with the price around $100, some are suggesting $150 is within reach next year. Many economists opine that the US policy of allowing the US dollar to devalue has contributed to the rise in oil prices. I agree.

With crude prices hovering around $95 per barrel and sticker shock stunning everyone when they pull in to fill up the ol’ SUV, we once again hear politicians moaning about “dependence on foreign oil”. Some of us are old enough (and not yet senile) and can remember hearing this same refrain back in the early 70s when shortages and gas lines at the stations gave the “driving public” which is nearly everyone, a wake up call. So what have our elected leaders done in the last 30+ years since to alleviate our dependence on foreign oil that in large part comes from the historically volatile Middle East? Well, nothing. In most cases they have made things significantly worse.

They have not allowed drilling for oil off our coasts, on public lands in the western US where the government owns most of the land, or in the much discussed Artic National Wildlife Refuge. If this desolate place were more appropriately called the National Artic Wasteland it might be less controversial. Nobody is going to go there willingly and the few caribou that wander through there from time to time could easily be accommodated, but the environmental lobbies have made it their Waterloo. By threatening to withhold their contributions and votes the professional tree huggers have cowed liberal Democrat Senators to continually vote against even looking for oil there. Stupid? Of course. Understandable? Yes. The Democrats know that if they lose the environmentalist vote, the trial lawyers or the Black vote that they will be forever consigned to irrevelance. So screw National interest… getting re-elected is more important.

Unfortunately, preventing even looking for oil at home is not the only anti-energy independence path our politicians have taken. Refusing to swim against the tide of fear and hysteria following the accidents at Chernobyl and Three Mile Island, our leaders have not allowed the construction of a single nuclear power plant in more than a generation. Ignoring the fact that France gets some 70% of its electrical power from nuclear plants with no environmental problems, politicians are afraid to promote its use. Worse, increasingly restrictive air quality regulations have forced many power companies to switch from coal to natural gas and petroleum thereby increasing demand and dependence. If the environmentalists were truly concerned about carbon emissions and global warming they would be actively promoting the building of nuclear power plants and encouraging the utilization of the Yucca Mountain waste repository. That they do not speaks volumes.

As we watch the dollars ring up on the gas pump when filling up we should also keep in mind that our fearless leaders and the “NIMBYs” among us have prevented the construction of a single gasoline refinery for more than a generation. The existing ones operate at full capacity all the time and even a small hiccup causes shortages. A major curve ball was thrown at the industry when Congress caved to the agriculture lobby and recently passed restrictions on the use of chemical additives in gasoline and mandated the use of ethanol instead. Predictably they had ignored the warnings that there were insufficient quantities of ethanol or adequate delivery methods to keep the refineries supplied. The unintended consequences, of course, were shortages and higher prices at the pump.

The environmentalists are quite happy with the current situation. They would be very pleased to see gasoline at $10 per gallon. Then people would stop driving their cars. As my wife so succinctly pointed out, “They want everyone to go back to riding bicycles”. Yes, and they want everyone to live in shacks without electricity and grow their own vegetables. I’ve got no beef with someone who wants to do that, but given today’s urbanized interdependent World, few really want to go there… at least not willingly.

The huge problem with the situation today lies not in the price of a gallon of gasoline but in the strategic dependence on Middle Eastern oil that fuels our economy. Huge amounts of petro-dollars flow into the coffers of despotic Middle Eastern governments who are quite happy to fund increasingly fanatical Islamic movements bent on the destruction of Western Civilization. Most of these governments have no economy save the oil that lies beneath their deserts. Were we not dependant on their contribution to the world oil supply and hence our economic health, we could simply say to Iran “Stop your nuclear develop-ment and funding of terrorist groups or we will shut down your ability to ship oil”. With little impact on our economy we might actually have the balls to do it and their economy would collapse in a matter of months. Regime change would follow without us having to expend our blood and treasure in an armed confrontation with them.

Many Americans would like to believe that withdrawing from Iraq and negotiating with Iran would avoid an eventual nuclear confrontation with radical Islam. This dangerous wishful thinking can lead to disastrous consequences in the future. If, as I predict, the Democrats return to power in ’08 on a “peace” and environmental platform, America will be more dependent on Middle Eastern oil four or eight years later. A nuclear armed Iran and its terrorist surrogates will hold a very powerful gun to the head of the Western World. Should a nuclear exchange or terrorists delivery of nuclear devices render large cities and swaths of America unfit for life of any kind for generations, what will the Serria Club have to say about the plight of the Arctic caribou?

During our long standoff with the Soviet Union we relied on MAD, Mutually Assured Destruction….. you fire missiles at us, we unload on you… end of civilization. No rational human being wanted that. But, we cannot be quite so sanguine about the rationality of the Islamic radicals. People who are quite convinced that heaven awaits those that blow themselves up in a pizza parlor full of women and children cannot be relied upon to pause before blowing up say, New York City, even if we threaten to nuke their entire country. And, they are reasonably certain that if a terrorist supplied by them did it, we’d probably not strike back anyway.

Our only way out of this box is a full-scale oil exploration of the entire North American continent and seacoast. Yes, new technology and alternative means of supplying our energy needs must be developed. But, we can’t wait for the magical arrival of undiscovered technology. New sources of oil must be found in the US, Canada and Mexico. Nuclear power plants must be built without endless delay. In five years we could be free of Middle Eastern oil and the political dynamic would be vastly different. Do we have the will?