The US began the process of pulling out of Afghanistan. The Taliban has begun rapidly retaking in cities. In doing so, it quickly has become apparent that conditions on the ground are not safe for anyone who aided the US military, journalistic, or perhaps even humanitarian efforts. People are rightfully terrified and the rapid evacuation of hundreds of thousands of Afghani’s is at this moment a global priority.

I am extremely comfortable and confident in the belief that the US should, without question, expedite the emergency accommodation and resettlement of several hundred thousand Afghani families, much in the way we resettled roughly 130,000 Vietnamese after the war in Vietnam (only faster). Yes, I believe it would be a boon to our economy and our society in the long run, but that is largely besides the point. We should welcome these men and women into our society because it is unequivocally the right thing to do, it is a moral responsibility we took on when we put boots on the ground there and left them there for a decade.

But that’s pretty much the limit of any insight I could possibly hope to have and, as such, it’s not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about the egregious smattering of take, hot takes, re-takes, W-taking takes, and L-giving takes that is currently proliferating on social media and the standard outlets at the moment. No, I am not going to link to any. No, I am not going to refer to anyone by name. Yes, this is one big, long-form subtweet.

Unless you are a bona fide expert in military incursions, occupations, or exit strategies, I do not care about what you have to say. Unless you have spent a non-trivial portion of your career covering or studying how to cope with a humanitarian crisis, I don’t value your opinion. Unless you can lend genuine insight into what the best course of action is at this moment, nobody needs to hear from you.

While they may be trivial in effect, you are well within your rights to express sympathy for the victims of this terrible moment and to extoll your leaders to ease and prevent as much suffering as possible. But trying to raise your status in this moment with anything remotely resembling an “I told you so” or claim to “victory” for your political identity du jour is horrifying. Please don’t equate this with pro-gun reprisals of “Now is not the time for politics” every time there is a gun-related tragedy, either. Rather, consider this a reminder that this moment, like nearly everything else, is not about you, your politics, or what you tweeted in 2011. We are all better served when we keep that in mind.

Maybe I’m overreacting. It’s easy to write such things when the crisis of the moment puts you squarely on the sidelines. And it’s not like an 800 word scolding calling out exactly no one is going to help anyone. But there are expert, scholarly, and journalistic voices that are being drowned out by the droning, self-congratulatory thirst for public approbation and status. And if this snotty little post rings in ears and reminds just one person that “this isn’t about you,”, and they choose to leave even one bad tweet in drafts, then it’ll be worth it.

But please, support any and all of your representatives that want to take action to bring as many refugees from Afghanistan to the US as is possible. I don’t know much about Afghanistan or wars, but I am confident it is the right thing to do.

I’ve previously written about the dangers of trying to make a career out of something 19-year-olds think is cool. There are risks on the other side of the paycheck as well, though.

There’s been a flurry of media attention paid to the difficulties restaurants are facing trying to re-staff their kitchens and servers. This piece is my favorite so far, for the simple reason that it pays less attention to policy and politics, and more to the actual jobs in question and what restaurants can actually do to convince employees to return. Rather than condescend to the service industry as a petri-dish for wage policy experiments in “unskilled” labor markets, it dares to recommend employers investigate both the goods they are selling and the value proposition to employees they are trying to hire.

The restaurant and service industries have long been a haven for employees who might otherwise find resistance in the labor market. St. Anthony Bourdain first found his way into our hearts with his love letters to the kitchen as pirate ship, and in doing so contributed as much as anyone to making the restaurant industry cool. Really cool. 2nd-tier rock star cool. Not Beatles cool, but more than few chefs found their way to third-to-last-band at Lollapalooza cool.

And from this pirate ship rebel identity and willingness to hire employees of fringe legality, the restaurant industry found itself with a capacity enviable for any employer: it could pay people with something other than money. It could pay you with a willingness to overlook, ahem…questionable work histories or I-9 employment eligibility. It could pay you in enabling a contrived identity. It could pay you in “No, you’re not selling out trying build a career in a kitchen and yes, you can totally reaffirm that to yourself with two full sleeves of ink.” It could (unfortunately) also pay you through tolerance of workplace aggression, misogyny, and sundry behaviors otherwise on their way out of the office Overton window of acceptable behavior.

There is risk, however, in growing reliant on paying people in non-pecuniary rewards, especially “coolness”. What happens when, whether via a pandemic or just, well, aging, employees realize they can’t pay their rent with cool? What happens if working in your industry stops being cool? What if the world changes, and it broadly stops tolerating the workplace hostility attractive to some of your previous employees? Absent such variously fleeting, juvenile, or outright terrible non-pecuniary indulgences, they’re going to demand higher pay. In money.

The restaurant industry was, quite likely, in exactly the kind of equilibria that major exogenous shocks can shake us out of, sometimes forever. And make no mistake – this isn’t just something that restaurant owners are going to have a tough time adjusting to. I expect a lot us frequent restaurant customers are in for a rude awakening as well. Increased restaurant labor costs pass directly into higher prices. By 2010 the average household in the United States had grown accustomed to dining out more than at home, a luxury enabled by prices kept lower in no small part by a labor force paid in non-pecuniary benefits. I am very much part of that average. Growing up in a family that dined out less than once a month (and that was usually at Pizza Hut), constantly eating out at an endless variety of restaurants has become my single favorite luxury enabled by my employment.

Yes, I’ll probably get a little wistful for the days when I could afford to eat-out almost every night. But it’s also exciting to imagine what a new and different restaurant industry might look like. As an economist, I’ll admit a bit of ironic amusement if it is not the $15 minimum wage that makes way for the oft-prognosticated wave of automated kiosks and labor displacement, but rather the end of a labor pool mythos that leads to a labor exodus. The sudden and collective realization that while, yes, we all concede that a 14-inch scimitar and a flask of Fernet Branca on your hip are cool, they’re not nearly as cool as health insurance and a 401k from a job where the sous chef doesn’t hump your leg every shift.

Which is a long way of saying:

Beware dependence on monopsony power born of coolness, for it is fleeting and full of bankruptcies. Just ask every magazine or media company staring down a writer’s union who’s members have hit their early 30s and realize they can’t pay Brooklyn rent with Williamsburg street cred.

The story of renewable energy changing the world for the better has always been about solving two parallel concerns: figuring out 1) how to produce clean, renewable power cheaply and 2)how to store the power generated for long periods of time. Over the last decade the cost of solar and wind power generation has plummeted. It’s not just that its cheaper per megawatt than fossil fuels, its also that the rate of cost decline shows not signs of slowing. But to fully displace fossil fuels also requires solving the “intermittency problem”. You can store piles of coal and barrels of oil, but how do store solar power for use when the sun doesn’t shine?

If we allow ourselves a moment’s credulous excitement and believe the press releases from Form Energy, a major step towards solving the intermittency problem has been made. I am in no position to judge the credibility of their technology or their capacity to effectively scale its development and distribution, but I find the opportunity to engage in a little futurism too exciting to resist. (Warning: I’m an economist, not an engineer. But even if I have the specifics wrong here, it’s still a fun exercise.)

The new technology in question is an iron-based battery that stores power for upwards of 100 hours. This reads to me as meaning two things:

1. Power is going to become very cheap
2. The batteries are going to be heavy

The second part is important. These aren’t the batteries that Tesla wants to put in their cars. They are, however, the batteries that can make for a local power station…or perhaps enable a perpetually self-powered large train?

If you’ve been daydreaming about high-speed rail remaking day-to-day American life, today is potentially a very big day for you. If you want to see millions of travelers speeding along rails in the 21st century, however, you need to lure them out of their cars and business-class flights with a speed and cost proposition that is not just better, but irresistible. Even more, you need to lure them in numbers sufficiently vast that cities (states? nations?) face a value proposition so great that its worth making fixed cost investments measured in hundreds of billions of dollars. A 10% reduction in cost isn’t going to do that. Appeals to community, civic duty, environmental stewardship — I’m pretty sure that will have much effect. What I think might do it, however, is cutting travel costs in half.

Why stop at half though? What happens if a $500 billion investment means urban residents can travel for a twentieth of the cost we associate with cars and planes today? What if that investment only truly pays off if other cities on a route make commensurate investments? It’s easy to point out the challenges of multi-state coordination in a country with highly polarized politics. What’s maybe easier to forget are the challenges that success might bring.

In a world where public transit pushes the marginal cost of travel to a tiny fraction of that faced by travelers in regions without similar fixed cost investments, the urban-rural divide becomes all the starker. Furthermore, its not every urban center that participates – it’s only the ones in the network. Automobiles, while not necessarily inexpensive, evolved into a relatively democratic mode of travel. Combined with the interstate highway system, hamlets and towns could pop up all over the country, and sometimes hang around long after local industry had dissipated or fled. In a world extraordinarily low-cost transit, the gravity of the dense urban areas could become irresistible. Pick a side in a congress heavily gerrymandered along urban-rural lines, and imagine you’re a representative from either side, and it doesn’t take much reflection to realize that no one will be on the sidelines for these votes. If you’re from a rural district, your political life and the future of your party depends on stopping free high speed rail from ever seeing the light of day. Perhaps ironically, though, if the costs per mile of NYC subway are a relevant metric, union negotiated prices may be an even bigger obstacle.

We’ve spent the last year adapting to technologies that left us thinking half of us could work from home, that we could live anywhere, dispersing us to every corner of the globe in a thin layer of extremely online exurbanites. Today we got a glimpse of a different technology, one that might pull us closer together again while taking a major step towards addressing global climate change and increasing the wealth of billions of people at every decile of the income distribution. We’ve lived our lives on landscapes defined by the maps first drawn by sailors, caravans, and indigenous peoples. Maps full of rivers, mountains, and intricate webs of roads. If the next round of massive fixed costs investments allows those along its chosen network to enjoy the benefits of near costless travel, don’t be surprised when the defining maps of the future look like the London Tube.

Was there a Great Stagnation in technological development? Definitely maybe! Are we still in one? Definitely maybe not! Am I the correct person to adjudicate such things? Absolutely not.

When we talk about stagnation, we focus on the sort of innovation that is most pertinent to economic growth, which means technology as it relates to production. More than just important, with any small amount of reflection on the human condition and how far we have come as a species, in a certain light the technology underlying production is very nearly the only thing that matters.

Only, in a far more comfortable and modern way, it’s not. With all due respect to the protests of those who used to hike 10 miles to three jobs, uphill all 4 ways, every day through the snow, our lives are about consumption. And before you cast me into The Pit of a Thousand Shopping Malls, I mean consumption in a very broad sense. Consumption of time with family and friends; consumption of the 5 senses; of active introspection and passive entertainment; of every new Zelda game they can possibly create.

And all I’d really like to do today is cheer you with a delightful reminder that there will never be a great stagnation of consumption goods. There really won’t be! Not because human genius is unlimited (though maybe it is, if you include exponential AI learning). Rather, it is because our wants are infinite, and from those wants we can fabricate a cheery synthesis of Say’s Law and the unrelenting optimism of Endogenous Technical Change – that Demand Creates its Own Innovation.

That might be overly cute, but I’m not taking the “infinity” in play here lightly. That infinity of wants is not a product of our imagination or the broad dimensions in which we can consume. That infinity is born of our capacity for niche refinement, for variation. If you don’t believe me, go a farmers market. Go a Wegmans. Go to your local Asian grocery store. Google “heirloom tomatoes.”

Our consumptive lives will never stop improving because each new good brings with it the infinite possibilities of small changes, of bigger/narrower/weirder/quieter/redder/hotter/faster/easier/drowsier/friendlier/adjective/adjective… And with each new variation comes a roll of the dice that just might send us down forking paths of inspiration and radical departure from past convention, toward that new way of living our lives that no one had thought possible before.

There was a time when we didn’t have enough calories, so we innovated ways to make more calories. Once we had enough calories, we invented better calories. Then we invented foods. Then meals. Then experiences. Then stories. Then identities. Each stage of innovation brings with it not the disappearing of low-hanging fruit, but an expanding horizon of all the possible ways our life-sustaining caloric consumption goods might evolve, and the infinite stories they might help us tell through the lives we live. And we will never run out of stories to tell.