Daniel sent us this one — and it's basically four questions folded into one prompt. How big a deal is nuclear energy in the global electricity mix right now? How much has safety actually improved since Chernobyl? Which countries are most nuclear-reliant? And the big one — is swapping coal for nuclear a reasonable bridge to renewables, or is that just trading one problem for another? It's the kind of thing where everyone seems to have an opinion and almost nobody has the numbers.
The numbers are genuinely surprising. Let me start with the headline figure, because it reframes the whole conversation. Nuclear provides about nine percent of the world's electricity. That doesn't sound enormous until you realize it's coming from roughly four hundred forty reactors operating in thirty-two countries. But here's what most people miss — nuclear is about a quarter of all the carbon-free electricity on the planet. Only hydropower is bigger in the clean energy mix. So when people talk about decarbonization, they're often imagining a future that simply doesn't add up without nuclear in it.
A quarter of the clean electricity. That's the kind of stat that makes you realize how much of the climate conversation is basically vibes. People picture wind turbines and solar panels and sort of hand-wave the rest.
Right, and the hand-waving gets even more awkward when you look at when that electricity is actually available. Nuclear runs at over ninety percent capacity factor — meaning it's generating power more than ninety percent of the time. Solar is closer to twenty-five percent, wind around thirty-five. So that nine percent of total generation is doing a disproportionate amount of the heavy lifting for baseload. It's the grid's backbone, not its garnish.
The grid's backbone, not its garnish. That's going on a T-shirt nobody will buy. But okay, let's talk about the countries where this is most pronounced. Who's actually all-in on nuclear?
France is the poster child. About seventy percent of their electricity comes from nuclear. They built out their fleet in the nineteen-seventies and eighties after the oil shocks, and it's been the centerpiece of their energy policy ever since. But here's what people don't realize — Ukraine, even during a war, still gets more than half its electricity from nuclear. Slovakia is around sixty percent. Hungary, Belgium, and Slovenia are all in the forty-to-fifty-percent range.
Ukraine getting over half its power from nuclear while its grid is being actively targeted by missiles is one of those facts that feels like it should be more widely discussed than it is.
It really should. And for context, the United States is the largest producer of nuclear electricity in absolute terms — about thirty percent of the world's total nuclear generation — but it's only about nineteen percent of the U.China is building reactors faster than anyone else, but they're still only around five percent nuclear. The growth story is mostly in Asia and Eastern Europe. The UAE just brought four South Korean-designed reactors online at Barakah. That's a country that went from zero nuclear to roughly a quarter of its electricity in about a decade.
The UAE doing a speedrun on nuclear deployment while Western countries spend twenty years debating whether to build a single reactor is a pretty good summary of the energy transition in general.
The permitting process in the U.and much of Europe is its own special kind of gridlock. But let me get to the safety question, because this is where the conversation usually derails. Chernobyl was nineteen eighty-six. The reactor was an RBMK design — a Soviet graphite-moderated type that had, and I'm choosing my words carefully here, a fundamentally unstable configuration at low power. It also had no containment structure. The operators ran an experiment that violated every safety protocol, disabled multiple emergency systems, and withdrew control rods beyond the allowed limit. When the reactivity spike happened, the graphite moderator caught fire and the core was open to the atmosphere.
It was less a nuclear accident in the modern sense and more a catastrophic design flaw meeting catastrophic operational failure. A Rube Goldberg machine built out of bad decisions.
That's actually not far off. And the contrast with modern reactor design is night and day. Post-Chernobyl, the entire industry underwent what you might call a safety revolution. The World Association of Nuclear Operators — WANO — was founded in nineteen eighty-nine specifically because of Chernobyl. Every commercial reactor in the world now undergoes peer review by operators from other countries. There are mandatory incident-sharing protocols. The International Nuclear Event Scale — INES — was created to standardize how accidents are categorized and communicated.
It's the musical equivalent of a band that released one disastrous album and then spent forty years becoming the most technically proficient musicians on the planet. Nobody wants to be the next cautionary tale.
And the engineering changed too. Modern Generation Three and Three-Plus reactors — like the AP1000, the EPR, the APR1400 — all incorporate passive safety features. Passive meaning they don't require operator action or even electrical power to shut down safely. If everything fails and all power is lost, natural forces like gravity, convection, and evaporation will cool the core. The AP1000, for example, has a water tank above the reactor that can drain by gravity alone to provide cooling for seventy-two hours with no pumps and no electricity.
Seventy-two hours of hands-free cooling. That's the kind of engineering that makes you wonder why the public perception of nuclear is still stuck in nineteen eighty-six.
Part of it is that Fukushima in twenty-eleven reset the clock on public fear, even though the actual danger was vastly different. Nobody died from radiation at Fukushima. The evacuation, the tsunami, the stress — those caused fatalities. But the radiation release was orders of magnitude smaller than Chernobyl, and the reactor designs were light-water reactors with containment buildings that held. The lesson the industry took from Fukushima was about beyond-design-basis events — things you didn't specifically plan for because nobody thought they'd happen. Now every plant has to prepare for the thing it wasn't designed to handle.
"Prepare for the thing you weren't designed to handle" sounds like an impossible instruction, but I suppose that's the whole point of passive safety. You don't need to know what's coming if the physics just handles it.
That's exactly the philosophy. And it brings us to the fourth question — the coal-to-nuclear transition. This is where things get interesting, because the idea isn't just about replacing coal plants with nuclear plants on the same sites. It's about using existing transmission infrastructure, existing water rights, existing workforces. The Department of Energy in the U.did a study in twenty twenty-two that identified over three hundred retired or operating coal plant sites that could host nuclear reactors.
You're not just building a power plant. You're doing adaptive reuse of an entire industrial ecosystem. The grid connection is already there, the cooling water is already there, and the community already has people who know how to run a thermal power plant.
Right, and the workforce angle is underappreciated. A coal plant operator and a nuclear plant operator share a lot of the same fundamental skills — thermodynamics, steam cycles, turbine operation, electrical systems. The transition isn't from coal miner to nuclear engineer. It's from coal plant technician to nuclear plant technician, with retraining. TerraPower, which is Bill Gates's company, is building a sodium-cooled fast reactor at a retiring coal site in Kemmerer, Wyoming. They're specifically hiring from the existing coal workforce.
The coal capital of America, effectively. If there's anywhere that the politics of a coal-to-nuclear transition would face a stress test, it's there.
The early signs are that it's working, partly because the alternative for these communities isn't "keep mining coal forever." It's "the coal plant closes and nothing replaces it." The economics of coal have shifted so dramatically that U.coal generation has dropped from about fifty percent of the electricity mix in two thousand to around sixteen percent now. That's not a policy choice. That's mostly natural gas undercutting coal on price, plus renewables getting cheaper. Nuclear is competing for the "what do we build instead" slot.
The argument for coal-to-nuclear isn't really "nuclear versus renewables." It's "nuclear plus renewables versus gas plus renewables." Because nobody serious is proposing a grid that runs on wind and solar alone without something firm backing it up.
That's the critical framing. Intermittency is the fundamental challenge. If you have a grid that's sixty percent wind and solar, you need something that can provide power when the wind isn't blowing and the sun isn't shining. Right now, that "something" is overwhelmingly natural gas. If you want to decarbonize that last forty percent, you either need storage at a scale that doesn't exist yet, or you need firm clean generation — which means nuclear, geothermal, or hydro with a lot of reservoir capacity. And most places don't have the geography for more hydro.
Storage at a scale that doesn't exist yet. That's the quiet asterisk on every hundred-percent-renewables roadmap. The battery capacity required to cover a week of low wind across a continent is not something anyone has a credible plan for.
There was a paper in Joule in twenty twenty-one that modeled this. A fully renewable U.grid would require something like a hundred times more energy storage capacity than we have today, and that's assuming transmission buildout that would make the interstate highway system look modest. The cost estimates get into the trillions. Nuclear changes the math because you're not trying to store energy for weeks — you're generating it continuously.
There's a version of this debate where the anti-nuclear environmentalist says: fine, but the timeline doesn't work. If we start building reactors today, they won't come online for a decade. Climate change is happening now. Shouldn't we put every dollar into wind and solar and batteries that can be deployed in eighteen months?
This is the speed-versus-scale argument, and it's a fair critique. Vogtle Units Three and Four in Georgia took about fifteen years from construction start to operation. The Olkiluoto Three EPR in Finland took eighteen years. Flamanville Three in France took seventeen. These are embarrassing timelines, and they're a major reason nuclear has a credibility problem in climate circles.
Eighteen years to build a single reactor. At that rate, you could invent an entirely new energy technology in the time it takes to deploy the existing one.
That's why the industry's focus has shifted so heavily toward standardization and modular construction. The South Koreans built four APR1400 reactors in the UAE — Barakah — on schedule and roughly on budget, about ten years from first concrete to operation. The Chinese are building reactors in about seven years. The difference isn't the technology. It's the regulatory and construction learning curve. If you build the same design repeatedly, you get faster. If every reactor is a bespoke first-of-a-kind project, you get Vogtle.
The bottleneck isn't physics and it isn't engineering. It's regulatory design and project management. Which is somehow both more encouraging and more frustrating.
More frustrating because those are things we actually know how to fix. Nuclear Regulatory Commission has been reforming its licensing process — Part 53, the new rule for advanced reactors, was finalized in late twenty twenty-four — but it's slow work. Meanwhile, the International Atomic Energy Agency has been running something called the Milestones Approach, which helps countries that have never had nuclear power build the regulatory infrastructure to do it safely. Something like thirty countries are in various stages of exploring nuclear programs.
That's a number that suggests nuclear isn't fading away — it's just shifting its center of gravity. The West dithers, Asia and the Middle East build.
Ghana, Kenya, Nigeria, Uganda, Rwanda — all have expressed interest or signed agreements. Egypt is already building four Russian VVER reactors at El Dabaa. The geopolitics of this are complicated, because nuclear exports come with long-term fuel supply and diplomatic relationships attached. Russia's Rosatom is the world's largest nuclear exporter. China is aggressively marketing its Hualong One design. and South Korea and France are competing, but they've been slower.
The nuclear landscape in twenty twenty-six is basically: the technology is safer than it's ever been, the economics are improving but still challenging, the public perception is stuck in the nineteen-eighties, and the countries that are actually building are doing it for reasons that go well beyond electricity.
That's a good summary. And I want to address one thing about the safety record, because people sometimes say "what about Three Mile Island?" as if it's in the same category as Chernobyl. Three Mile Island was nineteen seventy-nine, a partial meltdown in a pressurized water reactor. The containment building held. The total radiation release was about the equivalent of a chest X-ray for people living nearby. No deaths, no injuries, no measurable health effects in the surrounding population. The reactor was destroyed, but the safety systems — the containment, specifically — did exactly what they were designed to do.
Three Mile Island is actually an argument for nuclear safety, not against it. A worst-case-scenario at the time, and the worst thing that happened was... nothing, health-wise.
And Chernobyl had no containment. It was a reactor design that would never have been licensed in the West. The RBMK was a dual-use design — it produced both electricity and weapons-grade plutonium — and that drove design choices that compromised safety. The remaining RBMK reactors still operating in Russia have been extensively modified, but they're still fundamentally a design that belongs to a different era.
There's a broader point here about how we evaluate risk. People are terrible at comparing catastrophic-but-rare events to diffuse-but-certain ones. Coal plants kill people continuously — particulate matter, mercury, sulfur dioxide. The Lancet published a study estimating that air pollution from fossil fuels causes something like five million excess deaths globally per year. Nuclear's death toll, including Chernobyl, is in the thousands over its entire history. The risk profiles aren't even on the same scale.
The World Health Organization did a study on Chernobyl's health effects — the confirmed death toll from acute radiation syndrome was twenty-eight among the first responders, with about fifteen more deaths from thyroid cancer over the following decades, mostly in people who were children at the time and drank contaminated milk. The total attributable cancer deaths are estimated in the low thousands, spread over a huge population and decades. It's a tragedy, but compare it to a single coal ash spill or a single year of coal plant emissions, and the relative danger becomes clear.
Yet if you ask the average person which energy source is more dangerous, they'll say nuclear every time. The branding problem is insurmountable.
Radiation is invisible and scary in a way that smog isn't. But let me get back to the coal-to-nuclear transition question, because there's a specific angle that's worth exploring. The idea of using nuclear not just to replace coal generation but to produce industrial heat. Coal isn't just for electricity — it's used in steelmaking, cement production, chemical processing. High-temperature reactors — like the Xe-100 from X-energy or the gas-cooled designs being developed in several countries — can produce heat at temperatures high enough to decarbonize those industrial processes. That's a market that renewables can't easily address.
Nuclear as a coal replacement isn't just about keeping the lights on. It's about the entire industrial backbone that currently runs on burning things. Steel, cement, chemicals — you can't run a blast furnace on solar panels.
And that's why the "stepping stone to renewables" framing might be slightly off. Nuclear isn't a stepping stone to something else. It's a parallel track that solves a different set of problems. Renewables plus storage solve one piece — the variable generation piece. Nuclear solves the firm, always-on, high-temperature piece. A decarbonized grid almost certainly has both, in proportions that vary by geography and industrial base.
The question isn't "nuclear or renewables." It's "what's the cheapest mix of nuclear, renewables, storage, and transmission that gets you to net zero without blackouts." And the answer is going to look different in Poland than it does in Portugal.
Poland is actually a fascinating case study. They're the most coal-dependent country in Europe — about seventy percent of their electricity from coal historically. They have no nuclear plants. They're now planning to build six large reactors, with the first one expected around twenty thirty-three, and they're also pursuing small modular reactors from companies like NuScale and GE Hitachi. They're not doing this because they love nuclear. They're doing it because the math of decarbonization without nuclear, for a country with their industrial profile, simply doesn't close.
The math doesn't close. That's the phrase that should haunt every policymaker who's been coasting on "we'll figure out storage later.
The storage problem is hard. I want to give a concrete number here. The largest battery storage facility in the world right now is Moss Landing in California, about three gigawatt-hours. That's enough to power roughly a quarter million homes for about four hours. A single large nuclear reactor produces about twenty-four gigawatt-hours per day. To store one day's output from one reactor, you'd need eight Moss Landings. To cover a week of low wind across a country the size of Germany, you're talking about hundreds of gigawatt-hours. The battery manufacturing capacity doesn't exist, the raw materials supply chain doesn't exist, and the cost is astronomical.
When someone says "just build more batteries," they're effectively saying "just solve a materials science and manufacturing problem that's an order of magnitude harder than anything we've done before." It's not impossible, but it's not a plan.
We haven't even talked about seasonal storage. In northern countries, solar produces almost nothing in winter. You'd need to store energy from summer to winter. The only technology that currently does that at scale is hydro with large reservoirs, and most of the good sites are already built. Hydrogen is proposed as a solution, but the round-trip efficiency — electricity to hydrogen to electricity — is around thirty to forty percent. You lose more than half the energy.
Every energy transition conversation eventually reaches the same point: there's no silver bullet, there's no single technology that solves everything, and anyone who's absolutely certain about the path forward is probably selling something.
That's the right level of epistemic humility. But I do think the evidence points toward nuclear being an essential part of the mix, not an optional add-on. The IPCC's pathways to limiting warming to one point five degrees Celsius all include nuclear. The International Energy Agency's net-zero roadmap has nuclear capacity doubling by twenty fifty. These aren't nuclear industry advocacy groups — they're the consensus models.
The IPCC including nuclear in every viable pathway is one of those facts that the "nuclear is unnecessary" crowd tends to not have a good answer for.
Their answer is usually that the models are wrong or that the assumptions are biased. And look, models can be wrong. But when every major independent analysis converges on the same conclusion, the burden of proof shifts.
Let's talk about small modular reactors for a minute, because they come up in every conversation about the nuclear future and I'm not sure the public understands what they actually are versus what they're promised to be.
A small modular reactor is generally defined as anything under three hundred megawatts electric. The idea is that instead of building a massive one-gigawatt-plus reactor on site over a decade, you build smaller reactors in a factory and ship them to the site. The modular part means you can add units as demand grows. The safety case is that smaller cores have less decay heat to manage, and many designs can be sited underground or in pools, adding passive safety layers.
Factory-built reactors that you ship on a truck. That's either the future of energy or the world's most complicated Lego set.
The promise is that factory production drives down costs through learning curves and repetition — the same way we build airplanes and ships. The challenge is that nobody has actually done it at commercial scale yet. NuScale had the first U.design certification for an SMR, but their first project — the Carbon Free Power Project in Idaho — was canceled in twenty twenty-three because the projected electricity price kept rising as more utilities dropped out. The economics weren't working.
The first major SMR project in the U.failed before it broke ground. That's not exactly a confidence-builder.
It's a setback, but not necessarily a verdict on the whole concept. GE Hitachi's BWRX-300 is being deployed in Ontario, with Ontario Power Generation aiming for operation by twenty twenty-nine. They're claiming significantly lower costs than NuScale's design. The Chinese are building a small modular reactor at the Changjiang site. Argentina has a prototype. The Russians have a floating nuclear power plant, the Akademik Lomonosov, which is effectively a barge-mounted SMR. The concept is being pursued globally, it's just that the U.hasn't cracked the economics yet.
A floating nuclear power plant. Because when you think safety, you think "put it on a boat.
The Russians have an interesting argument for it, actually. The Akademik Lomonosov is stationed in Pevek, in the Russian Arctic. It replaces a coal plant and an aging nuclear plant. For remote Arctic communities, shipping diesel or coal is expensive and unreliable. A floating reactor that can be towed into position and connected to the grid solves a specific logistical problem. It's not the model for everywhere, but for the specific use case, it makes a certain kind of sense.
The Arctic nuclear barge is the energy solution nobody asked for but apparently some people needed. I want to circle back to something you mentioned earlier — the public perception gap. You've got passive safety systems, peer review networks, incident sharing protocols, a forty-year track record without a major radiation release in the West. And yet polling consistently shows nuclear as one of the least popular energy sources. What actually moves the needle on public acceptance?
The strongest predictor of support for nuclear energy is proximity to a nuclear plant. People who live near reactors are consistently more supportive than the general public. They see the jobs, they see the plant operating without incident, they know people who work there. The second factor is energy prices. When electricity gets expensive, nuclear support rises. We saw this in Germany after they shut down their last three reactors in April twenty twenty-three — electricity prices spiked, and suddenly there was a lot of second-guessing about the nuclear phaseout.
Germany shutting down functioning zero-carbon power plants during a European energy crisis is going to be taught in policy schools as a case study in what not to do.
It's already being taught that way. The German phaseout was driven by a political decision after Fukushima — Angela Merkel, who was a physicist by training and had previously supported nuclear, reversed course under public pressure. The result was that Germany burned more coal and more gas than it otherwise would have, and imported nuclear electricity from France. They effectively outsourced their nuclear generation while claiming to be anti-nuclear. The emissions cost is estimated at hundreds of millions of tons of additional carbon dioxide.
The emissions cost of virtue signaling. It's a specific genre of policy failure.
It brings us back to the coal-to-nuclear question. If you care about reducing carbon emissions quickly, keeping existing nuclear plants running is the single most cost-effective thing you can do. Building new nuclear is expensive and slow, but extending the life of existing reactors is relatively cheap and fast. has approved license extensions for reactors out to eighty years. Plants that were built in the nineteen-seventies are now licensed to operate into the twenty-fifties. That's sixty years of additional zero-carbon generation that would otherwise have to be replaced.
Eighty-year reactor licenses. That's the kind of thing that sounds alarming until you realize it's a testament to how overbuilt these things were in the first place. The safety margins on the original designs were enormous.
The containment buildings on U.reactors are something like four feet of reinforced concrete with a steel liner. They're designed to withstand a direct hit from a commercial aircraft. The engineering conservatism in the original designs — partly because nobody really knew exactly what would happen in every scenario — means that as we've learned more, we've discovered that the plants can safely operate far longer than their original forty-year design life.
We've got reactors that are safer than we thought, can run longer than we planned, and produce power cheaper than building new generation of any type. And the policy response in some places is to shut them down early. It's like finding out your car has another hundred thousand miles in it and responding by driving it into a lake.
That's the German strategy in one sentence, yes. But I want to be fair to the phaseout advocates. Their argument was that keeping plants running past their design life creates a risk of age-related degradation — embrittlement of the reactor pressure vessel, corrosion in steam generators, cable aging. These are real engineering challenges. They're just challenges that the industry has demonstrated it can manage through inspection, maintenance, and component replacement.
Manageable engineering challenges versus certain increases in coal and gas burning. That's the tradeoff that got made, and it's hard to look at it now and think the right call was made.
I think even many German Greens would privately admit it was a mistake, though they won't say it publicly. The energy landscape has shifted so dramatically since twenty twenty-two that the assumptions behind the phaseout no longer hold.
Before we wrap, I want to ask about the thing nobody in the nuclear industry wants to talk about: cost. You mentioned Vogtle and Olkiluoto and Flamanville. Is there any reactor design being built on time and on budget anywhere in the world right now?
The South Korean APR1400 program is the closest thing to an on-budget success story. Four units in the UAE — Barakah — all completed and operating. The build time was about ten years per unit, which is still long but predictable. In South Korea itself, the Shin Kori and Shin Hanul units have been built more or less on schedule. The key difference is that Korea committed to a standardized design and built multiple units sequentially, keeping the same supply chain and construction teams. That's the learning curve effect in practice.
The answer is standardization and repetition. Build the same thing over and over, get good at it. Which is how every other industry on Earth works, but somehow in nuclear it's a radical insight.
The nuclear industry has a bespoke-installation problem. Every country wants its own design, its own regulatory requirements, its own supply chain. The French tried to solve this in the nineteen-seventies by standardizing on a single design and building dozens of them. It worked — they built fifty-six reactors in about fifteen years. But then they stopped building, lost the skilled workforce, and when they tried to build the EPR at Flamanville, they had to relearn everything from scratch.
The industrial learning curve is a use-it-or-lose-it phenomenon. You stop building, you forget how. It's the nuclear equivalent of what happened to American shipbuilding after the Cold War.
And that's why the countries that are succeeding — South Korea, China, Russia — are the ones that never stopped building. They maintained the industrial base, the skilled workforce, the regulatory expertise. The countries that took a thirty-year hiatus are struggling to restart.
The prognosis for nuclear is: the technology is proven and safe, the economics work if you standardize and repeat, the public is slowly coming around, but the institutional capacity to actually build has atrophied in the places that need it most. Is that a fair summary?
I'd add one more element. The advanced reactor pipeline — small modular reactors, molten salt reactors, sodium-cooled fast reactors, microreactors — is exciting from an engineering standpoint. But they're all still in development. None of them are going to be deployed at scale in the next five years. So the near-term question is: do we keep the existing fleet running and start building more of the designs we already know how to build? Or do we wait for the next generation and risk losing the industrial base entirely in the meantime?
The "wait for the next generation" strategy is how you end up with neither the old generation nor the new one. It's the tech enthusiast's fallacy applied to heavy industry.
It's especially dangerous in nuclear because the timelines are so long. If you decide today to build an AP1000, you're looking at first power around twenty thirty-three. If you decide to wait five years for the SMR designs to mature, you're looking at twenty thirty-eight. The climate doesn't care about your technology roadmap.
The climate doesn't care about your technology roadmap. That's the closing line, right there.
It really is. Nuclear is not a perfect technology. It's expensive, it's slow to build, the waste question is politically unresolved even if the technical solutions exist, and the public remains skeptical. But it's also the only proven source of firm, dispatchable, zero-carbon electricity that can be deployed at scale almost anywhere. If you're serious about decarbonization — actually serious, not just slogan-level serious — you can't take it off the table.
That, I think, is where the coal-to-nuclear transition question lands. It's not a stepping stone. It's not a temporary bridge. It's a permanent structural component of a decarbonized grid, and the countries that are treating it that way — South Korea, China, the UAE, Poland — are going to have options that the countries that dithered won't.
The dithering penalty is real, and it compounds. Every year of delay makes the transition harder and more expensive. That's true for climate policy generally, but it's especially acute for nuclear because of the long lead times.
I feel like we've covered about four episodes' worth of material in one. The nine-percent-of-global-electricity-but-a-quarter-of-clean-power paradox, the safety revolution nobody talks about, the French nuclear singularity, and the uncomfortable fact that batteries can't do what nuclear does.
The Arctic nuclear barge. Don't forget the Arctic nuclear barge.
How could I.
Now: Hilbert's daily fun fact.
Hilbert: The largest known extinct sign language is the Merv Oasis Sign Language of Turkmenistan, which was used by a community of hereditary deaf and hearing signers in the Karakum Desert until the nineteen-seventies, when Soviet urbanization policies dispersed the community and the language vanished.
A sign language that died because the Soviet Union decided rural people should live in cities. bleakly on-brand.
That's going to sit with me.
This has been My Weird Prompts. Thanks to our producer, Hilbert Flumingtop. If you want more episodes, find us at myweirdprompts.com or wherever you get your podcasts.
Until next time.
