Good Intentions, Part Deux

Now Playing: Statesboro Blues (the Allman Brothers version, written by Blind Willie McTell) “I love that woman, better than any woman I’ve ever seen; Well, I love that woman, better than any woman I’ve ever seen. Well, Now she treat me like a king, yeah, yeah, yeah, And she look like a dog gone queen.”

Yesterday I wrote about my good intentions in watching this year’s NCAA basketball tournament. And how the road to hell is lined with them. And hell is where I ended up, given the results of last night’s game. Which I watched less than 60 seconds of.

Today, more on good intentions. The very best ones. And they seem to be falling miserably short, at least of what we thought when they started.

I’m speaking of the General Assembly’s mandate a couple of years ago that the state’s utilities start generating an increasing amount of their electricity by renewable means. What could sound better? We all envision clean sources – solar, wind, methane extraction and all sorts of green technologies. And some of that may still happen. There are several large solar farms being built around the state, and they can and will produce some of the energy we need. Wind seems stalled – it’s a NIMBY-sort of thing, though for the life of me I’m not sure I understand why.

Interlude: Eric Clapton’s reggae version of Knocking On Heaven’s Door. Which is better than Axl’s but can’t touch the original by Dylan.

But instead of wind and sun, here’s what we’re likely to get: more nuclear energy. (Give me the warm power of the sun.) And burning chicken crap. And trees. Which means the energy will, yes, be renewable, but not particularly environmentally friendly. The chicken-crap power presents an interesting pricing battle between three companies that want to build plants to do and their inability – so far – to reach agreement with the utilities that would buy it. The burners appear to have the utilities over a barrel – an unusual position for them – because the state Utilities Commission says it will hold the utilities to the requirements. But right, it’s a big game of – yes, I’m going to say it – chicken.

I’m a realist. I know we need power – and renewable sources for it. But burning chicken crap and wood doesn’t seem like the best solution. Not that I know one.

But I have good intentions.


“At eighteen our convictions are hills from which we look; at forty-five they are caves in which we hide.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald.


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