With new things come new words. The go-go days of the Internet boom produced many; most have thankfully passed on into linguistic history. But one that has stuck with me is "burn-rate"–originally, the speed at which a new online start-up was running through its venture capital. Too little cash going in, and you couldn't keep going until you became self-sustaining. Sort of like an egg–the yolk has to last until the chick develops, has the strength to crack the shell, and to go out and scratch for a living.

As an example, NCPR has about a $2 million annual budget. That means we can't exceed a daily burn-rate of $5,500 without running out of funds. My own personal burn-rate seems to always equal 100% of my income.

The burn-rate concept also has uses in other areas, such as politics. A new administration comes in with a certain amount of political capital. If it burns through that capital before a record of perceived accomplishment replenishes the reserve, it won't have enough left to make it through the next election. The political burn-rate is pretty fierce these days. 

Closer to home, burn-rate can be applied to garden provender. If your eating rate exceeds the growth rate of what you plant, there's nothing left for the root cellar. Plant more, nibble less, or rely on the supermarket all winter. 

But burn-rate doesn't seem to apply to the economics of thinking. I can burn through a huge supply of random notions every day. And every Thursday afternoon, there's always still a little left in reserve.

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