The Pages o’ Peat

Note: The Pages o’ Peat have moved to http://peat.org/ — please update your bookmarks and references accordingly. Thank you!

I was cleaning my closet today and found a few CDs with photos on them, including this set. I had the pleasure of taking pictures with Juno Reactor 2001, when they came through Portland on their Shango World Tour. Great people, great music, and a hell of a show.

In other news, I miss my Contax 35mm camera and Ilford HP5+ film.

Note: The Pages o’ Peat have moved to http://peat.org/ — please update your bookmarks and references accordingly. Thank you!

My profile is up on Portland On Fire today. I’ve spent the morning reading other profiles .. it’s fun to peruse and get to know other folks in the area.

Note: The Pages o’ Peat have moved to http://peat.org/ — please update your bookmarks and references accordingly. Thank you!

Seven years ago today we were introduced at a birthday party.

Six years ago today I figured out how special you were.

Four years ago today we sat in a pub in Ireland and toasted to a life together.

Three years ago today I proposed to you in Germany.

Two years ago today we were married.

Today we have a family, and you’re even more magnificent than ever.

Cheers, to my wonderful wife.

It’s cool and rainy today, and we’re at home, enjoying the quiet. The trees in our back yard burst out in leaves while we were at the hospital. I love serendipity.

Driving home was a little surreal — starting in a dim hospital room surrounded by wonderful people, then being injected back into the fast paced world where no one else knows or cares about you. I think I drove a little too slow on the freeway.

We’re headed back to the hospital tomorrow morning to follow up on his bilirubin count. He came out with a big ol’ bruise on his head, and little baby livers sometimes can’t keep up with the clean up work. It’s an easy treatment if it does turn out to be an issue, so we’re not worried — the only long term issues he might have are re-occurring nightmares about pelvises.

Here’s a picture of Mr. Conehead himself. He’s only about 10 minutes old in this picture. His head has returned to a perfectly normal shape since then. Amazing, ‘eh?

I’m happy to report that everyone here is quite happy and healthy, and that I’m 100% ridiculously in love with our little dude. It’s like a thunderbolt crashed through our room yesterday morning and completely rearranged our little corner of the universe. I’d gladly sever a couple of my limbs for the guy if he needed it, which is an offer that does not extend to anyone else. It’s weird and irrational and absolutely wonderful.

Some fun facts for the family and other similarly inclined folks:

* He smells good. Seriously. It’s kind of a funny, sweet smell. I can’t get enough of it. I feel like some sort of weird addict — a baby huffer of sorts.

* When he was born, he came out sideways, with a pretty awesome and lopsided cone head. I have pictures. They will be shared. He also has quite the bruise on his head from being positioned funny on the way out. The docs say things will round out and heal up just fine, though.

* He’s very alert, but quiet. He had his first good cry last night, but otherwise he enjoys looking around, snuffling, sighing, and smacking his lips.

* He’s eating well. Pretty enthusiastic about the whole process, so no problems there.

* All that advice about sleeping? Yeah, we get it now!

* We’ll be discharged on Thursday morning. Today we’re just resting and visiting with friends and family.

* Elliott posted a couple more thoughts on his blog. He seems to be into it.

Our deepest gratitude to everyone who’s visited, called, e-mailed, or commented here on the blog. It’s wonderful to have such a supportive community, virtual and otherwise!

He’s 11 hours old and already blogging.  Daddy’s little geek!

Born March 11th, 2008 at 5:03 in the morning.

8 pounds, 13 ounces, 22 inches long, and 100% awesome.

We’re exhausted and happy.

(4:00 AM, March 10) Hello everyone. Nova and I are at the hospital, and our little guy is due to arrive sometime soon. Every now and then I’m posting photos on Flickr, and small messages on Twitter (links in the sidebar). Things are good, and everyone is happy and healthy (and a little tired).

Update (6:00 PM, March 10) - Things have slowed down a little. The boy is fine, according to the monitors. Nova has been able to sleep a little between contractions, but she’s been at it for about 40 hours now. She’s still in good spirits, though. I married her because she’s the most awesome person I know, and I this is just further evidence of the fact.

Update (12:00 AM, March 11) - After 45 hours, Nova needs some downtime. She has an epidural, and she’s resting up for the big finale. On the other hand, I’ve consumed far too much bad coffee, and am haunted by the specter of old, cold pizza.

The woman down the hall from us just delivered a pair of twin girls. The maternity unit is an amazing place.

As promised, the set of photos from Ignite Portland 2 — plus a couple extras. Share and enjoy!

At the moment I’m about 30,000 feet above the ground, speeding away from Portland at close to 600 miles per hour. This is essentially a magical phenomenon.

I use the word “magic” because it’s outside the bounds of our narrow range of direct human experience. We’re higher than the peak of Everest, and moving ten times faster than a motorcycle speeding down the highway … but I can’t hold my hand out the window, or feel the bite of the cold on my cheeks. I can look out my little peep hole, but I can’t interact with the world outside because I simply wouldn’t survive it.

So we can only talk about flying in mathematical abstractions — and yet, here I am, streaking through the sky with a bunch of tired commuters in a little aluminum tube.

I can understand why doctors and engineers have historically been considered magicians (or witches), lumped in with the superstitious clergy. Today we’re (mostly) enlightened to the distinction between science and the supernatural, but that doesn’t address the deep disconnect between our experiential intuition, and our modern world. We are still required to have a kind of faith when casually interact with the mechanical, chemical, and biological marvels around us.

I think the foundation of this faith in technology is complexity — or, rather, our incapacity to fully understand the complexity of our world. If we look at the first age of technology, we can comprehend the entirety of almost every particular device: guns, winches, pianos, looms, and so forth. They existed within the “human” scope of nature, where a single individual could potentially observe, understand, and reconstruct any given device. It certainly required genius to conceptualize and create these things, but the scope of technology was mostly limited to an individuals capacity.

Things are a little different today. The airplane I’m riding in is the result of trillions of calculations, tens of thousands of people, and dozens of companies. The blades in the turbines, the plastics in the windows, the fuel in the wings, the avionics, the control surfaces — each of these are the result of thousands of hours of research, testing, and development.

So, it’s simply not possible for any one person to fully comprehend, much less reconstruct a modern commercial airliner from it’s elemental components. From this perspective, commuting to San Jose is essentially a magical experience for the individual, a faith based initiative of sorts.

Of course, there is a fundamental difference between faith in technology, and faith in the supernatural: this airplane does not exist or operate because of mystical hand waving and incantations, rather, those tens of thousands of people, as a collective, fully comprehend this aircraft and continue to reproduce and improve upon it’s design.

I guess “magic” might not be the best word for this experience, but it sure feels like a good fit. I remember watching magicians as a kid, cajoling them to pull the rabbit out of the hat, or make the quarter disappear. It feels the same when I get on an airplane, or when I see one fly over head — something special is happening.