« January 2007 | Main | March 2007 »

February 28, 2007

A Tale of Two Homesteads

04 Floorplan.jpgConsider energy consumer A: His mansion consumes more electricity every month than the average American household uses in an entire year.

The average household in America consumes 10,656 kilowatt-hours (kWh) per year, according to the Department of Energy. In 2006, this home devoured nearly 221,000 kWh—more than 20 times the national average.

Last August alone, it burned through 22,619 kWh—guzzling more than twice the electricity in one month than an average American family uses in an entire year. As a result of his energy consumption, his average monthly electric bill topped $1,359.

The extravagant energy use does not stop at his electric bill. Natural gas bills for the mansion and guest house averaged $1,080 per month last year.

In total, he paid nearly $30,000 in combined electricity and natural gas bills for his Nashville estate in 2006.

Consider energy consumer B: His 4,000-square-foot house is a model of environmental rectitude. Geothermal heat pumps located in a central closet circulate water through pipes buried 300 feet deep in the ground where the temperature is a constant 67 degrees; the water heats the house in the winter and cools it in the summer. Systems such as the one in this "eco-friendly" dwelling use about 25% of the electricity that traditional heating and cooling systems utilize. A 25,000-gallon underground cistern collects rainwater gathered from roof runs; wastewater from sinks, toilets and showers goes into underground purifying tanks and is also funneled into the cistern. The water from the cistern is used to irrigate the landscaping surrounding the four-bedroom home. Plants and flowers native to the high prairie area blend the structure into the surrounding ecosystem.

Energy consumer A: Al Gore.

Energy consumer B: George W. Bush.

February 26, 2007

Secure in their persons

keyhole.gifA recent article in the Economist magazine explores how cell phones, PDAs, and other digital tools are becoming useful as payment mechanisms. A related opinion piece (subscription required, alas), touches briefly on privacy issues, one of my favorite subjects.

Some of my friends have written to express concern about the risks of transacting online, and how it may compromise their privacy. I've had considerable experience with eCommerce, and my first observation is that eCom is relatively safe in terms of ID theft. There were some lamentable lapses as the model developed, but best practices are now well-understood and nearly universally implemented to mitigate these risks.

The problems arise when databases of identity data are compromised physically; i.e., the theft of a laptop with credit card numbers on it. The vast majority of credit card number lists for sale (from nefarious interests to other nefarious interests) are compiled of conventionally obtained data (hard copy receipts, bills stolen from mailboxes, snatched purses and picked pockets, etc.)

I have to observe that the clearinghouses and banks have done a rather good job of scaring the bejesus out of Joe Sixpack with their "Identity Theft Protection" programs. Of course, they are protecting their own backsides, inasmuch as the consumer is only on the hook for $50 of liability when their card is swiped. The banks eat the losses, and certainly have a stake in minimizing them. The consumer class benefits from this, too, although not as directly as the ad campaigns would imply.

I am reminded of my old friend John Perry Barlow. His initial impetus in co-founding the Electronic Frontier Foundation (of which I am a charter member) with Mitch Kapor was in part due to a rude shock. He lived in Pinedale, Wyoming, and was proud of the fact that he never bothered to lock his door. He got into a tussle with some hackers on a bulletin board over ethics online, etc., and one of them produced, in very short order, a detailed dossier on the mundane minutiae of his life, including directions to his unlocked door.

Defeats proliferate faster than ice. Ben Pimentel, business technology writer with the San Francsico Chronicle, wrote an elaborate piece about fingerprint readers for computers to prevent unauthorized access. I wrote in response: "how long do you think it will be before this technology is effectively hacked? The core logic has been around for a decade, so it's reasonable to assume that development of exploit strategies has been proceeding in parallel. About the time these sensors are available for 99 cents wholesale, someone will be offering a quick and easy defeat on a USB dongle for 99 bucks."

Invasive technology is advancing far faster than protective technology, and even faster than our public policy ever can. I'm less concerned about opportunistic breaches of my checking account than I am of state surveillance of my digital correspondence (hi guys!), and less concerned about pyschographic profile marketing based on commercial datamining than I am about credit and insurance companies denying coverage or credit based on the same analysis. But it's all of a piece. In any event, if you use a credit card at the hardware store or the movie rental or bookstore, you're leaving an information transaction trail no less than if you bought it on Amazon. They may not have your email address and thus be unable to spam you, but they've got your number. Cash is the only cloak (and even then, you're probably on camera), and the state would be delighted to get rid of that.

Some would argue that the government has a legitimate right to monitor large cash transactions. I'm afraid I disagree. The state has no proper interest in the financial dealings of its citizens. The fourth amendment's "papers and effects" clause explicitly spells this out. Of course, if the state has other evidence of criminal activity, financial records certainly are fair game for subpoena and may be entered as evidence, but to give government either prophylactic visibility into confidential financial activity or to permit prior restraint of specific transactions (reporting cash deposits of $10,000 or more, e.g.) is contrary to both the letter and spirit of the 4th.

My friend Jack King, former Executive Director of the National Association of Criminal Defense Lawyers and notoriously successful litigant versus the FBI, frequently reminds us that "to live outside the law, one must be honest". To which I add a corrollary "the first duty of an outlaw is to remain at large". Prudence is always a watchword, but some protections may be irretrievably lost due to the avarice of the Reno, Ashcroft, and Gonzales "justice" departments. There can be no meaningful technical mechanisms to isolate sensitive data from malicious mischief, only statutory and, hopefully, constitutional remedies to prosecute those who abuse privileged access to it. Alas, no one in a position to advocate for such relief has anything to gain from doing so.

February 23, 2007

Somewhere, Under....

ba_rainbow.jpgThis isn't a trick photo. According to the San Francisco Chronicle's Science Editor David Perlman, it's called a "circumzenithal arc", and is caused by sublight refracting through a curtain of tiny ice crystals.

Evidently not uncommon in more northern climes, it is something of a rarity in temperate zones. A Concord man photographed it on January 13th.

It's certainly a lovely phenomenon. I just have to wonder how it would look on a kite...

February 21, 2007

Living La Vida Lowcarb

Nutrition labelThere was a time, not all that long ago, when I was fat. I had managed to sustain the illusion that I was really a thin man with a bit of a beer gut.

On a vacation trip about four years ago, I happened to pass a full-length mirror as I headed out the door to the beach in my swimming trunks and caught a glimpse of myself in profile. I put on a shirt and didn't take it off for the rest of the vacation.

Turns out I was fat. Jackie Gleason fat. Oliver Hardy fat. Not morbidly obese, but 50 pounds overweight. My feet hurt all the time, I could barely walk a mile without resting. I was developing a nasty problem with the left knee. And I had frequent heartburn. Every day around 2PM I'd have a little Zantac and Alka-Seltzer cocktail, as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

I got steered to reduced carbohydrate dieting. The Atkins craze was sort of cultish, so I looked into the science of ketogenic metabolism, insulinemia, and glycemic indexing. I started out by just cutting out all the white food, and switching to light beer (the hardest step). I lost seven pounds in one week.

Over the course of the next six months, as I got better at meal planning and monitoring my intake, I lost the 50 pounds. I also joined a gym during this time, and did a lot of weight training. But it worked. And I kept it off for three years.

Unfortunately, this last year or so I've gotten sort of lax in the low-carb discipline. I still use reduced carb substitute products when they are available (Dreamfields low-carb pasta is excellent, for example, as are Mission's low-carb tortillas), but I've been entirely content to eat bread, rice, muffins, cookies, etc. I've even been indulging in whole-grain craft beer from time to time, a real no-no. About the only thing I've been religiously avoiding is potatoes (an evil vegetable), although I've slipped up there a time or two.

So now I'm up 20 pounds, and today is the first day of Lent. So I'm getting back on the low-carb wagon, and going back to the gym. Between jumpstarting the metabolism with exercise and cutting out the starch, I think I can drop 20 in six weeks. Wish me luck.

February 12, 2007

Disclaimer

Collaboration: That's fine, as long you get the credit.I recently received the following email...

Dear Axon:

Hope all is well. Sure is cold outside...

Best regards,

Robert

---------------------------------
This transmission is confidential and intended solely for the person or organization to which it is addressed. It may contain privileged and confidential information. This transmission may make mention of the affair Steven C. Hill, director of sales, is having most nights and especially when business travel occurs. This transmission may also lament the feeling of dying that pervades this small and sensibly decorated workspace, while days tick by on computer calendars and the sun only briefly and barely brushes the edges of the windows in the conference room.

This transmission may go on to say that, for the last year, this job hasn't felt right: cheerful on the surface, but faceless and cold. Our bosses are Germanic almost, a sadly administrative and glum gaggle of malcontents. This transmission aches to be substantial. To be the work of art the sender knows is inside him or her. Alas, it is a transmission of information so benign that enough of it stacked up could crush any gift of talent or hope. There is, my friend, a bitter little catch to the comfort we've achieved by chaining ourselves to these desks, by tying our wallets to this slow drip feed. If you are not the intended recipient, you should not copy, distribute, or take any action.

That said, keep in mind that there are no coincidences; you have received this, so let's just take it from there. Freud would argue you're absolutely my intended recipient, right? The long-dead coked-up thinker stuck on Mom would say that no matter how unlikely it was that you received this e-mail and read this signature, it was, in fact, no accident. This is not where I thought I'd be at this age, in this job, in this place. My manager is a walking dead man. We're all dying here. This is not what we started out dreaming of. And, outside, the day doesn't stop its inevitable fade to consider our decision to leave or stay. Parents miles from here don't stand still like this place; they continue to age. Drunk on the pleasant hum of routine, I've stayed too long. I always stay too long in things: relationships, jobs. I am short of daring. Steve's affair, which I mentioned earlier, is at least daring, though he clearly remains unhappy. It's sad to see him take care to cover his tracks, thinking he's fooling everyone, when, in reality, he's only fooling himself.

I sit here hidden away knowing that sex won't fix me. Drinks won't do a thing. I'm haunted by this idea that one day even the daydreams that get me out of here will stop working. I need catalysts: scars and failing, trying and falling, living and risking, making the wrong move for love, starting down a long road actually headed toward something, facing the blank page, noticing some kind of detail besides changes in my skin and face. I need to get going, to admit life's urgency. We all do here. We never talk about it, and this transmission is confidential. And if you believe you received this transmission in error, please notify the sender.