Matador Network's Blog, page 2223

GoPro footage of dolphins

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WHEN I SWAM with dolphins in Mexico, I remember feeling super underwhelmed the entire time. The dolphins didn’t seem that into the experience either — probably because, as I learned upon my return, many dolphin-swim-and trainer attractions do not treat their animals well. I now try to avoid animal-based activities while traveling, unless I know they are rehabilitation centers, sanctuaries, or promote wildlife tourism in a responsible way.

This video is not only visually stunning, it also shows how these animals belong in their natural habitats. They look so happy and free, and don’t mind swimming alongside the GoPro camera.

10 super useful Portuguese phrases

Photo: Pedro Ribeiro Simões

1. Ó, desculpe! Com licença! – “Excuse me”

You can strike the “com licença” and just say “ó, desculpe!” over and over again until someone hears you. It works everywhere, from asking for help in the streets to ordering food.

2. Pá – “Hey,” “So,” and other meaningless interjections

“Pá” is the Portuguese equivalent of “che” for Argentinians. You use it at the beginning or ending of a sentence. Or you can just say “Pá…” and scratch your head, while thinking about something.

During the Carnation Revolution, a French journalist came to Portugal (without knowing much Portuguese) and, after talking to a lot of people, made a note to see a guy named “Pá” since he was always being mentioned. That’s how much we use it.

3. E então? – “So what?”

If someone’s bothering you, or accusing you of doing something, you can say “E então?” like you just don’t give a damn about their problems, and move on with your life.

4. Vai mais uma? – “One more?”

This is what you should say when you’ve been at the bar a while, everyone’s getting tipsy, and you’re unsure whether or not to order another beer. Just call the waiter — “Ó, desculpe” — and look to your friends and ask, “Vai mais uma?”

5. Que se foda a Troika! – “Fuck Troika!”

This one will win you a lot of friends and a general look of approval. Portugal has been in deep financial crisis, and three global financial organizations — the IMF, European Commission, and the European Central Bank — aka, the “Troika,” have stepped in to help. Gladly, they’re almost gone, but most of the measures implemented by the Troika were deeply unpopular, and basically made everyone poorer.

6. Que seca… – “How boring”

Literally, it means “what a dry.” Use it when you can’t stand being in the same place much longer or are just absolutely fed up with whatever you’re doing.

7. Bora lá, pessoal! – “C’mon guys!”

Use this when you’re trying to motivate people and get them moving.

8. Vou-me baldar / Baldei-me – “I’m skipping / I skipped”

If you’re a student, this can be helpful when people wonder why you’re not in class. For more social occasions, the equivalent is “Vou-me cortar / Cortei-me” — “I’m cutting / I cut myself.” It’s used when you were supposed to go some place but then decided not to.

9. Eh, lá…! – “Oh, wow!”

This is usually used ironically, or as an exaggeration. If someone’s being cocky telling a story or bragging about something, say this to bring them back down to earth.

10. Vou ter saudades disto… – “I’m going to miss this…”

Finally, and because every list of Portuguese expressions has to include a “saudade,” say this when you’re feeling nostalgic about leaving Portugal, preferably when you’re sitting somewhere, watching the sunset, immersing yourself in the present, and just sigh, “Vou ter saudades disto…”

Not having a place to call home can

FOR MANY people who’ve traveled extensively and/or lived abroad, home can be a tenuous subject. It’s easy to lose a sense of it when you’re constantly on the go or have changed addresses six times in two years. I left my “home” of Vancouver when I was 31 and after longterm traveling in Europe and SE Asia, then living in Australia, I sensed it was no longer my home. When I returned in 2010 for the Olympics as soon as I stepped foot in the city I knew it was not home anymore. Even after moving to Nelson, BC four years ago — which is where I call home nowadays — it took me a long time to settle in and plant some solid roots.

Not having a place to call home can feel unsettling, but it can also be very exciting. This month we’re exploring this topic in our next #MatUTalks Twitter chat on Thursday August 14 at 2:30 EST.

We will also be giving away a few copies of Images of America: Keweenaw County, a photo book authored by MatadorU student Jennifer Billock. The book topped the best-sellers list in June for Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and reached #6 for the entire state. During the chat we will randomly draw from participants.

To participate in the chat, follow MatadorU on Twitter and use the hashtag #MatUTalks to find and respond to the questions.

NYC is no place for the young artist

Photo: Tom Ellefsen

IT WAS PATTI SMITH who said, in a talk at Cooper Union in 2010, that “New York has closed itself off to the young and the struggling.” Smith wrote in her memoir, Just Kids, about coming to New York as a “down and out” young woman, scraping by in a cheap apartment, creating a community of artists, and even at times paying rent with artwork.

But New York City has long since priced itself out of this lifestyle, with rent in Manhattan averaging $3,822 and in Brooklyn (the “less expensive” option) $3,035 per month. This means living in Brooklyn costs, on average, over $36,000 a year — higher than the salary of your average “young creative.” Our salary increases certainly have not kept pace with the cost of living.

When I was living in Brooklyn, I was paying $800 per month to split a three-bedroom with two other girls. We were living on the border of Lefferts Garden and Crown Heights, a quickly gentrifying neighborhood which, while it wasn’t bad, wasn’t exactly the bustling downtown area people expect when they hear “New York City.” When I initially moved to Brooklyn, I was looking for work as a writer / editor, which I found, sparingly. I was working as a writing assistant making $500-$600 a month, which is not much in general and is basically pennies in New York.

I can’t imagine that I’m alone in my experiences. Early creative work, what many call the “portfolio-building years,” inherently involves a lot of low-paying and non-paying jobs. We’re often seen as “apprentices” to our trade, despite our college educations and numerous internships. I’ve found that young creatives who desire to be financially independent from their families (which — despite what you may have heard — is most of them) do one of two things: They find a “real job,” a term I use skeptically, and attempt to pursue their passion in their free time; or they find a way to commodify their passion.

I was part of the former group, taking a job as a receptionist at a fertility clinic in midtown Manhattan. I ended up having a strong love / hate relationship with this job — I loved the patients and found myself getting very involved in their care, and I found the scientific aspects of the field absolutely fascinating. I learned a lot, both about medicine and about people, in my time there. However, this was not the reason I came to New York. I’m a creative, passionate, intelligent human being, and while I was able to inject this job with a bit of those qualities, it certainly didn’t force it out of me.

The “commodification” direction is one I saw many friends take — those who were interested in writing took jobs at social media companies as SEO bloggers, and those who wanted to work in film and TV found themselves working as assistants to talent agents. These jobs, while technically in the “creative industry,” probably utilized as little of my friends’ creative skills as my receptionist job did of mine. While this is probably the objectively better option, not everyone even has this opportunity — securing these competitive positions often requires years of unpaid internships and some degree of “connection,” leaving out those of us who had to work part-time or full-time jobs during college and were not able to devote our time to volunteer positions.

Unfortunately, both of these routes are problematic. Let’s explore.

In a community where everyone asks about what you do and no one asks about what you love, it’s easy to become discouraged and uninspired.

For my friends who took on “creative” jobs, the lines between “personal” and “professional” time became increasingly blurred thanks to both long hours (some friends of mine work 12+ hour days as assistants to agents, publishers, and producers) and the now ubiquitous smartphone technology that has allowed people to be available via phone and email 24/7. Because of the high competition for these jobs, the concern of being fired was ever-present for my friends, forcing them to overlook these downfalls (not to mention the low pay).

Those with “day jobs” who hope to pursue passions on the side will also find it difficult to live a dual lifestyle. As a receptionist, I was working between eight and ten hours per day, plus making a commute of 45 minutes each way — a common situation, since the “centers of industry” such as midtown and downtown Manhattan are increasingly distant from the affordable areas of upper Manhattan and the outer boroughs. Yes, I was able to afford my rent, my Metrocard, and my school loans, but I certainly didn’t have much time or energy (or, realistically, money) to practice my craft or experiment artistically, which is so important for young artists.

When I first moved to New York, I kept up a blog in an attempt to continue honing my writing skills after graduation, but it soon became difficult to fit into my life. I was constantly “busy” but never “productive.” My writing fell by the wayside, and while I excelled professionally, I had all but given up on my passion.

And this, here, is what many people don’t discuss when they’re talking about young creatives. It may sound trite, but the personal identity of many young people who come to the city to flourish creatively is slowly crushed by the reality of affording the lifestyle. Social identity theory outlines the way humans self-identify with a group or organization they feel reflects their values and attributes. The identity you apply to yourself, in the United States and especially in a place like New York City, is unfortunately but inevitably tied up in your money-making methods. I am a doctor, I am a journalist, I am a receptionist. In New York, the question “What do you do?” is everywhere you turn.

The cost of living means money is also a constant on the minds of the majority of residents. How much you pay in rent is not a taboo question, but rather an extremely common topic of conversation (and probably the question asked next after “What do you do?”). New Yorkers are constantly discussing the latest “hidden gem” of a cheap salon, bar, or Chinese food restaurant. In a society so preoccupied with money, it makes sense that we would begin to identify others, as well as ourselves, by professions as opposed to personal interests.

In light of this, it’s easy to feel like a failure if your job (“receptionist”) does not match your ambition (“writer”). I often found myself feeling like an outcast because my job wasn’t exciting, because I wasn’t a “mover-and-shaker,” because I wasn’t fulfilling the role that many picture when they think of a “creative New Yorker” — a role that has all but vanished here. In a community where everyone asks about what you do and no one asks about what you love, it’s easy to become discouraged and uninspired. Many of us cease to think of ourselves as “artists” as our minds and our days are consumed with the tedium of the jobs we take on to afford living in New York. So what’s the point?

This is why I left New York City: not just because it’s not affordable, but because the lifestyle wasn’t benefiting me as a young creative. I’m not alone — a recent New York Times piece on the “goodbye letter to New York City” (one of which I suppose this may be) highlights a new dearth of young, creative thought in New York. “If you think you’ll find intellectual stimulation, you’re thinking of another era,” Andrew Sullivan is quoted as saying. “The conversations are invariably about money or property or schools. I’ve never been more bored by casual chat.”

David Byrne, in a piece for The Guardian, acknowledges that what people really come to New York for — ”the possibility of interaction and inspiration” — is on the decline, thanks to the very problems I discussed above. So if there’s no time or money for art, and there’s no more inspiration, it seems obvious that young artists should pack up and find somewhere new, as young artists have been doing for centuries.

I moved to the Catskills, an area that has long been a creative hotspot but has maintained a certain level of laid-backness (not to mentioned affordability). I’ve been here three months, and so far I’ve done more reading and writing than I did in the entirety of the two years I spent in New York. My fiancé and I have been getting by on (for me) editing and writing work and a bit of nannying and (for him) photography for some fantastic regional magazines; we’re actually able to survive on the low salaries of the early creative years in a way we never could in NYC. This has translated to more time for art, more time for experimentation, and more space to make mistakes (an always integral part of the artistic process).

What I’ve also found is that, because the lifestyle is less expensive, it’s also less focused on the “job,” leaving much more room to talk about passions, ideas, and new projects. People are less rushed, less stressed, and more willing to have real, genuine conversation. The calm, less distracting environment and the beautiful scenery don’t hurt, either.

I’m not advocating that everyone move to the mountains — it’s certainly not for everyone — but I am hoping that young creatives everywhere can start to open their minds and consider other home bases. New York City had its creative heyday, but cities are constantly evolving entities; perhaps it’s time to stake out some new real estate.

This post originally appeared at Luna Luna Magazine and is republished here with permission.

12 signs you're from Newfoundland

Photo: Pat Kight

1. You rarely refer to yourself as Canadian.

Your first inclination is to say you’re from Newfoundland, even if no one knows what you’re talking about. Yes, we’re Canadian, but we’re not that Canadian. We have a different culture and don’t fit the regular Canadian stereotypes.

2. You’ve gotten drunk in a shed.

Not much to say about this one. Maybe it isn’t exactly a point of pride, but it’s true.

3. You identify with townies or baymen.

Townies are from town, the capital city, St. John’s. Baymen are pretty much everyone else.

As a bayman, you’re taught that townies are lazy. As a townie, you see baymen as backward. Either way, it’s all a bit of a laugh. Even if you’ve lived in St. John’s for 10 years, you’ll always be a bayman.

4. Sometimes, “skeet” is just the best descriptive word you can find.

Skeets are everywhere, but they’re hard to describe to people not from Newfoundland. They’re kind of like rednecks, but with their own special spin. Newfoundlanders know skeets when they see (or hear) them.

“Skeet” can describe the way a person dresses, talks, acts — pretty much any manner of things. We might not know how to define such an all-encompassing word, but we all can agree on who is or isn’t a skeet, and their level of skeety-ness.

5. You get defensive and prideful around other Canadians.

The first day I arrived in Korea, I met a girl from Vancouver who referred to Newfoundland as “the butt of Canada’s joke.” You might have certain ideas about us, and we have conflicting feelings about how to respond. We want to prove all the negative stereotypes wrong while also maintaining our unique spirit and culture.

More like this: 7 signs you were born and raised in Canada

We’ll bring up home more often than other Canadians, because we feel it makes us special. What’s the harm in that?

6. Weather is not just small talk.

And not just to the elderly. St. John’s has the toughest climate of any city in Canada, according to the climate index. Nice days are so rare that they feel like a special gift.

7. You get a bit confused when someone mentions the west coast.

We’re on an island, remember, so it’s best to specify whether you mean western Newfoundland or western Canada. Western Canada is pretty much half a world away to us — Western Europe is a shorter flight.

8. You don’t get excited about icebergs.

This might be more of a controversial topic than it seems — I truly do appreciate the magnitude that is giant blocks of ice floating down from the Arctic. But I’ve seen so many over the years, and it’s been pretty much the same experience every time: They bob up and down in the water.

Clockwise from bottom left: Axel Drainville, Kent Barrett, Asma Dee, edgeplot

9. It’s officially called “Newfoundland and Labrador,” but you never say that unless you’re actually from Labrador.

Like most Newfoundlanders I know, I’ve never even been to Labrador. Not that I have anything against the place — Labrador is home to the Torngat Mountains, arctic tundra, and polar bears. But after a cold, wet winter on the North Atlantic, going further north just isn’t appealing to most Newfoundlanders.

10. You know the deliciousness that is chip wagons on George Street at 3am.

Whether you side with Ziggy’s or Winkies (I am, of course, a Ziggy’s person), you know the perfect end to a night is to eat french fries on the street while trying to catch a cab.

The bars close at 3, so if you leave just 10 or 15 minutes early you can avoid the long lines. This is assuming you have the willpower to drag yourself from the pubs before closing.

11. You’ve made jiggs dinner.

It’s not everyone’s favorite Sunday meal, but it speaks to Newfoundland’s soul — meat and potatoes, steamed cabbage, turnip, carrots, and homemade dressing and gravy. It’s almost a rite of passage for young people to cook Sunday dinner in a new home.

12. Your heart swells when someone mentions home.

You know we’ve got something special, so when others recognize it, you can’t help but feel the pride. Newfoundland is an amazing and underrated place. There are plenty of opportunities for outdoor appreciation and adventure, drinking at pubs or partying at nightclubs, and visiting museums, art galleries, boutique shops, and highly rated restaurants.

Maybe the weather isn’t always cooperative, but the air is fresh and you’re never far from nature. Whether you’ve lived your whole life on the island, or haven’t been home for a while, you’re always a Newfoundlander at heart.

8 best road cycling routes in Utah

Photo: Andrew Smith

THOUGH MOST OFTEN ASSOCIATED WITH MOUNTAIN BIKING, Utah is no slouch when it comes to road cycling / cycle touring, either. Just look to the Tour of Utah, “one of only five UCI-sanctioned, multi-stage, North American pro cycling events in 2014.” Over its seven stages, the race takes in some of the most varied and beautiful landscapes in the United States — lakes, deserts, canyons, mountains, buttes, mesas — traversing approximately 750 miles.

Of course, you don’t need to be at the pro level to enjoy that same scenery from the saddle of a bike. The routes below highlight some of the epic riding that will be featured in the Tour this August 4th-10th…years of training not required.

1. Boulder to Escalante

Part of Stage 2 of the Tour of Utah, this section on Scenic Byway 12 is just short of 30 miles. It takes you over the “Hogsback” — a narrow spine of a road that drops off sharply on either side into the canyon below.

On the south side of the Hogsback is the Calf Creek Campground, where you’ll find the trailhead to a 126ft waterfall, should you want to give your legs a rest from pedaling. The towns of Boulder and Escalante are also home to some excellent cuisine, serving up local, fresh organic food. Kiva Koffeehouse, near the campground, is well worth a stop to check out its unique architecture and to take in the surrounding views while sipping an espresso.

2. Parowan Gap Loop

The Parowan Gap is a natural mountain pass that was used by the Fremont and Anasazi Indians. They left a plethora of petroglyphs depicting snakes, lizards, and mountain sheep, among other subjects.

This ride is a moderate 50-mile loop that begins and ends at Cedar City. From town, head north on Highway 130 and turn right at the Parowan Gap turnoff (13 miles). This takes you to Parowan, where the road ends at Main Street. Hang a right and proceed south on Old Highway 91 (now the I-15 frontage road), through the town of Summit, and back to Cedar City. Parts of this route will be ridden as Stage 1 of the Tour of Utah.

3. Mammoth Creek Loop

The highlights of this route include riding through Cedar Breaks National Monument, a natural amphitheater three miles across and over 2,000 feet deep. With a rim elevation of around 10,000 feet, there’s a lot of climbing on this ride and temperatures can fluctuate, so make sure to bring layers. The scenery is similar to what you’d see at Bryce Canyon National Park. Note that Highway 148, which traverses the monument, is only open from late May through October.

Start at Midway (the junction of Highway 14 and Highway 148, 18 miles east of Cedar City) and head north on 148. Turn right on Highway 143, watching for signs to Mammoth Creek; Mammoth Creek Road is the first paved road on the right. Take this south to Highway 14, where you’ll take another right to get back to Midway. The loop is around 35 miles with a lot of elevation gain and takes in a good chunk of the eastern portion of Stage 1 of the Tour of Utah.

4. Capitol Reef Scenic Drive

Capitol Reef. Photo: Topher

Cyclists pay $3 to enter Capitol Reef National Park and can travel along the scenic drive that extends just over 8 miles into the park. This is a ride you’ll want to make many stops on, like in Fruita — a historic community founded in the 1800s by Mormon settlers — and to take in the views — such as the 240-million-year-old Moenkopi rock formation — and possibly for hikes along the Great Wash and Capitol Gorge trails (off-road biking is prohibited in the park). Capitol Reef National Park marks the end of Stage 2 of the Tour of Utah, just outside of Torrey.

5. Circumnavigating Utah Lake

Stage 3 of the Tour follows the western shores of Utah Lake, the largest naturally occurring freshwater lake in the Western US. This page maps out in detail a 90-mile loop starting in Orem, just south of Salt Lake City. The lake is a popular recreation destination for the Provo/Orem metro area; the Utah Lake Wetland Preserve is at the southern end of the lake and is used by 226 species of birds, 49 mammalian species, 18 types of fish, and 16 species of reptiles and amphibians.

6. Tintic Mountains Classic

At 110 miles, the Tintic Mountains Classic loop is one of the longest single-day road rides in the state. It begins and ends in Eagle Mountain, a small city west of Utah Lake, and takes in the Tintic Mountains and parts of the historic Pony Express route. With an elevation gain of more than 2,000 feet, this ride might not be the best for first-timers. Large portions of the loop are included in Stage 3 of the Tour of Utah.

7. Liberty Loop in Ogden Valley

If you really want to test your physical limits, climbing the North Ogden Divide — which racers do for Stage 4 of the Tour — might be your thing. It’s just over 3 miles of 10% grade, and is actually a spur off of this loop ride. So if you do decide to take it on, you’ll be descending down that same grade (make sure your brakes are in good working condition). The loop has been described as one of the most scenic routes in Ogden Valley; you can find a detailed map here.

8. Salt Lake City to Emigration Canyon

You’ll likely be sharing the road on this moderate 8-mile climb (5% grade) with a lot of locals. Ride from the big city into a national historic landmark with sweeping views down the length of the canyon and back out to SLC. The route through the canyon (long before the road existed) was used by pioneers traveling west into the Salt Lake Valley in 1847.

If 16 miles round trip is too short for you, continue on Highway 65 to Big Mountain Pass. This ride is the beginning portion of Stage 6 of the Tour of Utah.

This post was proudly produced in partnership with Utah, home of The Mighty 5®.

What the planets sound like

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THESE AUDIO FILES completely blow my mind. For one, I am super impressed with the technological capabilities earthlings have developed. But the recordings of each planet, and their surrounding space entities, are hauntingly beautiful. According to The Daily Epic:

Due to the virtual vacuum in space, it’s not sound like you and I experience it (that being waves pulsing through the air), but there are electromagnetic waves that pulsate at the same wavelength as the sound waves we can hear.

Instruments on several NASA probes including Voyager have recorded these waves and translated them into a sound that we can hear, and they are all kinds of spooky. This is the kind of thing you hear in a movie just before someone opens a door in a dark hallway.

In all seriousness though, the sounds of Uranus are my favorite.

Is this ad glorifying deforestation?

YOU’VE PROBABLY NEVER HEARD of excavator mulchers. Imagine, if you will, one of those forest destroying machines from Fern Gully crossed with a robot dinosaur. That’s an excavator mulcher.

Its function is basically to completely destroy trees in a matter of seconds. And it does it so well. Terrifyingly well. On the one hand, it’s a feat of human engineering; on the other hand, you watch this and think, “Oh please fuck no, tell me this isn’t a thing we spent our time and expertise on.”

Particularly at a time when deforestation is accounting for up to one-fifth of global climate change, I’m not so sure we should be this keen on making trees easier to destroy.

A call for reform in the Peace Corps

Photo: isafmedia

The Peace Corps is experiencing a lot of public criticism lately. The New York Times has been conducting an examination of the organization for months, digging up audit records and interviewing past volunteers and their parents. The February 2013 death of 23-year-old Philip Castle, a rural-China-based volunteer, has just recently been seeing a lot of attention.

According to The New York Times’ findings, Castle had complained three months before his death of gastrointestinal issues and rapid weight loss to his Peace Corps health provider. However, he wasn’t actually brought into the hospital until he collapsed and went into a coma one day in Cheng Du. He was deemed brain-dead and taken off life support just a few days later.

The Peace Corp “took the unusual step” of hiring an outside American expert to dig into what really happened. Reports showed that Castle’s health provider was slow to call for help when he became severely ill, and when an ambulance was finally called it got lost on its way to retrieve him. Castle was no longer breathing by the time he actually entered the hospital. Although the whole process appears to have been extremely disorganized, the hired expert concluded that nothing could have prevented Castle’s death.

Castle isn’t the first volunteer to have died during service with the Peace Corps. According to its website, since the organization’s founding in 1961, more than 200,000 people have served and 296 of those have lost their lives. Peace Corps deaths are rare, but they do happen.

Peace Corp director Carrie Hessler-Radelet has been pushing for reform since 2010, right around the time that a Morocco-based volunteer presumably died in 2009 due to “lapses in care.” The agency has been undergoing extreme changes in its healthcare system in an effort to reexamine itself. For example, this past week, the Peace Corps took cautionary action in temporarily removing 340 volunteers from Guinea, Liberia, and Sierra Leone due to outbreaks of the ebola virus.

According to a mournful letter sent to past and present volunteers by Hessler-Radelet, the Peace Corps has been naming reform in healthcare, safety, and security its top priority for the past four years.

The New York Times recently published a collection of volunteer experiences, revealing that although the Peace Corps has shown clear carelessness in organization — uprooting volunteers from projects without adequate notice, taking an unreasonable amount of time locating health providers, etc. — it’s ultimately a very positive force that has made great strides in terms of international service.

I asked a friend of mine who’s done two stints with the Peace Corps, in Thailand and Saint Lucia, about her personal experience. She said that although Castle’s death is gravely unfortunate, there are risks associated with traveling abroad whether you’re serving with the Peace Corps or not.

“Yes, the Peace Corps could have been more vigilant. But in the same respect, the volunteer should have been more vocal,” she said. “Just because you’re a Peace Corps volunteer doesn’t mean that you will be exempt from health issues for 27 months.”

Judging by the recent reports in The New York Times, the Peace Corps does have a lot of changes to make. However, ultimately your health is in your hands. No matter where you go and whom you represent, traveling demands heightened awareness.

Resources we'll have left by 2100

IT’S NOT ‘NEW’ NEWS that the earth’s resources are depleting at an alarming rate. But because I don’t feel the impact directly, it’s more of an, “out of sight, out of mind” situation. This infographic really puts things into perspective however. If I live to be over 100 (fingers crossed), there is a solid chance I’ll be present during the extinction of resources that used to fuel things like my GameBoy, and build my Ipod. But at the same time, I feel like humans will find alternative methods of energy before society is truly affected by the loss of the ones we use now. Hopefully those methods will be “greener,” and have less of an impact on the planet, so that we don’t have to fall back on burning coal.

Image via Visual.ly. Click to enlarge.