I'm not betting on CO2-free coal plant

What with our never-ending quest for energy, it seems coal is making a huge comeback.

Yeah, coal. You know, that black stuff that was once king, subject to Upton Sinclair novels and Appalachian songs. Mined out of the earth and burned for energy. That coal.

A big problem with coal – besides the highly-questionable means of extracting it – is that it’s one dirty fuel. And with newfound concerns about how much carbon dioxide is blown into the atmosphere, I’m amazed coal is being considered at all. Here in South Carolina, as recently noted in an earlier blog entry, four of the top five producers of CO2 in the state are coal-burning power plants.

But man is nothing if not an experimenter, and Mattoon, Illinois, will be the site of the next experiment. Plans are set to build the first “FutureGen,” a coal-burning power plant that allegedly does not emit carbon dioxide. That’s what the press releases say, anyway. This plant is going to be a big one, at least as far as real estate and price tag. It will be built on several hundred acres at a cost of $1.8 billion – in Charlestonese, that’s two Arthur Ravenel Bridges. When completed, the plant is expected to create “hundreds of jobs” to that central Illinois town.

OK. So what’s the secret here? Ahh, the carbon dioxide is to be stored underground – out of sight, out of mind.

I am somewhat familiar with the workings of coal-based energy. Overlooking the Colorado River near Laughlin, Nevada, stands one such plant. Some locals call it the “steam plant.” Steam, my butt. The plant burned coal slurry piped in from the Four Corners region of Arizona, where it was dug out from Navajo land. And like with most agreements with Native Americans through our history, white man got to keep the coal that was mined while the tribe got the shaft. But that’s another story.

The Mohave Generating Station was something of a local joke. For some reason it seemed production was at its highest at night. At a time you couldn’t see that smoke plume rising up from the smokestack. A colleague of mine, in print, referred to that plume as the generating station’s “nocturnal emission,” a phrase I wish I’d turned. And, when then-Interior Secretary Manuel Lujan visited the site, there was no plume to be found – gee, talk about putting your best foot forward.

During that time I got a tour of the generating station, where I got to climb a 60-foot cooling tower to shoot some photos. And the big boss of the generating station told us media buzzards, with a perfectly straight face, that the most noxious emission from that plant was fly ash.

Yeah, fly ash. The stuff that sticks to your car. Run it through a car wash and your problem is solved. Not a word about sulfur dioxide. And not much about carbon dioxide, which wasn’t exactly something that worried even the most hard-shell environmentalists back then.

With this background info, I’m real curious to see how this story plays itself out. If this is an actual solution, that would be wonderful. But I don’t really see storing the carbon dioxide underground as a way to solve anything.

In truth, this sounds more like our standard way of handling environmental issues: Throw a bunch of money at the problem, then hide the effects. Really, it’s like burning coal when you can’t see the plume in the night sky.

Dog-gone town can be unfriendly

Charleston is a place like no other. It’s a beautiful city, the folks are as polite as the media says, and the town is romantic enough to make Miles Davis cry.

So what’s not to love about the Lowcountry?

If you own a dog, there’s plenty. Of all the places I’ve lived – more than a few – Charleston has to be the most dog-unfriendly of ‘em all.

Do I have research to back this up? No. There’s a website that gives some of the lowdown on dogs in Charleston, but that’s more for the visitor, the person taking a vacation in Charleston and hopefully spending lots of money.

Sure, the area does make concessions to dog owners. Some. South of Calhoun Street near all the hospitals is a park, where an old library once stood. Nothing left there now except a few columns, a bunch of trees, and grass. I don’t even know if the park has a name, but it doesn’t matter. The locals call it Dog Park, and that’s where many take their pooches to run off a little energy. Leashes? We don’t use no stinkin’ leashes here.

Dog Park is especially popular with the younger set, in particular college-age girls with their dogs, so that’s another of the park’s charms. Hey, I may be getting older, but I ain’t dead.

Outside of that, life can be a little rough if you’re a dog owner. I can sure understand the need for a pet deposit when you move into a place, but in Charleston expect to pay in the neighborhood of $300 or $400 to keep your dog in an apartment or house.

I can understand some of this, maybe. When my dog was a puppy, she had her destructive side. Chomping through the power cord of my computer, while I was using it. Eating a pair of my boots. Nibbling on the Christmas tree lights. To be honest, back then she couldn’t have caused any more hell and destruction if she peed fire.

But then, human children can also have their destructive moments, as any battle-hardened parent will tell you. But I’ve never heard of a landlord imposing a child deposit. Are you kidding? There are civil liberty-type organizations who would gladly serve that landlord’s head on a platter if he ever even thought of such a notion.

I’ve had Hoodoo since she was six weeks old. She’s 13 now, and has the grey to prove it. Not near as hyper as she once was, and it’s been at least a decade since she’s destroyed anything. She’s mellowed with age. Her only real objectionable quality – besides being horrendously spoiled and jealous – is that she gets excited when I come home from work. My neighbors say they never hear her until that moment; that’s when all of Charleston County knows of my arrival.

A few days ago, I experienced another example of how dog-unfriendly Charleston County can be. I’m currently without an Internet connection, so I walk to the library to maintain this blog and keep up with the tons of email I seem to get. No problem there. And when I walk anywhere, Hoodoo goes with me. That’s a house rule that she set years ago. I’ll tie her out near the library entrance with a bowl of water while I do my business inside. She’ll usually curl up and go to sleep before long, and wait for me to finish – like a good dog.

Anyway, I was reading some newspapers and taking notes at the Cooper River Library, waiting for my turn at the computer, when the librarian wanted to know who owned that dog outside. That would be me, I said, and is there a problem?

Yes, problem. Unless she’s a service animal, she can’t be there. Well, the librarian already saw me read the paper, so I knew I wasn’t going to weasel out of this very easily. I offered to tie Hoodoo out around the side of the building where no one ever goes, and that wouldn’t work either. Can’t be on the premises.

With that, I put away the newspapers, gathered up my notes, collected Hoodoo, and left.

Besides the obvious – like what am I going to do for an “office,” this just plain ticks me off.

Charleston, I’m afraid, is trying to go big-city. Maybe not New York (there is a god) or Los Angeles (and a just god he is), but maybe another Atlanta. I see that in some of the growth and some of the new laws in town, and how it’s losing just a smidgen of the charm that makes it Charleston. Whatever it is, big cities and dogs just don’t see eye to eye.

Meanwhile, the search is on for a provisional office. Right now, the interim answer is an easy one – go find another library.

Go Google yourself! Lots of people do.

Disclaimer: Yes, I do have a real problem with taking a noun such as “Google” and making a verb out of it. It’s a practice that is indicative of the direction our language – and by inference, our civilization – is headed. But since we’re already in the handbasket ready to go, I’ll use Google as a verb, like everyone else. May the language gods forgive me …

Google yourself lately?

That does sound like something unspeakable, bordering on something Homeland Security would like to know about, but yes I have.

If you’re like 47 percent of the adults who use the Internet, you also have done this thing. However, I’m not real sure about the other 53 percent of Internet users – either they’re just not admitting to anything, or they lie like hell.

The Pew Internet and American Life Project reported this week that, yes, nearly half of adults did check themselves out on a search engine – and 53 percent admitted to looking up someone else, without counting searches of celebrity names.

Since you’re asking – yes, I Google myself every so often. Yes, I’ve said it. Being a blogger, it’s almost a requirement. I do this mostly to see if the search engines are “crawling” my work, which means more page hits and subscriptions. Also, I admit searching myself to find out if anyone with the same name as I is getting into trouble, thereby sullying the name. Or something.

Also, like many of the other admitted self-Googlers, I’m not all that worried about what I’d find on myself online. But it sure doesn’t hurt to check anyway. Of course, I’m more than a little circumspect about what information I’m gonna publish about myself.

Yes, I have Googled old friends of mine over the years. Through search engines I have been able to re-establish contact with two of my old mentors in the newspaper business.

According to the Pew findings, Americans are more likely to self-Google if they’re more highly educated and better paid – and if they’re younger than 50.

Gee, I just passed my 50th not long ago. Does this mean I have to stop? Fat chance.

In the meantime, I feel no shame and neither should you. Lots of people are admitting to it, so it must be OK.

Go Google yourself!

Illegal immigration an issue in unlikely places

So you think it’s only the border areas that have to worry about illegal aliens, right? Guess again.

While places like California, Texas, and Florida have been watching (or not) who goes in for years, some of the interior states are now getting a little nervous. Including North and South Carolina.

Not long ago I saw an article on the influx of Latinos in Iowa, of all places. Iowa? Good ol’ white-bread Iowa, breadbasket to the nation?

And in Hendersonville, North Carolina. Residents are wondering where all those Latinos are coming from.

Mind you, Latinos and illegal aliens are two different things. Certainly a vast majority of the Latin Americans in the United States are here legally. And not all illegal aliens hail from places where they speak Spanish. Some years ago, I met an ex-girlfriend’s uncle who had quite a story. When he was a young man he fell for a woman from the United States and followed here from his native Canada – without bothering to go through all the immigration hoops of the day. Technically, he was an illegal alien – that is, until he married her, legitimizing his residence in the States and winning a good woman in the bargain. A great story, and a good thing. What do Canadians call La Migra anyway?

But let’s get to Hendersonville. A town of slightly more than 10,000 souls, up in the Blue Ridge Mountains, a duck snort down the road from Asheville. God’s country. Also, apple country. Comes time to pick these apples, who do you call? Someone who will do it for low wages, and he may or may not have his papers on him.

I lived in Hendersonville a few years ago, and was stunned at the number of Latinos in town. And the good folks there are mostly hill people, where even someone from California is considered highly suspect, probably dangerous, and slightly exotic. And Hendersonville’s Latino population had jumped about tenfold over the preceding decade. You couldn’t go into WalMart without running into a group of imported apple pickers on a shopping trip. Definitely a little too much for the folks there; you could hear them mumbling something about there goes the neighborhood.

Here in Charleston County, I’ve seen previously all-black neighborhoods going Latino during the past five years. Get right down to it, illegal aliens built the Arthur Ravenel Bridge linking Charleston to Mount Pleasant. The bridge was completed a year ahead of schedule and under budget. Hiring a bunch of guys who will work their asses off for little bit of nothing will do that. So what if the foreman had to be bilingual?

South Carolina State Senator Glenn Mcconnell, a good and true Southerner, is calling for provisions allowing each state to set its own rules in dealing with illegal immigration, effectively nullifying federal laws in the process.

Which, by the way, is a good idea. The situation is not the same in South Carolina as it is in, say, California. The situation is different, so the rules should also be different. Plus, in a group of 50 states, it is mathematically possible that there may be an enlightened government among them. Not too likely, but it is possible. However, any traces of such enlightenment will totally disappear when you’re talking about a group of 50 entities under one-size-fits-all laws. Just naturally, these laws will be designed to fit the worst case, the lowest common denominator.

But as I read about McConnell’s pitch, I kept hearing spinning noises from John C. Calhoun’s grave. Calhoun, if you remember your history, pitched a similar nullification idea in the 1820s and was vilified for it – that’s where the seeds were sown for the War Between The States.

(But then, Calhoun wasn’t exactly being original here. Another early proponent of nullification in some form or other was Thomas Jefferson. But while Jefferson’s profile adorns our five-cent piece, all Calhoun gets is a statue in Charleston’s Marion Square, with a million pigeons bombarding his head.)

As far as illegal immigration, there are no easy answers. The same folks who bitch the loudest about all these illegals coming in, taking jobs, and draining tax coffers are the ones who like their cheap Hendersonville apples, the inexpensive California lettuce, and cheap tomatoes from John’s Island. And cheap bridge construction costs. Face it. As long as there’s someone around to outbid the native-born workers, we will continue to see this accelerate, law or no law.
Suppose we magically deported all of the illegal aliens and made our borders lock-tight. This would put a lot of builders and growers in the lurch because no self-respecting American would pour concrete or pick apples at those same wages. And to make up the difference on paying the help, you’ll see some brand-new prices in the produce bin of your neighborhood grocery store.

America’s policy toward illegal immigration is a classic example of talking out of both sides of one’s mouth. Fix the problem as long as their financial self-interest is not compromised.

It’s not going to happen. Not anytime soon, anyway.