Surprised? You shouldn’t be. Anyone who’s ever understood how an electrical grid actually works could see this coming from miles away. With gas, coal, or nuclear plants, you get power on demand. When people flip the switch, power flows. Simple, elegant, accountable.
But here’s the catch: a large portion of power consumption isn’t constant. It pulses. It breathes. Demand rises in the morning, dips at noon, spikes at night, and dances to a rhythm that’s both predictable and erratic. Some patterns you can forecast, others you can’t. Balancing that volatility against a stable baseload used to be a marvel of engineering discipline. Human ingenuity meeting human need. And for decades, it worked beautifully.
Then came the age of weather worship.
Now, the grid depends on the generosity of the wind and the mood swings of the sun. They deliver energy not when humanity needs it, but when the elements feel inclined to bestow it. It’s like hiring a workforce that shows up drunk, late, and occasionally on strike. The turbines hum when nobody’s home; the panels bask when everyone’s asleep.
For years, grid operators tried to make the numbers dance—shutting down reliable power plants when the “green” ones vomited excess energy, firing them back up when the weather sobered up. But as more of this whimsical production gets forced into the system, the balancing act collapses. You can’t run an industrial civilization on meteorological mood swings.
So the true nature of “renewables” begins to shine through: not salvation, but chaos disguised as virtue. A grid that once breathed with precision now gasps in confusion. Enjoy the view—this is what happens when civilization outsources its power supply to the weather.