Skip to main content

Water as fuel? War on poverty (PJI editorials 23-24 April 2005)

SOME years back a putative Pinoy inventor whose name has totally escaped us reportedly turned up an engine that runs on, believe it or go nuts, WATER!

He could have won a clutch of prizes—include the Nobel Prize and more-- for such a revolution that would render OPEC and China’s gargantuan hunger for oil and more oil as things that belong to the Jurassic era.

Go ahead, bleed your thoughts out. Investment bankers are now sounding alarm bells at prospects of a future crude awakening—something like the nightmare of crude oil hitting $400 a barrel. Such a bleak vision of the future ought to pry that flighty inventor out of whatever rat-hole he squeezed himself in. He ought to show up, save the world with his gizmo or whatever miracle machine he has pieced together.

He’d earn zillions of cash. He’d earn the reverence and accolade of the world. He’d be proclaimed king. Cybersex sirens would splay out their yummy wares for him. He’d have dozens of harem to repair to plus harem-scare ‘em in-laws to vent his pique on. He’d be a superstar. A blight of billboards would proclaim to all and sundry: Pinoy inventor conquers the world!

Let’s see sans naughty squint in our eyes. Good old-fashioned water or H2O breaks down into its component gases hydrogen and oxygen with a generous jolt of electricity.

It’s the hydrogen gas that could be fed as fuel into an internal combustion engine and chuck off an exhaust of water vapor. Hydrogen fuel is very, very earth-friendly—if all vehicles clogging EDSA any given day were running on hydrogen fuel, the water vapor exhaust would coax moss, grass, kamote and saluyot to grow smack on the pavement.

There’s a hitch to the fantastic scheme. Water is too stable a chemical compound and wouldn’t readily break down into hydrogen and oxygen. Maybe it takes 50,000 watts of electricity to pump up nuisance value of our favorite radio commentators. It likely takes tremendous jolts of electricity to generate huge volumes of hydrogen to keep a vehicle well-fed with such a fuel. Too, there’s the huge problem of storage for hydrogen gas that’s highly inflammable and goes bang during combustion.

That Filipino inventor did a fast fade-out, hurling out a gripe at government for not supporting his fantastic invention.

He was found out to be a fraud but he left a lot of people with gas pains resulting from too much laughter.

That may not be sound science and revolutionary technology.

That was entertainment!


CRUDE OIL hovers between $55-60 a barrel these days. Crude-fed power rates were jacked up P1.04 a kilowatt-hour. Consumers and local transport sector leaders are already in an uproar over runaway fuel prices.

Eyes agape at the dismal shape of a near-future, investment bankers worldwide forecast that crude is likely to hit $400 a barrel by 2015, same deadline that United Nations set to reduce global poverty by as much as 50%. The UN try at licking poverty sure looks like a 1960s TV series, “Mission: Impossible.”

Before looking forward to a nightmare, we can look back at the fond, old days of the 1960s. Remember? There was Isaac Asimov’s “Fantastic Voyage” turned into a movie in 1966 and starred a well-stacked Raquel Welch who, along with a crew of surgeons were miniaturized—each turned up smaller than a bacterium. They were injected into a dying scientist’s bloodstream. Racing against antibodies, the crew voyaged to the scientist’s brain, cleaned up blood clots, then, raced towards the patient’s tear ducts where the crew came washed out in tears.

Too, there was “Darmo,” a graphic novel drawn by a Mar T. Santana in one of the weekly komiks we cut our mind’s teeth on. Here’s another nerd who stumbled on in the Amazon jungles a species of humans no taller than a stick of Philip Morris 100's. He befriended ‘em and brought back an entire barangay of wee humans in his suitcase, even introduced ‘em to certain people who betrayed him-- oh, the wee human species were more ravenous than a school of famished piranha and Darmo kept them well-fed.

Now we can turn a bit wishful. That scientist with blood clots in his brain in “Fantastic Voyage” had to be kept alive. He held the secret for shrinking people to microscopic size.

Such a technology ought to be useful these days.

Why, with such a technology we could reduce our population to a tenable size. With a population greatly reduced in size, the so-called urban land squeeze becomes a thing of the past—people may actually live in shoeboxes and sardine cans. There’ll be lots of open spaces more conducive to human health and well-being. There’ll be less population strain on both renewable and non-renewable resources.

Imagine: a 100-gram tilapia or galunggong would likely be enough to feed a family for a week. Just a kilo of corn grits or fragrant dinorado rice ought to sustain a family for a month or two. There’ll be abundance.

Think big?

No, nanotechnology may save our future.

Think small.


Seo Link Master said…
Fuel is the adrenaline of any car, truck or engine. Thus, it is every vehicle owner's wish to enhance the fuel of their car and save more of it as well. With this in mind, the most innovative fuel-saving tool in the automotive industry was conceptualized and created: the Tornado Fuel Saver. An automotive air channeling tool that creates a swirling air motion, the Tornado Fuel Saver allows the air to move in a faster and more efficient way by whirling air around corners and bends. Hence, more fuel is saved. Search engine optimization, Try to Be happy

Popular posts from this blog

Every single cell of my body's happy

I got this one from Carmelite Sisters from whose school three of my kids were graduated from. They have this snatch of a song that packs a fusion metal and liebeslaud beat and whose lyrics go like this:

"Every single cell of my body is happy. Every single cell of my body is well. I thank you, Lord. I feel so good. Every single cell of my body is well."

Biology-sharp nerds would readily agree with me in this digression... Over their lifetimes, cells are assaulted by a host of biological insults and injuries. The cells go through such ordeals as infection, trauma, extremes of temperature, exposure to toxins in the environment, and damage from metabolic processes-- this last item is often self-inflicted and includes a merry motley medley of smoking a deck a day of Philip Morris menthols, drinking currant-flavored vodka or suds, overindulgence in red meat or the choicest fat-marbled cuts of poultry and such carcass.

When the damage gets to a certain point, cells self-destruct. T…

Billboard blight (PJI editorial for 3 April 2005)

HEAR it as a prolonged shrill shrieking that chafes and seeks to scrape off chunks of sanity of any man in the street.

Or it can be seen as an overstrained stretch of sameness so hideous it virtually slams splinters into the eyesight of those on commute via Aurora Boulevard from Cubao in Quezon City to Sta. Mesa, Manila.

See, those ubiquitous billboards look as harmless as a stream of insults heaped by a nagging wife upon her henpecked husband. The poor bloke takes it all in as test of monumental forbearance. Groan and bear it.

It is likely the same tattoo of advertised sales pitch is a tad too close to Pavlovian conditioning. The billboards are intended to make consumer commuters drool like famished dogs at a wide array of products and services for sale.

Could Dr. Ivan Pavlov and his experiment with dogs on conditioned reflexes be the operative mind-set behind those billboards that hold thrall over Metro-Manila’s major thoroughfares? Are we really going to the dogs?

So they prob…

Viagra au naturel

IT LOOKED eerie—a blaze of fireflies pulsing like stars in the nippy air, throbbing with mating passions. That show of lights somehow eased the shadows of a Holy Thursday night on a dry river bed a few kilometers trudge up Mount Makiling.

It’s likely that no river has lain in sleep for months on that moss-grown, boulder-strewn bed—except my 20-year old kid Kukudyu and I. We were out to spend the night, do on-site learning sessions by the next day. Usual father-and-son bonding. As the late Benjamin Franklin once begged: "Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn."

Past noon from the foot of the mountain’s northern section, it took us four hours ploughing non-stop through prickly bushes and forest undergrowth to get to that site. We got there in one bruised piece. By then, dusk was falling; the sylvan air hummed with a trill of crickets, cicadas, critters nameless in choral orison. That incessant “sh-r-r-e-eemmm---“ layered with “k-kr-r-eeengg--” …