Countries that get addicted to selling their natural resources rarely develop their human resources and the educational institutions and innovative companies that go with that. So after the ore has been mined, the trees cut and the oil pumped, their people are actually even more behind.
ProfTom
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Sunday, June 11, 2006
In this economical life, values rise exponentially
By Scott Burns June 11, 2006
RED RIVER, N.M. -- Think of it as the ultimate downsizing. My wife and I have now spent two long weekends in our 1971 Airstream trailer. In a cabin that measures 20 feet by 7 feet, our aluminum cocoon contains everything needed for daily living. It also opens a radically different perspective on daily living.
We'll get to that, the immaterial perspective, in due course. But let's start with the details of our miniature world.
A couch traverses the front end of the trailer. The kitchen is ever so slightly farther back. The stove and sink are on to port, or street side. The refrigerator and storage are to starboard .
An aircraft like bulkhead separates the kitchen/dining/living area just described from the bedroom. It contains a twin bed that extends to three-quarters, on the curb side. Open boxes below the bed contain our wine cellar, tools, and extra linens. A wardrobe closet and chest are street side.
Just beyond that, separated by another bulkhead, you will find the, ahem, master bath. It contains a toilet and tiny sink. The tiny floor area doubles as a shower, much like the bathrooms on small sailing yachts.
The Airstream is like the classic description of small hotel rooms: So small you have to leave the room to change your mind. But it doesn't feel small, even though both of its occupants are admitted house addicts.
That's not hyperbole. My wife and I love houses. We can't live without them. We can't visit a strange city or place without reading real estate ads. We are so crazy, we could visit Chicago in winter and contemplate buying a condo. Ditto, vacations in Mexico: Gee, wouldn't it be nice to have a place here in San Miguel?
In fact, we don't spend much money on vacations because we're always in the middle of a remodeling project, and it always costs more than we thought it would. Basically, we need help. We need a 12-step program, a Homeowners Anonymous.
I say this freely, without embarrassment, because we're not alone. As Americans, most of us are addicted to our homes. We covet them when we are young. We buy the largest we can possibly afford through our working lives. And we are afraid to leave them when we are old -- even when the maintenance is difficult, the expense is a burden, and much of that coveted space is unused.
What amazes us is the pleasure of our small space. We have light on four sides, plus the skylights. Few rooms in conventional dwellings have that. A laptop with Bose speakers serves as our music and entertainment center. A 1-gig flash drive brings up hours of additional music each week. A small stack of DVDs will help us catch up on movies. Wireless Internet keeps us in touch with the world, without wastepaper. A small rack in the living area holds current books.
There is little to take care of and everything we need is at hand. Daily life has suddenly become simple. It's easy to wonder: Why do we let our normal lives become so complicated? For the first (and probably only) time in our lives, we are living in a gated community: Roadrunner RV Resort provides residents with a temporary gate card. And we are surrounded by beauty that is somewhere between priceless and very pricey.
We are also surrounded by easy community. Without ceremony or much attention to detail, we arrange to cook outdoors and share two dinners with neighbors across the creek.
We can't remember how long ago it was possible to arrange impromptu dinners with friends. Definitely years, maybe decades.
Perhaps, we wonder, it isn't the speed of our lives that makes community so difficult. Maybe it is just the incredible bulk of our possessions and shelter.
On our morning walk, stunned by the beauty of the mountains and the clear blue sky, my wife and I experience a simultaneous revelation, a fundamental concept buried under decades of contrary advertising.
It is not necessary to own something to experience it. Some things are better experienced without thought to ownership.
Scott Burns is a columnist for the Dallas Morning News. E-mail questions to scott@scottburns.com; fax to 214-977-8776; or mail to Scott Burns, The Dallas Morning News, P.O. Box 655237, Dallas, TX 75265.
By Scott Burns June 11, 2006
RED RIVER, N.M. -- Think of it as the ultimate downsizing. My wife and I have now spent two long weekends in our 1971 Airstream trailer. In a cabin that measures 20 feet by 7 feet, our aluminum cocoon contains everything needed for daily living. It also opens a radically different perspective on daily living.
We'll get to that, the immaterial perspective, in due course. But let's start with the details of our miniature world.
A couch traverses the front end of the trailer. The kitchen is ever so slightly farther back. The stove and sink are on to port, or street side. The refrigerator and storage are to starboard .
An aircraft like bulkhead separates the kitchen/dining/living area just described from the bedroom. It contains a twin bed that extends to three-quarters, on the curb side. Open boxes below the bed contain our wine cellar, tools, and extra linens. A wardrobe closet and chest are street side.
Just beyond that, separated by another bulkhead, you will find the, ahem, master bath. It contains a toilet and tiny sink. The tiny floor area doubles as a shower, much like the bathrooms on small sailing yachts.
The Airstream is like the classic description of small hotel rooms: So small you have to leave the room to change your mind. But it doesn't feel small, even though both of its occupants are admitted house addicts.
That's not hyperbole. My wife and I love houses. We can't live without them. We can't visit a strange city or place without reading real estate ads. We are so crazy, we could visit Chicago in winter and contemplate buying a condo. Ditto, vacations in Mexico: Gee, wouldn't it be nice to have a place here in San Miguel?
In fact, we don't spend much money on vacations because we're always in the middle of a remodeling project, and it always costs more than we thought it would. Basically, we need help. We need a 12-step program, a Homeowners Anonymous.
I say this freely, without embarrassment, because we're not alone. As Americans, most of us are addicted to our homes. We covet them when we are young. We buy the largest we can possibly afford through our working lives. And we are afraid to leave them when we are old -- even when the maintenance is difficult, the expense is a burden, and much of that coveted space is unused.
What amazes us is the pleasure of our small space. We have light on four sides, plus the skylights. Few rooms in conventional dwellings have that. A laptop with Bose speakers serves as our music and entertainment center. A 1-gig flash drive brings up hours of additional music each week. A small stack of DVDs will help us catch up on movies. Wireless Internet keeps us in touch with the world, without wastepaper. A small rack in the living area holds current books.
There is little to take care of and everything we need is at hand. Daily life has suddenly become simple. It's easy to wonder: Why do we let our normal lives become so complicated? For the first (and probably only) time in our lives, we are living in a gated community: Roadrunner RV Resort provides residents with a temporary gate card. And we are surrounded by beauty that is somewhere between priceless and very pricey.
We are also surrounded by easy community. Without ceremony or much attention to detail, we arrange to cook outdoors and share two dinners with neighbors across the creek.
We can't remember how long ago it was possible to arrange impromptu dinners with friends. Definitely years, maybe decades.
Perhaps, we wonder, it isn't the speed of our lives that makes community so difficult. Maybe it is just the incredible bulk of our possessions and shelter.
On our morning walk, stunned by the beauty of the mountains and the clear blue sky, my wife and I experience a simultaneous revelation, a fundamental concept buried under decades of contrary advertising.
It is not necessary to own something to experience it. Some things are better experienced without thought to ownership.
Scott Burns is a columnist for the Dallas Morning News. E-mail questions to scott@scottburns.com; fax to 214-977-8776; or mail to Scott Burns, The Dallas Morning News, P.O. Box 655237, Dallas, TX 75265.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
A Well of Smiths and Xias
By THOMAS L. FRIEDMAN
Muhammad Waqar, Avi Wolfman-Arent, Yiran Xia, Victoria Sandoval, Jacqueline Orellana-Flores, Elizabeth Packer, Ramona Singh, Anuja Shah, Mayra Ramos, Emily-Kate Hannapel, Natasha Perez, Samir Paul, Ekta Taneja, Linden Vongsathorn, Michael Tsai, Nardos Teklebrahan, Matiwos Wondwosen ...
I went to a high school graduation Monday and a United Nations meeting broke out.
The commencement was my daughter Natalie's, the high school was Montgomery Blair in Silver Spring, Md. There were some 700 kids receiving their diplomas, and as I sat there for two hours listening to each one's name pronounced, I became both fascinated and touched by the stunning diversity — race, religion, ethnicity — of the graduating class. I knew my daughter's school was diverse, but I had no idea it was this diverse.
The names above, which I just pulled from the graduation book, were typical of her entire class, which included exactly five people named "Smith." In my high school in Minnesota it seemed like there were only five people not named "Smith."
My daughter told me that the names in her class can be so difficult to pronounce that for graduation the school had all the students write their names phonetically on a card so the announcer would not mangle them in front of family and friends.
There is a lot to be worried about in America today: a war in Iraq that is getting worse not better, an administration whose fiscal irresponsibility we will be paying for for a long time, an education system that is not producing enough young Americans skilled in math and science, and inner cities where way too many black males are failing. We must work harder and get smarter if we want to maintain our standard of living.
But if there is one reason to still be optimistic about America it is represented by the stunning diversity of the Montgomery Blair class of 2006. America is still the world's greatest human magnet. We are not the only country that embraces diversity, but there is something about our free society and free market that still attracts people like no other. Our greatest asset is our ability to still cream off not only the first-round intellectual draft choices from around the world but the low-skilled-high-aspiring ones as well, and that is the main reason that I am not yet ready to cede the 21st century to China. Our Chinese will still beat their Chinese.
This influx of brainy and brawny immigrants is our oil well — one that never runs dry. It is an endless source of renewable human energy and creativity. Congress ought to stop debating gay marriage and finally give us a framework to maintain a free flow of legal immigration.
What is so striking about Blair is that it is just a neighborhood public high school. It was not designed to be diverse. Yes, it has some magnet programs, but for the most part it just reflects its surroundings — about one-third black, one-third Hispanic and one-third Noah's Ark of everyone else.
As I mingled with the other parents afterward, waiting for our kids to emerge from the ceremony, I found myself at one point surrounded by families in which no one was speaking English.
The only familiar voice that came through the din was one that made me laugh — an African-American mom, gripping her child's diploma, saying: "This diploma is mine! I'm keeping this!" She said she had worked as hard as her kid for this day. Bless her heart, as I am sure she spoke for many parents.
It is hard to watch a graduation like this and not think about our enemies in Iraq and Afghanistan — the Taliban, Islamo-totalitarians like bin Laden and Zarqawi, and the retrograde regimes that support them. Their whole mind-set is about how to purify their world from "the other," from diversity, from "infidels." With enough brutality, they may win in Iraq. I still hope not.
But they will never win the future — because as soon as their oil wells run dry, their societies will be as barren, bland and unproductive as their deserts.
Our oil wells, by contrast, will still be pumping. They're right there, hiding in plain sight, in the Blair commencement book:
Yueyang Li, Kenia Lopez-Reyes, Lucy Fromyer, Raya Steinberg, Zahra Gordon, Sreva Ghosh, Juan-Jesus Louis, Yendil Furcal, Yenusa Eke, Sofonias Frezghi, Yohanes Dejen, Edra Comegys-Brisbane, Yoel Castillio-Ortiz, Elijah Zuares, Placido Zelaya, Mimi Zou. And Jessica Smith.
By THOMAS L. FRIEDMAN
Muhammad Waqar, Avi Wolfman-Arent, Yiran Xia, Victoria Sandoval, Jacqueline Orellana-Flores, Elizabeth Packer, Ramona Singh, Anuja Shah, Mayra Ramos, Emily-Kate Hannapel, Natasha Perez, Samir Paul, Ekta Taneja, Linden Vongsathorn, Michael Tsai, Nardos Teklebrahan, Matiwos Wondwosen ...
I went to a high school graduation Monday and a United Nations meeting broke out.
The commencement was my daughter Natalie's, the high school was Montgomery Blair in Silver Spring, Md. There were some 700 kids receiving their diplomas, and as I sat there for two hours listening to each one's name pronounced, I became both fascinated and touched by the stunning diversity — race, religion, ethnicity — of the graduating class. I knew my daughter's school was diverse, but I had no idea it was this diverse.
The names above, which I just pulled from the graduation book, were typical of her entire class, which included exactly five people named "Smith." In my high school in Minnesota it seemed like there were only five people not named "Smith."
My daughter told me that the names in her class can be so difficult to pronounce that for graduation the school had all the students write their names phonetically on a card so the announcer would not mangle them in front of family and friends.
There is a lot to be worried about in America today: a war in Iraq that is getting worse not better, an administration whose fiscal irresponsibility we will be paying for for a long time, an education system that is not producing enough young Americans skilled in math and science, and inner cities where way too many black males are failing. We must work harder and get smarter if we want to maintain our standard of living.
But if there is one reason to still be optimistic about America it is represented by the stunning diversity of the Montgomery Blair class of 2006. America is still the world's greatest human magnet. We are not the only country that embraces diversity, but there is something about our free society and free market that still attracts people like no other. Our greatest asset is our ability to still cream off not only the first-round intellectual draft choices from around the world but the low-skilled-high-aspiring ones as well, and that is the main reason that I am not yet ready to cede the 21st century to China. Our Chinese will still beat their Chinese.
This influx of brainy and brawny immigrants is our oil well — one that never runs dry. It is an endless source of renewable human energy and creativity. Congress ought to stop debating gay marriage and finally give us a framework to maintain a free flow of legal immigration.
What is so striking about Blair is that it is just a neighborhood public high school. It was not designed to be diverse. Yes, it has some magnet programs, but for the most part it just reflects its surroundings — about one-third black, one-third Hispanic and one-third Noah's Ark of everyone else.
As I mingled with the other parents afterward, waiting for our kids to emerge from the ceremony, I found myself at one point surrounded by families in which no one was speaking English.
The only familiar voice that came through the din was one that made me laugh — an African-American mom, gripping her child's diploma, saying: "This diploma is mine! I'm keeping this!" She said she had worked as hard as her kid for this day. Bless her heart, as I am sure she spoke for many parents.
It is hard to watch a graduation like this and not think about our enemies in Iraq and Afghanistan — the Taliban, Islamo-totalitarians like bin Laden and Zarqawi, and the retrograde regimes that support them. Their whole mind-set is about how to purify their world from "the other," from diversity, from "infidels." With enough brutality, they may win in Iraq. I still hope not.
But they will never win the future — because as soon as their oil wells run dry, their societies will be as barren, bland and unproductive as their deserts.
Our oil wells, by contrast, will still be pumping. They're right there, hiding in plain sight, in the Blair commencement book:
Yueyang Li, Kenia Lopez-Reyes, Lucy Fromyer, Raya Steinberg, Zahra Gordon, Sreva Ghosh, Juan-Jesus Louis, Yendil Furcal, Yenusa Eke, Sofonias Frezghi, Yohanes Dejen, Edra Comegys-Brisbane, Yoel Castillio-Ortiz, Elijah Zuares, Placido Zelaya, Mimi Zou. And Jessica Smith.
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