Frank Dresser wrote:
There's been alot of poor journalism in the BPL story, especially
from the
financial press. The financial press has accepted the BPL provider's
story
that their technology is good and their only problem is Cranky Old Hams.
When the FCC started allowing full scale BPL, columns started appearing
touting BPL as the wave of the future. I'd like to think these guys
would
have been especially careful after the dot com bust.

This kind of thing has happened in the past.
There is a name for it in psychology, but I don't remember it.
It's the same sort of group-think and greed
that lead to Gold Rush and the Dot-Com-Bust:

A few "experts" put forth an idea (the "McGuffin") that sounds like
a sure money-maker. People start whispering to their buddies,
each one trying to sound like he's just a little bit smarter
and more informed about the McGuffin than the other guy.
Before long, there is a general, though specious, knowledge about
the wonders and glories of the McGuffin and the money to be made
if one gets in on it.

Next comes our old friend, Professor Harold Hill from "The Music Man-"
in fact, a whole bunch of him. They smell a mob with money ready
to throw it at anyone who can give them a piece of the McGuffin.
Professor Hill swoops in, smiles, makes grand promises and then
treks to that great house of prostitution on the hill, Congress.
After purchasing the requisite number of congressmen, senators
and committee men, congress hands them "The Golden Condom,"
with which he/they proceed to "do business" with the mob (investors).

Pronouncements are made, great trumpets are blown, artisans hired
and systems installed. The mob gathers round the grand banquet
table, festooned with gorgeous press releases, colorful brochures
and served by handsome young MBAs in expensive suites.
Slavering in anticipation of gorging themselves on the
sweets and cakes, and on the roast suckling pig that
will be the centerpiece of their repast, the mob watches
as four tall MBAs bring forth a massive serving tray,
it's cover of burnished brass engraved with a likeness
of Reedy Kilowatt using a computer.
They place the tray in the center of the table.
The mob leans forward, eyes wide and glistening,
forks and knives in hand.
Trumpets blow a glorious fanfare.
The MBAs, in one smooth move, lift the lid to reveal...

....a turkey.
A rather small turkey.
A rather small, very over-done turkey.
A hush falls over the assembled company for about five seconds,
wherein we will wisely make our escape.
And as we hear the sudden tidal wave of pandemonium
break behind us, as some of the "investors" dive for
a tiny morsel of the turkey, others start forking
their tablemates and still others turn their knives on
the hapless MBA servers, we see Professor Hill,
bags bulging with money, his convertable freshly
slicked with wax, cruising off into the sunset.
If we listen closely,
we can hear him singing to a familiar tune:

"Seventy Six bone heads paid for my parade,
with a hundred and ten poor fools right behind...."

David S.