Nuclear 101 (through 238)

So: Nuclear Power. If you can pronounce it, we can talk about it (that means W, stop here).
An editorial in the Washington Post this morning discussed the reemergence of nuclear power plants throughout the world, and how this is a positive step for cleaner, more reliable energy, and how "...this thinking is eclipsing old-school anti-nuclear environmentalism."
Uh-oh.
My first reaction was, "WHAT!?" Do they know WHY environmentalism was anti-nuclear in the first place? It isn't just because melt-downs can and have caused worldwide radioactive contamination that have killed thousands over a long, slow agonizing period, or that in this age of homeland security nuclear power plants are essentially huge HIT IT HERE marks.
First and foremost, by switching more completely to nuclear power, we aren't solving anything. We are replacing one finite resource (and hazardous bi-product) with another. Historically this has occurred, with the same basic results: we run out and switch to something else. We (as a species) relied on wood for energy and heat; we began to run out of trees. So we went to blubber; we ran low on whales. Then on to coal; mined up the most available of it. Switch to petroleum; now we go to war and dig up things we've historically called 'Wildlife Refuges' to find even a tiny bit more. Nuclear power is no different--we will mine pitchblende and refine it until we run low, then this situation will arise again. At least we are consistent, no?
The biggest problem with nuclear power is that its waste isn't CO2 (as it is with wood, coal and petroleum) but rather, radioactive spent fuel rods, that have a half-life of between 6,500 and 24,000 but can be up to 4.47 billion years (yeah that's billion years. The half-life depends on the amount of P-240 and U-238 isotopes left in the rod--the more U-238, the greater the half-life). Basically that means that the fuel rods are, and will be, highly radioactive for at least that amount of time. So radioactive in fact that they cannot be handled, breathed or around organisms or water; they must be held in an lead and concrete lined, secure area. Hence the whole Yucca Mountain debate, where the US government is trying to assure us that they can build a secure facility that can hold these spent radioactive fuel rods for the next 24,000 years or so without them leaking, being dug up and used for weapons, or killing us all.
Nuclear Power Basics:
Nuclear power plants are run similarly to a coal or petroleum power plant--they create enough steam to drive massive turbines, which generate immense amounts of power. This energy is from nuclear fission, which is sorta complicated and I won't get into it, dealing with nuclei being split with neutron. Ooh big chem words. The basic "fuel" is uranium, which has three basic isotopes found naturally: U-235, U-238, and U-238 (difference: number of neutrons, but you knew that). The isotope U-235 is important because under certain conditions it can be easily split, producing immense amounts of energy, so that's the magic potion for the power plants.
Lots of science makes the U-235 eventually break down into P-240 (plutonium isotope), and when the level of U-235 in the rods is too low, the spent fuel rods are removed (an average power plant produces about 25 tonnes a year, each containing about 640lbs of plutonium). Now there is a process to recycle these rods to get the 'usable' isotopes out of those spent fuel rods, but guess which is the only country in the world that won't do it? Yup. That's US. So yeah, that's some really, really nasty shit that we get to keep as little rods that we must hang onto for 20,000 years or so.
And here's my favorite part: the SO WHAT? factor...
While nuclear power is much more efficient than any of the current generators, it is still finite, extremely hazardous and produces long-term byproducts that we are not equipped to deal with.
The solution that needs to be addressed is not just our source of power, but the ridiculous amount we use. Basically we just need to use less, which requires a greater paradigm shift than a shift in power supply allows.
Curtain.

By Grace My Sight Grows Stronger

This morning I had my mp3s on shuffle and "Philosophy of Loss" by the Indigo Girls came on. It was the secret song on their 1999 album and every time I listen to it the words slay me. In the song, Emily Sailers writes,
"Modern scribes write
In Jesus Christ everyone is free
And the doors open wide to all straight men and women
But they are not open to me..."
The first time I heard that I think I cried. I want to scream. I am a Christian, but it seems the only thing I agree with other Christians about is Christ. I am strongly convicted by certain social issues, issues that I believe are greater than the right/wrong polarity the "religious right" make them out to be. Thing is, I have to believe that Christ is greater than the gay-marriage debate, the abortion debate, the Iraq war, the red state/blue state battle. If I don't believe that---well, I don't know what would happen. My convictions or my beliefs? I don't want to simply accept that the doors should be closed for anyone, I cannot gloss over the idea that certain "sins" can be seen as ok, while others are grounds for ostracizing everyone else. I am a sinner! Kick me out! The Apostle Paul spent his life killing Christians before his conversion, yet wrote most of the New Testament. In 1 Corinthians 15:10 he says, "But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me was not without effect." Why then, have we lost this ability to see everyone around us as works in progress, as beautifully imperfect? By the grace of God I am what I am--who are you to say that that grace is not without effect? Let grace be effective and the world will change.
I should say that I do not believe, to any degree, that homosexuality is a sin. At all. I am vehement in this. I considered volunteering in ministry but wavered when I read what they wanted me to sign, stating that homosexuality was a sin. I cannot--I will not--put my name on that which I am fighting against. But I look at those I love who are gay--family included--and my heart breaks at the religious rejection they face. It is a struggle to put my name into the group that can look my brother in the eye and say he is not welcome into the house of God, simply because he is himself. Why is it that what I have done is forgivable, but who he is can be unacceptable? He is my brother, and I know, with my whole heart, that he is loved by Christ.
And how dare you to tell him otherwise.

The Cut

As per request, here is the haircut. This photo makes my forehead look big. This is me getting the necessary shot after said cut.

Life/Hair

First and foremost: Yes I changed the name of my blog. Not that you noticed, but now that I said it go ahead and look. Fresh start and all, and the old one was just too long. This is probably the 4th or 5th name change said blog has had in the two and a half years of its existence. It morphs, get over it.
Blame it on the fact that I never had a goldfish as a kid.
So yesterday I chopped my hair off.
It was 8 or 9 inches of hair just gone, lobbed off in the name of thousands of thoughts and reasons, and a rather serious hatred of the pony tail.
Why do we women make hair changes out to be life changing moments?
I definitely do--I can remember what happened before or after I had big hair changes, how they sort of narrate the seasons, relationships, hopes, fears, trips, trials. I've been wanting to cut my hair since before graduation, and somehow haven't been able to muster the courage to do so. I had this strange conviction that when I did it would be symbolic--of what I haven't been able to fully note, and therein lies its mystery. Strange how something as seemingly minor as a hair cut could signify an actual shift in something greater.
Afterward, my friend and I went straight to the bar next door for a double shot. The bartender looked at us and said, "What are you two ladies doing in here at 3pm on a Wednesday?" and I told her that I'd just had 8 inches of hair chopped off and she smiled and understood.
It's the closest I may ever come to starting clean slated.

Just Call Me Angela Basset

Lately I've been really obsessed with questions about reality and generations and future and politics and emotional turmoil and thankfully today I was freed a bit from my thinking. The sun's glorious warmth and busting out my cropped pants for the first time all year added to the ease of the mind. It's amazing how a little bit of a wardrobe change can solidify the shift. Today was supposed to get to 80 and did not disappoint, though yes there still is a snowpile out side the work windows. This is a weird, weird place, this state.
My friend called to see what time I got off work, and I met Liz and Paul at my apartment, changed quickly and took the forested trail to Linear Park (which, for some reason, I can't stop calling Learner, b/c I can't seem to 'learn' the correct name--get it?? bah.). I got way too excited about the creek that wound beside the path, as I am a recovering kayaker who is unable to stop the planning of vicarious paddling routes of any and all bodies of moving water. This creek would have been KILLER if I was half my size. I would probably paddle it now just to make myself feel better about my skills, but as I haven't paddling in a long time it would probably work me anyway. Dammit. Anyway, so we find a nice grassy area and Paul proceeds to set up a rather wide croquet golf course, and the games commence. Down the hill, under the picnic table, deflect off the trash can, move those dang sticks, etc. It was a rousing game and a beautiful time to do it.
Back to the apt in time for the new Gilmore Girls (Lorelai Gilmore is my TV BFF. don't judge me) while Paul cooked for us (WOOHOO!). And if you add in the Yancy's Fancy cheese with triscuits and green apples it's like heaven!
Basically, everything about this afternoon/evening clicked. It flowed and it was, it simply was and what a refreshing thing simply being can be, when being is so relentlessly complicated. I can exhale into the spring, and feel myself gain life again. I waited to exhale, and I finally can.
(Hence the Angela Basset comment..."Waiting to Exhale"? Oh nevermind.)