Of concrete lakes...

Tempe. The sight of swaying palm trees inspires the hallucination that there must be water nearby.

There is a man-made lake. After the young mayor gutted the downtown, drove out the types of small and quirky establishments one is apt to find in college towns and invited the big franchises to settle the city's newly antiquated tree-lined streets, he decided that Tempe was in need of a large lake. So he built one.

The lake itself is bound on all sides by freeways and giant asphalt parking lots, the convenience of course being the ability to launch a powerboat directly from the tarmac. I have somehow missed signs of discernible shade while passing overhead on the 102.

The lake was much heralded in the local press. In spite of the emergence of several University institutes nearby whose research focuses on the (un)sustainability of desert megapolitans — due largely to the increasing population load on limited water resources — none thought to question the purpose or need of a lake.

But then again Tempe — the city itself — voluntarily floods its residential lawns every day at 4 p.m.