So Cal Edison's War On Trees.

The Edison Company, despite community complaints, continues to murder Redlands' palm trees. Any palm frond within a few yards of one of their lines warrants, it seems, amputation of it and all neighboring fronds, leading to the death of trees that are fifty to seventy five years old.

Redlands is now scattered with dead and dying trees, thanks to the butchers Edison employs to "trim" the offending palms. Odd, but I don't recall Edison doing this in the distant past, or we'd have many more vacancies along our palm lined streets. On some avenues, the trees have safely managed to grow up past the power lines, and every one of the trees is still intact.

Somebody at Edison, once upon a time, must have actually given a shit. But not now, not these days.

Back To Mac.

I give up.

I'm going back to an Apple computer after a seven year ordeal with my Hewlett Packard PC. Tomorrow we rip out the tower, the mouse, the keyboard, the cords et al and hopefully have our new Mini Mac up and running. The Mini Mac is, well, mini. It's about half the size of a box of Kleenex(R) and yet is more powerful and more reliable (we're told) than the virus-laden machine we've fought with for so long.

Goodbye, blue screen of death. Goodbye, Internet Explorer. Goodbye virus software.

I feel so... hip.

A Toast To The Last Man

A passing of note: the last man to serve in the trenches for Britain in World War I has died. Harry Patch was 111 years old. Of all the tens of thousands who served, of all the tens of thousands who died, Mr. Patch was the last of the last.

Tom Brokaw and others labeled the vets of WWII 'the greatest generation' but the men who fought in that first war suffered the most; it was a ghastly crusade. There are few of any age who can comprehend what horror those men faced. Our nation agonizes over every death in Iraq or Afghanistan. Can you imagine a country the size of England losing thousands every day?

Victoria was still Queen when he was born. I'm sure that I don't want to outlast everyone in my generation. 111 years is a long, long time to live.

$20 A Gallon????

There's a new book out I want to read.

"$20 A Gallon: How the Inevitable Rise in the Price of Gasoline Will Change our Lives for the Better" tells us what we already know but don't want to face. The world's production of oil is pretty much maxed out, but in a few years, growth in demand (e.g. China) will far outstrip supply. How much growth? Get this: in a very near future, the additional demand for gas in China will be the equivalent to adding another USA to the planet.

Here's one intriguing idea postulated in the book: The age of Wal-Mart will be over. Done. Kaput. Eighty percent of Wal-Mart's "stuff" comes from China. It comes off the boat, then gets loaded into something like 7,000 trucks and hauled to Wal-Mart's thousands of stores. Their whole business model is based on the need for cheap oil. No cheap oil -- no Wallyworld.

I'm liking this already.

People are going to move back into downtowns, where they can walk rather than drive. We won't need so many freeways, so we can recycle their right-of-ways for rapid transit.

The author, Christopher Steiner, doesn't see $20 for a gallon gas until about 30 years from now, at which time I will be a vegetable if I'm alive at all. But Steiner breaks the chapters into price points, and speculates on what effect gas at, say $7, $12, $15 bucks a gallon has on the economy and our lifestyle.

All I can say is it makes this house I keep looking at on the west coast of Ireland more inviting and a great investment. It's in a very nice, but not large, town... A block from lots of independently owned shops.... A block from several really good pubs.... Just the kind of place to watch the rest of the world turn itself inside out.

First Michael, Now This...

We've had a rash of celebrity deaths lately, but none so disturbing as the announcement today that the Taco Bell dog has passed away, victim of a massive stroke. Just 15 years old! Too young to die!

I mean, Gidget was a real cultural icon. No dog since Spuds McKenzie (remember him?) received so much attention. Having your own Taco Bell dog in your handbag became a status symbol -- just ask that pillar of good taste, Paris Hilton.

Only now do we learn that despite the heavily-accented Latino voice, the pup was really a bitch. There's something creepily ironic there, but I haven't yet figured it out.

I wonder if the survivors, and their lawyers, are fighting over her fortune. Who will take care of the children? Is it true there is tape of the pooch's comeback commercial? Let the bidding begin...