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A recent report by a Harvard physicist estimates that a Google search generates about seven grams of carbon dioxide based on the electricity required to keep the company’s servers running.

The headlines about the study quickly proliferated around the globe, with Britain’s Inquirer chiding, “Googling pollutes the planet.” Well, sure, but so does just about every other human activity. And it is in that context that Googling and internet usage must be judged.

In short, Googling is not the issue, dude.

A couple days ago, Google said that each of its searches uses 1 kilojoule or 0.24 kilocalories of energy. We can convert that into a unit we’re all more familiar with: gas for your car.

A gallon of gas contains about 31,000 kilocalories — about 115 Snickers bars’ worth — of energy, so a single gallon of gasoline would power about 130,000 searches. Even if Google handled five billion searches per day, the company’s energy consumption for searches would be equivalent to something like the burning of 39,000 gallons of gasoline. The United States alone consumes 390,000,000 gallons every single day!

And even U.S. gas consumption is just a small fraction of the world’s total energy usage — something like1.4 exajoules of power per day. That’s 1.4 times 1015 kilojoules. So, even if Google consumed 5 billion kilojoules for searches every day, that would only require 0.00037 percent of the world’s daily energy usage.

As for the carbon footprint, Google says each search is only responsible for 0.2 grams of CO2, not the 7 grams that the Harvard researcher claims, but the dispute misses the larger point. U.S. greenhouse gas emissions are estimated at 16.9 billion kilograms of CO2-equivalent per day. Again assuming 5 billion daily searches, Google would be responsible for either 0.2 or 0.006 percent of the nation’s carbon footprint, depending on whose number you choose.

When it comes the world’s energy system, Google is not the problem. They are, however, embedded in the energy-intensive infrastructure that we’ve been building ever since we figured out how to tap the earth’s fossil fuel resources.

It is a fine thing if internet companies want to worry about their carbon footprints. It’s great, in fact. But chiding Google for making such a relatively tiny contribution to the overall environmental problem in the world is like complaining about a wobbly leg on one of the deck chairs on the Titanic.

Just a short drive from the U.S.-Mexican border, a densely packed community will soon hum with activity. Homes will be jammed together, with any leftover space commandeered by taco stands, market stalls, and gathering places. It’ll be a far cry from the sanitized suburbs of southern California, but make no mistake: It will sit on the American side of the border.

Indeed, if the architect Teddy Cruz gets his way, the shantytowns of Tijuana, Mexico, will act as a blueprint of sorts for a new kind of urban development. “Architecture has been so distant from the politics and economics of development,” says Cruz. “We need to rethink the way we’ve been developing, and what we mean when we talk about housing, density, community, and neighborhood.”

Behind the precariousness of low-income communities, says Cruz, there is a sophisticated social collaboration: People share resources, make use of every last scrap, and look out for each other. Cruz is incorporating this resourcefulness into the planning of two new developments, in San Ysidro, a border-town community in southern San Diego, and in Hudson, New York. If they work as planned, these projects will become powerful case studies for a new approach to urban development that could be implemented across the country.

In collaboration with the nonprofit Casa Familiar, the San Ysidro development will include 30 housing units alongside spaces where residents can run small businesses. The model also accounts for sweat equity, allowing people who help with construction to gain rent credits for their work. Hudson, meanwhile, may not be a border community, but Cruz says the same conflicts are present—specifically, “a huge gap between rich and poor.” Cruz’s plan aims to vault the income gap with developments on several lots that are integrated into the city. The developments will include 60 housing units, playgrounds, a market, urban agriculture, and job-training facilities, all managed by a coalition of nonprofit groups.

Both projects require Cruz to go beyond the traditional role of an architect; rather than designing for a client, he is working with city governments to change the framework in which developments rise. “Beyond designing buildings, architects should design political and economic processes as well,” he says.

When people talk about the ongoing tumult in the stock market, they typically blame investors’ lack of information. There’s the uncertainty about the future state of the economy. There’s the confusion about what the government will do next with its ever-changing bailout program. And there’s the mystery of what the mortgage-backed securities clogging bank balance sheets are really worth. Yet, even with all these lurking unknowns, investors have far more information today than ever before. Your ordinary day trader, if any of those still exist, enjoys far greater access to economic and market data than men like J. P. Morgan did when they were running Wall Street. But this information isn’t necessarily making investors, or the market, any smarter. In fact, what may be driving the market crazy of late is that it knows too much.

The problem isn’t so much the never-ending stream of surveys, studies, and statistics—retail sales, housing prices, consumer confidence, unemployment claims, and so on. These numbers, though of varying accuracy and usefulness, at least offer a picture of what’s happening in the economy—which is, in the long run, the fundamental driver of stock prices. The real problem is that investors are also deluged with another data stream; namely, all the trading information from the world’s many markets, which gives them a constant, noisy, and often misleading impression of what other investors are thinking.

Investors have always paid attention to what other investors were doing, of course, but currently they’re assailed by a high-volume clang of market bellwethers twenty-four hours a day. After the stock market closes in the U.S., for instance, American investors begin to look to the S. & P. futures market to figure out where prices might be headed. Then they turn to foreign markets, first in Asia and then in Europe, which often set the tone for how the U.S. stock market will open. And less well-known markets have lately had a powerful effect on how stocks behave. The Chicago Board Options Exchange has an influential index, the VIX, which is often called the “fear index,” because it measures investors’ expectations of market volatility. The credit-default-swap market, too, has become increasingly important in shaping the stock market. Credit-default swaps are essentially insurance bought against the possibility that a company will default. And, these days, if the price of a company’s credit-default swaps rises (meaning that its chance of default is thought to be higher), its stock price will often fall.

These markets and indexes are valuable as a way to help investors hedge risk. But, in an environment of profound uncertainty, investors have a natural if troubling tendency to turn to them as horoscopes, particularly since they now get so much attention in the business press: you have only to turn on CNBC or go online to find that the Japanese market is cratering or the VIX index soaring. The result is to draw investors away from the grind of analyzing corporate performance and economic fundamentals, and to encourage pure speculation—investing as an exercise in anticipating what other investors will do. Meanwhile, traders in other markets are looking to our stock market for guidance—Nikkei traders usually react positively when the Dow rises—or, like VIX and futures traders, are overtly trying to forecast what our stock market will do. Investors find themselves trapped in a mirror maze, like the gunslingers in “The Lady from Shanghai.”

All this market-watching rarely has good effects. It can easily lead to contagion, where selling in one market triggers selling in the next. It also creates interesting opportunities for manipulation. Earlier this year, when financial firms were under siege from short sellers, there was conjecture that people were buying credit-default-swap protection on companies they had shorted. That would have had the effect of driving up those companies’ C.D.S. prices, which would make it look as if the C.D.S. market were seriously concerned that the companies might go bankrupt—which, in turn, would drive their stock prices down, enriching the short sellers. If short sellers weren’t doing this, they were passing up free money.

Even if these ancillary markets aren’t being gamed, the attention paid to them is out of all proportion to their informational worth. Because they are small relative to the elephantine U.S. stock and bond markets, it doesn’t take a lot of money to move them significantly, and since they have low margin requirements, speculators can have a big impact on prices while putting up only a little cash. Credit-default-swap contracts, similarly, are generally not that expensive, so fairly small investments can move prices noticeably. When U.S. stock-market investors take their cues from these other markets, the tail is wagging the elephant.

Markets work best when investors are thinking for themselves, and tend to go awry when the obsession with what everyone else is doing becomes a dominant concern. Maybe what investors really need is to periodically take a market-information vacation. On that count, the market’s recent performance may offer a small glimmer of hope: the other week, the foreign and futures markets signalled that a colossal U.S. selloff was coming, but, when the stock market opened, investors were relatively restrained in their selling. These days, a broken mirror may bring good luck.

Object Therapy

Science is fueled by passion, a passion that is often attached to the world of objects much as the artist is attached to his paints, the poet to her words. In the early days of computer culture, there was also talk of new objects. Some people identified with their computers, experiencing these machines as extensions of themselves. For them, computers were useful for thinking about larger questions, questions of determinism and free will, of mind and mechanism. For me, courses I took in the social sciences as an undergraduate moved me to investigate the role of objects in scientific creativity and the development of young minds.

Objects don’t nudge every child toward science, but for some, a rich object world is the best way to give science a chance. Given the opportunity, children will make intimate connections, connections they must construct on their own. But at a time when science education is in crisis, many of us discourage the object passions of children, perhaps out of fear that they will become “trapped,” learning to prefer the company of objects to the company of other children. Indeed, when the world of people is too frightening, children may retreat into the safety of what can be predicted and controlled. This should not give objects a bad name. They can make children feel safe, valuable, and part of something larger than themselves. They are points of entry to transformative experiences, experiences that often emerge as they are shared.

If we attend to young scientists’ romance with objects, we are encouraged to make children comfortable with the idea that falling in love with things is part of what we expect of them. We are encouraged to introduce the periodic table as poetry and LEGOs as a form of art.

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