Everyone told me that once I entered the "Real World", all my free time would disappear and my responsibilities would lock me into an invisible box of stress, work and money problems. I imagined myself as a a mime, face wrought with panic; pawing at the walls, wanting to escape. I don't think I ever heard any different, so I accepted this as inevitability, grabbed my diploma, found a real estate agent and crossed the threshold into "reality" with gritted teeth and an distinct nausea that accompanies impending doom.

Now, however, instead of pawing at invisible walls, I seem to be pulling at an invisible rope that won't end. I apologize for the mime metaphors, but it seemed appropriate in the introduction. I digress.

Nobody I ever talked to was a freelance graphic designer on retainer with a deep-pocketed gay bar. I take work as it finds me, collect enough money from a garage band's album cover for groceries, and sit and wait, taking my laptop to a coffee shop and making pretty pictures (if only for the attention I get from people walking behind me and cooing, "Oooh, did you make that?"). Then the gay bar comes up with a new event and asks for a poster. They pay me a flat fee, which we both know is overpayment for an hour's worth of typography work. The Real World didn't turn out to be so horrible after all.

My day usually begins at 7:30 in the morning. I make coffee, go to the gym in my building, watch the cute guy from 2-A on the elliptical machine while I listen to my iPod on the treadmill, then take a shower and work on whatever work has come my way until 4:00 or so. Then I check my Facebook, Twitter, blogs, news, etc. until I can't take any more and make dinner.

My day is really quite empty after that. I sit on my couch, watching YouTube videos and reading celebrity gossip. Sometimes I'll play Wii Tennis, sometimes I'll bake cookies, sometimes I'll buy a bottle of gin and watch House- taking a gulp from my tumbler every time they guess lupus or the patient goes into cardiac arrest.

Sometimes I go to the gay bar one street down and drink watery beer until the bears are attractive.

But after I've whooped the computer's ass at tennis for the bazillionth time, start mouthing Dr. House's lines before he says them, and get greeted by the bartender on a first name basis, I'm bored again. I need something new to distract myself with. This is, apparently, typical of a Gemini. We lose interest in things quickly and crave some new adventure. Having a fast internet connection and a slight knack for anthropological study, I took to the internet to find a new tribe, a new ritual, a new set of rules. What I found was 4chan, an image board full of pornography, dark humor, blatant racism, violence and a bizarre intimacy that only complete anonymity could provide.

I checked it out once on a lark after hearing that it was being banned from certain cellular networks. Anything that repugnant is something I simply must see for myself. What I found wasn't at all what I expected. At first it was shockingly offensive, then it became almost like a second home. A home without laws where I could say anything, do anything, and if someone fights with me, I have just as much power as they do to fight right back. People there are considered "fags", but it's so overused that its homophobic origin has been all but lost. There are newfags, oldfags, Ohiofags, Canadafags, pokémonfags, even gayfags. Yes, gayfags. I had not only discovered a new place, but a place with its own gay community that faced cruelty from bigots and silence from allies. It was a microcosm set within a world without laws, and the gays had come out loud and proud. I was proud to become part of it. I had friendships that lasted an hour then disappeared. I started to come back every night.

But, being a Gemini, I eventually wanted something new from there. I still went, made my own little impact on the discussion boards, but then I discovered a place where I could interact more personally with these new "friends" of mine. Those anonymous "gayfags" I loved so much created little webcam chat rooms. And while it's inevitable that a hotblooded college-bound homosexual will get naked in front of a webcam, it wasn't strictly sex. I could turn on my camera and simply let these people talk to a face. And, being a handsome fellow in a sea of gangly gamers, I reveled in the compliments and sexual come-ons.

It didn't take too long before some of these people wanted to get to know me better, so I foolishly added one man about my age to Facebook. We learned each other's names, what we did for a living, our likes and dislikes, and even had a few nice conversations. It went from complete anonymity to budding friendship in no time flat.

But it all came crashing down on me last night when said fellow initiated a private conversation. "I'm bored," he began. And he proceeded to tell me about how he hated feminine-acting "faggots", that they were the only men in his city, and that he was depressed about his "relationship" with a man he emails in Brazil. I've heard a lot of self-pity and emo whining, but this was simply unbearable. Not only was he immaturely expecting so much from so little effort, but he was expressing a sincere hatred for other gay men. And I simply would not stand for it. I told him to buck up, get a hobby, find a man in his own town, and stop discriminating against people that are just as marginalized- if not more so- than him. As I took a closer look at the conversation in the chat room, I realized I had found myself in a group of apathetic, self-hating gay men that were internet-bound gaming enthusiasts that were, for the most part, closeted. When a 20-year-old man said, "OMG u hold your bf's hand in public?!", I realized these were the type of men that I disliked. The members of our community that don't get involved because it's simply too much bother, and they're too afraid of the social backlash.

Well fuck that. I came out when I was 15 and it was the best decision I ever made. And in a world where we're denied rights and sound state of mind, it demands that we do something about it and not just watch anonymous men masturbate on camera while complaining about the flamboyant, rainbow flag-carrying members of the gay-straight alliance. At least they're doing something, assholes.

But I can't just express this to these people. I could say, "Don't you want justice? What about marriage equality and workplace discrimination?" But I know they wouldn't care, and it isn't that type of party. So I closed the window, grabbed a bottle of gin and fired up House once more.

This weekend I'm going to hit up that new gay bar on Hennepin Avenue, wear something fabulous and meet new guys. And I'm going to bring a bottle of glitter to throw on the dance floor because I'm just that fabulous. So am I going back to 4chan tonight? No, I've moved on. Tonight I'm going to look into local gay rights groups and meet people that give a shit. Then when I'm hungover and covered in glitter on Monday morning, I'm going to attend a meeting and see what I can do.

And, like a typical Gemini, I'll probably be bored with that in a week or two as well. But then maybe I'll buy a new season of House on DVD and learn all the lines anew. Who knows.

I haven't written a sarcastic essay in a while, so I decided to sit down and have a go at a topic that's been on my mind for a while now: the utter violence in Sony's classic video game "Spyro The Dragon". So here's what I came up with:

( I'd like to, if I may, discuss Spyro The Dragon. Copyright 1998. Making it now 11 years old. )

Dear Self,

Next time you lose something, check the place you originally thought of checking. It turns out your f*cking phone was in your f*cking car the whole time*, you stupid f*ggot.

Love,
Self


Now if you'll excuse me, I just downloaded the latest episode of Desperate Housewives and an album by Coheed & Cambria.

P.S. Did you all know that Guillermo Díaz is gay? HOT.

*I thought it must be in either one of three places: (1) the house in Minneapolis, (2) my car or (3) somewhere in between, exposed to the elements. I only chose to search number 1.

I haven't really said much about the election. And I probably won't. Because every time I think about the election, it all comes back to one thing. Not Barack Obama, not the economy, not Sarah Palin's wardrobe, not even this bitch of a Senate race. Nope. So the one thing I come back to? It's love.

So I'll talk about love.

Love is just beautiful, isn't it? Ideally we all have lots of it, receive lots of it, and share lots of it. I know that lots of people love me, and I'm very thankful for that, and I love everyone right back. A lot of love there. A lot of friendly, helpful, caring love. I love picking a peach pit clean, coffee beans dipped in dark chocolate, thumping bass, and just about any TV show you put in front of me. At the moment, I really love our new president elect and the fact that Al Franken just might nail Norm Coleman in the end.

I also love double entendres.

But what about the kind of love that we tend to "fall" into? That's a whole new bitch right there, but it's something we've all experienced; when you see that one person, you glow, and time stops. We're all familiar with that, and it's something that happens regardless of race, religion, and (you guessed it!) sexual orientation. Believe it or not, gay people have exactly the same capacity to love that straight people have! Crazy, I know, but it's true. If intense love between a man and a woman is regarded as so lofty and amazing, then why is the exact same love between two men or two women considered perverse? Abominable? Umm... unnatural? Why should we say that same-sex relationships are anything less than beautiful?

Even if you don't think that such relationships are acceptable, what do you hope to accomplish by legislating your opinions? Don't you know what unnecessary difficulties that puts people through? It's extremely inconsiderate, and- to make matters worse- it does nothing to help anyone. Laws and amendments that ban same-sex marriage lack any trace of justice and are passed in the absence of love. How can you justify taking another person's rights away when you stand to gain nothing? And just how can you tell someone that their love is less valuable than yours?

Love isn't perverse. Discrimination is perverse. And it ticks me off. So many states have already written so many "faggots like Ethan are a bigger threat to traditional marriage than divorce, abuse, lovelessness, and haste combined" provisions into their constitutions that I'm beginning to feel numb to it now. But it's still hurtful, especially when you have to be reminded every couple years. And I must say that it hurts when people say that their religion justifies certain political views. I wonder how you'd feel if I said, "You know, I just don't feel that it's right for two Russians to marry each other," or "I don't believe that Lutherans should be allowed to adopt children," or "If black people are allowed to marry one another, then everyone will think it's okay to be black," or "I don't think there's anything wrong with being short, but I'm not short, and that's just not a lifestyle I'd choose."

Wouldn't I sound foolish? It might not all mean the same to you, but I find it hard to see a difference. Your sexuality is not a choice, much like your nationality, race, or height. It's a factory upgrade that you can hide, but it'll still be there whether you show it or not.

In fact, you do choose your religion. So maybe Lutherans shouldn't adopt! Because religion is a choice and I don't agree with that choice! HA!

...and yet I still would sound foolish.

Weird.

The Schwartz Family Thanksgiving will be, for the first time in several years, held somewhere other than our home. It always worked well that way, being halfway between the Twin Cities members and the Rochester members. And (although only one person has admitted it, we're sure the rest feel the same way) my mother's employ of our gay gourmet, Roger, that she pays $200 an hour to do all the work both the day before and the day proper. That and giving her own gay son her platinum card and carte blanche to go to décor stores and create a fabulous table setting, thank you very much.

She doesn't even have to pay me- a trip to a flower shop with a $500 budget is payment enough for most gay men. Especially me.

So when it was announced that Thanksgiving was going to be held at the Rochester Schwartzes, she released a small gasp and said, quite hurt, "So it won't be at our house this year?"

To which her sister-in-law Anne replied dulcetly, "We thought we'd give you a year off." What was really going through her head is unknown, but I feel it may have concluded with calling my mother a naughty word. What was really going through my mother's head was made clear soon after:

"That bitch took this one away from me," she huffed on the way to the tapas restaurant (across from my frequented gay bar, no less).

The 'bitch' being my father's brother's wife, my father's eyes widened. "Why?"

"I- I don't think she can cook all that well."

"Well, that's true."

"Do you think we can bring Roger?"

My father's eyes widened again. "You want to bring the chef to Mark and Anne's house?"

"He... could help her."

She proceeded to discuss paying his mileage, upping his hourly wage even more, and then if he wanted to stick around and have dinner with us, she'd be fine with that. With a bit of strong wording and common decency, my father and I convince her to grin and bear it. What really drove the point home was when my father said, "Plus, if you let her do it this year, everyone will secretly be wishing you'd have done it."

Briefly looking at her reflection in the passenger side mirror, I swear I see a malicious smile form between her Botoxed jowls.

Moments later, we're reconvened at the restaurant with the other Schwartzes, I order an Appletini. I notice my mother glaring at my aunt. I excuse myself to the bathroom and catch the hunky bartender before he makes our table's orders, slip him a twenty and tell him, "I'm going to be ordering more of these. Make them strong, babe."

He slaps his hand down on the bill and grins. "Family?"

I wear a look of incredulity. He bears his slightly cigarette-stained teeth in an abrupt laugh and says before returning to the pileup of customers: "Can do."

When the waitress comes back, she gives me my Appletini and a quick wink. I take the first sip and wince a little.

She places my mother's Cosmopolitan on the table.

And gives her the same fucking wink.

It took me a while to realize that while my LiveJournal is friends only, the world isn't made aware of this with a clever little graphic. So I whipped up a few possibilities in Photoshop from my own photos and here's what I got:



This picture was taken in Stavanger, Norway so for the sake of the poll we'll call this one "Stavanger".



This one was taken in Florence, Italy so we'll call it "Florence".

Which one should I choose? YOUR VOTE MATTERS!

Poll #1238914
Open to: Friends, detailed results viewable to: Friends, participants: 9

Make your choice!

...and by "Norway" I mean "Florence". I need to lay off the Diet Coke.

I'm done. 4:30 PM Saturday until now- 11 PM Sunday- I have completed the final installment of Harry Potter. I thought I would cry, or at least feel some sort of emotional distress upon finishing the story; Harry Potter (and I know I'm not alone) had become a very important part of my life. Since I finished the first book so many years ago, my heart remained invested in this character- more so than any other fictional life I have ever put interest in. But the commercially driven anticipation that I had felt misled me into thinking that I couldn't possibly go on without having book after book, knowing that Harry wouldn't leave me because I would always wonder what would happen next, what would become of this boy that I had gained such an affinity for, a connection with. But the book, seemingly a talisman itself, sits closed and silent behind me. Its secrets no longer elusive. And the author didn't pull some marketing trick like I had come to expect from mainstream entertainment, but I'm satisfied. And fully aware that another book won't come, I know full well that Harry won't leave me.

I had chosen that book in a strange manner. When I walked into Barnes and Noble yesterday afternoon, I stood before the well-advertised table and paused. What ran through my head was a need to choose correctly- like Indiana Jones before the table of Holy Grails. And a fleeting thought ran through my head that brought me back to the first book- like I was a young wizard in Olivandander's shop, the wand choosing its owner and not the other way around; I realized that all the books were of equal quality and saw my target- I grabbed across the table instead of at one in front of me, almost feeling foolish as about five others were grabbing theirs quickly and queuing for the well-manned cash registers. In front of me in line was a sheepish girl with black hair, clutching her yet unpurchased book to her chest and clearly not feeling quite as ashamed of her purchase when I proudly held mine. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, ready to send a text message to those who cared, but I instead took a moment to make small talk with the girl, who seemed perfectly outcasted as I had once been when I had read the first novel. She smiled and made small talk back, but before she could continue, the trained expediency of the the staff beckoned her attention and I was left next in line.

My boyfriend, handsome as he is tall, hovered near the doorway, waiting for me to emerge from the roped-off line of cash registers. When I completed my transaction and got my change ("I'm really good at counting to 25 today!") I met him with my hand free of the green plastic bag and I noticed that the shy girl from ahead of me in the line seemed to be moving awfully slow a few feet ahead of us just outside the doorway, she had been twitching her head back to just catch a glimpse of me and finally as Oskar and I made our way into the open air, she took a couple sidelong glances and quickly noticed the man holding my hand. Oskar seemed to have taken notice of her behavior and with a chivalrous protectiveness, craned his face toward mine and kissed me square on the mouth. Not wanting to miss any attempt at further conversation by the girl, I kept looking at her and noticed her head whip back around and gaze at the ground. Oskar is always quick to display his affection for me when someone looks at him funny- frankly, I gave him the same funny look when I met him and had the vision of tearing off his pants- but this girl seemed lonely and Oskar's chivalry seemed to make her feel even more so.

What normally would have made me feel scathingly superior left an unsettling feeling in my gut- why had this girl counted so much on finding a friend in me? We had only met briefly, she didn't know my name, and the only thing we had in common was a book (well, assumably seven books). But I had faced this before. And it continues to amaze me. Jo Rowling has created a story that unites us, makes us curious in a stranger's connection. How is it similar? How is it different? Who is her favorite of the three main characters? What house would she belong in? What shape would her Patronus take? Can she see Thestrals? I know I'm not alone as so many others have piped up when they hear of my love for Harry Potter and asked me similar questions. And all I can feel is gratitude as I look around at a world that is so keen to separate humankind. I owe a lot to Mr. Potter, entertainment value not being the only benefit he has given me. And for that, I won't forget him. And I don't plan on ceasing to dream of a world that still exists in the hearts of so many.

Don't worry, I'll be picking apart the book soon enough, but it seemed prudent to say this before anything else. For those of you that haven't finished the series- you shan't be disappointed. For those of you that have- I'm itching for input.

I've been asked on several occasions how I create my digital prints, so, for the sake of education, I have compiled a nice little tutorial. I may plan to do more, but for now I'll start with the creation of one my more popular prints- "Arbre mort".

( You learn something new every day )

I've been working on a constructed language for years. From explaining the basic premises and rules to random people that cared enough to listen, I've created an entire educative web page to cater to those same people on the global level. The language actually was a passive aggressive slam directed at Esperanto- making it easier to learn and prettier to listen to.

And so after much research and many messy notebook pages, I present to you Ithisk- my very own constructed language. It's been my LJ layout's language of choice for the past several months, and now you get to see where the hell it comes from. Ithisk (I propose 'Ethish' as the English translation of the language) is gonna take the world by storm, just you wait and see.

I'm only certain that the majority of you could care less. And for those of you that fall into that category- don't bother. The entertainment value of this is quite esoteric. The educational value of it is basically the same. If you have an invested interest in languages (especially constructed ones), check it out. And that's all I have to say for now, really. I'll think of an interesting post throughout the day. In the meantime, feast your minds on what meagre stimulation I have provided:

http://ethan.atspace.com/ithisk.html

I was looking back at old Facebook albums and came to pictures of me at the Harvest Ball earlier this year. Suddenly I realized that I'm not a pretty as I was then. Call me horribly self-absorbed, but it's true:

( 1,000 words, 273,612 pixels )

Plus, Anne Marie looks like Fiona Apple. Could I pass it off like I know Fiona Apple?

Anyway. I need a haircut.

And because I'm nice, here's a catchy little tune to keep you occupied. Enjoy.