Ethan Tanis' Journal

4:25am: scratch the previous entry
Now that I'm finally leaving the job that didn't fit at all, I know that I want to be busy. Just... busy doing something that isn't that job.

Job hunting again. This should be interesting.

8:46pm: also
Being misquoted in a newspaper is hilarious.

5:10am: whew.
I would give every cent in my bank account to be mind-numbingly bored. Even if only for a month.

I just need one month of boredom, sleep, and reading. Mmmmmmm.

4:09pm: I've really been neglecting this sucker. Eesh. Maybe after this week.

In the meantime, the small biz I'm starting with some friends at CMC – http://www.fantasycongress.com – is up and running for testing by the general public, and should be a bit fancier by Thursday. So check it out if you are a gov buff, a gov buff wannabe, or just feel like seeing an overtly patriotic website.

9:14am: It's possible to stream NPR and listen while I work. Excellent.

3:48pm: zzz
Just recently, I discovered that I haven't actually slept more than 4 hours in a row since I've been back in California except 1) on Erin's couch and 2) on Matt's floor. My roommate's cats may kill me from sleep dep before we give them away. Which was supposed to be this week. Loudest buggers I've ever heard. At 4am.

5:17pm: Panera is Holy
Panera offers free wifi. There is a Panera on the way to my house. I do not have internet access in my apartment yet. All of these elements combined means that I have a strong, strong, irrationally strong love of Panera all of a sudden.

For those who didn't get the memo, I'm back in Southern Beautiful California to stay, again. I am 25% of the graphic design department and 100% of the web design department of a little design firm in Valencia, which is about 30 miles north of L.A. Just far enough away to escape traffic, but close enough to get into town inside 45 minutes. It helps that I'm usually going against traffic. Valencia's very pretty (read: expensive), so I'm actually set up in a little place in Newhall, a town about 5 miles south of Valencia. I've moved in, but I haven't quite gotten to the buy-a-bed stage of things yet, so life is still under construction.

In the meantime, I've been trying to catch up with people in the area, some of which consists of meeting at cheap pool halls, drinking some Hefeweizen, and being really horrible at 8-ball. Having a great time, but sucking at pool.

The other locale of choice has been Santa Monica. They have this thing, called a beach, which I won't be getting over for another hmm 100 years. To sit there with a book and a grape medley (I never thought about blue grapes) and that sound, and that smell... If you're not on a coast right now, friend, be there. I think humans were meant to live close to the sea. It's big, it's got that constant motion thing going on, sand is wonderful... ok, this isn't Locke-caliber logic, but it makes sense to me. It's good to be back.

Erin and I went to the Getty this past Sunday, also. In all of the four years of living in SoCal, I never actually got around to going, but it's a brilliant place. Most art museums are great, and keep you busy enough just with the art. The Getty is more of a place to be than most museums. Oh, and they have that one water-lily painting by Monet (he and I were pretty tight). So clearly, good art too. But when you step outside, you see attractive white stone walls, blue sky, fountains, nooks, crannies, and a view of all of L.A. The Getty is up on a tall hill, tram- and shuttle-access only, so you can actually see everything. And you can certainly see more than one could when the pictures posted at the lookout points were taken – the smog's gotten a lot better in the past decade.

Ok. I'm off to enjoy life. Hope yours is treating you well too.

11:28pm: Come on. Admit it.


Me:
I want to see a Goth Opera of Macbeth.
That would make my life better.
lots of black and triangular guitars.
Or maybe Hamlet.
Yeah, that would work better.

Taylor:
oh man, that would be sweet
I love hamlet
and to rock would be awesome

Me:
Picture Hamlet standing on the parapet of a giant, obsidian castle, leaning into the driving rain and howling wind, his clothes torn and flapping, screaming out soaring goth melodies to the shade of his dead father.
zhugg-zhugg, zhugg-zhugg
There would be some badass songs to write with the lines of that play.

Taylor:
hahahah, YES!

Me:
I'm listening to Within Temptation and reading Macbeth right now, so I'm in the mood to see some goth Shakespeare.

Taylor:
hahaha

Me:
Tomorrrrrrrrrrrowwwww, and tomorrrrrrrrrrrowwwwww, and TOMORRRRRRRRRROWWWWWWW


So, it's a bit extreme. But it was definitely the mood.

6:46pm: Eleison or Else

I think Mozart may have written the best of all kyries in his Mass in C Minor. When the choir first sings "Kyrie Eleison," – "Lord have mercy" – the C Minor really slams it into your chest and the darkness of the minor key makes it seem as though if God doesn't have mercy for the choir, they're pretty well screwed.

Then it gets odd, because later towards the middle, everything gets fluffy and major-keyed while a soprano flutters around like a butterfly with OCD. About a minute from the end, Mozart seems to remember what he was doing, because the baritones fly in, casting aural shadows over tenors like a cloud of B-29s, their volume shoving everything else aside and, with the help of some sternly unambiguous timpani, very firmly pulling the Big Black Curtain across everything once more.

By the time the piece ends, one seems to draw the conclusion that the story did not have a happy ending. The tenors slow, drop down an octave, and chop up their phrasing with great big pauses (Eh... ley... ee... sohn........) as some sort of reed instrument (clarinets? I think?) drowns the singers and the song with one, long, piercing note.

Well done, Mr. Mozart.

Listen to the Kyrie from the Mass No. 17 in C Minor K427 – "Die Große Messe;" composed in 1782, and never finished.

Or better yet, buy the performance by the Academy of Ancient Music on the iTunes store. They really give it some oomph.

12:00pm: Thoughts in the Minneapolis Airport

I've a hearty damning in mind for airports which charge for their wireless access. True, it's a service they provide, and true, it's a smart way to boost revenue. But what with other airports providing it for free I think I've come to take it as an inalienable right. Unfortunately, the request for my credit card number does an excellent job of alienating me from wifi, whether it's a right or not. I'll have to practice patience and post this when I get home.

In this book I'm reading, 'Tam Lin' by Pamela Dean, a character has now on two separate occasions made an agreement with particular people that she'll tell them if she's ever feeling suicidal. The book isn't at all morbid, but this second reference to the sort of pact makes me wonder what's going to happen later in the book. There's no great way to say this other thing that I'm thinking, but it just seems odd to make an agreement to tell someone before you commit suicide, if you're thinking about it. Note: by no means do I ever agree with any justification for suicide, and in the midst of being obsessed with immortality in literature and fancifully trying to track down a source in real life, I'm not someone to be worried about wanting to end it all.

However, the psychology of suicide would seem to be one of two: either the 1) individual wants attention and is dangerously depressed or upset, or 2) the person really does want to escape a situation, and all situations, and does so. Since examples of the first case certainly happen, it occurs to me that making a pact to tell a particular person before acting is smart. While the suicidal person may not be 100% sincere in their death-wish in the first case, being close enough to a death-wish isn't a healthy way to be. If instead the person is driven to a desire to get away from something or everything forever and isn't just looking for someone to talk to and with whom to connect (which is a common and innocent enough emotion, I think), then the pact becomes ridiculous. I mean, if the person really wants to kill himself or herself, then telling someone that he or she is thinking about it is completely illogical. My friend killed himself in junior high, and eight years later I'd still have tackled him and stopped him from doing it if he'd warned me. Respecting someone's agency over his own life is one thing, but letting him throw it away's something all different. I think that, based on his reasons at the time, he'd be more inclined to live these days. And I wish he was doing so.

Perhaps the pact isn't meaningless in the latter case, though. Maybe the glimmer of the will to live, which makes us all sleep and eat and avoid traffic accidents when we aren't in the mood to be bothered, would respond and force its possessor to respect a promise made to a friend. Maybe the joint will and promise would be enough to slow the person down long enough to make the admittedly illogical choice to talk to someone in order to avert a far less logical destruction.

Just for good measure, though I haven't made such a promise myself, I'm close enough to a few people that such a promise is, in my mind, inherent to the relationship, so I consider myself covered. Though again, I'm really more interested in prolonging this very fascinating life as long as it will hold out if for no other reason than because, while enjoying the present, I always wonder what I could do with a tomorrow.

peace