We're Back

Haven't written in a while, so you'll have to pardon the spelling and grammar errors. I've mostly been sitting on the couch at the Mendiola house (as evidenced by the permanent butt-print), eating free food, and moving my wrist back and forth in that not-what-you're-thinking way.

Making progress with ear training, I can now hit about 80% consistently for all melodic intervals up to an octave. I've also started practicing hearing chord quality, though the results are hardly bragging-worthy.

I've gone to church twice here now. I think it's time to stop now, before it becomes a trend or worse, a habit. The pastor has kept me on my toes thus far, alternating ideas that verge on the sensical and ones that border on Nazi. For instance, he spent twenty minutes advocating above all else a personal relationship with God, a view I intellectually admire without having a shred of my own personal relationship. Then, just when I was about to bring out the applause, he started ranting about how there are only two types of people in this "fallen world," offspring of the seed - those who believe Jesus Christ is "the tits" (The One and Only Way to God), and offspring of the serpent - everyone else. Having found myself singled out as a son of a serpent among rows of flattered Christians, and offended for my family that only has one Zodiac-appointed snake among the lot of them, I respectfully gave the pastor death stares for the remainder of the pandering.

I've also been having frequent religious discussions with Mrs. Mendiola, with sporadic attendance by Mario. Usually this involves me inventing scenarios that involve her committing to some statement, and then try to trap her into a maze of deductions that end with her being the Antichrist. So far, she's done a remarkable job of remaining calm and unshaken, and most frustratingly, not yielding an inch. Not even calling her a fanatic, a terrorist, and pure evil convinced her otherwise. However, in my defense, it's much easier to defend against contradictions when your viewpoint of the world is "it's God's plan." Contradictions are then just the spice of his creative license.

Chez Mendiola

At Mario's house now. It's pretty nice, kind of like the home we stayed at in Maine. Mario's parents are pretending to like me, but I think I can get them to openly hate me by Tuesday.

Went to church today and sang some ballads praising Jesus with the better-than-expected church band. Christian songs have yet to branch out to a fourth chord, so it was easy to sing along. Then a girl missionary told us about her work in some African country converting the heathen children. And then just as the bell was about to ring, the pastor showed up and delivered a lecture that was a little over the top. Key points: The Joker from the new Batman is the quintessential atheist, people are inherently evil, it's up to the church to save America, because we've been going straight into hell since 1991. Since I came to America in 1991, this has special significance for me.

We've been playing a lot of liars' poker. I thought it would be a cinch with all these churchgoers, but they're even more outrageous liars than my parents. Mario and I have lost every game here, and Igor shouldn't sit too comfortably in California, the Mendiolas are coming.

Have a bunch of new riffs that are resisting development. My ear is also being stubborn and refusing to learn intervals above a fifth. And intervals below a fifth. Still, I'm closer to perfection with every passing day, and when I'm there, I've got it made. Beautiful men with well-trained ears are a rarity in this cruel world.

Texas

I'm finally in Texas, as of Tuesday to Wednesday midnight. Three studs picked me up from the airport, making four Adonises altogether. Everything is indeed bigger here. The bugs are big and in big supply, the first thing out of the fridge was a huge chunk of meat, and families are apparently not educated as to contraception, hence huge. We visited Mario's cousins today, and they have four children and a dog, some kind of horrible nightmare in my anti-responsibility utopia. The kids were nice and much more obedient than my sister, but their sheer numbers still made them terrifying.

Tomorrow we're going to Mario's ranch where he claims there's plumbing. I will be the judge of that.

I've been doing some ear training lately, and progress is slooow. My ears take about half an hour to warm up, but even then they'll refuse to recognize the quality of an interval above a fifth. My guesses are often embarrassingly far from reality. Oh well, at least my girlfriend's prettier than yours.

Torture Korean-style

Yoga graced my house today, and us mere mortals (Dad, Michelle, and I) evacuated to Barnes and Noble. The store kicks us out at 11PM, and we usually have another half hour of waiting till the yogis have had their fill of our couch and mood lighting. To pass the time, we park in a NASA-sized parking lot at the church at the end of our street, and zombie around till we get the "all clear" phone call. There's no entertainment there save Michelle's incessant chattering. Every now and then, Dad shushes Michelle: "Shhh, the priests are sleeping...with the priestesses." She's 11, there's no point in hiding the truth from her anymore.

That reminds me, Michelle's going to middle school this year, that day camp where you make unfortunate friends and memories that bring you to the psychiatrist later in life. Sadly I can't impart any social wisdom onto her, as I have been a near-recluse for the last years. My days of being a social butterfly of a little girl are long gone.

Chun told me excitedly today that she'll soon get to dice animals in the name of science. That includes mice, rabbits, rats, and probably some others I've repressed. I'm glad she's having fun. Go Chun!

I'm still on the Korean film spree, though the last couple are begging me to switch back to Hollywood. I'm talking about A Moment to Remember and Daisy, which start off cute, and then end with a dense hour of despair. Men weep or die, women lose their minds or die, and then if someone hasn't died yet, they die. The ones who manage to somehow survive all that weep or lose their minds. The aftertaste is one of hopelessness and loss. This of course doesn't make them bad movies. On the contrary, if you're Chun, they're very cleansing and provide an opportunity to use the famous tear ducts. But if you're Mark, a seasoned traveler of the movie universe, life has taught you there's a limited number of watchable movies, and sooner or later you're going to have to watch that movie you already watched seven times for an eighth time. And eight horrible endings is just too much.