True Love

(Original here)

sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY

Here it is, sunday and I should have been out mowing lawns or weeding potatoes, or something, but I've been inside playing guitar all day long.  What I'm working on right now is a famous piece by a famous man, the Gran Vals by Francisco Tárrega.  Never heard of it?  Or him?  Yeah, I know.  But he's famous in the tight little circle that is classical guitar, and that waltz is famous there, too -- because it's fun to play, and has a catchy tune.

How catchy, you ask?  Well, listen for yourself:

Did you hear it? At about 0:15?  Here it is played on a piano.  Recognize it now?*

Okay, to be fair, that snippet is just three measures out of Tárrega's whole waltz -- but it is still heard approximately 20,000 times a second, worldwide.  Which makes Tárrega, at least in some small way, the most popular classical composer in all of history.

And it cracks me up.  I used to play this waltz 15 years ago, and am now relearning it.  Every time I get to those three measures, I smile a bit.

*Of course, Nokia left off the octave harmonic at the end, which is a shame.

On Atheism and the Acceptance of Religion (In Some Sense)

I used to date a woman who was a devout catholic.  Every day, come rain or shine, she attended mass.  I went with her many times, because I was fascinated by the homilies.  If you're not catholic, the homily is a commentary given by the priest after a reading of a bibilical passage -- an interpretation and explanation, if you will.  I liked to hear the statement on morality, and then the priest's explanation, because it's really useful to hear this stuff.  How else do you know what you believe, if you don't hear what is possible, and decide how you feel about it?

I laugh a bit now, when I think of her.  We had sex, she wore leather, and she was an ardent supporter of the death penalty.  And yet, she parroted the catholic teachings of abstinence-only education, she claimed to be a vegetarian, and she was a strong supporter of "life" in the sense of "abolition of abortion."  I kind of wonder why I was ever with her, now. 

Not that I demand absolute consistency from my friends and lovers, because I don't.  Expecting that kind of thing out of a human would be setting oneself up for disappointment.  But I do wonder how someone can espouse a philosophy publicly, and deny it privately, at least in some sense.  I may be many things, but at least the face that I reveal publicly (in terms of my life philosophy) is the same one that I show to my closest friends and relatives.  I wonder: how can one decry the use of animals for food, but yet wear leather pumps?  It's okay to kill an animal for its skin, but not for its flesh?  How can one tell teenagers to practice abstinence in public, but fuck like a bunny in private?  Weird.

Finn didn't come back from the forest last night.  He goes out almost every day, and spends hours in the woods before coming back, happily meowing, to chomp at his food bowl and then sleep in a tight curl at our feet.  It's been predictable and familiar, all spring and summer long so far.  But last night he didn't come back.  We shook the treat jars outside, trying to call him back, over and over, until far after dark.  At midnight it became apparent that he was not coming back that night, and my imagination turned towards the worst.

I woke up with the realization that I really had become attached to that small animal, and the thought of his permanent absence gave me pause.  I woke up at 9:00am, somewhat depressed.  I went through the motions of the day, going to the store and doing chores, but I just kept thinking: Finn, where are you?

Finally, I decided this: it was a great pleasure to have known that small animal.  We gave him a good life, and he enjoyed his time in the forest to the fullest.  I had no regrets about letting him roam free, even if it had ultimately resulted in him getting caught and eaten by some predator.  He would have hated a life cooped up inside.

So I drove back home, thinking about how a little creature like that can give such companionship and satisfaction to one of us lumbering primates, and felt better.  As I walked through the door later in the afternoon, the first thing that Laura said was:  Guess who came home.

Finn was sound asleep on the chair next to her.  He had apparently eaten a full bowl of food, and has now been sleeping on the spare chair in my office for close to nine hours, interrupted only by me or she as we come in to pet him and scold him for causing such worry.  No one knows what he had been up to all night and half the day, but he had come home tired and hungry and was happy to be back.

In a way, I guess that I can see how people turn to religion sometimes.  Feeling what I did about just a kitten, I can't imagine what it is like for someone to lose a child to a predator.  And in a way, everyday life is a kind of constant beat-down.  It makes sense that people turn to a source of hope like religion.  I may disagree with its precepts completely, but I cannot deny that solace.

I am glad that Finn has returned.  It means that I get to appreciate his company for a little while longer.  As an atheist, I know that that is valuable -- having him here, well, that's a just a brief moment in time, and I need to enjoy it.  But I also need to do right by him.  Finn would not love his life if he were locked inside -- he needs to be free.  So I will let him out into the forest again tomorrow.

One of my favorite composers of all time is Fernando Sor, an 18th century guitarist who is justly famous for (among other things) a set of guitar studies that remain part of the classical guitar canon to this day.  One of the reasons for that is because the studies not only vary in difficulty (as one would expect), but also because each of them is richly expressive.  That is, even the easiest one -- a piece that could be read and played by someone with, say, a month's experience on the classical guitar -- has been performed in concert, by professional guitarists.

I'm currently working on this one:

Sor's Andantino in B Minor, Op. 22, nº3

(I'm not much of a fan of that guy's playing. Very wooden.)

That's actually not a study, but rather a real concert piece.  It's got some tricky bits to it, so I've been preparing for it by reviewing some of Sor's studies, most notably "Study #5," an arpeggiated jewel in B minor.  Here'sa dude playing it (and very well, I might add):

The great thing about this piece is that it is incredibly simple, musically, but allows an enormous range of interpretation and expression. I found years ago that with the temp doubled, it really takes on an entirely different (but interesting) character.

Eventually, I want to get back to playing Bach, especially BWV 997 (or, at least, the prelude and Fugue). That one could occupy me for days at a time, several years ago. Here's another random youtube dude playing the 997 prelude:

He made a few mistakes, but otherwise played fluidly and well -- and lemme tell you, this piece is pretty seriously difficult.  Here's what appears to be a music recital with a fellow playing the fugue that follows the prelude, again very well:

I like one of the comments on that last one: "This is my favorite piece to play by Bach. If you haven't played it you can't fully appreciate it's richenss and density. I find most listeners eye's glaze over and are lost after the first 10 or so measures, which I don't mind cuz then I feel alone with the piece and enjoy it all the more. Again, great job, this one takes a lot of courage and force of will."  I could have written that comment myself!  (Although I haven't been able to play this for several years, since I laid down the guitar.)

Honestly, I love the fugue.  I think that maybe I should travel back to Bach's time.

Oh, did I mention that I'm about to buy a new guitar?  Yup.  It was either a trip to Nepal or a new guitar, and really, sleeping in tents is way over-rated.

Vacation Needed, Plz

So Laura is sitting in the kitchen, doing physics homework.  All I can think is, HFS am I glad that I am done with formal education.  I remember the hours and hours and hours of late night work, and the tests, and that was just classwork -- I think that my mind has blotted out the years of tedious lab work and fund proposals that comprised the rest of my graduate education.  And here she is, doing undergraduate prerequisites for med school.  Holy cow.  Anyway, she is stressed out and frazzled.

So I got out into the garden, to work and to think. Today I pulled some weeds out of my garden beds, and admired my garlic and potatoes.  They are very admirable, I must say.  Tall, big, strong, and (at least in the potatoes' case) about to bloom.   It was a better day than yesterday up to that point, because my birthday always kind of bums me out -- not because I've grown older, but just because it's a landmark and we tend to take stock at landmarks.  And I expect more from myself than I generally achieve.  Gah.  So now I'm pulling weeds and thinking about all the things that I haven't gotten done.  Stress on a stick.   I had promised to visit my mom today, so that seemed like a good time to go.

But, bopping down the road to see mom, all seemed well.  I set the cruise control to 60mph and just chilled out while the county cops pulled everyone else over.  I pulled into mom's driveway, feeling pretty good, and went upstairs, but found her tired and sad.  It appears that my sister is going to be divorced soon, and mom was worried and upset, as they had been emailing and calling back and forth for hours.  Apparently my brother in law is a jackass, or something.  (Duh.  I didn't like the guy from day one.  But no toldjaso's here.)

I seriously need a vacation from everyone in my life right now.  I think a 3-4 day solo backpack would really do the trick.  Get up into the high mountains, get AWAY from people, and just burn a lot of energy -- yeah, that would work.

Happy Birthday to Me

Wish me well, if you want.  I'm 44 years old today, and still don't really have much more of a clue than when I was 18.

In the words of one of my best friends, "if I'd known that I'd live this long, I would've taken a lot better care of myself."

Wednesday Night Music

One of my favorite bands tonight, Calexico.  I think that I must have some spanish genes hiding in my nordic/anglo bloodline, because this kind of stuff really turns my crank.  Give me hot sun, cicadas droning, hard liquor, burning hot sauce, and I'm a happy man.

There is a distinct thread of loneliness running through Calexico's music, or perhaps it is just wistful isolation.  I saw these guys in concert a couple of times -- although I hesitate to say "concert" since the first time was in a tiny bar that accommodated maybe 50 people (and it was not a busy night), and the second time was in a small theater that could accept all of 250.  They're not getting rich doing this.

Laura is working hard tonight, linking vectors and taking cosines, and the kittens are lazy.  Finn caught a bird and another squirrel today and extracted a bit of flavor out of both, and Zooey is feeling like a homebody and not doing much to hang out.  So I'm on my own, more or less.  My brain is moosh from a full day of code analysis, and this vodka & tonic is not helping in terms of clarity, so I'm guessing that I won't be finishing any of my Evil Scientist circuit designs tonight, hence no world domination.

At this point, I'm thinking that it's going to have to be another episode of The Wire, and then falling asleep to the sound of the forest night. 

The sounds that come out of a pacific northwest forest at night are.. interesting.  This time of year, it's rushing water and frogs -- very calming.  Waking up is the same: birds calling and celebrating, the warm sun washing over the bed, and Zooey and Finn wrapped up together like the Yin/Yang symbol between the two of us, their eyes sleepy and throats purring.  I wake up, stretch with the cats, start a pot of coffee, and then step out into the cool dew-ey morning with a steaming cup, to see how many inches the potato plants have grown since yesterday, or how many strawberries are now ripe, or whether I need to don my SlugKiller hat.

And the birds sing on, and the birds sing on, and the birds sing on, and the birds sing on, and the birds sing on.