Crazy from the Heat

This has got to be the most ridiculous thing I've read this week:

At one end of a London plaza, a Fairweather Factory Store had its doors open yesterday as an air conditioner worked overtime under store lighting.

At the other end of the plaza, by the northeast corner of Wellington and Exeter roads, half the lights in Pier 1 Imports were shut off and its air conditioner set to a warmer temperature.

This contrast in power usage came a day after Premier Dalton McGuinty urged people to reduce power use after the sweltering heat pushed electricity demand in London and the province to new highs on Tuesday and sparked a small blackout yesterday.

(from Conservation Cool to Some, London Free Press, August 3, 2006, article here)

Let's say, for the sake of argument, that there really is a "shortage" of electricity in Ontario. In other words, during the warmest days of the summer, air conditioning and other uses push the demand up slightly beyond the supply offered by the local utilities. What might the government of Ontario do about this situation? Even without any economics training beyond grade 12, I find the solution entirely obvious -- raise the price of electricity to meet the marginal cost of importing it from elsewhere, and develop a long-term policy of encouraging private investment in and ownership of electricity generation in Ontario.

But the government is terrified of alienating voters, and cannot consider visible price increases. So it focuses on predictably useless pleas for conservation. But how are consumers supposed to know what is the appropriate level of energy use in their homes and businesses? Turn off the air conditioning? Turn off the lights? Turn off the computers and send people home? Stay home from the mall? Of course, faced with a given steady price for electricity and mushy pleas from the government, people respond to the former. Anyone familiar with Joseph Heath's excellent Efficient Society will recognize that the free-rider problem cannot be overcome. What incentive do I have to reduce my consumption (and my comfort and my business' prosperity) when I know that anyone else can simply ignore the problem?

Books in brief -- Barbara Ehrenreich part 2

Bait and Switch
by Barbara Ehrenreich (Henry Holt, 2005)
available in paperback at Amazon

Following the success of Nickel and Dimed, Barbara Ehrenreich undertook a similar undercover mission in 2003. She attempted to obtain a professional, white collar position in the corporate world. Whereas for Nickel and Dimed she downplayed her employment background and pretended to be a newly divorced homemaker looking to enter the workforce, for Bait and Switch she claimed a long experience in public relations and event planning. By the end of the story, she has failed to land a position and receives only an offer to become an independent insurance salesperson.

Unfortunately, Bait and Switch is not nearly as effective as Nickel and Dimed. The earlier book carefully described the work done by waitresses, Wal-Mart associates and domestic cleaners. Most of her readers likely had very little experience in these roles, perhaps except for temporary summer employment, and most readers likely learned for the first time about the awful difficulties faced by those trying to live in the United States on a wage of seven dollars per hour or less.

The problem with Bait and Switch is that Ehrenreich does not adequately explore the world of corporate (un)employment. She investigates some of the phenomena related to white-collar unemployment, such as career coaching, job fairs, networking events and long, tedious internet job searches. Some of the results, which reflect Ehrenreich's obvious suspicion about the corporate world, are quite biting, and there is no doubt that many of the motivational speakers and fashion co-ordinators, among many others, exploit the dread and anxiety of the educated unemployment and have no extraordinary knowledge about hiring. However, Ehrenreich is limited to discussing only the people she meets during her search. As someone looking for public relations work in Charlottesville, Virginia, one would have expected Ehrenreich to contact, among other people, the public relations societies in Virginia and neighbouring states. Her networking, however, is mainly limited to fellow unemployed people, very few of whom have anything to do with her chosen field. There are numerous descriptions of sessions spent listening to lectures give by motivational speakers and job coaches, but any unemployed person would likely keep these activities to a minimum. While she is reasonably sceptical of all those in the unemployment industry who encourage an almost obsessive focus on cheerfulness and likeability, at no time does she actually speak with anyone in a hiring role about what sorts of people are hired.

While Ehrenreich's adventures through job searching are often entertaining enough on their own, she unfortunately has attempted to use them in order to prove a larger point about the corporate world. She believes that professional workers have been sold a bad bill of goods -- that today's workers are encouraged to devote their entire energies to their jobs, only to be laid off without significant benefits and without a clear path of return to full-time employment. There is very little economic information presented, however, and one is never convinced of the existence of a large group of deceived and bitter professionals. While there is no doubt that corporate employment is less stable than it was in past decades, Ehrenreich does not sufficiently explain what has happened in recent decades nor how any legislative changes would help.

There is a Slate discussion about Bait and Switch between Tyler Cowen (an economist of Marginal Revolution fame) and Alan Wolfe here. Both disliked the book intensely, although Wolfe is more sympathetic to Ehrenreich's political aims.

Books in Brief -- Barbara Ehrenreich part 1

Nickel and Dimed
by Barbara Ehrenreich (Henry Holt, 2001)
available in paperback at Amazon

In 1998, Barbara Ehrenreich, previously well-known as a social activist and journalist, undertook an unenviable writing assignment. At the height of the American economic boom, she decided to investigate the living conditions of the “working poor.” Refusing to trade on her PhD and professional accomplishments, she applied for low-paying jobs as if she were a divorced homemaker newly entered into the workforce. She attempted as well to find accommodation commensurate with her earnings. Nickel and Dimed reveals her experiences as a waitress in Key West, domestic cleaner in Maine and Wal-Mart associate in Minneapolis.

The strongest parts about Nickel and Dimed are not the descriptions of the different jobs that Ehrenreich took. In fact, the jobs themselves were fairly dull. There are no tales of sexual harrassment, intimidation by management or unsafe products pushed on to store shelves. No, the best part of the book is Ehrenreich's description of her attempts to live on the wages she received. I suspect that many of her readers have never had to face anything worse than a cramped university dormitory or small apartment. Insisting to herself that she not supplement her earnings with her “real life” savings, she was forced to live in trailer parks and long-term motels. Some of these places lacked security, privacy or kitchens, and in nearly all cases were worse than a standard hotel room.

In the last chapter, Ehrenreich attempts to make some sense of her experience. She argues that during the boom years, wages at the bottom of the workforce did increase, but also that the cost of living rose even more. (Also, low-wage workers tend not to be able to access information on labour conditions and thus cannot bargain effectively, meaning that wages are lower than one would expect.) She is angry that an American working full-time for the minimum wage and supporting a child would be unable to afford a safe apartment, and would be forced instead to live in ramshackle motels or to accept temporary accommodation and childcare from willing friends and relatives.

Nickel and Dimed is not perfect social science – there is little in the way of providing the context about how many Americans struggle to live on low wages. Like many angry authors (Eric Schlosser's Fast Food Nation comes to mind), she does not adequately explain whether the problems she found have changed over time or are any worse today than before “neoconservatives” took over and cut programs. On the other hand, her lack of jargon is refreshing, and her descriptions of menial labour are more revealing than any academic survey could be. For a book that can be read over a day or two, Nickel and Dimed is an excellent description of the struggles that many Americans live through.

One other thing should be pointed out – I think Ehrenreich is guilty of the crime discussed in Andrew Potter and Joseph Heath's suberb Rebel Sell. Potter and Heath argue that many in the countercultural left reject specific concrete policy reforms as insufficient and instead favour all-encompassing psychological or spiritual shifts as a means to deal with social problems. In her last chapter, Ehrenreich hints at some government initiatives that might alleviate the condition of the working poor, including health insurance, free or subsidized child care, subsidized housing and public transportation. Strangely, however, she does not explore any of these possibilities and, at the end of the book, provides a rather apocalyptic solution: “Someday, of course ... they are bound to tire of getting so little in return and to demand to be paid what they're worth. There'll be a lot of anger when that day comes, and strikes and disruption. But the sky will not fall, and we will all be better off for it in the end.” In the meantime, as Potter and Heath would argue, there are some things we could probably do.

Pesticides

Here in London, Ontario, the city council has voted to ban the cosmetic use of pesticides. I don't follow the news all that closely here, but my impression is that this issue has been pushed heavily by activist groups and a few councillors over the last few years. A few opinion polls showing support for a ban were released, and I think the results led some wavering councillors to fear that the issue might be used against them in the November municipal elections.

I haven't studied this issue in any depth. But I do have a few concerns.

1) The by-law, as implemented, carries the penalty of a fine under the Provincial Offences Act. But, really, I can't see how anyone at City Hall is going to catch offenders. What is to stop anyone from driving to Strathroy or St. Thomas and purchasing his or her favourite weed-killer? I doubt whether by-law officers will be dispatched to check the toxicity levels of private lawns. Now, some will respond that the point of the by-law is to educate and persuade local residents, thereby gradually reducing the use of pesticides and not necessarily to eliminate them immediately. Of course, if the proponents of a ban are to be believed, then pesticides are not safe at any level, and so the continued use of pesticides by those still committed to achieving perfect lawns will prevent the elimination of whatever health risks there are.

2) Beyond the problem of enforcement, the by-law has exemptions for many uses of pesticides, including pools, farming, infestations, golf courses, playing fields, and utility rights of way. Frankly, given that there are at least several golf courses and many sports fields within the city, the use of pesticides will still be significant. Again, the implication is that reduction, and not elimination, in usage is the most important thing. (And the three-year phase-in of the by-law suggests that the health risks are not urgent.) But, of course, what we've been hearing is that pesticides at any level are unsafe.

The London Coalition Against Pesticides (LCAP), which, based on the article above, appears to be the main advocacy group pushing for a ban, addresses the golf course issue in a report it recently submitted to a city committee. Interestingly, however, while the report denies that there is any improper discrimination, it does not explain why the continued use of any pesticides should be permitted given their allegedly dangerous effects.

3) The city councillors voting in favour of the ban have not pointed to any evidence of the health risks allegedly created by the use of pesticides. The London Free Press article linked to above mentions that "ban supporters concede there's little or no scientific evidence showing a direct link between pesticide use and health issues." The LCAP report refers to a report prepared in April 2004 by the Ontario College of Family Physicians. The report is a long (188 pages) review article summarizing the results of other studies. I'm not qualified to assess the report's conclusion, but then again I suspect that no one on London City Council is either. In the end, the OCFP and LCAP's best argument is that there is a link or association between pesticides and illness. Which is of course true. Any significant exposure to pesticides would be dangerous -- I wouldn't drink the stuff from a bottle.

But the problem is that any chemical will be dangerous at a certain level, and that the job of the state is to determine whether a chemical can be safely used. I saw a federal government employee make a similar point when quoted in a local community newspaper. Pesticides are safe when used according to directions. In the end, what I suspect we have here is a local manifestation of the emerging trend towards environmental nostalgia. People were a lot healthier back in the days before "chemicals," and we were better people before the Americans and their corporate partners got us addicted to pesticides, crude oil and agricultural hormones. These are largely aesthetic judgments, and so evidence is not required, or even wanted.

Books in brief -- I am Charlotte Simmons

I am Charlotte Simmons
by Tom Wolfe (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2004)
Available in paperback at Amazon

(The novel was fairly heavily reviewed when it came out in late 2004. Perhaps the longest discussion of it is this Slate "book club" entry.)

Charlotte Simmons, a brilliant student from the mountains of North Carolina, enters Dupont University with the hopes of entering a world of those who live the “life of the mind.” During her first year, however, her mission is derailed by a relationship with a popular fraternity member.

There are four main characters, and, in typical Wolfe fashion, their lives are connected in various ways throughout the novel. Hoyt Thorpe, the fraternity member, lives only to show the world his masculine strength and to achieve sexual conquests. His grades are low, and only infrequently does he painfully consider that his future in investment banking is not secure. Adam Gellin, a bitter, resentful senior, writes for the college newspaper. He falls for Charlotte and hopes that she will rescue him from his humiliating virginity, but she never returns his desire. Finally, there is Jojo Johanssen, a player on the Dupont basketball team. Completely narcissistic at the start, he gradually commits himself to genuine learning.

On one level, this novel works. Much as he did in The Bonfire of the Vanities and A Man in Full, Wolfe creates highly entertaining scenes. His descriptions of human behavior, whether the embarrassment and loneliness Charlotte experiences at a fraternity party or the various ways in which Adam tries to overcome his lower male status, will be familiar to nearly anyone who has gone to school.

The main problem is Wolfe’s depiction of Dupont University. Dupont is supposed to be an elite institution, on a level with Harvard and Princeton. But none of the students is interested in learning anything. Even Adam, who must be getting excellent grades if he thinks he’s good enough for a Rhodes, is content with bull sessions with a small group of equally resentful student journalists. At a top school, one would expect most of the students to be studying throughout the week and to limit their going out to the weekend. There are, to be sure, some hints of academic interest in the novel. One of Hoyt’s closest fraternity brothers refers, somewhat embarrassingly, to his continually being “hung up” at the library. On the other hand, there is not a trace of the departmental clubs, extra-curricular societies and student competition that one would expect at any university. There will be some who may argue that, sure, Wolfe would have thrown these in if he had had to, but they’re not important to the story of Charlotte and her three suitors. The problem with that argument is that Wolfe implies that Charlotte isn’t able to find anyone or anything academically interesting and that she can’t meet anyone other than these three males during the first term of school. There are several scenes in which Charlotte must walk past fellow members of her residence building to get to her room. Not once is it suggested that she has learned the first thing about any of these girls. Either Wolfe has missed the fundamental camaraderie and curiosity that exist among freshmen, or Charlotte is the dullest, most unsympathetic student at the school.

Overall, therefore, the value of this novel is less, much less, than the sum of its parts. I am not surprised that it did not garner much critical attention when it appeared.

The Tragedy of the Comedy

After watching Wedding Crashers last night, I've come to believe even more strongly in what I might like to call Spadinasaur's Rule of Movie Comedies -- the first half is always better than the second half. I'm also thinking here of Annie Hall, Office Space, Trading Places, His Girl Friday and The Philadelphia Story. The humour in the first half of these movies almost seems effortless, merely a matter of setting several characters loose into a world at which they are at odds. In the second half, however, there is generally a resolution of the conflict, which requires the kind of dramatic action and sentimentalism that the movie was smart to avoid in the first place.

July 1992

Well, my friend at Liberalia has spurred me to get back into the game. But, first, a true story...

During the summer of 1992, between my second and third undergraduate years, I was a member of the Governor General's Foot Guards. Being a Guardsman involved completing reserve infantry training in the Canadian Forces and also performing in the Changing of the Guard ceremony on Parliament Hill in Ottawa. (The ceremony, with the famous bearskin hats, rifles and red tunics, is performed at 10:00 a.m. every day during July and August, which is the tourist high season in Ottawa.) There were some Guardsmen who were members of the unit throughout the school year, but I was one of the many who were there only for the summer. There was another regiment (the Grenadier Guards from Montreal) which also did the ceremony, so the regiments alternated between infantry training and ceremonial duties throughout the summer. During the five days of ceremonial duties, each Guardsman would typically do four days on Parliament Hill and one day at the Governor General's residence at Rideau Hall. During that time, the other regiment would either be in infantry training or on leave.

At Rideau Hall, there are two Guardsmen on duty at the end of the long driveway near Sussex Drive (the "gate") and two immediately outside the Hall (the "house"). Each shift runs for an hour. The Guardsmen not on duty at any particular time spend their free time in a house on the grounds. The same Guardsman pairs are employed throughout the summer for Rideau Hall duties. One of the pair is the senior and the other is the junior. That system allows everyone to train with the same person all summer and to become comfortable with the other person's habits. The senior Guardsman is the one responsible for calling out the signals for salutes and synchronized short marches while on duty.

To be honest, I was not one of the highest ranking Guardsmen, and so when Queen Elizabeth visited for Canada Day activities, I was left out of a special parade. That meant I was given Rideau Hall duties on July 1 along with the other Guardsmen who weren't selected for the parade. The guy I was usually paired up with was selected, so for one day I was with a new guy at Rideau Hall. As it turned out, he was my bunk mate -- a nice French-Canadian guy who always had amazingly shiny drill boots. I was selected as the senior.

Now, as the Queen was in residence at Rideau Hall during that time, I was a little more nervous than usual. The rule is that if a general officer or the Queen is in the immediate area, the Guardsmen on duty perform a "royal" or "general" salute with their rifles. Because the Guardsmen on duty are not permitted to turn their heads, it's not always easy to see who's walking around, and so there are NCO's making sure that the Guardsmen do the right thing. Despite that, I had a terrible fear that I would miss the Queen's entrance, fail to call out a royal salute, suffer a dismissal from the regiment and find my way into the newspapers in perpetuity. So I was vigilant, to say the least. During our hour at the house, I noticed a car driving up towards us with its lights flashing. No one came up to say anything, so I didn't know who these visitors were. All the same, I got more worried by the second about the possibility of missing the Queen going by. It's a really long driveway, and I recall that you could see for about a hundred yards or so towards Sussex Drive. And, of course, the car was not moving quickly. There was therefore a long period of time -- maybe thirty seconds -- during which the humiliating possibilities came to mind. The car came to a stop immediately outside the door, about fifteen feet or so from me. I took the plunge and, with three sharp taps of my rifle butt on the ground, called out a royal salute. My partner had no say in the manner, so he and I went into the familiar drill. The maneuver ends with both Guardsmen holding their rifles vertically and looking in towards the middle. While in this position, I could see several people exit the vehicle and walk the short distance to the front door of Rideau Hall. It wasn't the Queen who entered. No, it was someone else entirely. For about two seconds, I made eye contact with...

Conrad Black.