Thursday, July 14, 2011
Welcome to the Water Works
Well, it's a Water World: two-thirds of it ocean, ten percent of it ice, one percent of it drinkable.
In a drop: the sea, they say, and that drop powers plenty: land grabs, scientific innovation, architecture, land planning, poetry....I'll write this blog while I'm a student at the (rapidly greening - we'll write about that) Annandale campus of Northern Virginia Community College.
I'll write about water locally and globally covering Water and the Built Environment, the Public Health of Storm-water Management, Agroecosystems and Water, and the Economics of Water.
I'm an engineering student interested in international development, so a lot will be about smart water conservation, cleaning, and management systems innovations that are being shoved by a wave of worry as water resources dwindle in developed and developing worlds.
In a drop: the sea, they say, and that drop powers plenty: land grabs, scientific innovation, architecture, land planning, poetry....I'll write this blog while I'm a student at the (rapidly greening - we'll write about that) Annandale campus of Northern Virginia Community College.
I'll write about water locally and globally covering Water and the Built Environment, the Public Health of Storm-water Management, Agroecosystems and Water, and the Economics of Water.
I'm an engineering student interested in international development, so a lot will be about smart water conservation, cleaning, and management systems innovations that are being shoved by a wave of worry as water resources dwindle in developed and developing worlds.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Major Angst
In September 2008, just as The Big Toe of Inevitability had yanked the plug from the drain, and the global economy was being sucked, naked, twirling, and surprised, down the hole, CNN listed three jobs that earn "in the $50,000 range" and "are expected to increase in demand between now and 2016." They were: "audiologist, criminal investigator, and streetcar operator." The first thing I thought was, "Alright! Streetcar operator!...." and then "What's an audiologist?" Two years later, the last of the global economy a cold puddle swilling around our backsides, I quit my job. I've started school.
People at dinner parties raise their hyper-employed eyebrows across the apple-grilled wild Alaskan King salmon and a Riesling described on the menu as "insouciant" and say, "Really? Helen! Listen to this. Brian's gone back to the books. That's great, man." Around the table, cheers go up. My wife's nephew, a junior in Biotech at Harvard, handing me a basket of Afghani sambozas at big table full of family at Bethesda's Faryab says, "That's great, man. Hey everybody. Brian's gone back to school!" Cheers go up. Pomegranate wine is sloshed into goblets. My neighbor, Pete, barely flinching as he bashes across the arrow-straight frontier separating his vast mower-hewn swathe of lawn from our clover and frog-filled yard, shaking hands clapping me on the back with a "Hey! That's great! Let's have a beer!" before something slides past his ankle and he hops back to safety.
And then. It's invariable. Those smiling faces swing to me shining - even the salmon grins, the Riesling, not so nonchalant now, twinkles expectantly, the thing in the dandelions beams - and they ask in a chorus: "So, what's your major?" "Criminy," I think. "I have no idea," I think. "Well, I have some idea...but that's a big question, and...." I'm taking too long, smiles are sagging, arms holding glasses aloft are leaning on elbows. The salmon is staring. "I'm undecided," I mutter. I don't know. "Something environmental?" someone's wife suggests. "Uh Yes!" I say.
"Yes! Something that involves protecting...uh...things...people....Helping...um....the Earth? I think I'll do something with water." She beams triumphant, "Yes! Water's great!" Problem solved. Everyone cheers and fills glasses. I croak, "Yes. Water. I want to do something about water. I think. Something, um, environmental...um...Water." "Yes! Water." They nod to each other, reaching for the wine, climbing back on their lawn mowers, and turning to the dinner partner on their other side.
At dinner, undaunted by my meandering plans, ordering more Grüner, everybody tells stories about what they'd studied - "Civil Engineering." "Industrial Psychology." "Communications." "Management." "Ewww," says everybody and laughs. "Agronomy," says my wife. "What's that?" says everybody. Then they talk about what they wished they'd studied. They ask, "When you picture yourself happy, what are you doing?"
Some answer quick: "Public Health." "Midwifery."
"Podiatry."
"Ewww!" says everybody and laughs.
"Really, Susan?"
"Yes, Derek. It's true. My secret's out. So there. Feet. I love them. 26 bones is all that stands between all of us and misery. You've got to follow your bliss. You can follow it a lot better in comfortable shoes." "To bliss!"says Derek.
"To bliss," says everyone.
A dinner party of 8 is a pretty skewed sample, but what people studied and what they wish they'd studied was sometimes the same thing. "I love Industrial Psychology!" says Amanda punching the air with her wine glass. "We are trained in the "scientist-practitioner" model!" "How awful," says someone. "Not at all! No nooo! Intrinsic motivation is associated with creativity. We can measure and influence both creativity and motivation! Simultaneously! Thus allowing employees to choose creative and challenging jobs-slash-tasks!" "How awful," says someone else, "Quick! More Grüner for Amanda!" "I am miffed," says Amanda who looks it, holding out her glass. Oddly, the wives of two of my friends are industrial psychiatrists.
I can hear my own wife at the end of the table, sounding irked, "Agronomy. It's agriculture. Soils. Food. See this salmon? See these baby leeks? See this ridiculously insouciant Reisling? Agroecosystems. Think! Do you not eat?!"
Many of the "I wish I'd studied"s are "Save the World"-noble: Public health, emergency medicine, non-profit management, forestry, audiology. I listen to them talking clinking glasses and cutlery: ("Podiatry, eh?" "Yes...The foot. So many horrible things can happen to a foot! Worms. Rot. Wood-chopping accidents! How is your tartare?" and "....Dave always wanted to do something with boxes." "Boxes?" "Yes. Packaging. Too much and you've spent too much and it just ends up in the Pacific strangling seagulls. Too little, and you've got a box of smashed iPhones, and they end up in the Pacific strangling seagulls." "Well, you've got to follow your bliss." "But, that's just the thing. He didn't. Went into management. Made a mint. Retired at 40, and set up a little non-profit saving seagulls...." "Hahahaha! That's confusing.") and I think:
"My bliss...what's my hell is my bliss? I'm 48. Second half of my life. Water. Water. Water. It's everything. Ask that salmon, those seagulls, that Reisling, if she'll talk to you... When I picture myself happy. What am I doing? Am I standing in a village in Mali, pouring a head-wall to keep dirt and children out of the well? Am I working with the government of Khazakstan or Fairfax County to build a better storm management system? Am I the extension agent driving through the Sierra Sangre de Cristo teaching farmers and ranchers about vertical farming and aquaponics? Will Civil Engineering teach me how to do those things? Follow my bliss? Yes, I think, Yes. And I stand up, saying "Hey, Hey, everybody....." and raise my water glass.
People at dinner parties raise their hyper-employed eyebrows across the apple-grilled wild Alaskan King salmon and a Riesling described on the menu as "insouciant" and say, "Really? Helen! Listen to this. Brian's gone back to the books. That's great, man." Around the table, cheers go up. My wife's nephew, a junior in Biotech at Harvard, handing me a basket of Afghani sambozas at big table full of family at Bethesda's Faryab says, "That's great, man. Hey everybody. Brian's gone back to school!" Cheers go up. Pomegranate wine is sloshed into goblets. My neighbor, Pete, barely flinching as he bashes across the arrow-straight frontier separating his vast mower-hewn swathe of lawn from our clover and frog-filled yard, shaking hands clapping me on the back with a "Hey! That's great! Let's have a beer!" before something slides past his ankle and he hops back to safety.
And then. It's invariable. Those smiling faces swing to me shining - even the salmon grins, the Riesling, not so nonchalant now, twinkles expectantly, the thing in the dandelions beams - and they ask in a chorus: "So, what's your major?" "Criminy," I think. "I have no idea," I think. "Well, I have some idea...but that's a big question, and...." I'm taking too long, smiles are sagging, arms holding glasses aloft are leaning on elbows. The salmon is staring. "I'm undecided," I mutter. I don't know. "Something environmental?" someone's wife suggests. "Uh Yes!" I say.
"Yes! Something that involves protecting...uh...things...people....Helping...um....the Earth? I think I'll do something with water." She beams triumphant, "Yes! Water's great!" Problem solved. Everyone cheers and fills glasses. I croak, "Yes. Water. I want to do something about water. I think. Something, um, environmental...um...Water." "Yes! Water." They nod to each other, reaching for the wine, climbing back on their lawn mowers, and turning to the dinner partner on their other side.
At dinner, undaunted by my meandering plans, ordering more Grüner, everybody tells stories about what they'd studied - "Civil Engineering." "Industrial Psychology." "Communications." "Management." "Ewww," says everybody and laughs. "Agronomy," says my wife. "What's that?" says everybody. Then they talk about what they wished they'd studied. They ask, "When you picture yourself happy, what are you doing?"
Some answer quick: "Public Health." "Midwifery."
"Podiatry."
"Ewww!" says everybody and laughs.
"Really, Susan?"
"Yes, Derek. It's true. My secret's out. So there. Feet. I love them. 26 bones is all that stands between all of us and misery. You've got to follow your bliss. You can follow it a lot better in comfortable shoes." "To bliss!"says Derek.
"To bliss," says everyone.
A dinner party of 8 is a pretty skewed sample, but what people studied and what they wish they'd studied was sometimes the same thing. "I love Industrial Psychology!" says Amanda punching the air with her wine glass. "We are trained in the "scientist-practitioner" model!" "How awful," says someone. "Not at all! No nooo! Intrinsic motivation is associated with creativity. We can measure and influence both creativity and motivation! Simultaneously! Thus allowing employees to choose creative and challenging jobs-slash-tasks!" "How awful," says someone else, "Quick! More Grüner for Amanda!" "I am miffed," says Amanda who looks it, holding out her glass. Oddly, the wives of two of my friends are industrial psychiatrists.
I can hear my own wife at the end of the table, sounding irked, "Agronomy. It's agriculture. Soils. Food. See this salmon? See these baby leeks? See this ridiculously insouciant Reisling? Agroecosystems. Think! Do you not eat?!"
Many of the "I wish I'd studied"s are "Save the World"-noble: Public health, emergency medicine, non-profit management, forestry, audiology. I listen to them talking clinking glasses and cutlery: ("Podiatry, eh?" "Yes...The foot. So many horrible things can happen to a foot! Worms. Rot. Wood-chopping accidents! How is your tartare?" and "....Dave always wanted to do something with boxes." "Boxes?" "Yes. Packaging. Too much and you've spent too much and it just ends up in the Pacific strangling seagulls. Too little, and you've got a box of smashed iPhones, and they end up in the Pacific strangling seagulls." "Well, you've got to follow your bliss." "But, that's just the thing. He didn't. Went into management. Made a mint. Retired at 40, and set up a little non-profit saving seagulls...." "Hahahaha! That's confusing.") and I think:
"My bliss...what's my hell is my bliss? I'm 48. Second half of my life. Water. Water. Water. It's everything. Ask that salmon, those seagulls, that Reisling, if she'll talk to you... When I picture myself happy. What am I doing? Am I standing in a village in Mali, pouring a head-wall to keep dirt and children out of the well? Am I working with the government of Khazakstan or Fairfax County to build a better storm management system? Am I the extension agent driving through the Sierra Sangre de Cristo teaching farmers and ranchers about vertical farming and aquaponics? Will Civil Engineering teach me how to do those things? Follow my bliss? Yes, I think, Yes. And I stand up, saying "Hey, Hey, everybody....." and raise my water glass.
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