out of the blue

I finally finished the last of the novels that have won both the Hugo award and the Nebula award. I have considered someday collecting all of them and putting them on a bookshelf together, but that's not generally how I organize my books. Also, it would be problematic since some of the award winning books are part of the series (like the last one I read: Startide Rising by David Brin)…. But it would still be fun. Another problem is that the nominees would be worth getting as well, not just the winners, and many of them are out of print.

Someone somewhere probably has a collection of all the short stories, novelettes and novellas that have won. I'll have to gather those myself someday, maybe scan them all and OCR them. Sarah would probably help me build a book-scanner. Of course these days many of the short stories are put online before the awards so that they'll be accessible to all voters. So all I have to do is collect the old ones that are hard to find and out of print, and then it will be far less work from year to year…. Keeping up with a field is difficult.

Please excuse my rambling. I wanted to post something, but this was all that was on my mind.

One of the great things about our apartment is that we have an excellent view of Mt. Rainier. On clear days it provides a nice backdrop to the skyscrapers. Even on cloudy days we can often see the snowy lower slopes beneath the overcast.

I was wondering to myself why this was possible in Seattle, where Mt. Rainier is in the vicinity of 50 miles away, but not in Portland, where Mt. Hood is a mere 30 miles away. (These are straight line distances estimated using Google Maps.) Rainier is about 3000 feet taller than Hood, but I wouldn't think that would affect the visibility of the slopes. Both cities are at approximately the same elevation.

The only explanation that I can come up with is that since Rainier rises much more quickly out of the surrounding landscape, the clouds have the opportunity to bunch right up against it. In Portland you have foothills for quite a ways, and the clouds bunch up against hills that are much farther away from the mountain. Nice and simple, at least.

Really, I'm not sure. I would like to know, but I wouldn't know who to ask. It could even be that I just have more experience with Mt. Rainier, because of the location of our apartment. So, anyone remember whether the same effect occurs in Portland? Can anyone offer validity to my interpretation, or an alternate explanation?

Okay, this just pisses me off. At the Arboretum in Seattle, a large park filled with rare trees from around the world, some imbecile came in the night and chopped down a rare south Asian conifer. The tree is worth $10,000 simply because of its rarity: the region it comes from is under significant ecological threat through habitat loss. It was a transplant meant to safeguard a rare species from extinction. This was not a shady collector plotting his heist, carefully digging up the specimen to hide in his secret greenhouse. It was cut down. Officials believe someone was looking for a free Christmas tree.

It is painful to me that such dedication and care can be undone by one idiot with a saw.

I have some Google Wave invites left. I'm happy to present the opportunity for 7 of them to be given out to friends via this blog. The first 7 comments left by people I know will receive them.

As of October 25th, 2009, Sarah and I are engaged to be married.

We proposed to each other early in the morning on a beach on Puget Sound, and exchanged simple hammered bands of sterling silver. This was the culmination of a camping trip to Deception Pass State Park, a beautiful landscape of rugged cliffs and wind-blown fir trees, rocky beaches tucked in between headlands.

We celebrated that day by exploring Seattle: we shared a tea service at Remedy Teas; we wandered the streets of Chinatown and peeked into the busy markets; we explored the nooks and crannies at Elliott Bay Book Co; we visited Discovery Park for the first time, and looked out over the Sound towards the Olympics; we dined at Brad's Swingside Cafe; finally, we returned home to sit by a crackling fire and read, snuggled up in blankets.

It has long been our desire to honeymoon in the Canadian Rockies. Since next summer is already incredibly busy for a time most of a year away, we are planning the wedding ceremony for late July of 2011. This will hopefully give us time to reduce (though by no means eliminate!) the hectic nature of wedding planning, and allow our friends and family time to plan around it.

We think of our wedding as a time to celebrate with the community and proclaim our commitment to each other. It is a symbol of our futures entwined.

Our love goes out to all of you (but most of all to each other).

Halloween was pretty awesome this year. We went to a farm to get apples, which we made into juice upon our return. On the drive back we saw a bunch of kids in crazy costumes. Little ladybugs, princesses, and giraffes. The highlight was two parents who dressed up as bunny rabbits; the kid who sat on his dad's shoulder was a little carrot.

Aaron, Cami, Sarah, Paff and I carved awesome pumpkins: a crazy face, a kitty, a spider, a zombie turnip, and a velociraptor, respectively. Soren, Alice and Austin came over to watch Evil Dead II with us. Then we all went home and slept.

Next year's pumpkin: Escher-inspired.

Fireplaces are perhaps the cleverest invention yet. Soon I will have to get an axe so that I can split more kindling. Another clever invention: the axe.

Pictures have finally arrived! Two photosets: one from moving and getting settled; the other from a picnic to Gas Works Park. They are taken with my lovely new Nikon d90. After a long time drooling over DSLR cameras, now I finally have one. So I may post more pictures than usual.

I enjoy sifting through old papers. Every year or so I go through my papers and every time I keep about half of the stack. I start with the papers collected since the last winnowing, from which I save maybe one sheet from every twenty. Unwanted papers are recycled or digitized. By the time I reach the papers that are a few years old, I only get rid of one out of twenty.

At the core of the pile the memories are dense. Fond, embarrassing snippets of poetry. Touching letters from friends. Notes from my favorite college classes, and drawings derived from boredom. Plans for world domination, plans for programming projects. Everything has a practical purpose, or else a significant core of meaning.

By the time I'm forty I'll descend through the strata of my life with easy familiarity. I'm looking forward to it, looking back on a trail of papers like memories. The old ones drop away until only the striking, the harrowing, the golden remain.

I just escaped a geological wiki-hole. I read about the Cascade Arc (home of the only historical eruptions in the United States), Mount Rainier (a surprisingly prominent mountain), plutons (subterranean crystallized igneous rock intrusions), the Volcanic Explosivity Index (Yellowstone tops the scale), Puget Sound (a flooded glacial fjord system), the most prominent peaks in the United States (fun to play with the table sorting), the Yellowstone Caldera (every 600k to 900k years; last one was 640k years ago), topographic prominence and isolation. Among many other things.

Isolation is probably the coolest thing I learned tonight, because of how a list of isolated peaks gives you a nice cover of an area, a division of peaks that doesn't favor one or another region too much (especially Alaska or Colorado). Topographic isolation is the distance before you reach a point of higher elevation. So for the United States you start at Mt. McKinley (Alaska). Then you fly far off to Mauna Kea (Hawaii), to Mount Whitney (California), to Mount Mitchell (North Carolina), to Mount Washington (New Hampshire) and to Mount Rainer (Washington). It's basically like demarcating a watershed.

I am also enamored of prominence. You find prominence by going down in contour lines until you reach a ring that contains a point of higher elevation. The easiest explanation is via rising sea level. To find a peak's prominence you raise sea level until it is the highest point on its island. The prominence will be the height of the peak above that imaginary sea level. It has to be specially defined for Mt. Everest, since nothing is higher. Every other peak is recursive. The most prominent peaks in the United States are Mount McKinley, Mauna Kea and Mt. Rainier.

Science and the internet… a dangerous combination.