In Cars

A strange thought occurred to me this evening while riding with Hurricane and our little tropical depression (who sometimes is more of a squall) back to Ms. H's apartment. I noticed a number of used cars for sale at a repair/inspection place and I began thinking that if one were to watch Antiques Roadshow religiously (and some do,) one would never see an automobile brought up to determine, based on expert advice, what its worth might be.

There are a number of reasons for this, but I think the most salient is that the mass-produced automobile was a (perhaps the)major precursor of the information age. The creation of a piece of machinery that cost around a quarter of what a home did, and was mass-produced in such a way that an individual machine was indistinguishable at a glance from others, necessitated a way to more exactly track the product. This led to the creation of the Vehicle Identification Number, a unique serial number that could be used to identify a vehicle. Each manufacturer kept an index of the VINs for a variety of reasons, primarily to keep track of what options and characteristics a vehicle had. It had a parallel value as an unique identifier in case of theft.

The whole point of a show like Antiques Roadshow is that there is a question as to the paternity (or maternity) of a given object. Mass manufacturing obviates the need for an expert, or the determination of authenticity, by making the product trite. The author of the product is no longer a craftsman, but at best a designer, and usually a corporation. The artistry is gone and in its place is the product. The development of the Universal Product Code (UPC) is the same story writ large over the whole universe of consumer products. One might argue that its incorporation into our lives represents the triumph of the assembly line over the mastery of the craftsman. No longer are gifted individuals rewarded for their ability to create items by hand, they are rewarded only by their ability to design products that do well in an industrial manufacturing setting.

Boinboing pointed to this blog about vampire bats. Fascinating data for all who are zoology nerds.

Whew, it's been a long week. Of course, after several years of not having weekends in the proper sense, I have taken on another duty that completely eliminates my day off. I'm not bitter. At all. It's just that discussing how long a "week" it's been loses all meaning when there is no end to it.

The result of my choice to provide care for the young Mr Q is that I am effectively busy all the time. There is also the result of getting to enjoy watching him grow. It's odd for me to completely recalibrate the apparatus in my head that tells me when to be impressed. I have actually found myself going "holy crap, he put his hand in his mouth!" and then being upset with myself that the camera was not ready to get a picture of this momentous achievement. This morning the Hurricane and myself were both duly amazed by Q's ability to hold his head up from lying on his stomach. I was even more astonished when I realized that-astounding!-he had part of his chest lifted up as well.


In other news, I have begun reading The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan, author of The Botany of Desire. TOD starts out disturbing on the level of Fast Food Nation and then gets scarier and more depressing, until Upton Sinclair seems like a pretty even-handed, low-key writer. And that's just in the first part of the book. I highly recommend it for anyone with a strong stomach and a desire to understand the modern world of food.

So, day 2 of my own daddy day care. I continue to discover new things, like "babies don't like being cold." Things have overall run smoothly, but I am constantly aware of the potential for everything devolving into chaos. I have nothing but respect for the people who somehow manage to do this on their own. If it were not for our ability to shift our schedules and have as much parent time with little Q as possible, I can't imagine what Hurricane and myself would do.

But best not to dwell on the bad that could be, after all things are going well. We're going to try some new stuff this afternoon: grocery shopping! Laundry! Getting out and about in the world! That's right, I am doing my first solo run with baby in tow. So wish me luck, all.

Mr Mom

Remember that movie? The wacky premise was chaos ensuing when Michael Keaton elected to be a stay-at-home dad when he lost his job.

I mention this because the Hurricane and I have recently embarked on the ambitious project of limiting Quinten's time in daycare to three days a week, with yours truly taking care of him two weekdays and Ms Hurricane handling the weekends. Today is the first day. I'm sure I'll have the hang of it soon.

In other news, I have begun attempt 2 to quit smoking. Philosophically, I am taking my friend Bart's approach, reminding myself that I'm really just "stopping." I figure if I look at it as a choice rather than a final decision, I'll be more mentally prepared. Also, it will help me to not beat myself up if I slip up. I'm using the patch, which seems to be working pretty well. I just need to figure out what to do with my hands when I would otherwise be rolling, lighting, and smoking a cigarette. What with the whole responsible fatherhood thing, I can't opt for the route some friends have taken, which is smoking weed for a bit of stress relief and muscle-memory satisfaction. I'll have to settle for reading and typing. Look for this space to fill a bit more frequently on that note.

The impetus for quitting is twofold. First of all, there's the whole responsible father thing again. As Muskrat mentioned a while back, smoke in your clothes and on your skin can still harm infants, even if you are not smoking around them. In addition to avoiding active or passive harm to my child, I would prefer he not have his dad as a model for him starting smoking later in life. My parents didn't smoke when I was a child, but I have many friends whose parents did, and who have become smokers as well. The one exception was a friend of mine from way back whose parents habit disgusted him completely. Second, Q now has two great-grandfathers who have succumbed to emphysema, and that's not something I want him to deal with firsthand.

So, wish me luck!